#Little does he know......he used to be one in his past life :')

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 1

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

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

Warning: FUTURE ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing.

Word count: 13937

Rhysand's office was dimly lit, the soft glow of faelight casting long shadows over the dark mahogany furniture. The air smelled faintly of leather, ink, and the rich tang of spiced wine. Cassian leaned back in one of the armchairs, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, while Azriel sat with his customary stillness, though his eyes betrayed the warmth of someone entirely at ease. Rhysand, perched on the edge of his desk, held his own drink with the casual elegance he always seemed to exude.

“Remind me again,” Cassian said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Why do we still have to deal with these Illyrian males who think they’re gods’ gift to training camps? I’ve been dealing with one this week who couldn’t even hold his sword properly, and he still had the audacity to call himself a warrior.”

Rhysand snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “Because if we don’t, they’ll tear themselves apart—or worse, decide to revolt again. You’re good at handling them, Cass.”

“Good at handling them?” Cassian scoffed. “I’ve got three sons at home who listen better than most of those arrogant bastards.”

Rhysand smirked. “That says more about Nesta than it does you.”

Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rare but genuine. “How are your boys doing, anyway?”

Cassian’s face softened instantly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Torran’s growing too fast. He’s already outpacing me in drills. Emrys is still too young to care about swords, which drives Torran insane. And little Calen—” He shook his head, laughing. “That one’s going to be the death of me. He’s climbing everything he sees. Nesta caught him on the roof last week.”

Azriel raised a brow. “The roof?”

Cassian nodded grimly. “Nesta nearly burned the house down when she found him. I don’t know whether to be proud or terrified. Probably both.”

Rhysand laughed, tipping his glass toward Cassian. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“And you don’t?” Cassian shot back. “How’s Nyx? Still giving you and Feyre a run for your money?”

Rhysand sighed dramatically. “Thirteen is...a challenge. He’s inherited Feyre’s stubbornness and my sharp tongue, which is a dangerous combination.”

Cassian snorted. “Sounds like poetic justice to me.”

Rhysand ignored him. “He’s growing into his powers faster than we expected. Sometimes I don’t know whether to be proud or worried. Feyre’s convinced he’s going to be stronger than both of us one day.”

“He probably will be,” Azriel said simply, his voice laced with quiet confidence.

Rhysand tilted his head, considering. “Maybe. But I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Azriel shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Nyx will outpace you before you know it.”

Cassian grinned. “And then you’ll know what it feels like when your kids don’t need you to teach them anymore.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He turned to Azriel. “Speaking of kids, how’s Kaia?”

Azriel’s expression softened instantly, the shadows around him retreating. “She’s...perfect. Curious about everything. She spent half an hour today chasing after her own shadow, trying to figure out why it wouldn’t go away.” His voice was tinged with amusement and an unmistakable love.

Cassian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And YN? Is she keeping up with her?”

Azriel gave a quiet laugh. “Barely. Kaia’s too quick for her own good. YN says she’s going to start making me run after her when she gets tired.”

Rhysand smirked. “You always were the fastest, Az. Seems fitting.”

Azriel shot him a look, though it lacked any real venom. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re chasing Nyx through Velaris at two in the morning.”

Cassian laughed, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To fatherhood. The most exhausting battle we’ve ever fought.”

The other two raised their glasses, the clink of crystal filling the room.

Rhysand’s gaze flicked between them, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Cassian nodded, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah, we have.”

The door to Rhysand's office creaked open just enough for a small, tousled head to peek inside. Azriel’s sharp gaze flicked to the doorway, his eyes softening as Kaia’s little feet padded across the stone floor. Without hesitation, she ran straight to him, her tiny wings fluttering in a haphazard attempt to take off.

“Dada!” she squealed, her voice high-pitched and filled with excitement. She launched herself into his arms with a giggle, and Azriel caught her effortlessly, pulling her close.

“Kaia,” Azriel murmured, pressing a kiss to her messy hair. “What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, big amber eyes that mirrored his looking up at him with feigned innocence. “I no want bath,” she said, wrinkling her little nose in distaste. Her chubby arms wrapped around him tighter. “Mama say I need bath... but I hide!”

Azriel’s lips twitched at the sight of her determination. “You hid from your mama to come find me?”

Kaia nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing with every movement. “Ye! I run real fast! Hide so no bath! No bath, Dada!” Her words were still jumbled with her toddler speech, but the meaning was clear enough.

Cassian leaned forward in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “What about me, huh? I don’t get a hug?”

Kaia squinted at him, brows furrowing as if trying to understand. After a moment, she shook her head and pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You too loud!” she declared with absolute certainty, her little lips pouting. “You talk all da time. I no like.”

Cassian laughed, throwing his head back. “Too loud? I’m the fun one, Kaia. You can’t just pick favourites like that.”

But Kaia was already halfway out of his reach, shifting in Azriel’s lap as she snuggled in closer to him. Her tiny hands reached up and tugged at Rhysand’s dark hair, as if the pull of his long strands was just too tempting.

“Rhysie,” she said with a giggle, her toddler voice softening the name into something both endearing and mischievous. Rhysand chuckled, allowing her to yank on his hair without complaint.

“You’re a little troublemaker, Kaia,” Rhysand said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as she pulled harder, then instantly snuggled back into Azriel’s side.

“Don’t pull on Rhysie’s hair, sweetling,” Azriel said gently, though there was a fond smile on his face. He wrapped an arm tighter around her as she cuddled against his chest, clearly not bothered by his warning.

“No bath!” Kaia protested again, her speech barely coherent as she pouted. “Mama no get me! I run! I hide!” She giggled again, clearly proud of herself. “Mama say I need clean. I say no! I say no bath, no bath, no bath!”

Azriel shook his head, chuckling softly as he ran his fingers through her dark hair. “You’re very clever, little one.” He looked at the others, sharing a silent understanding that there was no way Kaia was going back to the bath tonight.

Cassian grinned. “Alright, no bath. But only if you tell me a secret first, Kaia.”

She leaned back in Azriel’s lap, her tiny face scrunched up in thought. “A secret?” she asked, sounding very serious for a two-year-old.

“Yes, a secret,” Cassian insisted. “Tell me something nobody else knows.”

Kaia looked around the room, her eyes narrowing as she thought harder. Then, after a long pause, she smiled brightly. “I cookies,” she whispered loudly, leaning in to make sure Cassian heard. “I no share cookie.”

Everyone laughed, even Rhysand shaking his head with a smile. “That’s a secret?” he teased.

Kaia nodded vigorously. “Big swecret!” she insisted, then looked up at Azriel with all the sweetness in the world. “Dada... no bath?”

Azriel kissed the top of her head. “No bath tonight, sweetheart. But you’ve gotta let me have a drink with the guys now, okay?”

Kaia looked at him seriously, her little brows furrowing. “I no want drink. I want you,” she said, her tone pleading.

Azriel’s heart softened. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Always.”

Kaia settled back into his arms, clearly satisfied. “Okay, Dada. You stay.”

Kaia, content and warm in Azriel’s arms, relaxed into him, her little body soft and pliable as she burrowed closer. Azriel’s wings adjusted slightly, folding around her like a protective cocoon as she curled up against his chest, her tiny hands clasping at the fabric of his tunic. Her hair—so dark and wild—spilled across his arm, and her breath came slow and steady as she began to doze off, her toddler body relaxing against the weight of his warmth.

The low murmur of conversation from the men around them filled the air, but Kaia wasn’t paying attention. Instead, her tiny fingers traced the markings on his arm absentmindedly, her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She was already half asleep, the soft and steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her further.

Cassian was leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, giving Azriel a teasing look. "You know, I thought Azriel was the quiet one," he said, glancing toward Rhysand with a raised brow. "But now we’ve got the next generation in here, and she’s already taking after her dad. Quiet as a shadow."

Azriel chuckled softly, a quiet sound that only made Kaia snuggle deeper into him. “She doesn’t stay quiet when she wants something,” he murmured, though his voice held the tenderness that came with his love for her.

Rhysand, ever the calm presence, took a slow sip of his drink. “She has a strong will,” he said thoughtfully. “Wonder where she got that from? You or my sister?” He shot a playful glance toward Azriel.

Azriel only gave him a quiet look of warning, his fingers running through Kaia’s soft hair as her breath deepened, little snores just beginning to escape her. He spoke in a low, affectionate tone. “She’s more than just willful. She’s clever. She knows how to get what she wants.”

Cassian grinned. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger already, doesn’t she?”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he looked down at her, his wings fluttering lightly in the quiet, the weight of her trust settling over him. “She knows exactly how to work her way around me.”

“She’s two,” Cassian teased. “Wait until she’s ten, and she’ll have you wrapped up in knots.”

“I’ll be ready,” Azriel said with a soft smile, though the idea of her growing up so quickly left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He kissed her forehead gently, almost imperceptibly, as she murmured something unintelligible in her sleep.

The conversation drifted away from him as he allowed himself to enjoy this brief, peaceful moment with his daughter, the calm of the room enveloping them. But as the men continued to talk, there was a soft shuffle of footsteps, and Kaia’s small head jerked up from Azriel’s chest, her sleepy eyes blinking rapidly.

“Dada,” she whispered, her little voice thick with sleep. “Mama?”

Azriel stroked her hair gently, reassuring her. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

But Kaia’s curiosity had already taken over. She sat up suddenly, rubbing her eyes as she looked around the room. "Mama? I hide!” she said with a gleam of mischief in her voice, suddenly more awake and alert. Her eyes darted across the room as if calculating the best place to hide from YN. Without warning, she hopped off Azriel’s lap, her tiny wings fluttering in excitement. She scampered to the couch and dove under the blanket with an exaggerated puff of air, pulling it over her head, only her little feet sticking out.

Azriel watched her with a fond, amused expression, shaking his head slightly. “Kaia, you can’t keep hiding from Mama,” he warned softly, though there was no real reprimand in his tone.

Kaia’s voice came from under the blanket, muffled but still clear. “Mama no find me,” she said with utter confidence. Her tiny legs wiggled, her feet kicking the blanket in her excitement. “I hide, Dada! I good at hide!”

Cassian and Rhysand both chuckled at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes twinkled as he looked over at Azriel. “Looks like she’s more like you than we thought. You used to hide from your problems too.”

Azriel gave him a pointed look. “I don’t hide.”

“Of course not,” Rhysand said smoothly, though there was an unmistakable smirk on his face. “Kaia certainly doesn’t.”

Kaia, apparently content with her decision to hide, made little giggling noises from beneath the blanket. Azriel’s wings unfolded slightly in amusement, and he reached for her, gently pulling back the blanket to find her face all scrunched up in concentration as she tried to remain hidden.

“I see you, little one,” Azriel said softly, and Kaia’s giggles broke free as she peeked out, eyes wide with a mix of delight and mischief.

“I’m good hide, Dada!” she announced, her tiny hands still clutching at the blanket.

Azriel smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she crawled back onto his lap, snuggling against him once more. “You are, sweetheart. But no more hiding from Mama. She’s coming.”

Kaia frowned for a moment, but the promise of staying with her daddy seemed to cheer her up. “No Mama. No bath,” she muttered, her speech still jumbled but full of intent. “Hide more!”

Azriel chuckled, knowing full well that this little one would give her mama a run for her money.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway before the door to Rhysand’s office creaked open, and you stepped inside. Immediately, your eyes flicked to the sight before you—Azriel, seated comfortably in one of the chairs, his dark wings enveloping his daughter, who was curled up in his lap, asleep but still warm from the lingering glow of her playful energy.

You smirked as you took in the scene. Cassian and Rhysand were deep in conversation, but both looked up at you the moment you entered, the tension of their talks easing into an unspoken amusement. They’d seen that look before—the one where you were hunting for something (or someone) you didn’t want to admit was far too skilled at evading capture.

“I’m searching for a runaway,” you said with a teasing lilt to your voice, crossing your arms. Your gaze fell onto the small figure tucked against Azriel’s chest, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her little body completely at ease despite her escape attempt.

Azriel’s head tilted slightly as he met your eyes, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You mean Kaia, don’t you?” Rhysand’s voice was dry, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “I’m sure she’s hiding from you because she knows exactly what’s coming.”

“I’m sure she’s just lost in thought,” Azriel replied, though the way he shifted Kaia gently in his arms suggested he was trying to keep her in her comfortable cocoon. “She was really adamant about not needing a bath.”

“Oh, she’s very good at that,” you said, walking further into the room. “I thought I’d check in with you guys, but it looks like you’ve got her well in hand.” You looked pointedly at Azriel, whose face had softened as he ran his fingers through Kaia’s hair.

Kaia shifted in Azriel’s lap, her eyes half-lidded, but she was still awake, and the moment she heard your voice, her little face scrunched up in exaggerated suspicion. She slowly lifted her head, her tiny wings fluttering behind her as she tried to blink the sleep from her eyes.

“No Mama!” Kaia protested, throwing her arms over her face as if it would somehow shield her from the inevitable. “Hide! I hide, no bath!”

You sighed dramatically, taking a step closer, feigning exasperation. “Kaia, sweetheart, don’t you want to be all nice and clean for the night? I was just coming to check on my two favourite people, but I see that one of them is being a little troublemaker.” You crouched down in front of her, smiling at her defiant little pout.

She peeked from beneath her arms, and her lip trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “No Mama. No bath. I hide. I hide from Mama, Dada.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his voice low and soothing. “She’s good at hiding, love. I’ve tried to tell her it’s not going to work.”

“Oh, I know it won’t work,” you said, reaching out to pull the blanket off her tiny form. “But it’s adorable to watch her try.”

Kaia giggled as the blanket was pulled away, exposing her to you. Her small hands shot up to her face again in an attempt to shield herself. “No, no, no bath! I hide. I good hide!”

“You are a very good hider, sweetheart.” You reached down to scoop her up gently, ignoring her protest. She squirmed a little but melted against you when she realized there was no escape. “But no more running. It’s time for a bath.”

Kaia, however, wasn’t about to give up so easily. “I no need bath,” she declared with a loud puff of air. “I already clean! I clean!”

Rhysand’s laugh echoed through the room. “I believe that’s a no, then.”

You shot him a quick, amused glance. “A very determined no, at that. I think she might be more stubborn than any of us.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gazed at Kaia, still nestled against you. “She gets that from her mother.”

“She might also get it from her father,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted Kaia onto your hip.

“Not that much,” Azriel protested, though the warmth in his voice made it clear he didn’t mind at all.

“I’ll let you both deal with her when she’s three,” you said, already walking toward the door with Kaia clinging to you like a tiny koala. “For now, she’s still in the stage where she’s cute enough to get away with anything.”

Cassian laughed. “Good luck with that, YN. I’ve had a lot of practice with troublemakers, but I’m pretty sure Kaia’s going to be next-level.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “I’m well aware, Cassian.”

Azriel’s eyes followed you as you walked out the door, Kaia’s arms wrapped tightly around you. “You sure you want to take her?”

You glanced back at him and smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “She’s your daughter, Azriel. I think you’ve had your turn.”

Kaia let out a loud whine, her small hand tugging at your collar. “No bath!” she repeated, her toddler words still as adorably clear as ever. “I no bath, Mama!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” you said, kissing her forehead.

As you carried Kaia toward the door, her little protests still filling the air, you paused and turned back to the three men lounging in the office. Cassian was leaning so far back in his chair it looked like he might tip over, Rhysand was swirling his drink with all the leisure of a man who had nothing but time, and Azriel—well, Azriel was looking at you with that calm, unruffled expression, even though you knew he was just as guilty as the other two.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You know, I have a theory,” you said, bouncing Kaia slightly as she rested her head against your shoulder.

“A theory, hmm?” Rhysand drawled, one brow arching as he took another slow sip of his drink. “Do enlighten us.”

You smirked. “It’s funny how every time Feyre, Nesta, and I are up to our necks with the kids—” you glanced at Azriel meaningfully, “—all of you somehow end up here. Drinking. Relaxing. Laughing like life is oh-so-easy.”

Cassian snorted, his grin widening as he set his drink down. “We’re strategizing,” he said, far too defensively to be believable. “Important things. Illyrian training. You know, for the next generation.”

“Right,” you said, shifting Kaia to your other hip. “Strategizing. Because obviously, the best way to deal with a horde of screaming children is to sit in Rhysand’s office with a glass of whiskey.”

“I think it’s working,” Rhysand chimed in smoothly, giving you a wink. “Look how relaxed we are.”

Kaia, as if on cue, perked up just enough to lift her head and point a chubby finger at Rhysand. “Rhysie no help!” she declared, her toddler voice loud and certain.

You grinned. “Exactly, Kaia. Rhysie no help.” You turned toward the door, raising your voice just enough to carry down the hallway. “Nesta! You’ve got to come see this. The boys are in here strategizing while we’re busy running after all the kids.”

A moment later, you heard footsteps approaching, quick and purposeful, and then Nesta appeared in the doorway, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room. “Let me guess,” she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Drinking and lounging while we’re doing all the work?”

Cassian, who had the audacity to look pleased to see her, leaned back even further in his chair. “We’re taking a much-needed break, sweetheart. You know how exhausting strategizing can be.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Strategizing, huh? And what exactly have you been strategizing, Cassian?”

“Training,” Cassian replied smoothly. “The future. Our sons.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Of course. You’re strategizing, and we’re dealing with three boys who’ve decided that walls are optional for flying practice.”

Cassian sat up straighter, a smirk playing at his lips. “That sounds like good training to me.”

Nesta shot him a look that could have frozen the Sidra. “It’s destruction, Cassian.”

Kaia, catching onto the tension, buried her face against your shoulder, peeking out just enough to whisper, “Cassy in trouble?”

“Yes, Kaia,” you said, grinning. “Cassy’s in big trouble.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing the exchange with an amused smile, finally spoke up. “To be fair,” he said softly, “the boys did ask for a break.”

“Of course they did,” you said, shaking your head. “Meanwhile, Feyre and I had to chase Nyx off the roof again, and Nesta’s youngest is trying to figure out how to set a trap for the twins.”

Rhysand chuckled, raising his glass toward Nesta. “To the mothers of the Inner Circle. The true warriors among us.”

Nesta raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “You’re lucky we haven’t strung all of you up yet.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning as he motioned toward the empty chair next to him. “Why don’t you join us, sweetheart? You deserve a break, too.”

Nesta sighed but finally walked over, claiming the chair with a regal grace. She glanced at you as you shifted Kaia again, who had started to drift off once more. “I’m not doing this alone, YN,” she said. “Feyre deserves to see this, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you replied, smirking as you moved toward the door. “I’m going to send her in next. Let’s see how long your little strategy session lasts once the rest of us are here.”

Azriel’s quiet laugh followed you out, and you heard Cassian groan, “She’s bluffing, right?”

Rhysand’s amused voice was the last thing you heard before you turned the corner. “You know better than that, Cassian.”

You didn’t make it far before you paused, a smirk creeping across your face. “You know what? Feyre does need to see this now.” Adjusting Kaia on your hip, you turned back toward the hallway and called out, “Feyre! You might want to come take a look at this.”

The sound of footsteps echoed moments later, and Feyre appeared, her hair slightly mussed, her expression one of mild exasperation. “What is it now? Did Nyx try to jump off something again?”

“Not this time,” you said, gesturing toward the office. “But you’ll want to see what our fearless mates and brothers are up to while we’re busy chasing after their children.”

Feyre raised a brow and stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over the scene—the three men lounging in comfort, glasses of whiskey in hand, all looking far too pleased with themselves.

“Well, well,” Feyre said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “What do we have here? A secret meeting?”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a slow smile as he gestured to the empty seat next to him. “Join us, darling. We were just discussing the intricacies of basic Illyrian training.”

Feyre scoffed, striding further into the room. “Basic Illyrian training, hmm? Is that what you call this little boys’ club?”

“I think it’s cute,” you chimed in, bouncing Kaia slightly as she started to squirm. “They’re pretending they’re doing something important while we’re out there making sure their children don’t destroy Velaris.”

Nesta, still seated beside Cassian, smirked and gestured toward Feyre. “Take a seat. I’m sure they’ll explain how their ‘strategizing’ is critical to the survival of the Night Court.”

Feyre shook her head, but there was amusement in her eyes as she looked at Rhysand. “You know, Rhys, I’m starting to think we deserve a break.”

“A break?” Rhysand echoed, tilting his head. “From what, darling? Surely you’re not suggesting life with our children is anything less than a joy.”

You snorted. “Oh, it’s a joy, alright. Especially when Nyx decides to start a game of tag on the roof, or Cassian’s boys decide to see if they can break through a wall with their wings.”

“They’re learning structural integrity,” Cassian said defensively, though his grin betrayed him.

“And how exactly is that helping us?” Nesta asked, her tone sharp as she fixed him with a glare. “Do you know how many walls we’ve had to repair this month?”

Azriel stayed quiet, his hand lightly rubbing Kaia’s back as she snuggled against him, but his lips twitched in amusement.

Feyre stepped closer to Rhysand, placing her hands on the back of his chair. “You know, I think we deserve a week off. No kids. Just us. Let’s see how well you three manage without us.”

Rhysand arched a brow, his voice smooth as silk. “A week off? Are you implying we can’t handle our own children?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shifting Kaia again as she started to doze off. “Can you handle Kaia’s nightly escape attempts? Or Nyx’s tendency to challenge gravity at every opportunity?”

Nesta smirked. “What about when the twins decide they’re inventing a new game that requires smashing furniture?”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Please. We’ve handled far worse.”

“Oh, really?” Feyre asked, her tone dripping with challenge. “Then let’s make it official. One week. No help. No Feyre, no YN, no Nesta. Just the three of you and all the kids.”

Rhysand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gave her a slow, considering smile. “And what would the three of you be doing during this week of freedom?”

“Anything we want,” you replied immediately, grinning. “No schedules. No messes to clean. No nightly tantrums.”

Nesta’s voice was firm. “And no repairing walls.”

Azriel glanced down at Kaia, his gaze softening. “You’d really leave us alone for a week?”

“Yes,” you said, though your heart warmed at the way he was glancing at your daughter. “And you’d survive. Maybe.”

Cassian grinned, leaning toward Azriel and Rhysand. “Come on, boys. How hard could it be?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked toward Feyre, full of mischief. “Challenge accepted.”

Feyre smirked. “You’ll regret that by the end of the first day.”

You laughed, Kaia stirring slightly as you kissed the top of her head. “We’ll pack our bags tonight. Good luck, gentlemen. You’re going to need it.”

You grinned, shifting Kaia onto your hip as you leaned against the doorframe. “You know, Feyre, Nesta, and I could always go to the Day Court for the week. Helion would love to take us in. No kids, plenty of sunshine, and a lot less chaos.”

Cassian sat up straight, feigning offense. “The Day Court? You’d betray us like that?”

“Oh, it’s not betrayal,” Nesta said with a smirk, tapping her fingers on the armrest of her chair. “It’s survival. And besides, Helion has excellent taste. He knows how to treat his guests.”

Rhysand arched a brow at Feyre, his expression amused. “You’d run off to Helion? Really, darling? Aren’t I enough?”

Feyre tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Well, Helion does throw very good parties. And he doesn’t make me chase a child off the roof.”

Before Rhysand could respond, a loud, familiar voice interrupted.

“NO!”

Nyx came barreling into the room, his curls bouncing as he skidded to a stop in front of you. His eyes were wide with panic, and his wings flared slightly behind him as he planted himself firmly in your path.

“You can’t leave them in charge!” Nyx declared, pointing dramatically at his father, Cassian, and Azriel. “Not again! They’ll ruin everything!”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression equal parts amused and offended. “Excuse me, young man. What exactly are you accusing us of?”

Nyx turned on him, his hands on his hips. “The last time you were in charge, Uncle Cassian said I could ‘fly like an Illyrian,’ and then—” He flapped his arms wildly for emphasis. “And then I broke my arm!”

Cassian burst out laughing, clapping a hand on his chest. “That was a learning experience, Nyx. Every Illyrian has to learn how to fall at some point.”

“I didn’t fall!” Nyx shouted, glaring at him. “You threw me!”

“I did not throw you!” Cassian protested, though his grin was far too wide to be convincing.

Nyx crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “You threw me, and then you told Mama it was an accident. I’m still not allowed to go anywhere with you by myself!”

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath about reckless behavior and bad influences. “He’s not wrong, Cassian. You did throw him.”

“I helped him fly,” Cassian corrected, raising his hands defensively.

Nyx turned to you, his expression pleading. “You can’t leave us with them! Uncle Azriel doesn’t even let me hold his knives, and Dad just makes me sit and listen to boring stories about being High Lord.”

Azriel chuckled quietly from his seat, his hand still resting protectively on Kaia’s back as she began to doze. “I’m not letting you hold my knives, Nyx. You’re thirteen, not thirty.”

Nyx huffed, his wings twitching in frustration. “I can fight! I’m strong!”

“You’re also grounded,” Feyre said firmly, cutting off whatever argument he was about to make. “And if you’re trying to talk us out of going to the Day Court, it’s not working.”

Nyx’s eyes widened as he looked between you, Feyre, and Nesta. “You’re really going to leave me with them? Mama, you can’t!”

Rhysand smirked, leaning forward to ruffle Nyx’s hair. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll take excellent care of you.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Nyx muttered darkly, stepping away and turning toward the door. “I’m telling Aunt Amren. She’ll stop you.”

Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “Amren’s the one who suggested this in the first place. She said we’ve ‘earned’ it.”

You grinned, watching as Nyx stormed off, muttering under his breath about unfair treatment and irresponsible adults. Turning back to the three men, you tilted your head. “Well, there you have it. Even your own son doesn’t trust you to handle this.”

Rhysand sighed dramatically, lifting his drink. “Clearly, I’ve raised a traitor.”

Cassian laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Rhys. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Azriel didn’t say a word, but the slight twitch of his wings and the quiet laugh that escaped him said everything.

You smiled sweetly, adjusting Kaia on your hip. “Let me know how that attitude works out for you when we’re gone. We’ll be sure to send Helion your love.”

Feyre and Nesta smirked in unison as you all turned to leave, already planning the week of freedom ahead.

-----

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came after all the children had finally settled into sleep. Kaia had been tucked into her bed hours ago, her tiny wings carefully draped over her blanket as she drifted off without a care in the world. The boys had stayed up later than usual, their laughter echoing through the halls until Azriel finally sent them off to their rooms with firm but gentle reminders about the chaos they’d already caused today.

Now, it was just you.

You stood in the bedroom, a soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminating the suitcase open on the bed. You were methodically folding clothes—light dresses, comfortable shoes, and a few things Feyre and Nesta had sworn were “perfect for the Day Court.” A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about the week ahead. The idea of a break, of sunshine and relaxation with no children demanding your attention, felt like a dream.

The door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Still packing?” Azriel’s voice was soft, laced with that calm, steady warmth you adored.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of him leaning against the doorframe. His hair was slightly tousled, his shoulders relaxed now that the day’s chaos had come to an end. His gaze swept over the room, lingering on the suitcase before meeting your eyes.

“You know,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you, “I could still talk you out of this.”

You smirked, turning back to the suitcase as you folded another dress. “Oh, you could, could you?”

He came to stand beside you, his wings rustling slightly as he leaned against the bedpost. “Absolutely,” he said, his tone low and teasing. “Just say the word, and I’ll convince Feyre and Nesta that this trip isn’t necessary.”

You raised a brow, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “And how exactly would you do that? Bribery? Threats? Or are you planning to charm us into staying?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, his hazel eyes shining with amusement. “I was thinking charm, actually. It usually works on you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you placed another item in the suitcase. “Not this time, Shadowsinger. I’m going, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

He watched you for a moment, his expression softening. “You deserve it,” he said quietly. “All of you do. But… Kaia’s going to miss you.”

You paused, your hands stilling on the edge of the suitcase. “Kaia’s going to miss me?” You looked at him, raising a skeptical brow. “She spent the entire day glued to your side, Az. If anything, she’s going to forget I exist.”

Azriel chuckled, his wings shifting as he straightened. “She loves her mama. Even if she’s too stubborn to admit it sometimes.”

You smiled, your heart warming at the thought of your daughter. “She gets that from you, you know.”

He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, his touch gentle as he studied you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you said, your voice softer now. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Azriel’s gaze held yours, his hand dropping to rest on your waist. “We’re both lucky to have you.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the weight of the day melting away. His hand was warm against your side, grounding you in a way only he could.

“You’re really okay with this?” you asked quietly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. “Me leaving for a whole week?”

He smiled, a rare, genuine thing that made your heart flutter. “I’ll miss you,” he admitted, his thumb tracing small circles against your hip. “But I’ll survive. And so will Kaia. Somehow.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as his wings folded slightly around you. “I don’t know who I should be more worried about—her or you.”

“Definitely me,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But I’ll try to manage without you.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. “You’ll do more than manage. You’ll be amazing. You always are.”

Azriel leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that was both comforting and full of promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur.

“Don’t worry about us. Just enjoy yourself, YN.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart swelling with love for the man before you.

As the silence stretched between you, Azriel’s gaze flickered to your lips, a familiar glint of mischief lighting his hazel eyes. His hand on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down your spine, “we still have some time before you leave.”

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “And what exactly are you suggesting, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel’s wings flared slightly, brushing against the edges of the room as he leaned in. His lips ghosted over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, but he didn’t close the distance. Not yet.

“I’m suggesting,” he said, his voice a soft rumble, “that maybe you should stay here and let me remind you of all the reasons you shouldn’t go.”

Your breath hitched as his free hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. He dipped his head, his lips barely grazing your jaw as he whispered, “Starting with how much I’ve missed having you to myself.”

“Az,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone steady even as heat pooled in your chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm as his lips trailed along the curve of your neck. “I never said I would.”

Your hands found their way to his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunching under your fingers as you tried to catch your breath. “You’re not going to win, you know. I’m still going.”

His lips paused against your skin, and you felt the smirk that formed there. “Oh, I don’t need to win. I just need to make sure you remember me while you’re gone.”

Your laugh was breathless, and you tipped your head back, giving him better access as his kisses turned more insistent. “As if I could forget you.”

Azriel hummed, his wings curling slightly around you as his hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Good,” he murmured, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of the kind of intensity that made your knees weak.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “One more thing,” he said, his voice rough with affection.

“What’s that?” you asked, your voice just as soft.

His lips curved into a smirk as his thumb brushed against your lower lip. “Make sure Helion knows you’re mine.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of warmth as you leaned into him. “I think he already knows, Az.”

“Good,” he said again, his tone playful yet possessive as he kissed you once more, this time with no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

Azriel didn’t let you pull away—not that you wanted to. His lips moved against yours with that perfect blend of softness and urgency, his hands anchoring you firmly in place as though daring you to remember anything but him.

The suitcase on the bed was all but forgotten as he coaxed a sigh from you, his mouth tilting into a knowing smirk at your reaction.

“Az,” you murmured against his lips, your voice half-scolding, half-breathless.

“Hm?” he hummed, his tone utterly unrepentant as he kissed the corner of your mouth, then trailed down your jaw.

“You’re distracting me,” you managed, though your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt betrayed just how little you minded.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough in a way that made your pulse flutter. “You’ve been so focused on everyone else, shadow,”—his favorite term of endearment for you, spoken so softly it made your heart ache—“it’s time someone focused on you.”

Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his words, even as his teasing lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“You know,” you said, your breath hitching when his teeth grazed your skin, “if you keep this up, Feyre and Nesta are going to show up in the morning, and I’m not going to be ready.”

Azriel chuckled, the sound low and sinful as he lifted his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t need to pack for the Day Court. You could stay here. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You arched a brow, pretending to consider it even as you traced slow circles on his chest. “And what exactly would you do to make it worth my while?”

His hazel eyes darkened, and the corners of his mouth twitched as though he were holding back a full grin. “I’d start,” he said, his voice a silken promise, “by reminding you how much I love you. And then…” His wings flared slightly, his fingers tightening on your hips as he leaned in again.

“And then?” you pressed, your voice soft, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

“And then,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against yours, “I’d spend the whole week making sure you never want to leave my side again.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, though it was breathless and tinged with heat. “Azriel,” you said, shaking your head even as your hands slid up to wrap around his neck, “you are completely incorrigible.”

“I’m your incorrigible husband,” he said, his lips curving as he kissed you again, slow and deep, until all thoughts of the Day Court faded into nothingness.

When you finally pulled away, your breathing uneven and your cheeks flushed, Azriel’s hands stayed firm on your waist, holding you close. His hazel eyes sparkled with satisfaction, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tried to regain your composure.

“And you love me for it,” he teased, leaning down to brush another soft kiss to your temple.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately for me.”

Azriel chuckled, his wings shifting as he stepped back just enough to give you space. “I’ll leave you to finish packing—if you insist on going, that is.”

“If I insist?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk deepened, and he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Go to the Day Court. But don’t be surprised if I show up halfway through the week to bring you home.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to the suitcase on the bed. “Kaia would never forgive you if you left her for that long.”

“She might forgive me if I brought her to you,” he countered, his voice softening at the thought of your daughter.

“She’d love it,” you admitted, glancing over your shoulder at him. “But I think you can handle a week without me. Besides, Helion’s already promised Feyre, Nesta, and me the royal treatment.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, a subtle flicker of something possessive crossing his face before he hid it behind a playful smile. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

“Miss me already?” you teased, folding the last of your clothes and placing them in the suitcase.

“Always,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart stutter.

You paused, turning fully to face him. For a moment, you just looked at him—the man who had been your partner in everything, who had stood by your side through chaos and calm, who adored you and your daughter more than anything in the world.

Stepping closer, you reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. “I love you,” you said softly, the words carrying all the weight of your feelings.

Azriel leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “And I love you.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a cocoon. Then, with a final lingering kiss, Azriel stepped back, his hands falling to his sides.

“I’ll check on Kaia before I head to bed,” he said, his voice low.

You nodded, your heart swelling as you watched him leave the room, his shadows trailing after him.

And as you turned back to the suitcase, you couldn’t help but smile, already counting down the days until you’d be back in his arms again.

-----

The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, bathing the room in soft, golden hues. You stirred slowly, the warmth of Azriel’s arms wrapped securely around you, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. For a moment, you just lay there, savoring the feeling of being tucked against him, his wings sprawled protectively around your form.

His face was relaxed in sleep, the lines of tension from the previous days gone, and you couldn’t help but smile softly at the way he looked—vulnerable and at peace. You pressed your face against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, a mix of sandalwood and something distinctly Azriel—earthy, comforting, and home.

But as much as you wanted to stay there forever, the thought of the day ahead pulled you from the warmth of his embrace. You sighed quietly, trying not to disturb him as you shifted slightly, careful not to wake him. The soft rustle of the blankets seemed to stir Azriel’s senses, and you felt him shift behind you, pulling you closer as though trying to keep you there.

“Five more minutes,” he murmured against the back of your neck, his voice thick with sleep.

You chuckled softly, turning your head to plant a kiss on his jaw. “You know I have to go, right?”

Azriel groaned, his arms tightening around you. “I know,” he mumbled, but there was a hint of reluctance in his tone. “But I can’t let you leave yet.”

You laughed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back soon. Besides, Feyre and Nesta will never let us hear the end of it if we’re late.”

“Mm, they’re already too excited to get away,” he muttered, nuzzling against your neck with a final sigh of contentment. But after a moment, he released you, the warmth of his body leaving a cold spot on the bed.

Reluctantly, you slid out of bed, the cool air of the room instantly making you miss the heat of his touch. You moved to the closet, pulling out your outfit for the day, but as you dressed, you could feel Azriel’s eyes on you, his presence heavy and comforting.

Once you were dressed, you turned back to the bed. Azriel had propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on you with that dark, intense look he always wore when he was lost in thought.

“You’re really going to leave me?” he asked, his voice soft but with an undercurrent of affection.

You smiled, walking over to him and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I have to. I’ll miss you, too, though.”

He nodded, and for a moment, you stood there together, soaking in the last few moments before the day began in full force.

After a final kiss, you left the bedroom, stepping out into the hall. The house was already stirring, and as you walked toward the stairs, you heard the sound of voices below. When you reached the kitchen, you found the familiar sight of Cassian, Rhysand, and your little Kaia sitting at the table.

Kaia’s tiny feet dangled from the chair as she babbled happily, her wide, bright eyes sparkling up at Rhysand, who was teasing her with a piece of fruit. Cassian sat beside her, his boisterous laugh filling the room as he ruffled her hair. His sons were still nowhere to be seen, probably still asleep, which seemed to be a rare luxury in the chaos of their usual routine.

“Well, well,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. “Look who’s in charge of the kids this morning.”

Cassian looked up, grinning ear to ear. “Someone has to keep an eye on them while you take your luxurious break.”

Rhysand glanced up from where he was sitting next to Kaia, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re welcome. Though, I don’t know why you’re so eager to leave us. Kaia seems pretty happy here.”

Kaia giggled, reaching up to grab at Rhysand’s hair, tugging on it with all the strength her tiny hands could muster. “Rhysie!” she said, her voice lisping around the word as she giggled.

You shook your head with a small laugh. “She really is a handful, isn’t she?”

“She’s a delight,” Rhysand said, his tone dry as he pulled his hair out of her grasp. “I’m just glad I’m not the one who has to deal with her tantrums.”

Cassian threw his head back with a laugh. “I can’t wait to hear what happens when it’s Azriel's turn to watch her this week.”

Before you could respond, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and you turned to find Feyre and Nesta walking into the kitchen, both already fully prepared for the trip.

“We’re ready to go,” Feyre announced with a grin, her bags slung over her shoulder.

“You two really can’t wait, can you?” you teased.

Nesta crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “We deserve this, YN. Don’t try to ruin our excitement.”

Feyre grinned. “I’ll second that. I think it’s about time we leave the chaos behind for a bit.”

You laughed, crossing the room to grab a cup of tea before setting your gaze on Rhysand and Cassian, who were now clearly in full babysitting mode.

“If any of them come back with bruises or broken limbs, I’m blaming you three,” you said, teasing.

Cassian held up his hands in mock defence. “We’ll be just fine. I promise, Kaia’s in good hands.”

“Besides,” Rhysand added, “you’ll be back before you know it.”

As the four of you gathered your things, laughter and light-hearted banter filled the air. But in the back of your mind, you knew Azriel would be there to handle everything while you were away. You just hoped the boys wouldn’t get too out of hand.

-----

The moment the last of the girls left, a tense silence descended over the room, hanging thick in the air. Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel stood there for a moment, exchanging glances as they mentally prepared themselves for what was about to unfold. They’d been through this before, but that didn’t make it any less challenging.

Azriel shifted on his feet, his wings barely brushing against the table. “Are we sure we can handle all of them?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question of doubt—more like a quiet observation.

Cassian grinned, clearly relishing the chaos. “Of course, we can. How hard can it be? It’s just kids, after all,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. He shot a glance at Rhysand. “And don’t you dare try to say it’s ‘too much,’ Rhys. You’ve survived worse.”

Rhysand sighed but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “True. But we’ve never had this many all at once.”

The sound of little feet padding into the room interrupted the conversation, and soon the three boys—Torran, Emrus, and Calen—came stumbling in, their messy hair and sleep-rumpled faces betraying that they had just woken up. Their eyes were still half-lidded as they slowly blinked at the scene before them: three fully-grown men standing in a kitchen, attempting to look responsible.

“Dad?” Torran rubbed his eyes sleepily, looking at Cassian. “What’s for breakfast?”

Emrus yawned loudly, his hand rubbing his face. “I’m hungry,” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes as he looked at Rhysand, trying to look as cute as possible to get out of a scolding.

Calen, who was the youngest of the three, immediately latched onto his father’s leg, hiding behind it and peering up at the three men. “Daddy,” he said quietly, a bit unsure of the situation. “Where’s Mom?”

Cassian ruffled his hair affectionately. “She’s off on a much-needed vacation, remember? It’s just us today. And don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

Azriel gave a small, half-amused smile, glancing toward Rhysand and Cassian. “This is going to be fun,” he muttered under his breath.

The sound of more footsteps followed soon after, as Nyx walked in, still looking half-asleep but clearly already aware of the shift in the atmosphere. His eyes immediately flickered from Azriel to the boys, and then he gave a soft sigh, knowing exactly what his father was about to ask him to do.

“Dad, I’m not babysitting them,” Nyx grumbled, clearly tired of the routine.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Rhysand. “You’re not. You’re the oldest; it’s your job to make sure they don’t set the house on fire.”

Rhysand snorted, shooting Azriel a knowing look. “He’s right, Nyx. Just keep an eye on them for now. You’re the only one who can make sure Cassian doesn’t let them eat their weight in pastries before noon.”

Cassian threw his hands up in mock offense. “I don’t always spoil them,” he said dramatically. “But I do know what the kids like.”

Nyx rolled his eyes but nodded, knowing he was essentially outnumbered. He moved to sit at the table and begin slouching in the chair, obviously dreading the next few hours.

Just then, Kaia—Azriel’s little two-year-old—wobbled around room, her hair a wild mess of dark curls, her wide, curious eyes scanning the scene before her. She let out a cheerful giggle when she saw her dad and immediately ran toward him.

“Dada!” Kaia called, her baby voice high-pitched and full of excitement as she tried to climb onto his lap.

Azriel’s face softened as he scooped her up, settling her on his knee. “Hey, little one,” he said, his voice tender as he brushed a stray curl from her face. “What are you up to?”

“I want pannycake!” she declared loudly, bouncing on his lap as if that would make her demand more convincing.

“Of course you do,” Azriel said, half-amused and half-resigned. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Rhysand, with a resigned sigh, stepped over to the counter and grabbed the breakfast supplies. “Looks like it’s up to us to feed the masses today,” he muttered. “Anyone want to help?”

Cassian clapped his hands together, standing up with a grin. “You bet. Let’s make this an event.”

Torran, Emrus, and Calen started to gather around the counter, already too excited by the idea of food to care about their previous grumpy moods. Kaia, now securely in Azriel’s arms, pointed enthusiastically at the pancakes and asked, “Can I have bwuebewwies?”

“You can have whatever you want,” Azriel replied with a smile, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. He could already see that he was going to be wrapped around her little finger for the foreseeable future.

As the group settled into their roles, Rhysand began heating up the pan, Cassian retrieved various ingredients with unnecessary enthusiasm, and Nyx slouched in his seat, trying to act like he wasn’t already mentally preparing himself for the chaos ahead.

“Should we make this a competition?” Cassian asked, his tone light as he bounced between tasks. “See who can get the kids fed and settled fastest?”

Azriel rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re insane. But I’m in.”

Nyx groaned. “I’m too old for this.”

Cassian barely had time to react before Torran, Emrus, and Calen launched themselves at him, a unified flurry of arms, legs, and battle cries.

“Attack!” Torran shouted, his voice ringing with the authority of the eldest as he tackled Cassian around the middle.

Emrus scrambled to climb onto his father’s back, giggling uncontrollably. “We’ve got you now, Dad!”

Calen, not wanting to be left out, latched onto Cassian’s leg, his little hands gripping tightly as he added his own gleeful shout to the chaos.

Cassian staggered under the weight of all three boys, laughing as he tried to fend them off. “You think you can take me down?” he bellowed dramatically, his voice booming through the kitchen. “I’m a General! You’ll never defeat me!”

“You’re outnumbered, Dad!” Torran crowed, attempting to wrestle Cassian to the ground.

Azriel leaned casually against the counter, Kaia still perched on his hip, her little hands gripping his tunic as she watched the spectacle unfold with wide eyes. “Should we help him, sweetheart?” Azriel asked, his tone amused.

Kaia tilted her head, considering it for a moment before shaking her head firmly. “Nope. Cassy too loud,” she declared, her baby voice cutting through the noise.

Rhysand snorted from his spot near the stove, where he was flipping pancakes. “Looks like you’re on your own, Cassian.”

Cassian shot Rhysand an exaggerated glare. “Some High Lord you are, Rhys. Aren’t you supposed to lead by example?”

“I am,” Rhysand said smoothly, gesturing to the pancakes with a flourish. “I’m feeding your troops. It’s called strategy.”

As Cassian’s boys continued their assault, Nyx, who had been watching with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, got up from his chair and walked over to Kaia. He crouched down so he was at her eye level, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, Kaia,” he said gently, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her face. “You wanna get out of here before things get even crazier?”

Kaia blinked at him, her tiny hand clutching Azriel’s sleeve as she considered his offer. “We go?” she asked, her voice curious.

“Somewhere quiet,” Nyx replied, standing up and holding out his hand to her. “Trust me, this week is going to be a mess. We’ve got to stick together, okay?”

Kaia looked up at Azriel, her big dark eyes questioning. Azriel chuckled softly, setting her down on the floor. “Go on, sweetheart,” he said. “Nyx will take care of you.”

Kaia slipped her tiny hand into Nyx’s, her trust in him absolute. Nyx gave her a reassuring smile before glancing back at the adults. “Good luck,” he said dryly, his tone making it clear he didn’t envy them one bit.

With that, Nyx led Kaia out of the kitchen, leaving the three grown men to handle the chaos that was quickly escalating behind them. Rhysand sighed, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. “You know,” he said, addressing no one in particular, “this might actually kill us.”

Azriel smirked, his calm exterior never faltering. “Speak for yourself.”

Cassian, now pinned to the floor by his three sons, looked up with a mock glare. “You two are terrible friends.”

“Friends who are making breakfast,” Rhysand corrected, raising his spatula in a mock toast.

Cassian groaned, though his grin never wavered, and the sound of laughter filled the kitchen once more.

Cassian finally managed to wrestle himself free from his sons, standing up and dusting off his tunic with a grin. “You know,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, “maybe we should take this whole circus to the cabin.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, flipping the last pancake onto the growing stack. “The cabin? With all the kids?”

“Why not?” Cassian shrugged, his grin widening. “The boys have their Illyrian training this week anyway. They’ll burn off all their energy in the mountains, and we’ll have some breathing room to relax.”

Azriel, who had been silently wiping syrup off his hands after Kaia’s sticky breakfast adventure, froze. His sharp gaze snapped to Cassian, his wings shifting slightly as tension settled over him.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Azriel said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

Cassian frowned. “Why not? It’ll be good for the kids, and you know the mountains are perfect for—”

“For the boys, maybe,” Azriel interrupted, his tone measured but with an edge of protectiveness. “But Kaia’s too little. She can barely lift off the ground, and the air pressure in the mountains is different. It’s hard even for fully grown Illyrians.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes thoughtful. “It’s not just the air pressure, is it?”

Azriel glanced at him, his expression unreadable, but they all knew him too well.

“The Illyrians…” Azriel finally admitted, his voice quieter now. “They don’t take kindly to females with wings. Kaia’s just a baby. I won’t let her be exposed to that kind of... prejudice.”

Cassian straightened, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with seriousness. “Az, no one’s going to say a damn thing to Kaia. And if they do, they’ll answer to me. Or Rhys. Or, hell, even the boys. You know we won’t let anything happen to her.”

Rhysand nodded in agreement. “And as for the air pressure, we’ll adjust. We won’t push her to fly or do anything strenuous. She’s your daughter, Azriel. She has all of us to protect her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, the tension in his shoulders still visible. “It’s not just about protection,” he murmured, looking down at his hands. “I don’t want her to feel... less. Or different.”

Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his grip firm. “She’s not less, and she’s not different. She’s Kaia, and she’s incredible. Those winged bastards at the camps don’t get a say in that. You’re her father. She’s got you—and us. That’s all she needs.”

Rhysand smiled softly, leaning forward. “She’s going to grow up knowing she’s loved and cherished. And when the time comes, if she has to face the world, she’ll do it with her head held high because she’ll know she has us behind her. Always.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing slightly at their reassurances. He glanced toward the doorway where Kaia had toddled off with Nyx. “She means everything to me,” he said softly.

“We know,” Rhysand said. “And that’s why we’ll all make sure she’s safe. You’re not doing this alone, Az.”

Before Azriel could respond, the sound of loud footsteps filled the air, followed by a cacophony of laughter. Torran, Emrus, and Calen came barreling through the room, yelling as they bolted toward the doorway.

“Nyx! Wait for us!” Torran called, his voice filled with excitement.

“We want to play too!” Emrus added, his little feet pounding against the floor.

Calen, the smallest, brought up the rear, his face lit up with pure joy. “Kaia! Come back!” he yelled, his high-pitched voice echoing as they all disappeared around the corner.

Cassian shook his head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation on his face. “There they go,” he muttered.

Rhysand smirked, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “They’re your sons, Cassian. You only have your lack of self-control to blame.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the doorway where his daughter had disappeared. Despite his concerns, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “They’re going to wear Nyx out,” he said, the hint of amusement clear in his tone.

Cassian grinned. “Good. That’ll make things easier for all of us.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on Azriel. “So, what do you say, brother? The cabin for a few days? We’ll make it work—for everyone.”

Azriel hesitated for only a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Fine. But if anything happens to Kaia—”

“Nothing will,” Cassian interrupted, clapping him on the back. “You have my word.”

Azriel’s lips quirked upward in a small smile. “You better keep it.”

Cassian’s grin stretched ear to ear, his hazel eyes lighting up like a child who had just been handed his favorite toy. He slapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, his voice booming with excitement. “The cabin! This is going to be amazing!”

Azriel raised an eyebrow at him, his expression unimpressed. “Amazing? You do realize this isn’t a vacation, right? We’re bringing five kids under thirteen with us, including my toddler.”

Cassian waved a dismissive hand, already pacing the kitchen like he was planning a military campaign. “Details, Az. Minor details. This is going to be an adventure! Fresh air, wide-open skies, and the boys can run wild while we sit back, relax, and maybe get some peace and quiet—”

“Cass,” Rhysand interrupted dryly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re describing a fantasy. Peace and quiet? With your sons in the mix? I’d say the odds are slim to none.”

Cassian pointed at him, undeterred. “First of all, my boys are angels—”

“Absolute terrors,” Azriel interjected, his tone flat.

Cassian ignored him. “—and second, they’ll be too busy with training to cause chaos. I’ll get them out there running drills first thing every morning. They’ll be so exhausted they won’t have the energy to do anything but sleep.”

“Drills?” Rhysand repeated with a smirk. “You’re taking them to the cabin, not a war camp.”

“It’s a lifestyle, Rhys,” Cassian said, puffing out his chest like he was imparting sage wisdom. “Besides, you’ll thank me when they’re passed out by sundown and we’re sitting by the fire with a drink in hand.”

Azriel crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “And what about Kaia? She’s not exactly going to be running drills, Cassian.”

Cassian’s grin softened, a rare moment of genuine warmth flashing across his face. “Kaia’s going to love it. I’ll make sure she’s safe, Az. I promise. We’ll take her flying close to the cabin where the air’s gentler, show her the river, and teach her how to throw rocks into the water. Trust me, she’s going to have the time of her life.”

Azriel’s expression softened at the mention of Kaia, though he still looked sceptical. “She’s two, Cassian. Her idea of ‘time of her life’ is eating blueberries and hiding under blankets.”

“Exactly!” Cassian said, throwing his arms wide. “And the cabin is perfect for that! We’ll build her a blanket fort by the fire. She’ll never want to leave!”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

Cassian crossed his arms, his grin turning cocky. “Of course I am. I’m going to make this the best trip ever. Just wait—you’ll be thanking me by the end of it.”

Azriel sighed, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re mad, you know that?”

Cassian clapped him on the back, his grin unwavering. “And yet, you love me for it.”

Rhysand shook his head, lifting his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Here’s to surviving whatever Cassian’s version of ‘the best trip ever’ turns out to be.”

Cassian laughed, already mentally packing for the adventure. “Oh, you’ll survive,” he said confidently. “You might even enjoy yourselves. Trust me, boys—this is going to be legendary.”

Azriel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he straightened up. Cassian’s enthusiasm for the cabin trip was infectious, but the thought of Kaia being away from home in unfamiliar terrain still had him a little on edge.

“I’ll go find Kaia,” Azriel said, pushing off the counter. His shadows stirred, curling lazily around his shoulders as if they were ready to help in the search. “Nyx probably dragged her off somewhere to keep her entertained.”

Cassian smirked. “That kid’s already got more sense than you give him credit for. Kaia’s in good hands.”

Azriel shot him a look that said, That doesn’t mean I’m not checking. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen, his sharp hearing picking up faint giggles echoing down the hall.

As he walked through the house, he let his shadows fan out, whispering to him about movement and noise. They swirled back, leading him toward the sitting room. When he stepped inside, the sight before him made him pause.

Kaia was sitting on the floor, her little wings fluttering as she balanced a small pile of stuffed animals on top of Nyx’s head. Nyx, sitting cross-legged and perfectly still, looked utterly resigned, though there was a small, amused smile on his face.

“Kaia,” Azriel said, his voice soft but firm as he crossed the room.

Kaia’s head whipped around, her big dark eyes lighting up when she saw him. “Dada!” she squealed, scrambling to her feet. She stumbled slightly before running toward him, her tiny wings flapping in excitement.

Azriel caught her easily, scooping her up into his arms. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone tinged with amusement as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Kaia leaned back, her little face glowing with mischief. “Pwaying wif Nyxie’s hair,” she declared proudly, pointing at Nyx.

Nyx raised an eyebrow, reaching up to pluck a stuffed animal from his head. “I don’t think this is what my dad had in mind when he said to keep her busy.”

Azriel chuckled, pressing a kiss to Kaia’s temple. “Thank you for watching her, Nyx.”

“Anytime,” Nyx said, standing up and brushing off his pants. He handed Kaia one of the stuffed animals she had dropped. “But fair warning—she’s a little too good at bossing people around.”

Azriel smiled softly, adjusting Kaia on his hip as she giggled and buried her face in his neck. “She gets that from her mother,” he said with a hint of warmth in his voice.

Kaia peeked up at him, her curls bouncing as she grinned. “Dada, we go?”

“Yes, love,” Azriel said, turning toward the doorway. “We’re going to the cabin, but first, we need to pack your things. Come on, let’s get you ready.”

Nyx followed them out, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long week,” he muttered, though there was a glimmer of affection in his voice.

Azriel glanced back at him with a rare, small smile. “It always is.”

As Azriel walked toward the staircase with Kaia securely in his arms, he glanced back at Nyx, who was trailing behind with a casual slouch.

“Nyx,” Azriel said, his tone calm but carrying the unmistakable authority of someone used to giving orders.

The 13-year-old straightened slightly, his sharp eyes meeting Azriel’s. “Yeah?”

“Go pack your things,” Azriel instructed. “Clothes, whatever books or games you want to bring. Make sure you’ve got enough for the week.”

Nyx sighed, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Do I have to? I just got her to sit still. That was hard work, you know.”

Azriel gave him a pointed look, one that made Nyx quickly rethink any further protests. “Yes, you have to. Unless you’d like to be stuck in the same outfit for the next seven days.”

Nyx groaned but didn’t argue further. “Fine. But if I have to pack, I’m bringing all my stuff. Don’t complain when I take up half the space in the cabin.”

Azriel’s lips quirked upward in a faint smile. “Just pack what you need, Nyx. No more, no less.”

Nyx huffed, turning on his heel and heading toward his room. “You’re lucky I like Kaia and my aunt,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite in his tone.

Azriel turned his attention back to Kaia, who was fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Alright, little one,” he murmured, his voice softening as he kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get you packed up.”

Kaia wriggled slightly, her tiny hands gripping his shoulders. “I pack toys?” she asked, her words slightly garbled in her toddler speech.

Azriel nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. Let’s make sure we grab your favourite ones, okay?”

“‘Kay,” she said happily, her wings fluttering as she cuddled closer.

Azriel carried Kaia into her small but cozy room, decorated in soft shades of cream and pale green. Tiny wooden shelves lined the walls, overflowing with stuffed animals, picture books, and small trinkets she’d accumulated in her two short years. Her favourite blanket, a deep blue that matched his siphons, was draped over the side of her crib-turned-toddler bed.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Azriel said, setting her down on the soft rug in the centre of the room. She plopped onto her bottom with a giggle, her tiny wings fluttering as she looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

Azriel crouched down and opened the small wooden chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a soft travel bag embroidered with her name. “We’ll start with your clothes,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

“Cwothes!” Kaia echoed, clapping her hands.

Azriel stood and moved to her little dresser, pulling open the top drawer where her neatly folded tunics and leggings were stored. He carefully selected a week’s worth of outfits—soft, comfortable pieces that would keep her warm in the cooler mountain air.

“Do you want to help, Kaia?” he asked as he folded a tiny tunic and placed it in the bag.

Kaia jumped to her feet, wobbling slightly before toddling over to him. “I hewp!” she declared proudly, grabbing one of the leggings he’d laid out. Her little hands struggled to fold it, but she managed to mash it into a ball and shoved it into the bag.

Azriel chuckled, his shadows curling around him like an extension of his amusement. “Good job, love,” he said, smoothing out the bunched-up fabric before zipping the main compartment.

Kaia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “I so good,” she said with a self-satisfied nod.

“The best,” Azriel agreed, lifting her back onto the rug. He moved next to the shelf where her favorite toys were kept. “Alright, what toys do you want to bring?”

Kaia’s eyes lit up, and she immediately ran to the shelf, pointing at a stuffed bat nearly as big as her. “Batty!”

Azriel reached for the stuffed animal, handing it to her. “Batty, of course. Anything else?”

Kaia clutched Batty to her chest, her little face scrunched in concentration as she scanned the shelf. “An’...an’ Bunny!” she declared, pointing to a small gray rabbit.

Azriel grabbed the rabbit and added it to the bag. “Batty and Bunny. Anyone else?”

Kaia hesitated, then nodded. “Puppy!”

Azriel reached for the well-loved plush dog and handed it to her. “Alright, that’s three. I think that’s plenty, don’t you?”

Kaia pouted slightly but nodded, hugging Batty tightly.

Next, Azriel grabbed her favorite blanket from her bed. “We’ll need this,” he said softly, folding it neatly before tucking it into the bag. He also added a couple of her picture books, knowing how much she loved to have bedtime stories read to her.

Finally, he packed a small pouch with some snacks—dried fruit and crackers, her favourites—and slid it into the side pocket of the bag.

“There,” he said, zipping the bag shut. “All ready for the cabin.”

Kaia looked up at him, her big dark eyes shining. “We go now, Dada?”

Azriel smiled, scooping her up into his arms. “Not yet, love. Soon.”

Kaia rested her head against his shoulder, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt. “’Kay,” she murmured, her voice soft and content.

Azriel pressed a kiss to her curls, his heart swelling with a warmth he could never quite put into words. “Let’s go find the others,” he said, carrying her and the bag out of the room.

-----

You, Nesta, and Feyre stood in the grand room of the Day Court's estate, taking in the sweeping view of the sun-kissed landscape outside. The pale golden walls and sunlit windows were the perfect setting for a relaxing getaway, especially after weeks of chaos back at the Night Court.

As you set down your bag, you sighed with relief. “It feels so good to finally be here,” you said, dropping onto one of the plush couches and looking at the half-empty wine bottle beside you.

Feyre raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on her lips. “Already drinking at 1 PM? I guess we really are living our best lives without any kids around.”

Nesta snorted as she opened a second bottle. “I’m not complaining. I’ve earned this.”

You laughed and took a sip, leaning back against the cushions. “I swear, every moment I get without Kaia trying to climb up my legs is a treasure.”

Feyre rolled her eyes but was clearly amused. “I thought we were all in agreement. A week off. I can’t believe we actually made it.”

Nesta chuckled. “We should’ve left sooner. It’s been a mess with the kids, but at least we finally get some peace and quiet.”

As if on cue, the door to the living room swung open, and Helion strode in, his hair shining like the sun itself. He wore his usual carefree grin, his amber eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Well, well, well,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he took in the three of you lounging on the couch. “The beauties have come without their beasts. Should I be worried about what you’re all getting up to without them?”

You smirked at him, feeling the familiar warmth of his teasing presence. “Helion, you’re just jealous you didn’t come with us. You know you can’t resist our charm.”

Nesta and Feyre both glanced between you and Helion, their curiosity piqued.

Feyre tilted her head. “Wait, you two know each other that well?”

Helion raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by their interest. “Know each other? We go way back. You could say I’m the loss of her life,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes. “She’s the one that got away.”

You rolled your eyes, not at all surprised by his dramatic flair. “Not true,” you replied with a grin. “We slept twice, centuries ago. That’s all. And one of those times was when you were trying to win a bet on whether or not you could make me laugh.”

Nesta and Feyre exchanged looks, clearly intrigued.

“Twice?” Feyre asked, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me there was nothing more between the two of you?”

Helion leaned against the doorframe with a knowing look, crossing one ankle over the other. “Ah, nothing more. The truth is, we slept, we laughed, and then we moved on. I’m the truth-teller, after all,” he added, smirking as if to say, don’t challenge me on this.

Nesta looked at you in disbelief. “So, you two really didn’t get together after all that?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Nope. I’m not sure even Helion can hold a candle to the other men I’ve encountered. Besides, we’re still good friends.”

Helion’s grin widened as he walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “The best kind of friend, of course. The kind who knows all your secrets and still manages to make you laugh.”

Feyre laughed softly, clearly entertained by the banter. “Well, I’m glad you two had your fun. But, seriously, is there any chance you two would ever—”

“Stop right there,” you interrupted, holding up a hand to halt her curiosity. “Let’s just say we’ve both moved on. No need for more stories. My husband is way more than perfect for me.”

Helion chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I won’t embarrass you any further. But I still stand by my ‘loss of my life’ claim.”

You smirked, giving him a playful shove. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Just the way you like me,” he replied with a wink, turning to face Nesta and Feyre. “Anyway, welcome to the Day Court. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. And don’t let them fool you; they can’t resist a little sunshine every now and then.”

With that, Helion made his exit, leaving you, Feyre, and Nesta to settle into the quiet luxury of the Day Court, your laughter still echoing in the room.

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a surprised look as Helion left, their curiosity piqued by the snippets of your past that had come up in conversation. They were both clearly itching to ask more, and Feyre, ever the straightforward one, was the first to break the silence.

“You never told us about that,” she said, her voice half teasing, half incredulous. “How did we not know about you and Helion?”

You took another sip from your glass, leaning back and pretending to be nonchalant, though inwardly you were amused at their questions. You had definitely seen more than your fair share of shocked expressions over the centuries.

“You’re only in your thirties,” you said with a smirk, setting your glass down on the table beside you. “I’ve had more time to experience things than you can imagine. I’m in my five-hundreds, remember?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but intrigued. “Still… How have we never heard any of these stories?”

“Well, the thing is,” you began, glancing between them with a knowing smile, “I’ve had more than just one adventure, if you will. Not just with Helion.”

Feyre blinked. “What do you mean? Like…”

You didn’t let her finish, taking an exaggerated breath. “I slept with Eris too. He’s a charming one, if you can get past his ego. Lucien wasn’t bad either. Good lover, actually.” You shrugged casually, enjoying the shocked expressions on their faces. “And let’s not forget Tarquin. I’ve seen my fair share of High Lords. being Rhysand's sister allows a lot of interactions with higher profiles.”

Feyre’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide in disbelief. “Tarquin? I would never have guessed!”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited. We never got very far,” you added with a teasing grin. “Just a few stolen moments here and there, but you know… Tarquin’s good company when you need it.”

Nesta was almost choking on her wine, unable to keep her laughter in. “Wait, so you really weren’t lying when you said you’ve slept with half the court?”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, smirking. “Wouldn’t call it half, but yes, I’ve been around. But those are just the more notable names. There are more.”

Feyre shook her head in utter disbelief. “How have we been friends for so long, and you’ve never once mentioned any of this?”

“Because, darling,” you said, swirling your wine in the glass with a playful grin, “you two have been busy with your own drama. There’s only so much time in a conversation, and quite frankly, I enjoy watching you both unravel the mystery of my past.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at you, clearly intrigued but also a little annoyed by the way you were making a game out of this. “Okay, fine. But I want to know everything. Tell me about Eris.”

You leaned back, folding your arms and smirking at them both. “Well, that’s a long story. Maybe after another glass of wine?”

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a look, both of them clearly hooked on your tales now, and you could tell they weren’t going to let this go. They were going to need all the details, and you were more than happy to indulge them in their curiosity.

For the first time in a while, you felt truly free. No responsibilities. No expectations. Just three old friends relaxing and laughing in the comfort of the Day Court—and the promise of a few more stories to tell.

A/N: Comments and reblogs would be appreciated, let me know if you'd like to be tagged

[lieutenantbatshit]

hii!! i was wondering if you'd be interested in writing a young inho x reader, something fluffy, maybe like a university!au where the reader and inho are both training for police, and they go from meet ugly to lovers?? nothing too long, just a short little au!!

all up to you if you'd like to pick this up!! love ur current series btw

my kind of distraction (hwang in-ho x reader)

Tags: university!au, inho x reader, enemies to lovers, young in-ho, fluff

Summary: You first meet In-ho at a convenience store, unbeknownst to you that he was also party of the police academy you were training for. On your first day of training, you meet In-ho again and think of him as someone who's arrogant during trainings, as he would criticize you whenever you were partnered with him. Over time, you found yourself looking forward to your trainings together. And when you successfully anticipated his next move, for the first time in a while, he smiled.

A/N: I know I used a Mr. Sunshine GIF for this AU, but it's the perfect scenario of what I pictured in my head. I'm sorry this took awhile as I am still grieving over my father, but here it is! 🫡

----

The fluorescent light cast a stark, sterile glow over neatly stacked shelves, the faint beep of the cashier scanning items, and the quiet hum of refrigerators lined with colorful drinks. As you entered the convenience, the smell of instant noodles, cheap coffee, and something fried from the food warmer near the counter reached your nose.

The ground beneath your feet was steady, yet it felt as if you’re walking on air, one breath away from something bigger than your grasp. You took a big step out of your comfort zone, entering the police academy with no connections - just pure luck. For the past few days, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you made a great choice, that it was enough. Enough to prove the fear doesn’t get to hold you back. That growth isn’t meant to be comfortable. 

You sighed as you grabbed an instant ramen on the shelf, with a soda in a can at hand. You had to eat something, at least. The nervousness in taking it all by yourself, taking control of your life, was starting to get to you. At least, in this way, you felt normal.

You didn’t notice him at first. Not until you round the corner of an aisle, trying to get to the cashier, and see him standing by the refrigerated section.

Tall. Composed. Effortlessly self-assured in a way that feels almost deliberate. 

He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate in his movements. His fingers graze over a row of canned coffee, seeing it labeled as Americano as he plucked one off the shelf with a kind of precision that suggests he does this often. There’s an air of distance about him, something cold and untouchable, like he exists in a space just slightly apart from everyone else. 

Even as another customer brushes past him, murmuring a quiet sorry, he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t shift, doesn’t react. He simply steps back as if it’s expected, as if the world should move around him rather than the other way around. The cool blue light of the fridge highlights the sharp angles of his face. You shook your head, an attempt to shake him away from your thoughts as you noticed yourself staring. He hasn’t noticed you yet. Or maybe he has, and he just doesn’t care. 

And then, as if sensing your stare, he lifts his gaze and meets yours.“You see something you like?” He said, voice low and edged with a quiet arrogance. 

You snapped away from your thoughts immediately as you felt your throat tighten, caught between embarrassment and irritation. 

You open your mouth, ready with a sharp retort, but then he turned away. He walked past you without a glance, the scent of coffee and something clean lingering in the air as he passed. It should be unremarkable, just another fleeting moment in a late-night store. 

But something about him stays with you. You don’t know why yet.

Not yet, anyway.

But one thing’s for sure - that annoyed you more than anything else.

——

The universe had other plans. The kind of plan that didn’t think of you, that didn’t care for your feelings. 

“Hwang In-ho.”

You snapped your head up just in time to see him forward as you stood in formation on your first day of training at the police academy, listening to the instructor call out partner assignments. You nearly feel your stomach drop as you see him, the man you met at the convenience store.

He was composed as ever, his expression still unreadable. 

“And you,” the instructor continues, turning toward you. “You’ll be working with him.”

Your gaze stayed still, trying not to show any emotion from what you felt from your first encounter with Hwang In-ho. You avoided his faze as he walks over to stand beside you; something flickers across his face. A moment of quiet recognition.

His eyes drag over you as if to assess you, tilting his head a bit. Then, he let out a quiet chuckle.

“You again,” he murmured, just low enough that only you can hear. 

You straighten your shoulders, trying not to let his arrogance under your skin. “Guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

In-ho smirked, his gaze lingering longer before he looked ahead again, completely at ease. “Try to keep up.”

For the past few months, you trained with In-ho. As much as you wanted to think of him as your equal, you can’t help but feel the rivalry between you two. Beside you, In-ho was already prepared, his stance immaculate, and his confidence radiated like an invisible force. 

The sound of boots scraped against the floor echoed in the small, sparse room. You and In-ho stood in the center. The air was thick with anticipation, and despite the calm exterior, you could feel the adrenaline humming through your veins. Today’s training was all about speed and precision - drawing the weapon fast enough to stop a threat before it had a chance to react.

In-ho had already settled into his stance, the gun at his side, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the space like he could already predict what would happen next. His usual cocky smirk was there, though this time, it had a sharper edge to it.

“You ready to keep up?” In-ho asked, his voice almost mocking.

“Just don’t slow me down,” you replied. You tried to ignore the way his words grated against you. You knew he was trying to test you. Drawing the weapon wasn’t just about speed - it was about control, about making every move count without wasting time. 

In-ho turned his head, his eyes glinting with that same arrogant fire. “You should be thanking me for this. You’ll never get this fast on your own.”

You clenched your jaw but didn’t respond. It wasn’t worth it. You knew what you needed to do.

“Go.”

Your fingers shot to the grip of the gun, a smooth, practiced motion - except it wasn’t quite smooth enough. Your hand fumbled slightly at first, a split-second delay in pulling the gun free, and that split-second was enough for In-ho to draw your gun away.

In-ho lowered his gun with a grin, his voice dripping with that all too familiar smugness. “You might want to work on that. A slow draw will get you killed before you even start.”

You felt the heat of frustration surge in your chest, but you swallowed it down. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, he was right. Yet you didn’t want to lose this time. 

“Let’s do it again,” you said, steadying your breathing.

In-ho gave you a cocky nod, clearly entertained. “Fine. But don’t take too long. I wouldn’t want you to waste all my time.”

You took a step closer, not missing a beat. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love to waste more time on me,” you teased, leaning in just enough for him to notice the playful glint in your eyes. “But I think you’re already getting a little distracted.”

In-ho’s expression faltered for a moment, his usual confidence slipping as he caught the shift on your tone. His eyes lingered on you, just a fraction longer than what was considered normal, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something else behind his gaze. 

At that moment, you knew you caught him off guard.

In-ho’s expression shifted, his confidence momentarily shaken as he cleared his throat. “You think you can distract me that easily?” A tight chuckle escaped from his lips.

You shrugged with a smirk. “I’m sure you can handle it. But I think you might be a little more… interested in what I can do.”

In-ho’s lips twitched, fighting back a smile. For a second, you could see him caught between his usual arrogance and the curiosity that had crept up into his eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, though there was a slight edge to his voice, something more amused than irritated.

“Ready for round two?” You challenged, giving him a wink, this time with more confidence than before. 

“Go.”

The signal came again, and this time, you were ready. Your hand shot to the holster, faster, smoother, pulling the gun with fluid motion from him. You pointed and aimed at In-ho, sending his arms up in surrender. 

For a moment, the room went still. In-ho was caught off guard, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a flicker of surprise. You couldn’t help but grin, your finger resting lightly on the trigger, though you weren’t about to fire.

“You were saying?” You asked, your voice low and teasing.

In-ho blinked, the smile creeping back onto his face, only this time, it was different. There was something more impressed in it, a quiet acknowledgement of the thought that you just won.

“Guess I underestimated you,” In-ho said, his cockiness returning, though with a slight edge of admiration.

You lowered your gun, placing it on your pockets as you wiped your sweat away with a face towel. “You do that a lot, don’t you?” A soft chuckle escaped from you.

To your surprise, he smiled. “You’re full of surprises.” His voice was almost softer now, a subtle warmth in his words.

You felt your heart skip a beat. There was something about the way he looked at you - something disarmingly genuine in the smile that reached his eyes. As you tried to steady the racing of your heart, you swallowed as you let out a small grin. “You have no idea,” you replied.

In-ho watched you for a moment longer, the smile still playing at the corners of his lips. He seemed to favor the tension between you and him before giving a slight nod. “I think I’m starting to.”

----

>> REQUEST HERE

[newtonsheffield]

Idk why but that new little scene of Anthony we got gave me this idea of where Anthony is in his office late at night with his son sleeping beside him. He has taken Neddy with him to his office because he was fussy and Anthony wanted Kate to sleep. Once Neddy settled down they stay in there while Anthony does some work until Kate comes down to find them together and just can’t believe how lucky she is to have her little family that she never allowed herself to want.

Ugh I’m obsessed with them!! can’t wait to see an official picture or scene of Kate and Anthony together being new parent to baby Edmund!!!

I think that’s part of why this is so special. Kate never allowed herself to believe that she could be cherished this way if she wasn’t useful. And now she has Anthony whom she was an active menace to for months when they first met and he really does love her unconditionally. Anthony who was so excited to become a father he wanted to stand on the roof and shout it out to people. She feels lucky as well.

She’s heard from so many other ladies that their husbands couldn’t be less interested in their children. But Anthony’s not like that.

She woke slowly one night, confused at the darkness around her. She turned to nestle back against Anthony only to find him gone. Kate sat up, blinking slowly to take in their surrounds and then she heard it.

“I was out riding one morning.”

Anthony voice was coming from the next room, the faint glow of a candle leaking in from the sitting room.

“I was not my best self then and all of a sudden, a woman flew past me on a horse.”

Kate smiled to herself as she slid out of the sheets, padding over to peer round the doorframe. Her heart ached in her chest when her eyes fell on Anthony, with their tiny son cradled against his bare chest smiling softly.

“I thought she might be in trouble so I chased after her and when I caught up to her I realised she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Can you guess who that was? That’s right it was Amma. And she did not like me one little bit at first.”

“Are you filling our son’s head with lies?”

Anthony’s rumpled head shot up in surprise but his lips softened into a smile when he saw her. “Not at all. He was fussy and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I liked you plenty then you know.” Kate smiled, “I was even excited to see you that night. Then of course-“

“I opened my mouth a ruined it.”

“Quite.” Kate settled beside him on the sofa, running her fingers gently through Edmund’s shock of dark hair. “I never thought I’d find this.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” She could see the worry in his eyes. “You’re glad you chose me?”

“Anthony, I couldn’t be happier. I’m more than glad I found you. I’m not sure I ever would have allowed myself to acknowledge what I wanted if you hadn’t stormed into my life.”

Anthony pressed his forehead against hers, “I feel the same way. Now let me finish telling Neddy his story.”

[nightscythe]

light sides of the primarchs' relationships

happy valentine’s day!! this one is a bit happier than the 'dark sides' one for obvious reasons. as always just my opinion. if there is anything else you would like to see, let me know! enjoy!!

18+, it's not necessarily nsfw but suggestive themes. based on pre-heresy interpretations.

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the lion: the ultimate protector. you'd never feel unsafe in his presence. not just from legitimate threats, but.. waking up in the morning to find his arms around you, eyes watching you, lips ghosting your hair as though he would never be able to let you go. you're minding your own business reading a book or listening to others talk, and even though he's on the other side of the room he's still watching, calculating, making sure every single person near you is treating you well. if anyone did try anything? nice knowing them. you become his priority. his endless war. nothing will ever harm you again, except maybe him, on his endless war with making you feel every ounce of pleasure the universe can offer. ;)

fulgrim: is also your best friend, but not in the typical guy way. he's literally invested in every single one of your stories, he knows everyone's little secret, he comes back to you with tales he's learnt and weekly scandalous gossip. he knows everything about you. it's not even deliberate either, he's just so in sync with you that he could take a wild guess and still get it right. nights together can feature many things, all of which are thoroughly enjoyed due to his ability to perfect every single thing he does, but knowing there will never be a time you cannot talk to him about something? knowing he'd give you the best advice, more accurate responses, it's very comforting.

perty: you know everything with him is genuine. he would never lie to you, and that may be hard to swallow at first, but really? its a godsend. he'd not try to make you feel better by telling you a slight truth, he'd rather help you to move past it, work on the issue, etc. and that's why, a long way down the line when he does give you infrequent but honest words about his love for you, it means more than anything. there is not someone in the galaxy that you could trust more than this man, not with your life, your secrets, or your heart. and really, it would only ever get stronger over time.

the khan: enjoyably unpredictable. a man who values freedom always would be. he uses his instincts in everything and therefore it may not always be easy to know what he's going to do next. would encourage you to do things you may never have thought about, shows you new parts of the galaxy and introduces you to topics and concepts you knew nothing about before him. for that reason, he's an absolute storm when you are alone. completely unpredictable and completely dedicated to pleasing you. he's also just enjoyable to be around. he may be a touch arrogant and quick tempered, but he's witty, sarcastic, and excellent with his successful attempts to rile you up with teases.

leman: his love is very pure and built on a huge amount of respect. small gifts, tokens of appreciation, oh its all coming out with him. 'made me think of you' type thing and it's the most beautifully designed canvas that you know he wouldn't have just stumbled across. of course this is very different to how everyone else sees him, and no one would believe you. uses that to his advantage. loses all sense of practicality though when it comes to you and would probably show you 110% of his emotions even when he didn't intend to. his heart is in it, no half measures, you're his entire world now and as long as you will let him, he will love you for the rest of his life.

dorn: he is cold, but there is that burning fire that rages beneath. and when the cracks are fully formed? its impossible to ignore. he will not say I love you, but show you he loves you. there are never ups and downs, no maybes - its always a definite. if you need something? he gets it. you are worried about something? there is no need to worry for it any longer. he plans, he knows what to do to help you, he would never give reason to doubt that 1. he could protect you, and 2. his unwavering loyalty to you. does everything in his power to please you, particularly in the physical manner. when he's around, everything feels intense, and its oh so hard to ignore.

curze: he's trying. he is. you can see it each day. sometimes its not obvious, but he really does watch other people and try to imitate what they do to show you the love you deserve. because in his mind? you deserve it all. would he ever tell you that. no. he'd find it stupid. he'd rather keep it all to himself. but sometimes he bottles too much inside and it all comes out, all at once, every feeling he has. in that moment he just needs someone to hold him, reassure him, and be there to feel the love that follows. of course it isn't conventional, but even if he just taught you tarot, explained his twisted thoughts, tried to show you your fate - he's sharing a part of him that he'd not let another see.

sanguinius: effortlessly devoted, but not in the obsessive, overbearing way. you can see it in his eyes. he doesn't need to worship the ground you walk on or call in a choir to sing about you, you can just feel it. the small gestures. something so meaningful but so tiny that it almost snaps reality. helping you to braid your hair. trying his best to help you with something that he could have just ignored. listening to you with intent - not because he loves you so much he doesn't want to look away, but because he wants to hear you. listen to you. understand everything he can about you. it's so natural to him and warms you every time. something something doesn't care what time of the month it is either.

ferrus: always pushes you to be the best version of yourself. of course I have covered the bad side of this, but provided it's tamed, he understands there are limits, it can be rewarding. he will always reassure you that he doesn't need you to be perfect to love you, and would always encourage you to make decisions which benefited you - not anyone else. you'd also get to see his emotions, a rarity, knowing he only trusts so many to see him like that. a national accompaniment to this is that he pays a lot of attention to you. knows you extremely well. so if you ever argue, or don't talk for whatever reason.. be sure to engage the full ferrus apology - bedroom and all. crafts you really nice things too (of course)

angron: love is the only quiet he gets from pain. when you see him at ease, even for only a few moments, you can rest assured knowing that you were helping him. when he holds your hand, when he stands before you and defends you with his whole being, when he lets you fall into his arms and hesitantly wraps them around you. you know then that it's true. because he wouldn't do that for anyone else, and he couldn't physically do that if he did not have a moment of reprieve. and he knew as well that you gave him a chance, saw him for more than what everyone else did. that means more to him that anything.

rob: truly appreciates you. like, will show you, will make sure you know, will do anything in his power to make sure you're aware that the only reason he has an ounce of sanity left is because of you. you're the only person he will pause everything for, he will turn everything off to listen to you and your thoughts, he will actively seek your opinion on things he knows you would be happy to give it on, etctec. he just treats you like an equal. and considering who he is, that may be hard. but he does value you. yes he is pulled in every direction by all his duties but he knows where the limit is, and if either of you are reaching it, he will do what he can to make sure you feel happy and secure.

morty: it's those quiet moments that really stand out. when he lets his guard down for just a second, when he finally trusts you and knows that he would give his life for you until the very end. it wouldn't be easy for him to admit, and he probably never would admit it, but that one moment where he finally relaxes his shoulders and just lets you carry his burdens with him? it really does show a lot. and he would give everything for you. not even an ounce would be spared. it's easy to see it when he says it, that he loves you, even if he doesn't know the true meaning of the word. may not be conventional love, but to him, its everything.

magnus: there is not another who could love as much as he could. it's that simple. he's so utterly in love with you that he'd move heaven and earth just to see you smile. for a man with so many things going on, so many things to remember and do, he still keeps you at the very top of everything. finds little things for you that he'd think you like. recounts stories to see your smile. lays beside you and holds your hand whilst you tell him what's on your mind. it's routine for him, he does it without even thinking. nothing, and that is a hard nothing, will ever make him as happy as you do, and even when you're not around everyone hears your name, little snippets of his love for you, how much you mean to him, etc. he's so enamoured, so trusting, so in awe, that everything you do means something to him.

horus: incredibly intuitive and knows what you need before you do. has the tea and some fruit in his hands before you'd even mentioned you were thinking of having some. had someone prepare you a bath before you even said you were stressed. brought you some flowers when you were feeling down. cancels all his plans because you need someone with you. he does it to show he cares, knowing that sometimes he can be distant or busy, and it can be incredibly effective. also holds you incredibly tight. like your hand, when he embraces you, etcetc, it's like you're his security blanket in a way, which seems stupid because why does he need one, but actually he finds a lot of comfort in your presence.

lorgar: perfect if you want to be worshipped. that's how he'd treat you. and yes this has a dark side. but limited, not indulged or used for bad purposes, a good balance can be met. he's soft. his world would crumble without you. his exterior and how others view him is so different to what he's like with you that it seems wrong. but you are his everything. he would tell you it every day. he'd make sure you never forgot it. it may not be evidential to everyone, he's not proclaiming his love and devotion to anyone he sees, but to you its obvious. a silent prayer for your protection each day. for your good health. for anything he can do for you. and you'd know he'd burn worlds for you - just use that for the right purposes.

vulkan: a kind soul meant for love. he's not obsessed and devoted. he's not silent and brooding. he's what you think of when you have soulmate in mind. it seems to just come natural to him. he's your best friend, your lover, your everything - and he takes pride in that. he'd not need to burn worlds for you, he'd not watch you from the other side of the room without a world, he'd be beside you with his hand gently rested on you. it's just... normal? is that bad to say? but like the version of normal you always wanted, the normal in romance novels which warped our perceptions of relationships. you know. cute.

corax: incredibly loyal. quietly loving you from a distance until he's with you, then he's far more passionate and open. he's not one to have elaborate gestures done in your name, he probably wouldn't even do more than speak in a normal tone whenever others are around. but you know he's there. a brush of your hand with his when you look uncomfortable or worried. a glance in your direction every so often if you are separated. he'd always find his way back to you though, and you always know he's there at your side. and yes, very passionate when it's just you two, so much so you'd have first doubted it was the same person. he just saves it all for you. especially few things he's picked up along the way he thinks you may enjoy.

alpharius: you could never doubt his love. he'd never let you. it's so obvious that it's what makes telling him apart so simple. he just can't deny it when he's around you, he can't resist it at all. love is in everything he does. his touches as he walks past. his names for you. his insistence on always having you in his arms. it can be endearing. it is nice knowing that you are so loved, never a doubt in your mind that he does care. and if you do doubt him? he will change that. you won't ever doubt him again. you don't ever need to worry about his love for you, it won't change. he'll never stop loving you.

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[xiaq]

Would you ever write a story or book about Kuzy? I need more of himmmm ❤️ one of the few characters I'd read MF for though I feel like if anyone would be chill about finding out he was bi and going with it, it'd be Kuzy lol #yeshomo

@rainbowsandcoconut

I don't currently have any substantive plans for a Kuzy story, but if you want some of my brainworms about him/his eventual romance, here you go:

He lives right next to a firehouse and there's a cute, kickass firewoman (cis, leans androgynous) named Nicole "call me Nic" with whom he has occasional banter-moments (I used to live next to a firehouse and if they were out front they'd always chat with me when I walked the dog; I loved that community dynamic).

One night after a rough game, Kuzy is going for a walk and Nic is sitting out on a lawn chair in front of the house processing a rough call, and they have a moment of shared vulnerability together, looking up at the stars. She's the child of immigrants and they bond over how stupid the English language is. Kuzy tells her about Eli/Hawk and she mentions that she loves dogs but can't have one with her work schedule.

Over the next few days, Kuzy can't stop thinking about her. He wants an excuse to see her more often that doesn't feel creepy, so he goes to the shelter nearby and offers to exercise dogs. Now, he has a perfectly good reason to walk past the firehouse (sometimes multiple times a day!) on the off-chance the firefighters are out and he can politely offer a dog's brief company for Nic's enjoyment.

Except he's not super smooth about it because the rest of the folks at the house realize pretty quickly that the giant Russian walking dogs only happens to walk dogs on the days that Nic is on shift.

Convenient.

This continues for longer than it probably should. Until Kuzy is hosting some of the Hounds and one of the rookies does something stupid. Not sure what. I'm thinking gets his hand stuck in an expensive vase. Or maybe his head. And Kuzy very sheepishly has to walk him over to the firehouse like, "hello, this baby is my responsibility, can you please rescue him?" And they eventually get the thing cut off of his hand/head/whatever but one of Nic's bros pulls Kuzy aside and says, "maybe you should just ask her out instead of coming up with increasingly more creative excuses to talk to her—at this rate someone is going to get hurt" and Kuzy is like, “ok, this was 100% not contrived and while I would like to go out with her, she is a goddess who saves lives and I am but a goofy athlete, undeserving of her attentions," and Firefighter Bro like, "you know, I think she'd settle for you."

So, spurred on by this bit of hope, he's like, "I need to do this right, this can't just be some hookup, I like her." And he starts Operation Woo Nic.

And the whole time Nic is like, "would you just fucking take me home, I would like to bang you," but he's trying so hard to be a gentleman about it that she lets him for a while. She's never been woo'ed before. Might be fun. Eventually she gets fed up and when he's dropping off cookies or whatever on his daily dog-walk she's like, "hey, do you want to be my boyfriend? Yeah? Great. We should have sex about that. My shift ends in three hours, what's your address?"

It is possibly the best day of Kuzy's life.

Anyway. As usual, there's no real plot, just vibes. But he is Smitten. And she is hopelessly endeared. And she's certified as a paramedic, so she's constantly ragging him for his little injuries and keeping him honest about PT. At some point she gets injured in the line of duty and he gets to be suitably dramatic and probably make declarations at her hospital bedside. He dotes on her for a while during her recovery.

And eventually he convinces her to move in with him so she can be close to work and she's like, "yeah? That's the only reason? For the ease of my commute?" And he says, "well that but also because I love you more than I thought was possible and when we're not together I miss you like a limb and our schedules are shit enough as it is, I'm greedy for every second I can have with you," and she's like, "yeah, fair enough."

So. Not really sure how it would end, but uh. There you go! Kuzy and his Firefighter Lady. Also he definitely foster-fails multiple times and hires a full-time nanny to take care of all his and Nic's dogs when she's on shift and he's traveling. It's great.

AND I imagine some very funny cultural confusion moments when her family (Japanese) interacts with his family (Russian) but they all generally bond over their shared love of fermented foods and dumplings. And alcohol. There are hijinks.

Ok. The End!

[ihyuka]

Of regrets and other tells | Choi Soobin

summary: Soobin has been building his acting career for years. Sacrificing his time and personal life in more aspects than one, holding onto a broken heart for over 5 years, and perpetually wishing his past relationship didn't end the way it did. Now, he's gotten an imminent return to his hometown thanks to a wedding, the high possibility of seeing his ex (Very possible because she's the groom's sister), and oh, it turns out the groom doesn't know he ever dated his sister. A recipe for disaster

word count: 11.5k

pairing: soobin x female reader

warnings: exes to lovers (sort of), brother's best friend, taehyun is our matchmaker bec he adores his friends, yeonjun is oblivious, tiny bit of angst, soobin is a sweetheart, they're Overthinkers, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, cute and soft love making, unprotected sex, they have feelings for each other, reader can be nasty at times (soobin isn't doing any better tbh), huh, i hope i'm not forgetting something☝️

note: happy valentine’s day! 💕 welcome to my blog!

this idea has been sitting in my drafts forever, so i’m really excited to finally bring it to life today. i’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments (and please be nice—this is my first time posting 🫣).

i hope you enjoy this story! it’s slightly inspired by those classic early 2000s rom-coms we all love. also, english isn’t my first language, so please excuse any mistakes—i’m working on improving!

Soobin doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The first glance had him intrigued. The second? Addicted.

Here’s the thing—he’s known you all his life. He was always the kid befriending older guys at school, constantly seeking the company of those ahead of him. He loved it. Until, of course, life happened. One by one, his friends left for university, leaving him behind for one last year of high school. It wasn’t all bad, though—because that’s when he met you.

Yeonjun’s little sister. A friend of his. Someone his age who helped him adjust to a new social scene, introducing him to people and boosting his confidence. You were always there. Always helping. And now? Now he hasn’t seen you in years. He has a life in Seoul. He’s moved on.

Or so he thought.

Because the moment he sees you in that red dress, smiling, radiant, otherworldly—he realizes something painful and undeniable.

He’s so fucked.

And worse? He’s dated you before.

He’s so, so fucked. Yeonjun is going to kill him.

Soobin is hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He always is. It comes with the territory of being a high-profile actor. He’s gotten used to sneaking around, blending into crowds, avoiding unnecessary attention. Weddings in South Korea, though, are practically public events. The worst place to hide. He’s trying to be subtle—maybe if he stands still long enough, he’ll blend into the walls.

“Hi?”

He freezes. He knows that voice anywhere. Familiar, warm—like home. And like regret.

It’s you.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s standing there, towering over everyone, wearing sunglasses in the middle of December, looking every bit as awkward as he feels.

“Um, hi?” His voice comes out strained, awkward. God, why can’t this be easier? “How have you been?”

What a stupid question. He hasn’t seen you in five years. You both took different paths, built your lives apart. He dated you for two months, so why does it feel like he can’t breathe now that you’re standing in front of him?

“Good.” You smile. “Let’s not make this weird, shall we? It’s been a long time.”

You’re so over him.

And he’s regretting everything.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

And just like that, you’re gone. Someone calls your name, and you walk away.

Fuck.

That’s the only thing running through your mind, too.

Why did he have to be this attractive? You had a plan. Approach him, make small talk, prove to yourself you were over him. That was it. But the second you saw him? Plan out the window. He looked unfairly good—taller, broader, blonde. Blonde. What kind of sick joke was this?

And thankfully, mercifully, he didn’t notice the way you reacted.

God, you’re so fucked.

Soobin tells himself he’s fine.

He gave his speech as best man. He made people laugh. He shared embarrassing photos of Yeonjun for everyone’s amusement. He did his job.

But now? Now he’s pissed.

And he knows he shouldn’t be.

You aren’t his. You haven’t been his in years. Even if you were, he doesn’t own you. He understands that—logically. But watching some guy dance too close to you, hands lingering where they shouldn’t—his instincts are screaming.

He knows that look. The same one he’s giving you now. Hunger. Want. Need.

Maybe the guy is your boyfriend. Maybe he isn’t. All Soobin knows is that he hates him.

“Why aren’t you dancing with her if you want her so much?” Taehyun’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. Ever the straightforward one, Taehyun has had the front-row seat to Soobin’s misery for the past five years.

“I don’t deserve her.” The words come out bitter. Regretful. “I broke her heart.”

“Maybe. But she still wants you to try.” Taehyun doesn’t hesitate. “She’s dancing nonstop with Jihoon, but everyone knows he’s chasing her, not the other way around. This isn’t like her. She’s doing this because of you.”

Soobin swallows hard.

“Besides,” Taehyun adds casually, “she told Yeonjun about you two this morning.”

Cold dread washes over him. “What?”

Taehyun shrugs. “I overheard. You know that tree in front of their house? They were talking there.”

“So what did he say?” Soobin asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“No clue. I had to get to work.”

Soobin groans. “How do you just drop information like that and leave?”

“Because I trust you’ll figure it out.” Taehyun smirks. “Now go get your girl. She’s drunk, and she looks done with that guy.”

Soobin didn’t think it through.

You were drunk, and all he wanted was to get you somewhere safe. A chair—that was the plan. That should have been enough. But then you whined about wanting your bed, and Yeonjun, in a rare moment of brotherly responsibility, decided Soobin was the best person to handle it.

“The party’s ending soon, and I’m leaving for Japan tomorrow,” Yeonjun had said, handing you over like you weren’t his problem anymore. “Just drop her at her apartment.”

And that’s how Soobin found himself here—standing in your building’s dimly lit hallway at an ungodly hour, praying to every higher power that no one was following him. The last thing either of you needed was for the media to sniff this out.

Not that he was worried about himself.

It was you. You, who deserved a normal life. You, who had worked so hard to distance yourself from him, from his world. And yet, here you were, tangled up in his orbit again.

And here’s another thing: you’re just as bad as Yeonjun when it comes to alcohol. Soobin knows this. He also knows you have a soft spot for that fruity soju, the kind that creeps up on you before you even realize you’ve had too much. And he knows you’re probably going to feel sick soon, which is why, in the worst decision he’s made today, he stays.

You’ve been awake for an hour now, your body heavy with the aftermath of last night. The alcohol is gone, drained from your system, but the discomfort lingers—hunger gnawing at your stomach, the stale aftertaste of regret coating your tongue.

You should get up.

You should get water.

But the thought of stepping into an empty apartment makes your chest tighten.

The memory of his hands—gentle as he guided you to bed, careful as he removed your shoes—lingers. He was being nice. That’s all. He was being nice.

God, you still like him.

Five years, and you still haven’t gotten over a man. Two months were all it took for him to ruin you, to make every fleeting touch feel like a shock to your system. You’ve tried. You’ve moved forward. And yet, here you are, terrified of facing an empty space because for a moment—just a moment—he had been here again.

Your breakup had been your fault.

You tell yourself that, over and over.

You were young—barely nineteen, selfish, and desperate for attention. Soobin was chasing his dream, working himself to the bone between university and his company’s relentless trainee schedule. He had asked you to understand. He had begged you to wait. But you got tired. You fought. And the cracks in your heart never quite mended after that.

Soobin has only slept for four hours before deciding he should leave something behind for you—a quiet, impersonal gesture. Some homemade food. A note about how busy he is, how he can’t stay, but he hopes you feel better.

That’s the plan.

And that’s what he’s thinking as he stands in your kitchen, stirring ramen—the closest thing to homemade comfort he can manage.

But then you appear.

The dress from last night is gone, replaced by something that barely qualifies as pajamas. Soobin freezes, spoon clattering against the pot.

December. It’s December, and you’re walking around like this?

Jesus Christ.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat. “I made ramen. I hope you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away, moving past him to grab a glass of water. He watches as you take a slow sip, the silence stretching between you.

Then, softly, “I’m sorry. For last night.”

Soobin shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” you insist. “I can handle my alcohol better now. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to.” The words slip out before he can stop them. Too honest.

You pause. Then: “Add an egg. They’re on the top shelf.”

It’s not quite an acknowledgment. Not quite forgiveness. But you move to set the table for two without another word, and Soobin understands. He’s staying.

There are things that need to be said.

And it’s not safe for him to leave. You know that. The cameras follow him everywhere. You’d never risk him like that—not after everything.

“It’s done,” he says, bringing the pot to the table. “But I should—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. Your voice is steady, decisive. “The cameras could be outside. Stay.” A pause. Then, softer, “Besides… we need to talk.”

Easier said than done.

The ramen sits between you, steam curling into the air. Neither of you moves to eat.

Soobin watches as you fidget with the edge of your sleeve, pressing the fabric between your fingers like it’s something to hold onto. It’s a nervous habit—one he remembers all too well.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“So… How have you been?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Too small for the weight between you. Too casual for two people who haven’t spoken in years.

Soobin exhales, forcing a small smile. “Busy.”

That much is obvious. His face is everywhere—billboards, magazine covers, TV screens. He’s the one people stop in the streets, the one whose name is whispered in admiration or envy.

But you nod like you don’t already know, like you haven’t seen his face staring back at you from the glossy pages of magazines while waiting in line for coffee.

You reach for your chopsticks, stirring the noodles absently. “And… are you happy?”

That question lands heavier. He doesn’t answer right away.

He should say yes.

He should tell you that everything worked out, that he got everything he wanted, that all the sacrifices were worth it.

Instead, he looks at you—the way you avoid his gaze, the way your fingers tremble slightly before you curl them into a fist—and he tells the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover quickly, schooling your features into something unreadable.

You look away, pretending to be focused on your bowl. “I thought you would be.”

Soobin swallows. “I thought you would be, too.”

That gets you. Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks, but you don’t say anything right away.

Soobin leans forward slightly, watching you carefully. “You left first,” he says, quiet but firm. “I waited. I called. And then, one day, you just weren’t there anymore.”

You let out a slow breath, finally meeting his eyes. “And if I had stayed?”

The question is quiet. Almost a whisper.

Soobin blinks. “What?”

“If I had stayed.” You search his face like you’re looking for something—confirmation, maybe. Closure. “Would anything have changed?”

The answer sits heavy on his tongue.

Would it have?

Back then, he was young and hungry, chasing a dream he wasn’t sure he’d ever catch. He was terrified of losing you, but he was also terrified of failing—of choosing wrong, of looking back one day and realizing he had given up too much.

And you—God, you just wanted him. Not the future version of him, not the one he was still trying to become. You just wanted the boy who used to walk you home, the one who held your hand under the table, the one who promised to love you even when things got hard.

Soobin looks at you now, older, sharper, still devastatingly familiar.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

The room settles into silence again, but this time, it’s different. Softer.

Soobin watches as you finally take a bite of your ramen, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment at the warmth.

And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s too late.

But for the first time in five years, you’re sitting across from each other, sharing something that feels dangerously close to peace.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

“You should go.”

The words taste like regret the moment they leave your lips.

Soobin stills. His chopsticks pause midair before he lowers them onto the table with agonizing slowness.

His eyes meet yours, searching. “You really want that?”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself to hold his gaze. “Yes.”

A lie.

But you say it anyway, because it’s easier than admitting the truth—that his presence is unraveling you piece by piece. That sitting across from him like this, pretending there isn’t history between you, is torture.

Soobin exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Right.” He pushes his chair back, standing. “I should’ve known.”

He’s hurt. You can see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. And it makes you want to take it back—swallow the words down and tell him to stay.

But you don’t.

You stay seated, gripping your hands together in your lap as he walks toward the door.

He hesitates.

For a moment, it feels like the universe is holding its breath.

Then, his voice—low, steady. “Why do you always do this?”

Your head snaps up. “Do what?”

“Push me away.”

You freeze.

Soobin turns, expression unreadable. “I don’t get it. You let me take care of you. You let me stay. And now you want me to leave?” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Is this a game to you?”

Your stomach twists. “No.”

“Then what is it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping through. “Because I don’t know what you want from me, and I don’t think you do either.”

Your heart pounds. “I just—” You stop, exhaling shakily. “It’s not that simple, Soobin.”

“It could be.” His gaze softens. “If you let it.”

You shake your head. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand.”

The words cut through the air between you, heavy and full of something you’re not ready to name.

You swallow, feeling exposed. “I don’t want to need you,” you whisper.

Soobin’s expression shifts. He steps closer. “Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Your voice shakes. “Because I’ve spent years trying to forget what it felt like to love you, and every time you’re near, I realize I never really stopped.”

Silence.

Then, Soobin exhales sharply. “You think you were the only one?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried,” he admits. “I tried moving on. I tried pretending you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to me. But it never worked.” His voice drops lower, more vulnerable. “You never left me, _____. Not really.”

You feel yourself crumbling, breaking open under his words.

“So tell me,” he continues, stepping even closer. “Do you really want me to leave?”

You open your mouth—

But the answer is already written all over your face.

And Soobin sees it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, his fingertips ghosting over yours on the table. “If you tell me to go,” he says softly, “I will.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling shakily.

Then—

You flip your hand over, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

“You should stay.”

Soobin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

And this time—

He does.

Soobin stays.

Neither of you says much after that. The weight of your confession lingers in the air between you, delicate and fragile, like glass that could shatter at any second. But neither of you runs.

Instead, you sit there, sharing ramen in comfortable silence, the steam curling between you like something unspoken. His fingers, warm and steady, never fully leave yours—not gripping, not demanding, just there. A quiet promise.

You don’t sleep much.

Even after the bowls are empty, after he insists on washing the dishes, after you both linger in the doorway of your bedroom—uncertain but unwilling to let go—you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside.

Somewhere in the other room, Soobin is asleep on your couch.

Or at least, you think he is.

You don’t have the courage to check.

By the time morning comes, you’re still lying in the same position, arms curled under your pillow, the weight of last night pressing down on your chest.

You should get up.

But then—

A soft knock at your door.

You inhale sharply, heart stuttering.

Then, his voice, groggy, uncertain. “Are you awake?”

You swallow. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

You shouldn’t answer. You should pretend you’re asleep, give yourself time to think. But your voice betrays you before your brain catches up.

“Yeah.”

A pause. Then—

The door creaks open.

Soobin stands there, sleep-rumpled and unfairly attractive in the dim morning light. His hoodie hangs loose on his frame, his blonde hair a tousled mess. He looks softer like this—less like the untouchable actor everyone knows, and more like the boy you once loved.

Still love.

He hesitates, fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe. “Can I…?”

You nod before he can finish the question.

And just like that, he steps inside, quiet, careful.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge, close but not too close. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, voice low.

You exhale, shifting onto your side to face him. “Me neither.”

A small, tired smile flickers across his lips. “Figures.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… there. Something old and familiar. Something neither of you knows what to do with.

Then, softly—

“Did you mean it?”

You freeze.

His voice is careful, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You know what he’s asking.

You could lie. You could say it was the alcohol, or the moment, or the past clouding your judgment.

But you don’t.

“Yeah.”

Soobin exhales, shoulders sinking like he’s been carrying the weight of that answer for years.

Then—hesitantly, slowly—he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers against yours on the sheets.

And this time, you don’t pull away.

Not when his fingers trace over your palm. Not when his touch lingers, warm and sure.

Not when he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it—

“Then don’t make me leave.”

The air between you is thick, suffocating. The moment you told him to stay, the balance shifted. The door remains closed, the walls pressing in, the weight of years apart and the lies you’ve told yourselves coiling tighter and tighter.

Soobin doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. He’s waiting. For what? For you to give in? For you to push him away again?

You don’t know. But you know this: you can’t breathe.

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back words he doesn’t trust himself to say. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”

“Do what?” Your voice barely makes it past your lips. Your fingers twitch in his grip, and that alone has his jaw tightening.

“Pretend,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the pulse point of your wrist. His voice is quiet, careful, but there’s an undercurrent of something dangerous. “Pretend that I’m okay. That seeing you doesn’t do something to me. That I haven’t spent the past five years wondering if you ever thought about me, too.”

Your breath stutters, but you force yourself to keep looking at him. “Soobin—”

“I should hate you.” His voice is steadier now, but his grip on your hand betrays him. Tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. “Do you know that?”

You swallow. “I know.”

“I tried.” He lets out a sharp laugh, bitter and tired. “God, I fucking tried.”

“So did I,” you whisper. “I tried forgetting you, too.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “Did it work?”

“No.”

The word sits heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you move. The ramen has gone cold. The room feels smaller. Your heart is a hammer against your ribs, and still, he doesn’t let go.

Then, his eyes flicker downward—just for a second. To your lips.

And that’s when you do it.

You rip your hand from his and step back, breathing uneven. “This isn’t fair.”

Soobin looks at you like you’ve just torn something out of him. “No. It’s not.”

You turn away, hands trembling as you grip the edge of the counter. “We’re not kids anymore. We can’t just—just fall back into whatever this is.”

“What is this, then?” His voice is lower now, rough, frayed at the edges. “Tell me. Because I think about you, and it makes me fucking sick how much I still—”

He stops himself. He presses his lips together so tightly it looks painful. He takes a deep breath, then another. But it doesn’t help. You can see it. The storm in his eyes. The anger. The longing.

You shake your head, pushing down everything clawing its way up your throat. “You should go.”

“No.”

You whip around. “Soobin—”

“No.” He steps forward, and this time, you’re the one who freezes. He towers over you, his presence burning into your skin. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull me back in just to push me away again.”

His voice drops lower, dangerously soft. “I stayed away for five years. I did what you wanted. I let you go. And now you tell me to stay, and then you tell me to leave?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He exhales sharply. Then, after a long pause, he whispers, “Neither do I.”

Another silence. But this one is different.

You open your eyes, and he’s right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes tremble, the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back.

And you can feel it—

The breaking point.

It’s coming.

His breath catches. His fingers flex against the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles whitening like he’s barely holding himself back.

His silence is unbearable, but you don’t know how to fix it.

So you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand, mirroring the way he was holding you. Just a brush of your fingertips at first, testing, waiting—until he lets out a shaky exhale and turns his palm over to catch you.

Your fingers intertwine again, the simplest thing in the world.

Soobin's voice is hoarse when he speaks. "Tell me what you want."

"I don’t know," you admit. "I don’t know if I can do this again. If I can survive losing you twice."

Something flickers in his expression—something raw, breaking.

"I never wanted you to lose me."

"Then why did it feel like I had to?"

Soobin squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over the ridges of your knuckles. His voice is unsteady when he says, "Because I was scared. Of ruining things. Of choosing wrong."

"And now?"

Now.

Soobin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifts your joined hands, pressing his forehead to the back of yours like he’s trying to ground himself. You can feel the unspoken words vibrating against your skin, seeping through his touch.

Now, he's still scared. But more than that—he doesn’t want to lose you again.

His lips part, breath warm against your skin. "I think I've been in love with you this whole time."

Your heart stops.

Then—before you can overthink it, before logic creeps in and tears this moment apart—you let go of his hand.

Only to reach for his face.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him in, and before you can fully process what you're doing, your lips brush against his.

Soft. Tentative.

The moment you start to pull away, Soobin makes a sound—low and desperate in the back of his throat—and suddenly, he's kissing you like he's afraid you'll disappear.

His hands are warm when they cup your face, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss, so he can drink you in like he’s been starving for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you have, too.

The past and the present blur together, all the years apart collapsing into this one unbearable, impossible moment.

And when you finally break apart, forehead resting against his, breaths mingling in the quiet night, you realize something terrifying.

Loving him was never the problem.

It was surviving it that scared you.

And now?

Now, you're not sure you care about surviving at all.

Soobin can’t stop kissing you.

It’s reckless. Messy. A raw, consuming need that shakes through him, leaves him breathless, leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your waist like he needs something to hold onto, something to tether himself to reality, because this—this doesn’t feel real. It feels like something forbidden, like something he shouldn’t have, but is taking anyway.

It’s crazy. It’s physically impossible for him to stop.

And you don’t want him to.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and he shudders. His lips press harder, deeper, stealing the air from your lungs, but you don’t care. You’d let him. You’d give it to him.

Then you whimper. Just the softest, neediest sound—one you didn’t mean to make, one you probably don’t even realize you made.

How dare you.

Soobin groans against your mouth, low and guttural, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pressing you closer, closer, like there will never be enough space between you to satisfy him.

"Please," you breathe, and it’s wrecked.

His lips hover just above yours, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales sharply. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but there’s something else, something deeper—like he’s drowning in you and has no desire to come up for air.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, strained. Your name follows, dripping from his lips like a prayer. "You need to stop making those sounds." He swallows hard, his jaw clenched. "Unless you want another thing."

Another thing.

You shiver, your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie, barely keeping yourself grounded.

But Soobin doesn’t stop. His lips keep finding yours between words, between breaths, and god—he kisses like he’s never going to get the chance again. Soft, then rough, then soft again. Like he’s caught in between worshipping you and ruining you.

And then you moan.

A real moan. Not soft. Not restrained. A full, broken, breathless moan.

And that’s it. That’s the end of his control.

Soobin curses under his breath, something low, something desperate. Then suddenly, he shifts—presses you down, his body covering yours completely. His hands, once hesitant, now move like they have a purpose, sliding up, gripping, mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

His lips are everywhere now—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—hot and lingering, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.

"God," he breathes against your skin. "You don’t—" He presses another kiss just beneath your ear, his voice unraveling. "You don’t get it, do you?"

You can barely think, barely form words. "Get what?"

"How long—" He exhales sharply, his breath fanning against your skin. "How long I’ve wanted this."

Your chest tightens. "Then why—"

"Because I was a fucking coward," he admits, voice thick, raw. His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are unreadable—too many things crashing together at once. Lust. Longing. Something deeper. Something dangerous. "But I can’t be, not right now. Not when you’re—"

You kiss him before he can finish.

Because you don’t want to hear whatever doubt lingers in his words. Not now. Not when his body is so warm, not when his lips taste like regret and longing and every single thing you’ve ever tried to suppress.

Soobin groans into your mouth, deep and ruined, and it sets you on fire.

And the worst part?

You know this won’t be enough.

It never will be.

"Stop moving," Soobin growls against your neck. His voice is low, strained, barely holding together. His lips are hot where they press into your skin, and his hands—god, his hands—grip your waist like you’re something fragile, something he’s trying so hard not to break.

But you don’t make it easy for him.

You shift again, just the slightest movement, but it’s enough. Enough for him to tighten his grip, enough for him to press his hips just a little closer, enough for his breath to come out sharp, ragged.

"Or what?" you ask, breathless, teasing, your voice tinged with something dangerous.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark, heavy, filled with something that makes your stomach flip. And it’s only then that you realize just how close his face is to yours—how you can feel every unsteady breath he takes, how the heat between you feels unbearable, suffocating in the best possible way.

Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and when his gaze drops to them, his jaw clenches.

"Or you’re going to regret it," he murmurs, voice rough, thick with a warning you know he fully intends to follow through on.

But you don’t stop.

Maybe you want to push him. Maybe you want to see what happens when he snaps.

So you shift again, just the tiniest bit, your knee brushing against his thigh, your fingers ghosting over the fabric of his hoodie. Innocent movements, but not really. Not when his breath stutters, not when his fingers twitch against your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"Soobin," you whisper, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for, but you can feel the shift in the air between you. Heavy. Charged. Unforgiving.

His hand moves suddenly, gripping your chin, tilting your face up until there’s nowhere to look but at him. His thumb brushes the edge of your bottom lip, and his breath is uneven, his restraint hanging by a thread.

"Do you even know what you’re doing to me?" he asks, his voice low, almost desperate.

And before you can answer, before you can even think, his lips are back on yours.

But this time, it’s different.

This time, it’s not just desperate—it’s deliberate. It’s slow, like he wants you to feel every second of it, every inch of the way he kisses you, the way he presses against you.

Like he’s trying to prove something.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re about to find out exactly what happens when you push him too far.

You moan again.

It’s soft, wrecked, the kind of sound that makes his restraint snap like a thread pulled too tight.

The heat between you is suffocating. You’re burning, aching, every nerve in your body hypersensitive to the way Soobin touches you—like he needs to, like he has no choice.

His breathing is ragged, uneven, his grip on you tightening as if you might slip away.

"Fucking hell, ___," he rasps, voice dark, rough, filled with something dangerous. "Be clear. What do you want now? What do you fucking want?"

His forehead presses to yours, his lips ghosting over your mouth but never quite kissing you, torturing you with the distance. His fingers dig into your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"You," you whisper, the word breaking apart in your throat. It’s desperate, needy. You don’t care.

Something shifts.

Soobin exhales sharply, a curse slipping past his lips before he finally—finally—loses the control he was clinging to.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough, insatiable, as if he’s been starving for you and is only now letting himself feast. His hands roam your body, urgent but reverent, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you, trying to commit this moment to memory.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to drink you in. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and glistening.

"I shouldn't be thinking about you the way I do," he murmurs, his voice almost unsteady. "You make me so fucking crazy."

His lips trail down your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your skin, each one sending a shiver down your spine. His teeth graze your collarbone, and your breath catches.

"That red dress you wore yesterday—fuck." His voice is barely controlled, like the thought alone is unraveling him. "At your brother’s wedding… you have no idea what you did to me."

His hands slide lower, skimming the curve of your waist, gripping you like you belong to him. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing, tasting, worshiping.

"You were always beautiful," he breathes against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than lust. "You always were. But yesterday... yesterday, you were fucking stunning."

He pulls back just slightly, his breath hot against your chest. His hands settle over your ribs, thumbs grazing sensitive skin, just barely there, just enough to drive you insane.

And then he stills. Waiting.

"Can I touch you here?" he asks, his voice lower now, raspier, the last shreds of his restraint hanging by a thread.

You shudder. There’s no hesitation.

"Yes."

It comes out breathless, desperate.

The second the word leaves your lips, his hands move—slow, deliberate, fingertips dragging over your skin like he wants to savor every reaction, every tremor that runs through you.

Like he wants you to feel every single second of it.

Soobin takes his time.

He isn’t just exploring you—he’s worshiping. Every inch of your skin is sacred under his touch, and he treats it like something to be memorized. His fingers drag over your ribs, featherlight, teasing. His lips trace slow, reverent paths down your collarbone, pressing kisses that feel more like devotions.

"I'm gonna take these off, okay?" he murmurs, fingers slipping beneath the straps of your bra.

You can only nod, breathless, as he peels the fabric away, eyes darkening at the sight of you. He exhales sharply, almost in disbelief, his hands hesitating like he needs a second to take it all in.

"These are so pretty," he whispers, voice rough. His fingers graze over you, barely there. Then firmer. His thumb flicks over one peak, and you shudder. "Fucking missed them. So much."

His lips replace his fingers, hot and wet and needy. He sucks, licks, nips—his mouth working you over like he's making up for lost time.

"God," he groans against your skin, his voice half-wrecked. "They didn’t look this full before."

The moan that leaves your lips is absolutely shameful—high-pitched, desperate, almost embarrassing. But you don’t care.

Soobin definitely doesn’t care.

He groans at the sound, his grip tightening as if he's trying to steady himself. But then he does it again—scraping his teeth lightly against you, his tongue soothing over the sting, sucking just enough to make you whimper.

"Shit," he breathes, voice shaking. "You're too good. Too fucking good."

He looks up at you, eyes burning. And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you're nothing but gasps and shivers and pure, unbearable need.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

Soobin’s lips hover just above your skin, his breath warm against your cheek. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give in. His fingers dig into your waist, keeping you still, keeping you desperate.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing, thick with something dark and knowing.

"You."

His lips quirk up slightly. "But you have me right now, hm?" His tone is deceptively soft, but there’s something else underneath—something dangerous.

"You know what I mean," you say, almost frustrated.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider. "No, I don’t," he murmurs. "Tell me."

Your cheeks burn. Your entire body burns. But you say it anyway, voice shaking with need.

"Please, I want you inside."

Something in him snaps.

"Oh? Me?" He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze dark, unreadable. "The man you wanted so bad to leave?"

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "Fuck you, Soobin."

He laughs, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your skin. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Ah, yes, babe, I’m fucking you," he whispers, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. His hands tighten their hold on you. "And you’re gonna take it—every inch—because you know damn well that you’ve been mine just as much as I’ve been yours."

His words send a shudder down your spine, a delicious ache curling in your gut.

"Mmm," Soobin hums, dragging his hands down your sides, his touch maddeningly slow. "Should I take my time with you... or not?"

Your body is burning, aching. You can’t take it anymore.

"Just do it," you snap, your voice needy, desperate.

He chuckles, tilting his head, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "That eager, huh? Then help me out, baby." His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts. "Take these off. Let me see that beautiful body of yours—fully naked."

Your fingers shake as you push them down, the cool air against your exposed skin doing nothing to cool the fire raging inside you.

"This is unfair," you mumble, looking up at him. "You’re still dressed."

That’s all it takes.

In one smooth motion, Soobin pulls off his shirt, then his pants, and finally, his boxers. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t tease. He just stands before you—bare, unashamed, strong.

And big.

Your breath catches in your throat. God. It’s been a while since you last saw him like this, but—oh, wow. Yeah. Big. He was always like that.

Your mouth parts slightly, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

He catches it. Of course, he catches it.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing his mouth to your ear. "Speechless?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Missed me that much, baby?"

His hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls you flush against him. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.

"You have no idea," you whisper.

You moan when he dares to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your aching heat, his breath hot against your skin. It’s unbearable.

Your patience snaps.

"Fuck you, Soobin," you nearly growl, frustration dripping from your voice. "Why the fuck—just please."

He looks at you, amused, entirely too in control. He loves this. Loves watching you unravel.

"Poor, desperate thing," he muses, tilting his head like he’s savoring every second of your frustration. "So fucking needy. Do you want me that bad?"

Your face burns. Humiliation and desire mix in a dizzying cocktail, but you can’t lie.

"Yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper.

Soobin hums in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, thumbs smoothing circles against your heated skin. "Mmm, I think I should have my fun first," he murmurs. Then, without another word, he drops to his knees before you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger.

His breath hits you first, warm and teasing, and then his voice—low and devastating.

"Has this sweet little hole missed me?"

Before you can even react, he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, sending a violent shudder through your body.

You cry out, hands flying to his hair. Oh, god. No, no, please—oh, don’t stop.

And then you lose it.

Soobin devours you, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue working you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. The wet sounds, the low, satisfied groans he lets out against you—it’s filthy, overwhelming. His grip tightens, pressing you further into his mouth, making sure you feel every movement, every flick of his tongue.

"Let me worship this pussy," he groans against you, his voice muffled and rough. "It’s been too fucking long."

Your back arches.

"Fuck, you taste even better than I remember." His lips press against your thigh, only to return to where you need him most. "Mmm, let’s take our time with this, babe. Some good, long foreplay, yeah?"

You can’t help it—you start moving, rocking your hips against his face, desperate for more friction, more of him. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you barely register the strangled sound Soobin makes as you grind down against his tongue.

"God," you whimper, your breath hitching. "I’m—"

His fingers tease at your entrance, slow, lazy, completely unbothered by your urgency. "What? Gonna cum already, babe?" His voice is muffled, drenched in amusement, lips slick and glistening from you. "Mmm, you really are needy, huh?"

He presses a teasing kiss against your thigh before slipping a finger inside, just barely, making you jerk.

"Bet that boyfriend of yours doesn’t give you shit," he murmurs, voice laced with something sharp, something possessive.

"I don’t—" You gasp as he pushes in deeper, a single finger stretching you open just enough to make you shudder. "Fuck, fuck," your head tilts back, eyes rolling as he adds another. "I don’t have a boyfriend."

That makes him pause. You feel his smirk against your skin before he speaks.

"You don’t?" He croons, curling his fingers just right, making your whole body jolt. "No wonder you’re this fucking desperate. God, you needed this, didn’t you?"

"Soobin—"

"Wanna cum, babe?" His breath is hot against your core, his fingers still working you open. "Say it."

"Yeah," you pant, gripping at his hair, hips still rolling instinctively against his hand.

"Mmm," he hums, withdrawing his fingers just enough to make you whine, just enough to leave you aching. "Let’s edge you a little first."

"No—fuck you," you snap, your voice dripping with frustration.

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "You get so fucking mean when you’re horny," he muses, pumping his fingers in again, slower, teasing. "I like this coming from you."

And then he presses his tongue against your clit again, and all coherent thoughts disappear.

The coil in your belly winds so tight, so unbearable, that when it finally snaps, it sends you spiraling.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your voice breaks, and your entire body trembles as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your thighs clamp around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you convulse, lost in the euphoria of it.

Soobin groans against you, feeling everything—the way your walls pulse around his fingers, the way your body shudders under his grip, the way you completely come undone for him. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t dare stop.

He laps at you, drinking in every drop, his tongue relentless as he works you through the high, dragging it out, making your legs shake. His hands tighten around your hips, keeping you still, keeping you his.

"Soobin—oh, god—" Your voice is hoarse, wrecked, but he doesn't let up. His tongue flicks over your sensitive clit again and you jerk, body twisting, overstimulated and desperate.

"You taste so fucking good," he groans against you, voice thick with hunger. "Missed this. Missed you."

You whimper, pushing at his head, your body twitching, too much, too much—

But Soobin just smirks against your trembling thighs, eyes dark, voice husky.

"One more," he murmurs. "Give me one more, baby. I know you can."

When you come again, it blindsides you. You weren’t lying—it was too much, your body was too sensitive, but somehow, it still betrays you, still obeys the relentless pleasure he’s forcing on you.

The orgasm rips through you, fast and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming—your thighs quake, your back arches, and your hands claw helplessly at the sheets, at him, at anything to ground yourself.

And then—fuck.

A rush of wetness spills from you in pulsing waves, leaving you breathless, wrecked.

Soobin stills for half a second, then groans, long and deep, as if you just gave him the most precious gift. His hands tighten on your thighs as he watches, completely mesmerized, watching how your body gushes for him, soaking his mouth, his chin, the sheets beneath you.

“Holy fuck.” His voice is thick, raspy, wrecked. "Look at you, baby." He doesn’t miss a single drop, drinking you in like he’s been starving for you, eyes dark with pure, unfiltered lust.

You whimper, trembling, overstimulated beyond belief. “Soobin—fuck, I can’t, I—”

He shushes you, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your inner thighs, letting you feel the way his lips linger. His hands caress your shaking legs, soothing and possessive at the same time.

“You can,” he murmurs against your skin. “And you did.” His voice drips with pride, with something dangerously close to reverence. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

And then, with a wicked smirk, he licks his lips, tasting you all over again.

“Think you can give me one more, sweetheart?”

“No”

Soobin chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating through the air between you. His hands trail lazily over your trembling thighs, teasing, never staying in one place long enough to satisfy.

"No?" He mimics your weak protest, tilting his head as if he’s actually considering giving you a break. But the smirk playing on his lips says otherwise.

Then he sees it—sees the way your eyes keep flickering downward, dark and hazy, locked onto him. The way your breath hitches just slightly at the sight of his cock, thick and hard, standing between you.

“Mmm, we should let this body rest, shouldn’t we?” His tone is soft, almost pitying, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You’re so sensitive, all worn out, we should stop—”

He pauses, trailing a teasing finger up your inner thigh.

“But,” he drawls, watching the way you squirm, “the way you’re looking at me right now? Fuck, sweetheart, you’re practically salivating.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You know you’re trouble, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters, but you shake your head weakly. “Mmm… no.”

His eyes darken instantly. “Liar.”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “Want you.”

His grip on your thighs tightens.

You’re relentless now, pleading, your voice thick with need. “I really want you.”

Soobin hums, his fingers skating dangerously close to where you need him most, barely there, teasing. “Didn’t you just say you needed a rest?”

You nod, breathless. “Yeah…”

He raises a brow. “So what happened?”

You whimper, arching into his touch, impatient. “I—fuck—I want you,” you admit, your voice trembling with desperation. “It’s been too long. Please.”

Something in him snaps.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

“You want me that bad?” His voice is dark, full of something you can’t quite name.

You nod rapidly, your whole body begging for him.

He chuckles again, low and satisfied, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your jaw.

“Then, baby,” he murmurs, “you better take what you asked for.”

And just like that—despite the way your body trembles, despite the way you're still reeling from the last two orgasms that left you oversensitive and dazed—he enters you.

It’s slow at first, agonizingly slow, as if he’s savoring the feeling of stretching you open, of feeling you take him inch by inch. Your breath hitches, a gasp spilling from your lips at the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being filled.

But then he snaps.

A sharp inhale, a guttural curse under his breath, and all that patience vanishes. His grip on your hips tightens—no hesitation, no holding back.

"Gotta fuck this pussy like she deserves to be fucked." His voice is rough, wrecked, tinged with something possessive.

He drives into you, deep and unrelenting, his hips slamming against yours with a force that makes your head spin. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin against skin, the wet, messy proof of just how much you need this, how much you need him.

Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into you, dragging you closer, forcing you to take every inch. Every thrust sends a new wave of pleasure tearing through you, unbearable and yet not enough.

"So fucking tight," he growls, watching the way your body swallows him whole, clenching around him, greedy. "Like you were made for me."

You can't even respond—your words lost to the moans and cries spilling uncontrollably from your lips.

His hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Look at me," he commands, voice dark, dangerous. "You feel that? Hm? You feel how deep I am?"

You nod weakly, barely able to think.

"Good," he grits out, snapping his hips even harder. "Because I'm not stopping until I ruin you."

He does ruin you. Completely.

The sound of it—wet, obscene, filthy—fills the space, each thrust echoing between the walls like a symphony of pure sin. Your body is a mess beneath him, pliant and wrecked, reduced to nothing but sensation, but pleasure.

And Soobin devours you.

His lips find every inch of your skin—your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat—leaving open-mouthed kisses, sucking bruises that will linger long after this moment. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, worshiping. Every touch is possessive, claiming.

Your only response is to take it. To surrender to the way he stretches you, fills you so perfectly. It’s been too long since you’ve felt like this, since you’ve felt this full, this good.

"You feel that, baby?" he mutters against your jaw, his voice thick with lust, his thrusts sharp and punishing. "This is what you’ve been missing. What no one else can fucking give you."

You moan—a broken, desperate sound.

"Say it," he demands, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and pressing down hard.

You jolt, eyes rolling back. "You," you gasp. "Only you—fuck—no one else."

He groans, burying his face against your neck as if the admission undoes him. And then he snaps, fucking into you like he wants to make sure you’ll never forget this, never forget him.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," you practically scream, your voice breaking, body trembling.

Soobin chuckles, low and taunting, never slowing his ruthless pace. "Oh, poor baby," he coos mockingly, his fingers slipping down between your bodies, finding your clit with wicked precision. He presses down, rubs slow, lazy circles—just to watch you squirm.

"You wanna cum that bad?" he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, eyes dark with something feral. "So fucking desperate. Look at you—shaking. You can’t even take it, can you?"

You whimper, your fingers clawing at his back, his arms, anything you can reach. It’s too much, too good, too perfect. Your body is fire, every nerve on the edge of combustion.

"So needy for me," Soobin groans, leaning down, his lips brushing over yours. "But you know I love it when you beg, sweetheart. So why don’t you be a good girl and ask me for it?"

Your pride and sanity shatter.

"Please," you gasp, wrecked and mindless. "Please, Soobin, let me cum. Please—"

"That’s my girl," he growls, and then he rubs harder, fucks you deeper, until you break—until you fall apart around him with a sobbing cry, your body seizing, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

And Soobin watches it all, drinking in every second, every sound, every tremor of your body as you unravel beneath him.

It takes him a few seconds—just long enough to watch you come undone beneath him, to feel your walls flutter and clench so tightly around him that his restraint snaps like a frayed wire.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as his hips stutter, losing rhythm. His fingers dig into your waist, hard, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt.

"Fuck—" he rasps, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he spills inside you, the heat of it making you shudder. He pulses, each wave of his release drawn out by the way your body still clenches greedily around him.

He pants against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. "Shit," he mutters, pressing absentminded kisses against your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. His hand slides up your side, lazy, possessive. "You feel so fucking good—"

You're still trembling, body sensitive, spent, but you turn your head, catching his lips in a slow, messy kiss. He groans into it, hips rolling shallowly, like he can't stop, like he’s still savoring every aftershock.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your mingled breathing, his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his release still deep inside you.

Then, finally, Soobin exhales a small, breathless laugh against your skin.

"Yeah." He nuzzles into your neck, voice lower, softer now. "You're mine."

You smile, breath still uneven, body still trembling. "I always was."

Soobin exhales sharply, like the words hit him somewhere deep. His arms tighten around you, pressing your body closer, unwilling to let go just yet. He kisses you—slow, lingering, almost tender now. Like he’s sealing something between you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only the warmth of his body wrapped around yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers lazily traced circles into your hip until everything faded into darkness.

You wake up to sunlight slipping through the curtains, golden and soft, warming your skin. The bed smells like him—clean and musky, something uniquely Soobin. His arm is still draped over your waist, heavy and possessive, fingers curled slightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

You shift slightly, your body sore in ways that make heat curl in your stomach. That definitely happened.

A low, sleepy hum comes from behind you. "Mmm, morning." Soobin’s voice is rough, thick with sleep. He tightens his hold, nuzzling into your neck. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You let out a soft laugh. "Nowhere."

"Good." He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and slow, like he’s savoring the moment. "Stay right here."

You roll over to face him, and god—he looks unfairly good in the morning. Tousled hair, drowsy eyes, lips still slightly swollen from last night. He blinks down at you, then smirks. "You look wrecked."

"Whose fault is that?" you mumble, stretching.

"Mine." He grins, completely unapologetic. "And I’d do it again."

Your cheeks heat, but before you can reply, Soobin rolls on top of you, caging you in effortlessly. His weight is comforting, his bare skin warm against yours.

"What are you doing?" you ask, even though you already know.

"Making sure you don’t regret it." He brushes his nose against yours, voice still thick with sleep, but his hands are already moving, slow and teasing. "And if you don’t, then I think I have some unfinished business with you, sweetheart."

It’s practically lunchtime when you and Soobin finally decide to leave the bed. Your body aches in the best way possible, but more importantly—your stomach aches for actual food.

You call for delivery, and right in front of you, like fate, they drop off food from your favorite restaurant just a few blocks away. Perfect.

Soobin busies himself preparing the table, setting out plates, pouring water into glasses, smoothing out the tablecloth like this is something the two of you do all the time. Like he belongs here. Like this isn’t completely new and terrifying.

Everything is so domestic, so effortless—it almost scares you.

You watch him for a moment before blurting out, "Soob, you’re truly an idiot."

He freezes mid-reach for the utensils, turning to look at you, confused. "Huh?"

You inhale sharply, then murmur, "We didn’t use protection last night… or today."

Soobin’s eyes widen. "Fuck." He looks absolutely stricken, like the realization just knocked the air out of his lungs. "Oh my god, I was too focused on— I mean, I was so into you that I just—fuck."

You cross your arms, watching him spiral.

"Babe, I swear, I’m clean." His voice is urgent now, panicked. "I got tested two weeks ago—I think I still have the document on my phone. You can check—"

You can’t help it—you laugh. "Lucky for you, I’m on birth control."

Soobin sags in relief, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Jesus." Then, his expression shifts to something more serious, his brows knitting together. "This is a thing for two—I should have been more responsible. I’m sorry."

You step closer, poking his chest. "Damn right you should have been."

His lips quirk into a sheepish smile. "I’ll make it up to you."

You raise an eyebrow. "How?"

Soobin leans down, voice dropping, teasing, "Well… I could start by feeding you before you get grumpy."

You roll your eyes but let him press a kiss to your forehead anyway. The moment should feel awkward, heavy even, but instead, it feels warm. Familiar.

You don’t even think before you say it. The words just spill out as you sit across from him at the table, food untouched between you.

"We need to talk."

Soobin looks up immediately, jaw tightening like he’s already bracing for the worst. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Before you say anything, I know." His voice is quieter now, a little rough. "I know how hard it was for you back then."

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

"Babe, I didn’t pay attention to you."* His eyes flicker with regret, dark and heavy with memories that still linger between you. "And I am so sorry. But I didn’t have the time back then—I had just made it into university, and I was juggling a full-on trainee schedule. I barely had a second to breathe."*

He looks down at his hands like he can barely stand to face you.

"At the time, I didn’t understand why you made such a fuss. I thought you were overreacting. But looking back… fuck, I was selfish. I was spending fourteen hours a day training, barely sleeping, and the little time I had left, I should have given to you."

His voice cracks, and when he looks up, his eyes are shining with something raw. "You were at university too, just as busy, and still… you made time for me. You always made time for me. You’d cook my meals, check up on me, make sure I ate something even when I got home at 2 AM—and I took you for granted."

Your heart clenches painfully.

"I will always be deeply sorry for that," Soobin continues, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "I should’ve been better. I should’ve been there for you like you were for me."

His hand reaches out across the table, tentative, fingers brushing against yours.

"But I never stopped loving you. Not even once."

Silence stretches between you. The weight of his words sinks into your skin, deep and unshakable.

It would be so easy to let that be enough—to fall back into him completely, to pretend the past doesn’t matter.

But it does.

So you take a breath, steadying yourself, and finally, finally, you start to say everything you’ve been holding in for years.

"You really hurt me, Soobin." Your voice is quiet, but steady. "I don’t think you ever realized how lonely I felt back then. It wasn’t just that you were busy—it was that I felt like I didn’t exist to you anymore."

He flinches, like the words hit him straight in the chest.

"I’d wait for you. Every night, I’d wait. I’d cook you something, even if I knew you’d barely touch it. I’d leave you messages, even if I knew you wouldn’t answer until hours later. And I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it. That I was just being selfish for wanting more of you."

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. "But it wasn’t fine. And I wasn’t selfish. I just wanted to be with you."

Soobin grips your hand tighter. "I know. I know, and I was a fucking idiot. I don’t think I really let myself see how much it was affecting you. I was so focused on surviving every day that I just… I don’t know. I thought you’d always be there. And that was unfair of me."

He swipes a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "I can’t change what I did back then. I can’t undo the times I hurt you. But if you’ll let me—if you still want this—I swear I’ll spend every day making up for it."

Your chest tightens.

The truth is, you never stopped wanting him.

And maybe that’s the most terrifying part of all.

You squeeze his hand. "I’m still scared, Soobin. I don’t know if things will be different this time."

"They will be." His voice is firm, certain. "Because I’m different. And if you give me the chance, I’ll prove it to you."

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the way his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through them again. You watch the way he looks at you—like you’re something he refuses to take for granted ever again.

"For the record," Soobin starts, voice quieter now, steadier, "my career will not be a problem anymore."

Your breath catches, but you let him speak.

"I don’t want to hide you. I never did, and I won’t—not unless you’re uncomfortable with how public it’s going to get. If you are, then I swear I’ll respect that. But me? I will always stand for you."

His fingers tighten around yours, warm and firm, like an unspoken promise.

"I will always be there from now on." His voice wavers just slightly. "I should’ve been there before, but I wasn’t. I don’t deserve you after all the ways I hurt you… but I love you, and I want to make you so fucking happy, babe."

A lump rises in your throat.

"You’re the only reason I keep working so hard," he continues. "Every day, I push myself so I can prove that it was all worth it. But the thing is… none of it means anything without you."

Your heart stutters.

"I have everything I ever dreamed of, but I don’t have the one thing I want most." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles. "You."

The word sinks deep, heavy with meaning.

You exhale shakily, watching him. Soobin—your Soobin—who once felt like a memory you had to let go of, is here, right in front of you, holding on like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

"Do you mean it?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His brows furrow like the question physically pains him. "Of course I do. I’d never say it if I didn’t."

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there’s none. Just unwavering determination, just love—raw and unshaken.

Soobin lifts his free hand, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "Give me the chance to make it up to you. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve."

You don’t realize you’re leaning into his touch until your eyes flutter shut.

And then, all of a sudden, Soobin is kissing you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—just sweet, meaningful. The kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. His lips press against yours with a quiet reverence, like he’s savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of you. Like he’s afraid of letting go.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Could you be my girlfriend?" His voice is barely above a whisper, hesitant, hopeful.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze—soft yet so intense, like he’s holding onto every second.

"I can make my company release a statement," he murmurs, pressing a lingering peck on the tip of your nose. "They can say that I’m very much taken. That I belong to you."

Your breath catches, but Soobin isn’t finished.

"I have an event coming up—a fancy, over-the-top party, filled with industry elites, idols, actors, CEOs. Everyone who’s someone will be there." He swallows, brushing his fingers down your arm. "I can introduce you to the world."

Your heart pounds.

"You don’t have to," he adds quickly, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. "I know this isn’t easy, and if you don’t want that kind of attention, I’ll keep us private. But I don’t want to hide you. Not anymore. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and that I—" He exhales shakily, eyes glistening with something raw. "That I’m yours."

Your lips part, but words don’t come.

Soobin doesn’t rush you. He just waits, watching you like your answer is the most important thing in the world. And to him, it probably is.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as Soobin watches you with hopeful, expectant eyes. The weight of his words lingers between you, thick with meaning, with promise.

"Yes," you finally say, your voice soft but sure. "I want to be your girlfriend."

Soobin's entire face lights up, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, like he's grounding himself in the moment—like he can’t believe this is real.

You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t love the attention, and I know the media follows you everywhere... but if you want to release the statement, you can. I just—" You hesitate, chewing on your lip. "I don’t know about the party though."

His eyes search yours, carefully gauging your comfort. "We don’t have to go," he assures you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your palm. "I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. If you’re not ready, we’ll do things your way. The world can wait."

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. "You’d really be okay with that?"

Soobin chuckles, tilting his head. "I waited this long to have you again. What’s a little more waiting?"

His words make your heart clench, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, full of quiet gratitude.

Soobin sighs into it, his hands finding your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "God, I love you," he breathes against your lips. "I’ll do this right this time."

And you believe him.

When Yeonjun finds out, it’s messy.

There’s yelling. A lot of it.

"How the hell did this happen, and I didn’t notice?!" Yeonjun practically explodes, his voice bouncing off the walls. His expression is a mix of pure disbelief and mild betrayal, his hands flying through his hair like he��s on the verge of losing his mind.

Then, in the middle of his outburst, realization hits. His mouth clamps shut, and his face shifts from outrage to something quieter—understanding.

Of course, he didn’t notice.

He wasn’t here.

He was studying in the U.S. when everything went down. He missed it. All of it.

His gaze flickers between you and Soobin, and for a long, drawn-out moment, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Then, without warning, his eyes lock onto Soobin’s with a silent threat—If she ends up hurt, I’ll make sure you regret it.

Soobin swallows thickly.

But then—almost unexpectedly—Yeonjun smiles.

It’s not exactly a warm, welcoming grin, but it’s something. A reluctant acceptance, maybe. A begrudging fine, but if you screw this up, I will personally end your life.

Soobin lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, tension leaving his shoulders.

And then it clicks.

A memory. A conversation. Something that doesn’t make sense.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, completely thrown. "Babe... that day at the wedding… did you say something to Yeonjun about us earlier?"

You blink at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Taehyun told me he overheard you talking to Yeonjun about us.*"

Your face scrunches in confusion. "That never happened."

Soobin freezes. "What?"

"I never talked to Yeonjun about us before everything happened. Not at the wedding. Not before it. Never."

The realization crashes down like a ton of bricks.

"He probably lied to you," you murmur.

Soobin’s eye twitches.

Oh.

Oh, he’s gonna kill Taehyun.

And then, after that, he’s going to buy him one of those weird torture-looking gym machines he’s always obsessing over. That’ll shut him up.

Thank fucking god for Taehyun.

Let me know what you think about this hehe :D

[starlightsreigns]

daddy lessons | a lemonade story

summary ⇢ mellie finds solace with the people who brought her life. six months feel like a lifetime without him, but her daddy warned her about men like him, so where does she go from here? word count ⇢ 2.5k tag ⇢ none. | five ; accountability “My daddy said shoot”

My daddy warned me about men like you

There’s an under-appreciated peace at your parent's house when you’re in pain. They don’t judge the hurt you're feeling, and they don’t ask questions when they can feel it in their bones that their daughter just needs their support. My mom can read my mind and it’s been like that since my younger years — she has that special ability to know exactly what the problem is without me uttering a word. 

“Mellie, baby, come eat.” she stands beside the couch. “You can finish your show afterward.” 

Her hands pull me off the couch, then lead me into the dining room where my dad is waiting. He sports a sad smile when we meet eyes, but doesn’t say anything. I know it’s because he doesn’t know what to say besides cracking a joke. 

Breakfast is quiet. My fork scraps against the side of the plate. Usually, I’d scarf down whatever my mom makes, but eating is the last thing I want after the last couple of weeks… and months… and year that I’ve had. It leaves me nauseous and anxious. 

My mom leaves the table after a while, taking the silence with her. My dad finally clears his throat but it’s impossible for me to look up at him. I know he’s going to try and give me advice, but as much as I love him, it’s not what I'm looking for. 

Came into this world, daddy’s little girl

“I know this isn’t what you want right now, Mel, but listen.” My dad sets his utensils down. “You don’t have to tell us what’s going on with Roman, but you Mellie, you’re stronger than that.” 

Defeat fills my entire body at his words, but he continues. 

“I love you, Melody, you’re my only baby girl and I don’t like seeing you upset. It hurts my heart.” 

Finally, the dam inside me breaks. The tears fall across my creek and my chest tightens in an attempt to keep my sobs at bay. My dad moves to the chair beside me and wraps his arm around me, cradling me against his chest when the sobs finally escape my body. 

“It’s okay, let it out.” He hums. “You can’t let this break you, Mellie, this won’t break you.” 

My breaths choke out, “It hurts, I trusted him and –” 

He stops me, “I never wanted you to go through something like this.” His voice chokes out. “It took a long time for your mom to ever forgive me, but I never want you to feel like this defines you or that you have to stay in something like this.”

When I was in middle school, my parents went through the roughest part of their relationship. He cheated on her with a coworker, and my mom who’s usually the nicest person, went on a bender filled with rage. I felt the coldness in the house and how much hatred she carried for over two years. For the longest time, no one was sure they’d ever get back together. It took separation and a lot of therapy for it to even be a conversation for them. 

“I know, papa.” I sigh. 

We sit in silence for a little while longer. My eyes shift up, hearing the clicks of my mom’s heels. She offers us a small smile and beckons us to follow. In the living room, she had it set up for a movie day. The couch was filled with blankets, more food on the coffee table and the lights turned down. 

But at this moment, I’m thankful that neither of my parents brought up the famous I told you so. They initially had concerns about me getting married. They love Roman, they really do, but his career made my mom question how the space would affect us. My dad said he saw a piece of him in Roman, and as bad as it is to say, I wish it wasn’t this part. The infidelity that broke my mom is now breaking me. 

He said, “Baby girl he’s playing you” 

“Mellie, you have a visitor.” My mom stands in the doorway. 

A groan slips past my lips as I turn to look at her. She motions me out and then disappears before I can get out of bed. I shuffle out and down the stairs. At the last step, Roman stands there with my dad. It’s tense. My dad is staring at Roman with his hands stuffed into his pockets. The look on his face forces Roman to stare down at the ground. 

“Dad,” My hand lays gently on his arm, kindly nudging him away but he only takes a step. 

“You can talk to her,” He grits. 

My heart pounds through my chest. I turn to my mom who is standing in the living room awkwardly. How can I plead for them to leave us alone? This is already too much and I can’t handle a conversation with him when they’re standing beside us. My mom finally looks at me and sees the look in my eyes and nods. 

“Hun, c’mon, let’s leave them.” She walks over and grabs his arm. 

“I don’t trust him, baby, I can’t let him keep playing my daughter.” 

A chill runs up my spine as my dad takes a step closer to Roman. It’s an involuntary movement for me to move up and block Roman from my dad. I’m not sure why I want to protect Roman from the ass-whooping my dad would so graciously give him, but there’s a piece of me that doesn’t want to see him bleeding on the floor. He’s still my husband.

“Dad, please, just let me talk to him.” I smile softly. “Twenty minutes and I’ll be back inside.”

For a moment, while his eyes are still locked on Roman, I’m sure my dad was ready to jump across me and tackle him to the ground. Thankfully, he nods and steps back into my mom. 

Outside, I sit on the porch swing. Roman stands near the door and takes a deep breath. It makes me laugh softly. 

“I’m happy that made you laugh,” Roman hums with a small smile. “I thought he was gonna shoot me.” 

“He has his shotgun in there, it’s still possible.” I glance in his direction. “What are you doin’ here, Roman?”

Roman carefully sits beside me on the swing, “I know you don’t wanna see me, Mellie, but I can’t go every day without seeing you.” He glances at me. “I know you’re here and safe, but I just have to see it myself.”

The cool air makes me wrap my arms around my shoulder and then lean up. I keep my eyes on the driveway to try and come up with any words. My mind swirls with too many thoughts and too many different emotions. As I zone out, I feel Roman’s jacket on my shoulder. It doesn’t make me move but instead close my eyes. 

“It doesn’t make this any easier, Roman, seeing you all the time doesn’t help me figure out where we’ll go from here.” I finally look at him. “I love you with all my heart and that’s the problem. I love you so much that I can’t step back and truly feel all the emotions.” 

He nods, “What can I do? I can’t be away from you, Mellie, but I want to fix this.”

The heavenly smell radiating off of Roman’s jacket makes my head spin. This is the closest we’ve been in months and it makes me realize how much I’ve missed him. Two months can feel like a lifetime. I wrap his jacket around me tighter and sigh. 

“There’s so much hate in my heart, still, I wish the love was enough but I can’t remember any of the good.” 

Silence follows. Neither one of us knows how to continue. 

A question hammers through my brain like a drum. It’s something that has been tucked away since coming to my parents' house. If me and my mom could forgive my dad for his mistakes in the past, why can’t I move past this with Roman? If I love Roman the way I know I do, why can’t I allow us to rehab it?

The sound of the front door opening pushes the thought away. My dad steps a foot out and looks in our direction. He motions me inside and it reminds me of when I was younger and guys would come around – they were never allowed in the house and we had twenty minutes on the porch before he’d eventually tell them to go the hell home. Something never changes with my dad. 

So, because I know he’d pull me into the house, I stand and start towards the door. 

“Mel, please come home.” Roman grabs my hand. “Please.” 

Focusing on my dad for a second, but he surprisingly doesn’t give me a reaction. Instead, he looks away and peers at the yard. I’m left alone to make that decision. 

“I can’t.” My voice shakes when I glance back at Roman. “I can’t do that.” 

Tough girl is what I had to be

For four days I rotted in bed while wrapped in Roman’s jacket. Every time I see him there’s some sort of regression that happens. Yet, I’m not even sure I can call it regression. I want to forgive him, but my pride and the hurt make it impossible for me to ever let those words come out of my mouth. 

The house is empty while my parents are at church this morning. The silence isn’t comforting. It takes me back to countless mornings, evenings, and nights I spent wondering where he was and if he was with her. It reminds me of the nights when he lay in bed and I sat on the floor in agony. The silence reminds me of the pain anger and sorrow that I can’t seem to shake anymore. 

How can I ever go back to normal? The person I was a year ago was someone I can’t even remember now. Melody from a year ago was lively, she partied, hung out with her friends on a daily, and would jump at the thought of her husband coming home to see her. Now, she sits in a house an hour away from him. 

My world stopped spinning a long time ago and I’m just now feeling the effects. 

From my spot on the couch, I can see out the window and to the yard. The rain sprinkles softly and casts a beautiful glow on everything due to the sun that was also out – you can’t help but love Florida weather, it’s as bipolar as my emotions about Roman are right now. 

A figure passes by the window and a knock rings through the house. There’s a part of me that so desperately wants to ignore it and sink further into the couch and my despair, but a voice forces me to go against that. 

“Sis, come open the door, I know you in there.” 

When I finally, through much internal monolouge, open the door, Jey gives me his award-winning smile. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything before he pulls me into his arms. A groan slips pass my lips at the sheer force behind the hug. 

“You’re gonna crush me, Jey,  lemme breathe.” I choke out. 

He let’s go of me reluctantly, but keeps his hands on my shoulders, “I just wanted to check on you, baby, Trin’s worried about you.” 

“I’m fine, brother, just trying to…” My voice trails off. 

I’m not sure what the hell I’m trying to do anymore. I thought I’d figure everything out by now, it’s been six months, but I’m more confused now than I was on day one. 

“What the fuck?” After plopping back down on the couch, I look up at Jey, “I don’t know what the hell I’m trying to do.” 

Jey sits beside me and takes my hand into his, “You know we all here for you, Mel, and we always gone be on your side.” He rubs his fingers over the palm of my hand. “Tell me what you need and I’ll help you.” 

My mind goes blank. I’m not sure what can be done at this point to make anything easier for me. But, I know Jey won’t leave this house until he gets an answer, that’s just the type of person he is. For as long as we’ve known each other, Jey is very confrontatioanal and he can’t help it. I lean against his shoulder and stare at the wall. 

“You believe me, right, Mellie, Imma always be here for you?” Jey leans down to find me eyes. “Cause I don’t think you believin’ me.”

“I believe you, swear.”  I whisper into his shoulder. “I’m just so lost and I feel like my life is falling apart.”

For a moment, he lets us sit silently. The way his focus stays on rubbing my hand makes me take a deep breath. 

“Did she tell you?” My voice fights against me. I’m not sure he heard what I ask, but when he clears his throught I shut my eyes. “I don’t want Roman to know.” 

“I won’t tell him, Mel, okay?” Jey wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer. “Let’s just sit here.”

He taught me to be strong 

How much longer can I stay here? 

How much longer can I be angry? 

How much longer can I pretend I’ll be okay? 

There needs to be a resolve and I can’t picture my life without Roman. I can live without him. I can survive without him, but I don’t want this to be the end of everything we’ve worked for all these years. Yet, maybe something just need to end.

“Melody, come here.” My mom beckons me from the kitchen. 

It was nearly time for dinner and she’s standing near the stove. I leaning against the sink with a roll of the eye. My irritation isn’t with her, she knows that, but I’m not sure how to get rid of this feeling. 

“This feeling you have, the one you don’t want to share with any of us, I understand it and I resonate with it.” She glances at me. “It took me so long to forgive your father and there was a point where I thought if I forgive him I’d lose a piece of myself, but whatever you decide won’t break you and it won’t make you any less of a woman.” 

My eyes focus on the ground. I’m not sure what she wants me to say but she continues. 

“What he did isn’t right and there’s no way to get rid of that hurt, baby, but if you love him and you want to make it work you both have to take that first step and talk through this.” She finally turns and looks at me. “If you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to, but you both still need to talk.” 

We need to talk. 

I stare at my mom for a moment then nod. 

We have to talk. 

… but I’m not ready.

“Your mother is a woman and women like her cannot be contained. Mother dearest, let me inherit the earth. Teach me how to make him beg. Let me make up for the years he made you wait. Did he bend your reflection? Did he make you forget your own name? Did he convince you he was a god? Did you get on your knees daily? Do his eyes close like doors? Are you a slave to the back of his head?”

no words, hope you’ve enjoyed x

[bears-sillybasement]

ohoho! soo uhmm BIG POST Y'ALL. I guess I'll pin this so everyone gets a basic idea of my oc?..I LOOOOVE explaining everything I have of him so far..SO AM AM AM AM I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY IT??? MAYBE???

This is Bernadette!

(with and without his half-hood!)

Although Bernadette is a mostly feminine name, He chose the name himself after losing most of his childhood memories in a traumatic event.

"Bernadette" was the only word he remembered when he regained consciousness, so now he uses it for himself.

It's the only little thing from his past that he remembers with inexplicable affection.

About the hood..

This hood in the middle of his face is impossible to remove! This is because of a curse he received when putting it on.

Why? Well, it's a stolen hood. Most of the things Bernadette wears are stolen from ancient temples. All of them have an effect on him, but sadly for his desires none of them manages to actually kill him.

the facecards i made at 5am lol

It's actually weird to draw him looking straight ahead because he usually avoids looking at others, but I still made a version that way!

(I definitely didn't try very hard)

Basic (and unnecessary) information :3

Part of his design looks childish because he's a storyteller focused on children, his job is to look after and entertain most of them while their parents are busy!

Although he looks like someone chaotic or eccentric, actually has a love-hate relationship with attention. It's "fun" when others see him, but not for too long.

He likes people, as long as they don't get into his personal life. It's the same reason of why he has very, very few friends. He is very reserved with his stuff, in general. With everything.

For reasons he doesn't mention, he feels uncomfortable around small animals. He's afraid of hurting them.

he LOVES meat. except pork, he thinks it tastes like shit

Ironically, since he lives in Fontaine, he absolutely hates tea and calls it "just dirty water" (you all have the right to kill him)

but absolutely loves latte. extra sweet.

He was NOT BORN in Fontaine. His origins are something he doesn't like to talk about and barely remembers, but he lived his teenager days in the Sumeru desert

he's 20 years old now! (I should have put this sooner but I'm too lazy to fix it now lol)

Signature weapon

another stolen thing! haha, ha..never remind him of his half criminal days...

Even though its main function is as an axe, the tongue that sticks out of it is sticky..and can stretch out to help him move around, grab things (or others...)

Skills!

Right here it's my duty to thank all the mutuals who offered their OCs (blindly) for this!

I hope they like it :3

@cheeomi (thanks for ur oc!)

(Bernadette often lies to children saying that he eats the souls of those who the bear swallowed... he just likes to be dramatic.)

Something that needs to be made clear is that the bear is NOT ALIVE. It's an empty real skin coat, but a spirit lives inside.

One he knows very well..

inside the bear there's just a very strange emptiness, you're just trapped inside floating in a warm space. (so kohaku is fine, yei)

Although if you're an exorcist or someone sensitive to paranormal things, it may be a bit akward..

@scarameownya (thanks for ur oc!)

magic cape!!!!! another stolen thing!!!!

...But hey, if nobody caught you then it's yours, right?

This cape is quite peculiar, it can take you anywhere you want! real or not. although if you enter on your own it can take you to places in your mind that you don't want to see..

That's why you should not enter without permission or company!! Always ask its great, cool AND pretty owner!

Bernadette just uses it to move around places quickly. (Or hiding)

@chenyuvale (thanks for ur oc!)

Taking away the normal function of an axe, as I said, the tongue does its own thing! you can use it to move BUT it also can be used to leave people trapped.

For some reason the tongue drools..it's pretty gross when it gets stuck to the walls of the fontaine buildings!

But well um, Bernadette it's not going to clean that up.

@sylviegirly (thanks for ur oc!)

another way to get around! As you will notice, he doesn't usually walk much using his own feet..

Since what's inside the bear is a spirit, his ways of taking over the body are actually quite varied, and Bernadette uses them to his advantage...With his permission, of course!! (Just sometimes)

.

.

.

OOOFFF OKAY THAT'S ALL! for now..I hope it wasn't too much, I always wanted to do this kind of thing TvT It's not THAT bad

I'm SUPER sure I just typed something horribly wrong but...I really want to..sleep..haha..ha..

[genoskissors]

The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy - Initial Character Thoughts

This is going to have a lot of Danganronpa comparisons, name analysis, and just my overall thoughts on each character before the game is out. Feel free to comment your own thoughts!

Darumi Amemiya (飴宮 怠美)

"A young woman known for her mood swings and obsession with all things dark and depressing. She's a big fan of killing game stories and has no fear of death. If she has to die, all she wants is a death that's as dramatic and flamboyant as humanly possible."

Crazy thing I'm about to say, she reminds me of Genocide Jack. She sticks her tongue out a lot and seems to be completely desensitized to anything regarding death. It makes me think she's just desperate for a thrill in her life.

I don't really like her design but I think if the vibrant colors were turned down, it would be much better. I do enjoy it in a way, being able to dress however you want reveals a lot about someone's confidence. I love how she looks in her other outfit and I honestly think if her shirt was less white, I'd love her hair.

Ame means candy, miya means palace, daru means lazy, and mi means beauty. Daru is not common in names, so it definitely has a meaning. This name doesn't have any straightforward meaning to me, but I suppose Darumi is a more unique character. Her name might make sense later. I do theorize, for the lazy part, she was bored before getting into dark stuff, kinda like Junko.

Eito Aotsuki (蒼月 衛人)

"Takumi's most trusted ally. Eito cares very deeply for his friends and isn't shy about expressing those feelings, corny as they may sound. He's been weak and sickly since he was little, but his impressive intellect might be just what the team needs to guide them through the war safely."

We are all thinking about the exact same image. Anyway, I think I'll love him because it seems he has a bit of a crazy side as well (I love crazy people). He's also very forward and compassionate, so I'll enjoy seeing both sides of him.

He looks like one of Nagito's beta designs which I think tells me everything I need to know. I find him cute but his jacket being the same color as his skin kinda throws me off. I'm also curious as to why he wears gloves, he's dressed like it's winter.

Ao means blue and tsuki means moon. His first name is interesting, as the kanji for Ei is the same kanji used in the game's title, meaning defense. To means human and is also a common ending for a boy name. I find the term blue moon fitting for his appearance, and I assume his role in battle will mostly be defense.

Gaku Maruko (丸子 楽)

"A guy who's true to his personal desires (to put it delicately). He's a coward and always looking out for himself. However, there's something so refreshingly honest about his pettiness that it's hard to hate him. Gaku's also good at taking care of other people once he opens his heart to them."

I will not lie, I don't think I'm going to like him. I'm okay with a character being a coward and I'm okay with a character being selfish, but both does not seem like a mood maker to me. I think I'll find him annoying but I'll be happy to be surprised.

He's got some patchwork in his clothes, so I think he might come from a troubled past. His shirt is really stupid looking though, but it's stupid enough to circle back to being slightly cute.

Maru means round and ko means child, but together, Maruko is a type of meatball. Not exactly the same as Western ones, but very similar. Gaku means comfort. I think his first name goes well with the fact he takes good care of those close to him. In Japanese, Gaku is also a homophone for the word school. As for Maruko, I don't know.

Hiruko Shizuhara (雫原 比留子)

"Leader of the Special Defense Unit. A cold, almost heartless beauty, she always says what's on her mind, even if it means offending others. She's just as merciless on the battlefield, where she gets a twisted sense of pleasure from tearing invaders apart."

She enjoys murder, I think I'll like her. I'm very curious as to why she's considered the leader of the group. The way she's described as merciless on the battlefield makes me think she has murdered before. Maki but a little more crazy (I love crazy people).

She has a lot going on that I really enjoy, the piercings, the makeup, the hair clip. She's also 5'11, which I think will be funny next to our 5'6 protagonist.

Shizu means droplet and hara means original, but is also just a common ending for Japanese surnames, like Saihara and Gokuhara. Hi means compare, ru means remain, and ko means child. Hiruko, spelled 蛭子, is also one of the names of Ebisu, a God of fishing, wealth, and fortune. Ebisu also uses the kanji 比, which is in Hiruko's name. Her last name is also water related.

Ima Tsukumo (九十九 今馬)

"One of a set of twins - Ima is the elder by a few minutes. He acts like a carefree joker, but underneath that humor is a hint of something darker. A hardcore siscon, he thinks of nothing but protecting his sister. If anything or anyone dares to threaten Kako's safety, Ima will show them no mercy."

This might ruin people's perception of me, but I don't care that he's a siscon. Like at all. It might be an uncomfortable attribute but after four Danganronpa games, I could not be less phased. I think I'll like him since he seems silly but also a little crazy (I love crazy people).

One of the cutest characters here. I thought he was a girl at first but he just has luscious eyelashes. I love the color of his hair and the streaks in it, I think they go well with his eyes. His sprite here looks very chummy.

Tsukumo means ninety-nine, which is one less than a hundred and how many days they have left after day one. Ima by itself means now but his name only uses the “I” part of it and then uses horse for the ma part. Basically 今 = Ima and 今馬 = Ima. It would be the same with or without the last kanji, but I assume it's there to make it seem more like a name. However, I can't help but connect him to Oma.

Kako Tsukumo (九十九 過子)

"One of a set of twins - Kako is the younger by a few minutes. She's prone to spacing out, but also has a keen mind and a healthy sense of curiosity. Kako is a big fan of mystery stories and wants to be a private investigator when she grows up."

She seems like a regular teenager to be honest, but the spacing out and solving mysteries reminds me of Chiaki. I think I'll like her, but I can't really pin her personality based on this description.

I adore her hairstyle and her bow. The color of her hair looks really nice with her eye color. Funny enough, I didn't realize her and Ima were siblings until I saw the eyes. Like the uniform did not give it away for some reason.

Like her brother, Kako's last name means ninety-nine. The kanji for ka means past, contrasting the meaning of her brother's name. I like to theorize there will be a character named something including future, but that's a reach. Ko means child, it's a very common ending for female names. It might just be to make Kako seem more like a name, but perhaps it also represents childishness.

Kurara Oosuzuki (大鈴木 くらら)

"The scion of one of the most wealthy families humanity has ever known. She's proud, overbearing, and acts like she's better than anyone else. She always wears a strange tomato mask, never showing her true face."

I like the proud type of character, someone like Miu or Byakuya. She seems to be more focused on degrading others than uplifting herself though, but that's just based on her quote. I also really want to see her face but oddly if it's never shown I won't be disappointed.

I don't really care for masks that completely cover a character's face, I like to see at least some parts, but the fact the mask expresses emotions makes me content with it. I also thought it was a Jack-o-Lantern at first, but I guess it's just a scary tomato? The rest of her outfit is nice, fits the rich girl thing.

Oo means great, suzu means bell, and ki means tree. Suzuki is a very common Japanese last name, so adding great in front of it makes sense for her prideful personality. Kurara is a type of plant that is very bitter. I assume this will also relate to her personality.

Kyoshika Magadori (凶鳥 狂死香)

"A young samurai who's utterly clueless about the modern world. Has never even heard of multiplication tables, let alone learned them. She has a disturbingly close relationship with her katana, the Holy Jumonji Sword."

Kyoshika is who I think my favorite character will be. She's very Tenko like, a character I love very much. Her birthday is 11/11 which I hope is a joke about how she cut 1111 perfectly in half. While she isn't very modern, I can still see she has a reliable personality. Her name also hints she might be a little crazy (I love crazy people). Lastly, Ninja's are cool.

I love her outfit, especially the katana on her hip and the huge cape. She also has a normal ponytail, not often seen in Danganronpa. I like how her ponytail looks like a shuriken. Her face reminds me of Maki a bit, another character I love. I also love the colors. I just really love her so far.

We have a very straightforward name here. Maga means bad or unlucky and dori means bird. Unlucky bird? Crows are often associated with death, but that might not be the message it's going for. Kyoshi literally means crazy to death. Ka means scent, but is also just a common ending for a girl name.

Moko Mojiro (喪白 もこ)

"A young woman who is blowing up on the high school pro wrestling scene. Her courage and boundless energy is a source of inspiration for the entire Special Defense Unit. Whenever she has a problem, she faces it head on. She didn't choose the wrasslin' life - it chose her."

Her personality reminds me a lot of Aoi. Probably with more courage though. She seems like she'll get along better with girls than boys. The boundless energy makes me think she'll be fun to play, but we'll see.

We finally got ourselves another buff woman, Sakura fans rejoice. I like how her hair, face, and outfit are cutesy, it shows she can be physically strong while still being girly, something Sakura wanted.

Sigh... I don't get her name at all, Mo means mourning and jiro means white. Her first name is in Hiragana so I don't know the exact meaning, nor do I really have an idea on her last name. I thought about Peko and how pekopeko is an onomatopoeia. Mokomoko is an onomatopoeia for something thick and soft. Not sure if that relates to her personality. I'd say her last name is a death flag but everyone dies in this game so that doesn't mean much.

Nozomi Kirifuji (霧藤 希)

"A high schooler who combines a kindhearted nature with dogged determination in battle. She's very passionate about the Special Defense Unit's mission, but also seems to be hiding something. For some reason, Nozomi is identical in appearance to Takumi's childhood friend Karua."

I'm a sucker for characters hiding a big secret, so I'm excited for hers, I assume it's related to Karua but how so? Much to think about. She's kind and passionate, so I think she'll be very easy to like as a character.

Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute!!! She is adorable from her hair to her shoes. I really like her hair especially. Her name is cute too. I think she's my favorite design overall, it's pleasing to look at.

Kiri means fog, which, like Kirigiri, I believe represents the mysterious aspect of her. Fuji means wisteria, which are purple just like her. Nozomi means hope, which is a name I was surprised Kodaka never used. I always thought Nozomi would be a great name for Chiaki, but I'm getting off track. Overall her name is peaceful but mysterious, fitting her description.

Shouma Ginzaki (銀崎 晶馬)

"A young man who, by his own admission, has absolutely nothing going for him. On a scale of one to ten, his self-esteem's at negative five. He's constantly putting himself down."

It seems like a lack of self-worth is gonna be his whole thing. I'm not really looking forward to it. Nagito did it too, but was also a very positive person, but it seems Shouma is just depressed. I just don't want everything he says to be about how he's worthless.

His design is okay. I think I'd like it better without the hat but it's not too bad, just makes him look a little immature. I do think his face and haircut are cute. He's also very small.

Gin means silver and zaki means small peninsula, but is mostly associated with being an ending for a surname, so I doubt it changes the meaning. Shou means crystal, and like in Ima, ma means horse. The silver and crystal parts are definitely connected, maybe he's wealthy? Or maybe it symbolizes his personality instead. Not very sure.

Takemaru Yakushiji (厄師寺 猛丸)

"An old-school delinquent who lives to ride and rides to live. Despite his rough-and-ready demeanor, Takemaru's really a nice guy on the inside. Impulsive, straightforward, and honorable to a fault, he's sworn to never use his strength to bully the weak."

He seems like a generally good character but I can sense there will be a lot of him yelling. Honestly, he just seems a lot like Mondo to me, so I don't have much to say. I like Mondo but I'm not sure we need another one. Also he says he doesn't hit girls, kids, or the eldery, so first thing I know is he sees girls as weak.

Give him the corn hair and he's literally Mondo. I do like Takemaru's hair though, it's kinda cute. He's got a lot of scars on his face, so I feel like he might be a little reckless. All the characters have dull skin but I feel some vibrance would do him good.

Yaku means disaster or evil, shi means master, and ji means temple. The temple part adds up with the old school aspect, like in Saionji and Shinguji. The first part likely just represents him being a delinquent. In his first name, Take means fierce and maru means round. I think this is mostly just a pun, “Takemaru Hair” is a hair style associated with delinquents.

Takumi Sumino (澄野 拓海)

"The main character of this story. A completely average high schooler from a completely average family. He can be a little indecisive and pessimistic at times, but when he has something to protect, he'll fight with everything he's got."

Classic average high schooler as our protagonist, expected for these kinds of stories. I'm in no way a hater of the archetype, I love Makoto, Hajime, and Komaru lots, so I think I'll like him too. His introduction is pretty negative, but I find pessimism to be an endearing trait, so I feel like I'll love him.

I'm not really a fan of the bright red hair, but it's not bad. I would like if the red and black in his hair switched. Also, classic ahoge. I find his eyes beautiful, they're very sharp, great for a pessimist. Not much to say about his outfit.

I don't know why but I really like his name and the kanji used in it. It just sounds and is written nice. Sumi means clear and no means field, but it's also just a common ending for surnames. Taku means opening land and mi means ocean. I think the opening land part fits the fact he's in a new place and the sea is more metaphorical for how vast it is.

Tsubasa Kawana (川奈 つばさ)

"A young woman who knows a lot about machines and what makes them tick. She had a bright, lively personality, but isn't good with stressful situations. When she gets nervous, she gets nauseous, and then..."

She is so cute I already know she'll be one of my favorite characters. She's energetic and social but gets sick when nervous, I can very much empathize with her... If this game has things like free time events, I'd like to spend some with her.

I absolutely adore her design. Her hair is beautiful, her entire outfit is cool, I like the way she carries herself. She also has the classic Danganronpa mouth mole, a need for all of Kodaka's games. Her necklace thing is odd but I'll look past it.

Kawa means river and na means doubts, however, the kanji for na isn't really known for its meaning and is mostly associated with being a part of a name. The last sentence implies she throws up when nervous, so, for lack of better phrasing, maybe the river represents that? And doubt is what fuels that nervousness? I think I'm reaching here. Tsubasa means wings, which I think is bright and lively like her personality.

Yugamu Omokage (面影 歪)

"A striking young man who's been in the business since long before the war started. Unlike the rest of his family (who are also assassins, by the way), Yugamu believes that killing should be done with love. He enjoys torture and other immoral forms of pleasure."

He's crazy like for real crazy (I love crazy people). His description makes me raise an eyebrow about what exactly "immoral forms of pleasure" are but I won't make assumptions until the game is out. He kills for love which reminds me of a character I love with all my heart. He'll never compare to her but it's okay.

The outfit is very nice but the random organs are a bit odd. That's probably the point, but it's just really random. I find him ugly and I love it. His hair is also bad and I love it. I love this ugly boy.

Omokage means face shadow, referring to imagining someone's face with your mind. Kind of like imagining someone, usually dead, is there with you. Yugamu means distorted. Another on the nose name. Remembering a face but it's distorted, could refer to his own scarred face, or perhaps forgetting what someone who has passed away looks like. He has a strong connection with love, so perhaps someone he once knew. It likely just refers to his own face.

Sirei and Nigou (ＳＩＲＥＩ) & (ＮＩＧＯＵ)

"The principal and commanding officer of Last Defense Academy. To put it another way, a weird little robot that orders the members of the Special Defense Unit around. Under his command, Takumi and the others will be working to wipe out the mysterious School Invaders." "Sirei's assistant and second in command. An odd little robot that has a gentle, caring personality, but is also prone to making careless mistakes. He's completely loyal and subservient to Sirei."

I'll keep it short and simple, if these two aren't funny I won't care for them at all.

I kinda like their designs. It's unique how you can see their brain and heart, but I think that's because those two are the most vital organs. Also, what's with Nigou's lips? I don't even know their gender so I'll just use they/them for the time being. The English description says "He" but the Japanese text doesn't explicitly use he and there no other instance to use.

Their names are romanized in Japanese as well, so they don't have an obvious meaning, but I have a theory! I believe Sirei is 司令 “Shirei” meaning in command and Nigou is 二号 “Nigou” meaning number two, as in second to Sirei. Sirei and Shirei are pronounced the same in Japanese.

Final Thoughts

I'm hyped for this game. I haven't talked about the gameplay aspects but my absolute favorite thing in games is multiple endings. A hundred endings is a paradise for me. A lot of the sneak peaks leave me curious, so I'm excited to play it. April 24th! I think I'll enjoy the cast. I also like the majority of Kodaka's characters because they're so complex, so I have no doubts about loving this new cast.

Sorry for any spelling errors, this was a lot to proofread.

[rockwgooglyeyes]

Hi Rocky, remember when I said I had conflicting feelings about Round 7. Well um what did you think of the new video

Geo!! Lovely to see you :3

So unpopular opinion maybe, but I actually really liked Wiege? That could be just because I enjoyed the song but the amount of lore that they're able to give us in little snapshots is truly amazing. Hyuna losing her round, Hyuna sacrificing herself for Luka, all of the natural metaphors in the lyrics (the wings drenched with longing finally unfold, you'll embrace the sea that sings, etc), Mizi finally gonna go apeshit . . . I'm excited for what's next and I'm actually very happy with Wiege! Not necessarily happy that Hyuna died but uh thats more complicated. . .

One, it seems apparent that Luka killed the other clones of him? Which is both insane but also makes a lot of sense, insofar as his feeling of superiority towards them. It's a crazy thing to think about but it shows the way that he views most other living beings as chess pieces in a broader game, if that makes sense? He doesn't really care about people on a personal level, most often, and that's what makes Hyuna special. . .

We also get to see how Luka's love is both obsessive and possessive, the him kissing her wanted posted while in his room, (yknow the whole "your life is mine" bit from before) but we also get to see how Luka's love really is, in part, about seeking comfort from someone he loves. He leans into Hyuna while she cries, likely mourning Hyunwoo's death, and when he runs towards her, he's reaching out. It's strange how . . . earnest it is, how unadulterated by anything like possession or conditions. Not only that but Hyuna does seem to genuinely love Luka back, maybe not romantically, but she definitely cherishes him, which we knew before but it's still nice to see confirmed again.

Additionally, I would say that we get evidence that the fight that killed Hyunwoo, well, it was started by Hyunwoo. It seems likely that Luka did something to annoy Hyunwoo or did something that frustrated him, enough that Hyunwoo decided to get physical. I mean Hyunwoo doesn't seem happy about it, for sure. But with the framing, it makes me think that Hyunwoo was simply killed in a fight, most likely on accident- though we know that Luka has possessive feelings over Hyuna, from what we've seen of his past with Hyuna and Hyunwoo, he didn't seem to view them as that much of a separate entity. A lot of the shots where Hyunwoo is still alive, in Wiege at least, Hyunwoo is framed as positively as Hyuna is . . . which makes me think that Luka didn't kill Hyunwoo on purpose.

Then again it doesn't really appear like Luka knew what he'd done, in the aftermath. . .

We also get to see more glimpses of the kiddos at the garden which made me very happy!! I don't have much to say about it but I simply find it endearing to see them all together again, to have that confirmation that they really were friends, they really did love each other. Ivan bringing the others to take care of the waygein was the most interested of the "past" cutscenes to me . . . besides all of the Hyuna focused ones, that is.

Additionally, the snippets of a modern alternate universe, seemingly the high school au? or something adjacent to that, is so lovely, just to see them all happy . . .

I think it's so interesting that Hyuna sacrifices herself, fulfilling a pattern that we've seen before with 3 out of the now 4 dead characters. Ivan, Sua, and now Hyuna, all sacrificed their lives for a person that they loved. It's fascinating on a more meta level that Hyuna's sacrifice is the only one that isn't planned, she didn't intend to die for Luka today but she does because she doesn't think, she just knows that she needs to save him from being killed. I think that both of those forms of sacrifice are kind of lovely, they show the willingness to put your life on the line for someone you love (but sacrifice in and of itself is often a selfish act, and I'm definitely not saying it's heroic . . . just poetic).

Not only that but the rocket imagery behind Hyuna while she's speaking to Luka is so so strange. I don't really know what that is but I have one theory; "because everything begins from there." I think that the rocket, maybe, is representative of that first contact that humans had with the seygein all those years ago, the way that humanity got itself into this mess of slavery and suffering, and by extension, "everything begins from there." but that's my only real thoughts on the rocket . . .

man this is so long I'm sorry Geo . . . suffice to say, I actually like Wiege!! probably a weird thing to say but uh yeah, the song is lovely, the animation is stunningly beautiful as per usual, and the story is utterly thought provoking, I am rapt. The amount of lore we got in this episode along makes me froth at the mouth a little.

Thank you so much for asking, Geo!! I am going to send you an ask because I'm curious what you thought 👀 love youuuu thank you so much for indulging me :3

[yuurei20]

Hi, I recently start to interested and into the story of Twisted Wonderland and by that I found your channel which contain wonderful and useful to me to check and know many fact about character since the game not available on my country which is so sad so I can just watch people play this game on YouTube to know story and listen or read about some facts from your channel and tumblr. so I have a question about MC in the game, I think I see from somewhere tell that MC in the game seem to has a little amnesia or just not remember much about themself before wake up in Twisted wonderland which kind of pick my interest cause I always though MC in the game is represent to be player as much as they can that mean memories from the past before come to this is depends on player to design. And with that curious, I try to find a source from game that show or tell us that MC seem to has amnesia of what happened or themself before come to twisted wonderland but I could not find it which might be because I use the word to search that not cover or etc reasons. So could you tell me, is there any part of the game telling that MC has some kind of amnesia or not remember about their part?

Thank you so much in advance ^_^.

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🦐 You are too kind ♡

The implication that the prefect might be forgetting something (or many things) was in the very first chapter of the prologue ^^

Crowley: The timespace teleportation must have addled your memories...well, these things happen, I suppose.

We do not get very much information about the prefect in the game, but they do remember things from their own world such as the Japanese holiday Tanabata, what smartphones are, etc.!

In-game Crowley is surprised when the prefect does not know who he is or where they are, as if that is information he knows they had at one point, but this is assuming that Crowley is telling the truth 👀

"You must have amnesia" is a convenient way to dismiss the prefect's concerns, and is impossible to disprove 📝

In the manga there does not seem to be any insinuation that the prefects are suffering from major memory loss, with each one not only remembering what their life was before but also remembering exactly what it is that they were doing before they woke up in Twst.

Crowley makes the same "the timespace teleportation must have addled your memories" comment in the manga despite how Yuuken actually does seem to remember what he had been doing 👀 He doesn't know how he came to be at NRC, but did he forget, or did he never know in the first place?

Crowley's word is all we have to go on 🐦‍⬛

In the novel Yuuya remembers what it was that he was doing and hearing "an incessant rumbling, like something hard rolling along the ground" (a detail that was removed from the English translation, more here ->), right before he woke up at NRC.

Much like Yuuken and the game Prefect, Yuuya also has no memory of what happened between crossing the street and being at NRC, but whereas Crowley seems to think all the prefects have simply forgotten about being chosen for the school there is a possibility that this is untrue--you can't forget something that you never knew 👀

And I think that maybe that is all! :>

[slashingdisneypasta]

Humanoid!Scar x Younger!Fem!Humanoid!Reader || Drabble

Plot: Once again, Scar visits you around the rest of the pride in order to enjoy a healthy dose of Rubbing-His-Happiness-Into-The-Prides-Face in his life. But this is a 💕 Valentine's Edition 💕 of the plot- with extra kisses.

Warnings: PDA. Unedited.

Tagging: @asperol-with-izzy , @disney-android-foundation , @lady-love88 , @marinerainbow , @obscureother , @ryantryan6969 , and @thecourtofgraywaves .

Scar wanders into the cave and you already know you're going to be embarrassed, but you can't bring yourself to be unhappy he's here. You can never be displeased to see him.

The man strolls past all the other women and Mufasa snoozing in the corner, right up to you. Kisses you slowly and deeply. Not the way you kiss in front of others. Slowly, you'r egetting used to that,.. but only slowly. Hence the way your eyes flit sheepishly around the cave as soon as he lets you go.

Meanwhile, his green eyes, which you intoxicate you and you swear glow in the dim lighting, shift heatedly over your form. He twists a strand of your hair around his finger and you feel hot- everywhere. Its that easy for him. And he loves it. "My dear, I missed you... "

At that you give him a Look; an amused half-grin on your mouth. "... uhuh." He just loves to make everyone he hates see his happiness, thats why he does this in front of the pride. You both know it; he's very slick but not that slick.

He smirks back. "Its true, though." He makes his eyes look oh-so-sincere, but the hiss in his voice that sends shivers up your spine tells you the truth. "I swear."

"You're a bad liar, Scar."

"Hm." He hums, still looking indulgently over your pretty form; absentminded. "Perhaps."

With that, the old man connects his lips with yours again in another perfect private kiss, and its all you can do to kiss him back. Not disintegrate from embarrassment. God how this man makes you feel... like you have to have him, every bit of him, any time, but also like you want a hole in the earth to open up and swallow you down. Your heart's fluttering madly like a small bird in a panic, but his tongue tastes sweet. The growl he makes flat against your mouth reverberates all over your body and you have to grip his shirt tight between your fingers.

When he allows you to breath again, its his own warm puffs of breath you suck in; only moving away a few centre metres from your lips. Looks like he's prepares to smother you again if you try to talk, try to scold him for this. You see it in his eyes when yours, half-hooded, lick upwards to see.

"Come on... I have so little." He pouts, hard-done-by, mischievous and wicked. "Let me have this."

You take a look around. And immediately blanche. "They're lookin- "

He gives you another kiss, almost a sweet one. "Yes... thats the idea, my dear."

"You're so embarrassing." You huff, shaking your head. But there's a grin on your warmed-up lips when you lean up and give him your own kiss. When your fingers slip from his neck down his chest, Scar's tail flicks hard behind him, and you pull away grinning. Almost laughing. "And you're getting too excited. Pull yourself together, old man."

"How could I possibly??... " He asks, a broad and wicked smirk growing across his pretty face. "... when you're so very deli- "

"Oh please don't finish that," You chuckle, shaking your head and hiding your face into the crook of his shoulder.

He speaks even lower then he already was in the almost silent cave, directly into your ear. You feel his hot breath all-too-real sticking to the shell of your ear. "D e l i c i o u s."

"Oh- Gah!"

He chuckles himself, like a dumb old man who takes far too much cruel pleasure in mortifying you. Which he is. "Embarrassing?"

"Very." And you take a glance at him, and catch his pleased little grin. So, teasing, you start to slip away from him. "Thats it, old man, you're not getting any tonight- " He immediately gathers you back, holding one of your hands in his and your waist in his other, gazing wickedly out around the cave while you avoid eye contact with anyone by burying your nose in his shoulder.

"Oh hush, yes I am." So sure. So very cocky. How dare you love that about him. "Happy Valentines Day, dear."

"Happy Valentines Day." You sigh, happily.

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Necessary Evil

MDNI!!

A/N: Testing my sanity by writing a multi-chapter fic!!! I'm not sure how long this will be or what my update schedule is yet, so stay tuned. This is gonna start out pretty fucking bleak, but just hang in there folks! I am cross-posting this on my AO3 as well. Beta read by my bestie, @teaflavoredwitch! Bucky Barnes x female reader, Bucky's POV, established relationship, marriage, meet-cute, car accident, traumatic brain injury, hospitals, angst, hurt & eventual comfort.

Word count: 3.8k

Chapter One: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

It was raining when Bucky met you, one of those warm, sticky summertime storms. Air thick and cloying, full of something akin to static electricity, lightning and thunder rattling window panes. He preferred not to run errands during weather like this, it was far too dangerous to hop on his motorcycle, but he didn’t have much of a say in the matter. Alpine had run out of kibble and the pet store was right down the road, so he cautiously rode down the slick asphalt. He arrived without an issue, grabbed her food and a new little feather wand he knew she’d adore. What he found when he returned to the parking lot was you, in tears next to his bike. You had accidentally sheared off the side mirror on the left side of his motorcycle, babbling a million watery, hiccupping apologies. Usually, Bucky would’ve been pissed, that bike was his baby. But there was something about your wide doey eyes, fat tears rolling down flushed cheeks and mixing with rain drops. In that moment, something shifted within him. The anger that had once consumed his every waking thought began to dissipate, replaced by a curious fascination with the woman before him. He listened as you stammered out an apology, watched as you rummaged through your purse for a pen to write down your insurance information, and felt a strange sense of acceptance wash over him.

He told you it was fine (which it wasn’t), and that accidents happen (they don’t, he has no clue how you managed to pull this off when there was at least three feet between your car and his parked cycle.) He tried his best to soothe your hysterics, but he’d never been good with emotions or crying women. He helped you into your car, waved goodbye, hopped on his bike, and thought nothing of it for a few weeks. But, he runs into you again, this time at the grocery store. You’re perusing the canned tuna and he has a ten minute internal debate over the merits of approaching you. If Steve were here, he’d give Bucky hell over this, asking what happened to the suave Sergeant from Brooklyn that he used to know so well. With a deep breath and shaky hands, Bucky walks to your side slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. 

And when you look up, a surprised but nonetheless delighted smile on your lips, his heart does this little fucking flip. He can’t help the goofy, shy grin that spreads across his face to match yours. So, your first date winds up being impromptu grocery shopping and though it’s unintentional and a complete coincidence, Bucky had the time of his life. He’d never felt so normal. It felt like his old charming self was coming back to life, bursting forth past the iciness of the Winter Soldier. He joked and laughed and flirted shamelessly. Side by side as you grabbed your weekly essentials. It was a mundane thing, really, but somehow, it had felt significant, like the first step towards something beautiful. You had laughed together as you playfully eyed the produce section, holding up a wrinkled coupon booklet to utilize the deals of the week. It was a laugh that had stayed with Bucky, a sound that he had grown to love and cherish. He found himself falling for you as you looked at a display of marshmallow cereal, the slope of your nose, the softness of your cheeks, the delicate arch of your eyebrows. He finally understood what Steve always said about finding the right partner.

Bucky's heart swelled with warmth as he reminisced about your early days together, the days when he knew, without a doubt, that he was falling deeply and irrevocably in love with you. The memories played out his mind like a film reel, each moment seared into his mind with perfect clarity.

One particularly special occasion stood out among the rest - the day you had driven up to Coney Island, the sprawling coast stretching out before you as far as the eye could see. The sun had been shining brightly that day, a stark contrast to the stormy weather of your fateful meeting. Bucky had packed a picnic basket, complete with all of your favorite foods, spicy pickles, ham sandwiches, strawberries.

He remembered spreading out the red and white checkered blanket on the sandy shore, the salty breeze whipping through your hair as you sat side by side, fingers intertwined. You had talked for hours that day, the conversation flowing effortlessly as you shared your hopes, your dreams, and your fears. Bucky had felt a sense of ease wash over him, a feeling of belonging that he had never experienced before in his tumultuous life. You were beautiful, unfairly so, and he had absolutely no clue what you saw in him. But he knew better than to question a good thing, and Bucky had this constant sinking pit in his stomach. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, the rug to be yanked out from under his feet. He felt undeserving after the atrocities he’d committed under HYDRA’s thumb, sure he was brainwashed but it was him. He remembered every moment, every face, every scream of terror. And he told you, the confession tumbling from his lips clumsily. He didn’t want to frighten you, he was already so frightened himself. You didn’t even bat an eye, you kissed away his tears and held him. You accepted him, embraced him.

As the day turned to dusk, the sun dipping below the horizon in a breathtaking display of oranges and pinks, Bucky had turned to you, his heart pounding in his chest. He had known, in that perfect moment, that he was falling in love with you. More than that, he had known that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, to build a future together filled with countless more picnics, countless more conversations, and countless more moments of pure, unadulterated happiness. From that day forward, Bucky had made it his mission to sweep you off your feet, to show you the depths of his love and devotion through grand gestures and thoughtful surprises. He had taken you on dates every weekend, eager to create a lifetime of memories together.

Bucky's mind drifted back to the unforgettable Christmas Eve, the night that had changed the course of your lives forever. As he sat there, lost in thought, he could still feel the same nervous energy coursing through his veins, the same all-consuming anticipation that had left him on the brink of a panic attack. He remembered how, after months of searching for the perfect ring, he had finally found it - a stunning diamond solitaire that had caught his eye the moment he laid eyes on it. It was a ring that he knew would be a perfect symbol of his undying love and devotion to you, a testament to the bond you had forged over the two years you had spent together.

Bucky had spent weeks planning the perfect proposal, determined to create a moment that you would never forget. He had enlisted the help of your friends and family, a team of secret keepers who had worked tirelessly to ensure that every detail was perfect. And as the big night approached, Bucky found himself growing more and more anxious, a ball of nerves and anticipation lodged deep in his throat. And as Bucky knelt before you, the small velvet box trembling in his hands, he had known that he was ready to take the next step, to ask you to be his wife and his partner for life.

Prying open the box, Bucky revealed the glittering ring, the diamond catching the flickering light of the Christmas tree and casting a dazzling array of colors across your astonished face. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he fought to find the right words - words that would breathe life into the love that had consumed his every waking thought.

Bucky remembered how his voice had wavered with emotion as he began to speak, pouring his heart out to the woman he loved more than anything in the world. He talked about the day you had met, the fateful encounter that had brought you together and set your love story in motion. He talked about the way you made him feel alive, whole, and complete - a feeling he had never known before you had entered his life and claimed his heart.

And finally, as tears streamed down his face and his heart raced with anticipation, Bucky asked the all-important question - the one that would seal your fate together for all eternity. He looked up at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears and overflowing with love, and asked you to be his wife, to promise to love and cherish him for the rest of your days. It had been the scariest moment of Bucky's life, it terrified him how deeply he had fallen in love with you. But it had also been the most rewarding, the happiest moment he could remember in his long, eventful life. And as you had said yes, tears of joy streaming down your own face, Bucky had known that he had made the right choice - that he was exactly where he was meant to be, standing hand in hand with the person he loved more than anything in the world.

The memory of your wedding day burned brightly in Bucky's mind, a perfect encapsulation of the love and commitment you shared. It had been a small, intimate affair, a gathering of your closest family and friends. Bucky recalled you walking down the aisle, a vision of radiant beauty in your flowing white sundress and a delicate flower crown in lieu of a veil. You had taken his breath away, a breathtaking sight that had brought tears to his eyes and a lump to his throat. You had always been beautiful, but on your wedding day, you had been an angel, a being of pure grace and perfection.

Sam had been there by his side, an unwavering source of support and love. As Bucky's best man, Sam had stood tall and proud, his own eyes glistening with happiness as he watched his friend take this monumental step. It meant the world to Bucky to have Sam there, a reminder that despite their initial relationship he had supported him throughout his journey. The courthouse had been a simple, understated venue - a space that spoke to your desire for an intimate, stress-free celebration of your love. The walls had been adorned with simple flowers and greenery, a nod to the beauty of the outdoors that Bucky and you both adored. And as you stood before the officiant, hands entwined and hearts pounding with anticipation, you had known that this was where you were meant to be.

The ceremony had been a blur of emotion, a flurry of tears, laughter, and heartfelt vows. Bucky had poured his love into every word, his deep, gravelly voice trembling with the weight of his feelings. He had promised to love, cherish, and support you through all of life's ups and downs, a vow that he had meant with every fiber of his being. As you had exchanged your rings, a symbol of your eternal love and devotion, Bucky had felt a sense of peace wash over him. The fear and uncertainty that had once plagued his mind had melted away, replaced by a profound sense of belonging and purpose. He knew, in that perfect moment, that he had found his home, his partner, and his soulmate in you. And as the officiant had pronounced you husband and wife, as your friends and family erupted into a chorus of cheers and applause, Bucky had known that this was just the beginning of his greatest adventure. He had swept you up into his strong arms, your wedding dress billowing out around you as he spun you around in a joyous, euphoric twirl.

Bucky’s mind shifts to the memory of your wedding night, a night of pure, unadulterated bliss and ecstasy. As he thought back to that fateful evening, a wave of love and desire coursed through his veins, just as intense and all-consuming as it had been in the heat of the moment.

Bucky had carried you over the threshold of your shared bedroom, a tradition as old as time itself. You had giggled and squealed, teasing him and calling him old-fashioned. But to him, it had been so much more than a simple gesture - it had been a promise, a commitment to a lifetime of love and intimacy. As he kicked the door closed behind you, he had taken a moment to drink in the sight of his new wife, a breathtaking vision of angelic beauty and grace.

By the flickering light of the candles that Sam had snuck in to set up, you had glowed, your skin a lovely contrast against the white linen of your sundress. Your hair, once adorned with the delicate flower crown, had fallen out into a halo around your head that begged to be run through and ruined. And your eyes, those eyes, had shone with a love so pure and true that it stole the breath from Bucky's lungs. Slowly, reverently, he had laid you down upon the bed, his hands roaming the curves of your body with a tenderness and adoration that spoke volumes of his feelings. He had taken his time undressing you, a man possessed by a single-minded purpose - to reveal and worship every inch of the skin that lay beneath. And as you had lay there, nude and glorious in the candlelight, Bucky had felt a sense of awe and wonder that he had never before experienced. It was more than just the physical beauty of his bride - it was the sheer, unadulterated love and devotion that radiated from your eyes, the way you looked at him like he was your everything, your very reason for living.

Your lovemaking had been a dance, a slow, sensual moment of pure connection and oneness. Bucky had worshiped every inch of your body with his hands and his mouth, determined to show you the depths of his desire and love. He had kissed and caressed every sensitive spot, had swirled his tongue around the hardened peaks of your nipples until you cried out in ecstasy. And as you had moved together, as Bucky had slowly, carefully pushed himself inside of his bride, he had felt a sense of completeness and belonging that he had never known before. It was as if all the pieces of his broken soul had fallen into place, as if he had finally found the missing part of himself in you. And as Bucky had gazed down at your angelic face, flushed with pleasure and shining with lo-

“Mr. Barnes?” A clinical voice pulls Bucky from his reminiscing. He shoots up, out of his chair, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He nods jerkily, holding out his hand to shake the doctor’s. He’s an older man, features weathered with more salt than pepper hair. His name badge reads ‘Doctor Reed, ICU’. His grip is firm, it almost comforts Bucky, almost. Clearing his throat, Bucky tries to tamper down his agitation, “You gonna tell me what’s going on, Doc?”

Dr. Reed nods solemnly, gesturing for Bucky to return to his seat. Once seated, the doctor flips through his clipboard, eyes scanning each page before returning back to meet Bucky’s. “Your wife is suffering from cerebral edema, or brain swelling. When the other vehicle made impact with your wife’s, she suffered a moderate traumatic brain injury. The injury has caused her to fall into a coma, but that may make her healing process a bit easier on her body. She also suffered an injury-related pneumothorax, a broken rib punctured her lung, hence the ventilator.”

Bucky listened intently to Dr. Reed's words, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as the gravity of the situation sank in. The joyful memories of just moments ago were replaced by an all-consuming sense of fear and desperation, a terror that threatened to swallow him whole. He gripped the arms of the chair with white knuckles, his short nails digging into the worn fabric as he fought to process the information being imparted to him. Cerebral edema, traumatic brain injury, coma, ventilator - the words were like blows to his gut, each one knocking the wind out of his lungs and stealing his breath.

Bucky knew the risks of the life he led, the dangers that came with being a soldier, a fighter. But he had never, not once, imagined that you would be the one to end up here, fighting for your life in a sterile hospital room. You were the gentle one, the compassionate one - the one who healed, not the one who fought. As Dr. Reed continued to speak, outlining the treatment plan and the long road to recovery that lay ahead, Bucky felt something inside of him shatter. It was like a dam bursting, a flood of emotion that he could no longer contain or control. Tears, hot and bitter, spilled down his cheeks, dripping onto his shirt and leaving darker spots on the fabric.

"What are her chances?" Bucky asked, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion. He couldn't bring himself to look up at the doctor, could barely bring himself to hear the words that would condemn or absolve him, that would tell him whether or not he would have to face a life without the love of his life. The thought was unbearable, a weight that threatened to crush his very soul. You were everything to him, his reason for living, his partner in every sense of the word. The idea of a world without your laughter, without your gentle smile and your loving touch, was a world that he could not imagine. Bucky knew that he was a soldier, that he had been forged in the fires of battle and tempered by the horrors of war. But he also knew that he was nothing without you, a man lost and adrift without his guiding light.

Dr. Reed sets his clipboard down, clearing his throat once more, “It depends, there’s no finite prediction I can give you, Mr. Barnes. There’s many factors at play here, the severity of her injuries are nothing to sneeze at. The coma could last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. She could very well transition into a vegetative state. We’ll need to take this one day at a time, Mr. Barnes. I’m sorry.” The doctor offers a small, sad smile.

The weight of Dr. Reed's words pressed down on Bucky like a physical force, the crushing realization of the uncertain future stretching out before him. He sat there, immobile, barely daring to breathe as the doctor's somber assessment sank in, each word a dagger to his already shattered heart. A few days to a few weeks. The timeline was vague, murky, a fog of uncertainty that blinded him to any clear path forward. All Bucky knew was the soul-deep terror that gripped him at the thought of you trapped in a comatose state, drifting in a noxious limbo between life and death. And the possibility, the horrifying specter of a vegetative existence - it was too much to bear.

Bucky's mind raced, spiraling down a rabbit hole of worst-case scenarios and the anguished cry of what-ifs. No. He couldn't go there. He couldn't allow his thoughts to wander to a future where you were nothing more than a shell, a lifeless husk devoid of the vibrant spirit that animated your body and soul. With a violent shudder, Bucky surged to his feet, oblivious to Dr. Reed's startled reaction. He lunged for the glass door, flinging it open and storming out into the gleaming hallway of the ICU. The sterile smell, the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, the soft murmurs of the nurses and doctors - it all faded away into a blur of white noise.

He needed to see you. He needed to be near you, to touch your hand, to hold you close. He needed a reminder of the woman he loved, of the life and the spark that still burned inside of you, even if you couldn't open your eyes or squeeze his hand in return. Bucky flung open the door to your room, barreling inside and coming to an abrupt halt beside your bedside. And there you lay, his beautiful bride, his heart and his soul - a fragile figure tethered to a beeping, blinking symphony of machines and wires. Unable to stop himself, Bucky reached out, his calloused fingers trembling as he brushed a lock of hair away from your face. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring down at the woman he loved with every fiber of his being - the woman who had saved him from the darkness that had threatened to consume him, that had offered him hope and redemption and a future worth living for.

"Doll," he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. "You can't leave me, baby. You can't give up, you hear me?" His other hand found yours, engulfing it in his larger one. He held it to his lips, pressing desperate kisses to your delicate knuckles, silently pouring every ounce of love and devotion into the touch.

"Come back to me," he begged, his forehead pressed against the bedrail now, his broad shoulders shaking with the force of his anguished sobs. "Come back to me, and I'll spend the rest of my life loving you, cherishing you, making every single day the happiest day of your life. Don't you dare leave me, doll. Not now. Not ever."

Bucky's last words were torn from his throat in an agonized cry, a desperate plea for a miracle, a sign, a reason to hope. He clung to your arm like a man drowning, like a man on the precipice of a bottomless abyss, waiting - praying - for the woman he loved to save him from tumbling into oblivion. So he sat there, in the harsh fluorescent glare of the hospital room, and he waited - waited for a miracle, waited for a sign that his beloved wife would survive this devastating blow. And in the meantime, he made a silent vow - a promise to the universe, to fate, to whatever gods might be listening. He would not give up on you. He would fight, with everything he had and everything he was, to bring you back to him. No matter how long it took, no matter what it cost him, he would be there - a constant guardian and protector, for however long it took.

[astracora]

EVER's Tool - Chapter 4

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc, Caleb x gn!mc (Zayne POV/MC POV/Caleb POV)

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Suicide Ideation, Spoilers for all current story as of Caleb release.

Word Count: 10112

Written: 14th February 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. My notes today are that I fought for my life with this one (dramatic), because I cannot multitask for shit, and I am grinding tkrb instead of writing. Oopsies. Happy Valentines Day all, I hope you have/had a good day. ❤️ Take some nasty angst as a present. I'm going to sleep (aka grind more tkrb and fall asleep until my phone hits me in the face when I drop it).

Now Playing: The Dark of You, By Breaking Benjamin

Masterlist AO3

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Zayne is a doctor, he understands the concept of amnesia. He has experience with dementia patients, those who have been in accidents. He knows that some never get their memories back, he knows that pushing and rushing can create emotional strain, stress and anxiety. That asking questions the patient has no answers for, can hurt them.

He knows, objectively, that he should not bombard you with information. That he could make it worse, even worse he could aggravate your heart, and cause a relapse. He could hurt you, rather than help you, by trying to bring you back to yourself. If he rushes… if he loses the logical part of his brain… if he isn't careful.

He does not sleep when he is given a cot by the scientist you sneered at. He sits and he thinks and he stews. Working through the situation in his mind, he takes the tracker Sylus gave him off, and sticks it somewhere out of sight. Just in case. He doubts EVER are stupid enough to not have signal blockers in place, but he also knows that if it is cut off at some point, that will give his family something to work with.

If they know he has it though, there's a chance they'll move him. Or worse. He has a chance, right now, and he needs to be careful. He has to be smart.

It's difficult, though, when he saw you, when you raised a hand to him, to Sylus. When you fought and you hurt. He fights with himself, reminds himself that he is a doctor. That he can help you, like he would with your heart, like he would with any other injury. He can help you with this.

Even if his heart and mind are screaming at odds.

He's always been fairly good at listening to his mind… he just hopes it doesn't betray his heart.

Regardless of his sense of logic, he cannot simply sleep. There's a feeling over his shoulder that he's waiting to be watched, like if he sleeps someone will snatch him up. It's a paranoid sense of disturbance, that he cannot shake. Unable to relax in any real way. Unable to even feel tired, let alone finally sleep. So he sits, and he thinks.

For hours. He ignores the scientist, Leon. He calls out, asks to talk, and Zayne ignores him. There's nothing to say. He has been through this process, Carter asks, he rejects. They continue the cycle.

He wonders how long EVER will ask, now that he is here. How much patience they can possibly have.

If the anxieties of his family were anything to go on, when they were hunting, pulling in favours, chasing through the underworlds, he doubts it's plentiful. He cannot imagine anyone willing to experiment past the edges of morality, will hesitate too long on the cliff of conscience.

It is when he hears your voice through the feeble door, that he finally raises himself up. Takes the clothes he has been given, there is little else in this room, it's a broom closet, more than a room. He cannot clean up, cannot go through routines that give him some semblance of comfort. So he decides to simply face it, he has to.

"Where is your guest?"

Zayne looks at you, really looks. He had seen you in that cafe, had noticed the claw at your side in a flash out of the side of his vision. It is something else to see it in the lab's bright lights. As you growl at Leon, he sees fangs peeking out under your lips. Inhuman and out of place, though he remembers seeing something similar when you had been cursed by cats.

These are tinged red, from biting into your lip, and you twitch and clench your claw to a fist. He recognises the motion, normally you would seek out a hand, or someone's clothes to hold onto. To ground yourself. Later, twirling a dagger when on a mission, after Sylus taught you how.

His own hand reaches out on impulse as he approaches, to take yours. To ground you. To ground himself. It is a reflex that he has to pull back, reign in and remind. You will not take kindly to a stranger touching you. The feeling is like a shard of ice through his chest, that he is a stranger.

A target.

The kind of realisation that shatters at hope.

He thinks of moments when Rafayel had drunk too much, on days you were out on missions. The Lemurian had bemoaned the tides, the pains of being forgotten, the agony in his chest for things he didn't fully explain. Like he was offering Zayne parts of a puzzle, but holding back the box. He had only gleaned some sense out of the heartbroken Lemurian, placing a head in his lap, and running fingers through hair and over skin, wiping cried pearls away.

That memory was a fragile thing, that he already knew, saw shades of it when you reconnected, when you looked at him and didn't hate him for the way he had hurt you in your youth. Barely recognised stories he shared, only realising later when the recognition took longer to shine in your eyes. That the albums he had seen Caleb tend to with you, were for a purpose. To protect your memory, to strengthen the foundations.

That, despite the pain, he saw the same thing in Rafayel's heart that he saw in Caleb's in his childhood. A sheer determination, that no matter how many things were forgotten, that there would be more memories. Endless as the sky.

It kept the small jasmine of hope protected against the cold.

He still sees you, in the way you talk. There is none of what Xavier and Sylus recollected from their first run-in with you. None of the cold chill to your eyes like the previous day. He recognises this you, though you're short and you're angry. There's a familiarity to the casual tone, to the way you interact. Underneath the new scars he can see, the unfamiliar attachment, and the gold flickering around the edges of your eyes, you are there.

If he can only draw you out.

It should be a relief that you are forced to spend time with him, though the idea of you spending time with him under duress makes him feel sickened, instead he realises it is a threat. That like Carter has teased, multiple times, he would do anything for you. That all he has done in his pursuit of studying the heart, has been to save you.

Can he really keep that moral code, that the you now teases him for, when there is a chain around his love, keeping them at EVER's feet? It is a question that he truly hopes he never finds an answer to. He just needs time.

There are so many questions Zayne wants to ask you, so many things he needs to learn, to understand. Like there's a door he can push open if he gets the right key, and things will settle into place. It's a naive little thing, like every promise he makes against his logical judgement for an eternity.

Instead, his eyes are drawn to your bared arm, the lightning scars visible from yesterday, and he falls into familiarity, "Are you alright?"

He tries to offer the same smile he's offered to his patients, despite how he worries that it might tremble when you flinch away from him. Looking at him like he has lost his mind, irritated by his questioning.

So he tries again, tells you that it's natural for a doctor to worry. It's not a lie. Any real doctor would be concerned for others, their lives, especially if they were injured in front of them. There's a deeper, consistent reasoning. He loves you, your life means more to him than his own ever could. You're hurt, and even if he hadn't been your doctor for so long, not being able to help you, cut more than he expected.

Wrestling with the feeling, of wanting to reach out, to hold your hand, soothe aches and pains. Check your health, make sure you're alright. To be the one to heal you. Instead, he simply watches, the pout on your face as you respond to him in irritation. The way your gaze wavers when you look away. It's akin to embarrassment, a look he's seen on you when he teases, and you aren't sure how to respond.

You're out of your depth. It's endearing, even when you bite without cruelty.

He watches as you look past him, the gold in your eyes flickering, filling your irises. Leaning forwards, he reaches a hand out, waves it but you don't react. The gold flashes silver, and he finally finds his voice, "Darling?"

It slips out, but he watches as you blink. As the gold and silver filter away, and the familiar mismatch of your eyes returns to him. As you look at him, warmth in your eyes for a moment, and a flicker of a warm smile as you shiver, before you are this you again. You avoid his hands again, and sink your fang into your lip. He wants to reach out but he does not want to feel the sting of your withdrawal again.

He finds relief in the fact you have taken care of your wounds, as reserved about it as you are. So he tries something else. Decides to rattle you, watches you make him hot chocolate. You're short with him now, demanding he stay. There's a bite to your words, but your eyes…

You're sad. He doesn't know why, there's too much he doesn't know. What they've done to you, what you've been through in the months you've been separated. The way your shoulder droops as you make his drink, more careful with your actions. Carefully pouring, stirring with your left hand. For a second, he lets himself imagine you're home again. That he's sat working at the kitchen bar, Sylus reading a book nearby, Rafayel playing an overly noisy game on his phone, Xavier half reading a book and half drifting to sleep.

You're making drinks for them, humming and bobbing your head to music that is as familiar to him now as everything else in their home.

When you turn to hand it to him, he is still in that daydream. Taking it with hands too cold, and sipping. It is only when you point out the risk, that he pulls out of the fantasy.

That you are watching him, again, like he is insane, and every moment you call him Doctor is a spear.

He spent so long trying to be Zayne for you again, to overcome walls he had placed between you. Icy thorns, tangled around his heart, forcing his hand to be steadier. Controlled. He has lost so much time running from you, before he could finally open up, finally take your hand freely. Finally have you close to him, opening doors to the tower, letting him walk freely wherever he wanted.

Without fearing the ice as much as he had.

It's like he is back in the moment of when you first walked back through his door, keeping your distance. Calling him doctor, reacting with a lack of recognition when you see his face. There's even more of a frost to you now, and his title is bitten off.

He wonders how many doctors in EVER treat you with the same kindness those in Akso have.

He doubts any.

When you growl his name out, glaring at him, he cannot help the feeling. Like he's won something, he thinks it might be the same feeling he has when he has won a plushie out of the claw machine for you. Victory and pride, and warmth in this chest at the crooked smile you gave him. Even if you and Rafayel often tease him for not being very good at it.

Zayne learns a lot just watching, he's always needed to be observant, and the flickering of the gold of your resonance, over your skin, up your wanderer prosthetic, is uncontrolled. Driven by fluctuating emotions, that you cannot comprehend. He's familiar with the struggle, and he knows it is something you had struggled to learn. Now you are back at the space without the skills to navigate, with no comfort or safety to try.

"Did they hurt you?"

It feels like a stupid question, he can see new scars, that he has not traced with his fingers. He can see the shades of fear in you as you flinch out of his grasp. EVER have hurt you, he knows that.

Yet… he needs to know. Has to understand, if he ever hopes to fix it. He cannot cure something that he cannot see.

There's some guilt, that he could not help, that he has not been here. It's a pointless thing, to feel guilt. He is one man, all of his family cannot fight against EVER without struggling against it. Still… he cannot help but guilt when he sees your hand press to your chest. Is it a physical pain or an emotional one?, he wonders. Unable to ask. Press, push and pull like he wants.

You are not close enough to answer him. Biting back at all of his questions, bristling at him when he pries.

So when you question him, looking at him as you bring up the name he has called you so often, his heart skips. Darling has been as familiar on his tongue, as his own name could be. He remembers the moment he had first called you it, felt the heat on your cheeks, the glistening in your eyes. The way you had turned away to hide it, only to be pulled back to him. So that he could kiss you.

Whispering it against your lips. Tasting the sigh of his name in return. It had taken so much restraint from him to stop, when you needed to breathe. He was so desperate, his control fraying, his mind tumbling around the sensation, the need, the yearning. Everything he wanted, in his hands.

It fits you better than the words of EVER, ever could. You are not their weapon, or their rare beast to keep in a cage. You are his Darling. Rafayel's Cutie. Xavier's Starlight. Sylus' Kitten. You are you.

When Unicorn leaves his lips, he feels sickened by it. It is not you. It's not right, and he watches the flicker of pain in your eyes, like you wish he'd never said it. He wishes he had not, he wishes he could call you anything else. That the pain as you press to your chest was not so stark, that he could ignore it for a moment longer, to whisper your name.

It is patience, it is process. Medicine is not a quick and easy journey. Struggles with memory are never so simple to fix. He cannot say a word and watch you be healed in front of his eyes.

He has to remind himself. He has to remember.

Even if you cannot.

He can, and he can find a path forward.

Out of all the things that he wishes to know, he faces your wary gaze with a simple thing. He finds the doctor's manual, and he processes.

Dealing with those with memory loss. Keep questions simple, without being belittling. Do not ask if they remember certain things. Offer conversation, help build up rapport.

He has to remember, because if he cannot be your lover, he will be your doctor. He has always cared first and foremost about keeping you healthy.

If the look you give him, upon questioning about hobbies, is anything to go on, he has succeeded somewhat in disarming you. He remembers your reaction to finding out he had toothache and had been avoiding the dentist.

Disbelief, amusement, and the need to tease. If you had a tail, it would have flicked.

You have wide eyes, and blink at him. Startled, and he thinks of a cat. Though he would not do Sylus the pleasure of agreeing with the 'Kitten' moniker too loudly.

As you gaze off, you describe Destiny Cafe to him. Starry eyed, with gold flickering around the edges. Fading out of focus. Your words stall, and his heart skips again.

Despite everything, despite the situation you are in… you are drawn to places that you and they have left marks. A place that is as familiar as home, at this point. It tempers, reminding himself that he cannot cling too blindly to hope. Yet… against his will, it is water for the small flower he protects.

If even part of you remembers, there is hope.

He will fix this, he will see you find yourself again, offer you sanctuary even if you do not trust easily, and he will wait and find a way to get out of this nightmare.

He promised a future, and he will not let it go.

After all, you helped cut through the icy thorns for him. He will help you break down EVER's bars around you.

At the very least, he has a chance. If you are to be forced to spend your time with him, then he can use it to his advantage. He can ignore the ache, and find a goal. He chased medicine all his life to cure your heart, he is not one to quit.

Not on you.

Even as he stares his dead childhood friend in the face. As purple and pink eyes look back at him coldly.

As you step back from between them, and raise a brow.

There are questions on Zayne's tongue. So many, too many. What has EVER done to those he cares for, to have laid their damned claws into everything? Is it the fact he feels the distance in Caleb, that keeps him from doing much but holding his gaze. There is a feeling of being watched by a snake, that he has never felt before.

The Caleb he knows, beyond being protective, was warm. Even if most of it was reserved for you.

Zayne has never felt like a threat, not like this.

"How are you?"

His words come out short, when Zayne finally manages to pull himself out of thought, "I have been better." He receives a laugh in response, as empty as the man's eyes. Like he finds the situation of little interest. Like his childhood friends being caged by EVER are not a concern to him.

This waking nightmare feels less real by the moment, as he looks at the uniform. As he picks out the Farspace Fleet insignia. As he sees the colonel badge. As he pieces the vision together.

There is a biting, and vicious question that is out of his character, but is full of frustration and anger at all the things he has seen. That reminds him of Sylus on the floor, in pain, gasping. That makes him see the wanderer claw out the corner of his eye. That sees him stitching up a deep gash in Xavier's chest. That hears the eulogy from the bathroom as Rafayel mourns.

How could you stand there and see this happen?

How could you see this and not fight?

How could you claim to care for them, and turn a blind eye to their suffering?

So much, too much. Overwhelmed and hurting.

If there is a god Zayne can believe in, he wishes they would make this nightmare end.

"You two know each other?" You finally speak up, looking between them, and Zayne sees it. The wary look in your eye as you look at Caleb, the way you do not stand closer to either of them. Whatever the situation has become, you are not sure where you stand.

Caleb must notice it too, looking down at you. There's more warmth in his eyes when his gaze holds yours, and Zayne almost can trick himself into believing it's the same Caleb he knows.

"We used to be old friends, didn't we?"

"I suppose so."

"So that's how they plan to convince you, Zayne? An old friend?"

He almost laughs, it has no humour, and it would be a broken rattling thing, but he almost does. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

You look incredulous at him, brow raised and chewing on your lip, like the idea is more confusing to you, than anything else right now. Like your dead best friend, is not the biggest question here. Like he is the odd one. He isn't lying to you either, the chain EVER want to place on him, is a reminder. Of the person he fought so hard to save, who is right in the grasp of people who would break you with such little effort.

It's simply not Caleb, who keeps him tethered.

It is not Caleb who reminds him that he is at EVER's mercy.

You say something under your breath, that he does not catch, shrugging to yourself.

"How about we chat, for a bit, Zayne? I'm sure Pipsqueak can go find some food, you haven't eaten yet, have you?"

This causes you to bristle, and Zayne watches as you move in front of him. Facing Caleb. There's a height difference, and you have to look up at him, but there's an immovable force. A tenseness to your claw, that reminds him that you are well trained.

And he is your job.

"Pipsqueak?" A flicker of doubt over Caleb's face, almost makes Zayne's anger temper. Almost.

"My job is to protect him, Caleb. I can't leave him alone."

There's a laugh, warm and jovial, as Caleb extends a hand towards your head, and goes to pat it, but you carefully move back a little more. Forcing Zayne back a step to avoid you bumping into him. It tapers out, the humour, and his eyes narrow up at Zayne like it is his fault, this is happening. "From me?"

"From everyone." Your voice is cold, the empty look in your eyes is back. The wall around you that forces the shocked, irritated looks to the back of his mind. The version of you he saw outside your home. Ready to hurt anyone in your path to fulfill your role.

The weapon EVER are so ready to throw at others.

Zayne watches, and he waits, in the course of your conversation he learned you carry out your jobs, no matter what. Even if you bristled at the orders. He wonders if you could bring Caleb to his knees like you did with Sylus, angry and snarling.

Caleb's eyes narrow, and then soften, his hands up. Appeasing, his smile is wide but Zayne can't feel the warmth from it. Too busy overlapping the chill in his gaze, with the friend he grew up with. "Alright Pipsqueak, I get it. No leaving the doctor alone, why don't I go and get us connected rooms sorted so it's easier to guard him?"

Your hackles raise, then ease, then settle. The gold that was drifting down your claw, now dissipates, leaving flickering around your eyes once more. You don't smile, but you do nod, "That would be helpful, thank you Caleb." This time when the hand extends to your head, you do not pull from Caleb, and Zayne finds himself irritatingly jealous.

It is a feeling he is not very familiar with, so used to reaching out and touching you. To knowing you inside and out. To being more than confident in every moment spent, every day lived, and every experience had by your side.

Now he is nothing more than a stranger, watching you pull away from him, into someone else's arms.

He's only slightly relieved when you seem to have enough of being touched, pulling back and indicating for him to follow, "Let's go, before there's no food left." You glance at Caleb, then back at Zayne, then urge him to keep up as you leave. He follows, as quickly as he can. Unwilling to strain the new found relationship, when he sees how wary you are of someone you trusted implicitly.

That if he came to it… he has no idea if you would align yourself with EVER, or with Caleb. Which is a question that while he never thought he would ask, he certainly never thought the answer would be so clouded in mystery.

As he leaves, his head slightly turns to glance at Caleb. The flash of hurt in purple eyes quickly smothered, makes him think he is not the only one with the question.

—---

Your time with Zayne is time you aren't sure how to fill. You cannot remember the last time you spent an extended period of time with anyone.

So you do what you can think of. Imagining he's a pet you have to take care of. It's an insulting assessment, but you know the basics for it better than you know the basics of general human survival. Eat, sleep, repeat, you think. Truthfully though, you don't want to parade the man around EVER's compound.

As you enter the canteen you see all the faceless white coats who you barely want to acknowledge, look up at your entrance. Unlike Zayne, who takes a cursory look around him, you keep eyes forward. There's nothing to be gained from their curiosity. Just more agony, and more probing questions.

At least the doctor's questions aren't met at the end of a scalpel you can feel in your flesh, like one of their cruel vivisections.

"Pick." You indicate the menu, looking over at the machines. It's a simple automated system, the less people in the compound the better. You see the OTTO bouncing about as they clean up, or bring trays to people.

It's a simple enough system, so you don't have to explain it, while you stand by his side and look around.

Shooting particularly sharp eyes at some scientists staring far too much at your new charge.

You hope, your only charge.

"Done." You look back and see he's inputted his choice, and then see that he's inputted for chocolate cake. He at least has the decency to look a little red faced when you raise a brow at him.

He's a mystery you won't entertain.

You can't.

So you shrug and shove in an order for whatever won't turn your stomach. You haven't eaten properly, besides some fruit slices, and you doubt you'll keep the prepared food down much longer than usual. Still, if you don't try you worry Leon will find out and inform the lab coats. Then you'll be hooked up to an IV, and forced through the process of keeping your body workable.

They can't risk a knife rusting, after all.

The canteen is as silent as it always is when you enter, like if they talk you'll bite. You're used to the treatment, but Zayne lets out a small chuckle, "Is it against the rules to talk when you're a member of EVER?"

You almost laugh, almost, biting it back down because it's not exactly inaccurate. Everyone here knows something, that if they shared would get them killed. Still, it's not that threat keeping them silent. "They're too curious about you Doctor Li." You respond, taking the trays away from the OTTO, shoving them at the Doctor so you're free just in case, and leading him to a table that keeps his back to the wall.

"Eat."

"Am I going to be ordered around a lot, going forwards? Is the correct response, yes zir?"

"The correct response is to eat. If you drop down out of malnutrition, I've failed my job."

"Ah, can't have a stain on your record now, can we?" There's no venom when he says it, and when you look at him, he does not look at you like he's picking a fight. His eyes aren't cold, in fact they're as warm as they always seem to be, but the words do hurt.

You aren't sure why. It should be a badge of honour, that you've never failed. Even in all your ignorance, though, you know blood on your hand is nothing to sing for.

Not in front of a man who has made promises to save people. You are diametrically opposed. 

He should hate you, for everything you represent. Instead he simply seems at peace to eat, next to you.

Surely it is an insanity, to sit next to a killer, and not even check your food for poison?

Still, would you hurt him? Not right now, you have your orders. To keep him safe, protect him. From anyone, even yourself.

Even Caleb…

The cold look in his eyes is embedded in your mind, the way he glared at Zayne, someone who should have been his friend. You look up at Zayne, watching him eat cake as if he hasn't a care in the world, but you notice the tapping of his finger against the table. It's quiet, and he's looking off as he eats.

You remember the anxious energy you get in your hand without your dagger to twirl.

Perhaps that's something you can understand. The mask. It makes him easier to understand, to believe.

You still can't bring yourself to ask.

Do you really want to know more about this man, to humanise him more than he already is, if the order comes down that he's not needed anymore?

"When did Caleb return?"

He does not give you the reprieve of avoiding it, but you're not even sure how to respond. If you should even tell him anything. You remember him picking at the fact this is personal information. It's not a threat to EVER. For all reasoning you have no orders to keep this secret. There's little stopping you sharing whatever you like.

Information is dangerous, in anyone's hands. Even if you feel a little foolish for thinking this doctor might not be one of them.

"Does it matter?"

He pushes some of the cake over to you, when he realises you've barely eaten anything. Picked at some vegetables, speared them around the plate and then ignored them. You hesitate before taking a bite, the sweetness spreading over your tongue.

For a moment you hear laughter, and see a warm smile, as you eat. Before it fades, and you hear him speak again, "He was dead for a year. I mourned him. I just want to understand what happened."

You see the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his tapping speeds up for a moment, before he pulls his restless hands out of your view. Steadying himself with an exhale.

You aren't sure what part of your twisted heart compels you… but you don't want to hide this information, "Yesterday, I saw him again yesterday. He told me he was gone for a year, but I don't remember anything beyond that."

"Nothing?"

You bristle, the idea of sharing anymore about it does not appeal, no matter how warm his eyes are. You aren't sure if it's protectivity over your own being, or if it's fear. So you clamp shut again, sitting back and pushing the cake back to him.

He seems to accept the close of topic, and tries something else, "Have you noticed anything-" He pauses, seems to think of how to word it, "Odd, about him?"

"Odd about me, Zayne? Am I so different?"

You look to the side, as Caleb approaches, his hat pulled down to cover his eyes somewhat. He's smiling, but it's the same smile you saw earlier. Chilling, and unwelcoming, even though when he turns to look at you. It blooms brighter.

You can't quite figure out what it means.

Why he would level a glare at someone he called a friend.

Or why it would make you feel like stepping away that you noticed it.

Zayne lets out a sigh, and you're impressed when his expression does not change at being heard, or when he simply raises his head to nod in greeting, "It's been a year. Everyone changes with time, Colonel."

"Please, how long have we known each other? It's Caleb." He pulls out a chair to join you both at the table, a steady smile on his face. Warmer now, like he's thawed.

You wait for a sign the frost is returning.

"Still have a sweet tooth? It seems some things don't change."

"If it isn't broken." Is the level response, as he finishes.

"I'm sure your dentist wouldn't agree." You respond, looking down at your plate, before you blink. Why… did you-

The chuckle is small, and warm eyes watch you when you raise your head at the sound. The doctor nods, "He wouldn't, no."

You try to hold his gaze, stunned at the way he watches you, at the words out of your mouth before you'd even processed you were speaking, and let out a tch. Turning your face away, catching Caleb watching you.

His expression is flat, before his eyes meet yours, and he smiles at you. Warm and sunny, "Are you finished?"

You look down at the still full plate and ache a little at the waste. You go through this process every now and then, order, stomach a bite, feel torn up, and stop. "I'm not hungry."

Zayne doesn't bring up your growling stomach from earlier, he simply watches like he wants to say something to you, but isn't sure what or where to begin. You can only imagine what an actually good doctor might say.

You're going to be sick. You're not taking care of yourself. You need to eat.

You know that, you know logically you need to…

You think about the pastries in the cafe, the only thing you'd managed to keep down. Maybe you could convince Leon to get you more.

Or would they turn to ashes in your mouth if you eat them in EVER's walls.

"How about I cook for you next time? It's been a while, after all." You flinch, looking up at Caleb. Like he's seen through you, like he knows more than you want him to. That feeling like he and the doctor can see through you. Read whatever they want through walls.

You want to shiver at it, but you also don't want them to see more. If there's even a point, anymore, to hiding.

"Surely you're busy with work for the fleet?" Zayne interrupts, "Do you have the time to spend here?"

A muscle in Caleb's jaw jumps, and you watch his eyes change, as he looks at Zayne, "I have plenty of time for when Pipsqueak needs me."

This time when Caleb talks, he keeps his gaze mostly on Zayne, but his voice is warmer, "How about we go to see Skyhaven soon, Pipsqueak, and I can make you food there?"

It's like you're watching a tug of war, in a game you don't even remember seeing start. You suddenly want to ask if friend is even the word for whatever these two are. You're almost sure a friend isn't supposed to glare at you.

Almost.

But you can feel eyes at your back, can feel too many people curious about the Colonel, and his conversation with EVER's pet, and the new doctor. Can already tell the second you leave this room, the gossip will become unbearable. You'll hear it in whispers for weeks at the least. Until another horrible thing happens to draw the vulture's attention.

So you push back out of your seat and look at Zayne, "We should go."

Before you can begin to force the man out of the room, Caleb stands, "What about a tour? I've sorted out the rooms, so we may as well show our dear doctor around, right Pipsqueak?"

"Can't we just give him a map?"

You barely have time to react when he ruffles your hair again, laughing at you, "Come on, be a tour guide for a little bit, instead of a guard."

There's a biting remark on the tip of your tongue, to the effect of 'I'm only spending time here to guard him.' It feels like too much effort though, to argue when you can see the immovable object that is Caleb.

Especially when Zayne steps over and nods, "It would be prudent to see the place properly."

You're sure he wants to investigate to figure out how to escape, if he's foolish enough to think that's an option, you may as well make your life easier and show him how it's not. At the very least you won't have to chase him through the corridors at any point, while he tries to find one door that will let him outside.

It doesn't sound like a good use of the time you don't spend sleeping.

"Fine."

So you follow along, truthfully, Caleb does the tour. You barely know where anything other than the training room and Leon's lab is. You can find your way mostly, but if anyone asked what rooms were what you'd be pointing them at the signs.

There's a small voice in the back of your mind, that wonders why Caleb, of all people, knows the place inside and out.

You remind yourself that EVER brought him back. Maybe in this specific compound.

It's a good enough reason.

So you allow yourself to be led around, nodding on occasion but mostly watching. Zayne, to try to puzzle out what is going through his head, and Caleb, to try to understand the feeling you've felt since that cold smile had shown on his face.

"Do you not spend much time in the compound?" Zayne asks you at some point while you're shrugging at an anecdote Caleb offers about a specific lab's work.

"I told you, I train, I get experimented on, I go to sleep. I only need three rooms for that. The rest of this place is a maze I have no interest getting lost in."

"They need more signs, otherwise one day I'm going to get a message from you going 'Hey Caleb I'm lost.' again."

Again?

It's cold. You're so cold.

Hair soaked to your skin, the chill biting at you.

Your chest aches and hurts and twists. Sobbing and choking and gasping on air.

It's so cold and you just want it to stop.

It's too much, why won't it stop?

"Pipsqueak, I found you."

"Pipsqueak?"

You stumble back at hands on your skin. Caleb pulls his own back to show you it, as you leave his grasp. The Doctor with his own outstretched. You shake your head, clearing it, fighting through the crackling edges of broken ghosts.

"I'm fine." It's broken and choked and cracking. You're not fine. You can't be. You need to be fixed, you need whatever is wrong with you to stop. "Just tired."

They don't believe you, you see the doubt in eyes. Worry, things you don't want to see.

You don't deserve it and you don't want it.

You can't keep looking at them.

"The joined room is ready, we can go back there, you can get some sleep, and Zayne can be safe in the next room over." Caleb offers, trying to catch your gaze, as you stubbornly keep your eyes away. "I can get him a book or something, that'll waste a few hours."

You're barely listening. You need to see Philip. Need him to fix your head.

If you tell him, maybe you won't be subjected to something more painful.

You force a nod, "Sure. Sleep." You're barely aware enough to be ashamed of how your voice breaks, how your fingers are trembling, so you shove them into pockets, and clench your claw into a fist. "Let's go."

You're a better tool than this, you're better at what you do than this… yet as you walk away, at no point do you turn to check your charge is safely following.

—----

Caleb tries to tell himself that you're fine, that you will be fine. As he sits near the bed where you're curled up in on yourself, he tells himself that. Over and over like a mantra. That you'll be alright.

He's angry, and frustrated, that part of EVER's plans involve dangling you around Zayne like some treat he'll get if he's a well behaved dog. If he follows their orders and does what they ask. That you don't understand the game you're being played as a pawn in. That you don't have the answers.

There is a tearing in his heart, that cannot decide whether telling you is better than keeping it secret. The more you know, the better prepared you will be… the more you know, the more at risk you are of fighting back. He cannot put ammo in your hands, that will inevitably end up in your own head.

It is not a risk he will take. Not now, not now he finally has you back.

He gently takes your hand, to press a kiss to the back of it, as you talk in your sleep. Another trait that has not dissipated along with your memories.

For a moment, Caleb wonders what Zayne saw when he saw you. He's no fool, and he has kept a close eye. Has seen how close you have gotten to their common companion. Has watched dates with that 'family', the word turns his stomach, and seen the touches. The kisses, the contact. Has seen you smile and laugh and live happily with them.

He can touch you now though. His lips on your skin. His hand on your head. His body at your side in your sleep.

He is the only one you can really trust here, because he will never abandon you.

He will do whatever it takes, to protect you.

In a world with just the two of you.

His mind unwillingly calls up the cold look you had levelled him with. The way you had stood in front of Zayne like a guardian, had moved away from his touch, like he was the thing to fight against. That he was the enemy.

Caleb tries not to think of it, of the wary, chilled look. No recognition or acknowledgement. He tries to focus instead on the heat of you through his left hand. The scent of the shampoo you use. The soft exhales through your parted lips.

Today had called images into his mind that while he would hate to forget any part of you, the particular memories of his childhood were unnecessary. That even for a split second, as he'd walked with Zayne and you, he had felt like that young boy, playing with a younger you. That everytime he had turned around you were there, pulling Zayne along with you, in case he was left behind.

That there were days in warm summer sun where you had spent time on swing sets. Where on cooler days after school, you had studied together, Caleb trying to outpace Zayne so that he could be the one to show you how to do calculations. That he tried not to see times when you used your change to buy sweets, to share with Zayne so he wouldn't be embarrassed about his sweet tooth.

That he'd do something stupid to impress or appease one of your requests, falling or catching himself on something, only for Zayne to help clean his wounds and take care of his injuries. As much as he frowned and said he was fine. The older boy had simply carried on wiping with antiseptic, and carefully bandaging him up.

That all he needed to do was think about what games to keep you entertained, or what school work hung over your heads. That those warmer days faded after as you became older teens. As Zayne left, and he never really understood why. As your heart ached more and more, and you finally faced your painful reality.

As he watched his world start to shatter again. 

That finding time to just watch the sunset by the river was harder and harder to do, no matter how much time he wanted to make for you. How as time passed, that small smile and warm laugh got weaker and weaker, more withdrawn. Before you stopped altogether.

He had forgotten, he supposed, how cruel the world was to you both. Allowed himself to be foolish, allowed himself to forget Gran's words. 'Keep them safe'.

Now he was dealing with what he had wrought in his ignorance. His blind foolishness, had led to this outcome.

So he had to find a way to keep you safe.

He had to protect your world together.

No matter what it is that lies as a threat.

The door to Zayne's room is easily opened, and he does not knock, does not ask for entry. He pushes the door open and steps inside. He watches Zayne sit up, ice in his hand, the cold swirls travelling over his skin. He watches as the man's eyes move past him, through the gap in the door, to where you sleep.

Irritation swirls. A protective craving and bite. The thought of a rotting apple falling to the floor. He pushes it closed, so he won't be able to see you. He doesn't deserve to see you. He didn't protect you well enough either.

He failed to fix your heart too.

Zayne is just as foolish, if not more so, than he is.

"You're prone to sneaking around now Caleb?" If there's something to be said for Zayne, it is that his expression does not change when he looks at Caleb. When he sees the threat. He's always had little change to his face, even as kids. You were convinced he hated you for a long time, because of it. Caleb had known differently, but telling you so would require telling you how much Zayne had liked you.

It hadn't been a conversation he wanted to have.

"I wouldn't want to raise my Pipsqueak's ire again, now would I?"

"Their job is just to protect me, unless you plan to kill me-"

Caleb barely keeps himself from twitching, but he isn't convinced his expression is as level as he likes, the impulse to bare teeth at the man is immense. To suggest he would ever go out of his way to ruin one of your jobs, without a good reason. That the man has the gall to flaunt his 'protection', in Caleb's face. A reminder of the leash about your neck, that now this man holds.

That you are a tool for him, is his misconception.

It is pulled back, as he reminds himself he has a mask for this moment. That his every day as a colonel, has taught him how to lie, and keep things hidden. That the very act of wearing it was how he survived. How he got back to you. That without it, without every lie he has ever told, he would not be able to keep you safe now.

"No, I wouldn't want them to fail one of their orders for EVER. That would be disastrous. They have a clean record, you won't be the reason that changes." He leans against the wall, and indicates to Zayne with a finger outstretched, "I just wanted to remind you not to do anything stupid."

"I would have believed my old friend would know me to be anything but stupid, after all, I helped you with your studies too."

It irritates him, the reminder, the knowledge of times he hadn't been enough, and had needed someone else to cover where he lacked. It wasn't true anymore, he didn't need Zayne's helping hand. He doesn't need anyone's hand, except for yours.

"What strikes me as stupid, is the situation we have found ourselves in. Or perhaps, foolish, is a better term. After all, what could possibly have convinced you that this is the right place for them to be?"

Like he understands, like the choice was ever that easy.

"This, or a grave, Zayne, which would you choose?"

"Better to die with your mind intact, than live as a monster."

He laughs, it is a scoff and it is bitter, and he turns away from the man. Thinks about moments in that testing facility. At every electric shock through his limbs to make him work like the tool they needed him to be. To make his arm function, to make him a reliable weapon.

A monster. He thinks about how he despises the thing they put to him, that perhaps it's true and the cybernetics make him a monster. That his right arm is dirty and filthy and every choice he has made, made him a beast. If he is a beast, however, he will be a beast for you. In service to you. That even if you do not know it, the fact your right arm carries the beast of burden too, makes him feel like you two still are the only two that matter in this filthy place.

That at the very least, even though he wishes it had never happened, he shares the connection that only you can understand. With your claw soaked and stained in blood he knows you cannot wash clean.

Just like he cannot.

"A monster, mhm? Is that what they are now, to you?"

Zayne does not respond, just looks at him, cool, calm eyes watching him. Caleb tries not to remember moments in childhood, when he'd gotten hurt, and Zayne had simply watched him  until he finally cracked and confessed so. So the younger boy could help him with his cuts.

They aren't kids anymore.

"I'm keeping them safe, what could you possibly understand of that?"

"Safe? In EVER's den? With them watching every move, keeping track of everything that happens? Holding onto them like they're some kind of attack dog?"

It's the first time Caleb has seen real emotion leak out of him. That in all the time, watching and keeping an eye on him, that Zayne bites. He watches the ice spread up his arm, as his emotions fluctuate.

So he really still can't control it, is a thought that flickers through his mind. A reminder of seeing through the camera, as you resonate with him. Keeping him from hurting himself, or others. Easing the out of control ice down.

You're not here, though, and Caleb watches as the hand tightens. Then eases open, and the ice fades back away, as the cold man warms back up.

It's another reminder, that Zayne cannot help you. When he cannot even really help himself.

An assurance, to Caleb, that he is the best place to keep you safe.

"At least they have me protecting them."

"Who is protecting them from you?"

He's a controlled man, he tries to be. Violence is to be used carefully. His EVOL is a tool, a powerful one, that he has harnessed and learned out of need and through pain. That every experiment his was subjected to, as a child, and as an adult, has made him stronger. That when he needs it, he can use it with a wave of his hand.

That he can bring forth a black hole like it's nothing.

For a split second, his hand twitches, and he feels his anger pull. Zayne's shoulders slump, and he chokes on nothing, before Caleb pulls it back. Reels himself in, steadies it. He cannot kill the man. He cannot hurt him, not when you will suffer it.

He will not hurt you. Ever. You are the one thing in this world he values, that he cares for. You are everything. His beacon and his home base. No matter what, you are where he belongs.

You do not need protecting from him, because he loves you. More than you'll ever understand, more than you'll ever know. More than he'll ever tell you. "I would never hurt them. Ever." It feels wet, like he's close to tears, choked out on the feeling.

The idea of his hands ever being responsible for your pain.

He will never be a weapon to hurt you. No matter what anyone else intends.

"You are, keeping them here, helping EVER, is hurting them. You have to be smarter than this Caleb, surely?"

"Don't act like you could understand this. All you have to do is help them, and they'll leave you alone. Let you do your work, and you won't have to look over your shoulder anymore-" It's not true, it's never true. Caleb knows that, he knows Zayne will never be safe from them anymore. No one will ever be safe from EVER. There is not a safe place in this world anymore. "Pipsqueak can't. Pipsqueak will never be safe from them. They always find us, they always will."

There is nowhere he can run with you, nowhere he can hide you. There is no place EVER cannot touch. He hates every time he realises, every time he remembers the simple fact. That even if he took you to another world, they would follow.

"Caleb-" Zayne tries, trying to catch his gaze, and he simply turns away. Staring directly at the wall. Like if he could look out through it, he could see something better.

Zayne can't understand. Not really.

He hasn't lived through the tests, the iron grip over your lives.

The snapshot of time without EVER's cruelty was too short, before they found you both again.

This entire world is filthy. It's ruined everything. Every happy moment, and every bit of joy. It has done nothing but hurt you, taken from you. There is nothing to be gained from a world that does nothing but hurt. When the day comes and he figures out how to destroy it, he'll do so gladly.

He'll build somewhere better, where you can be happy, and safe. Where the two of you will finally be free, away from pain. Where he won't have to lie to you again. Where he can finally touch you at will and tell you every secret in his heart.

It is a dream within a dream, he wants nothing more than to make it a reality.

"All you need to do Zayne, is stay in line. Don't cause issues, don't make their job harder. Let this pass, and accept your new reality."

The words do not stop him from sighing, or speaking out again, voice steady but desperate. As though he truly needs Caleb to understand.

"If you really knew them, you would know this isn't what they would want. You urged them to be a hunter, you wanted them to help people to protect the world. Surely you know they don't want to abandon everything they care about? The people they love?" He exhales, "Do they look happy to you? Is this what you want to protect so badly? Do they want all this blood on their hands?"

This time, his anger truly gets the best of him. It's an ice cold chill that rivals Zayne's EVOL. He clearly does not expect it, because it takes too long for him to react as Caleb tightens his cybernetic hand around the man's throat and squeezes. He can't feel it, but he can watch. The pain flickering through Zayne's eyes. The shock. As his hand raises sluggishly to tighten a grip around his wrist. As the ice spears through Caleb's synthetic skin and tries to pry through the cybernetics.

He watches with a degree of glee, as he sees Zayne see the cybernetics. As he comes face to face with the way EVER has rebuilt him. There is pain in him at the damage the ice causes. He knows he'll have to go through repairs again, agony waiting on the horizon. It is with irritation that when the sensation of his arm comes back to him, it is through the pain, and is the feeling of Zayne's skin under his iron grip.

His sensations should be saved for you, as rare as they are.

Still, at least he knows it will leave a reminding bruise.

"Don't you dare act like you know them better than me, Zayne. Everything I have ever done, has been for them. Everything I am, every choice I've made. For them."

The creak of the door filters through his anger, reminds him that he cannot kill the man, not if he doesn't have to. Not if it leaves you punished for no reason. Not if you give him that look again, cold and wary. Like he is not the only person you can trust.

Like he's not your only real ally in this world.

You're in pain, but he can help you, and when he has, you'll never feel pain like this ever again.

You'll understand one day, that there's nothing redeemable about this world. That he can build a better one just for you. As good a heart as you have, as much as you care. He knows you'll understand.

You have to.

He backs away, releases Zayne like he scorches to touch. Pushing him back and away, and feels himself laugh under the strain of his aching heart, "If it comes down to a choice, Zayne, of your life or theirs. It will be an easy choice to make. If I have to kill you, no matter their mission, no matter what will happen, if the alternative is EVER's chip in their head, then I will do it."

Zayne rubs at the skin around his neck, and as Caleb turns, walking back to the door, back to you. Where he belongs. He hears a raw and scratchy voice behind him, rough with pain, "When you wake up from this dream Caleb, you're going to be horrified of what you've wrought."

He finds himself laughing again but it doesn't feel funny, and looks back to smile, "Well Doctor, at least I'm not living in a nightmare."

—---

You're inside a cage. The bars are rusted and it's too small to stand in. Hands and knees, with a dirty dog bowl as the only other thing in there.

You crawl to the gate, grab at it with the claw. Pull and tug and rattle it, but no matter how much you try it does not open. No matter how rusted the bars are they do not break. You don't stop, pulling and clawing at them, until the lights switch on.

A man in a black uniform, hat pulled low enters. You cannot see his face, can't make him out. No matter how you crane your neck to try to look up at him.

When your mouth opens, instead of words, you whine. Hurt and wounded like an injured dog.

He exhales, and reaches for the gate. Opens it, and then leaves.

It's a moment, when you wait. For him to come back and lock it again. To bring you a new bowl. To do anything. As you hesitate on the threshold.

When your sad, hurting heart tells you one thing.

He is never coming back.

Unneeded, unwanted, and worthless.

You have been abandoned.

You crawl out of the cage, drag yourself over the ground, your legs too shaky and unused to the space to stand to do more than stumble and fall as you try to raise yourself up. Scrapping and tearing each time you make impact with the floor.

As you reach the door he left through, the lights flick back off, and you fall through the floor.

It is almost a quiet bliss as you fall now. The ground will approach, and you will hit it. The assurance, and the knowledge of that fact, comforts you.

Because you ache, and you hurt, and no one is coming back for you.

The claw is so cold on your skin, as you wrap your arms around yourself. Seeking out any degree of comfort, any reminder of what it felt like.

Surely, at one point, you knew that. Knew kindness and warmth.

You can hear the whine in your throat, the feeling like you want to sob but can't. Falling backwards into the abyss.

When your body slows, stopping, floating. You wait for the sudden impact, for the assurance of the end.

You wait, and you wait, and it does not come.

Flickering blue lights and static.

There is no sudden relief, there is no release.

You're going to wake back up in the cage again. Left to stare at the dirty bowl as company. Waiting for something that never arrives.

[gearsandhammers]

NOT GOOD WITH WORDS : VIKTOR X M!READER

synopsis : viktor's always been a reserved guy, but you make him feel things he's never felt before. he's cried during sad movies, laughed with jayce, but never has he felt like how he does when he's with you. will he finally do something about it?

warnings / tw : you, viktor, and jayce are academy students , viktor is clueless about love , socially awkward vitkor , grammarly is my beta

pairing : viktor x male reader | m/m (could be m/gn)

author's notes : hiya! okay so the letter written in this fic is actually one i wrote 2 years ago that i legitimately have no recollection of and just found.. i didn't read it through fully and kinda just copy pasted it so hopefully its not dogshit but oh well... valentine's day has always been lonely for me, so i hope this can bring comfort to anyone who's spending val's day alone this year─ but you're not alone. anyways as always have a good read and an amazing day/night! xo, kai

Viktor's only been at the academy for one year, but he's found his place pretty quickly. He and Jayce are thick as thieves, and you've been hanging out with them too, as of late. He tries to hide it, but Viktor has a huge crush on you. At this point, Jayce can't even tell if Viktor has figured it out yet. He knows Viktor hasn't ever been in a relationship, but he has no clue if he's ever had a crush before. Scratch that, he knows he hasn't, the way Viktor acts around you.

Viktor's never been good with talking, but you've read some of his writing, and your jaw dropped. The way he writes, you'd never be able to tell it was Viktor who wrote it. The way he words things so eloquently, how the letters seem to flow from his pen like it's second nature.

Valentine's Day is either the best or worst day of the year for a lot of people. You've collectively decided to just stay in and try not to think about the fact that it's Valentine's Day. You don't expect to get anything, you never have, so your expectations are basically as low as they can be.

So when you open your locker at the end of the day and there's a sealed envelope sitting there on top of your books, you're a little confused. You look around, thinking at first that it's a prank or something. But when you open the letter and start reading it, your heart swells.

· ─ ─ < ⟨ ৻ꪆ ⟩ > ─ ─ ·

Dearest,

I'm not good with words, but for you, I tried. You're the best thing that's happened to me. I sit here with pen in hand, my heart brimming with emotions that have long been confined within the depths of my being. Today, I gather the courage to express the feelings that have blossomed within me, unfurling like a delicate flower under the warmth of the sun. Please bear with me as I pour my heart out onto this page. From the moment our eyes first met, a spark ignited within me, illuminating a path that led straight to you. You may not have noticed, but in those stolen glances and fleeting moments, my heart began to whisper your name.

With every encounter, my admiration for you grew, and soon, admiration blossomed into something deeper and more profound. Your presence in my life is a symphony of joy and wonder. Your smile, so radiant, has the power to dissolve any worries that burden my soul. Your laughter, like a melody, dances in the air and brings warmth to the coldest of days. Your kindness, a beacon of light in a world sometimes dark and unforgiving, has touched my heart in ways I struggle to put into words. In your company, I feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that I have found my missing puzzle piece. Your words, so genuine and filled with wisdom, captivate my mind and nourish my spirit. Your mere presence electrifies the air around us, creating a magnetic force that draws me closer to you, igniting a fire within my soul.

I am enamored by the intricacies that make you who you are—the way your eyes light up when you speak about your passions, the way your voice carries a quelling melody, and the way your touch lingers on my skin long after you're gone. Every facet of your being, every nuance, has etched itself deeply into my heart. It is true that love can be a tumultuous journey, filled with uncertainties and vulnerabilities. Yet, in the face of these uncertainties, I am willing to take the leap, for the thought of a life without your presence feels incomplete and devoid of color. The thought of never having the opportunity to explore the depths of our connection fills me with an ache that reverberates through my very being.

I am not asking for an immediate answer, nor am I expecting you to reciprocate these feelings. Instead, I write this letter as an offering, a testament to the authenticity of my emotions. My intention is to lay bare the truth of my heart, to let you know that you have become an indelible part of my thoughts, my dreams, and my aspirations. Should you ever find it in your heart to explore the possibility of us, I would be honored to embark on this journey of love with you. But if the feelings I express today do not find a place in your own heart, I will still cherish the moments we've shared, and I will forever hold you in the deepest recesses of my soul.

Thank you for inspiring me to open my heart and embrace the vulnerability that accompanies love. You have given me the gift of experiencing a love so profound and beautiful that it has forever changed me. I love you,

~ V ৻ꪆ

· ─ ─ < ⟨ ৻ꪆ ⟩ > ─ ─ ·

Your jaw hangs open, staring at the cursive V at the bottom of the page. Every sentence left your heart a little heavier, small tears welling in your eyes, but you sniffle and wipe them away. You're in shock as you stare at the page, dumbfounded. Your heart rate picks up, and your brain finally registers that you read. Oh, my gods. Oh my gods, what just happened? I need to find Vik─ wait, oh my. I can't do that, I gotta find... wait, no. I need to find Vik.

You gently put the letter back into the envelope and into your bag. You run around the academy, bumping into a few people along the way, but don't stop to apologize. You finally find him after a full 15 minutes, walking out of the academy, books in hand. "Viktor!" you yell, desperately trying to get his attention. He turns, and his face immediately turns bright red. You run towards him, clutching your bag. You run into him, wrapping your arms around his body, and his cane clatters to the ground. "V- Vik.." You gasp, trying to catch your breath.

"I- I'm sorry. I know I ruined everything and I─" he tries to apologize, but he's interrupted by you. You grab his face, making him look at you. You attempt to search his eyes but fail, your eyes too blurry from the tears you tried to hold back. Tears stream down your face, and you try to blink them away so you can see him.

"V, I- oh my gods, Vik. Please don't apologize, please. You didn't ruin anything. I love you too, V. I love you so so so much, Viktor," you pant. Before he even tries to speak again, your lips collide, and you pull him flush against you. The sensations of your body against his makes his whole body react, going tense. After a few moments, he melts into you, his brain finally recognizing that you actually kissed him. Moments pass, and you pull away to breathe.

"Gods, I love you," he says, in between gasps and sobs, tears flowing from his eyes too. He's still sort of in shock, clearly not expecting this sort of reaction or response from you. He presses his forehead to yours, and you hold his hands.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

[proud-memer]

I have thoughts on some of the T3 designs (positive all around and some more than others) so I’m just gonna word vomit. This might not be the most coherent.

Yuno: she looks like T1 Mahiru. Like, she just straight up looks like Mahiru did during T1. The short hair is probably the most obvious part, but the outfit itself is also super similar. Both of them have a long dress that’s longer than the actual straight jacket looking thing. So we can see the bottom of the dress peeking out underneath. And the actual design of that dress/skirt is like… identical to Mahiru’s. The only difference is color but besides that, it looks like the same dress. Which is a fascinating way to express her grief. 0206 doomed yuri real I guess.

fuuta: less thoughts here than for Yuno. So he’s definitely been indoctrinated into Amane’s cult, which is definitely gonna make his VD and MV interesting. Also I’m so sorry but the thing he has over his eye is so silly to me. Like, I get it represents the cult but it looks really funny to me.

Muu: T3 really decided to go apeshit with the restraints on the T2 guilty verdicts, huh? Though I can’t help but wonder, how does she like… function in her day to day life in MILGRAM? The things on her feet make it look like she can’t walk well. Probably only able to walk on her tip-toes which while a darkly amusing mental image, feels super harsh. Then there’s her arms and hard that are just… look fully unusable. It looks like they’re tied in a way that she straight up cannot use her arms anymore. Then there’s barbed wire veil thing. Which like… besides the fact that I don’t see how the fuck that was put on her, how does she eat? Like, she cannot take it off by herself with her hands stuck like that, how does she get food in her mouth (actually how does she eat period without using her hands? Do one of the other prisoners feed her?) Although it is a really cool looking mourning veil.

Kazui: Depressed looking middle aged man with messy hair and notable facial hair. Smash, no further questions. But to be serious he really is not dealing with the survivor’s guilt, is he? He has noticeable eye bags, and his facial hair has grown past the well kept bit he just had on his chin in T1 and T2. Suffice to say, he hasn’t really been taking care of himself. Also, that bitter smile he has on his face really reminds me of that one shot from Cat when he has the cigarette near the end of the song. He looks close to losing it a little bit. I’m excited for his VD.

Amane: girl… who cut your bangs? No seriously, that’s the thing that stands out most to me. Like, yeah, sure, she’s gone full cult leader. Whatever. Who cut your fucking bangs. Like, who did this to her? I’m blaming Fuuta.

Mikoto: looks like a mess. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna fully have a breakdown when he remembers what happened. Maybe this way we’ll finally get context on what the fuck actually happened. Also, why does he have just… a singular shoe off. Like sir, I know you’re going through something but why only one? It’s just kinda funny to me for some reason.

Kotoko: Yet another case of super restraints. Still not sure how she’s moving around cause those braces on her legs are forcing them bent at all times. Also she (like Muu) is not using her arms. The muzzle is a cool touch given all the wolf imagery she has going on. I feel like even with all the restraints and the actual barrier, nothing is gonna stop this woman from trying to jump Es.

Es: I need them to go on strike. Them taking off the uniform as a symbolic rejection of MILGRAM itself is so cool. They should be allowed to cook Jackalope into a stew.