#no those stitches belong to one piece

[watchmegetobsessed]

TOO SWEET

A/N: i know originally i teased something else with the hozier song, but this came to me when i saw the pics below and i just had to write them. also, i put the bruises on him so go easy on my photoshop skills lol

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

WARNING: mention of blood and bruises

SUMMARY: You and Harry are worlds apart, yet you can't let go of each other, not even when he stumbles into your home in the middle of the night, bruised and in pain.

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You wake to the sound of the front door closing and by the time his footsteps reach the bathroom down the hall you’re fully conscious. There was a time when you considered yourself a heavy sleeper, when the smallest noises could not bother you enough to wake from your dreams, but those days have been gone ever since Harry came into your life. 

You kind of knew what you were getting yourself into, his reputation and horrific stories about his dark deals were more than well-known around town and there was a time you never thought you’d get involved with him. You’re worlds apart, he is the fire that will burn you if you get too close, but it appears you’re the water that could take his danger out. Just one party, one glance across the room was enough to bound you two together and turn your life upside down. 

Surprisingly, you weren’t the only one fighting against the pull. In the beginning, Harry tried to keep him away from you just as much as you attempted to convince yourself he is nothing but trouble. You still remember what he told you one night when you met him at a dodgy bar against your better judgment. 

“I take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You’re way too sweet for me, baby.”

It felt like he wasn’t even talking to you but to himself. His light green eyes were darker than ever as he stared down at your lips and you couldn’t figure out what you wanted more, to kiss him or to leave him. Even though what he said sounded a lot like a promise that he’ll step back, somehow you just ended up even closer. 

Life with Harry is like a rollercoaster that takes you through Hell and Heaven at the same time. When it’s good, it’s a high you’ve never experienced before, he is everything you want and could ever need, he fills your heart and eases your mind like no one can and you know he is the piece you’ve been searching for all your life.

But when it’s low… the darkness feels like a weight you can barely carry and it’s hard to remember what it was like when you were blossoming. 

You never asked Harry to stop his underworld deals, you know it’s practically impossible, but it’s also hard to live like this. Fearing every call you get, fighting intrusive thoughts about what might have happened to him every time he doesn’t answer your messages and then there are the nights like this, when he visits you in the middle of the night but it’s always for the wrong reason. 

The first time Harry appeared at your door at two am, blood running down his face, barely holding himself up, you got so worried he had to calm you even though he was the one with the injuries, but you just couldn’t stop crying and sobbing. 

Now you still get yourself worked up but you learned to keep your face straight as you clean his wounds or even stitch them, but it’s still just as much of a struggle emotionally to see the man you love like this all the time. 

You sit up in your bed as you hear him grunt before closing the bathroom door as quietly as he can and then the water starts running. Reaching for your phone on the nightstand you check the time, it’s just a little past three in the morning, the dim light of the streetlamps are the only source of light in your tiny bedroom, but even despite the darkness, it still feels bright and homey, you spent a lot of time to create this bubble for yourself and though Harry’s gruff and edgy presence feels the farthest from your colorful life, he still somehow belongs here, in your life.

Rubbing your eyes you stand up and look for the cardigan you know you left on the chair in the corner. When you find it you wrap yourself into it tight and take a moment to mentally prepare yourself for whatever you’ll see. From what you heard, he wasn’t limping so that’s a good start, but you still know there’s a whole lot that could be terrifyingly wrong with him to make him come to you instead of his place.

The water has stopped running by the time you make your way out of the bedroom and over to the bathroom. Light is flowing out underneath the door and you don’t know before simply twisting the knob and opening the door, revealing Harry sitting in the bathtub, bent forward, his curls wet and brushed back, bruises covering his shoulders, back and jawline, his bottom lip busted open.

Repentance fills his glimmering eyes when he looks at you and you know what he would say if his pride allowed him to speak.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I want to be better for you, but it’s so hard.”

Walking over you kneel down next to the tub and cup his face with your palm, gentle and soft, not to hurt him and he melts into your touch in an instant. 

“I’m alright,” he rasps as you run your hand down his naked chest, over some of the bruises and you notice how he winces when your cold hand touches a vigorously dark mark on his collarbone. 

You’d do anything to free him from this dark world that keeps him as its prisoner, but ironically you know what kind of consequences one would have to endure to be set free and you fear those would take him from you forever. So every time you see the marks of this evil life on him, a piece of you dies. For him. 

“I’ll get you some pills,” you whisper and try to get up, but his hand grabs your arm, holding you back.

“Just… stay with me, please.” It’s a desperate plea you could never ignore, so you settle back onto the fuzzy rug next to the tub, one arm against his chest as he hugs it like a child, your thumb gently rubbing the side of his neck. But you don’t stay like that much longer. The urge to get closer to him grows unbearable, so you move to stand again and when you see the panic in his eyes you’re quick to calm him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Hesitantly, but he lets go of your arm and watches you as you undress yourself and join him in the tub, sitting behind him so you can hug him from behind, your chest melting against his back as your heartbeats sync. 

His head falls back onto your shoulder while your lips pepper kisses onto his every once in a while, your hands gently running up and down his front, eager to feel the softness of his skin. 

“You’re way too sweet for me,” he breathes out.

“Haven’t we been over this?” you ask with a soft smile. He lifts his head and then turns it so he can look at you. 

“I feel like I’m ruining you.”

“Don’t act like it’s all on you. I made a decision too and I chose to be with you.”

“You made a mistake,” he whispers and you see something dark, something desperate take over his face for a moment, but you’re quick to bring him back to you, like you always do.

Soothing his hair back, you pull him closer so your lips meet for the softest kiss. 

“You could never be a mistake,” you whisper against his lips and you feel him inhale sharply before he kisses you, harder and needier and you’re happy to give him whatever he demands from you. 

You stay in the tub until the water gets too cold. Then you grab him a shirt and a pair of underwear he left at yours a while ago and you move to the bedroom. He finally lets you get him some painkillers and you tell him to get in bed when he tries to randomly fix the jammed drawer of your desk. He loves to play the handyman when he’s over, but now is definitely not the time for that.

“Okay, doctor, gotcha,” he chuckles cheekily as he shuffles over to the bed. He watches you with a smirk as you’re moving around, grabbing another blanket before joining him in bed.

“What?” you ask when he just keeps looking at you smugly.

“You take so good care of me, baby. You know, there is one more thing I think I need to feel better.”

Reaching over he hooks a finger into the front of your shirt, tugging it down teasingly. 

“Oh, really?” you arch an eyebrow at him.

“Absolutely.”

Instead of a reply, you move closer and press two fingers into a bruise on his shoulder just enough to make him wince and flinch back from the pain.

“I think you need to stay away from physical activities, that’s the doctor’s order,” you scoff.

“Fuck, there was nothing sweet about that, damn!” he grunts, making you laugh. 

“But you love it when I put you into your place, don’t you?” Grinning you scoot closer, his arm curling around you instantly.

“I do. Only you can do that,” he smiles down at you.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[kurogxrix]

Love It Loud

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Wife!reader

IN WHICH you help your husband relax after a long day of work by pleasuring him.

WC: 5.6k

Warnings: SMUT, cowgirl, unprotected lazy fuck, creampie, size kink, fingering, oral (M), subby!bucky, pure filth.

Frustration was running thick through Bucky’s veins since way before he’d even stepped foot into the mansion’s doors, and by the way that he’d slammed the two wooden doors open, you could easily tell that he was still very fed up. You knew that Bucky’s occupation was far from easy. There were days where he’d come back home all bruised and bloody to the point where you had to stitch him up. 

Though you understood why he did what he did, it never helped to ease your worries when he’d spend days away on some dangerous trip somewhere far from home. Before officializing your relationship with the mobster, you had received far too many warnings from your peers and family members. They’d warn you that he’d put you in danger, that he’d neglect you and return home at night with signs of unfaithfulness freshly visible on him.

Though they didn’t even personally know the man, they still found ways to berate him on a further level. You’d never once listened to a thing of what they had to say, instead deciding to chase your romance with the man of your dreams. Bucky was far from what those people had described him as, at least in his relationship with you. On the outside of your marriage, he was still a fearful mobster with blood stained hands. Nevertheless, your security was his number one priority. He had hundreds, with no exaggeration, of loyal guards pacing around his home whenever he wasn’t around to watch on you himself. 

He was always there for you, treating you like a real-life Disney princess as he spoiled you with his riches. Bucky loved you like no other, and he vowed to dedicate his life to you in a claim that he valued your life before his. A five year long relationship and a set of rings accompanied with a marriage certificate was as much as Bucky had to prove true to his promise for the time being. 

Much to contradict the stereotype of men with shitty jobs, Bucky was nothing but undyingly loyal to you. Be damned that any woman dares to even look him in the eye, he’d always reject them without a second thought. You were it for him, and he didn’t need any side chicks like the other shitty men in the business. Though you did believe him and lay all of your trust into his hands, he’d even go as far as taping a fucking live camera onto his suit to proof to you that he wasn’t even batting an eye towards no other woman. Though he feared that the idea was a little too extreme, and furthermore he didn’t want you to catch sight of the more gruesome and bloody parts of his hobby.  

The forceful opening of your bedroom door had you jumping in your seat on the bed. The book in your hand nearly slipping out as you quickly closed the explicit romance novel that you were so engrossed in. The loud entrance was enough to tell you that something was wrong with your husband today, but his excessive grunting and furrowed eyebrows just confirmed your observations. 

He’d greeted you with a chaste kiss before moving to the bathroom to freshen himself, but lord forbid you caught sight of the blood that stained his hands. He didn’t want you to deal with this kind of filth, he’d had a shitty enough day, he didn’t feel like ruining yours too. He removed the upper pieces of his suit to take care of the blood that soaked through the white shirt of his expensive suit, crimson liquid that didn’t even belong to him. Once Bucky had managed to clean his hands from the dried blood that clung onto his skin, he hadn't even bothered to remove his pants before joining you back in bed. 

Of course he’d removed his shoes before sitting on your shared bed, because otherwise you’d literally strangle him to death, and he didn’t feel like dying today. Bucky must’ve realised that he was staring into nothing for a solid minute, because your noises of concern were soon to reach his ears. He didn’t have the physical words to ease you, so instead he took you hand in his, rubbing a comforting thumb over your knuckles as he gave you a tight smile.

You chose to let it go for now, obviously sensing his frustration ever since he’d gotten back here. Sitting back on your side, you watched as your husband pulled out a half-read book from his side table. You laid down on your side as you enjoyed the view of Bucky squinting like an old man to try and comprehend whatever was written in that book of his. He didn’t even give the poor book a minute before slamming it back down on the desk, a loud sound resonating around the room as Bucky raised a hand to rub at his tired eyes. 

“You want me to help you relax?” It wasn't hard to see the exasperation pooling in his blue iris, and you were sure that he’d rip that book apart if he’d kept it in his hands any longer. You didn’t necessarily want to ask what was the cause of his situation, because as much as you knew that your husband would never voluntarily even raise his voice at you, you knew what extreme frustration did to people. 

“I’d love to fuck my frustrations away into that tight little cunt of yours, sure.” you couldn’t help the way your eyes widened at his crude insinuation, even though that wasn’t necessarily what you’d thought of at first, you definitely wanted to help him ‘relax’ in that way now. Your hand moves up to cup his cheeks on its own, your thumb rubbing comforting circles into his skin 

 “But I'm so worn out today I'm not sure I'd even last.” you feel your heart tightening at the admission, always feeling so bad whenever your husband comes back home so beaten up. You sat up once more as you eyed the stubble on his jaw, wanting nothing more than to run your palm along the spiky hairs. There was a tinge of desire in his eyes, something that told you that he was dead genuine about his previous statement, and you wanted nothing else than that too.

“Nobody said you had to move, just let me take care of you.” you whispered out the last part before moving up to him, testing the waters as your lips laid millimetres away from his. After a couple of seconds where he didn’t back away, you finally closed the space between you both to kiss him. He accepted it without any second thoughts, because who was he to decline your affection? The kiss was sloppy but all the more intimate as he cupped your cheeks with his large, calloused palm. 

From a second to another, you’re were top of Bucky, your legs on either side of his hips as you straddled him. He didn’t even have time to comprehend your free hand moving downwards on his body because he was too busy with the passionate kiss that you were both sharing. The sudden feeling of your palm against his clothed cock made Bucky gasp, and you took it as your chance to slip your tongue onto his. 

His tongue fight was weak, given that he was usually the one that was dominating you, and you felt yourself growing wetter at the newfound dominance that you’d just acquired. You could feel the way that his half-hard cock was reacting under your touch as the bulge in his pants only grew bigger and bigger by the second. Bucky was nothing but a whimpering mess under you as his tongue slipped inside of your mouth, entangling with yours in a sultry kiss. 

His hips were buckling into your hands with desperation, and by then his cock was fully erected and painfully throbbing in the restraints of his boxers. You could practically feel the heat radiating from it through all of his layers of clothes, but you weren’t even close to complaining. 

You pulled apart from Bucky for a split second, your mouth and your palm leaving his body as he grunted out a noise of complaint. 

“Come back here.” The dark rasp of his voice only sent tingles down to your core, but this moment was supposed to be about him. Bucky grasped your wrist in between his fingers, trying to drag you back onto him so that you could continue the sloppy match of making out that you’d previously offered him. Though his complaining faltered as he watched you fumble with the zipper of his pants, a teasing grin on your face as you watched him eyeing you like a prey. 

“Please, doll…” he ran his hands tenderly down your arms, trying to charm you into pulling his cock out faster so he can just fuck you already, or get fucked by you just like you’d offered to do. He was impatient, a sliver of despair swimming in his beautiful blue iris as he did nothing else but stare at you greedily. If he wasn’t so exhausted you could’ve been sure that he would’ve already thrown you down onto the mattress and pounded you unrelentingly for being a tease, but you currently were the one with the upper hand. 

Deciding to spare him the pain of having to stay much longer in the tight and uncomfortable restraints of his clothes, you finally unzipped his suit pants and slipped your fingers under the waistband of both his pants and boxers at the same time. He aided you by lifting up his hips lazily as you slipped his clothes off in one smooth movement.

His cock sprang straight at his lower stomach right after you removed his pants, a wet sound following as his pre-cum covered tip slapped against his smooth skin. You nearly drooled at the familiar sight of his thickness, his cock freshly shaven apart for the oddly attractive line of hair starting at his lower stomach all the way down his V-line. He was so long and so fucking hard that you worried for your guts the moment you’d let him slip inside. 

Bucky’s thick length twitched upon his stomach as he watched you sit on your knees to lift your shirt above your head. Once his gaze finally fell on the sight of your breasts perfectly sitting in that satin bra that he’d bought you, he threw his head back into the pillow with a dramatic groan that you couldn’t help but laugh at. 

You left the mattress to undress for merely a few seconds, but you could practically already feel your husband’s lustful gaze from behind. You decided to offer him a show and lower your panties painfully slowly while exaggeratedly bending over as you slipped the pair off your ankles. You kind of regretted not being able to see the look in his eyes once he caught sight of your seeping cunt, but the one that he had one his face once you’d turned around was not deceiving at all. 

“Come here, lemme touch em’” he whispered, his eyes never once leaving your chest as he spoke.

Your eyes didn’t miss the way one of his hands wasn’t at his side, but down to his waist and stroking leisurely at his pulsing cock while he stared hungrily at you. He used his thumb to smooth the pre-cum gathering at the slit of his top, the feeling making him shudder. 

“This night is supposed to be about pleasing you, we can think about me tomorrow.” 

“Your tits are all the more pleasing to me, c’mon darling,”  Bucky forced his bottom lip into the painful grip of his teeth to prevent himself from embarrassingly groaning at the sight of your hips swaying with your every move, and he felt relieved as you moved closer to him finally. 

Once you reached the side of the bed again, you grasped the hand that was sinfully stroking down his hips to place them on your side as you straddled him once more. Bucky would love to complain because of the loss of friction, but he’d be glad to ignore the impatient twitching of his cock because the sight before him is straight up heaven. 

His eyes were centimetres away from your hardened nipples, and he didn’t need a green card for him to engulf your breast into his mouth. You moaned as he twirled his tongue around your sensitive bud, his other hand squeezing the soft flesh of your side as he got lost in the moment. Soon your other breast was to receive the same treatment as he left the other with a wet ‘pop’. You were fully sitting on his torso by then, relishing in the pleasure that he was offering you, under the di guise that it was pleasuring him. Yet it did, somehow. 

“Enough, you big baby,” you laughed as you pulled your upper body away, finally gathering some strength to retreat from his grip. Bucky glared at you half heartedly as if you had taken something precious away from him, and yet, you had. 

He jumped slightly at the sudden feeling of your lips against his skin, dragging wet kisses down his torso to the abs resting perfectly along his stomach. You made sure to suck the skin just right to leave a hickey that would last, even if no one else got to experience the sight of your shirtless husband other than you. You had to mentally fight yourself against the idea of littering his entire chest in bruises, and you almost lost against your own impulses. 

Instead, you continued to drag your lips further and further down until you reached the area that Bucky was so impatiently waiting for you to please. Carefully, you wrapped one of your manicured hands around the base of his cock, holding his thick length up straight so you could take him in your mouth.

Bucky shuddered as he watched you spit onto his cockhead, using your tongue to lick a teasing strip along the side of his length. He threw his head back once more into the pillow in ecstasy once the warm heat of your mouth enveloped him, even if it was just the tip. The way that your tongue slid along his slit and under the fat head of his cock was sinfully stimulating, and with shame did Bucky involuntarily bucky his hips up into your mouth. 

You weren’t necessarily in the mood to take him all the way down your throat, but he was so big that he was damn near it and there was still more length for you to wrap your palm around. The sight was more than filthy, drool beginning to dribble down the side of your mouth as you continued to suck him off like you had little time left. Despite keeping up your steady pace most of the time, you thought that there was no better thing to do but tease your husband from time to time.

You suddenly slowed down your pace, sucking him off in a painfully slow and overstimulating way possible. You relished in the way he whined greedily, his hips bucking into your mouth as you fought off a grin. You were lucky that Bucky was too fucked to even be able to glance down at you, because fuck would he keep that against you for weeks. He’d probably tie you up to the headboard and edge you just about everyday until you couldn’t even gather up the voice to beg anymore. 

Your smile quickly fell as you felt one of your husband’s large hands fall onto the back of your head, his fingers were quick to pull your loose hair into a closed fist. His grip was so tight that it stung your scalp, but the pain was all the more pleasurable. You could tell how much good you were doing to Bucky by the way his eyes were shut tightly, that adorable expression plastered all over his flushed face was an indication that he was close.

As much as you wanted for him to finish inside of you, you decided not to edge the man any further and just let him fuck into your mouth until he was satisfied. Bucky didn’t need any further notice as he continuously buckled into your mouth, a series of whines and groans falling from his mouth as the grip on your hair was unrelenting.

Your previous statement to not take him down your throat was clearly revoked as Bucky pushed your head further down to take him whole, your nose nuzzling against his pelvis as tears gathered by your waterline. The discomfort in your throat was quickly lived down as you felt Bucky’s sloppy thrusts slow down, eventually tasting the salty release flowing down your tongue as you quickly recovered to lap on the underside of his tip, helping him ride out his orgasm. 

His grunts were like heaven to your ears, nothing better than the sound of a man submitting to his wife. After thoroughly cleaning him with the help of your mouth and sinfully swallowing his release, you released his softening cock gently away from your mouth in an attempt to reach the bathroom. 

You barely had the time to stand as you heard the obvious sound of your husband shuffling along the bed. You felt two huge arms argulfing your waist and bringing you back into Bucky’s toned body, making you sit across his lap as he himself sat along the edge of the bed.

“Thought you were tired huh? What happened to that?” you questioned, a hint of genuineness and playfulness lacing your words. You sighed pleasurably as Bucky stuffed his face in the crook of your neck, leaving wet and desirable kisses behind like the tease that he was. Both of his hands were running up the sides of your bare body, leaving goosebumps behind as you wished for nothing more than for him to destroy you with those fingers of his.

One of his hands slowly worked its way downwards towards your inner thighs as he continued to trail kisses down your neck, even moving to your jaw as you threw your head back against him. The sudden feeling of his thick finger against your clit rightfully took you by surprise, urging a whine out of you and not failing to make you wiggle in his grip.

His hold was inescapable, you could never pry the heavy muscles of the mafia member currently holding you down by the waist, but you didn’t want to anyways. Your hand jumped to latch onto the wrist of Bucky’s hand that was currently between your legs, and it didn’t nothing more than boost his ego. 

“Wanna make you feel good too, baby,” he grunted into your neck, pretending like you could comprehend anything as his fingers began lapping at your folds. Within all of your squirming, you could feel how his cock began hardening behind you once more, which you’d gratefully deal with in a moment. The feeling of your ass all pressed up against his growing erection had Bucky pressing your hips further into his. 

You couldn’t help but shiver as your husband ran his fingers up and down your folds, aching for him to stuff his fingers into your aching core already. Your arousal coated his fingers in a thick coat of your slick, allowing him to move faster against you. You had to force yourself to swallow back a moan as the tips of his middle and ring finger poked past your entrance finally. 

Opening your legs slightly to give Bucky more space to work with, you tried to bury yourself impossibly further into his chest as his fingers entered you knuckles deep. Your hand squeezed at his wrist with a force that he ignored you had, but it was still nothing to your mob husband. He’d gone through worse, this was nothing that he couldn’t handle. Felt more like a little scratch compared to the amount of times that he’d gotten grazed by 15 inch blades. 

The room was filled with the filthy sounds of your whines and moans and the wet sound of Bucky pummeling his fingers inside of you. His pace was unrelenting and he barely even gave you a second to breathe. He knew your body by heart, knew which ways to curl his fingers to have you stuttering. He knew at which angle to stuff his fingers to make your toes curl, and he wasn’t afraid to make use of his skills. 

At the feeling of your cunt tightening against his fingers, Bucky couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face. He wanted to help and make you come like you had done so gracefully to him earlier. Though that clearly never came as he felt the hand on his wrist pushing his hand away in a hurry.

“Wait! Shit.” you rushed out, a little louder and a little more panicked than you wanted it to. At the sound of your plea, Bucky’s fingers suddenly came to a stop inside of you, hastily pulling out as you struggled to make up a proper sentence. 

“What’s wrong, love? You’re okay?” the concern filled tone of your husband appeared as he rubbed your sides comfortingly, afraid and wondering if he’d done something to hurt you. Atlast in your fucked out state you couldnt necessarily tell him how he’d made you feel anything but amazing, he allowed you the time to calm down. He littered soft kisses to your cheeks as you recovered, fully aware that he could sometimes get a little too caught up in pleasuring you that he pushed you past you limits. Like that one night that he’d given you 6 dreamy orgasms all in one night all because you claimed that you were craving him. 

“Just- jus’ wanna finish when you’re inside.” you managed to grit out, your chest heaving because you had been dangerously approaching your orgasm, just before ruining everything for yourself. Once you heard Bucky’s short chuckle, you knew that his once worries had now vanished away as he focused on caressing your sides until you were ready. He’d never refuse an offer like this. To decline the sight of your wife bouncing greedily on your cock must be for the saints, but Bucky was nothing more but a sinner. 

With a newfound force, you turned around in Bucky’s lap to flush your chest against his. He groaned as your wet cunt made contact with his twitching length, but he hadn’t even had the time to react as you’d greated his lips in a fiery kiss. None other than the first one, it was yet again a match of tongue dominance won by you. Just that Bucky wasn’t really all that tired anymore, you’d quite literally sucked the weariness out of him earlier. He just craved the sight of your ascendancy tonight. 

Bucky’s tongue was busy with yours but his hands were freely roaming around your body, occasionally gripping onto your ass as he grinded your body against his, trying to find some relief for the raging boner that was currently sitting firmly against his lower stomach. He couldn’t wait to pump you full and watch as it dribbled down his own length while he fucks up inside of you, god were his thoughts running wild. 

His nor your brain had fully acknowledged when Bucky had pulled you both to the middle of the bed, but he did notice the way you’d push him back down flat onto the bed with such gracefulness, forcing your lips apart as you sat down on his thigh. Bucky crooked his neck in a funny angle to get a look at you, but he couldn’t care less of what he looked like at a moment. You looked like a total angel in his eyes, and he couldn’t take his gaze away from you. 

Bucky watched patiently as you kneeled before him, both your knees caging his hips as you lowered your whole body weight on them. His straining cock twitched as you took him in your hand, pumping him once or twice before running your thumb against the slit of his cockhead. A shiver ran down his spine as you sat further onto his lap, bringing his cock to lay against your stomach to show him just about the size difference. It was something that he was used to, but it never failed to make his body react positively. 

He nearly came from the sheer size of his massive cock compared to your smaller body, watching as it reached your belly button from outside of your body. He couldn’t wait until you’d lower down on his cock, watching you squirm as his tip kisses your cervix while he isn’t even buried all the way. You used your hand to drag his fat tip onto your clit, tapping his cockhead against your bundle of nerves and effectively coating him with your slick. 

You finally lowered yourself slowly onto him, immediately feeling him stretch you. Unlike his already big fingers, they felt nothing like the stinging stretch of his dick. Bucky’s hands flew to latch onto your hips, and what you might’ve imagined as an innocent reflex at first turned out to be far from that. You couldn’t have expected him to pull you all the way down onto his length in one movement, but the sudden sting told you that he had in fact done exactly that. 

You were sure that your neighbours from miles away must’ve heard the gut wrenching yell that Bucky had forced out of you, your hands flying to his chest for stability as you tried to recover. All the while he was grinding your hips onto his, slowly thrusting up into you from under. Something you loved about your husband was his neediness and impatience when it came to intimacy, it made you feel so desirable. 

It didn’t take long before you started rolling your hips against his on your own, pushing up against his torso to sit up again. Your dishevelled state had bucky forcing his head back onto the silk-case covered pillow. The movement had your clit rubbing against his pelvis at each roll, and you felt like you were floating with ecstasy.

The position made it as for Bucky to be buried all the way into you, his balls flush against your ass and the faint outline of his cock traced onto your stomach from how deep he was sheathed. Despite claiming that you wanted to take care of Bucky, he could see how the exhaustion was starting to catch up to you. The way your legs trembled from the pleasure and tiredness, he knew that he had to take over. 

His big hands squeezed at your hips, his grip almost bruising your skin as he used it to help you bounce on his cock. He manhandled you like you weighed nothing to him, freely moving you up and down to pleasure the both of you. You could’ve sworn that you could feel every single vein that ran along the length of his cock, alongside the way the slight curve of his dick kept on slamming against that spot inside of you that made you see stars.

Fuck did his body fit yours perfectly like some well assorted puzzle, you could feel your upper body seizing with the sheer amount of satisfaction that ran through your veins. You just couldn't take it anymore, instead deciding to let him take over as you laid down against his chest, your breasts splaying satisfyingly against his torso. 

Bucky wasn’t one to wait, so at the sight of you leaning down on him, he was quick to take over. He still wanted you on top of course, even if it meant that you weren’t dominating anymore. His arms found a home around your lower back, his muscles bulging with his every move. Bucky moved his legs from the laid position that they were currently in, folding his knees up so he could continue to ram into you mercilessly. 

You could’ve honestly written a whole essay about how the new position had you borderline drooling, but a series of stuttered moans was all that you could utter out for the moment. 

“Fuck darling, you’re squeezing me so tight here. Don’t think I can last much longer.” he said like it was a bad thing, asif you could last any longer even though you were currently seconds away from bursting. Bucky found it hard to resist the need to come deep inside of you with the way that you were squeezing around him, his balls full and aching with the urge to release. To say that he was impatient to see you dripping with his release was an understatement, instead it motivated him to slam his hips faster against yours. 

It didn’t take much after that to have your thighs shutting tightly together, body shaking as your orgasm washed over you. A shrill moan caught in your throat as you came, tight cunt contracting impossibly further against Bucky. He wasn’t far behind with his sloppy thrusts as he pushed deep inside of you, filling you fuller than you were before as his balls were pulled flushed against ass.

Bucky grunted as he dumped his load in ropes deep inside your wet cunt, eyes shut closed as he kept his hips moving in tiny thrusts to ride his high. He wished you both could’ve fucked upright infront of a mirror so he could’ve seen the way that his cum was dripping out of you, both of your arousals trickling down his softening cock as he stayed burried inside your heat. 

He wanted nothing more than to finger his release back into you but one look at your spent  figure was enough to take his mind away from the idea. You both laid there regaining your breath for a second before you finally pulled away from him, groaning with discomfort as you felt his softened length leaving your sore hole. The emptiness that you felt after pulling away nearly made you want to beg him to stuff you full of his thickness again, having his curved cockhead slamming that spot you loved so much again. Yet you physically couldn't. 

You didn’t have the stamina that your mafia husband did, and you could already feel the painful aftermath of sex with a big dicked man kicking in. 

You suddenly remembered that you were supposed to take care of your husband, not the other way around. You had vowed to care for him tonight and damn if you wanted to keep your promise real. Though you couldn’t stand much further from the bed without having to hold onto something because damn did he fuck up your ability to use your legs. Your thighs trembled like you’d just ran a marathon, and the sight had you and Bucky stifling out a laugh because of the way he’d fucked you sore. 

Your husband sighed before sitting up, easing the tense muscles of his neck before gathering all of his left energy to meet you by the end of the mattress. He looked like a masterpiece in all of his glory, chiselled body with the mix of your arousal coating his soft dick, running all the way down his toned thighs. 

“Sorry. It was supposed to be me cleaning you up, not the other way around,” his smile fell at the sound of your dejected tone, sounding like you were genuinely sad that you weren’t going to be the one taking care of him. Instead you felt guilty, because he came back home so spent and you wanted nothing more than to help him relax and take care of him. Instead he’d spent half the night fucking you and now he had to carry you to the bathroom. 

“It’s okay darling, I don’t mind really. Plus unlike somebody I can actually make use of my legs.” he joked, coming up from behind you to wrap his arms around your shoulders. His eyes bore through the mirror as he took in your body, baby blue iris filled with adoration as he stared at you like you meant the world to him. And you did. 

Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing downwards onto the mess that dribbled from your cunt and down your legs, wanting undeniably to fuck you more until it became nothing but a creamy mess between your thighs. If you’d allow him tomorrow, he’d be sure to make that become reality. 

“I wanted this night to be about you, I wanted you to be able to relax but of course it ended up with you pounding me sore.” you voiced out your sorrows to your husband, and he didn’t miss the way you tried to soften the self-blow with a slight joke at the end. Though he’d taken none of it, his hands were pulling at your shoulders for you to turn around to face him. 

“It’s okay malyshka we can always relax after this. I’ll take a day off tomorrow and we’ll lay lazily in bed while Steve runs the mob for a day. How’s that sound to you?” his thumb ran loving circles into your cheeks as he held your face in between his huge palms. You couldn’t deny him when he looked at you with those adorable eyes of his, so a silent nod of your head is what he’d received. 

Needless to say that you’d both quickly fallen into slumber once the now clean and more than tired you had made contact with the soft mattress. Limbs all entangled in a mess with the bed sheets, the late wake at 11am was exactly what you’d needed. Needless to say once more, that once you’d agreed to let Bucky fuck you senseless again, he make sure to keep his promise and stuff you full until your thigh became home to nothing else but a frothy mess. 

-

this isn’t proof read because who tf has the time?

[stayxlix]

off the deep end. (07)

~(part seven) the last nail in a shared coffin~

pairing: rebel!felix x reader (f)

genre: non-idol au, post-apocalypse/dystopian au. wc: 20.6k

series rating: 18+ **minors do not interact**

chapter warnings: violent mature themes, explicit sexual content (consensual, unprotected sex, oral sex), nightmares, mentions of murder/death, mentions of parent death, mentions of hunger, oppressive government, fighting, weaponry (knife use, gun use), panic, injury, blood, language, a whole lot lot of angst, please lmk if i missed any!!

a/n: thank you all so much for your patience and continued support, it really does mean the world to mee.<3 any feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs are more appreciated than you know. im so excited to share the next part of this journey with you!! as always, i hope you enjoy.♡♡

series masterlist

"fear and love are like interwoven threads—immutable and bound together by celestial forces. the sun and moon navigate the intricate dance of light and darkness for eternity, echoing the delicate balance between the two emotions that every heart must learn."

Felix had always been able to divide fear into two distinct entities.

The first was immediate, tangible. The kind of fear he’d grown accustomed to like an old, unwelcome acquaintance. The kind that crept beneath his skin when he could no longer ignore hunger’s gnawing ache. When he observed the hollow eyes of his companions after scouring the barren landscape, only to return empty-handed. It was the frigid air that seeped into his bones during long winter nights, the kind that set his pulse racing when footsteps echoed too closely in the darkness. 

The second was deeper, a phantom kind of fear that stained the recesses of his soul. It was a desperate gasp for air in the suffocating grip of hands that devoured the weak. The cool touch of a steel barrel against skin that bore the marks of a merciless world. It was fear in the phantom weight of invisible chains that had once coiled around his neck—chains wielded by demons from a past that clawed relentlessly at the barriers of his sanity.

It was the dread that he would wake up one morning to discover a void where seven—no, eight souls had once stood beside him. To find his humanity stripped away again, replaced by the savage instincts he had fought so hard to overcome. 

The kind of fear that crept into his dreams belonged to the second category.

Nearly six hours had slipped away since the first glimmer of morning light, when you had woken Felix from the nightmare.

"Felix,” your voice—your real voice—not the distorted echo from his nightmare, had called out. Clear and reassuring, summoning him from the depths of his own subconscious. 

“Felix, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

His eyelids shot open, pupils dilating wildly as they struggled to adjust. A sharp gasp pierced the stillness as his body surged forward. Disoriented, his hands instinctively sought you out as he struggled to untangle the threads of the nightmare from reality.

"It's okay,” you whispered, fingers gently gripping his shoulder, "you're safe."

You’re safe, you'd said. And those words, while meant to comfort him, had almost caused Felix to laugh, at the absurdity of the idea that he could ever be tormented by a nightmare involving his own harm.

His head lifted, glossy eyes still clouded with the remnants of fear. Yet, relief began to glimmer within their depths. Because your lips were not stained red, there was no blood-soaked knife clutched in his hand, no imaginary blade pierced through your chest. 

Felix drew in a shuddering breath, reality slowly stitching itself back together. Piece by piece, thread by thread.

You watched him closely, concern dancing in your eyes as you tried to grasp the torment of whatever horrors he had witnessed in his sleep. And then you’d sighed, heavy with affection and a touch of sadness, before shifting closer. 

Your arms enveloped his shoulders and, to his own surprise, Felix didn't resist your touch—though maybe he should have, given what his subconscious had just inflicted upon you. But he couldn’t find the strength to keep his arms from making their way around you in return.

His head dropped to your shoulder, the tension in his muscles easing. Warm touch met cold, trembling skin. The physical contact was grounding—you were grounding. A lifeline anchoring Felix to the reality he so desperately needed to return to. 

He strained to listen until the steady rhythm of your heart found his ear. In the stillness, the sound grew and grew until it was the only thing he heard. Every beat was proof that you were real, breathing and alive. But as the moments stretched Felix began to fear that it might slow, that every beat might be the last before an eternity of silence, that he would look up to find a dagger buried in it once again and—

The air in his lungs became thin, his grip tightened, fingers digging into your back. “I couldn’t do anything," his voice rumbled low, muffled by the fabric of your shoulder. And he didn't even know what he was saying but the words had come out trembling. As if the nightmare had lodged itself in his throat, constricting his vocal cords. 

“It’s okay,” you hushed, your lips grazing his ear in a soft caress. “It’s just a dream, it can't hurt you."

But it's not about me, he thought. It's not about me, it's never been about me. But it remained a silent confession. Because he could not bring himself to tell you the real reason the nightmare had left him so shaken. A quiet truth that hung heavily in the air, tethered to the gruesome image of you that still clung to his mind.

With a gentle tug, you encouraged him to join you in lying back down. Felix hesitated, his gaze falling toward the cave’s entrance—a reminder of the harsh reality waiting outside. But you cupped his cheek and, with a tender smile and the quiet utterance of his name, convinced him to stay. 

Your bodies melded together against the uneven contours of the cave floor. Your fingers threaded through his disheveled hair, tracing the curve of his scalp with each gentle stroke. Another hour might have unfolded as you clung to each other in silence, but it never would have been enough. Time slipped away, ignoring Felix's silent plea for it to slow.

When the rest of the boys began to stir, you shared a hesitant glance. Despite his obvious reluctance for you to withdraw, slowly, gradually, you did. Your fingers left Felix’s hair and his hands slid away from your back. He let you go, eyes following your retreat, and the ache in his chest returned at full force.

As you reclaimed your original spot a few feet away, you stretched, covering a yawn. Your casual expression revealed nothing of the profound moment—the profound night—you had shared with Felix. A night of stolen intimacy, waiting to resurface again in the quiet moments when the world turned its back.

-

As he drove the motorcycle, squinting against the pale brightness, Felix used the sun’s position in the sky to track the passage of time.

Early afternoon, he figured. Maybe eight hours now since the group had abandoned the safety of the cave. And despite the solace he’d found in your touch that morning, a growing shadow of guilt threatened to consume his mind. 

With every hour, the weight of the nightmare's horrors slowly eased, though they never fully vanished. Every time he dared to close his eyes, that agonizing image of you returned—a cruel reminder of the violence he had once been capable of.

The violence that he was still capable of. 

Felix had always recognized his nightmares as a manifestation of his deepest guilt. They had always been sinister—disturbing, and yet, this particular nightmare was unlike any he had faced before. Because he wasn't afraid for himself, he'd never been. But he was terrified for you. Of what he might be capable of doing to you.

Even if Felix knew deep down that he could never intentionally hurt you, there was that persistent voice in his head reminding him of every mistake he'd made, every violent impulse he'd ever had.

His fingers flexed on the motorcycle, feeling as though the handlebars would slip through his grasp at any moment. He squeezed until his knuckled turned white, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. Because Felix was acutely aware of his capacity to lose control. Giving in to that dormant beast lingering just below the surface.

As the nightmare replayed in his mind, Felix couldn’t help but wonder if it had also been a consequence of what he’d said to you that night in the tavern—that you would already be dead if he'd had things his way. Such a careless thing to say considering that, even if he hadn’t known it then, his affection for you had existed in those early moments too.

With every jolt of the motorcycle, Felix fought the nausea that settled in his empty stomach. Caught somewhere between the past and the present, the sensation of your arms around his waist served as a physical reminder of how far he'd come since that conversation. How he'd transformed from someone potentially willing to end your life, to someone committed to protecting it at all costs.

Felix killed the engine and dismounted the bike, muscles rigid from hours of tension. Late afternoon now. Half a day had gone by when the group unanimously agreed that it was time for a break.

As he refueled the bike, its exhaust pipes still crackling with heat, he wondered how long he and Chan were going to ignore the diminishing weight of the fuel containers. But the thought was quickly drowned out by Minho and Changbin—bickering over the now unfolded map.

Felix tuned them out, making note of the way you lingered by his side. He sensed the silent inquiry in your eyes, seeking reassurance about his well-being after this morning’s ordeal. But now wasn’t the place or the time to talk about the nightmare. It was still too heavy, too raw, and to be honest Felix wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to find the words to articulate it all. 

He didn’t even know where to start.

So, despite the solace he found in the quiet strength you exuded, Felix distanced himself from your side. He sought out a flat rock, its cool surface soothing against the back of his neck as he reclined. The setting sun caressed his face, and if he had summoned the courage to close his eyes completely, he thought he might have been able to envision himself back on the rooftop. To the moment Chan had first revealed the plan for the raid—a memory bathed in similar sunlight, when the breeze had carried the scent of a world that felt unrecognizable now.

Felix allowed himself to wonder, only briefly, if he should long for the simplicity of that memory. At a time when he hadn’t felt much of anything at all aside from his love for the seven boys around him. But even that, he had done his best to dull. The numbness had been a shield, but it was a defense he no longer seemed to possess. Because now, every gust of wind seemed to carry the whisper of your name. The moon, a constant observer of his fondest memories and reflections, couldn't even come close to the comfort he found in your embrace. Even the warmth of the sun on his skin could never compare to your touch. Feelings he couldn’t begin to comprehend had taken place of that numbness, battling the darkness that had lingered for far too long.

With a slight tilt of his head, Felix cast a subtle glance in your direction. He found you seated next to Seungmin a short distance away, and he wondered whether you were truly managing the way you’d claimed you were last night. Maybe it was the weariness displayed in the lines of your face, the slight downturn of your lips, the way your shoulders always seemed to carry an invisible weight—things that didn't escape his notice because he understood them all too well. 

Because Felix was beginning to understand you too well, maybe.

After discovering your identity the night of the raid, Felix had done everything he could to convince himself that you were just the daughter of a monster—a pawn in a cruel game. But despite his best efforts, he could never bring himself to see you that way. He'd failed miserably at hating you, he couldn’t even dislike you, and what terrified him most was not just the acknowledgment of his potential to love you, but the possibility that maybe he always had. From the very beginning. From that fateful moment in the alley when your paths had crossed, and your lips had met, and you’d saved his life for the first time.

Of course, he hadn’t known who you were then, he’d had no clue what you might be running from, but he saw the desire to escape it in your eyes. Almost leading Felix to believe that if he'd extended his hand and whispered for you to come with him that night, you would have said yes.

Somewhere nearby, the argument between Minho and Changbin dissipated, fizzling out under the weight of exhaustion or hunger, or the recent encounter with your father's guards—undoubtedly still on everyone's minds.

Felix couldn't help the way his ears perked up when Seungmin filled the silence by engaging you in a conversation about archery, debating the finer points of how to hold a bow. Seungmin—who’d always had a very particular knack for reading the group's dynamics. Whose trust in you was something that hadn't gone unnoticed by Felix, either.

As he immersed himself in the melody of your voice and the subtle accent woven into your speech—how you pronounced words like Minho once had in those first few months after he'd joined the group—Felix allowed his heavy eyes to drift shut.

Even if he'd always been skeptical of it, Felix suddenly found himself clinging to the hope that Chan so fervently believed in—the fragile hope for a better world. And if it really did exist, then he would do anything in his power to make sure you would be there to see it.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had happened—maybe he would try to figure it out some day if he lived long enough—but all he knew for certain was that somewhere along the way, the mere thought of you experiencing harm had become more terrifying to Felix than any of the horrors that had marred his own existence.

And so, he resolved to protect you from the brutality of your world, from the looming threat of the war against your father, and, most importantly, from the darkness that still dwelled within himself.

With a grin, you held the bow aloft. “See? It's all about the grip. If you don't hold it just right, your aim will be completely off."

Seungmin—who you'd quickly come to realize was never one to back down from a challenge—shook his head, streaks of chestnut in his hair catching the sunlight. Rising to his feet, he extended an arm.

“I get that you’ve had official lessons, but you’re missing the point. It's all about intuition and feeling the shot,” he continued as you handed him the bow. “You can have the perfect hold on it any day but if you don't connect with it on a deeper level, you'll never hit the mark.” He mimicked drawing an invisible arrow from the string to emphasize his point.

Intrigued by your banter, Changbin strolled over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I don't know, I think it’s more about the stance," with a nudge, he disrupted Seungmin's balance, causing him to stumble. Changbin reached for the bow, and a smile tugged at your lips as the two began to fight over it.

A gentle breeze swept over you, carrying with it the faintest hint of distant pine, and your attention was immediately drawn away.

A few strides to your left, Felix lay reclined with his hands resting comfortably behind his head. His eyes were closed, raven-dark locks absorbing the sunlight. To anyone who didn't know the circumstances, he would have appeared content. To anyone who didn’t know Felix, he might have appeared relaxed, even.

Yet, you wondered what might be taking place beneath that calm exterior.

Felix had felt unusually distant since that morning. His glazed-over eyes seemed to wander endlessly, in every direction but to you. Something had claimed his thoughts, and you could only hope that whatever it was had nothing to do with the torture that had unfolded in his past.

You watched as he ran a hand through his hair—a habitual gesture for the boy with the freckles and the stars in his eyes. The boy with a narrative of scars on his back and a tapestry of secrets in his soul. Secrets you feared you wouldn't have enough time with him to uncover.

The muscles in his forearms flexed as he sat up, fingertips trailing across the stone beneath them. The memory of those fingers on your skin from the night before sent a tingle down your spine, igniting that familiar heat between your legs..

A small pebble came tumbling down the hillside behind you, landing gently on your outstretched hand. Startled, you glanced over your shoulder to find Minho and Jisung making their way back down the rocky incline. "Nothing as far as we can see," Minho reported.

The absence of your father's guards on the other side offered a momentary respite, but it was a fleeting moment of safety that you were well aware wouldn't last forever.

“Nothing for now," Jisung added, meeting your eyes as if he had tuned into your thoughts.

"We should keep moving," Chan appeared at your side, taking in the surroundings. "The longer we stay in one place, the more vulnerable we become."

Sure..unless the path ahead leads to an even greater danger.

Unless your father was paranoid enough to figure out where you were headed.

If he'd sent guards after you on a more direct route, you wondered if they might make it to Miroh before you. The thought of them lying in wait in anticipation of your arrival stirred up a new, particularly unsettling, concern. But when Chan turned his focus to you, you responded with a firm nod, tucking away your fears to discuss with him later.

-

The days were waning, leaving you to realize that summer had quietly begun to slip away. It didn’t take long for the sun to complete its descent below the jagged horizon, plunging the world into shadows once more.

The scattered rock formations took on menacing shapes—their outlines frequently obscured by passing clouds above. Under the veil of darkness, each turn of the wheels became a gamble, increasing the chances of veering off course or stumbling upon unforeseen obstacles.

Amidst the growing danger, Chan's voice cut through the rhythmic hum of the motorcycle as he called for Felix to slow down.

Felix, however, seemed determined to press forward. His muscles tensed, ignoring Chan's plea as the engine roared defiantly. And you had a feeling it wasn't just the desire to reach your destination that drove him, but a reluctance to stop and rest.

To sleep, perhaps.

"Felix,” you urged, leaning in, "it isn’t safe.”

A sudden acceleration of the bike was his only response. It surged forward as if he were trying to outpace not just your words, but the night itself.

You squeezed his waist, a silent plea for him to listen. "Lix—"

In a single, decisive motion, Felix abruptly yanked the motorcycle to the side of the rugged path. With wide eyes, you watched as he stepped down, his movements reflecting restless energy. As the dust settled, he deliberately avoided meeting your eyes, turning his focus to the rover as it pulled up beside you.

"I'll take first watch," he declared, boots crunching on loose rocks as he left your side.

You’d intended to follow him but Hyunjin was quicker. He leaped down from the rover before it’d even slowed to a stop, darting ahead to catch up with Felix.

You watched as they approached the edge of a cliff that lie straight ahead from where you stood. A frown tugged at your lips as your mind went to the twin rings they wore.

I've known Felix a lot longer than you.

As you considered the unspoken dynamic between them, whatever the hell it might be, a shadow fell over the periphery of your vision.

Jisung slipped beside you, his eyes flitting from you to the two figures now seated at the edge of the cliff.

"I spoke with him earlier," you said, eyes tethered to the outline of Hyunjin’s back. "It didn't exactly go well."

"Sometimes Felix gets like this—"

"Not Felix."

"Oh.." Jisung sighed with understanding, following your gaze to Hyunjin. "Hyunjin is protective, especially when it comes to Felix. It's been a long time since someone new joined our group, and considering your.."

"My background.."

"Yeah..that," Jisung mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. “There's history between those two, but it's mostly things that happened before I found my place in the group."

"When did you join the group, Ji?" you turned to face him, dragging your eyes away from whatever was unfolding at the cliff.

Jisung shrugged. "That is a story for another time," he said, flashing his signature grin. "Promise."

You surveyed him for a moment, sensing layers and layers of depth behind his carefree demeanor. His eyes held a narrative waiting to be told, but it was a chapter he wasn't yet ready to reveal. "I'm holding you to it," you replied, and Jisung's smile grew a little wider.

Devoid of any trees or significant cover, the wind howled through the surrounding space, sweeping up from below the cliff where Hyunjin and Felix remained. An exposed campsite meant that, to avoid the risk of drawing unwanted attention, there would be no warmth from a fire tonight. And so, the blankets were spread in a circle on the cold, uneven ground. Pulled close together for warmth.

You settled in, rummaging through your nearly empty backpack, picking at your nails, brushing the dust from your pants over and over again—anything you could to keep your eyes from straying back to the cliff.

Chan claimed the space to your right, handing over a portion of stale bread that was noticeably smaller than usual—a clear indication of your dwindling supplies. But you accepted with a grateful smile nonetheless, pushing down another concern to discuss with him later.

Too much later though, and you may need to start a list.

Unlike the night before, when adrenaline after the chase from your father's guards had fueled the sharing of memories, tonight carried something different. Animated exchanges had been replaced by contemplative silence as the boys seemed lost in their own thoughts behind heavy-lidded eyes. The exhaustion that had been building throughout the day had finally caught up with them, it seemed. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel it too.

Your head lifted a bit too eagerly to be discreet when the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears. A spark of anticipation flickered within you, only to be extinguished as your eyes landed on Hyunjin.

Hyunjin settled down on Chan's other side, their words too hushed for you to catch the details. Slowly, their whispers melted away, a seamless transition from hushed dialogue to the ambiance of rustling blankets and the occasional creaking of the rover.

Your gaze wandered skyward where the stars blinked in and out of view. You watched them for a while, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to pick out constellations Jisoo had once taught you the names of. Names you had long forgotten, not that it mattered now. Tears pricked at your eyes at the thought of your former best friend, but you didn’t let them fall.

Shifting on your side, you cast a glance at the solitary figure that remained unmoving at the cliff's edge. Moonlight painted his frame in pale shades of silver as he overlooked the expanse below.

The rational part of your mind whispered that you should let him be.

Chan’s body heat would keep you comfortable enough to fall asleep, no doubt about that. And to your other side, Jisung's familiar presence offered an added measure of comfort.

But it was your name Felix had called in his sleep that morning. 

And your heart that had a tendency to rebel against the logic in your mind.

You sat up, mindful not to disturb the sleeping figures around you. The water canteen felt light in your hand as you retrieved it from your bag, quietly making your way to where Felix sat. His head turned in acknowledgment as you approached, and although his expression remained guarded, he shifted to make room for you on the beside him on the rocky outcrop.

It gets easier with time. 

If this was easier than you didn’t want to know what it had been like for him before.

“You should rest. We're safe tonight,” you said through chattering teeth as the frigid earth seeped through the fabric of your clothes.

Daring a cautious glance over the edge of the cliff, the world seemed to disappear. Swallowed by a pitch-black void, the perilous drop was only discernible thanks to scattered dots of flickering light below—tiny beacons of firelight.

Felix shifted, dangling his legs over the edge. “Any one of those fires down there could belong to them."

Them.

The mention of your father's guards stirred up that uneasy feeling in your stomach. Their pursuit would be relentless, safety tonight would never guarantee safety tomorrow. But as you looked to Felix, you knew there was more to it than that. Something had changed since that morning. The distance he'd kept, the guarded look in his eyes—it mirrored the same intensity that gripped him when he'd faced down the man from his past at Yellow Wood.

And it dawned on you that maybe he wasn't referring to your father's guards at all.

You extended a hand, offering him the canteen. "At least drink something if you're going to stay awake all night.”

Felix pressed the cool metal to his lips and took a long, necessary drink before handing it back. “Thanks,” he said, fingers brushing across your own.

As the minutes stretched, the cadence of his breathing created a soothing backdrop. The heat from his body called out to you, a magnetic pull that made sleep even more inviting.

And the next time you opened your eyes, the world had shifted. Your head had found a resting place on his shoulder, your eyes having closed long before the conscious decision to sleep was made.

"You don't have to stay," Felix murmured, a subtle indication that he'd sensed you stir from the drowsy embrace of sleep. His fingers tugged at your jacket, pulling it snug around your neck to fend off the biting cold. "I'm fine, princess,” he added, making your heart flutter at the nickname. “I just don't want to close my eyes right now."

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked quietly, lifting your head from his shoulder.

"Not really. It was just a dream," he said. But his voice carried a defensive edge, leaving no doubt that it was in fact not just a dream.

“We don't have to..But I can tell its bothering you,” your brows raised in gentle invitation, urging him to share the burden.

Felix stilled before letting out a breath, a hint of frustration taking over the exhaustion in his eyes. "Why do you care?" 

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question.

You thought of everything you'd been through—the stolen moments entangled within the danger and chaos, the intimacy you'd shared up to that point.

“I thought it was clear.." you replied, looking away. But as your words hung in the air, doubt crept in. Maybe it hadn't been clear to him that it wasn't only physical for you.

Had you even allowed yourself the chance to fully accept that?

"It's not that simple," he muttered, shifting his gaze back to the distant firelight below. He toyed with the rings adorning his hands, and you tried to ignore which one his fingers gravitated to first.

Vulnerability danced in his expression, and for a heartbeat, the desperate wish that life could indeed be that simple was palpable between you.

Felix reached up to claw through his hair, tugging at the strands. When his eyes finally returned to yours, you realized it wasn't frustration you had seen in them moments ago, but something akin to fear. 

"Felix.."

And Felix winced—he winced at the sound of his name falling from your lips. A subtle movement that might have been imperceptible to most, but painfully evident to you.

“You should go get some sleep,” he stated, jaw tensing with the effort of holding back words begging to be said. The quiet command held a touch of finality, causing a knot to form in your chest.

You took a steadying breath, the crisp night air stinging your lungs.

And maybe you shouldn’t have, but you said, "I care because I see more than the darkness in you, Felix. Those moments from the past that you think define you, they don't. I know you don't see anything good in yourself, but I do."

You set the canteen down beside him with a resounding clang before rising to your feet. "I care because I see someone worth caring for," you sighed. And then, with a slow shake of your head, you cast a final glance over the vast expanse below before turning to walk away.

Had Felix not been broken a very long time ago, your words that night might have shattered him completely. He fought hard to keep his eyes open, determined to avoid the return of the nightmare, but he fought harder against the overwhelming urge to chase after you.

Too many silent hours stretched before him until the sun would rise. Too much time for Felix to wrestle with the echoes of your words—for him to question exactly when he had begun to fall in love with you, and if it really was going to get you killed some day. Leaving him restless and tormented, alone beneath the sprawling canvas of a starlit sky.

The morning unfolded in a haze, draping the landscape in layers of fog that hung low and thick. Changbin had the map spread out on the hood of the rover, tracing the faded lines that marked the outskirts of District 5. "According to this,” he said, “we should be nearing the border of District 4 soon.”

Beside you, Seungmin leaned forward to catch a glimpse for himself. "What do we know about District 4?" he asked.

Changbin disguised any tension in his shoulders with a casual shrug, and it struck you then that you might not be the only one unfamiliar with the outer districts.

Chan tossed an empty supply bag into the back of the rover. "As we go further, we don't stop unless absolutely necessary," he said. And maybe you would've asked him why, if your attention hadn't been drawn to Jeongin at his side. His slender fingers grasped at the frame of the vehicle, strained knuckles betraying his effort to conceal the pain as he noticeably favored his injured foot.

You walked around and dropped an armful of folded blankets into the vehicle, making a mental note to keep an eye on Jeongin.

While the group prepared to continue the journey, the silence between you and Felix pulled at your thoughts, too. You’d hesitated for a moment before climbing onto the motorcycle behind him. His stoic expression, like always, did an exceptional job at masking whatever he was feeling.

Summoning a deep breath, you nudged the thoughts surrounding him to the edges of your mind. The urgency of outrunning the guards, reaching Miroh, an inevitable confrontation with your father some day—there were far more pressing concerns that demanded your focus.

And so, when the motorcycle roared to life you shifted your arms around Felix, intentionally loosening your hold.

If the freckled boy sensed the subtle change, he didn't let it show.

-

The moisture in the air hinted at an impending change.

It wasn't long before thick raindrops began to break free from low-hanging clouds. The motorcycle's wheels fought for traction, skidding on the slick terrain. Puddles formed in the lowest areas as the rain intensified, visibility deteriorating rapidly.

Raindrops pelted Felix's leather jacket as he lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the downpour. Casting a fleeting glance behind, you struggled to discern the faint outline of the rover.

Your head snapped forward again as the bike slipped, threatening to lose balance. With one hand, Felix firmly corrected the course of the motorcycle. His free hand reached out unexpectedly, and you felt the warmth of his touch as he intertwined his fingers with yours. He pulled one of your hands further around his waist, ensuring with subtle pressure that your hold around him was secure.

When he lifted his hand, you maintained the grip, fingers securely entwined.

The rain poured and poured, drenching you both. Yet, steady progress was made. You entered a narrow mountain pass, the landscape unfolding in glimpses as you pressed forward.

Steady progress was made, until the ground beneath you gave way without warning—sending the motorcycle into a sudden descent.

Even with his seasoned reflexes, Felix barely had enough time to react as it plunged downward. The air was stripped from your lungs, a dizzying mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through your veins. Your eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of wind, and you didn't open them again until—with a jarring thud—the motorcycle reached the bottom of the incline.

The impact sent vibrations through your bones, mud spraying in a messy wave as Felix steadied the bike with a foot.

Rain-soaked strands of black hair clung to his forehead when he whipped around to face you, droplets streaming down his face. “Shit are you alright?!” his voice cut through the thunderous pounding of your heart in your ears.

But you hardly registered his words at all.

Your focus was entirely captivated by what lay over his shoulder.

A vast expanse of towering evergreen trees stretched before you. Tall and imposing, they stood like sentinels guarding whatever secrets lie inside from the rest of the world. The branches swayed as if the forest itself was alive, pulsing with energy that seemed to beckon you closer.

You were almost certain that nothing like this had been marked on the map. And it was massive. A beast all its own.

With a scowl, Felix dismounted the bike, boots sinking into the damp soil beneath. As he approached the forest, you turned to survey the steep incline behind you.

The landscape extended high and wide, like a colossal step down in the earth, stretching as far as you could discern through the curtain of rain. As you studied it, the rover appeared at the top. A sudden apparition against the stormy backdrop, the glimmer of its headlights and the silhouettes of the boys appeared as faint outlines.

Blinking against the rain, you took a few steps over to the foot of the incline. As you strained to comprehend Minho and Chan's growing shouts, Felix materialized at your side. His voice joined the chorus in an attempt to shout back however, like them, his words were swallowed by the storm.

Abandoning their efforts to communicate with you and Felix, the boys leaned together to discuss something amongst themselves.

“What are they doing?” you questioned as the rover began to make a cautious retreat from the edge above.

Felix craned his neck, squinting against the rain. "Probably going to find shelter to wait out the storm, I saw a cave entrance not too far back—"

A brilliant streak of lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the entirety of your surroundings in a bluish-white glow. The accompanying crack of thunder tore through the air, the sheer force of the noise making your heart lurch in your chest.

Felix lowered his eyes, a softness creeping into his expression upon discovering your hand clasped tightly onto his sleeve. “If they’re going to wait it out, we'll do the same,” he said, taking your hand.

He led you across the tree line, to a colossal evergreen. Its base was substantial, the lowest branches forming a natural canopy like the skirt of a dress—large enough for both of you to slip underneath. His grip on your hand tightened briefly before pulling away. “I’ll be right back. I need to get the bike."

Reluctantly, you let go of his hand. "It’s just a little rain, princess,” he said softly before darting back out in the direction of the forest’s edge.

Beneath the the sheltering branches of the evergreen, you huddled closer to its trunk. Rough bark dug into your back as you pulled your knees up. Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the earth beneath you.

You shut your eyes—counting the seconds, the breaths.

You thought of a refreshing cave spring echoing with deep laughter, a motorcycle ride underneath the stars. You pictured freckles like constellations, dark eyes reflecting the night sky.

Relief flooded your veins when you looked up to find Felix slipping back beneath the branches.

His shoulder brushed against yours as he sat down beside you with a tired sigh. Stretching his legs out, shadows played on his face as he gazed up through the lattice of pine needles above. “You really don't like storms, do you? You had the same look on your face that night in the tavern.” 

“I’m fine,” you protested, the words coming out sharper than you'd intended.

“So fucking stubborn,” he grumbled under his breath before shrugging out of his jacket. Every flex of his muscles was accentuated by the wet fabric that clung to him.

Not that you'd been staring.

When he draped the jacket over your shoulders, the urge to protest simmered beneath your skin, a lingering effect of your earlier frustration with him. But it was warm, familiar, and for some reason, his scent was more comforting than you'd ever understand.

So, you said nothing. 

Your bent knees found a resting place on his thigh. And beneath the heavy weight of his jacket, the thunder and lightning gradually began to lose their intimidating edge. 

When you crossed your arms for added warmth, your fingers brushed against the handle of your mother’s knife. With a subtle flick, you pulled it out and tossed it into the ground. Your eyes traveled from the gleaming blade to the engravings on the hilt, the dried blood in the crevices. And as you watched the rain wash it away, you were reminded that your father's guards weren't the only thing Felix was running from.

There was a different kind of sinister out there—a malevolence engraved into the scars you'd felt along his back. You'd wielded the knife to free him from one of them, but you weren't naive enough to think that there weren't more out there. 

The mere thought of how many might be hunting him at that very moment sent a spark of something searing up your spine.

Not fear, or sadness, but anger. A raw, primal hatred that surpassed even the disdain you felt for your own father.

“Keep clenching your jaw like that and your teeth are going to shatter,” his deep voice pulled you back from your thoughts. One of his hands found a resting place on your knee. “What’re you thinking about?” Another ominous rumble echoed from somewhere above, and he added, “Aside from the big scary thunder."

You rolled your eyes, sorting through the myriad of thoughts in your head.

Having to relive what you've been through in nightmares.

What I said to you last night.

What we did the night before.

You took a deliberate breath, the scent of rain and earth filling your lungs, and nudged his shoulder with yours. “You first.” 

His head, still resting against the tree, tilted to the side. The way he met your eyes asked, do you really want to know?

When you refused to look away, he sighed. There was a flicker of hesitation in his expression, letting you know he was on the verge of revealing something deeply personal.

“Most of the time," he began, "my memories feel like someone else’s," his throat moved, swallowing down the weight of those memories.

"But there are moments where it all comes back."

Moments. 

Moments, as in those nightmares.

Your next thought slipped past your lips, spurred by genuine concern. “Lix, are you okay? Not just after yesterday morning but..I know you've been through a lot, and..”

"I'm fine, princess," Felix managed a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If you want to know the truth, in a strange way I’m thankful for the nightmares.”

Because I feel like I deserve them. 

The unspoken words were written all over his face. 

You noticed the subtle tremor in his fingers as they began to tap against your knee. You adjusted your position so that you could look. at him. Really look at him.

His dark eyes, pools of endless regret, met yours. And in them you found a well of profound sadness, a lingering ache from wounds that would probably never fully heal.

A delicate touch trailed from his thumb as he brought it up to caress your bottom lip, gently drawing it back. Your breath hitched in response to the intimate contact. A sigh escaped him as he contemplated..something. And then his thumb retreated, leaving behind a tingling trail of longing in its wake. 

"You wouldn't look at me like that, if you knew everything.”

You frowned at his words, at the sudden shift in conversation and the evident self-loathing in his tone.

Before you could come up with a response, his head crashed back against the tree. “When I asked why you care last night, it's because you shouldn’t," he said.

"What do you mean?”

”I mean you shouldn't be worrying about me or my nightmares or any of the shit I carry with me," he answered immediately. "There is so much you don't know about the way I've lived, the things I've done..I am not who you think I am." 

“Then help me understand,” you urged.

But there was a flicker of something in his expression that suggested he didn’t believe he was worth your understanding.

“You can’t,” Felix emphasized. A distant look clouded his eyes, a flash of whatever it was that had crossed his features after the nightmare seemed to resurface. “You grew up with servants to meet your needs while the rest of us bled for every scrap of food and warmth. You can’t understand, y/n. And even if you could, it won't change who I am or what I've done. The blood on my hands will never wash away.” 

For a moment, the only sound was the relentless percussion of rain on the forest floor. Then, you felt something inside you snap. The princess role, the sheltered naivety that had plagued your entire existence—the pressure from pushing it all down was suddenly released under the weight of his words. 

“Is that all you see when you look at me?" your voice was sharp, edged with years of pent-up frustration. "Just a sheltered princess? Do you think that was my choice? You think I’ve never felt pain, Felix? That I haven’t seen things that will haunt me for the rest of my life?”

You shifted, the jacket slipping from your shoulders and dropping to the mud. “And who are you to decide what I can or cannot understand? You of all people should know that there is more to someone than the history they carry.”

Ignoring the bewilderment in his expression, you stood and pushed through the dense branches, pine needles scratching across your face as you stepped into the open forest. Cool droplets splashed across your skin, mingling with the heat that had begun to fill your veins. Your vision blurred with rain and tears that threatened to spill over—the culmination of years spent hidden away, a lifetime of being taught not to care about anything finally starting to unravel.

Footsteps splashed behind you. “Wait—I’m sorry,” Felix pleaded, his hand finding your shoulder with firm, gentle strength. “I didn’t mean to belittle what you’ve been though," he said, stepping in front of you.

He blinked against the falling rain, freckles glistening. "Please, y/n. I see your strength and I see how much we—I need you. And that terrifies me more than anything because—”

He caught himself, choking on the words. The voice in his head told him to let you walk away, just like he had done last night. But Felix was so goddamn tired of acting indifferent to everything around him. Whether it was the lingering tension between him and Hyunjin, the fact that the nightmares had been devouring him for years, or the way he tried to ignore how losing you would obliterate whatever small part of himself he thought might actually be worth something.

He wasn't tired, he was fucking exhausted. And the fatigue of pretending that he wasn't human was killing him.

Maybe it had been for a very, very long time.

And maybe that is why Felix found himself unable to bear it any longer. The accumulation of secrets, and pretense, and hidden emotions, it pushed and it pressed against his chest until it hurt. And it made him want to live—to experience the complete depths of life that he had been depriving himself of for as long as he could remember.

“When I said you were my weakness, princess. I meant it," he confessed, taking a subtle step closer. "There are very bad people chasing me, and they always catch up. They will again, and I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you because of me. The things they will do to you if they find out what you mean to me," he took a steadying breath, "I'm only trying to protect you, because what I feel for you is..”

His throat bobbed, preparing to continue. But before he could, you lifted a finger and gently pressed it against his lips. 

With a feather light touch, you traced a path from his lips to his cheek, to his temple and down his jawline. You stopped to caress the sensitive skin on his neck, as if trying to erase the memories burned there beneath your fingertips. 

You felt his warmth, the rapid beat of his pulse.

And you weren’t entirely sure your own heart was beating when you leaned forward to connect your lips with his.

His breath caught, as if not quite expecting it. He kissed you back, applying a tender pressure against your lips before abruptly pulling away. “If you knew what I am capable of—"

“I don’t care what you have done, Felix,” you interrupted, "I. Don’t. Care," you drowned his protests in another kiss, and his lips tasted like rain and longing and everything you were afraid to lose. "I want you, I want every part of you. And if you choose to share your past with me, although I might not fully comprehend it, it won’t change that."

You pulled back and held his gaze. "I am not afraid of you. Pushing me away won't protect me, and I'm not asking you to change, Felix, but I need you to see me for who I am now. Not the person I was expected to be in that palace. I was so broken and alone, and I don't think I even realized it until I met you. And I don't know who I am yet, but I am figuring it out because of you—because of all of you. So don't take that away from me by telling me that I shouldn't care."

As your words settled in the space between you, you decided that Felix had never looked more human to you than he did in that moment.

A lone droplet slid down his cheek, and when you leaned in to kiss it away, the taste of salt lingered on your lips. Revealing something far more profound.

Before you could react, his hands slid to your waist, warm and possessive as his lips claimed yours. He guided you until your back collided with the bare trunk of a dying tree. "I'm sorry," he whispered, thick accent sending shivers down your spine. "I'm not good at things like this, but I care about you, too. Too much, sweetheart. More than I should." The sincerity in his voice resonated with you. He meant the words—truly meant them. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe. You know that, right?" he added, thumb brushing your cheek.

And you did. You'd felt it in his touch, when he kissed you, the way he looked at you. You nodded, tracing the contours of his face, "I’m yours, Lix."

The words came out quicker than you could register, but you didn't regret them.

Maybe it made you fucking selfish, to crave losing yourself in him when the entire world was perched upon your shoulders, but you didn't regret them.

"You were always mine," Felix breathed, "before we met, before all of this, you were never their princess," he leaned in, pressing his lips to your forehead. "You were always mine.”

And then, Felix kissed you like he was making up for all of the wasted time before you’d met—for all of the time you would lose when fate inevitably ripped you apart. He kissed you like he had been chasing you through every life before this one, and would follow through every one after.

When he ground his hips against yours, the intensity of his desire was evident in the way he murmured your name. A low, rumbling growl escaped his throat, making you acutely aware of the silence around you. The rain had ceased, leaving only the sounds of your heavy breathing and the occasional rustle of branches above.

When you shifted to grant his wandering hands access to your backside, his boot slipped in the mud. Your lips curved into a smile against his as you realized the absurdity of the situation—how ridiculous you must look shivering and drenched in rainwater, wrapped up in each other like this.

"Smooth," you teased.

Felix responded with a subtle shake of his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. Closing his eyes, he groaned softly and pressed his forehead against yours. "I hate this," he said.

You pulled back, your puzzled expression prompting a low chuckle from him.

"I just wish there was somewhere we could go," he clarified, "somewhere warm and dry," he swiped the lingering raindrops from your cheeks.

"Somewhere we could be alone," you added, lifting your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. "Just us."

Felix hummed in agreement. The desire was reflected in his eyes, a shared longing that resonated between you. But the idea of a place where the two of you could exist peacefully, away from the unforgiving grasp of reality, felt like an elusive fantasy that might always be just out of reach.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, Felix's expression gave way to a surge of profound intensity.

"Some day," he dropped his voice, "When all of this is over, I'm going to carry you back into that palace." His lips found the curve of your jaw, trailing a heated path down. "I'm going to take my time with you, princess," he nipped at the sensitive skin on your neck, causing your core to flutter with anticipation. "And then," he whispered, "I'm going to lay the world at your feet."

You held your breath as he brought one of your hands to his chest, spreading your fingers out over his beating heart. "Its yours," he said, "and I don't care what you do with it."

With your palm still pressed against his heart, a quiet realization rippled through your mind.

You might love him.

You might be a fool to think there was any part of you that didn't love Felix. And maybe you were a coward, too. Too hesitant to say the three little words hovering on your tongue, for fear that you might become addicted to how it would feel to hear them back.

Your eyes widened as another realization crossed your mind—the understanding that, in some way, loving Felix might always have been inevitable.

And you wondered if he had known it long before you.

Don't let me love you.

You hesitated, the weight of the promise casting a shadow.

But when Felix leaned in to capture your lips with his, the pull between you was too strong to resist. Something cosmic, two souls irresistibly entwined. And you only hoped he could decipher the silent declaration of your emotions lingering in the spaces between each breath.

The kiss deepened into something desperate. Heated and sensual as your tongues collided. A soft, needy sound escaped your throat when he slipped his hands underneath your shirt, cold rings making you shudder. Your arms tugged around his neck, urging him to press his body closer.

Curling your fingers in his hair, you pulled firmly, because you knew how much he liked it.

"Are you trying to get me to fuck you in the middle of this forest?" he said, stifling a groan when you repeated the action.

You laughed—a small, lighthearted chuckle against his lips. "A forest? Never. I prefer caves, actually."

He let out an amused scoff. "Is that so? I'd think someone of such high status like yourself would be into more sophisticated places..like closets."

Your mouth fell open in mock astonishment, a smile playing on your lips as you remembered that night at Clé. "What the hell were we thinking?"

"I know what I was thinking," he responded, leaning in to press his lips to your neck. "I was thinking that you're fucking irresistible," his breath against your ear made your entire body heat up. “That every time I look at you, I want you wrapped around my cock. That when we're with the guys and one of them looks at your ass," he moved his hands around to give a firm squeeze to your backside. “Or your tits," he brought his hands up to grope at your breasts, making you moan. “I want to fuck your pretty pussy in front of them until you're leaking with my cum."

A chill traveled throughout your entire body, covering your skin in goosebumps.

"Then why don't you?” you purred, “fill me up with your cum, I mean," you clarified. Although something about the idea of Felix taking you while the rest of the boy watched stirred up something in your core that you’d never felt before.

“You know why,” he groaned. His adam's apple bobbed as your hands traced along his belt, fingers grazing the skin just inside his waistband.

One of your hands slowly slid down, and you weren't surprised at all to find his already hardened cock pulsing through his pants. The hiss he let out turned to a weak groan when you tightened your grip. And god there was nothing you wouldn't have given to be alone with him and a fucking bed. You needed to taste him, to feel his heavy length on your tongue, stuffed inside your aching cunt.

He started rocking his hips into you slowly, pressing your back further into the tree. "Princess," he dragged out the word against your neck, sucking at the skin. You whimpered in response, head falling against the tree."Do something for me?" he asked.

"Anything," you managed to say.

"Jump."

And you did. Without hesitation you jumped into his arms, locking your ankles around his waist. Felix's eyes sparkled as he turned, surveying the distance between the two of you and the tree you'd taken shelter underneath earlier.

He began to step—but not toward the tree. No, toward the motorcycle beside it.

He lowered you down gently in front of the handlebars before putting his hands on them, closing you in. You recognized the glazed over look in his eyes, and you thought it might be your favorite look of his.

You knew what it meant, and you needed him too.

When your lips reconnected it was fervent. Wild, and raw, and vulnerable. His hand found its way to your neck, making your pussy throb when he lightly squeezed. And your moans mixed when his crotch rubbed against yours, pushing your ass against the front of the motorcycle.

Felix groaned deeply, trying to focus on you and not the growing throb in his dick when you grabbed his hand and shoved it to that needy spot between your legs.

"Felix," you whined, bucking your hips into his touch, "fuck me, please. I don't care where we are, just fuck me."

There was nothing Felix wouldn't have given for the chance to take his time with you. To have the luxury of time without interruption, where the whole entire world would simply fuck off for a few blissful hours. Days, maybe.

But time had never been very kind to Felix. So, without wasting any more of it, he helped you shove down your pants and underwear.

And then, his knees buckled.

He hit the ground and immediately began kissing your inner thighs, moving his face closer and closer to your cunt. And it was when he tilted his head to the side, stopping to look up at you, that you knew you were fucked. The pleasure was already building in your lower abdomen and he hadn't even put his mouth on your pussy yet.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let out a shaky breath when his tongue finally met your folds, licking a long stripe through them. Felix brought one of your hands to his hair, and you were instantly tangling your fingers in the damp locks. He swiped his tongue in a jagged pattern, brushing his nose against your clit because likes the way it makes you squirm.

He mumbled to himself, something about how good you tasted, before his puffy lips latched on to your clit. You were on the verge of tears, hips jerking when he started sucking on the bundle of nerves, flicking at it with his tongue.

You tightened your grip on his hair, shoving his face against your pussy as your other hand reached for the handlebars behind you, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.

He brought his fingers up and plunged them inside of you with ease, using them to scissor you open as he made out with your cunt.

“C-close,” you stuttered as his tongue dipped into your hole.

He looked up, and the sight of him on his knees with your arousal glistening on his face, was more than enough to send you over the edge.

Your thighs closed around his head, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure ripped through you. You moaned his name, pussy throbbing and clenching around his fingers as you came.

Felix smirked against your core, slowing his pace to help you work through the orgasm.

And then, before you'd even had the chance to open your eyes, you were being flipped around and bent over the handlebars. Felix pressed the palm of his hand on your lower back, forcing your body to lean over it further.

Your eyes widened, mouth watering when you heard the clink of his belt unbuckling.

"Gonna take you like this,” he growled, the words rumbling out from his chest. And you were suddenly very thankful for the bike, because it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Felix shoved his pants down, just enough to reach for his thick cock. "Feel what you do to me baby?" He tapped it against your ass a few times before using the tip to spread your folds, gathering your slick.

"Felix," you gasped, swallowing hard. "Don't be gentle."

"Desperate little slut," he cooed, aligning himself with your dripping entrance. "My desperate little slut. Always so good for me, so wet and ready to take my cock like you were made for it."

Without warning, he slammed into you. The full length of him, so heavy and solid and filling you up so well, had your eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

"Oh," you gasped when he landed a harsh smack to your ass.

"Feels good, huh?" Felix smirked, chuckling lowly when you began to vigorously nod your head in response.

"Move, Lix," you cried, "m-move, please move."

And although he'd like to make you beg just a little bit more, Felix physically couldn't hold back any longer. He grunted as he set a steady rhythm. "Pussy's so good, fucking sucking me in baby," he moaned, pushing you further over the handlebars. He picked up the pace when you told him to, burying his face into your neck and sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin.

You emitted a broken, strangled moan when he tugged your head back by the roots of your hair, brain growing foggy with every drag of his cock along your walls. He drilled into you until his thrusts turned sloppy and irregular. When you started fucking yourself back on his dick, his hips trembled, stuttering into yours.

"Princess," he panted, breath hot against your neck, slowing his pace to try and keep himself from spilling inside of you. And Felix thought it might just be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, when you start to beg for his cum. Whimpering incoherently about how badly you needed him to fill you up with his seed.

"Felix," you cried, feeling your second orgasm building, "feels so fucking good, keep going, keep going, I'm g-gonna—" you whimpered, inhaling sharply as you cum again, tears pricking at your eyes as you cream on his cock.

Felix bit his lip as your walls fluttered around him. His deep moans turned into pretty high-pitched sounds. And he was cursing, words you’d never even heard before, when his hips suddenly stilled.

"Ah, fuck—" he shuddered when he started to spill inside of you. He hurriedly pulled out, wrapping his hand around his pulsating length as he finished in his palm.

When you were coherent and able to feel your limbs again, you turned to look at him.

Felix was panting, chest heaving, as he came down from his own high. His hand was covered in his own sticky release. And you weren't quite sure if it was leftover rain or beads of sweat rolling down his face, but he was beautiful. Lips parted, dark eyes blown wide with pleasure.

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a tired half smile, and it broke something within you.

In that split second, you recognized that you might love him even more than you'd thought. And it was a feeling tainted with a subtle undercurrent of fear—the metaphorical nail in a shared coffin.

Because you're pretty sure it is going to get both of you killed some day.

Imprinted on your skin, Felix's scent mixed seamlessly with the clean breeze that enveloped you upon stepping out from beneath the trees—his warmth a comforting presence at your back.

Something caught your eye, bringing your attention to the top of the incline where the rover had returned, its metallic exterior gleaming.

As you surveyed the narrow drop, a daunting realization began to take hold. The slope stretched on in either direction, leaving no choice but for the boys to make their own descent if you were to reunite.

While you contemplated whether or not the angle might be gradual enough to allow for a cautious descent, Chan's voice rang out from above. “Stay back! We'll come to you!"

Felix cast a worried glance up and down the slope. "It's too steep," his lips tightened into a thin line as the tires inched closer to the edge above.

Charged, electrifying silence filled the air, heightening every detail of your surroundings—the engine's low hum, the rhythmic drip drip drip of water from the branches at your back.

"Maybe they should.." you hesitated, searching for an alternative that didn't exist. But it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because your voice was drowned out by the screeching protests of metal against rock.

With a sudden lurch, the rover initiated its descent.

The first tentative movements sent a cascade of loose rocks tumbling down the slope. The vehicle jerked and swayed in tandem with Chan's adjustments to the wheel, suspension audibly groaning underneath the strain.

Just when it seemed it might conquer the descent unscathed, the air was shattered by a stark crunch as one of the headlights collided with a protruding rock.

The impact sent shockwaves throughout the vehicle, a collective gasp escaping the group as Chan lost control.

In a frantic sequence of events, Minho leaned over, grappling with the wheel to help Chan regain traction. Changbin shot an arm out to grip the open frame, and Jisung buried his head in his hands.

Felix took a shuffling step forward, propelled by instinct to help the boys. Your fingers wrapped around his arm, yanking him back as the rover slammed against solid ground at the bottom of the incline.

The collision resonated through the air, leaving each of you speechless.

Jisung's wide eyes met yours, peering up from beneath the curtain of hair that had fallen into his face at the impact. A disbelieving smile fell across his lips, as if the absurdity of the situation had struck him in that moment. And you couldn't help but return the smile, shaking your head in relief as you acknowledged the collective insanity that had become your reality.

Chan's shoulders slumped and he bowed his head, taking a moment to collect himself. A mere ten seconds passed before he straightened his posture. Stepping down from the vehicle, he crossed his arms over his chest, muttering a curse as his eyes narrowed to the broken headlight.

The rest of the boys disembarked following Chan. Changbin pulled the map from his jacket, taking note of its condition before handing it over to him, and the group gathered around their leader in anticipation.

Chan's brow furrowed in concentration. A moment of disbelief crossed his features before he began to shake his head. "This entire forest isn't even on the map," his eyes lifted to sweep across the endless expanse of trees.

An exchange of looks rippled through the group as you waited for his next words.

"We can waste fuel trying to get around it,” he finally offered, "Or..." his gaze returned to the map.

“Or,” Minho interjected, catching everyone's attention, "we go through it."

The simplicity of his statement held a sense of something bold—a willingness to face the unknown head-on.

The forest did represent the unknown..But it had to end eventually. The fuel was dwindling, every one of you knew it, and wasting it in an attempt to find a way around the forest could be just as dangerous as navigating straight into its heart.

A decision loomed, demanding a choice that balanced the unknown with the practical constraints you faced.

Chan looked to Felix, seeking guidance in the unspoken language they shared. Felix, in turn, redirected his gaze to Hyunjin. The exchange unfolded like a ritual, a pattern the three of them had followed countless times before.

Silent affirmation in the form of a single nod from Felix was all it took for Chan to make the decision. “We go through," he declared.

Jisung cleared his throat, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “It can’t be any worse than what we’ve been through so far, right?”

His attempt at optimism, although appreciated for its intent, was quickly overshadowed by the ominous presence of the trees that loomed behind you.

Changbin squared his shoulders, cocking the heavy weapon in his arms. "Too late to turn back now," he caught your eye, and you nodded in silent agreement along with the rest, his voice echoing endlessly in your mind.

Too late to turn back now.

-

The forest held an ancient energy, a guardian of untold history. The growl of the engines harmonized as they wove cautiously between trees with an undercurrent of something otherworldly, something wild.  

The further the group pressed on, the more it triggered an unexpected wave of discomfort in Felix. His chest tightened as vast horizon was replaced by the suffocating confinement of dense foliage. It brought to light an aspect of himself that he hadn't consciously acknowledged before—how deeply he had come to rely on the open sky and the sense of freedom it provided.

As the familiar feeling of being hunted settled in his bones, his eyes darted anxiously back and forth, scanning for shadows that danced in patterns at the edges of his vision. The words he'd confessed to you about who was chasing him echoed in his thoughts, and he half-expected their figures to materialize from the shadows at any moment—

No.

They couldn't have followed the nine of you out here.

The journey, the logistical challenges it would've taken to track your path through the districts..Not to mention that your group would’ve been long gone by the time they'd realized the fate of the man they'd sent after him at Yellow Wood—the man you'd killed to protect him.

The man whose name was enough to elicit a visceral response from Felix, the scars on his back tingling with every syllable as it resonated through his mind.

"They couldn't have," he muttered under his breath. They couldn't have followed you. They couldn't have.

But what if—

"Felix!" your shout pierced his thoughts, snapping his focus back to the path in front of the motorcycle.

Shit.

The wheels jerked violently as he veered to avoid a large ditch filled with rainwater and mud. The bike danced on the edge of disaster, narrowly avoiding the hidden hazard.

Felix’s eyes widened in realization as he twisted around. “Chan, watch out!” his voice boomed, echoing through the trees, but the warning was futile.

The rover was following far too closely behind.

It's front end plunged first, followed by a moment of suspense before the back wheels followed suit—the mud greedily swallowing them whole.

Despite the churning tires, the vehicle was forced into an abrupt halt. A chorus of frustrated exclamations filled the air, Chan's curses cutting through the loudest as he slammed his hands on the steering wheel in defeat.

You and Felix quickly abandoned the motorcycle, hands pressing onto the muddied surface of the rover. The rest of the boys, excluding Chan and Jeongin, joined you in a synchronized effort to push it out.

Muscles strained, boots sank into the earth, the wheels budged slightly, but despite your collective strength..

Nothing.

Chan unleashed his building frustration by forcefully slamming his foot on the gas pedal once more. The engine responded with a thunderous roar—thick clumps of mud scattering in every direction from the tires, still locked in a futile struggle.

"Chan, stop!" Minho called out, covering his eyes as he stepped back.

Thick sludge splattered across your clothes, adhering to every fiber. You rubbed your eyes to wipe it from your face, and when your vision cleared you realized that the situation had transcended beyond mere inconvenience.

The fading daylight had begun to cast eerie shadows around you. The gravity of your predicament sank in—how utterly alone you were, and it was the first time you thought that might be a bad thing.

Jeongin, confined to the vehicle due to his injured foot, swiveled around to observe the group. He put a hand over his mouth to conceal the sound that escaped his lips. However, what began as a tentative giggle soon evolved, bubbling up from the depths of his chest into hearty laughter. "You guys look awful,” he mused, dimples on full display.

The group exchanged glances, surveying their disheveled appearances.

Hyunjin, in particular, appeared thoroughly offended by his ruined clothing. His disgusted expression only fueled the laughter that had begun to grow around you.

Seungmin protested as Changbin (forcefully) pulled him into a hug, smearing even more mud onto his clothes.

And beside you, Felix's perfect face was seemingly untouched by the mess that adorned the rest of him. It prompted you to swipe some of the mud from your cheek and transfer it to his. The act elicited a surprised, but amused reaction from the freckled boy as the corners of his mouth twitched, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of appreciation for the unexpected playfulness.

Even Chan couldn't stifle a small chuckle as he stole a glance at the group through the rearview mirror.

Surrounded by the laughter of those you had slowly come to trust, you were reminded of what had brought you there in the first place—why it was so important to dismantle your father's oppressive regime for good.

Despite the encroaching night, darkness had yet to fully envelop the surroundings. There was still daylight left. One more challenge was added to the list of those you faced, but there was something about the boys and their resilience that instilled a small sense of hope in you. Making you feel as if their collective strength might just see you through the uncertainties ahead.

And if not, well it was far too late to turn back now.

With the ground unsuitable for spreading blankets, the process of setting camp mainly involved finding patches of drier ground to rest.

You observed the deliberate effort each of the boys made to avoid peering at the rover, the eyesore that it was. Chan was the only one who hadn't left its side, his mind undoubtedly concocting some kind of plan to free it come morning. “Hopefully”, he said to no one in particular as he kicked one of the tires, “we’ll be able to get it out after the mud dries.”

Your fingers fiddled with the laces of your boots, tying them over and over again to divert them from scratching at the drying mud on your skin. With each of you reluctant to waste your precious water supply on a mere rinse, you held on to the possibility that tomorrow's journey might lead you to a stream.

A yearning for the refreshing waters of the cave spring developed within you, intensifying with each passing moment. But it wasn't just the longing for cleanliness that fueled your desire to be back there.

Your eyes darted to Felix, crouched down beside you. Absorbed in concentration, his tongue habitually poked out the side of his mouth as he worked alongside Changbin to start a fire. His dark hair was up, a few strands escaping the confines of the tie to delicately frame his face.

You shook your head, refocusing your on Jeongin seated against a log at the edge of the clearing.

Felix glanced up when you touched his arm gently. His eyes followed your movement as you stood, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots resonating in the quiet surroundings.

The mossy surface of the log pressed against your back as you lowered yourself down next to Jeongin. "How're you holding up?" you asked, eyes trailing back to Felix as he returned to work on the fire.

"Could be worse," Jeongin replied softly. You pursed your lips, a moment of silence passing between you before he spoke again. "Can I be honest?"

"Of course," you said, inviting him to share his thoughts.

His fists clenched, fingers digging into the soggy grass beneath.

"Please don't tell the others," he began, quieting his voice. "But if we can't get it out," he gestured toward the rover, "I'm worried about slowing everyone down. I just don't want to be a burden if we have to continue on foot, you know?"

"Jeongin you are not a burden," you were quick to reply, "and nobody is leaving you behind. Whatever happens, we'll find a way to get to Miroh. All of us."

When he failed to respond, you reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. You turned to meet his eyes, and your stomach dropped.

A film of sweat covered his forehead. His complexion had taken on an unsettling pallor, and you guessed that if you were to press your hand to his forehead, it would be burning hot despite the chill in the air.

You fought to maintain a reassuring smile as your gaze swept across the clearing, landing on Minho. He was engrossed in the meticulous task of inspecting and wiping down the remaining firearms with Jisung.

With silent intensity, you begged him to look up.

The air seemed to still as you waited, sounds of the forest fading. When Minho finally raised his eyes to meet your own, the unspoken plea in your expression was clear.

With quick, fluid movement, he excused himself and made his way over where to you and Jeongin sat.

Minho knelt down in front of Jeongin, breaking the tension with small talk as he carefully unlaced his boot. He gently pulled back the bandages to assess the strain on the wound, and despite the stitches holding together well, the surrounding skin displayed signs of inflammation.

Amidst your focus, a sudden grunt of frustration sliced through the air.

Your eyes followed the source of the disturbance to Changbin and Felix. The duo was still locked in a battle with the damp leaves and twigs that refused to ignite—each failed attempt only deepening their shared frustration as the daylight waned.

You stole one more quick glance at Jeongin’s food before rising to your feet. “We need to find dry wood,” you announced.

But you were immediately caught off guard when the deep, resonant timbre of Felix's voice intertwined with Minho's softer tone as they both volunteered to accompany you.

The unexpectedness of Minho's offer left even Hyunjin standing motionless with raised eyebrows across the clearing.

Felix cleared his throat, maintaining his crouched position next to Changbin. A hesitant glance unfolded between him and Minho before he muttered, “Yeah..you two go.”

Minho got to his feet, seemingly unbothered by the reaction he'd caused. Stepping up to your side, he gestured to the forest behind you. "We're losing daylight."

Obviously.

As he strode past you, heading for the trees, you briefly glanced back to the others.

Felix had already returned to the task of trying to coax a spark from the wet kindling. Chan had found his way around the back of the rover—now absorbed in taking inventory of your remaining supplies. Jisung gave you a meaningful look, motioning with his eyes for you to catch up to Minho..

And so, with a determined breath and nothing to lose, you followed the boy from District 9 into the encroaching twilight.

-

It was as if even the forest held its breath, as if it were sentient and fully aware of the undercurrents of tension between you and Minho.

Silence draped between you, thick and uncomfortable, as Minho guided the way. You glared at the back of his head, making note of the distinctive shade of his hair—gray or perhaps a faded light blue, with grown out roots revealing the natural color underneath.

In District 9, it wasn't uncommon for residents to dye their hair various shades—a symbol of status due to the expense of such indulgences. The gradient of Minho's hair made you wonder just how long he had been away from his home district.

Your home district.

As you considered the shared connection between the two of you, Minho broke the silence. “His foot, its..” 

"I know," you replied.

"Infections can spread fast, especially out here.”

“I know.”

Minho sighed in annoyance, as if holding a conversation with you was some sort of burden. “I didn’t want to discuss it with the others,” he snapped.

And it dawned on you that it wasn't the burden of talking with you, but rather the responsibility of his concern for Jeongin that strained his expression. He didn’t want to discuss it with the others because he didn’t want to worry the others. Choosing to confide in you instead.

“What can we do?” you asked softly, although the answer was already clear.

“Not much,” Minho confirmed, “start a fire, boil water to sterilize it with, and..” 

"Wait," you breathed, without missing the way he tensed at the word.

Cleaning Jeongin's wound would be a temporary measure. It wouldn't heal the infection, but it might prevent it from worsening too quickly. Which would give you the time you needed until you got to Miroh where there might be medical supplies. Antibiotics, if you were lucky.

And if not..

“Look," your eyes caught on a fallen tree with branches that appeared drier than the rest. Relief, albeit a small thread of it, weaved through your senses. You pointed to it and began to cross the distance, Minho falling into step beside you.

Together, you began to break off the dead branches. The brittle material snapped easily underneath your grip, the silence interrupted only by the sharp cracking of wood as you worked. But your fingers stilled when you caught sight of that thin bracelet adorning Minho’s wrist. The trinket glimmered softly in the fading light. Its delicate beauty contrasted sharply with your surroundings, reminding you you once again of the life you had left behind—the privileges and sorrows intertwined in your past.

You studied the intricate design and elegance of that gold piece..so out of place.

Why wear it out here, where its value could mean a death sentence?

Lost in the depths of your thoughts, you didn't notice the pause in Minho's own movement. His fingers wrapped around a branch while his gaze bore into you, even as yours remained fixed on the bracelet.

In that moment, a daring impulse seized you. Screw it, you thought. The seething hatred you held for District 9 and the memories it carried ran deep, yet a peculiar sense of comfort washed over you in the knowledge that Minho might understand in a way that the others couldn’t.

For the briefest instant, you allowed yourself to wonder if perhaps Minho shared the same longing for someone who understood.

Screw it.

“If I hadn’t already known you were from District 9,” you started, “that would confirm it.” You brought your eyes from the bracelet to meet his gaze as you resumed your work, snapping another branch.

Minho’s own eyes tinged with something darker than nostalgia as he let out a dry chuckle. “There's no sob story to it, if thats what you’re wondering. No lost loved one, no tragic incident. It's just a piece of metal.” His tone suggested a desire to seal off the conversation, end it there. But your intuition sensed the unspoken pain behind his words.

“If it doesn’t have any meaning,” you pressed, “then why wear it? Isn't it dangerous? Valuable things like that..I’m sure people would kill for them out here.”

Minho’s eyes flitted away, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue. “It did belong to my mother,” he admitted, “but I don’t wear it for her. She was a cruel women and she probably still is. I have no love for her memory."

His gaze returned to yours, firm and resolute. “I wear it because it reminds me of why I left.”

Minho’s sudden vulnerability left you wondering what had changed between you, brow furrowing. “Yes, my family is from District 9," he continued, “and they live comfortably while so many struggle to survive. This bracelet is a symbol of that privilege, of the divide."

“Sounds a lot like more than just a piece of metal to me,” you mumbled, eyeing him cautiously.

A brief pause suggested Minho had shared as much as he was willing. His gaze swept over you, scrutinizing the details of your disheveled appearance. He took in the worn edges of your clothing and the mud-streaked lines on your face, before his eyes landed at the spot on your neck where Felix's mark had once been.

You pulled your jacket up, raising your eyebrows at him.

What?

Minho let out a puff of air from his nose, a sort of half-laugh, half-scoff. The tension in his forehead slowly relaxed, the sharp angles of his expression softening. “I spent the majority of my life in District 9, closer to the palace than you might think," he revealed, "and I never once caught a glimpse of you. There were rumors of your existence, but nobody ever saw you."

A resigned sigh escaped his lips. “I hated every moment of my life there—the constant surveillance, the price paid by those who dared to step out of line. And I think I’m finally starting to understand how unbearable it must have been for you to be confined within those walls. Unseen, unheard, without any idea of what was out here," he gestured to the surrounding wilderness.

The stillness following his words was disrupted by the involuntary snap of a branch succumbing to the pressure of your grasp. Your mouth dropped and you attempted to conceal the subtle gasp that followed, praying Minho wouldn't be able to discern the astonishment you felt.

As your eyes lifted, preparing to articulate the thoughts still struggling for coherence in your mind, your attention was captured by movement just beyond his shoulder.

Amidst the foliage, a delicate tendril of smoke curled upward, spiraling into the sky. You followed the trail down to the source, where a barely visible chimney revealed itself through the trees—an apparent sign that you weren't as alone as you had once believed.

-

You returned to the campsite cradling a bundle of dry branches in your arms. Felix's face lit up at the sight, however his dark eyebrows raised in silent inquiry when he noticed the expression on your face. He accepted the branches as you handed them over, kneeling down beside him.

"Did something happen?" he asked, following the trajectory of your gaze to where Minho was approaching Chan across the clearing.

“We found a small cottage not too far away," you began, helping him arrange the branches. "We didn't get close enough to see if anyone was inside, but there was smoke coming from the chimney.”

A mixture of curiosity and apprehension took hold of his freckled features as you continued. “If someone lives there, there could be medical supplies or something useful for Jeongin's foot."

His eyes drifted toward Jeongin, now dozing off with his head on Seungmin's shoulder.

"He has a fever, Lix," you added with a note of urgency.

Felix swallowed, grappling with your words. "Let's say they do happen to have what we need," sparks flew from the friction of wood meeting wood beneath his hands. He maintained focus, coaxing the flames into existence. "You think they’ll just hand it over to a group of strangers?"

A brief pause followed before he asserted, "They won’t."

"Then we’ll take it,” you answered plainly. Felix’s eyes widened and you emphasized, “Without hurting them.” 

His eyes sparkled as the first glimmer of flames emerged, heart-shaped lips curving into a smile. “Well would you look at that, princess," he mused, "you might just be one of us after all.”

The weathered stone cottage stood as an oddity against the wild, untamed forest.

The towering pines devoured the moonlight, plunging the surroundings in velvety darkness. Beside, you, Felix moved as if he were part of the shadows themselves—someone who had adapted to the darkness in ways you could only begin to imagine.

The two of you—along with Minho, Chan, and Hyunjin—had dispersed around the cottage to get a better idea of who might be inside.

Its circular windows were devoid of curtains or cover, as if whoever resided within had nothing to hide from prying eyes. Flickering light spilled out into the darkness as the scent of burning firewood filled the air—an indicator of the warmth within those walls.

Each step Felix took was guided by muscle memory—a hunter’s instinct, as he left no trail of his passage behind. Darkness seemed to seep from his eyes to combat the soft moonlight. The lethal gleam behind them whispered of his past deeds, reminding you that he was the survivor of a world in which he had been forced into the role of predator rather than prey.

Felix pivoted without a sound, hands delicately grasping your arms. His eyes softened upon meeting yours, acknowledging the fleeting startle he'd caused you. "Stay here," he whispered, a soft command. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned back toward the cottage.

You watched with bated breath as he approached one of the open windows. His eyes narrowed, catching on something inside, someone, perhaps—

“What the hell is he doing?!” a voice hissed from behind you.

You whirled around, instinctively reaching for your knife.

“Shit, Chan.“

“I said not to get too close,” Chan continued, disregarding the glare you shot him.

Before you could voice your irritation any further, Felix silently returned to your side. His hand made its way to your lower back, a feather-light touch to alert you of his presence. “There’s a man inside. Just one, from what I can tell.”

The sudden crack of a brittle branch underneath a heavy boot had all three of your heads snapping to the left. Minho and Hyunjin emerged from the shadows, their words echoing Felix's earlier revelation about a single man within the confines of the cottage.

"If he's the only one inside, we might be able to explain our situation and ask for help," Chan said.

Felix withdrew his hand from your back, deftly pulling down the bandana that matched each of your own. The fabric slid down the lower half of his face, unveiling tense features. "We don't know who this man is or what he's capable of.” 

“What if he seems hostile or refuses to cooperate?” Hyunjin chimed in. As his slender fingers adjusted the strap across his chest, the metallic clink of the firearm secured to his back punctuated the air.

The tension thickened as Chan took a moment to contemplate the options. His hand fell to his own weapon, subtly tracing the familiar contours. "Maybe we should wait until morning,” he suggested. And the words, like always, came out laden with the weight of responsibility. “People can be unpredictable. If we wait until morning it gives us the advantage of daylight and more time to assess the situation.”

Impatience flickered across Minho's features, his eyebrows drawing together. "We can't afford to wait," he stressed, "Jeongin has a fever and it isn’t going to improve on its own. If we wait until morning, even a few hours, it worsens that much more. And it will just keep escalating until—"

"Alright," Chan conceded, features softening at the mention of the youngest. “If we're going to do this we need to be cautious. Charging in blindly could make things worse, not only for Jeongin but for all of us.” He swallowed hard, eyes traveling across each of your faces.

"So, what's our plan?" you spoke up, highlighting your commitment to whatever course of action they chose.

"What if we should just knock," Chan shrugged, "it's a simple gesture, non-threatening..”

Felix scoffed audibly from beside you, the sound startling a bird into flight from somewhere above. “Knock?" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "we might as well hand over our weapons while we’re at it."

"Paint targets on our foreheads too," Hyunjin muttered.

Chan shot each of them a disapproving glare. His hand instinctively rose, fingers tracing the scar along the bridge of his nose.

Although walking up and knocking on a stranger's door in the middle of the night did seem a bit absurd, you understood the rationale behind Chan's strategy—an attempt to approach the unknown with some semblance of diplomacy before considering more aggressive measures.

"I should do it," you offered, aiming to sound as indifferent as possible despite the quickening thud of your heart in your chest. "I might seem less threatening, and he might be more willing to talk if he sees me alone."

All eyes suddenly turned to you. Felix stiffened, but Minho intervened before he could protest.

"She has a point,” Minho looked to Chan, “given the circumstances, if he thinks she’s a woman alone in the middle of the night he might be more inclined to trust her and offer aide.”

Felix's expression twisted into a deep scowl, blatantly directed at Minho. "Or take advantage of her," his voice dropped to a near growl.

"That's why we'll be right here,” Chan offered.

Felix restrained himself from voicing any further objections, yet the discontent on his face remained visible. He was desperate to help Jeongin, too. He acknowledged the necessity of the plan, understood the logic, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

Hyunjin shifted restlessly. "What if we wait until he goes to sleep?" he said, turning to you, “approaching his doorstep in the middle of the night might raise suspicions."

“So what, you want to break in instead?” you countered.

"It's not like we haven't done it before," Hyunjin snapped.

Your arms crossed as you locked eyes with him in a challenging stare. He gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his golden locks, a self-assured gesture that—as much as you would rather die than admit it—highlighted the way Hyunjin was objectively quite stunning.

As his gaze held yours, there was a slight falter in the sharpness of his stare. Almost hinting that that he had made the suggestion in a discreet attempt to protect you from approaching the man alone.

Almost.

Feeling the weight of the others' eyes shifting between you and Hyunjin, you drew in a breath. "I'll go," you said, addressing Chan. “There’s no way this ends well if we get caught breaking in. If I talk to him, I might at least be able to find out if he has what we need. And if he refuses to help us then we can do what needs to be done for Jeongin.”

Chan nodded. "Talk to him at the doorstep. If things seem off, call for us. We'll be right here, yeah?"

"Just be careful," Felix added quietly from beside you. 

The corners of his eyes creased with worry, but there was trust within them. He reached over to tap on the hilt of your knife, a silent reminder of its presence, and you offered a faint smile in reply.

Aware of the collective gaze fixed on your back, you warily approached the cottage. The sight of Jeongin's fevered state replayed over and over in your mind, propelling every step as you inched closer to the plain, wooden door awaiting your touch.

Lifting a hand, you prepared to rap your knuckles against the weathered surface when an unexpected disruption seized your motion.

Before you could make contact with the door, it began to creak open. The hinges groaned, worn with age, as a sudden brightness flooded out into the night.

Squinting against the intrusion of light, your eyes instinctively dropped to a pair of worn-out leather shoes visible just across the threshold.

“I've been wondering when you lot were finally going to gather the courage to come and talk."

Your head shot up to meet the source of the voice, eyes widening as they settled on the man standing before you. His features were a testament to years spent at the edge of the wilderness. Dark hair, unkempt and graying at the temples, framed a face adorned with a rugged beard. The beard, though not long, carried a battered look, much like the rest of his appearance.

Despite the late hour, there was something peculiar about the way his eyes gleamed, a gaze perpetually attuned to his surroundings. A faint smile played on his lips as he studied your reaction, regarding you with calm curiosity.

Then, in one swift motion, he moved to close the distance between you. You stumbled back, heart drumming a rapid beat in your chest. 

“Come on out!” his voice shattered the night, startling you into a breathless pause. He raised an arm and made a sweeping gesture directed at where the boys were hidden, as if he were inviting them over.

Your mouth fell, the astonishment in your own features reflected by each of the boys as they cautiously emerged from the brush.

The man turned, leaving the door open as he retreated back into the dimly lit interior. "You're lucky you found this place when you did," he said, addressing you over his shoulder.

Hesitant to follow, you lingered in the doorway, absorbing the details of the interior.

Stone walls enclosed the space in a large room, a single hallway extending out of view at the other end. The thatched roof was woven meticulously from bundles of dried straw, forming a gentle slope overhead. A narrow opening ushered smoke from the fireplace into the night sky, and an armchair sat facing the flames, a stack of freshly chopped wood at its feet.

Dry wood.

To your left, a small kitchen area was tucked against the wall. The air inside the cottage was rich with the enticing aroma of something savory bubbling above the rustic stove. It was a scent so captivating that it coaxed you to take a step over the threshold.

As the boys cautiously filtered in behind you, the man settled down at a small table adorned with scattered parchment. His relaxed demeanor made it seem as though he were accustomed to welcoming unexpected, armed guests into his home.

Felix took a deliberate step forward to position himself between the man and the rest of you. His eyes drilled into the stranger, scouring for any sign of ill intent. Despite the absence of a weapon, the way Felix stood made it clear that he didn't need one.

Chan hurriedly moved to join him. His hand found its way to Felix's shoulder, settling on the area where the branded mark lay concealed beneath his clothing—a warning touch. A silent caution to tread carefully.

As Chan visibly grappled with the situation, his mouth opened and closed in a struggle to find the words to start some sort of conversation.

The man chuckled, "You're wondering why I've welcomed you into my home."

The boys stood their ground, but not one of them spoke. They just stared, making you wonder if this was the first time they'd been willingly invited into a stranger's home.

The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You’ve been circling my home for the better part of the night. I figure if you'd wanted to kill me you would have gotten to it by now," he said, eyes flicking to the imposing firearm strapped to Hyunjin's back. "But something tells me you didn't come all this way just for a friendly chat, did you?"

“Actually...Uh, sir,” Chan managed to find his voice, but you cringed a bit at the awkwardness it carried. "What we're looking for are medical supplies."

Minho stepped up. "Something to combat infection or fever," he clarified.

The man leaned back in contemplation. He surveyed each of you individually, eyes alight with amusement as if he found the whole situation mildly entertaining.

When his gaze fell upon you, Felix executed a deliberate shift in position. He planted himself directly in front of you, an unmistakable signal that he was fiercely protective of your well-being.

The man's faint smile morphed into a wry, knowing smirk as he looked Felix up and down. "Medical supplies, huh? You all look fine to me," he remarked.

"It's not for any of us," Chan's voice carried a hint of desperation. He paused to gauge the man's reaction before adding, "It’s for our youngest," likely hoping to evoke some sympathy.

The man arched an eyebrow. “There are more of you?"

Minho nodded, "We are a small group, just trying to survive."

"Survival," the man drew out the word, tasting it. “This is not the first time survival has brought strangers to my home in search of help."

"We don't have much to offer in return, but we are willing to trade," Chan offered.

The man's eyes narrowed, probing for sincerity behind his words. "Your friend must be very important to you," he stated, "but trading is not something I require. As you can see, I have everything I need within these walls.”

His fingers began to tap rhythmically against the arm of his chair, an unsettling sound that filled the air as he weighed the value of whatever he was considering.

"Despite that, I will provide you with what you need," he settled on.

A subtle release of tension spread through the room. Minho's stoic facade betrayed a flicker of relief. Chan allowed his posture to ease ever so slightly, Hyunjin withdrew his hand from the weapon strap across his chest.

Yet, amidst the delicate shift in energy, Felix remained an exception. Unmoved by the apparent relief settling in around him, his taut stance, though not overtly aggressive, showed no signs of relenting.

"Go collect your friend," the man waved a hand at the door, "I will shelter you for the night. You're young, exhausted, and it looks like you've been through quite a lot."

Alarm bells should have been ringing in your head.

The whole situation should have been unnerving. And in several ways, it was. But there was an inexplicable aura surrounding the man. Beneath the sly arrogance that colored his expressions, an undercurrent of compassion emerged. As he spoke, you couldn't help but notice the sadness that flitted across his eyes when he took in your group. There was a depth of profound humanity within those eyes—the kind of empathy you had never witnessed in your father—and it resonated with you.

As Chan started to voice his reservations, the man halted him with a raised hand. “I understand the reluctance to trust a stranger. You're cautious, and rightfully so. I see the weapons you carry, I know that you had the means to storm in here and take what you need, perhaps at my expense. Yet, you opted to knock on my door,” he chuckled lightly, shaking his head, "and that tells me something about each of you. Kindness begets kindness. Your group has demonstrated a courage that not many possess. And for that, I offer my aid.”

A stunned silence enveloped the room.

"Thank you," Chan expressed softly, each syllable carrying the weight of collective relief.

While the boys prepared to leave, your focus lingered on the man. A slight limp accompanied his movement as he stood—the permanent mark of an old injury to his left leg.

Felix glided across your path with a gentle brush to your arm, a silent signal to get the hell out of there. He took the lead, aiming to be the first one outside to ensure that there weren't any potential traps or threats awaiting you beyond the door.

Just as you were about to cross the threshold, something prickled at the edges of your senses. A barely perceptible exhale, too close for comfort, brushed against your ear.

The man's raspy voice came as a hushed whisper, intended for your ears alone. “A loyal guard dog you've got there,” he murmured, jerking his chin toward Felix.

You froze.

The blood in your veins threatened to boil at the comparison of Felix to a dog. But there was no malice in his tone, only a recognition of the connection. Almost as if he were measuring your reaction, trying to elicit a response from you.

And so, you willed that surge of heat to simmer.

Suppressing whatever fiery response had been brewing inside of you, you picked up your pace and stepped out into the night.

The decision to regroup and head back to the cottage had been met with skepticism. But, nine against one felt like decent odds, and the weapons your group possessed seemed to tip the scales in favor of the majority.

Upon re-entering the stone walls, you found the atmosphere had shifted. The man—still a mysterious figure with an unnamed identity—was in the midst of preparing something new over the stove.

Shallow breaths escaped Jeongin's lips as he settled into the armchair. The firelight played upon his features, highlighting the film of glistening sweat on his skin.

"I'm making a remedy from the herbs I've gathered,” the man announced from the kitchen. “This will help reduce his fever and fight the infection. Nature provides us with everything we need, if we know how to use it."

He went on to explain the properties of each ingredient he'd carefully measured and crushed. His words suggested a deep connection to the land and its resources. Everything felt genuine enough, and still, your intuition screamed at you to be cautious. A scowl crept across your face as he periodically glanced to you, his earlier comment about Felix ringing in your mind.

The collective watchfulness of the group intensified as the room filled with the soothing aroma of a fragrant tea. "This will help him," the man stated calmly as he poured a cup.

As he approached Jeongin with the steaming amber liquid, Felix's hands clenched into tight fists. The freckled boy focused intently on Chan, as if he were waiting for some kind of signal to release the restrained energy inside of him. The darkness swirling in his eyes hinted that, at the slightest cue from Chan, he would spring into action without a moment's hesitation.

You swallowed. Hard. When the man extended the cup toward Jeongin's lips, a sudden surge of panic gripped you. "Wait—"

Felix flinched sharply beside you, a ripple of tension coursing through his frame. Hyunjin, startled by your interruption, reached for the firearm still strapped to his back. Changbin took an instinctive step forward, ready to shield if need be.

The room held its breath, each of you caught in the precarious balance between conflict and composure.

The man turned, observing each of your faces. A sigh escaped him. A heavy, pitiful sound. And then, he lifted the cup and took a measured sip, his eyes locking onto yours.

“It is safe," he said after swallowing, "I have brewed this remedy countless times for myself." He held the cup out to you, making room for you to take his place beside Jeongin.

Cradling the cup in your hands, the warmth seeped through your fingertips. Jeongin stirred, eyelashes fluttering against the pale flush of his skin as you stepped up beside the armchair.

Feeling the need for guidance, you thought of Chan. Then, Felix. Jisung, an unpredictable force, lingered in your considerations too.

But when your head lifted, it wasn't Chan, Felix, or Jisung you looked to.

Minho nodded in silent reassurance, and it was all you needed to bring the cup to Jeongin's lips.

After he'd taken the last sip of the remedy, you turned and looked the man dead in the eyes as you pushed the cup back into his hands. "If anything happens to him because of this," you asserted, "I won't hesitate to kill you myself."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Felix's lips twitch upward. And in that subtle expression, you could’ve sworn you detected something that looked a lot like pride.

-

As the night wore on, something incredibly rare began to settle over your group—a blooming sense of trust. The culmination of the day's events, coupled with the comforting atmosphere inside the cottage gradually pulled each of you into a sense of security.

With Jeongin's condition showing signs of stabilizing, Hyunjin and Changbin decided to venture back to the rover to fetch supplies, too wary to leave them out in the open. Leaned against the armchair, Seungmin was first to fall asleep after Jeongin. Minho and Jisung had found solace in each other's presence near the hearth, where the dancing flames bathed their sleeping forms in a subtle glow.

In the midst of it all, Chan had occupied a seat across from the man at the table. They were deep in hushed conversation, discussing matters out of earshot, but the sound of their voices mingling carried an odd sense of security with it.

You found your own sanctuary nestled discreetly in a corner beside Felix. Shielded by miscellaneous objects and shadows, the position rendered you just out of direct eyesight from the two engrossed in conversation at the table.

The firelight played upon the subtle arch of his nose, the gentle curve of his lips, the way his eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. Your hand gravitated toward his, and he responded by entwining his fingers with your own.

"I'll stay up with you," you murmured softly, "wasn't planning on falling asleep tonight anyway."

Felix responded with a soft kiss to your temple before guiding you to lie down with him, finding a more comfortable position. He pulled you into his chest and you raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, glancing to the others. But the freckled boy only grinned as he pulled you closer.

“Sleep,” he murmured softly.

Succumbing to the moment, you laid your head down against his chest, relishing in the comforting beat of his heart.

As his fingers began to trail across your back in soothing circles, you hesitantly draped an arm over his waist, too tired to care about what the others might think—what Hyunjin might think, when he returned to find you like this.

Your mind drifted as you tried to keep the exhaustion at bay.

You imagined waking up to a rooftop bathed in gentle sunlight. You pictured the soft glow of a lantern in a narrow alleyway, reflecting off of sad eyes that carried so much more when they looked to the moon.

The last coherent thing that crossed your mind was the confession you'd been holding back since the moment you'd spent with Felix in the rain.

You might have murmured his name as those three little words resurfaced in your thoughts, but the boundary between wakefulness and dreams blurred.

-

A sudden jolt snapped you back from the brink of sleep, leaving you momentarily disoriented.

Still wrapped in Felix's arms, you anticipated to find him awake when you lifted your head from his chest. However, the features that met your gaze were softened by the gentle embrace of sleep. As your eyes lingered on him, you hoped that he would be granted solace from the nightmares tonight.

You brushed a few strands of hair from his face before sitting up, settling into a watchful position. It couldn't be too much longer now until Hyunjin and Changbin returned.

The rover wasn't that far.

You blinked, trying to regain a hold on your surroundings. As your tired eyes struggled to focus, they fell upon Chan. He now sat leaning against the wall next to the door, a testament to his determination to wait for Hyunjin and Changbin. His eyes were closed, head resting back, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm—likely never intending to succumb to sleep.

A subtle noise caught your attention across the room, where man stood at a small basin in the kitchen, washing the pot he'd used to brew Jeongin's tea. His back was turned to you, the slight limp in his step evident as he shifted on his feet.

Glancing around the cottage, you made note of the various items scattered about. An aged book sat on a small table next to the armchair. Beside it lay an ornate silver necklace, its chain interlaced with dried white flowers that you didn't recognize.

Across from you, a glimmer reflected off of a small chest on a bookshelf, as if it had been purposefully tucked away amongst the clutter.

Your heart skipped a beat as you focused on the lock—at the symbol engraved on it.

So hauntingly familiar..

You squinted.

And then, your heart plummeted. Right down to your stomach.

You were standing before you'd even willed your feet to move, fueled by sheer instinct as your hand found its way to the knife securely strapped to your waistband.

The blade gleamed as you pulled it out. Your footsteps fell light as a whisper on the wooden floor as you approached the man, tightening your grip on the knife's handle to give you some semblance of control.

His hands, still glistening with water, hovered in the air as he twisted his head to acknowledge your presence.

"Why,” you growled, “does that chest bear the symbol of—"

You stiffened as he turned around, wiping his hands on a thin towel. "Sit," he urged, nodding to one of the two chairs positioned around the table.

“No," you lifted the blade and pointed it directly at him, surprised at how steady it was given the tremor coursing through your body. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t—”

"You are correct," he cut you off, "that chest indeed bears the mark of your father's army. But it also carries the weight of my own history."

A chill slithered down your spine as you could physically feel the blood drain from your face. The room swayed around you as you staggered, clutching at the edge of the table to steady yourself.

Despite the shock that painted your expression, the man remained impassive. You stood frozen in place, muscles locked with fear, as he navigated the intimate confines of the cottage to retrieve the small chest from the shelf.

He cradled it in his hands before placing it on the table with deliberate care.

"Sit," he repeated, settling into the chair across from you.

“H-how," you stammered. Your eyes darted over your shoulder to Chan, at the heavy weapon across his lap. But before you could muster the words to call for him, the man spoke again.

“I suspected who you were the moment I saw you standing on my doorstep. Initially, I mistook you for a ghost," he shook his head, voice softening, "the resemblance you bear to her is unmistakable. But it wasn't until this very moment, with that knife in your hand, that I knew for sure."

Without a word, you lowered yourself into the chair across from him.

Pleased with your reaction, the man reached beneath his shirt to reveal a necklace with a dangling key. He used the key to unlock the chest, extracting a worn cloth from within.

The cloth was unraveled to reveal a blade. It was identical to your own in size and shape. Yet, despite the apparent resemblance, the engravings told a different story. Crimson red flowers adorned the handle of the knife in his hand, a stark contrast to the white blossoms etched into your mother’s.

“A lifetime ago," the man cleared his throat, drawing your attention away from the twin blades. "I was a commander in your father's army. But in truth, I was more than that. A confidant, an advisor, and dare I say, his friend. Your father was never entirely sound of mind, even in his youth, but power has a way of magnifying the cracks in one's sanity. ”

He swallowed thickly, as if the following words were difficult to articulate. "I cannot absolve myself either," he confessed, "in the pursuit of my own power and blind loyalty, I too committed unspeakable acts. I followed orders without question, turning a blind eye to the suffering we caused. I assisted your father in making the decisions that stain his hands—decisions that haunt me still.”

"Stop," you croaked. Your chest tightened as you grappled with a rising tide of nausea. And you questioned whether your legs would even hold you if you tried to stand. "How is it even possible that we found you.."

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Fate, my dear, works in mysterious ways," he answered, "and it seems to have conspired to bring you here tonight, to hear my truth."

After a brief pause, he redirected the conversation. "Many years ago, there was a woman, a guide of sorts, known for leading those from the outer districts to District 9 in search of a better life.”

Hira. 

As best as you could, you veiled the flicker of recognition that sparked within you at her mention.

“Your mother was amongst those brought to District 9, to the palace. The moment your father laid eyes on her, he was consumed by a new kind of obsession. Within a week they were married. And the world, entranced by fear of his power, did not dare question it. He bound her to him—not out of love, but in the twisted grip of an obsession with her determination, her beauty, and her strength. Of course, there was also a dire urgency to ensure that his lineage persisted, rooted in the truth that only his bloodline could unlock the secrets of a hidden sanctum nestled deep within in District 2."

"Miroh," you whispered shakily.

He offered a solemn nod. “Your father saw your mother as a means to an end. He stripped away her dreams, her hopes, and caged her spirit. Yet, in the shadowed corridors of the palace, I came to understand her," a wistful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "She was resilient, even in the face of cruelty. During the stolen moments we shared, she taught me about the outer districts and those we had oppressed. Through her, I learned not just about the struggles of these people, but about love, kindness, and hope.”

The sigh he let out carried the weight of a lifetime. The pain and the tenderness in his words echoed as you recognized that these were the most intimate details anyone had ever shared with you about your mother.

"Months later," he continued, "your mother entrusted me with a secret that would alter the course of our lives. I saw the fear in her eyes when she told me she that was pregnant—the fear that your father could pose a threat to the life growing within her. The following morning, duty dictated that I embark on a routine scouting mission in the outer districts. While I was there, my heart drove me to make a harrowing decision," he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "I slit the throats of the guards who had accompanied me. I burned their bodies beyond recognition, and in doing so I faked my own death. I built this cottage and the plan was simple—return for your mother, liberate her from the clutches of your father so that she may raise her child in peace. However, a year elapsed before the circumstances permitted my return. When I finally slipped back into the heart of District 9, under the cloak of darkness, it was only to learn that she had.."

He trailed off, unable to utter the painful conclusion.

Your stomach churned with the deep, unresolved ache tied to the memories of your mother. At the thought of her existence being shrouded in some kind of tragic narrative, and the the crushing realization that you would never know the full truth of her journey because she was gone.

The man's eyes fell to the blade in front of him, fingers tracing the engravings as if seeking solace in their familiar touch. And you didn't even know if you could believe a single word he'd said, but you wondered if he was the one to have given your mother the counterpart.

“I loved her, your mother,” his voice broke. The words hung in the air—dense, and fractured, and he did not look up as he continued.

“I loved her deeply, but in our time spent together I never summoned the courage to tell her those words. I believe she knew it, I know she did, and yet, it haunts me still. It always will. More than anything.”

The sorrow and regret etched on his face told the story of a lifetime's worth of remorse. It was a familiar expression, the same torment you had seen in Felix's eyes countless times before.

You glanced to the freckled boy, his silhouette barely visible in the dying firelight.

And then, another realization struck you. With a tremor of uncertainty in your voice, you turned back to the man. “You and my mother..Did you ever..Is there any chance that you could be my..” the words faltered with the possibility of a truth too profound to fully grasp.

He brought a hand up, rubbing at his face. "I don't know," he shook his head, "your mother and I were together before I left, once. But there is no way to know for certain until you reach Miroh. If you cannot open the lock, if it is my blood that runs through your veins instead of his, then I have damned us all."

The man fixed you with an intense stare. "If he finds you before you reach Miroh,” he quieted his voice to a gravelly whisper, “if he finds you, if the rebellion fails, he will kill them all—“

"I am not afraid of him," you croaked.

"You should be," he warned, "You should be terrified of him. Because he will save that one," he nodded his chin in Felix's direction, "for last. He will draw it out because of the way you look at him. And he will savor it until the bitter end."

His eyes bore into yours, urging you to understand the gravity of his words. "If you love that boy, tell him. Even if you think you may love him, tell him. Before it is too late.”

It was then that you registered the hot tracks of tears on your cheeks.

You were going to be sick.

As the vivid, gut-wrenching image of Felix suffering at the hands of your father seared through your mind, you were going to be sick.

You pushed the chair back, stumbling to your feet.

Desperate to put physical space between yourself and the cruel fate that had been painted before you, you burst outside, gasping for air.

As you doubled over, clutching at your chest, the rhythmic echoes of footsteps reached your ears. There were tears streaming down your cheeks when you turned around to confront the man, ready to demand answers.

But it wasn't his figure that stepped into the dim light seeping from the door.

As Felix took a cautious step forward, the expression he wore told you he had heard everything. Including the very unsettling possibility that your blood might not be the key to Miroh—that the hope every single one of you had clung to might always have been nothing more than just a fragile, fragile illusion.

"What if my blood doesn’t work?” you choked out through tears as he closed the distance between you, the weight of his gaze holding you in place. 

"We don't know for sure yet, okay?”

"Felix," you pleaded his name like there was something he could do. As if he weren't just as helpless as you.

"I will not let anything happen to you," he whispered as his arms enveloped your trembling shoulders. "You're okay. We're okay,"

You shook your head, closing your eyes as Felix gently lifted your chin. "I will not let anyone hurt you," he vowed, traced the path of your tears with his thumbs.

But Felix could sense the panic tightening its grip on you, rendering your breaths shallow and uneven. The ache to alleviate your distress clawed at him. He would've done anything to make it stop. And so, in that vulnerable moment he summoned the courage to articulate the only thing he had left to offer.

“I love you,” he whispered, “I love you, princess. No matter what.”

Felix closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours. He reveled in the feeling of his own admission, and it was something even fear could not outweigh. 

You breathed him in.

You knew this would not last forever with him. Nothing ever does. And you wondered if you will ever be able to accept that, even when you no longer have a choice. 

But in that moment, Felix was there. You extended a hand, and he was warm. He was real, and he felt more like home than anything ever had.

You loved him too, and it was a feeling you did not dare let go.

Part 8 coming soon..

thank you so much for reading<33 if you would like to be added to the taglist please don't hesitate to let me know :)

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[strawberrystepmom]

yami x f!noble reader. post coitus walk down a strange memory lane. suggestive, sex happened. | divider by @cafekitsune, wc 1.3k

“Why do you have that?”

Yami looks up at you from the end of the bed, his arm dangling over the side while he finishes pulling it all the way up. 

“This?” 

He holds up the small linen square he was working on unfolding into a larger square and you nod. 

Furrowing his brows, he shrugs. “Because you gave it to me…?”

The hesitation in his voice brings a small, soft smile to your face. You reach for the handkerchief and he hands it over without so much as a grumble, placing it gently in the center of your palm just as you did for him the day it became his. There would never be any denying this once belonged to you considering your initials and hand embroidery are slightly unraveled yet still stitched in the corner of the fabric. 

More than five years ago, a fresh faced newly minted noblewoman boldly pressed her favor into his hand. He was merely a Magic Knight back then, not yet designated with the honor of Captain. There’s no telling, then or now, what you were attempting to achieve with the move other than to get under his skin but it worked well enough that he has kept the reminder of you in his pocket ever since. 

For a moment, Yami debates asking for it back, simply to keep a piece of something that belongs to him and only him. A secret token of affection he should have parted with but has never quite found himself able to. It has been on battlefields with him. It has traveled deep in his pocket to neighboring countries and towns, up a lava filled mountain and back down. 

There’s history stored in the tidy stitches, even if you weren’t there to see it happen. And there is no longer any way to effectively hide what the insinuation meant to him. 

“Are you satisfied that it’s the genuine article now, your highness?” 

You glance up from the fabric in your hands and toward him, the pinched skin between his brows deepening with every passing second. The incorrect title is enough to indicate that you’ve managed to strike a nerve and the look on his face only solidifies it. Giggling, you lean in and press it into his hand just as you did years ago. 

“Passes my inspection although I wish I could go back and tell the younger me that her stitching needs work.” 

Your thumb lingers against the center of his palm. Yami sighs, aware that a barrage of questions is coming judging solely from the look on your face - those twinkling eyes and that deceptively innocent smirk.

“You’re under no obligation to answer me of course, but if I may, how have you managed to keep something so delicate intact for so long? I didn’t exactly put my best effort into making it a piece to be kept forever.”

Chuckling, he leans back down across the bed on his side. His bare chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, dark strands falling over his face messily. You reach out and push the hair away, exposing gray eyes and sharpened features, the same ones you first found yourself drawn to all those years ago, only slightly different. The breath in his chest stills for a moment when you glance down at him, cheek pressed against your knees which are quilt covered and pulled against your chest.

“Everything alright down there, Captain?”

When the two of you first started sleeping together he confidently assumed he could keep the whole ‘I remember you very fondly from every conversation we’ve ever had, no matter how brief’ situation under wraps. You’ve spent years passing by one another, two ships off to other destinations but sharing the water for enough time to get used to the weather. Only the fortuitous hand of fate can explain how the two of you ended up in the same tavern, on the same night, sending you both on a trail that has led here. 

Shaking his head, he smiles up at you, propping his head up with his fist. “Yup.” Popping the ‘p’ sound, he exhales a heavy sigh. 

What can he say that won’t make him sound either creepy or foolish? It’s not like he has spent years pining over you, he’s too busy for something as nonsensical as that, but he’d be lying if he were to insinuate it has been sitting forgotten in his pocket. There’s a blood stain on the upper left corner from when he wiped his nose with it after a fierce competitor got the best of him up close. It’s slightly discolored, off-white from years of rubbing against the dark leather of his pants. 

“I’ve never seen any reason to get rid of a gift someone else has given me, why would this be any different? Besides, sometimes a man just wants something that reminds him of home when he’s on the road.” 

Smirking, you gradually slide your legs beneath the covers and join him in lying down. Shifting to your side, you keep your hand extended to finger comb his hair back from his face.

“So you’re saying I make you think of home?”

Sukehiro is no stranger to women or their wiles and charms but you have always been somewhat unique compared to your peers. Bolder than most women he’s ever met, the perfect mixture of sharp tongued and soft hearted. Memorable and not just for the admirable beauty that has won you suitors and friends, allies and enemies alike. 

He harrumphs. You giggle in the way that makes the bridge of your nose scrunch, irresistible to a man that hasn’t been able to find a place to store all of that fondness outside of his pants pocket. Reaching toward you, he squeezes your nose gently which makes you laugh and distracts you long enough he doesn’t have to dignify your question with a response. 

Feelings are tricky, after all. It’s why he stays away from them.

“Are you gonna let me clean you up or not?” He asks, remembering why he pulled the kerchief from his pocket to start with. You shimmy closer to him, leaning to press the tip of your nose against his. “I don’t know. Are you going to answer my question or not?”

He peels the quilt back from your body with a smirk, ignoring you completely. You make no moves to actually prevent him from doing so, even staying still and patient when he gently pulls your thighs apart. The handkerchief makes its way between your legs, carefully and tenderly sopping up the mess of your release and his that has left your folds glossy and sticky. 

“Yeah, you do remind me of home. That there’s something worth protecting around here, at the very least.” 

The honesty pierces you and the comfortable quiet in one well aimed shot. An unexpected and slightly awkward laugh leaves you, mouth hanging open and shutting as quickly as possible, visibly taken aback. The corners of your lips twitch and your mind races, struggling to find the right thing to say which is almost unheard of for you. 

“All done.” 

Yami holds out the damp and sticky cloth for your review. Giggling, you scrunch your nose again. He laughs while tossing it on the floor with his clothes, making a mental note to wash it so he doesn’t pull it out of his pocket still crusty. Not that it would be the first time.

He rolls over onto his back, lying down by your side once again. Your hand easily finds its natural home in the strands of hair in front of his face, petting them backward.

“I’m relieved you kept it.” You finally admit, now that you can look into his eyes and say it. “I always wondered what you thought of me doing it in the first place.”

Sighing, he turns his head fully to look at you.

“I’ve never been one to turn down a free gift from a pretty girl. My manners aren’t that bad.”

Tugging on the strands of his hair between your fingers, you laugh and shake your head.

“Go to bed, Yami.” 

He leans in and smiles against your mouth, kissing you.

“After you.”

[eueuphoriaz]

There is this fanfic I read long ago, Dust Dirt and Denial or something. In this fanfic, Hange kept a piece of the scout's green uniform which Levi had bandaged her up in. She kept that dirty cloth with dried blood for many years, until she had to throw it away. But it turns out to be the start of something really beautiful.

I liked that scene, and imagine my shock when I saw this manga panel

This is not an artistic thing. This is clearly Hange tearing off her cape to bandage Levi up. And she has to tear off because Levi would be suffocated if she had used his entire cape to bandage his face.

And the cape Hange wore after that (battle with the Yeagerist, last stand) did not have the tear marks.

I can only guessed that she had exchanged the cape with Levi before they met up with Magath and Pieck. Thereafter, Levi did not put on his cape anymore, because the cape that Hange had on after that did not have those tear marks.

And this lead me to conclude (yes, my thick Levihan lens is on again )

Levi kept that dirty piece of cloth with his dried blood, one that carried with him the memories of a future with Hange they never can have. Imagine that he kept the bloodied piece on his face and the torn off cape, and then stitching them up to form one last piece of Hange's belonging. 😿

[skygoldart]

ETHO S10 COSPLAY

It’s mostly done so here’s the progress

The design:

I created this design using the fandom headcannon that Etho is a fox hybrid and combined that with the Japanese themes this season to make a kitsune hybrid, putting the red accents into the white fur.

The vest

I patterned the vest using plastic wrap and duct tape and then made a mock-up with an old curtain I had laying around.

I got some pink and green fabric (pink to tie in with @basic-amoeba ‘s s10 Joel cosplay) and found some green scraps with a cool ornamental pattern on them to put across the shoulder blades.

Not bad for a first time making an article of clothing by myself.

The mask

I wanted the eye scar to show from a distance so I hand embroidered red thread extending down from where the makeup scar is drawn

The pants were bought for the cosplay but I did sew on some pink ribbons to tie in the pink more into the costume.

The tail and ears!

I have a lot of fun sewing fur projects and tails with patterns are especially fun.

To make a patterned tail, I first draw out the design to scale on a large piece of paper. I then cut out all the pieces that are different colors, labeling which directions the fur goes and what color they are.

I use those pieces as patterns to trace and cut out twice of the fur fabric.

Next, I blanket stitch around all the edges on each side where the fur pattern belongs. Since it’s being hand sewn, not much seam allowance is necessary.

I sew the two pieces together and brush down the fur to check that the pattern is symmetrical.

Since the tail does have a pattern, it requires shaving and trimming around the markings to make them stand out and look sharper.

The difference it makes:

Last few steps involve sewing on a double elastic loop for a belt, then stuffing it.

If I wanted a more stable tail, I would have added a flat base to go against my back and without it, it moves a lot more

The ears are made by tracing out the shape of the ear(unfolded) into fur, lining the inside with a wire and thin eva foam. They are carefully trimmed and then drawn on with a pastel. I forgot to seal with with hairspray so the wig now has some pink patches where the ears go.

To add the markings and tufts, I simply glued red fur patches on and trimmed the fur to match the fur around it. I later added hairspray to shape the tufts and inner ear fur.

Some last details

The headband:

I made the headband using a tube of pink fabric that has been ironed flat with some shaped and painted Eva foam as the headband. I used a dremel to carve the hearts as well as adding scratches and dents for weathering.

Contacts:

I only wear one contact with this cosplay and it is a red mini sclera

This cosplay still has some things to add, but it’s at a good point to show how far it’s come!

[lil-gae-disaster]

This takes place before they get together btw! :3

Also inspiration for this was the message I put in the discord chat yesterday evening because those gay guys are eating my brain

[ @hamalicious-soup @papers-pamphlet @paradox-complex @imobsessedwiththeatre @schnitzelsemmerl @cacaobeans @doodle-bug-nightmares @almaprincess66 @potatosneevees ]

"Truly, Sir, I do not see the necessity of such services when I am well able to do such on my own." Such words were uttered with a laugh by none other than Jonathan Smith, who had the- ill?- fortune of sharing a tent with one peculiar Frederick Kenneth.

The reason for such protests was quite simple; Frederick had insisted on tying his tentmates cravat ever since he had done so once during their shared winter and Jonathans fingers had been too stiff by the cold to do such mundane task for himself. The blond man- of schottish heritage if he had guessed the accents origin right- had offered his services when he had seen the Englishman struggle.

Not only had Frederick been aiding Jonathan with his quite long hair, now he had been insisting on tying the mans cravat for months now, as it was late spring and nearing summer, he had no such necessity for such generous services. And yet, his protests were not genuine.

Such acts made the blue eyed man look at him, genuinely look at him, and Jonathan found he thrived under such given attention.

"Why, I do enjoy such tasks. They are of repetitive nature, much unlike a lot of things in life." Frederick begun to explain. "Such motions are calming, unlike life itself. I find enjoyment in them." He continued while his hands were expertedly repeating such motions, which he had yet to do on himself.

Thus, leaving part of his lightly freckled neck revealed.

Jonathan found fascination in the man before him, especially in the pattern that decorate his cheeks and nose, and now apparently also his neck, but by far lighter than the clear spots of stars on this mans handsome face.

"Much like blacksmithing, I suppose. The motion with the tools are repeated ones. And yet, they bring different results." Jonathan added as Frederick was pulling at the cravat to make it appear as orderly and proper as possible.

Frederick nodded in agreement, but did not add anything further on the topic of blacksmithing, instead opting to speak of his own profession. "You are right, but I had thought more of sewing. The motions are repeated, I cannot switch to another kind of stitch halfway through sewing two pieces of fabric together, and result in similar and yet different works." He said while he was loosening the cravat where it was too tight for Jonathan without the latter having to tell him.

This was what Jonathan appreciated about his tentmate; the slow mornings and the small acts of kindness that have proven to be just as pleasant for Frederick as they are for Jonathan. And such mundane discussions of life and their professions, as if they are two young men, yet unexperienced of life, talking greatly of how they would spend their lives doing what they enjoyed.

It was bizarre for him. Not even a decade ago, he was trapped under his father and fiancé, but now he is here, free, with a profession his family would have never approved of, and in the presence of another man doing tasks that might belong to a housewife. But Jonathan found himself opposing little to none of this arrangement.

Frederick seems to be satisfied with Jonathans cravat now and has taken to straighten his coat, his deep blue eyes never leaving the other man, his lip between his teeth in concentration. "Sir, I would like to ask of you to cease such abuse of your lips for we are provided with enough food for you to not need to eat them." Jonathan asked his tentmate in good humor and genuine concern. Said man let loose of his lip, which is already quite rough to look at, but the Englishman can tell the other mans teeth have not ceased to bite.

Frederick has finished nitpicking everything about Jonathans attire, accompanied with mutters of what he should seek to repair with his own thread and needle he took with him when he had joined, and looked Jonathan in the eyes with his intense gaze.

Oh lord how had Jonathan just wanted to reach to cradle this mans face, to hold all the intense emotions he may portray in his hands and to trace the star-filled nightsky this man was bearing on his face.

He wanted to run his fingers through this mans near golden mess of curls and hair. He wanted to tell him how much he meant to Jonathan and how much he would loathe should Frederick perish in battle or fall victim to the harsh winters.

He wished to make Frederick understand just how dearly he is regarded by many, but mostly he wished to tell Frederick how he felt, he wanted to pour his heart out while gazing into the intense and endless blue that seemed to be this mans eyes. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs just how dearly he regards Frederick, how much this mans existence has kept him afloat when should he be sinking instead.

Frederick is the embodiment of sunshine, and Jonathan is the plants that need such to survive.

Jonathan does not know for how long he was lost in the other mans eternal blue, but he gets thrown out of the daze he finds himself in by Frederick breaking the eye contact, excused with a mutter of "I should move to get ready."

Jonathan nods in agreement, but he stays put. He feels he would leave a part of himself behind in this tent should he leave without his friend. This seems to not bother Frederick, for he is too busy searching his coat and cravat.

Once he had found such- his coat had been hiding under their shared cot and his cravat had made itself a home under Fredericks pillow- he hastily put them on and made a move to leave, but Jonathan halted him.

The blond man looked at him intensely with his eyes reflecting pure confusion. Jonathan said nothing, instead he moved to straighten Fredericks cravat and coat, much like the other man did with him. Perhaps it was just an action of camaraderie between them without any other intentions.

Jonathan did not achieve such a flawless result as Frederick, but yet as he stepped back to allow the man to have his space yet again, Jonathan discovered Frederick watching him wordlessly with a slight rose tint on his cheeks, unable to be hidden by the countless freckles that adored the mans face and seemed to add individuality to the universally human reaction of flattery and care.

Jonathan smiled and it took a great amount of restraint to not let any adoration he may hold for the man show in his eyes.

It seems he should not have reason to worry, since Fredericks only reaction was a darker flush of his cheeks and a hurried exit out of the tent.

Jonathan sighed. What was this game of feelings and friendships they were playing?

The Englishman did not ponder on such further and instead opted to follow his tentmate in a hurry to greet the new day they should be thankful for getting to experience, since death seems inevitable in such times where war is looming over them all, threatening to take their life every moment they spend on the battlefield.

[scara-hater]

HELLO I

AM HERE TO REQUEST

Cyno, Tighnari, Wanderer, and Xiao with a reader who feels lonely when they're gone so they knitted/made a mini plushie of them to hug and coddle with affection everyday

Cause plushies are cute and plushie of your favorite character? I will be gripping that piece of cotton for dear life

Idk if you have a character limit so you can just choose how many and who you want to write for, for this request :))

Anon this is so cute?? Yes yes and yes! Apologies if I misinterpret the request! I also got too excited, so apologies x2 if it seems rushed!

Not proofread! One day I will create a masterpiece when i actually edit my work.

Pt.2! <--

——————————————————————————-

Cyno

You two stay in touch as much as you can, but him being the general Mahamatra keeps your relationship distanced at times. He’s dedicated to his work and everything within the gaps means nothing. With you being the exception, kind of. He tries to make time, but if he views something important, he’ll mutter a quick apology before leaving you to sit around the house alone.

You actually told him that when he is absent, you cuddle a makeshift Cyno instead. You love that thing so much, it never leaves your side. Even when exiting the confines of your home, it is safely secured in your bag. Explaining to him that It’s just comforting, knowing that if the real Cyno can’t be there, at least you have one that stays with you at all times.

But something about that innocent statement, left a wavering feeling in is mind.

after he bid farewell, and was far beyond sight, it lingered in his brain.

You on the other hand, were missing him something fierce. The doll was made out of old materials that belonged to the white haired general, so it made it very soothing when you would hold it to your face. It’s smelled of his freshness, and if you closed your eyes, could imagine him there.

And as the day passes and the sun greets the moon, you grow tired as your eyes can no longer fight your sleep. Now, all that can be heard are your soft snores within the bedroom.

Meanwhile, thousands of meters away, Cyno lay awake. Chewing at the feeling he’s had all day, a doll? Of him? While he finds endearment in that and loves you even more for it, the emotions mixing in his chest sit unlabelled. Rolling to his side he shuts his eyes and awaits to see you in the morning.

And believe me, when he came home and saw you cuddling your dear doll, it hit him like ten million bricks.

He felt guilty.

“Wake up, I want to hold you.”

Tighnari

Told you he’s going to be gone for at most a week and apologized for leaving so suddenly, not forgetting to hug you before he parted ways. Though when he’s gone it feels so quiet. Always resulting in solemn feeling in your chest, you sit around thinking of ways to feel better, until one day it just clicks. make a little fox friend!

You run to your mess of a crafting table and start sewing. With a few stabs and much focused stitch work, you finally have it, your very own fennec fox hybrid! Admiring your accomplishment, you hold the treasure to your chest.

Days past and the mini companion never left your grasp. It sat in your lap as you ate and layed in your arms as you slept, needless to say the doll eased your sadness when Tighnari was gone. It truly helped you through some of those nights he couln’t be with you. And in all honesty? he to misses your company just as much.

Counting down each day until he can nest in-between your body once again, feeling the warmth of your embrace, Archons he’s thankful everything ended early.

Entering the city, putting his work aside and rushing home, he acknowledges the might night return, so he puts in an effort to silently crawl unto the covers without waking you. Now lifting your arm to lay under, only to find something invading his spot. That’s his spot y/n, just what lays in his way?

He picks it up, and upon further insection, it looks exactly like him. It’s a doll.

You really are just the cutest.

Carefully moving it to the side, he then finally shimmy’s into the bed, at last in your hold. Your hands find their place, and he falls asleep, knowing he chose the right mate.

Wanderer

Is often aiding the traveller in their goal of finding their twin. That and tasking in odd jobs around Sumeru, so usually chunks of your day has been dedicated to creating a partner to keep you from feeling empty. And now that it is complete, you can cuddle it as much as you want! Fiddling with it’s nubby hands and tracing it’s rosy cheeks, this was by far the best idea and probably the greatest thing you’ve crafted.

Lone days now accompanied by a tiny wanderer. How cute is that?

“What the hell is that?”

Oh, you didn’t hear him come in, “what, this?” You lift up the dainty thing, “why its you! Just travel size, you’re too big to carry you know?” You joke while he glares at the object. “I can see that, but just why do you have it? Are you going to give that one a consciousness too?” Ahh you see,

he’s jealous.

Putting the doll down, you fold your arms and tell him to look at you “ Are you seriously going to hate on something that was made so horribly? Look at it! If that thing was conscious, it would beg me to turn it back to mere cloth and string.” Pointing at it you continue, “I only made it because when you leave, I do miss you sometimes, is that such a crime?”

Certainly not, he loves it and finds his chest swelling.

“Perhaps not, though I am the only one you should be directing your affections, I too am a doll y/n, or have you forgotten?.” He turns around to escape the ever growing blush reaching his face. Though the tips of his ears are a dead give away.

Xiao

Watches over liyue, that is his priority when it comes to what he does.

And it is hurtful on nights like this one. Today was tiring and draining. Working in a noisy part of the city and interacting with less than enjoyable customers is not what you wanted to deal with. But life goes on, and all you wanted was to see your Adeptus and tell him about how awful today was.

Though, you remind yourself about his duties, and opt for a solution. Taking out your knitting needles, you begin your plan of a replacement Xiao. Harmless and fun. Plus when you succeed, the victory is even greater when you get to cuddle it while sitting down. It’s small and squishable, they both totally have the same vibe. The only difference is, your knitted partner wears a happy smile. Bringing one to your face as well. Oh how you wish he was next to you right now, holding it closer as you caress it’s cheeks with your thumb.

“Did you call me.”

“AH-“ falling of your chair, the squishy mini xiao flies out of your lap and lands on the floor. “Jeez, make some of sound before talking into my ear like that.” Looking his way, you see his gazed locked on the item on the floor. “Uhh, hehe yeah, um- when you’re gone I miss you and stuff so I made it to keep me company.” You say, hoping he didn’t find you terribly weird. Yet, you see him walk over to his mini figure and pick it up, looking over it. And seeing how much effort you put in makes him feeling all tingly.

“Summon me when you feel you want my company y/n, say the word and I’ll be here.” Archons he is so precious, “ I know that, but I don’t want to burden you when there are important matters to attend.” Now that put a pout on Xiao’s face. “you could never burden me.” He takes your hands in his,

“I will never ignore your call.”

Now, on days where you both reside together, two dolls can be seen placed on a shelf next to one another.

Requests open!

[starlitmelanin]

feelings don’t lie | aurélien tchouaméni

pairing - aurélien x fem!reader

word count - 2.1k

warnings - none

summary - he wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his. you didn't know what to call it, what was happening between you, but you liked it.

you had never really believed in fairytales, the whole prince charming thing. it always felt too contrived, too far removed from reality. so when aurélien came into your life, it wasn't some grand gesture or a sweeping romance. it was small moments, little bits and pieces that somehow stitched themselves into something meaningful.

it started in the most unremarkable way. you were both at a party, one of those mind-numbing social obligations that you would rather skip. but you went, because sometimes you have to, and because your friends would drag you out of your cave if you didn't. aurélien was there too, not exactly blending in but not standing out either. just another face in the crowd, until he wasn't.

it was a simple conversation, really. you were standing by the bar, nursing a drink you didn't even like, when he came up beside you. "not a fan of the punch?" he asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

you glanced at him, not really in the mood for small talk, but something in his eyes held your attention. "it's terrible," you replied, and he laughed. it was a good laugh, genuine, and it made you smile despite yourself.

"i'm aurélien," he said, extending a hand.

"y/n," you replied, shaking his hand.

and that was it. no fireworks, no instant connection that made your heart race. just a simple introduction, two people making small talk at a party. but somehow, that night set off a chain of events that neither of you could have predicted.

you started seeing him more often, at parties, gatherings, even randomly at some upscale restaurant. it became a running joke between you two, how you always seemed to bump into each other.

"maybe it's fate," he'd say with a wink, and you'd roll your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.

it wasn't long before you started spending time together outside of those chance encounters. coffee dates, movie nights, lazy afternoons in your apartment. it was all so easy, so natural. you didn't have to pretend or put on a facade. you could just be you, and he could just be him.

and that's where it got confusing. because you liked him, a lot. but it wasn't the all-consuming, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of like. it was softer, gentler. it was the way he made you laugh, the way he listened when you talked, the way he made you feel seen. it was the way he made you feel like you belonged.

but you weren't his, and he wasn't yours. there were no labels, no expectations. just two people enjoying each other's company, no strings attached. it was silly and fragile and good, and you didn't want to ruin it by overthinking.

one evening, you found yourself at his apartment. it was a modest place, not ridiculously fancy but comfortable, lived-in. he was cooking dinner, and you were sitting on the counter, watching him. it was one of those domestic moments that felt oddly intimate, and you couldn't help but wonder what it all meant.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" he asked, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

"nothing," you lied, but he didn't buy it.

"come on, y/n. i know you better than that."

you sighed, playing with some spice container. "i don't know what to call this," you admitted. "what's happening between us."

he paused, looking thoughtful. "does it need a label?"

"i don't know. maybe?"

he placed the lid back over the pot, coming over to stand in front of you. he took your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "do you like what we have?"

"yes," you said without hesitation.

"then let's not worry about labels. let's just enjoy it."

you nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. he was right. why complicate things with labels and definitions? what you had was good, and that was enough.

and so, you continued. there were more coffee dates, more movie nights, more lazy afternoons. there were moments that felt almost like a relationship, but without the pressure. you became each other's confidants, sounding boards, safe spaces.

there were nights when he'd hold you close, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. there were days when you'd tease each other mercilessly, laughing until your sides ached. there were times when words weren't necessary, when just being together was enough.

but there were also moments of doubt. moments when you wondered if he felt the same way you did. moments when you questioned if you were just setting yourself up for heartbreak. because as much as you liked what you had, there was always that nagging thought in the back of your mind: what if it's not enough?

one night, after a particularly long day, you found yourself lying next to him, staring at the ceiling. you could hear his steady breathing, feel the warmth of his body next to yours. you felt safe, content. but there was also that familiar ache, the longing for something more.

"aurélien," you whispered, not wanting to wake him but needing to say it.

"hmm?" he murmured, half-asleep.

"what are we?"

he was silent for a moment, then turned to face you, his eyes soft and sleepy. "we're us," he said simply. "does that need to change?"

you shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "no, it's just... sometimes i wonder."

he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle. "i care about you, y/n. a lot. but i don't want to rush things or put pressure on us. can we just be? for now?"

you nodded, feeling a mixture of confusion and sadness. it wasn't the answer you'd hoped for, but it was honest. and maybe that was enough. for now.

so you stayed. you continued to share your days and nights. you continued to build something, something that apparently didn't need labels to be real.

because in the end, it wasn't about defining what you had, right? it was about the way he made you feel, the way you made him feel. it was about the moments you shared, the memories you created. it was about finding something good in the midst of the chaos.

and maybe, just maybe, that was all that mattered.

or maybe it wasn’t.

days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the rhythm of your connection with aurélien settled into something familiar yet always slightly unpredictable. you both continued navigating your own lives, but there was an unspoken understanding that you'd always find your way back to each other.

one evening, after a particularly grueling day at work, you found yourself at aurélien's door. you hadn't planned on going over, but the need to see him, to be in his presence, was too strong to ignore. you knocked lightly, and when he opened the door, the sight of his smile was enough to make the day's stress melt away.

"hey you," he greeted, pulling you into a hug.

"hey," you sighed into his chest, the scent of his cologne instantly calming your nerves.

"rough day?" he asked, leading you inside.

"you have no idea," you replied, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto his couch. "i just needed to see you."

he sat down beside you, his hand finding yours. "well, you're here now. tell me all about it."

you talked, and he listened. he always listened. it was one of the things you appreciated most about him. he never tried to fix things or offer unsolicited advice; he just let you vent, understanding that sometimes, that's all you needed.

"thanks," you said after a while, your head resting on his shoulder. "for always being here."

"always," he replied softly, kissing the top of your head.

but as the months passed, the lines between this casual, nameless ‘thing’ between you and something slightly more continued to blur. there were moments when you caught him looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. moments when his touch lingered just a bit too long, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you ache for more.

one night, you were both at a friend's birthday party. the atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and music, but all you could focus on was him. he seemed to sense your gaze, his eyes meeting yours from across the room. without a word, he made his way over to you, the crowd parting like the red sea.

"want to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

you found yourselves at a small, quiet location, the night air cool against your skin. you walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the city.

"do you ever think about us?" you asked suddenly, the words escaping before you could stop them.

he stopped, turning to face you. "all the time," he admitted, his eyes searching yours.

"and?" you prompted, your heart pounding in your chest.

"and... i don't want to lose what we have," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "but i also don't want to live with 'what ifs.'"

"what are you saying?" you asked quietly, barely daring to breathe.

he took a step closer, his hand cupping your cheek. "i'm saying that i want to try. i want to see where this can go. but only if you do too."

tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming emotion of the moment. "i do," you said, your voice slightly trembling. "i really do."

his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. it was soft and hesitant at first, as if you were both testing the waters, but it quickly deepened, a year's worth of unspoken feelings pouring out.

when you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's. "so what now?" you asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

"now," he said, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, "we figure it out. together."

and you did.

it wasn't always easy, and there were moments of doubt, but you faced them together. you learned to communicate, to be vulnerable, to trust in what you were building.

the transition from friends to something more wasn't always smooth. there were moments when old habits clashed with new expectations, when you had to remind yourselves that you were in this together. but those moments of tension were always followed by moments of growth, of understanding each other a little better.

you found a balance between the comfort of your friendship and the excitement of your new relationship. you continued to share your lives, but now there was an added layer of intimacy, a deeper connection that made everything feel more profound.

there were lazy sunday mornings spent tangled in each other's arms, quiet evenings cooking dinner together, spontaneous adventures that took you to new places and brought you even closer. every moment, big or small, felt significant because you were sharing it with him.

and through it all, you never lost the feeling that had been there from the beginning—the feeling of belonging. he made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be, and you did the same for him.

one night, as you lay in bed together, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the room, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together. because what you had was no longer something fragile—it was something real, something that would endure.

something that would last.

[1u11ablues]

No Doubts Anymore (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x You) [Dual POV]

WC: Almost 3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Not Beta-read.

Alternate ending where Simon didn't die, as requested by an anon!

Part 1

Deep, almost purple lines had been a permanent feature of your face, now. Where your eyeliner used to go, there are now tear lines extending from the corner of your eyes—a product of sleepless nights and unhealed grief.

Has it been four months now? Five? Hell, half a year? Time heals all wounds, they said, yet you wake up with more pieces tumbling out of your chest every day that sleep decides to grant you mercy.

Simon’s balaclava, all his bloody shirts that he used to wear, they lie pristine where you last kept them. 

In a box, inside the closet.

For you fear the scent of him will disappear with every touch, every kiss upon his belongings.

But sometimes—like tonight—it gets unbearable.

Curled up on the mattress, bedsheets probably moulding in the dryer back when you had the sudden burst of energy to be productive, you took a rationed inhale of the skull balaclava in your arms. 

The position was a pain to maintain. Yet, even that kind of pain was preferable. Maybe if you’re in enough physical pain, angry enough, drunk enough-

You’d said no to Price’s repeated recommendations to see a therapist, because how could he understand?

How could the man ever understand the irrational, undeserved hatred—that you’d tried to tell yourself off for—you had against him for having a hand in Simon’s death?

It was just one of the multiple poisons you’d let into your body. Hatred. Substance. Isolation.

“You’re supposed to get up, love. The bills are stacking up.”

And sometimes, like today, the ghost of him materialised to taunt you with an untouchable form. Sitting on his side of the bed—not even kind enough to make a dip on the mattress to tell you that he’s there—and talking you out of misery.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten something? This is not how you move on.”

“I don’t want to move on! You left. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye- I hate you. With all my heart, I hate you, Simon Riley.”

And, like clockwork, he disappeared into thin air.

***

It is over. He had kept up the ruse, going along with Price’s plan to pronounce several soldiers dead just so he can join a team of spies to infiltrate enemy bases and gather valuable intel.

So he spied, waiting things out until Price gave him the go-ahead to leave, knowing what was waiting for him at home; the state in which he’d left things at.

He didn’t want Price to drop his box onto your lap and let you know that he was dead. Because what use would it be for him to fight against hell, to keep the breath in his throat if it weren’t for the sake of coming home to your arms?

Still, he relented. And, for it to work,, he had to rid himself of every trace of you, just so there would be no connection linking him to his one and only pressure point.

But it’s over now, and God, he has a lifetime of apologising to do.

As soon as he reached his quarters, he knelt by the mattress he’d slept on many a night that he wasn’t able to spend besides you. He lifted it up, and under it—if one knows where to look—was a stitch where he’d taken a drag of his combat knife to before his mission, hid one item of yours he wasn’t strong enough to burn, and meticulously threaded the hole back together.

This time, his slice met with less resistance. He reached into the fillings and felt around, and, there-

He pulled out the glossy picture of you he used to keep in his wallet and brought with him to everywhere he could go. 

He got it from the time he’d taken you out on the walk in mid-autumn, letting you pester him to try one of those seasonal drinks he used to care less about. There’s a photo booth right out of the cafe and, of course, you pulled him into it and took so many pictures he’d gone half-blind, but this picture wasn’t from that, no. When you were ordering the drinks, he came back out to the booth because he noticed there was an option to print his own picture from his phone. 

He did his best to figure out how the fuck was he to connect his phone to sync up his gallery to it, but it worked eventually.

That damned machine ate almost thirty pounds off his wallet to print out his favourite pictures of you.

One where you were petting a dog. One where you were biting into a caramel apple. One where you had the most ridiculous foam mustache. And this one-

Where you were asleep, right next to him. An image of peace that he regrets not being able to bring you more.

Instinctually, he brought the picture to his chest, right where his heart still beat. 

He’s coming home and making sure he treats you well for the rest of his life.

***

When he reached the flat, his spirit deflated, realising that it was empty.

Well, at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. It was all dark, quiet. There was nothing that could indicate life within the walls of your home, until he heard soft, inconsistent sniffles behind the door, getting fainter and fainter the more you moved away from it.

Even though the key was in his hand, he figured it would be most sensible to knock. After all, you were under the impression that he was dead up until three days ago, when Price had hopefully relayed the actual news to you, giving you ample time to react.

Three classic knocks. No answer.

Another three. The sniffles had died down. Were you asleep?

After about five minutes of waiting, he finally decided to use the front door key. 

It’s late, he thought, and you were probably comfortably sleeping.

Like he noticed from outside, the darkness bathed the entire space. Save for the dim glow from the battery-powered LED snow globe that doubled as your nightlight—signs that you were awake were minimal.

I’ll just crawl into bed and hold her, he thought, until an unpleasant smell wafted from the kitchenette.

The sequences of what greeted him? A miserable discovery.

Overflowing bins, unwashed plates. Spoiled food leaking out of the refrigerator and a full load of clothes were still in the dryer.

In truth, Simon had a feeling you’d fall into depression a week or two—a month maximum—before you moved on from his ‘death.’

It had been a year. Has this been your year? Falling into unkemptness when he never knew you to love clutter?

“Love?” He called out, softly, just in case you were really asleep. He tossed his belongings on the sofa unceremoniously—where he put his belongings were the last thing on his mind at the moment—before making his way to the bedroom.

The sight shushed his brain to a ringing silence.

In the middle of the room was the box of his military belongings, opened, its cover flapping against the opening at every oscillation of the standing fan in the corner of the room.

Two things were making sounds at that moment. The fan, supposedly comfortable white noise now an attack to his senses; you, struggling to get a breath in as you cried, hair matted and red sores visible on the sides of your hip.

“Fuck me- Love-” he immediately moved up to the side of the bed. You were facing the other way, curled up and hugging something close to your chest.

“It’s me, love, I’m back, I’m sorry,” words stumble out of his mouth in wasteful attempts. Not even managing to elicit a reaction out of you.

Hell, it took him almost a full five minutes of apologising before you even turned back to look at him.

And the first words that had come out of your lips?

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

***

Again, the vision of him came to torment you. 

What is it this time? To tell you to air the room out? To drink more water?

Again, you tell him the words that would normally make him disappear.

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

It was like a spell that you had used to stop unwanted hallucinations—or so you thought. They always come back and it takes sleeping to finally stop some of the visions.

This one didn’t seem to budge. In fact, it answered! Maybe you need to take up Price’s offer for professional help.

“You don’t mean that, darling…” he spoke, face absent of the non-expression you were used to seeing in the figment of him that continues to visit you.

Of course, you don’t mean it. But how else would you deal with the fact that you’re slowly losing your mind? How else are you going to attempt to move-

The touch on your face is warm. Textured.

You can’t remember the last time you dreamt about being touched like that again, his hands brushing hair away from your face, and this time, oh, how cruel is it for it to feel this real?

How cruel, how evil?

With fresh tears and wobbly lips—your attempt at trying to hold on from simply breaking down—you whispered, “You never gave me the chance to say goodbye. Don’t you love me enough to even give me that, Simon? Am I not worth a single glance back, when we fought, when I asked you if the mission was more important than your life? Than us?”

The fight, your last memory of him, was unfortunately always the fight. 

When you were uselessly clinging to him to not go because your inkling was proved true—it wasn’t a mission that he’ll come back from.

Even knowing that, he kept it to himself. You were to read and interpret his facial expressions and body language yourself, coming to your own realisation that he was given a death mission.

“I hate you,” you say again, “I don’t think I will be able to move on from you. Go away, please. Don’t haunt me anymore.”

Turning your back on him, the silence tells you that the vision had dissipated. A deep sense of regret fills you, intermingling with loss and guilt that tasted like bile in your throat.

You didn’t mean that; you didn’t mean to be mean. Maybe if you turn around and apologise, it could help ease the process. Maybe, maybe-

His sad eyes still stared down at you. It didn’t work.

Where his arms rested, the mattress dented.

“Do you mean it? Have I returned to find you hating me?”

***

He didn’t know if you’d even let him touch you, so his arms rested on the uncovered mattress and hoped for the best.

It sounded like you’ve developed venom for him. Rightfully so, given the way you ended things before he went off on the year-long mission. 

Simon was not good at that, the talking part of a relationship. Despite how he presents himself, he still stuttered over his words and lost his speech when being in love occupied a big part of his brain—rendering any sort of poetic affection null. His body speaks for him most of the time.

“Am I losing my mind, or have the ghost of you taken on a physical form?”

The confusion in your face was apparently enough to put a pause on the sobs. You hadn’t an idea how relieved he is at the lack of them. Never in his life would he want to make you cry as hard again, if he could help it.

“It’s me, sweetheart. I’m back. It was a covert mission…haven’t Price informed you?”

He didn’t expect a ‘welcome home’ with cakes and a banner—but he admitted, the least he wished for was a hug. A tight, long hug, followed by a night of holding each other until his body couldn’t physically take it anymore.

Has he gone and ruined it?

“Price?” Your hands thud against the bed to feel for your phone. It had been days since you last checked it, or more. Time moves differently when you’re busy nursing loss and heartbreak. Realising the device was nowhere close, you finally got off the bed—after spending a consecutive day and a half in it—to scan the nearest floor and then-

Ah, there it is. You picked it up and unlocked the screen. 

Your eyes bulged as the notifications rolled through the notifications bar, Price’s name consisting of the majority of it.

Simon trails your every movement. After his question, it took you several pauses to think, but almost a quarter of the time to look for your phone, which had undoubtedly dropped somewhere on the floor throughout the day.

His breath stills as he watched your eyes increasingly widen reading the messages. Messages that should’ve reached you at least a couple days ago, that were to prepare you for his arrival.

“Simon?” You called out as you read through each of Price’s explanations and apology. There was another number that tried to reach you, too. Also, a series of apologies—this time, more intimate.

“I’m here,” he answered. God, he wanted to hold you so, so badly. But he can wait. He waited for a year with nothing but the memories and dreams of you to keep him going. He can wait the few moments more that it took you to decide on a path.

“Simon, is- is that really you? I’m not imagining things? I swear, if it’s my head again, this is really cruel-“

“It’s me, love. It’s really me. Not a hallucination. I’m home.”

You look at the figure on the other side of the bed. Slowly, you climbed onto the mattress, scooting ever so hesitantly with your knees to the middle of the queen sized-bed, hands reaching out half-expecting your touch to go through him.

Damn it, he couldn’t wait. When you got onto the bed, his body rushed to mirror the movement, meeting you halfway and grabbing your hand to place it over his cheek—now with an additional scar over his jaw.

His eyes shut. Your touch upon him righted his world again, and suddenly-

He’s crying. Or at least, about to. He’s here, and warm and tears brim his eyes, somehow never falling down. 

Most importantly, he’s home.

“My dear, what have they done to you?”

He’d returned to you almost unrecognisable—the certain look in his eyes that made him Simon washed away until only a dull imitation remains.

“Not now, love. I don’t want to talk about it now.” 

He’d gone through torture before, and came out of it with deeper scars than the last. 

But this torture was different. The enemy they were against was known for targeting the person closest to whomever was against them, thus the need to cut contact with you. Every night was a constant pacing, wondering if they had found you, if you were okay. Every damned moment, your imagined screams and cries took over his decisions, despite him trying his best to keep his head on the mission.

The torture was visions of you being in his place.

“Please, is it too late for me to answer your question now?”

“What question?” 

You were always the more emotional one in the relationship. So, despite all the tears you’ve exhausted through months of mourning, there was no surprise that your body had decided to create more. 

Though, this time, it was his head pressed to your chest instead of the other way around. Because yes, you may have suffered through the loss of him, but he had been actively fighting for his life in that same duration—and having to hide all of it from you, too, never having the comfort of home at the end of the day.

Your question, which had been making a home out of his skeleton by now. 

“When you asked me if I love you. If I did enough to stay.”

You remembered that. It was a last ditch effort—perhaps a manipulative way to make sure he stays. It was a question you regretted asking. Because Simon is Simon, and there were more lives at stake than making sure your pretty little heart stays unbroken.

“I didn’t mean to ask that. Simon, it was wrong of me-“

“Yes, I do.” His answer resolute. That was to be his last mission, and he decided the minute the door closed on him when he left the flat that day. His last, and he’s going home—and if he’s lucky, you would still be there for him. 

Simon straightened and this time, took you in his lap. When you didn’t fight, he leaned down and hesitated for a kiss over your lips.

When you reciprocated, his tears fucking fell, seasoning the kiss with its salty essence. 

But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him, and every inch of his face, paying extra attention to the fresh scar on his jaw.

You pulled back from the kiss when you started losing breath. 

“You do?” You ask, suddenly remembering the velvet box next to his dog tag resting on the dresser beside the bed. Your eyes slid to it.

Simon’s eyes followed the direction yours went.

Fuck, he thought, forgetting that he had intended to propose right after his last mission. Well, apparently the secret’s out.

“I do, I love you. And I will make sure to not make you doubt me anymore. I love you, darling. You keep my head above water.”

Perhaps it will take time to go back to the way it was. Time, and lots of outside help.

After all, there would be no sunrise without the darkest of nights.

“And you keep my feet on the ground. I love you too, Simon.”

[jessamine-rose]

✿ Artifact Set: Beloved Darlings ✿

Read my I Love You, Darling series first!!

As y’all know, I became rlly fond of writing for the Yandere! Harbingers and their darlings……aaaand that’s how I ended up writing Artifact Sets for them. Each set features four stories, two for the darlings’ backstories + two fic epilogues. I hope you enjoy <3

Characters:: Capitano, Pantalone, Dottore, Pierro + their darlings

Tw:: YANDERE, psychological trauma, blood, violence, death, mention of child abuse

Notes:: Female readers, fic spoilers

Capitano x Damsel:: Herbarium and Fairytale

✿ Discarded Doll

A broken princess doll. After numerous owners and stitches, the toy was left forgotten in the forest behind Mondstadt Orphanage.

Once upon a time, there lived a Damsel who was cursed by the gods.

Raised in an uncaring orphanage, her childhood was one of noise and solitude. In this liminal shelter, all companions were temporary and no belongings were private. And so the child gave up on those things, dreaming of the day she would be given a home to call her own.

Following her adoption, however, the Damsel’s new family revealed themselves to be cruel villains who took away her bright smiles and outspoken words. After days of torment, she was finally returned to her first prison, only to be silenced by her caretakers.

In the end, no hero came to save her. The Damsel waited for the day she became of age and was discarded once more.

✿ Overdue Library Book

A collection of fairytales borrowed from Mondstadt Library. The list of previous readers has been removed, and the front page is vandalized with the words “Property of ______.”

From the beginning, Mondstadt Library was her personal wonderland.

When she was an orphan, it offered a peaceful hobby. When she was a child of the Maiers, it provided a faraway refuge. It was natural for her to remain there as an adult, though it entailed the new task of maintaining the silence and sharing books with her once-fellow patrons.

It was literature which taught her the basic meanings of family, home, and love. When she tired of the false promises of fairytales, she turned to real stories only to be disillusioned with her inferior qualities. Her debilitating misfortune. Her unanswered prayers.

“Oh, I get it now. Love does exist. It’s just that the gods have deemed me unworthy of it.”

And so she escaped to her fairytales once more.

✿ Pressed Sumeru Roses

A preserved bouquet of violet rambler roses. Presently, the flowers are kept on display in the Captain’s bedchambers.

After their happy ending, the Damsel finally found a home in her Snezhnayan prison.

The Captain was protective throughout their honeymoon, but they left Sumeru in good spirits. Upon their return, a few tasks were accomplished before she could resume her normal routine.

Her belongings were unpacked and returned to their bedroom.

Her bookcase was reorganized to accommodate her new books from Sumeru.

Their bedroom was decorated with newly-pressed flowers, and her husband allowed it.

Lastly, she finally joined him in their bed. She’d missed that piece of furniture least of all.

After all, it was Capitano who blessed her slumber with warmth, and they shared the same bed in Sumeru.

“Ah, it’s good to be home.”

✿ Letter from a Devoted Knight

An envelope bearing the official seal of the Fatui. Delivered alongside the letter is a box of fresh flowers native to Natlan.

During the Captain’s latest mission, a Fatuus visited their home.

By then, the Damsel knew what their arrival meant. This time, they gave her both a letter and a wrapped gift.

The flora of Natlan was beautiful. She could only imagine the efforts taken to keep the flowers fresh for her hobby. If only Capitano was here to witness her smile.

As always, the letter was better than any book.

“My beloved flower, every day without you gives me grief. I could only imagine the smile on your face if you were able to view the flora of Natlan with me. My mission is far from over but once the Pyro Archon’s Gnosis is acquired, you shall be the first to hear of my return.”

“My lady, are you all right?” asked her guard.

“It’s nothing, Cyane.” She wiped her tears and continued reading. “Don’t bother me.”

It had only taken a few decades for her to meet her knight in shining armor. In comparison, what was a few more months before their happily ever after?

Pantalone x Kitty:: Housecat and Alea Iacta Est

⬩ Ornamental Comb

A bejeweled comb worn as a hair accessory. A few hairs are caught in the comb’s teeth, bearing a soft texture similar to cat fur.

She was born to a prestigious family, and this was where her luck began and ended.

Neither the firstborn nor the gifted child, she was the disappointment. Unnecessary, unexceptional, and therefore useless.

However, she had the same expectations of a child born into high society. All she had to do was to smile and play along with her family’s ruse, and that would be enough to validate her position. Never mind what she did in her free time, and for that she was satisfied.

In fashion, she found a genuine passion for aesthetics and history. A beautiful outfit was all it took to attract the attention of others.

In dance, she found an opportunity to participate in social events. Regardless, most interactions were on account of her family name.

Beyond the arts, she donned a mask of false serenity. But such details were of little consequence—who would ever come close enough to notice her cracks?

⬩ Smaragdus Jadeite Ring

A simple wedding ring with a square-shaped smaragdus jadeite in the center. The jewelry piece was left behind by its owner.

On her twentieth birthday, her family finally found a purpose for her.

Without her brother and friends in attendance, she easily surrendered to her parents’ commands. For what future lay in wait for a useless child stripped of wealth and prestige?

She didn’t cry when her family reacted to her Vision with anything but delight.

She didn’t cry when she accepted her wedding ring—a plain, impersonal decoration.

She didn’t cry when she realized the hollow nature of her engagement. If anything, she left the hotel and dissolved into bitter laughter.

“Why should I care? That is another marital duty off my back, isn’t it?”

“I feel like shopping. What shall I buy? A dress, necklaces, lots of rings…if he complains about my spending habits, I need only ask about his whereabouts tonight.”

“Yes, this is fine. Love—what a cruel word. In the end, it is just connections, agreements, people using one another. Since love does not exist, I shall simply settle for the next best thing.”

Yet no matter how much finery she indulged in, it was never enough to fill her heart.

⬩ Electro Crystal Collar

The favorite accessory of the Regrator’s wife. The collar matches the personal aesthetic of the Ninth Harbinger.

Her first sacrifice was made in the fashion district of Snezhnaya.

As the Regrator’s wife, she had to complement his image. Scandalous engagement aside, her husband’s reputation would be damaged if she was perceived as a tasteless foreigner.

The Snezhnayan outfits were so pretty. Her husband selected the perfect garments for her—a never-ending closet of dresses, jewelry, heels, perfumes—all in his signature colors.

The collar was her personal favorite. It was an intricate necklace commissioned just for her, the most valuable treasure of the Regrator.

Later on, she would resent that accessory and the pain it brought her.

But with time, she grew to appreciate her collar again. By then, there was no need to worry about her outfits clashing with her Vision.

⬩ Surrendered Pyro Vision

A Pyro Vision separated from its owner. The divine gift is currently in the Regrator’s possession.

Her memories suffered the brunt of the loss of her Vision.

The majority of her life could be remembered in clear detail. But in every instance where her divine gift was used, that was when her memories became hazy.

Fortunately, she had a loving husband who was willing to explain everything to her.

There was their first dance at the Shang family’s gala. Under the glittery stars, they had waltzed to a slow, lively orchestral arrangement.

There were numerous arguments split into blurry fragments. Only later would she realize how foolish she was in refusing to understand her husband’s concerns.

There was the accident which revealed the dangers of her own self. But it was through this catastrophe that she learned the extent of her husband’s kindness.

Love—what a beautiful truth. And now it finally belonged to her.

Dottore x Assistant:: Chemistry and Magnum Opus

♡ Drawing of a Nilotpala Lotus

A crayon drawing of a Nilotpala lotus. The picture is accompanied by a written description.

Since her youth, her only dream was to observe the world.

Her village was the perfect home for a budding researcher, teeming with all sorts of natural wonders and phenomena. The flora, the fauna, the daily sunrise—everything was there, just waiting to be discovered. Nature could not have produced a more ardent admirer.

It was this passion which drove her to enroll in the Sumeru Akademiya. On the day of her departure, she and her family exchanged bittersweet farewells. After all, who knew when they would see each other again?

That was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

The world was so beautiful, and she wanted to learn everything about it.

She had so many questions, and her curiosity could not accept a vague answer.

If only she knew the price for such knowledge.

♡ Scholar’s Journal

An old notebook belonging to a former scholar of the Sumeru Akademiya. The pages are full of written notes and coffee stains.

The Akademiya was where her dreams died out.

In this sea of knowledge, her great mind was put to the test. It was a race against other geniuses to manage the brutal workload and to prove one’s worth in the academe.

After her first month, her time was totally consumed by her studies. Rarely could she spare a few hours for her friends and hobbies.

After her first year, slumber became a scarce privilege. Her physical and mental processes suffered as a result.

After her first promotion, she had lost the passion essential to her research.

“All of my questions have been answered…what now? More lessons and theories to solve, I guess. It will all be worth it once I graduate.”

“Anatomy exam, botany presentation, thesis proposal…when will it end? I will need to postpone my personal research on the Nilotpala lotus again. Maybe coffee will help.”

“The world has become so dull. Perhaps I shouldn’t have searched for answers.”

♡ Syringe of Love and Dreams

A used syringe which serves as an ornament on the Doctor’s desk. The barrel holds the residue of a viscous gold chemical.

Over the centuries, a scholar rose to infamy in the Fatui. This individual was known as the Doctor’s assistant, his loyal supporter who stood by him in every inhumane experiment. One may doubt her allegiance to the Tsaritsa, but never her love for the Second Harbinger.

Many had speculated on the origins of their intimate relationship—and were swiftly punished for it. The price for such knowledge was a merciless death, whereas misinformation begot an increase in the Doctor’s test subjects.

Together, the couple made several discoveries regarding the truth of the Old World. Such advancements could have never been undertaken in the name of the Sumeru Akademiya, of which they had cut ties with.

To the world, they were the heretical Doctor and his fanatical Assistant. But behind closed doors, they were Zandik and ______ who shared their research, dreams, and secrets with one another.

♡ The Doctor’s Mask

A gray-and-white mask retrieved from Haeresys. The garment was used to conceal the wearer’s face, with the exception of cutouts for his eyes and right cheek.

The acquisition of the Electro and Dendro Gnoses was a triumph for the Fatui, but a tragedy for the Doctor’s Assistant.

After all, she was in the presence of his Segments when their lives were traded.

In the wake of their elimination, she rushed to her lover’s office and burst into tears when she found him in stable condition. Zandik was safe, unharmed, responsive to her embrace.

“Hey, Zandik, you’ll never leave me, right?”

“Oh? I believe I’d answered that question a long time ago. And this is no time for sorrow…unless you were more partial to my Segments than you cared to admit.”

“Still, each clone was a special version of you. And to think that the Dendro Archon rebuked their creation! Who knew how close-minded she could be?”

“Indeed, and the loss of my Segments will be strongly felt in the upcoming weeks. We have so much work to do while their positions are vacant.”

“Well, at least that means more time with you. That blasted Traveler…I swear, I won’t let them lay a hand on you, Zandik.”

“I could say the same for you, my dear.”

Pierro x Savior:: Disjecta Membra and Chess Piece

✧ Archon War Trophies

A pair of damaged weapons in the Fatui inventory. The equipment was discovered in an ancient temple, specifically a storage room for hunting traps.

In her long life, she had been called by many names. The God of Mist who provided a safe home for her followers. The All-Knowing One whose powers disabled secrecy and escape. The Starry One who had lost everything. █████, the beloved friend of her fellow gods.

It was during the Archon War that she gained her least favorite title, Death-Mist.

The carnage of the event would remain vivid in her memories. There was a ruined temple. A mangled body which burst into fire without any last words. Two ruthless gods who were slain in turn. Earth and flesh stained with her blood. The fear of several humans, including her own followers.

Perhaps that was the moment they began to lose faith in her.

It didn’t matter. It was her fault, anyway.

Only once revenge had been enacted did the loving god come back to her senses and move onwards.

“Oizys, Pasithea, are you all right? Those gods…they can’t hurt us anymore.”

“I’m sorry for not going with their option, Vesta. May you rest in peace.”

“My precious lambs, let us leave. It is time to find our new home.”

✧ Scattered Fragments

Pottery shards scattered across the floor of an ancient temple. Put together, the pieces form the shape of a dinner plate.

Her first observation of humanity birthed her talent for the culinary arts.

Hunger was such a curious sensation for living beings. It was this need for sustenance which led to many important patterns in daily life.

By hunting and gathering, one preserved the natural cycle of life and death.

In the kitchen, even a humble mortal could partake in creation.

At the dining table, everyone was equal.

“█████, isn’t this too much for two people? …Hey, it’s all right. We can eat the leftovers tomorrow.”

As the number of plates decreased from her table, so did the conversations. One day, the noise and her appetite disappeared entirely.

✧ Bloodstained Thurible

A silver Catalyst stained with blood. The powerful relic rests in the Jester’s private collection, kept under lock and key.

Their first act as a couple was to cook cream stew together.

“Pierro, were you always this slow at kitchen prep?”

“Might I remind you that I am still recovering from my injuries?”

“So am I. Just give me the knife and trade places with me.”

“I already said that you are forbidden from handling sharp objects.”

“Give me a break! Do you even know how to butcher a wild fowl?!”

Despite their quarrels, the couple felt closer than they had been in months. Perhaps it was the nostalgia of the activity or the god’s acceptance of her fate.

The cream stew turned out satisfactory. In the passing centuries, the dish frequently appeared on their dining table in Snezhnaya.

✧ Stellar Embroidery

A variety of garments embroidered with four-pointed stars. The clothes include a white necktie, a translucent veil, a small gown, and a baby’s blanket.

“Mother, we’re home!”

“Oh, Hecate? What time did you and Father arrive?”

“A few minutes ago. Don’t tell him that you know, but we bought a gift for you!”

“Aww, thank you! Did you have fun in the town square?”

“Yup! What are you sewing this time?”

“Just another Khaenri’ahn star. What do you think?”

“Hmm, it’s pretty but I like your other designs more.”

“In that case, do you have any suggestions for my next piece?”

“Can you sew snowflakes on my handkerchiefs? Oh, and Inteyvat flowers for this dress!”

“What a lovely idea. And would you like something to match with the twins?”

“Maybe. Are they—oh, Father, look what Mother made!”

“Welcome home, love.”

♡

After two months, I finally remembered this WIP lol. I just want to say thank you again to everyone who enjoyed my fics. Your support truly means the world to me!! And how could I not give a shoutout to my bestie @diodellet for once again indulging my brainrot and proofreading my nonsense?? (*´∇｀*)

Tag a Harbinger/ Darling enjoyer!! @oofasleep @leftdestiny-posts @nicebonescomrades @thescribeoflostmemories @surveyycorps @gum-iie @yanmaresu @bonknigirlinthehood @melody3cherryblossom @lazyroseart @harmonysanreads @kocherry @moarar @lcveaesop

[atinylittlepain]

I am obsessed with the Dad!Joel Unexpected universe, please continue writing, it’s so good. Maybe a first word fic 🥹 and first steps! Love it all!

anonnnnnnn, first of all, i am SO sorry for how long it has taken me to answer this request. i swear, this sweet little blurb has been sitting in my docs for like two weeks and it just hasn't felt like the right time for it. but it's a thursday night and i think we could all use some dad!joel in our lives :)

High Expectations

dad!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

Baby miller has yet to say her first word, and Joel and Ellie are still fighting over their bet. Who's gonna win?

warnings | 18+ uh, literally none, luv. this is pure grade-A fluff

a/n | this bad boy belongs to the Unexpected Expectings AU and I highly recommend giving those pieces a read too

.......................................

“She say anything today?” “Ellie.”

“What? I gotta stay in the know. The stakes are kinda high here.” She shakes her head at the girl, turning back to Maria to take a squirming Libby off her hands. Maria chuckles.

“Sorry, kid. No words on my watch. Though she’s becoming quite the escape artist now that she’s walking.” She furrows her brow at that as she hoists Libby a bit further up her hip.

“She wasn’t any trouble, was she? I know she’s becoming harder to catch. Took off on Joel upstairs yesterday, he had to grab her before she tried to go down the stairs on her own.” Ellie snorts, making faces at Libby over her shoulder while Maria shakes her head.

“No, she’s never any trouble, you know that. Though she’s certainly a pistol, gotta wonder where she gets it from.” They share a knowing smile before saying goodbye, her and Ellie trudging through the snow back across the way to their own house, Libby tucked into her side. 

Maria has been a godsend since she started picking up patrol shifts again, something Joel balked at initially. It was only a few days a week and she had been insistent that she needed to start getting out of the house again after their girl’s first birthday two months ago. Maria had willingly fit her own schedule around hers, watching Libby while she was on shift, and in turn, she had been watching her boy while Maria was working. 

When they get home, Ellie helps unbutton Libby from her makeshift winter coat that their neighbor had stitched together from an old snowsuit, continuously murmuring as she works.

“Libs, you gotta help me out here. There’s a record player on the line, for crying out loud. Tell you what, if you say my name first, I’ll let you listen to records whenever you want.” She fixes Ellie with an unamused look as she takes Libby from her.

“That’s generous of you, kid, considering you and Joel have turned her into a gambling chip.” Ellie just shrugs.

“It’s not gambling if I know I’m gonna win. No way Libs says Joel’s name first. I’ve been training her.” 

“Well, that’s cheating if I ever heard it.” They both turn around to see Joel standing in the doorway to the kitchen with his hands on his hips. He clearly just got home from his own shift, jacket still on, snow melting in his silvery hair. She shuffles over to him with a scoff and he immediately dips to press kisses to their girl’s cheeks.

“Joel, you’re one to talk. I’ve heard you up in the nursery a few times now, trying to get Libby to say your–” he cuts her off with a hard, smacking kiss that Ellie dramatically gags at before breezing past them both into the kitchen.

“I’m starving. What’s for dinner?” She shares a look with Joel at Ellie’s question, and they nearly answer simultaneously.

“Leftovers.”

…

Before the end of the world, she barely knew how to cook. She was a college student, for christ’s sake, and the closest she got to cooking was nuking instant oatmeal in the microwave in her dorm. Then, all those years in the QZ and on the road, it had just been about getting in whatever calories she could scrounge together. Things are different now in Jackson, and she’s had to learn fast how to get food on the table. Joel is helpful, but often hopeless, and Ellie would eat expired beefaroni for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if left to her own devices. Winter, like right now, is easy. She’ll just throw a bunch of vegetables and meat into a pot until something resembling soup comes together, enough to feed all of them for the week along with a loaf or two of bread she trades for with one of their neighbors. 

It’s just such a meal that they sit down to tonight, all of them tearing off hunks of bread to soak up broth and fill their stomachs as they murmur about their days. Baby food has been a whole other ball game, but she’s gotten the hang of it, currently spooning mashed carrots and applesauce into her girl’s mouth as Joel and Ellie continue to gripe about their bet.

“Kid, what do you even want the record player for? Last I checked, you don’t have any records.” Ellie huffs, speaking around a mouthful of bread.

“That’s not true! I’ve been looking for them on patrol and have a little stash going too. You just won’t acknowledge it ‘cause it’s not that country shit you like.” Joel grumbles.

“Language. And my taste in music is just fine. I don’t need any of that crappy pop jangling you like.”

“Uh, it’s not pop. The album sleeves say it’s alternative.” Joel huffs at that, mumbling a “lord help me” under his breath as they continue bickering. She, however, is trying to listen to Libby’s babbling through the nonstop din of their squabbling, because she swears that she hears something that will settle this damn bet, once and for all.

“Will you two shut up for a minute?” Her sudden outburst sends Joel and Ellie into a stuttering stop, Libby continuing to babble. She grins when, sure enough, her girl says exactly what she thought she heard.

“M-mama– mama.” She swears both Joel’s and Ellie’s jaws drop on the ground while she laughs, picking Libby up out of her highchair and smattering kisses on her cheeks. Her girl dissolving into giggles in her lap, she finally fixes Joel and Ellie with the smuggest look she can work up.

“Does this mean I get the record player?”

[brooke121000]

.• the tortured poets department •.

Spencer Reid x bau!user

fluff, idiots in love, early seasons Spence, awkward romance, eventual smut double posted on Wattpad and ao3!! Highly recommend checking it out on Wattpad as updates might come faster.

Most would say that the king is by far the most essential piece in chess. He is your prized possession. Your one trophy to safeguard. Lose your king, and you lose the game. However, you could argue differently. The pawn, however humble, is the soldier. The small, disposable piece. You use to pawn to advance on the board, to offend the opponent. To progress.

Small, painted pieces of wood flashed through my head, moving across the board as I tumbled down the hallway of the modern, tiled building, bags fumbling in my shakey hands. As the dim morning light, filtered through thick, gray clouds and then the window blinds of the FBI building did little to no help in illuminating where exactly my phone was located in my bag, I found myself subscribing to the idea that mornings, well.. sucked.

Normally, I looked forward to this time of the year. Gray skies, cold winds wearing down buildings and inviting the soft comfort of beanies, coats and scarves. When trees shook off their leaves, browned and aged by the cruel heat of the summer. When the clouds crept in, swirling and melting together like the creamer in my morning coffee.

Oh, that's it.

I haven't had my coffee.

I finally collected my belongings, digging my phone up from the bottom of the messenger bag. I straightened my back before I pushed open the glass doors, my gaze trickling over the dark, carpeted office. A familiar face smiled at me, outstretching a hand to pat my shoulder.

"Morning, pretty boy." 

I nodded, a feeble attempt to communicate some sort of put-togetherness. "Morgan." I smiled weakly.

"Jeez, what's wrong with you?" JJ grinned, pushing a strand of gold behind her shoulder as she peered over Morgan's frame to look at me. Garcia, who also seemed to be inspecting me, raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you look.. stressed." 

I sighed, walking with Morgan into the gloomy bullpen. I plopped down into a flimsy black roller seat, allowing a sigh to finally escape from my frost bitten lips.

"Nothing. Missed my alarm."

Morgan whistled. Even JJ allowed her brows to betray a raise at my admission. "Wait- seriously? You're probably the most punctual person I know. That makes no sense, sorry." I fiddled with my hands on the leather strap of my bag, running my fingertips up and down the stable, consistent stitch lines. I gave an unconvincing shrug. Garcia perked up. "You probably just need coffee."

Oh, right! Coffee.

My muscles slowly kicked into action, pulling my tired body from the seat. I made a hum in acknowledgment to Garcia's suggestion, and then trudged across the room to the coffee machine, my shoes tapping quietly on the floor. Now, with the cognitive break of work stress and socialization, my brain resumed its internal chess debate.

What's more essential to a good game? The king, a flashy, delicate thing to be protected, or the pawn, a small, weak trading piece, to be thrust into action and sacrificed?

I make up my mind.

It has to be the king.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In my adulthood, I had grown quite fond of this time of year. The cold demands certain things of you. It demands you layer up. It demands you wear your hair down. This particular morning, it demanded me to forgo my breakfast in order to stop by a coffee shop for one of those ridiculous, over-sweetened 6 dollar coffees. That, I was regretting. The first day of work was not going to be fun on an empty stomach.

Shit!- Work. Focus.

Starting today, I was to be working a real, serious job. In heels and a pencil skirt, no less. In a way, this marked the first day of my adulthood. Not the silly, false adulthood of frat parties and lecture halls, but the serious responsibility that comes with a schedule and a paycheck. Images of taxes, commutes and cubicles flashed in my head as I pushed open the glass doors to the B.A.U.

I entered the moody office, my gait perhaps a little more apprehensive than I would like as I looked around. My eyes immediately landed on a group of people chatting. 

They must be my coworkers. I thought.

That's a scary word. Coworkers. I spotted my boss among them, an only slightly frightening stoic older man. I put on a polite smile as I reached talking distance with the group. They introduced themselves one by one, and I took a mental note of the names so I wouldn't forget.

Derek Morgan.

Penelope Garcia.

Jennifer "JJ" Jareau

Elle Greenaway. (Who, by the look in her eyes, already wasn't too fond of me.)

Jason Gideon.

Aaron Hotchner.

We made our introductions, and Penelope, the bouncy blonde girl decked out head to toe in accessories and color, was already fawning over me. 

"Oh, my gosh, it's nice to finally meet you! I- I love your necklace. Welcome to the team!" She grinned. My cheeks flushed at the flattery, and I smiled back.

"Thank you so much." I said, and quickly trailed off when another man walked in. He piqued my interest slightly more than the others. Maybe it was his slightly unusual walk, maybe it was the sweater vest, maybe the glasses. In any case, he stood out just as much as the colorful blonde lady, at least to me.

Shoot, did I already forget her name? 

Oh right, Penelope.

He placed the coffee cup he was holding on a nearby desk, and tilted his head when he saw me. "You're the new agent?"

I quickly turned to him, giving a nod. "Yes, (y/n) (l/n). It's nice to meet you!" I said, with as much cheer in my voice as I could muster, given the gloomy morning. His eyes widened slightly, arms remaining at his sides. Morgan gave a chuckle.

"Sorry, newbie. There shoulda been a memo. Boy genius over here doesn't do shakes."

I withdrew my hand with a shake of my head. "Oh- it's alright. Don't worry about it."

The briefing was.. strange. Imposter syndrome ran rampant in my mind as I contemplated how the hell i ended up here, in a real FBI office, looking over crime scene photos like some big shot detective. 

The jet ride was.. stressful. Granted, it was quiet in the luxurious cabin, except for Gideon and Hotch's calm conversation over chess, and Morgan talking lowly to Garcia, holding in laughter. The team seemed relaxed, in their element, even. Which made me all the more nervous for the impending case. My gaze occasionally flickered to Spencer, who was reading. There was a sort of.. quiet beauty about him. I didn't like how enraptured he already had me. I felt like a schoolgirl, and we'd barely interacted. Once or twice, he'd meet my eyes and we'd both quickly look away. Maybe I was delusional, or maybe I saw some sort of interest behind the soft oak of his gaze. 

Stupid.

Stupid, right?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[t6fs]

It waits at the window. You do not know who, or what, it is.

It hears your approach, those shaky and curious footsteps. Two bright eyes stare at it, wide with shock and sharp with curiosity. You are met with bared teeth and a growl so deep you cannot even hear it. This is followed by a pause, and a deep embarrassment.

"Oh."

It shrinks back, slightly.

"I don't... who..."

Its ears swivel, as a stand in for looking around. Whatever this thing is, it is blind.

"You are not who I am here for... I... hm..."

It moves in an almost insectoid way, all angles.

“Who are you..? What are you, I’ve never-“

"I'm... I need..."

You pause as it continues to speak, stepping closer. A cleared throat.

"Nevermind. Let me bite you."

A step closer, hackles raised.

"Please. I'll tend to it after, if you want, but..."

It doesn't finish the thought.

YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT

It will pull you closer, allow you to expose some skin. Its hands will be gentle, will not move to any place you do not allow them. When you are ready, it will open its jaws and sink its teeth into your flesh. It will be careful not to break bone, but it will destroy skin and damage muscle. It will swallow what it takes, and it will get blood on the floor. It will hurt. By the Mercies, it will hurt. It will be grateful, though. It will tend to you, if you wish. It will leave after, unless you offer it more.

There’s a moment of uncertainty. You can feel yourself getting ready to tell it to leave. But then you stop, thinking. It won’t be the best data, considering the starved man(?)’s variable biology, but…

“O-okay. Just… come into the light a bit more, please?”

You roll your sleeve, offering up your upper arm. You tentatively rests a hand on its shoulder. It can feel the tremors in your hand, but you stand strong despite your fear.

Its teeth bite through your pale flesh with ease, and.

And.

And.

And…

And the world goes white, far brighter than this cave called London has ever been.

It is sickening.

It is light.

The taste that meets your lips is not that of meat.

It is not the taste of flesh.

It is hot, too hot, it is blackened metal and sharp chemical burns.

What fills your mouth is not blood, blood does not burn this way.

Blood does not cut through you with surgical precision, it does not dissect you from the tongue out.

The flavour of muscle and iron does not cut into your psyche with utter precision, carving you into minutes and seconds.

Beverley tastes of law and starfire and with every piece of him you swallow what that law is becomes more clear.

It wants to know you.

You are on an autopsy table, cut into ribbons as something clinical and seeking caresses the lining of your stomach and you cannot move.

You cannot move.

You cannot move.

You, Kheghlakhbe` Yïkhem-Lok'a`wï`, are a being atemporal.

You have not been touched by time for time immaterial.

There is no part of what remains that still truly exists, and for an immaterial moment, the time that ticks within his form peels back the curtain of perception.

You are nothing in the room with him.

Nothing, made tangible, made sharp.

The space between two seconds inverted cuts his flesh, and he, in return, cuts you back.

For a moment, you may as well be two children meeting on a beach, and you are asking him in words he cannot understand to throw the ball back. You have six fingers.

One second passes, for the first time in 13 minutes.

In ten thousand years.

Since the birth of the universe.

Since the death of a star.

Darkness comes too slowly. You cannot tell if he screamed, but he weeps softly into your shoulder now. Your breaths, and his sobs, are perfectly in sync with the chimes of the clocks inside his home.

You leave cobalt blood on his shirt. You and he will not remember who gave who the stitches after. Calcified time forms in the places where the time and truth within you both touch.

Something for him to keep.

(BEV BELONGS TO THE SPECTACULAR @zeebreezin )

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by a couple people last week but was busy uploading my annoyingly massive rarepair fic so I didn't get around to it, but the march of time is inevitable and so it is Wednesday yet again! So here we are!

Enjoy this little snippet. :3 I'm sure you can all guess which fic it's from.

Every stitch of what he’s wearing belongs to Eddie. Eddie paid for it. Eddie helped pick out the colors, the patterns, the fabric weave. Eddie put it all on him, Eddie could take it off again. Could order him to take it all off again. Eddie could order him to give it all back, right now, and leave Buck in nothing but his flushed skin. Maybe he could even tell Buck how to earn those clothes back. One piece at a time. What would you do to earn this tie? These pants? This waistcoat? On his knees, Eddie fucking his throat in the way Buck loves, messy and noisy, making tears slide free from the corners of Buck’s eyes, drool all over his chin, obscene noises filling the air around them. Eddie calling him a good boy and telling him he’ll earn the suit back and leave the apartment wearing those clothes or none at all, spilling hot down Buck’s throat— Buck exhales shakily and braces a hand on the wall. Swallows. Squeezes his eyes shut and breathes. Eddie doesn’t want that. Eddie’s not the type of person to enjoy a power play like that. It’s clear how deeply uncomfortable he is with the position his wealth puts him in, the way it makes people treat him and set him apart, higher up than the rest of them. Even if Eddie did want to make their relationship sexual—and he’s made it clear he doesn’t—he wouldn’t play that kind of game with Buck. Luckily, Buck’s used to fantasies about things he’ll never have, like parents who remember to call him and ask how he’s doing, or ten dogs, or a trip to Mars. He just has to get his overactive imagination under control, and wait until he’s home and jack off to get it all out of his system, like a normal person. Because he is normal about Eddie Diaz. He will be normal about Eddie Diaz. He has to be normal about Eddie Diaz. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and locks eyes with his reflection. “Oh, shut up.” Goddammit.

Suit shopping is going great, guys. They're both being so casual about it.

[akingdomscrypt]

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Two

Pairing; Graves x male!reader (slow burn)

Word Count; ~4k

Warnings; slight dehumanization near end (not of reader), implied human trafficking (not of reader), panic attacks, dissociation, implied burning alive (no death)

A/n; I highly recommend reading the newest König part (here) first to avoid the spoiler for that fic near the end.

--- "clocks, phone calls, and bad decisions" ---

It had taken months for all of your Shadows to piece themselves back together again. For that little spark in their eyes to relight. Some of them had adapted quicker than others–those who had been in the game longer, those who had already seen their fair share of horrors–while the majority had a much, much more difficult time.

Afflicted with nightmares and a slew of mental irregularities they hadn't had before. It got so bad with some of them that you had given them all the choice to stay or leave. Another thing he would never have even considered. Not until the contract was complete.

Most of them were misfits of some kind; either dead to the world or long since without outside connections. So it hadn't really been a surprise when, even given the option, none of them had jumped the gun at the opportunity to leave.

Underneath the hard exoskeleton of emotional blockades and shitty coping mechanisms, they all just wanted to fit in. Wanted a place to belong. And your Shadows had found that here, even after the slaughter, with the company. With him. With you.

You were the one to catch them when they fell. To stitch up their wounds with your less-than-ideal medical knowledge when there wasn't a more qualified individual around. To provide adequate support and feedback. And, like right now, to offer comfort and security during their most vulnerable times.

Here in the darkness of one of your Shadows' rooms. Their roommate, though you knew he was awake, kept his breathing even and faced the wall. Pretending not to hear the hushed sobs of the Shadow huddled in your arms. Clutching onto your sweater like their life depended on it.

Nightmares. They plagued a majority of the soldiers here and always had. It wasn't anything new. But after the events of that godforsaken city–the mass murder, the cries, the fire–it had cracked your Shadows' minds. Splintering that delicate balance between emotional dissonance and their own humanity.

When it had become clear that these nightmares were affecting even your most strong-willed soldiers, leaving them jittery and lost in another world most of the time, you had made an offer.

At first, your Shadows had been hesitant, afraid to admit to their crumbling mental fortitude, afraid to be so vulnerable around someone who was supposed to be their leader. Then, after a few weeks and a couple of overheard panic attacks, the unspoken rule that what happened during the blanket of night stayed under that shield of darkness became apparent. And more of your soldiers had accepted your help.

So here you'd sit, letting their tears stain your shirt and humming a soft lullaby. Rubbing soothing circles into their back, using your mere presence to give them something to ground themself with.

Some even anonymously tipped you off to a fellow Shadow in need when said soldier was too ashamed to ask you themselves, or you'd failed to notice.

Of course, there were some who didn't want your help. Or didn't need it. But the offer was always there.

Months later and the majority of them had calmed, no longer needing your assistance. But there were still a select few who you would check up on during your nightly rounds. Listening for hitched breaths and shuddering sobs.

You wait until the tremors wracking through their body calm and then stop completely. Sit there and patiently wait for their breathing to slow and eventually even out, keep up that low hum until you're certain they've drifted back to sleep. Even then you hold out a little longer, pick up on the subtle signs of their roommate relaxing back into his bed on the other side of the room, soft snores filling up the dark, otherwise silent room. Then, and only then, do you slide them off of your lap, make sure they're comfortable, and quietly slip out of the room.

The hall lights are dimmed, the compound almost completely empty of life–apart from the occasional Shadow on guard here and there–as you make your way up to that dreadfully grey office you call your own.

Your steps are quick, silent, and efficient. Not allowing the shadows in the corners of your vision to twist and become sentient; the thrum of the overhead air conditioning to become whispered mutterings of your late colleagues.

Telling you you are the reason for their death.

It's your fault. all your fault

If only you'd

been better.

Blaming you, picking you apart. Vultures on your burnt, rotting corpse. Dead. Just like you should be.

If only

you

had been

better.

Taking the stairs, two steps at a time, as opposed to the elevator to provide enough of a distraction as you head to the third floor.

You should have been there. Why hadn't you been there for them??

Why'd you leave?

Abandon them. You abandoned them. It should have been you.

Why wasn't it you??

You should have done more. Should've kept them alive. That was your job. Why did you kill them??

Your mask is wet, the damp fabric clinging to the marred skin living half-dead beneath. Heart beating erratically, painful, and fluttering against your ribcage. Cage. Trying to break free. A gloved hand your hand? curling around metal. Metal should be cold, it's not. You're cold.

Why are you cold? Cold like the dead man you are. A walking corpse.

It's hot. You should be burning- you are burning. The metal is hot. You're hot. Melting, bleeding, suffocating.

Air isn't reaching your lungs,

Stinging smoke and ash sticking and coagulating in your throat. Wet. Wet with your own blood. Warm and wet.

Sticking to your skin, no, melting. Welding.

Becoming one with your flesh

Wet.

When had you started crying?

Something is blaring. Ringing and piercing through the stagnant air.

Tick, tick, tick.

That's your clock. Your clock. In your office.

You open your eyes and are greeted with the bright, artificial light fixated on the ceiling. The ceiling of your office. Your office.

Tick, tick, tick.

Not burning. Not bleeding. Not suffocating.

When had you sat down?

You're in your office. Your office. Not that metal deathtrap. Not being cooked alive in the fire. No smoke in your lungs, no ache in your limbs. No fabric melting into your skin, flesh giving way and exposing fat and muscle.

No. Just you. Alive. In your office.

Tick, tick, tick.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, taking a few deep, measured breaths. Inhale. Hold. One, two, three. Exhale. Repeat.

Onetwothree, exhale.. Inhale. onetwothree-

What is that ringing?

You peel your hands away from your face, take another calming breath, and try to pinpoint the source of that shrill noise. The only things on your desk are papers, more paperwork, that stack of recruitment forms, pens, pencils, that damn landline phone you never use- oh. Right.

Ringing. Phone. Phone ringing. Of course.

Tick, tick, tick.

Your gaze zeros in on the muted grey object, red light flashing, that damn ringtone still blaring. You don't want to answer it. Not for the usual reason; not because picking up the phone means talking to another human being are you even still human? No.

This call causes your heart rate to spike again, the panic you had just managed to get under control stirring once more. Ice-cold dread fills your lungs as opposed to the burning taste of flames and acrid smoke from before.

No one calls. Not from that phone. No one but her.

It started a little over a month after you all made it back home. A shrill ringing of your desk landline, only ever one person on the other side. You didn't know her name, she never told you it. She knew yours. She knew far too much about you. And you knew nothing of her.

Nothing but an offer. The same goddamn offer.

There was no predictability to when she'd call, just that you were always there when it happened. And it never stopped ringing.

No matter how much you ignored it. You had no choice but to pick it up, hold the device to your ear and whisper,

"Lieutenant _____ speaking, who is this?" Even though you knew damn well who was on the other line.

"Ah, Lieutenant," she'd purr, that thick Russian accent only reaffirming what you already knew. "I'm not calling you at bad time, no?"

"Not at all." You'd force out, walking through the same script you did every other call–well, less like walking and more like trudging through a fucking swamp.

"Good. Good." She'd hum, then ask; "have you given any thought to my offer?"

"Not any more than usual." A small, condescending tut on her end.

"Mm.. you know, we are not that different. You and I." You had nothing in common.

"I hire soldiers by the contract, you raise killers. We are not the same." Killers with little to no morals, from your understanding.

"I mass produce expertly-trained combat warriors."

"Right."

"I take it the answer is still no?"

"..."

"Very well, Lieutenant. I give you little more time." Click. And just like that, the conversation was over. Didn't last long, they never did. The same damn thing every. single. time.

You hated the way she said it, like she was just biding her time. Like you would eventually say yes. As if it were inevitable.

You force yourself to loosen the near-death grip you had on the poor phone, placing it down on the receiver with a little more force than necessary.

It was late. You should try to get some sleep, or maybe finally take a look through those recruitment files. You most definitely should not be standing up, pushing away from your desk, and walking out the door. Only one destination in mind.

You shouldn't be doing this. Not after whatever the fuck happened before the call. Not after the damned call. Not when you were already feeling unstable, when your temper was shot and you could still hear that damn tick, tick, tick echoing through your ears.

None of that stops you and now here you are. Having briefly dismissed the two Shadows you had guarding the door, you now stood alone in the vacant corridor. In front of a locked door, the key gripped tight in your gloved hand.

You haven't visited him since he first arrived. That was a week ago. You shouldn't be here; he was probably asleep.

But, for fuck's sake, you weren't in the best shape right now. And you really, really didn't care if you did wake the fucker up.

At least you had the decency to knock.

Once.

You stand there at the foot of the small cot with your arms crossed firmly over your chest, silently fuming at the man who laid on it. Like a damn creep.

He hadn't changed, not really. At least not physically. Nothing of note besides his slightly smaller frame, a few shallow burn scars here and there, and the fact that his hair has grown out a little.

He otherwise looked the same. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest.

No. He didn't get to do that to you. Not anymore. Not after all the shit he's put you- all of you through. Not when your Shadows still came to you, shaking in their boots, stuttering about the horrors their minds had conjured up. Waking and not.

It was unfair how he lay there, mostly unscathed, while your own body was a burnt, mutilated corpse. An almost physical representation of your own faults; your greatest sins manifesting in thick, tightened tissue and stretched muscle. The disgusting, foul parts of yourself are laid bare for the world to see.

And, he, an almost blank slate despite his own immorality.

It wasn't fair.

You stand there, silently seething and glaring down at the man's almost lifeless body–was he tormented by memories of that night, just as you were? You'd think he was dead if you couldn't see the faint rise and fall of his chest. So far deep, lost in your thoughts, that you don't realize he's woken until that voice you hoped you'd never hear again pierces your eardrums.

"Phantom..?" He grumbles, still half asleep but starting to become more lucid the longer you stand there. You should leave, let him keep sleeping, maybe pass this off as a dream and come at another time-

You are rooted to the ground. The standardized, thin, grey carpet below your feet, under your boots. Still more than he deserves.

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?" He huffs, that damn self-assured smirk worming its way onto his face. You hated it. You used to love it. "Your name?"

"It's not my name. Not anymore." He's the one who gave it to you in the first place. You couldn't stand to hear it spoken, especially by him. He didn't deserve the honor. You hated the way it made your chest seize, your breath catch.

"Since when?" You hated how it made you remember.

"Since now." Since over half your squad died. Since you all slaughtered an entire town–innocent adults and children–in search of one fucking criminal. Since Viper Shadow 0-9 ended up in a fucking coma. Since that damn tank. Since your uniform melted and became one with your skin.

"Why did you come here, Phantom?" He sighs, moving to sit up. The thin, standardized blanket pooled around his waist. He brings up a hand to card through his hair, giving you a tired, almost annoyed stare. "Did ya come here just to stir up some shit? To blow off some steam maybe?"

You didn't know why you were here. You were angry, sure, furious, even. And you were in the same room as him, staring back at the same man who haunted thrived in your dreams. The man who- it's his fault.

All his fault.

"And what's with the-" he makes a vague gesture at you, then his own face. "I thought you didn't like the uniform? Something about it "separating us from our own humanity" or whatever cryptic bullshit. Though you did greenlight the choice in the end, so ya couldn't have hated 'em that much."

Why are you here? He was just making everything worse.

Tick, tick, tick-

Why the hell was there another fucking clock in this room??

You stew in your own fuming anger, glaring daggers down at the other man. The man who had ruined you.

Even before the betrayal.

"There's much to talk about."

"Right." He deadpans. "In the middle of the goddamn night?"

"It's four in the morning."

He sighs again, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. Forgot how technical you could be."

"Thought that's what you liked about me?" Oh, hell. Welp. This is where it was going. Right.

Should've known you wouldn't be able to keep those weak, useless fucking emotions to yourself.

You used to be wonderful at that. Until him.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Ah, is this what we're doing? Really, Phantom? Right now?"

"I told you not to call me that."

"You're also the one bringing up our past relations, so fucking deal with it, yeah?"

You used to be the mellow one, a clear thinker. Following but also guiding him when he sunk too deep into his own personal hell of a mind.

"You survived."

That was then. This is now.

"Yeah, I did. Is that really such a surprise?"

A lot has changed. And you really, really were tired of that cocky fucking smile of his.

"I was really hoping you hadn't." You grit out in that usual monotone voice of yours.

It was a little harsh, a little brutal. And to anyone else–anyone who didn't know you, not like he did used to–it would seem flat, blunt. But he knew better, could hear every bit of malice, each drop of venom that twisted through every word you forced past your lips.

He deserved every word–and more.

His mouth forms a thin line, eyebrows pulling together in a small frown. It felt almost good. To wipe that damn self-satisfied smirk off of his face.

You wanted to keep going. To lay it on thick. To give him what he deserved–to force him to face all the shit he's put you all of you through–, or at least come close.

Now you both stood on the same side of the spectrum. From hot and cold to an all-consuming inferno. A double-edged sword. Twin flames; in the worst possible way.

Tick, tick, tick.

"You've changed." That is all he says. Not at all the burning fire you had been expecting. The bite and sting you were used to.

No shit. You want to say. You don't.

Because he's right. You have changed.

And you're not entirely sure you're too fond of who you're becoming. Who you've already become.

Tick, tick, tick.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of an answer, you effortlessly withdraw a small, sleek throwing knife from your person. Launching it towards him but not at him.

Striking that damned clock in the center of its face. Piercing the glass but not shattering it.

Tick, tick, tick.

It still works perfectly fine, to your great disappointment. And slight embarrassment; you find yourself thankful for your mostly covered face.

"Damn." He whistles, looking back at the blade protruding from the clock. Then back to you, that smug expression back to being firmly in place on that stupid face of his. "Am I gettin' under your skin, Phantom? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around? Isn't that why you came here?"

You exhale sharply through your nose, tearing your gaze away from that giant man-child and snapping to the door instead.

Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline thrumming through your veins. Not out of fear this time, no, not at all like earlier. It's anger this time.

Pure, unfiltered rage and burning hatred simmering just beneath the surface. Fighting to be free.

You decide you quite like this new feeling. It was so rare you gave yourself the opportunity to feel it.

"You've changed, Phantom." He drawls again, this time less factual and more taunting. You hate it. You love it. It feeds the fire in you. "You've become just like me."

Oh.

No.

The warm adrenaline that has been pumping through your blood abruptly comes to a halt. Cold hard dread freezing in your veins instead.

Hell no.

Stiff as steal, you turn, not bothering to look back at him, and make for the door. Locking it behind you.

The Shadow you give the key back to doesn't question your trembling hands, simply returning to guard duty.

You're numb as you make your way upstairs again. Not even tormented by the usual slew of negativity and hallucinations.

You're not real, simply observing the world from an outsider's perspective. Watching yourself stroll down one corridor, then another, before making it to your office door.

You witness yourself unlocking the door, turning the knob, and walking inside. Sitting at your desk, you don't even register the feel of it beneath you.

Tick, tick, tick.

Maybe you should start combing through those recruitment forms.The company needed more bodies. In case of another unprecedented incident.

A notification popping up on the screen of your laptop brings your world to a stop.

It's from the Captain. You had been waiting to hear back from him since that first meeting had been so rudely interrupted.

You click on it–expecting a new date to make up for the last call, or maybe an apology for taking so long to get back to you–, read through those three brief sentences and all the bubbling rage you'd felt earlier quickly snaps back into its rightful place.

You push away from your desk before your brain even has the chance to register what you're doing. Gloved hands in your hair, fingers tangling into whatever you can grab. Tugging and pulling as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Pacing, breaths coming out in short pants as you desperately try to ground yourself.

Notagainnotagainnotagain-

The phone is ringing.

Tick, tick, tick.

Eyes flying open, body coming to an abrupt pause, you lock onto the offending noise.

Not right now. You couldn't deal with this right now. Not when so high strung. Not when you were feeling impulsive and out of control.

She already called once, why is she calling again? So soon?

You should ignore it. Deal with it later, when you've calmed down a bit. When was the last time you got some sleep anyway?

It takes one more ring and then you're stalking over to your desk.

One hand gripping the edge of the metal ledge firmly, the other snatches the phone off the receiver.

"How are you, Lieutenant?"

"I don't have time for this." You growl out, your voice is unrecognizable. Even to yourself.

"Have time for what? I'm just checking in."

"You already called."

A pause. You'd had one hell of a shitty day, Captain Price's blatant dismissal of you and your company was really just the icing on the cake.

She was talking. "-they don't need to be broken in. They take orders easily, without question. Every one of them-" Singing praise about the same offer she'd given you time and time again.

An email. He hadn't even had the decency or respect to call you. Didn't think you were worthy of more than a few clipped lines.

That they were busy. Didn't have time for you.

That they had more pressing issues to attend to. You weren't a priority.

"Yes."

"Sorry? Can you repeat that?" You know damn well she heard it. You didn't have the energy for this back-and-forth bullshit.

"What can you do for me?"

"Well," she purrs. "I already have one of my Predators claws-deep in that precious little task force…"

At that moment, you wanted to crush Price and his little soldier boys like the pests they were.

"And?" You can tell she's enjoying this and maybe one day you'll come to regret it all. But that day is not today, dammit, and you're tired of being a doormat.

"I can send you one of my Predators, one of the best. Maybe it could teach your Shadows a trick or two."

"Sounds perfect." The old you would've never agreed to this, would never have even considered it.

But the old you wasn't here right now. This new version was. And this new version refused to be bothered by it.

Refused to be like him.

Because, if you were already heading down that path, why not become worse than him? Make him regret ever uttering those words.

Tick, tick, tick.

Make him regret ever crossing you.

"That's great! I'm glad you have come to your senses, Lieutenant." You and her both. For better or worse. "You'll have it by the end of the week."

That regret came sooner than you thought it would.

You stand there a little for a little while longer after the call ends, phone rumbling the low hum of dead air in your hand.

The overwhelming rage has finally calmed to a simmer, the reality of your choices crashing down on you.

What have you done?

At least that meant no more calls.. right? There had to be some positivity to this.

Tick, tick, tick.

The phone drops from your hand, caught only by its wire as it hangs off your desk. The off-hook tone is still blaring from the speaker.

You're standing on the unstable metal of your desk, reaching, then sitting on that same surface. Clock in hand.

Tick, tick, tick.

Rough fabric scrabbling at the latch in the back. Yanking, pulling, peeling back broken plastic and grabbing at wires.

Tick, tick, tick.

Pulling on them, breaking them. Red, yellow, black, blue; you don't care. It all has to go.

Tick, tic-

Finally. Finally. Quiet at last. No more ticking. Just you. Just you; alone, in your office.

Surrounded by a massacre of black, disfigured plastic and colorful wire. On your hands, on your lap, on your desk.

It's almost poetic. How it looks like you.

It's finally quiet.

And so are you.

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