#and he INSISTS it is for the purposes of the mission only

[randomsprinkles]

You tell yourself that Loid

[not-neverland06]

Hey I’m just begging for a fic of Logan with a shy reader that she has a crush on him but thinks he’s never going to fix on her since Jean exists (maybe the reader can make her hair color change depending on the emotion or something

a/n: sorry I haven’t been responding to asks. The new job has officially killed my spirit. But I got to work out finally and do some yoga so hopefully I’ll start feeling more motivated 🤞🤞this one will be shorter

Logan Howlett x X-men!reader (Chameleon)

“Chameleon!” You jump, shoulders flying up to your ears. Almost immediately you can feel the tips of your fingers tingling. Sure enough, when you look down they’re already disappearing. Sighing, you turn around and glare at Scott. 

“What have I told you about scaring me?” 

He grimaces, raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I forgot.”

You roll your eyes and turn back toward your project. “Every time,” you mutter bitterly. You’re not an idiot. You know he thinks scaring you is funny. The whole school does. They all like to see you yelp and blend in with the nearest surface, the only thing visible is your stupid hair. 

“You’re, um, turning red.” Scott points to your head and you don’t have to look to know your hair is shifting colors.

You reach over and swat harshly at his arm, “Because you pissed me off! I know you scare me on purpose,” you accuse, jabbing your finger into his chest. He laughs and stumbles away from you. 

“Alright, alright, calm down. I was just messing around a little. Look,” he glances down at the lesson plans before you and sighs. “All this will have to wait. Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You huff and shove the papers into your desk drawer. “Alright, lead the way.” You feel Scott’s eyes still lingering on your hair and glare at him. “Move it, Summers,” you demand. 

You were already in a bad mood, you didn’t need him making it worse. It honestly shouldn’t be such a big deal for you. You get scared by everyone all the time. You used to enjoy it, enjoyed the way it felt like you all had your own joke. But, eventually, it started to feel less like an inside joke and more like you’re the unwitting butt of one. 

Some mutants get amazing powers, like Jean or Charles. Logan’s abilities are incredible, even if he doesn’t believe you when you tell him that. But yours, well, you're better suited as the cheap gimmick of a children’s birthday party than an X-Men. You’re just a walking mood ring that blends in with her environment. 

The only thing you’re good for is reconnaissance missions and embarrassing yourself. You don’t know what Charles sees in you. You’ve never understood why he insists you’re such a good asset to the team. Yes, you are good at spying on people, but you don’t need to when Charles has such strong telepathic abilities. You’re essentially useless in a fight due to a lack of regenerative or strength abilities. 

More often than not you feel like a child playing dress up, chasing after the big kids. You know the others don’t mean anything bad by it when they tease you into going invisible or laugh when your hair changes. It’s all in good fun. But it doesn’t make you feel any less like easy entertainment rather than a teammate. 

It doesn’t help that you’ve got little to no control over your abilities when it comes to Logan. You’ve never had such a horrifically bad crush like this. Anytime he opens his mouth around you, you're fighting off the urge to just go invisible and run away. You feel like you go feral around him. You don’t know how he hasn’t caught onto what the colors of your hair mean when you’re near him. 

It’s constantly switching between some odd mix of red and pink when you talk. Which, you know what it means, but you’re praying no one else does. Red can mean angry, depending on whether you’re talking to Scott or not. You know, though, that with Logan it just means you want to jump his bones and you’re hopelessly in love with him. 

Thankfully, like the others, he associates red with anger. Which isn’t great for you because that just means he thinks every time he opens his mouth you’re pissed off. At yourself, maybe, but at him, never. It just means when he wears those stupid tanktops you want to dig your teeth into his biceps and never let go. 

Scott opens the door to the meeting room and you slide in past him. Charles gives you a brief smile as a greeting. You take the chair at the end of the table, which just happens to be next to Logan - completely coincidental. He gives you a tense smile and you return it stiffly. You tug your hood over your hair, praying he doesn’t notice the red in your strands yet. You don’t want him to think you hate him. You completely prefer that over him knowing how feral you are for him, but it’s not conducive to your slow plan to finally get him to acknowledge you as a sexual partner. 

You swear, if your name isn’t Jean Grey, you might as well just be a shapeless blob of nothing. He glances over at her, that smoldering look in his eyes, and you try not to throw up in your mouth. Scott wraps an arm around Jean’s shoulders and they break their lingering stares. 

Logan glances over at you and catches the glare on your face before you can get rid of it. He huffs and turns towards Charles. With a sigh, you sink back into your chair and focus on not just going invisible. 

“Chameleon,” Charles says your name and your eyes widen. You wonder how much you’ve missed while you’ve been glaring at the back of Jean’s head. “Does that sound alright with you?”

You look around the table for help but they’re all staring expectantly at you. “Sure,” you stumble over the word, racking your brain for any answers. It seems not even your subconscious was paying attention to Charles droning on. “Sounds great.” He gives you a satisfied nod. 

“Good. Off to the jet, all of you.” he rolls out of the room and you wait until he’s out of earshot to kick Logan under the table. 

He glances back at you, smirking. “Don’t know what you agreed to?”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “Nope,” he gives you a look like he knew you’d say that. You hate how well he can read you when it feels like you’re constantly hitting walls trying to understand him. 

“You’re scoping a place out for us. Making sure it’s safe so we can retrieve some information.” You give him a thankful look and he chuckles. “You need to start paying attention, kid.”

You groan and get up from your chair, brushing past him. “I told you to quit calling me that.” It makes you feel like that’s all he’ll ever see you as, some kid invited onto the team. You want him to see you as someone he could have sex with, hopefully, love one day. 

He glances past you at Jean. She smiles at him and you fight everything inside you to not roll your eyes and gag at them. She’s holding onto Scott and making fuck me eyes at Logan, which he’s happily returning. This is just too disgusting for you. 

You shove past him and ignore how he calls out your name. Your real name. He’s the only one that uses it. For some reason, most people just refer to you by Chameleon. You don’t understand why. They just don’t seem to think of you outside your abilities as a mutant. 

You make it to the jet before the others, taking the private time to change into your X-Men suit. If there’s one useful thing about your ability, it’s that it affects whatever’s touching you. Which means, you don’t have to strip naked to go completely invisible. And if anyone is around you, all you have to do is hold onto them and they’ll blend in too. 

You’re tugging up the zipper of your top as Logan walks in. He gives you an odd look, sitting on the bench in front of you. “Angry about something?” He asks, gaze darting up to your head. 

You drag your fingers over the ends of your hair and sigh. “No,” you tell him bluntly, taking the seat beside him. 

His brows furrow in confusion. “It’s red, though,” he points out, his tone colored in suspicion. 

You laugh a little, “Red doesn’t always mean angry.” It’s the most you’ve ever confided about your hair colors to him. The largest hint you’ve ever given him that you don’t hate him. You’re worried if he knew how you really felt about him, he’d think you were a little creep. 

He slides his arm behind you on the bench, leaning in until you’re practically sharing the same air. You know your eyes are comically large, you don’t even want to know what color your hair is turning right now. “What else does it mean, kid?” He whispers and you don’t even pay attention to the nickname. All you can see and hear right now is him. How close he is, how close your lips are. 

You could lean forward an inch or two and you’d be kissing. “Um,” you swallow harshly around the lump in your throat. You don’t even know what he asked you, all you can think about now is kissing him. 

“Logan!” Ororo’s voice echoes through the jet and you leap away from him, trying to calm your racing heart. Logan sighs and leans back in his seat, giving Storm a tense smile. She glances at you and laughs, “She’s nearly see-through, what are you doing to her?”

You frown and look down at your hands. Sure enough, you’re going translucent. You let out a silent groan, and tuck your knees into your chest. You take a few deep breaths until you’re one solid form again. It’s so embarrassing when that happens, when you lose control over yourself like that. 

But it’s even worse when Logan does it to you. He gives you hope, stupid, hateful hope, for one minute that he might feel something deeper. Only for it to be another joke. You’re a walking mood ring, nothing more than a quick laugh to all of them. 

Jean walks up the ramp, her gaze going to Logan first before drifting towards you. “Are you alright?” She mutters, trying not to let the others hear. Of course, Logan can, with his stupid enhanced abilities. “You’re turning blue,” she points out and you roll your eyes. 

You can feel Logan’s stare burning holes into the side of your head and it only makes you feel worse. You hate being a joke, but you also hate showing them just how much it affects you. You don’t want to seem like a crybaby that can’t handle a little teasing. But you’d thought coming to Charles’ school meant people would stop poking fun at you. It feels like being dragged right back into high school. 

“I’m fine,” you tell her. She doesn’t look like she believes you but she takes a seat anyway. Of course, placing herself right next to Logan, even though her fiancee is a few feet away from her, looking just as hurt as you. They lean into each other and whisper. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. You let your glare bore into the floor, ignoring how much seeing them together hurts. 

The mission had gone well, Logan had been hoping to go to the bar and grab a drink with you. But the second his back is towards you, you’re running off the jet. Logan calls out your name, trying to catch up. You glance back at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He smiles at you and your eyes widen. You go invisible and Logan glances around, baffled. 

He calls out your name again but the door ahead of him opens and closes quickly. He can only assume you’ve run away again. You always run away from him. You’re always pissed off at him. He doesn’t know what Jean’s talking about when she says you like him. 

Logan’s never met anyone more repulsed by him. 

“Would you just trust me?” Jean tells him lowly, creeping up behind him. 

His face falls and he turns to her, glaring at her knowing smirk. “She just fuckin’ ran away from me. Pretty sure that’s about as good a hint as I’m gonna get, Jean.”

She glances over her shoulder, waving Scott away and looping her arm through Logan’s. “You’re an idiot, Howlett.” He scoffs and she swats at his shoulder. “Trust me, I can read minds, remember?”

Of course, he knows she’s got some pretty decent telepathic abilities. But he didn’t think she would so brazenly breach your boundaries. There’s an unspoken rule that the mind readers of the school don’t delve into your brain without permission. 

She sees the look on his face and sighs. “I didn’t read her mind. She got drunk a little while ago and told me about her raging crush on you,” she laughs a little at your expense and Logan lets out a short chuckle. You can be a pretty sloppy drunk if they let you go too far. He figures it was one of those girl’s nights he wants nothing to do with. You’d probably let the tight reigns you keep on yourself slip for once. 

“She goes red every time she sees me. I don’t know what else that could mean other than she hates me.” Logan isn’t surprised that you’re not taken with him like he is with you. He’s used to the rejection, but it hurts just a bit more coming from you. You’re so welcoming to the others. 

You embrace every new member of the school with open arms. Yet, with him, you get angry whenever you see him. You see through his walls, see the rot lurking underneath them. And, rightfully, want nothing to do with him. He understands your reasoning. 

Most days he barely wants anything to do with himself. He’s made a lot of bad choices in his life, half of which he can’t remember. But he’d hoped, for one minute, that you might give him a second chance. As much as Jean insists otherwise, he can see the truth of how you feel about him every time you run away. 

“Red doesn’t always mean anger,” Jean tells him elusively. It’s the same thing you’d said to him on the jet. It makes his brows furrow in confusion and he glares at her. 

“What else could it mean?” He demands sharply, sick of her teasing him with the possibility you might feel the same way. 

She bites her lip, looking suddenly sheepish. “I can’t say-”

“Jean,” Logan snaps. He stops her from walking any further, keeping her planted in one spot with him. “Tell me,” he’s sick of the games you’re both playing with him. He just wants some straight fucking answers. How hard is that?

She sighs and looks away from him. “I promised her I wouldn’t tell.”

“And I’m sure you promised you also wouldn’t tell me how she feels about me,” he points out. There’s a sharp tone to his voice, it’s rude but he can’t bother feeling guilty about it. 

She can’t meet his eye, a smirk fighting at the corner of her lips. He waits impatiently for her answer, irritation broiling quickly in his gut. He’s about to snap at her again when she finally meets his eyes. 

She speaks through a laugh, like what she’s about to say is so ridiculous she can’t hold it in. “She wants,” she cuts herself off with another laugh and Logan groans in frustration. He begins to walk away from her when she yells, “She wants to fuck you!” At his back. 

His eyes widen in surprise before he turns back to her with a displeased look. “Are you fuckin’ with me?” He demands, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. 

She shakes her head and brushes past him. “You didn’t hear it from me,” she warns, tone grave as she leaves the room. 

Logan is left standing in the same spot, stunned at the revelation. He’s not sure how much of that he believes. But he doesn’t understand why Jean would possibly lie to him about this. She gains nothing by setting him up for failure. As much as he doubts the honesty behind her words, he’s got no other choice but to trust them. 

He heads to the most likely place you’re hiding out. Charles has a private library that’s blocked off from the kids. There are too many first editions in there, he can’t risk any of them accidentally blowing them up. You like to head there when you’re trying to avoid people. 

He tries to stay quiet as he walks in, not wanting you to run off again. It’s hard to confront someone who goes invisible whenever she feels like it. He sees light blue hair draped over the back of an armchair. He feels like a creep as he stalks towards you, sneaking and pouncing on you so you can’t run away. 

He can’t imagine how Jean ever thought him approaching you would be a good idea. He whispers your name, trying not to startle you. It doesn’t take a genius to see how much you hate when the others scare you. They might not mean anything bad by it, but they have to be blind not to see how much it pisses you off. 

You still jump, glancing up at him with a surprised look. He looks to your hair for any tells of how you feel. Some pink weaves its way through the stands but it otherwise stays relatively blue. His brows furrow in confusion, he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad sign that there’s no red. 

“How are ya, kid? Ran off pretty quick earlier.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you mutter, giving him a brief glare before staring absently down at the book in your hands. Logan kneels beside your armchair, covering the pages with his hand. You huff, giving him an expectant look. “Yes, Logan?” You demand, tone short.

Logan tilts his head, examining you and your body language. You seem relatively closed off, irritated at him or something else. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words or trying to express how he feels. He’s more comfortable showing how much he cares for those around him. 

Throwing caution to the wind, he lets his hand drift to your wrist and tugs you forward. Your eyes widen as he drags you toward him. The kiss is short, he doesn’t want to push you too much. But it takes everything in him to stop himself from deepening it. All he wants is to pull you into his arms and devour you. 

He holds back, parting from you with a low exhale. Your eyes flutter open and he grins when he sees the bright red your hair has turned. “What,” you sputter and stumble over your words. You shove him back and leap to your feet. “What the hell was that?” You demand, voice higher than he’s ever heard of it. “What was that?” You ask him shrilly, again. 

You almost seem to be stuck in a loop, blinking rapidly and asking the same thing. Logan chuckles and gets to his feet, he gives you a knowing look and you narrow your eyes at him in disbelief. 

“Jean told me.”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. Realization dawns on your face and you gasp, looking up at him with something like horror on your expression. “No,” you tell him lowly. “She didn’t,” it almost sounds like you’re begging him to tell you otherwise. 

He laughs again and your face falls. You start going clear, he can see the bookshelf through your stomach and he sighs. He grabs your hand, holding onto you before you can run again. You don’t even seem to be aware that you’re slowly disappearing from view. 

“She’s, uh,” he struggles to figure out what to say to make you feel better. “She’s been coaching me,” he admits shamefully. “Trying to help me talk to you.”

You glance up at him but he can barely see your expression. The only thing reassuring him you’re here is his grip on you and your voice. “What? But I thought that-” You cut yourself off quickly and Logan glares down at where he thinks your face is. 

“Thought what?”

You take a long pause and exhale deeply. “I thought,” you mutter, “you liked her.”

“She’s with Scott,” he points out bluntly. He can practically hear you roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it. 

“Yeah, I know. But you guys are always whispering to each other and making googly eyes.”

“Googly eyes?” He interrupts, disgust clear in his tone. 

“I was wrong,” you continue, ignoring him. “I see that now, but I thought you didn’t care about me.”

Logan huffs, he hates that you thought that. He should have just been open with you from the start. He’s faced rejection his whole life, he shouldn’t have been so petrified of it just because it could come from you. If he’d just manned up and told you earlier, it would have saved you both a lot of time and hurt. 

“Kid,” he hopes he’s making eye contact with you and not just staring at some random book. It’s really hard to tell when you go invisible like this. “You’re the only person I care about in here.”

You’re quiet for a long while and he worries you’ve somehow slipped away without him realizing. But, ever so slowly, you start coming back into view. Logan awkwardly averts his eyes from your breasts, he’d been hoping he was making eye contact with you, clearly, he was wrong. 

“You mean that?” You ask, and he hates the trepidation in your voice. He’s never been good with words, he doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him. But he can show you. 

His hand drifts up your arm, wrapping around the back of your neck and tugging you towards him. You trip over your feet, hands landing on his chest to stabilize yourself. He leans down, hovering over your lips for a moment. He waits until your eyes drift shut and your lips purse impatiently before he finally kisses you again. 

He doesn’t hold himself back this time. He pours every racing thought he’s ever had about you, every one of his wanted-to-tell-you-how-he-feels-and-hasn’t moments into the kiss. Your hands slowly curl up into his shirt, wrinkling it and tugging him further into you. 

To his surprise, you deepen the kiss, mouth moving over his like you want to devour him whole. He’s sure if he opened his eyes your hair would be a bright roaring red. He smirks against your lips, happy that, for once, he actually listened to Jean. If it gets him results like this, he might have to do it more often. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium @insomniachox @izbelross  ♡ 

[prythianpages]

Beautiful Stranger | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.

warnings: mentions injuries and blood; other than that, this is light & fluff

word count: 4,342

a/n: I love Halsey's Finally//Beautiful Stranger & when it came on my shuffle while driving, this fic played out in my mind.

Humming quietly to yourself to keep your thoughts occupied, you allow the glow of the moon and fireflies to guide you back to the village. Dawn Court was your home, but after the fall of Spring, you had volunteered to help its fae, creatures, and land heal from the devastation left by Hybern’s attacks.

Though the damage to Spring was immense, its beauty still endured. The air still held a lingering heaviness but the flowers had begun to bloom once more with promise and hope of a better future. Your task today had been to gather healing herbs, yet when you stumbled upon a field of dandelions in full bloom, you couldn’t resist the urge to stop and admire the scenery. It was why you were returning late at night, long past the sunset you had promised to return by.

As you made your way along the path, the gentle breeze grew colder and sharper. It rustled the leaves on the trees and made the branches creak, its eerie sound halting your steps and silencing your humming. A chill of unease prickled your skin and your muscles tensed in alarm. 

Then you saw them. 

Shadows, darker than the night itself, swirling around you.

These were not the shadows you were used to seeing at night. No, these shadows felt alive and with purpose. 

You should’ve turned back. But there was something in the way they moved, fluid and insistent, that made you follow. With every step, they guided you away from the familiar moonlit path and deeper into the forest, pulling you toward the river that ran through the heart of the woods.

A flicker of blue light was coming from just beyond the tree line, catching your eye. Curiosity tugged at you, drawing you closer. The shadows slithered toward the faint glow, vanishing into the darkness by the water’s edge.

When you finally reached the riverbank, your breath hitched at the sight before you.

A male lay sprawled on the shore, half-submerged in the water, his blood mingling with the river’s water. Blinking your eyes, you saw the shadows that led you to him, clinging to his battered form and limp wings. They pulsed in a protective manner. It’s then that you recognized the source of the blue light. It was coming from the gems attached to the leathers he wore. 

Siphons. He must be Illyrian…but what was an Illyrian from the Night Court doing in Spring? Alone?

It didn’t matter. You immediately rushed and knelt beside him, your healer’s instincts snapping into action. Your finger’s pressed against his neck, mind racing with worry and dread as his skin felt cold against yours. He must’ve been out for awhile now. The nerves eased slightly when you felt a pulse. 

Weak but present. 

You slipped your arms beneath him, the shadows aiding you as they wrapped around his arms, helping you turn him over to his side. His dark hair clung to his face, your hand reaching up to brush it back.

Your eyes finally met the face of the fallen warrior and something snapped. 

So piercing and electrifying, it had your heart fluttering from the intensity. All at once, the golden threads of the bond you’d only heard stories about unraveled in your chest. They weaved between your rib cage, pulling you tight toward him. A pull so strong it left you breathless and in shock.

Fate and shadows had brought him to you. Your mate.

But the exhilaration of it all was soon smothered by panic, the golden threads beginning to quiver. His blood, too much of it, stained the riverbank. His body was limp in your arms, his breathing shallow.

You had found your mate and already, you were on the verge of losing him before you could even learn his name.

**

Azriel wakes to the sound of singing, a nice and sweet sound, and he catches faintly to the words. He’s never felt so warm, so relaxed. His senses are dulled by grogginess, his body sluggish, but something feels… different. Lighter, somehow. 

Beside him, his shadows stir, the familiar weight of their presence grounding him. But there's also something else— different from the cool and light caresses of his shadows. Firmer. Warmer. The pressure is foreign but comforting.

As his senses slowly return, the scent of herbs and incense reach him before his eyes flutter open. Where am I? He thinks, finally blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

The first thing he sees is you, the source of the beautiful singing.

Light streams into the room, casting a golden halo around you. It strikes him hard, stealing his breath and sending a shock through his chest. He doesn’t know who you are, what you are. But you’re beautiful, so beautiful that his brows furrow in bewildered awe. There’s no way, he thinks. I don’t belong here…

He wills his dry lips to part, his voice is rough and barely audible. “Am I…dead?”

Your eyes widen and your singing comes to a sudden stop, startled by his sudden words. The warmth he felt vanishes as you pull your hand back, and only then does he realize it had been your touch on his face earlier. Your hand hovers between you, glowing faintly with a bronze light, like the first rays of dawn, before you settle it into your lap.

“No,” you finally answer. “You’re not dead.”

Azriel tears his gaze from your face, even though some part of him protests. His eyes wander around the small room, taking in the sparse furniture, the wooden desk cluttered with jars and vials. The sunlight continues to stream through the single window, the curtain hanging doing little to dull the brightness thanks to the Spring breeze. It blinds him when it catches his eyes and he winces, looking away. 

His attention is inevitably drawn back to you. You’re seated beside him, perched on a small stool that does not look comfortable by the bed. His shadows, the loyal dark tendrils that always remain by his side, are dancing around you. Their movement is playful, loving almost and you don’t seem bothered by it. As if they’ve done this before. 

The sight stirs an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

The flutter is cut short when one of his wings, too big for the bed he’s in, twitches and knocks into the bedside table. A vial tumbles to the floor, the sound of shattering glass jerking his body forward, and in an instant, the memories come rushing back.

He remembers the mission. Rhysand had sent him to the wall separating the mortal lands from Prythian. He had met with Jurian, the encounter brief, and then he was on his way back—flying over the Spring Court when he was ambushed. His mind aches as he tries to remember more but all he remembers is being struck by poisoned arrows and falling through trees. Multiple trees.

Hot, searing pain stabs through him at the sudden movement and your hands fly to his bandaged chest, gently urging him to sit back. “You’re safe,” you reassure him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Azriel shouldn’t feel comforted by your words, not when he barely knows you. However, he finds your voice soothing. He listens, allowing himself to slowly lean back against the pillows, despite his mind screaming at him that you’re a stranger. Your hands remain on his chest, glowing again with that soft bronze light, and the sharp pain in his body begins to ebb away, fading into a dull ache. Much more bearable.

His shadows return to him, sighing with relief as they nestle close. Azriel watches you, keen hazel eyes taking in more of your features. The curve of your lips, the softness of your eyes. They draw him in, and he finds himself unable to look away. Had it not been for the pain that shot through him moments ago, he would’ve thought you lied to him about not being dead. Because surely you weren’t from this world to have him in a daze like this…

“Who are you?”

“I’m…,” you hesitate, uncertainty crossing your features. He watches with bated breath, waiting but the words seem to catch in your throat. You swallow, clearing your throat before speaking again. “I’m just a healer.”

“And here I thought you were an angel from above.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and the tension in your posture melts away. The corner of your lips tug up into a faint smile, one that Azriel surprisingly finds himself mirroring. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He doesn’t think. The words spill from him before he can stop them. “I didn’t say I was disappointed.”

The flush that dawns across your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. You turn your head, trying to hide the reaction. It’s too late. Azriel already saw it and even if he hadn’t, his shadows are happily gushing over it. Some, the ones not distracted by your beauty, curled around his ear and whispered about the emotion lingering on your face, in your eyes.

There was more you meant to say. Words left unsaid and he wants to know, the curiosity and yearning bordering on desperate. His gaze assesses you again, searching for an answer. For a hint. His shadows continue to whisper. Good, they say reassuringly, sensing no danger or malintent in you. We found her for you!

She saved master's life. Master was out for three days and she stayed by master’s side. She’s–

“What’s your name?” You ask, pulling him from the silent conversation with his shadows.

Azriel is not one to give his name so easily, often going by what he was–a Shadowsinger– rather than who he was. He’s also not one to dwell in places he’s unfamiliar with longer than necessary. But you saved his life and for some strange reason, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you. They seem to trust you and therefore, so does he.

“Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeat and his shadows shudder in response, as though they, too, are captivated by the sound of it on your lips. His stomach flutters in time with their movement.

“What about yours?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he says, repeating your name the same way you had his. His shadows dance in the air around you both.

**

It’s late morning, as you pick up the empty plate from him, that he feels the familiar sensation of talons scraping against his mind. Azriel?? Rhysand’s voice is urgent, the frantic panic of it making him wince. Your head immediately turns in concern and Azriel brushes it off with a small shake of his head.

I’m alive. Azriel responds, his answer curt as he’s once again distracted by your presence.

Thank The Mother, Rhysand breathes a sigh of relief. Where are you? Are you somewhere safe? Do you need me to–

I’m fine. I was attacked while flying through Spring. 

Who? Rhysand demands.

Given the fact that whoever ambushed me has made no move to find me and finish the job, I’d say no one of importance. Azriel replies, lips curving into a small frown at the thought of being caught off guard and attacked. It rarely happened, his shadows always keeping him one step ahead of anyone and anything. Had they been distracted…?

He turns his head, searching for the shadows in question. Some remained with him, choosing to burrow under the blankets. The others, however, were hovering at your side and helping you clean up from breakfast. One even opens the door for you and he hears you murmur a small thanks as you leave the room.

Azriel had spent most of the afternoon sleeping. He didn’t want to, not liking the idea of being in such a vulnerable state with someone he barely knew. It’s not that he suspected you’d harm him or had bad intentions–you literally saved his life for Cauldron’s sake! It was just a feeling he was not used to. To be able to sleep safe and sound.

When he woke up again, it was a brand new day. He realized the bandages on his chest and arm had been changed. He was slowly gathering his strength back. One of his shadows must’ve given him away because shortly after he woke, you had walked in with a friend. 

“Wow,” the dark haired fae murmured, her steps faltering. Her eyes had widened in wonder, taking in the large expanse of his wings that made the bed look ridiculously small. “The Cauldron truly favors you.”

Azriel’s gaze couldn’t help but narrow. Those words had been directed at you, not him. 

You’d introduced her as Poppy, explaining she was your friend, another healer whose family had taken you in. Poppy had left shortly after setting a steaming bowl of stew on the table right next to the bed. She had been adamant on letting him know her mother had made it and not you, which he found odd.

Azriel was surprised to learn this was your room and you’d given it up for him. He tried to protest, offering to sleep on the couch or floor. Of course, you had refused and he was even more surprised to learn you were more stubborn than he was. 

Where are you in Spring? Rhysand’s presence in his mind pulls him back to the present. He hopes he hadn’t accidentally projected his memory to his friend, wanting to keep it to himself for now. I can send Cassian, if you’re unable to fly. 

No. Azriel responds immediately and he can feel Rhysand’s confusion. I’m alive and safe. I just need more time to recover. 

And without waiting for a response, Azriel brings up his mental shields again, shutting Rhysand out. He can only hope he doesn’t send Feyre knocking on his mind next. Or worse, actually send Cassian to Spring, despite him saying not to.

He should’ve said yes, and accepted the help. The Spring Court was among the least favorite of his courts, in tie with the Autumn Court. He had a strong distaste for the High Lord, who remained wandering through his forests like a beast. 

As you return to the room, Azriel catches sight of a faint glow wrapped around your wrist. He hadn’t seen it before, the glow of your magic outshining the gold ink etched there. A sun, cradled by a crescent moon, and below the moon, a fine lined star glimmers, connecting the two celestial bodies with its ray of starshine. 

“You’re far from home.” Azriel comments, nodding toward the tattoo.

“So are you,” you answer, lips turning up at the slight flush that takes over Azriel. You then glance down at the tattoo on your wrist. The insignia of your Court with the added touch of your healing gift. The tattoo was an honor, a testimony of the oath you had taken after mastering your magic. “I came to Spring to help after the war.”

“Will you go back home after?” He asks, a little too quickly, then clears his throat. His shadows snicker beside him in a knowing manner. “Or will you stay here?”

“I’ll stay here as long as I’m needed.”

He doesn’t understand why but a part of him feels relieved that you’re not attached to this court. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” you then add. 

He feels an odd sense of relief, and his shadows give a little wiggle in excitement. He sends them a glare, and they sheepishly return to hiding under the covers. Though one brave shadow lingers by his side long enough to whisper, you'll find out soon Master.

“They’re cute," your voice pulls him from questioning his teasing shadow.

Azriel lets out a snort, the effort making his chest and stomach ache. Cute. His shadows had been called many things—strange, unnerving, even unsettling—but never cute. They typically clung to him, weaving around his form quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. Unless he sent them on a mission of their own or they had a mission of their own.

Occasionally, they’d make an exception for Cassian, creeping up behind him just to tap his shoulder and bask in his exasperation when he turned to find nothing there. They’d even tried their luck with Rhysand once, though he was never fooled. Yet, for reasons Azriel couldn’t fathom, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you, drifting toward you whenever they could.

The said shadows peek out from under the covers, almost shyly. If they could blush, he’s sure they would be at this moment. They're never going to forget this moment.

“I wouldn’t call them cute,” Azriel replies, ignoring their indignant hisses.

Conversation flows easily between you two from there, Azriel giving into his curiosity to know and learn more about you. Much to his surprise, Azriel indulged you in your questions, telling you about his shadows and things about himself he rarely told others. They were small, trivial things such as his exact favorite shade of blue and his biggest pet peeve. Yet you held onto every word, every detail and it felt strangely comforting.

Two more days passed, Azriel’s body still healing. Slowly but surely. You had been able to recover one of the arrows that had shot him. Not that it mattered. Azriel was now, unfortunately, familiar with the effects of faebane. It hindered his healing and though it was frustrating, there was one upside to it all–the friendship blossoming between you and Azriel.

There’s a knock on the door as you mix Azriel’s concoction for pain. “Yes?” You call out.

Poppy peeks her head in. “I was just checking to see if I had given you enough spearmint for the pain tonic and also to let you know that we’ll be out most of the day. If you wanted to take out your ma—male for a walk or something without being bothered by the little ones.”

You freeze and a sheepish look takes over your features, tainting your cheeks. “Poppy,” you say her name again in what sounds like a warning. “He has a name, you know. And he doesn’t need to be taken on a walk.”

“Oh, right, Azriel,” she says, giving him a cheery wave. “Hello again!”

“Hello,” Azriel replies, shifting in the bed, despite the protests of his muscles. He’s not at all offended by Poppy, her aura too bright and cheery to be bothered. He flashes you a grin that has your grasp on the mixer faltering. “I think a walk would be nice actually.”

“Told you!” Poppy replies. “Anyway, we’ll see you for dinner. Send a butterfly if you need me.”

When the door closes, you let out a small sigh, shaking your head with a small, sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry about her.”

Azriel brushes off your concern, his eyes shining bright when he looks back at you. “How about that walk?”

**

Azriel grunts as he pushes to stand, his wings trembling as he shifts his weight, unused to bearing himself after days of bedrest. He stumbles right into your arms, his usually steady form swaying. You quickly catch him, your arms coming around one of his sides. His shadows dart toward his other side, helping you hold him upright. 

“I’ve got you,” you say softly, your hold surprisingly firm. 

He can't help it. He lets out a low, amused breath. 

“What?” You ask.

“Usually, I’m the one saying that.”

Your lips quirk into a smile, a gleam in your eye, as you help him find his balance. “Well, even the best need someone to lean on sometimes, right?”

Azriel stares at you. Something in his chest tightens–a weird but comforting sensation. It’s similar, if not the same, to what he had felt when he first saw you. Warm and painfully sweet. The feeling reassures him that, though you were strangers mere days ago, you’re someone he can lean on.

“Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the door. 

Azriel lets you guide him through the house and out onto the porch. You settle there together, cutting the walk very short. You're mindful not to push him too far when he's still recovering. Azriel doesn't mind, the fresh air enough for him. He knows he isn’t at full strength to protect you should anything arise. Even though you most likely know these forests better than himself.

His hands drift to the porch railing as he leans forward for support, fingers curling around the edge. The sunlight glances off his scarred hands, each ridge and mark stark against his skin. He’d kept them hidden beneath the covers and out of your view while bedridden, hiding them instinctively, unable to forget the pitying glances they’d drawn in the past. Though he’s sure you must've seen them when you rescued him.

Now, as he feels your gaze slide toward them, a familiar discomfort tugs at him. He starts to withdraw his hands, wanting to tuck them closer to himself.

But you reach out. Your hand hovers, brushing slightly over his. There’s a slight hesitation—an uncertainty in whether to bridge the space or leave it. In the end, you let your hand rest gently beside his.

Azriel hesitates, unused to this vulnerability, yet unable to move away. He glances up to meet your eyes and his guarded expression softens slightly. “They’re… not easy to look at,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know they’re not.”

“I’m familiar with scars, you know. They don’t make you less of who you are.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping where your hands are barely brushing against one another. His throat feels tight, an ache he’s kept buried resurfacing.

“Not to me,” you continue. “I don’t see you any differently because of them.” 

He searches your face and he sees something in your eyes that helps him slowly relax. His gaze returns to your hand, fingers hovering now over his. This time, there’s no hesitation as you gently lay your hand over his, holding it as if the scars didn’t exist at all.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes. 

His shadows slither down his arm and toward where your hands connect. For the first time, Azriel feels no urge to hide, no shame from the past that has long haunted him.

A silence drifts down between the two of you, settling like a blanket over the conversation. There’s no need to fill it, no awkwardness there. Just a gentle, shared peace, stretching softly around you both. He turns his head, shifting his gaze forward and takes a deep breath. 

He closes his eyes and a breeze rolls in, brushing against his skin and stirring his hair. His shadows begin to whisper excitedly. He basks in the sun’s warmth, and lets the scent of spring fill his senses from the fresh earth to the blooming flowers and the faint sweetness of pollen. It brings forth a tickle in his nose, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. His body groans in response, wings shuddering.

“Bless you,” you say, but he notices the way your mouth quirks as if you’re holding back a laugh.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle, your free hand rising to stifle it. “It’s just… you have such a fatherly sneeze.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, a rare, amused smile creeping onto his face. “Fatherly sneeze?” He echoes. He has never heard the expression before yet he somehow understands it. If you thought his sneeze was “fatherly,” he’s curious to see your reaction to one of Cassian’s sneezes. That thought is enough to make him laugh outright.

It's so silly but the sound is so contagious that you laugh too. His shadows began to flutter around you, as if joining in on the laughter. Azriel’s gaze then drifts down, watching the way your lips curve in laughter, how your eyes crinkle at the corners, how effortlessly you draw light into his heart.

And there it is again—that rush of warmth. It’s mixed in with joy, so pure and intense it has to be coming from you. His heart stirs, his pulse quickens, his mind clears, and in a single, life-altering instant, he knows.

“You’re my mate.”

Your smile falters, replaced by a moment of hesitation. Some shadows travel to you, brushing softly against your arms as if in a reassuring manner. He can't help but watch them, realization dawning on him.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit quietly.

“How—when…” His voice catches, unable to form the words.

“I was walking through the forest when your shadows came to me. They led me to you, by the river. You were unconscious and bleeding. And then… the bond snapped for me the moment I saw your face. You were so cold and--and…,” your face tightens, eyes glistening at the memory and Azriel can feel the panic you must’ve felt then. “I’d just found what so many only dream of and you were already slipping away...I thought I’d never get to know your name…”

Azriel feels a pang deep in his chest as he absorbs every word. His chest feels tight again and he swallows thickly. “And when I woke up, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your gaze falls, fingers twisting together. “I wanted you to heal, to feel better. That’s all that mattered.”

“I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I would’ve saved you, mate or not.”

Azriel searches your face, touched beyond words at the sincerity in your tone. It made sense why he felt so drawn to you since the moment he saw you, why his shadows took a sudden liking to you and kept whispering "we found her, we found her!" They had known all this time, been able to sense it before he even could.

Looking back, Poppy being the one to bring him food and water and not you was not as strange as he originally thought. You were being mindful, not wanting to accidentally accept the bond without his knowledge. He felt an overwhelming gratitude for how gentle and considerate you've been with him all along. He couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so lucky to be bound to someone like you.

“And would you have sung to me, mate or not?” Azriel asks, his mind drifting back to the exact moment he'd first woken up.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away toward the gardens, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. “What?” You let out a small huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “What did I hear?” Azriel’s tone borders on teasing, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated contemplation. “Something like… ‘Beautiful stranger, here you are…’”

“That’s enough!” You interrupt, your face turning into an even deeper shade of pink, caught somewhere between mortification and laughter. 

This time, it’s Azriel holding back a chuckle. His lips curl into a small smirk, seeing the blush that lights up your face. He quite likes that shade on you—likes being the one to bring it out even more. “So…”

You keep your gaze straight ahead. “So…?”

Azriel leans in, his voice low and warm, making your stomach flutter. “Do you sing that song for just anyone too?”

“No,” you let out a laugh, your hands cup your face but there’s no hiding the blush there.  “I’m afraid that song was just for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

You turn to look at him, realizing his gaze had never left you. Your hands drop back to the porch railing.  “Yeah?” you whisper, your own heart pounding, not sure what it was you were asking.

But Azriel seems to understand anyway. He can feel what you’re feeling, now fully aware and attentive to the bond humming between you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his smirk softening into a genuine smile, his heart finally at ease. 

A gentle warmth surges through the bond, reaching every shadowed corner of his heart and wrapping around his soul. It’s a feeling he could get used to, one he’s spent centuries longing and yearning for. It’s a feeling he’s searched for in all the wrong places, enduring the heavy weight of heartbreak after heartbreak.

But now, with you, he feels the weight begin to lift. After all the empty falls and broken promises, it’s finally, finally safe for him to fall.

a/n: you can't tell me Az & Cas don't have dad sneezes lol. Anyway, I really wanted to write a fic where Az finally feels safe with someone because he deserves to. I hope you enjoyed this <3

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[cosmicbucky]

wallpaper

summary: bucky finds out how to change the wallpaper on your phone, and takes every opportunity he can to do so. until one day he doesn't have the heart to

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 1000

warnings: fluff, nonspecific friends to lovers, this was just a dumb idea i had

《《《《 ♡ 》》》》

The first time Bucky changed the wallpaper on your phone, it was an accident - kind of. He sat on your couch, lazily scrolling through the photos of Alpine you insisted he looked at, because you simply couldn’t resist having a Halloween photoshoot with her while he was off on yet another mission, leaving her in your trusting hands. He was happy you were in the kitchen, because he would never let you see the smile he wore as he browsed the album, chuckling silently to himself over how elaborate these photos were. His mood swiftly changed when he swiped incorrectly, an array of different options suddenly presenting themselves to him. He swore under his breath as he tried to make them go away, but he only made it worse as the option to change your wallpaper came up. With an annoyed huff, he just kept tapping, figuring that eventually he would get it back to how it was. After a few more grueling seconds, he sighed in relief as he was once more face to face with Alpine sitting inside a jack-o-lantern candy bucket - how was he supposed to know that photo was now both your lockscreen and homescreen?

“Did you change my lockscreen?” you curiously asked when you finally sat back down beside him, taking your phone and checking it for any new messages.

“Did I what?” he asked in confusion, his head snapping up from his own phone to look at you with a scrunched brow. 

You could only laugh lightly, turning your phone to display the new photo brandishing your screen. The second Bucky saw it, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly as his face flushed ever so slightly. 

“I, uh- sorry,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, your phone is just - it’s different than mine.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly, your chuckles growing into more laughter as you realized it was also your homescreen. “It’s okay, Buck,” you assured softly, laughing quietly as you changed the photos back to their precursors. “It could have been worse, at least it’s not an embarrassing photo or something.” 

You were too busy fixing his mistake to notice the glint that sparkled in his eyes, a smirk growing on his face as your words gave him the most incredible idea he’s had in a while. 

The second time Bucky changed your wallpaper, it was very much not an accident. You left him your phone so he could look at the photos you took on your latest trip, unpacking your bags as he split his attention between listening to your stories and scrolling through a seemingly endless array of new pictures - which he truthfully enjoyed, but he was on a secret mission for the perfect, nondescript one to choose. 

“Again, Buck?” you giggled, flopping on the bed beside him as you took your phone back. 

“What?” he asked, just innocent and clueless enough to not raise any flags. 

“You and your fat thumbs, I swear,” you mumbled under your breath, changing the photos back once more, completely oblivious to his proud little smirk.

It took three more times for you to suspect that Bucky had started doing it on purpose, but your suspicions weren’t proven correct until he took a photo of you to display.

“Did you- when- really?” you stammered as you looked between him and your phone, half annoyed and half impressed because when did he even take this photo? 

He only grinned in response, laughing about how long he was able to do it under the pretense of it being an accident before running away in a fit of giggles, dodging the pillow you threw after him.

From that moment on, it became a game for him. 

Any opportunity that presented itself, Bucky snatched your phone and changed your displays to the most embarrassing and ridiculous photos of yourself.

A sunset was changed to you mid-sneeze. Alpine was changed to you post-nap. You partying with the gang was changed to an extreme close up of your face in that very photo. Louisiana docks were changed to you mid rant as you yelled at him to give you your phone back. A cherry blossom was changed to you passed out on the couch, wrapped up in a hoodie you stole from him and drooling all over the sleeve of it. 

As time went on, you stopped being surprised whenever it happened, and you grew to enjoy it. It was a silly thing, but it was a silly thing that only you and Bucky shared. It was a special thing, a cherished thing. It was your favourite thing.

Neither of you realized how the dynamic between the two of you started morphing into something else right in front of your very eyes. It was slow. It was gradual and complex and delicate and went unnoticed for almost a whole year. 

It was only noticed now, as Bucky took the opportunity to grab your phone as you slept soundly against his chest. It had been a while since he was able to get a chance to do this, and so he eagerly unlocked your phone, already running through different ideas of what picture to use. 

He was caught off guard when the picture staring back at him was from a few weeks ago. It was the day you finally convinced him to let you drive his bike after months of endless asking. It was a photo neither of you knew Sam took until later that night, when he sent it to both of you. 

It was you, sat in front of him on the bike and wrapped up in his arms, one securely planted on either side of you as his hands rested on yours, guiding you through everything as you both gleefully laughed at the fact that you actually managed to convince him to do this. 

For once, Bucky didn’t have the heart to change it. 

He couldn’t. 

It was his wallpaper, too. 

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Someone You Loved

I'm a mess since I finished Xavier's myth and my period came early so now I'm just sad and can't focus on anything else. Headcanons for the men when MC breaks up with them. Warnings: None, but lots of angst because everything SUCKS. Love and Deepspace. Hmph. More like Love and Deep Depression.

In the darkness, Zayne wakes suddenly, his hands instinctively reaching out to pull you to him; only for his grasp to curl into cold sheets and emptiness.

How long had it been? Since he’d slept peacefully? The nightmares never seemed to plague him when you were asleep beside him in his bed, your breath softly ghosting the crook of his neck. He glances up at the ceiling trying to calm his breath. The little dreamcatcher you’d hung so long ago sways slightly and his heart clenches. The bed felt too big for just him. Before meeting you he slept in the middle; now he can’t bring himself to take back your half, leaving it empty, remembering the way your curled form occupied it.

The only time he saw you was when you came in for your checkup. And you seemed fine, which was good, but a part of him is haunted by the possibility that maybe something about him had made you leave him. You had insisted it wasn’t but he can’t help but run scenarios over and over in mind, swirling like a mess of ink in water.

Perhaps his reticent nature had finally driven you away. Or his sarcasm. Or maybe the scars on his hands. Women didn’t like scarred men, did they? He’d wondered about that for too long before Greyson, catching him staring at his hands, said, “Your hands are healing Dr. Zayne. Why do you look at them so doubtfully?”

After those words had been spoken, Zayne had thrown himself into his work. He’d always been a workaholic of course, but it had amplified to a point where he couldn’t go home. It was on purpose. He slept in his office until his superior had caught him, insisting he can’t sleep here.

No one was checking in on him. No one to remind him to take a break or to coax him into taking a nap in between patients. No one waking him up with a smile and a slice of cake that they’d picked up on their way to his place.

The nightmares started after he tried sleeping at home. He hates himself for feeling like a little boy, unable to sleep without a security blanket. But he needed you. The way all living things needed air and sunlight to thrive, he needed you in such a poignant way that it almost stops his blood knowing you’re not in his life anymore.

He knows he needs to sleep. Silently, because that’s what he’d grown accustomed to, silently rolling out to bed so as to not disturb you, he pads over to his closet and pulls out a t-shirt, far too small to be one of his own.

The t-shirt had somehow survived the purge, the day you’d taken all your stuff out of his apartment. It was strange to look at his apartment now because all he sees are the empty spaces you left behind. The spots on the windowsill where your little planters used to be. The blank space on the nightstand on your side of the bed where your phone, earbuds, and hand lotion used to once sit. The cup in the bathroom now holds only one toothbrush.

He brings the t-shirt to his nose and instantly your scent fills his being. He’s thankful he didn’t return it to you as he’d initially planned. The piece of fabric that retained the wonderful smell of your shampoo and the fresh scent of your skin. It calmed him. Cradling it against his cheek, he makes his way back to the bed, laying the t-shirt on his pillow and burying his nose into it as he tries to find a comfortable position.

The t-shirt works its magic, eventually lulling him into a dreamless sleep. The only peace he’s ever known was when he was with you.

It was hard to avoid Xavier no matter where you went. His being your upstairs neighbor and your mission partner made it impossible not to see him. His chest ached whenever he saw you but he masked it with a smile. He never stopped looking out for you. Because he had promised, hadn’t he? So many centuries ago, in a different lifetime, that he’d always be there for you no matter what?

The day of the breakup is always a blur to him. He can’t recall any of the details, but he remembers your face with clarity, remembers the pained expression in your eyes. He had soothingly embraced you, encouraging you to talk to him about what was bothering you, because even his deepest worries never fathomed the idea of you leaving him.

Xavier had frozen when you had tearfully whispered that you wanted to break up. Surely he had misheard you? But no, he hadn’t. You had tried, in vain, to get him to explain where he disappeared to. It bothered you when Xavier disappeared and it didn’t matter if he came back each time. You told him you wanted the truth, and nothing less than that would convince you to stay. Xavier had faltered; he knew he owed it to you, but he didn’t know where to begin.

Philos was a distant dream, probably lost to time and deepspace but he couldn’t help it. The possibility of returning to his own timeline weighed down on him, a heavy burden of duty. If it had been just him, he would have gladly given up months ago, content to stay here with you. But the crew that had accompanied him, dedicated to his cause, stuck here because of his decisions deserved the chance, and he couldn’t give up on them.

Knowing he would never be able to explain without hurting you, he had given you a sad smile, his blue eyes growing misty as he tried to put conviction into his words. “I hope you find someone more worthy.” The feeling of your hands leaving his felt like a rift had divided his heart into two, a chasm separating you both. You left his apartment, and he spent the night on his balcony, listening to your sobs carrying through the air, not knowing how he could take away your pain. 

With much trial and error, Xavier now had a cordial relationship with you. He accompanied you whenever you asked. He still hung out with you at the arcade and came out for hot pot whenever you asked. Because hadn’t he promised to love you even when you weren’t his?

Xavier watches you talking to Tara and when you finally catch his eye, you give him a smile and wave, which he returns. Although he wishes you weren’t broken up, it always brings him relief to see you smiling. He had felt the satisfaction of watching you become a happier person, seeing you grow and eventually finding joy around you. And that would have to be enough. 

He would settle for having you in his life any way he could, even if you decided you didn’t love him. Because after losing you twice, he’d take anything to cut his losses. 

Thomas follows Rafayel around his studio. He can see the state Rafayel is in, the dark bags under his eyes, and the unkempt hair and clothes.

“Rafayel, I think some rest-”

“I don’t need it.” Rafayel picks up a paintbrush, which is already messy from the various hues it was dipped into previously and begins to put strokes onto his canvas. Across the room are scattered paintings and unfinished sculptures, all half-done and looking rather gloomy. 

Thomas tries again. “I can book you a weekend at your favorite onsen. Perhaps a massage. It’ll help clear your head.”

Rafayel glares at him, anger in his lavender eyes. “I said I don’t need it. I have work to do. You know where the door is.”

Signing, Thomas takes his dismissal and the studio is plunged into silence. Rafayel tries again to finish his painting then grits his teeth and hurls the paintbrush away. Droplets of paint drip across the marble floor as it clatters some feet away.

It had been a while since you had broken up with him and Rafayel feels like he’s stuck in time. All his works are incomplete, becoming a neverending list of things that he might never actually pay attention to again.  

Of late, he’s obsessed with trying to paint you, but each time he recalls your face, something or the other feels off. The shape of your eyes, too slanted to be accurate, the curve of your nose, too round to be correct, haunt him as he gazes at the canvas before him. It was you, yet it wasn’t you. 

There’s panic growing in his chest at the idea that he might be forgetting what you look like. His hands and memory seem to be at odds with each other, unable to communicate and translate what he was remembering onto paper. 

He traces the edge of your face, the paint smearing his fingertips, frustration welling up in his heart. He feels disappointed in himself. Hadn’t he said to himself that even if you forgot, he’d remember for the both of you? Yet now, he can’t recall the features of your face, like the image of you in his head was behind a pixelated curtain, and all he could recollect were rough features that somewhat resembled you.

He might put himself into a manic state. He hasn’t slept, haunted by the possibility that he may never paint your portrait accurately again. Rafayel pulls out his phone, the light illuminating his tired face and he desperately looks through his photos. A few days after the breakup, in a fit of rage, he’d deleted all your photos off his phone, an action he now regretted.

“Please…please…there’s gotta be at least one…” he prays as he swipes through the pictures. As he’s about to give up, he finally comes across a single photo, a group picture, taken from his art exhibition some time ago. And there you are, all your features coming back to him with painful clarity. With a sigh, he picks up a fresh paintbrush and tries again, feeling relief flood him as your familiar face finally begins to bloom onto the canvas. 

Luke and Kieran looked in concern at the closed door of Sylus’s room. Sylus wasn't the type to conduct business remotely. Even with all the henchmen at his disposal, he still preferred going out into the N109 zone to ensure his armories and money accounts were secure. But after the breakup, he had been delegating more and mingling with his associates less. 

The missing bottles of whiskey hadn’t gone unnoticed by their keen eyes, and the twins carefully crack open his bedroom door a fraction. He’s slumped over the large desk made of fine oak wood, a liquor bottle cracked open, and a glass in his hand. 

His ruby eyes are hazy and it’s clear he’s intoxicated. The little grumpy crow plushie was sitting on his desk, and his unfocused eyes were gazing in reminiscence at it while Mephisto glared at the soft toy in objection. 

“Boss?” Luke dares to approach him, and Sylus looks up sharply. 

“What?” The irritation in his voice is evident. 

“Um…Your meeting with the protocore dealer. He just left a message saying he hasn’t been able to get in touch with you and…” His voice falters as Sylus’s eyes glow like embers in a fireplace.

“He can wait.” The words are snarled as he downs the whiskey in a single gulp before pouring more. “Get out.”

Luke and Kieran retreat but they glance at each other despairingly. This was the N109 zone after all. Dealings with mafia leaders didn’t just get put on hold without consequences.

“Damn it all,” Sylus murmurs. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, and all he sees are your eyes, fixated on him in horror. He was used to the erratic atmospheric changes in the N109 zone but the night you left, it felt like he was being choked by the air, not a drop of oxygen left for him to breathe in. He knew he’d overdone it when threatening the merchant, knew he should have controlled himself from using his evol as cruelly as he had. But he needed the upper hand and the only way knew how to assert himself was through violence.  

He’d never hurt you. His precious little dove, his whole heart. But what you’d witnessed had left you terrified of him and his ominous abilities. Sylus had begged; his pride wasn’t so great as to risk losing you. He’d fallen to his knees, his arms locked around your waist, his cheek resting on your chest, listening to the way your heart was beating in your ribcage. It was hard to say how long the two of you had remained that way until you had gently disengaged from his grip, bid him goodbye, and left. He wasn’t deterred at first, calling and texting you desperately, sending gifts and bouquets to your door until you had called him and told him to stop. 

He drinks, feeling the heat and the sting of the whiskey as it goes down his throat, the only thing that helped with the pain. You were the sunlight in this dark world and without you, Sylus feels nothing except coldness. You were gone, the only blessing he’d ever received.

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @supernaturalbaesduh @ladyparamount

[ohmygraves]

the first time you and ghost became roommates, he didn't have a lot of things.

he had his essentials, packed in a duffel bag and like, two moving boxes and that's it. he didn't even have his own furniture or pots and pans, so the two of you didn't cook for the first few weeks living together. he seems perfectly content with just living with the furniture that came with the apartment, an old beat up sofa and dirty stained dining table, together with a few chairs and old mattresses in each bedroom. you made it a goal to get rid of the smelly bed as soon as possible, working your arse off to afford new beds for the sake of your back.

ghost, or well, simon, don't feel the need to own too many things. he thinks it's a nuisance, since well it'll be tiring to pack so many things when he needs to move again for some reason or another. even when he stayed in the barracks, his room was always the most bare out of everyone.

you were the opposite, of course. you liked having lots of personal items and memorabilia, or just trinkets that you like in general. your shared flat is full of your items, posters hung up on the wall, framed pictures, potted plants, consoles and books, whatever you have. it felt like the place was only occupied by you, and with how often simon was away on deployments and missions, it might as well be.

you both split duties when he's around. you cook, he does dishes. you take out the trash, he cleans the bathroom. you tidy things up and he'd mop/vacuum it. he insisted that you cook since he's not much of a cook himself (which, explains why he doesn't have a single kitchen utensils in his stuff) and that you're better at cooking than him. he'd gladly deal with all the dirty jobs for you, wouldn't be the worst thing he did anyway.

you and simon get groceries separately (his "groceries" consisting of some type of booze and maybe toiletries, perhaps some snacks if he's feeling fancy), but very rarely you go together with him to tesco or something. you always have to remind him to note whatever things needed to be replaced at your shared flat, so that you don't have to go multiple times just to get a bottle of dish soap or toilet paper.

you two bicker like an old married couple sometimes, because he's a smart ass and would tease you, and you'd get mad at him for eating your things or using your soap/shampoo.

sometimes you wondered if rooming with simon was a bad idea, but he had always made sure to keep your job easy for you except for a few minor inconveniences he did on purpose just so you'd scold him. he helped move furniture and do the heavy jobs for you, and not to mention he leaves you alone, never nosy or get too friendly with you. although at the same time, he expected you to do the same for him.

if he tells you when he's coming back after missions, you'd get him a treat when he gets home, some beer already chilling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks on the counter, together with his favorite takeout dinner (of course, you'd ask for the money back. you're not made of money if you're rooming with someone). some snarky note like "shower first before you sleep, stinky" or "it's 30 pounds for everything, you're welcome".

simon didn't think much of it, but he definitely took you for granted. you're a nice roommate, you two get along, and you're a great cook. you made sure to feed him whenever possible (because you're convinced he'd actually forget to eat when he's alone, considering his groceries as mentioned before), and not to mention you made his masks and balaclava smell nice and clean when you do laundry.

you'd patiently help him sew, teach him how to mend his clothes when he has the time (which is still a funny sight seeing how small the needles looked between his thick massive fingers). he always gets frustrated, telling you that you did a much better job than his lousy stitches that wouldn't even hold up after one wear. you'd sew all tears and holes on his masks and clothes, patch the holes up when you could.

in return, he'd bring some of your favorite snacks home. he always said something along the lines that it was on sale, or that it's buy one get one free, but you noted that he always brought home your favorite things after you mended his clothes, or helped him in some way. you didn't mind, you liked the snacks and it's nice that he shows his gratitude in this way.

you try to ignore the thumping of your heart every time he hands you things while saying "reckon you'd like this."

[cokou]

❝ EMBARRASSING MOMENTS DURING SEX PT2 ❞

[Multi Character Fic] [マルチキャラクターフィクション]

Summary* quite literally the title, embarrassing things that happen during the do. Warnings* NSFW Note ✉* ~ I feel sadz ong😵‍💫 || MORE FOR LAW AND THE OTHERS LOLZ // do not translate, transfer, or reform. This is my only account (exp. Ao3), will not be crossposted in any other platforms. // Masterlist // PART 1

❝ TRAFALGAR LAW ❞

—Back when you asked him to try out toys with you and he agreed, when the toys arrived he immediately disagreed and demanded a refund from the seller because apparently you ordered those 20 inches dildo's and he gave you real scolding afterwards. (Its not exactly DURING the deed but..) [-373 Aura]

—WHEN he insisted that no one would hear you in his office because no one was currently on the ship since he sent them on an expedition and Shachi bursted on the door making you guys scream in shock. Law panicked and accidentally roomed you outside the ship, IN THE SEA NAKED.

❝ EUSTASS KIDD ❞

—Back when he invited Killer on a threesome, then when it came to the bedroom the two of them decided to fight on who's going inside your puss puss and Killer called Kidd 'selfish' because he already felt you before and they decided to have a battleground in your room.

—When you were riding him so fast that you accidentally slipped of the bed taking him with you on floor and you twisted your foot. [-210294844 aura😥]

❝ AKAGAMI-NO SHANKS ❞

—He asked Benn what position he should do to you, INFRONT OF YOU, and he recommended helicopter style. 'What the fuck'. (Not exactly DURING the thing but😭😭)

—When you were away from him at the time since you had to take care of a mission and you got a call from Benn that Shanks needed to speak to you, his dick got stuck on your teddy bear's thread and almost cut his circulation off. (☹️)

❝ SABO ❞

—You both agreed to use a condom for safety purposes, unfortunately, the size you bought was a size bigger than his. During the deed he didn't realize it came off INSIDE YOU, so now you're in the hospital getting rid of the stuck condom. Advance Happy Father's Day, Sabo.

—Unknowingly, you two didn't notice that Koala was in the same room as you guys while she slept. In the middle of the session she screamed "SHUT UP" and jumpscared Sabo, causing his dick to have a tereible cramp and, (not suprisingly) rushed him in the ER.

P.S. he almost broke his dick.

©Cokou 2024, all works belong to me.

[undressrehearsal]

is it casual now?

chapter 1

summary: you and ellie agreed that this was just for a little fun - so what's the harm in her inviting you to joel's for a movie night?

word count: 2.3k

tags: nsfw, fingering (e and r receiving), angst, dub con?? i think?, does this count as public sex?, this shit's messy af y'all, mean reader, toxic relationship

a/n: i've wanted to write a fic based off this song for a while now. i've seen a few people write it (the song's a banger) but i only ever see ellie being written as the distant toxic one and tbh i don't think that matches her character so here's the opposite

also i hid a one last stop reference in here if you find it you get a prize (it's not hard to find)

if you wanna be tagged in the things i post, just lmk in the replies!

Joel was trying to decide what movie you should watch. 

At least, Ellie thought he was. She could see the way his lips were moving - could even make out the words Dawn of the Wolf, whatever that meant - but she couldn’t actually hear him. She sat across from him at the dining table, nodding along, trying to school her expression into a pantomime of interest, but his words were drowned out by the ringing in her ears. 

Your hand on her thigh crept higher. 

Ellie shifted in the uncomfortable wood chair, uncrossing her legs only to recross them, and your hand didn’t move. You stroked slow circles into her jeans with your thumb; she would have thought it was absentminded if she didn’t know you so well. Ellie could see you in her peripheral. You smiled politely, nodding along as Joel listed off what movies he had found lately - it had become his mission to hunt for them while he was on patrol. (He always insisted that Ellie needed to be familiar with all the classics from before the outbreak.) 

Somewhere past the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, Ellie heard Joel say her name. She blinked, shifted in her seat again, and replied intelligently, “Huh?” 

He shook his head at her and laughed as he said, “Where you at, kiddo?” 

She ran a hand through her hair, purposely avoiding looking at you - she knew she’d only find that shit-eating smile on your face. “Sorry, had patrol late last night. Yeah, that movie sounds cool.” She had no idea what movie he had suggested. 

It didn’t matter much in the end. After switching off the lights, Joel sat back in his big old recliner (he’d looked like a fucking kid on Christmas morning when Tommy gave that to him), leaving the couch to you and Ellie. You leaned into her with your head on her shoulder; she had her arm draped over the back of the couch, not quite touching you. She was dancing a fine line between wanting to hold you and knowing you wouldn’t let her, but the tightrope was slipping from under her feet because you had put your fucking hand on her thigh again. She’d swear there was a damn magnet connecting your hand to her. 

Ellie covered a gasp with a cough when your hand drifted between her legs. Your eyes were glued to the flickering television, but there was no hiding the small, satisfied smile on your lips. And she fucking hated herself for wanting to kiss it more than anything. 

The tattered blanket you shared covered up the fact that the tips of your fingers were grazing across the seam of her jeans. Even the ghost of friction made her squirm, the movie becoming nothing more than white noise. You were too fucking bold, and her head spun when your nimble fingers undid the button and slid the zipper down so slowly it ached. When your fingertips dipped below the waistband of her boxers, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Joel. He was enthralled in the movie, and she couldn’t even pay attention to it; she hated herself for that too. 

She knew she shouldn’t; she knew she should’ve grabbed your wrist, told you to stop so she could just enjoy the movie with her… with Joel. He’d been trying to plan a movie night with her for a week, and tonight she had finally been free from patrol. God, she shouldn’t have invited you, but when he asked if she wanted to bring a friend, of course your name had popped up. 

She should have known it would be a mistake - an intoxicating one, but a mistake nonetheless. And when you dragged your fingers over her, pressing the lightest pressure to her clit, it took everything in her not to tilt her hips against your hand in search of friction. 

Ellie bit down on her lip so hard she'd swear she tasted blood when you dipped just the tips of your fingers inside her. It was embarrassing how easy it was - how wet she already was and you had hardly even touched her. But when you circled her clit, your fingers already soaked, the shame burning in her chest evaporated. Her eyes fluttered, heat burning in her stomach, your touch setting her aflame. Her fingers dug into the back of the couch. She longed to touch you, to just wrap her arm around you and hold you close, press your head to her chest so you could hear how her heart reached for you. 

Instead, she could only grip the couch behind your shoulder, gritting her teeth against the ache of it. You didn't even look at her, playing with her as though it were an afterthought, but there was no missing the smirk on your lips. She hated it; God, she wanted to kiss you. 

Ellie didn't dare look at Joel - she didn't think she could handle seeing him so engrossed in the movie he had been so excited to show her while she sat only a few feet away, coming undone on his couch. She couldn't handle the shame rising in her throat again. If she looked at him, she was sure she'd be sick right there. 

She tried so hard to keep it together - her hips ached from the force of holding them still, her lip surely cracked from biting it. Her chest burned with the moans she had to swallow like acid. But she couldn't keep it all in - it was overflowing. And when finally, the coil in her stomach threatening to snap, a low groan spilled from her lips, Joel turned to look at her. 

Ellie didn't want to think about what he saw, but whatever it was, it made his brow pinch in concern. She couldn't meet his worried eyes when he said, “You okay, kiddo? You don't look too good.” 

Your fingers hadn't even fucking slowed. You looked at her with a mask of concern, batting your eyes so innocently even as you pressed your fingers into her, curling them so you hit that spot that made her see stars. And then Ellie did grab you, gripping your shoulder in warning and glaring down at you. You wrinkled your nose, but relented and slid your fingers out of her; her grip tightened when you slid back over her clit. Fuck, she never should've invited you. 

Ellie cleared her throat; she couldn't look at either of you without feeling sick, so she turned her gaze to the movie. What was it even about? 

“Sorry, I just-” Her voice was strained, suffocating in her own throat. She felt like she was going to swallow her own tongue. The coil in her stomach tightened and she felt nauseous. She groaned again, and the words tripped over themselves in a rush when she said, “I don't feel good.” 

Ellie stumbled to her feet, forcing you to withdraw your hand; when she glanced down, she could see that your fingers were wet and it made her stomach twist. Keeping one hand over her stomach to hide the fact that her fucking pants were undone, she hurried from the room, ignoring Joel when he called after her. She couldn't look him in the eye or else she might actually puke.

Making a beeline for the bathroom, Ellie slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, the wood cold against her back. She took a deep breath, counting the cracks in the ceiling until her heart finally stopped bashing against her ribs, her throat burning. Pinprick tears stung her eyes as she fixed her pants, her fingers shaking so hard she could hardly grasp the button. 

Cursing under her breath, Ellie braced her hands on the bathroom sink, her shoulders sagging. Her eyes were rimmed red; she scrubbed her hands over her face roughly, willing her stomach to settle. 

She shouldn’t have been upset, really. The first time your hand had found its way into her pants, all those months ago, you had made it perfectly clear what this was. She could still hear your voice from that night, saccharine sweet and smelling like the whiskey you had nabbed from her cabinet: Come on, Els, Jackson’s so boring. We can just have a little fun, right? She remembered the weight of your body when you climbed onto her lap, your thighs warm on either side of her hips, your hands pressing her back against the couch. She could still feel the way your breath had ghosted over her neck, your voice dripping with honeyed desire: It's just a little fun.

Her own eyes looked so unfamiliar, a stranger peering at her from the bathroom mirror. 

Cursing again, she turned on the faucet, bending to splash water on her face - it was December and the water was so cold it numbed her hands. It was a welcome relief against her burning skin. 

Ellie felt so fucking dirty it hurt. No matter how she scrubbed at her skin, rubbing it raw, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of it. The cold water stung her cheeks. 

A knock on the door made her jump, cold water splashing down the front of her shirt. She cursed, pulling the damp fabric away from her chest with a grimace before calling, “Give me a minute, okay?” 

But you had never been very good at listening, had you? You didn’t even look surprised when you pushed the door open, ignoring her protest, and found Ellie leaning against the counter, water still dripping from her chin. If anything, you looked almost amused, quirking an eyebrow at her. It was the look you gave her every time you got her worked up, your eyes showing the laughter you bit back. She fucking hated that look. 

Ellie glared over her shoulder at you, but there was no real malice behind it - even when she hated you, something in her still softened when you were around. A switchblade girl with a cotton candy heart. 

You closed the door softly behind you, leaning back against it with a smug smile that she wanted to wipe off your face - she just wasn’t sure how she wanted to yet. Ellie could hear how your ego tinted your voice when you said, “Joel sent me to check on you. Probably thinks you're barfing your guts out or something.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes, looking away from you and mumbling, “Yeah, I guess dinner didn’t sit well….” 

You scoffed and the sound went straight to her stomach. She felt rather than saw you step behind her; she tensed when you placed your hands on her hips, leaning forward to put your chin on her shoulder. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink so hard she thought the porcelain might crack. She could feel the heat of your body all the way down her back, your hips pressing into her ass, and her traitorous heart fluttered embarrassingly. 

Ellie met your eyes in the reflection, watching as your smile grew into something almost mocking. You placed a kiss on the back of her neck, pressing your words into her skin: “Damn, Els, I didn’t know Dawn of the Wolf got you so hot and bothered.” Your fingers pressed into her hips, pulled her back against you. She failed to smother the sigh it pulled from her. She hated how it made your smile widen, and she hated even more how much she wanted to fucking kiss it off your stupid face. She shivered when she felt your teeth graze over her neck, and almost missed it when you muttered, laughing, “God, you’re so fucking easy, you know that?” 

Ellie shoved away from the counter, spinning on her heel and grabbing your wrist before you could flinch away. You had only blinked before she slammed you back against the wall, praying that Joel didn’t hear it. Her fingers wrapped so tightly around your wrist she could feel your pounding pulse, pressing it to the wall above your head. She slipped her thigh between your legs, pressing up into you, and she only had a moment to register that smug fucking grin before she slapped a hand over your mouth. She relished in the way your eyes flashed in something akin to fear. She had to find wins where she could, right? 

Leaning forward so her nose brushed yours, Ellie growled into the back of her hand, “Don’t make a fucking sound.” 

And she did get to wipe that cocky smile off your face. She kept her hand over your mouth, releasing your wrist to snake her arm between your legs. She muffled your moans, hissing when your nails dug into her biceps. 

Joel was in the next room, she thought distantly. Joel was in the next room, watching the movie he had been so excited to show her. He was in the next room, concerned about her, waiting for her, and here she was pressing her best friend into the wall of his bathroom. She had your pants around your ankles, two - three - fingers pushing into you. She could feel the vibrations of your moans against her hand - she wanted to press her lips to yours and swallow them, knowing you would never let her. 

It came too fast, Ellie pressing into you relentlessly if only to make you fucking shut up for once. Your body shuddered against her, and she wanted to hold you through it, but by the time it was over you were already pushing her away. When her hand fell from your mouth, you were smiling again. Maybe she was going to be sick after all. 

@filtered-sunlight

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Star 1117

human!wooyoung x alienoid!reader

space apocalypse au

genres and warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn, bittersweet i hope, bits of hurt/comfort, alien yeosang and human jongho scs, coachella yun cameos, violence warnings

wc: 26k

synopsis: on your mission to save your home star 1116, and to find the last planet in the temporal nexus galaxy called star 1117, you arrest the human from earth- jung wooyoung. you find that he's been receiving cryptic messages from your galaxy, ones that make you question your purpose. together, you uncover secrets and take big risks to find the truth about the galaxy and star 1117's existence while wooyoung teaches you the true meaning of 'home'.

manager-nim: @eightmakesonebraincell ("or just die bro" "yeah it's not that hard" - famous last words from loren and yumi) (disclaimer: ^said in the context of the fic)

Home is not where the heart is.

You’ve always thought that it was a very human thing to think of the ‘heart’ as anything but the organ that it was. The heart’s only function was supposed to be to pump blood into your body and keep you running. But often, it was romanticised as a repository that stored human emotions in all their hideous glory. That was human nature in its nutshell which eventually doomed your forefathers, resulting in a bitterness that etched itself on the strands of their genes of which you carried generations worth of despite your half-human nature. 

The bitterness was justifiable. Your great-grandfather did not know that when he left his home, the planet Earth, he would get lost in the endless expanse of space and never find his way back. You often wondered if the humans ever even looked for him but you wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t. Somehow, he ended up receiving help from the Nexi and ended up on a planet just like his homeland and died trying to find his way back.

It was him who introduced that saying- home is where the heart is. You often read his journals and found it strange how he described everything that was close to his heart- the family he had left behind, a ‘cat’ which was supposed to be some strange, harmless feline creature that often dwelled in the homes with humans, and a lot of other things that made little to no sense but often sparked curiosity in you. He had left his heart back on the planet Earth and he died trying to find his way back. Perhaps, his home was where his heart was. But to you…

Home was Star 1116, the land where your parents gave birth to you and the land where they were never accepted. The planet that resembled the Earth that had been their home had their forefathers never left in search of finding something similar. Home was the land that had raised you with its magnificent, tall, iridescent mountains and deep, dark valleys that glowed from within when it met the golden gleaming soil that lit up your planet. Home was a location- the place where you took your first steps and found out what it meant to be half human- dangerous yet protected. Home was the place they told you to leave because they were scared of what you could do, even though you looked just like them. You had a human heart, which was an insult, not a compliment, even though your father insisted that it was the latter.

Your heart was inside your body. Your home was tem-nex units away, so far that you could not even see it anymore. Your home was not where your heart was.

“Any more reminiscing and you will find that you can blast lasers through your eyes too.”

“Yeah. I’m getting tired of her sighing. It sounds awful,” Yeosang said but you ignored him, shooting a glare at Jongho who shielded himself as if you really were going to blast lasers from your eyes.

“You’ll be the first to know if I do,” you told him, tossing your grandfather’s drawing of his cat on the desk where it landed between a pile of journals. “Any update on our target’s location?”

“Just a few tem-nex units away now,” Jongho said, adjusting his vision glasses. “Wanna place bets? I have a feeling it’s one of our old human friends in a dusty old spaceship running away from the Nexi.”

“I have a feeling that it’s just a poor rock and our systems need a big software update,” Yeosang sounded tired even though all he had done recently was lay limp on his couch. 

“I’m with Yeosang on this one,” you went towards him and he raised his hand to share a fistbump but you just pulled him up, earning a startled yelp from him. “Go check the exhaust outlets and our guns. If it’s a rock we need ammo to blast it. And I’m tired of hearing your tired voice when all you’ve done is rot the last few days.”

“Nothing’s fun anymore,” Yeosang pouted, collecting himself. “Our exhaust outlets are fine, our ammo is all loaded. We still have no clue about Star 1117’s location or purpose. I’m just making the same old mandatory assessments and I’ll come back right here and lie down just like before-”

Your pupils must have contracted in warning because he raised his hands in surrender before scurrying off. Jongho’s low giggles echoed in the control room and you took your seat back, sharing a grin with the human. It was always fun to bully the oldest in the room, especially to Jongho who was the youngest and the only human aboard.

You were both in the middle of checking if all the buttons on the panel of your rather old spaceship were working, with you making a few quick repairs, when Yeosang’s hasty footsteps caught your attention. He took a few deep breaths before he knocked on the metal wall to get Jongho’s attention.

“Is our radar not working?”

“It is,” Jongho confirmed, “What’s wrong?”

“I can spot a spaceship not far from our current location- unidentified,” Yeosang said and Jongho frowned, checking the radar. He looked at you and you touched the panel, allowing the silver, branch-like neurons to extend from your fingertips and read the device, trying to assess any damage but detecting none. 

“Radar’s fine. Are you telling us that it might be an unregistered spaceship?” You asked. 

All the spaceships in your galaxy, the Temporal Nexus, were supposed to bear a location tracking device and if in the rare instance that a spaceship did not have one, it was never a good sign.

“Come, check it out,” Yeosang urged and the two of you uncertainly got up, following him towards the back of your ship to the window. Indeed, you could spot the outline of a rusty old spaceship in the distance and Jongho lent you his glasses so you could zoom in and take a closer look.

It was definitely not a Nexi spaceship, yet it was in Nexi territory, far from where humans had ever dared to roam. The only time humans had attempted to cross over was how your great grandfather made it to Star 1116, which led to a lot of complications with the planet Earth and its humans and eventually, the Temporal Nexus Accords were penned. The crux of it was that both Nexi and humans would follow these rules and regulations for harmony in space- harmony was a funny way to put it when the humans knew that they could easily be outmatched. 

“It can’t be a human, right?” Yeosang asked, his glinting silver eyes indicating that he felt threatened. “It must be someone fooling around. Should we take a look or let it go?”

“It’s still an unidentified spaceship,” you reminded him. “We’re literally space patrol, Yeosang. We can’t let it go.”

“You know it was just an excuse to kick us out of Star 1116 because we were snooping around,” Jongho scoffed and you rolled your eyes- somehow, you were still more butthurt about it than the human himself. “But yes, we should take a look.”

“Alright, steer closer. Yeosang- you and me, dome, now. Get the guns.”

While Yeosang went to the storage, you hurried behind Jongho back towards the control room and pressed the button at the far end to get access to the ladder that led you to the observation dome. You made room for Yeosang and Jongho passed you binoculars. Crouching on all fours, you narrowed your eyes in focus as you peeked through the lens, muttering curses when you found how tinted the viewscreen was. There were human alphabets inscribed on the spaceship which confirmed your suspicions.

“Anything ring a bell?” Yeosang asked as he crouched down next to you, taking the binoculars from you. Yeosang was referring to the ships on the watchlist that you had been monitoring for a while now. 

“Nothing. You?”

“I don’t see anyone inside. What are the chances that it’s abandoned?”

“Only one way to find out,” you smirked and Yeosang shook his head. 

As Jongho decreased the speed when your spaceships got closer, you noticed something odd- almost like a few lights flickering inside the spaceship from what you could grasp, considering the heavily tinted viewscreen. You wondered what that was for. Yeosang warned Jongho to take care of the oxygen levels as he pressed the button on the glass dome, opening it and activating the manual shield just in time-

You got your answer in the form of a rocket colliding with your spaceship which rattled you despite the shield. You gripped at the shaft tightly, allowing yourself just a moment before joining Yeosang outside and asking him to lift the shield so you could prepare for the offensive. Yeosang passed you the revolver and you wrapped your hand around the hilt, a grim smile starting to spread on your lips as you allowed the neuron extensions from the tip of your nails to grow and slide inside the gun to wrap themselves around the bullets. 

While Yeosang provided cover, shooting any rocket that came in your range, you fired and shut your eyes, waiting for the bullet to hit the exterior. As soon as you felt the collision inside you thanks to the neurons, you let the bullets sink into the spaceship so you could read it.

There was a single human on the spaceship, as young as you. Strangely, the fear factor the human was displaying was less than the aliens you had caught on patrol, which was commendable. Perhaps, the human was a fool and had no idea what he had gotten himself into- you may be half-human but that did not mean you were going to pity the intruder. 

“He’s going to run out of ammo soon,” you opened your eyes, switching your weapon and helping Yeosang, shooting bullet after bullet that disintegrated the man-made ammunition in a mere blink. “I wonder how much he brought to have lasted this long- he’s so far from planet Earth.”

“I guess you’ll ask him soon,” Yeosang fired at the last rocket and snickered. You started making your way towards the ladder, preparing to gain access to the human’s spaceship and making sure to keep your revolver with you. Perhaps, the human would like seeing that in your hand.

When Jongho stopped the ship, you opened the hatch on your spaceship to access the ladder so the two of you could walk across to the other. You started knocking on the entry hatch once you reached the human’s spaceship but you didn’t get a response. You placed your hand on the surface and spoke, making sure your voice would be heard inside the vehicle.

“You can either open and welcome us, or we will welcome you. You won’t like that.”

A few moments later, the hatch opened with a loud shudder, allowing you both inside. You waited until it shut before walking forward, observing your surroundings which weren’t much, just equipment, until you heard a shuffle. 

And then came in front of you a man, a human man who felt as familiar as Jongho whom you had spent all your life with, yet so different. Even though he looked at you with a sort of surprised glare, dark tendrils of his hair covering his furrowed brows, his presence had a warm quality about it and you wondered if it was a human thing- you had definitely felt it with the humans around you. Some of them.

He stood his ground, defenceless and squaring his shoulders with every passing second. “Welcome to my humble abode. I’m Jung Wooyoung, at your service.”

Yeosang raised a brow and looked at you- you were far too busy identifying the possible layers within that delicate voice. Your lips parted as if to say something but you couldn’t produce a single sound at the moment so Yeosang decided to take over.

“What in the stars is a human doing here alone?” His voice boomed in the room as he asked. “You’ve violated just about a handful of the Temporal Nexus Accords. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“Well,” he shrugged. “It’s not like I can go back. I’m wanted on Earth too.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to roam around? You’re almost out of food and you just ran out of ammunition-”

“But it looks like I haven’t run out of luck,” he breathed, collecting himself with a wink in your direction which threw you off. “What do you usually do with people like me?”

“Escort them to the station for judgement.”

“Yikes,” he said. “I have so many questions but I’ll hold back.”

You spotted the nervous shift from one leg to another as he put his hands in the pockets of his black trousers. He was obviously considering all his options which frankly were quite limited. He had just about two choices- get escorted to the station or face execution right here.

“How did you make it so far?” You asked, frowning deeply. “Even the Nexi find it hard to avoid the patrol when they try to reach human territory.”

“Let’s say I possess a special set of skills,” he grinned wickedly. “Stealth, for starters.”

“I don’t quite believe that,” Yeosang commented.

“Well, your ship did not catch mine on radar, did it?” Wooyoung asked and Yeosang confirmed that it hadn’t. “Also, when you’re running from two groups of species, you find that there is no better fuel to reach the victory line than desperation.”

“Why are the humans after you-”

“What do you mean by victory line?” Yeosang asked at the same time and you both exchanged glances- this sure was an odd individual. You urged Yeosang to continue. 

“How far did you want to travel with such limited supplies?”

“Not that limited,” Wooyoung began to argue but you raised a hand in the air, making him raise both his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’m doomed anyway. Go ahead. Finish your job.”

“Why are you here, and why are the humans after you?” You asked, stepping towards him. “Answer properly this time.”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“In space?” You looked at Yeosang, knowing that the human wasn’t telling the whole truth. “And so far away from your home?”

“Yes, and I’m not sure if that someone is still… well, alive, in one form or another. But I needed to check a few things for myself,” he said in all seriousness. 

“You’re looking for a human? Did your human get lost in space?” Yeosang asked.

“Not my human,” Wooyoung let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s complicated, but I’m not sure if it’s a human or an alien I’m looking for. Could definitely be one of the humans from the group  that got lost around here a few decades ago- a descendant of them. I don’t think they got ‘lost’, by the way, but maybe that’s just me.”

You licked your lips in thought, trying not to look at the very bewildered Yeosang but you both knew that the humans he was talking about must be your ancestors and the group of them. “What’s it to you, then? Who are you to try to find them?”

“Again, I’m not trying to find them, they must be dead by now, but I’m curious to investigate. I was obviously a fool for taking matters into my own hands, but they didn’t take me seriously, the people back on Earth,” he admitted. “And when I started looking into the matter, they tried to get rid of me. Subtly. But I’ve always been known to possess maniacal qualities, and here we are.”

You grimaced at that, “So you’re an idiot. Yeosang, take him.”

“Wait,” Wooyoung snatched his hand away before Yeosang could grab him. “Let me grab my things.”

“You won’t need them,” you told him. “You should have stayed back on Earth. You might have lived longer.” 

With that, Yeosang strapped the vitals regulator watch on Wooyoung and you started to leave the ship, wanting to go back to the comfort of your own ship as soon as possible.

“You’re a human, aren’t you?” Wooyoung asked and you stopped in your tracks, turning back to meet his eyes as a deadly silence overtook. “He’s an alien, this one, even though he looks human, but you… You must be human.”

“I’m an alien,” you glared at him, the neurons from your fingertips branching like claws to prove your point. “And it would do you good to shut your mouth.”

However, you weren’t sure if your words triggered him or if he just had a mouth on him- was it a human thing? Jongho was talkative but a different type- cracking random jokes.

But this man?

He was getting on your nerves. You had to admit that his lung capacity was admirable considering the long string of sentences he sprouted as soon as he entered your spaceship. You caught a few words- something about a ‘cool’ spaceship, some technical stuff that to your horror, Yeosang was happy to provide his input for, and then something about his own rusty old spaceships and how ‘humans could never’.

“Oh, now that’s a human if I’ve ever seen one,” Wooyoung clapped his hands as soon as he saw Jongho. 

“How can you tell?” Yeosang asked. “I thought I looked like a human too.”

“Nah, you’re too pretty,” Wooyoung waved a hand in dismissal and you blinked. “It’s the sheer… presence of him. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Jongho started chuckling after he recovered from the initial surprise of seeing a human on board- a human that was not a resident of one of the 1117 planets in this galaxy. 

“I don’t know what you both mean,” Yeosang almost pouted.

“Come closer,” Wooyoung called and you watched in horror as Yeosang obeyed, the three of them huddling close to each other. “This human- the warmth, the smell-”

“You’re telling me you could tell I’m human because I stink like one?”

While your crew burst into giggles, afraid to laugh properly in fear you would react aggressively- which you seldom did but you made sure the fear factor was a constant- Wooyoung started profusely explaining that he didn’t mean it like that but there was something about humans that smelt and felt like home to him. He did not comment on how you had admitted that you were human too. 

“Oh, you humans and your associations with the word home,” you spat, getting morbid flashbacks of the time your father tried to explain how association worked and failed. “Lock him in the cell- he’s too talkative.”

“Hey!” Wooyoung yelled at you but Yeosang reluctantly patted his back, telling him the cell wasn’t that bad, just a room where he could take his final rest before being presented in the station for his execution, which did nothing to help the human. Meanwhile, Jongho started going through Wooyoung’s things and you joined him, finding a few strange food wrappers and pens, a compass that made you smile in awe because it looked very much like the one you possessed, a bundle of notes and folders, an odd device that you set aside for the time being, and then his own journal.

You held the journal in your hands and allowed yourself to look at his memories associated with it, shutting your eyes and watching the images that flashed in your mind-

Grass. More vibrant than the grass on Star 1116, decorated by little colourful flowers that you had always heard of but never seen. The laughter of a woman and the laughter of kids, spreading warmth through your chest. Large bodies of water, as blue as the sky, welcoming you in its cool embrace. 

And then… anger and confusion. Screaming and shouting- your face suddenly felt wet. Were those tears? You hear incoherent yelling and loud thumps of things as they smashed against each other. You felt terror consume every fibre of your being and you felt out of breath- you were running. Soon after followed a sense of dread before guilt consumed you-

“Captain- hey, y/n,” Jongho cautiously shook your arm, bringing you back to reality. “You good?”

You retracted the neurons and set the journal aside, realising your face was wet. “He knows about Star 1116.”

Jongho pursed his lips in thought. “Is that really something we should worry about?”

“He knows our ancestors made it to Star 1116,” you added for clarification. “He mentioned that he didn’t think they got lost in space like everyone claimed they did.”

“Ah… that complicates things, doesn’t it?” 

“Are we sure the station wouldn’t have caught his spaceship on their system?” You asked, moving towards the control panel which was displaying normal readings. 

“What are you thinking?” Yeosang’s voice interjected as he entered the room. 

“I need to have a talk with Wooyoung,” you said, looking at your partners. “He intended to find Star 1116 and the humans living there and collect some evidence regarding them.”

“Well… he’s found them,” Jongho raised his hand. “I think his mission was successful in that case.”

“Half successful, and he might not know that Star 1116 is a habitable planet for humans. He might be thinking you’re from Earth.”

“One way to find out,” you stifled a devilish grin.

“Don’t go all kitty claws on him,” Yeosang warned with a chuckle and you hissed at him- he always used that phrase, having heard your father call you that when you were younger and more reckless with the alien traits that you inherited from your mother. 

You told him that you would not need to do that. He was here on a mission and this was the perfect opportunity to use that to gain a possible ally. You took a closer look at his navigation equipment before going to your room to rest, taking the strange device that looked like a radio with you- you didn’t want the boys seeing you get emotional again-

And talking about emotions- why did the human’s overwhelming feelings cause your heart to clench in pain? Why did it bring tears to your eyes? You didn’t despise human emotions- you thought they were beautiful in their own strange way but never did you think you would be able to relate to them on an intrinsic level. Perhaps, it was the human in you. No matter how much you tried to repress it, it would always remind you that it was a part of you, integrating with your Nexi gene as one.

But you soon found out that there were other forms of emotions that involved tears, and not just the embarrassing ‘crying’ you had almost done earlier.

There were tears rolling down the cheeks of both the human and the alien in your crew as they laughed their lungs out. You had heard a bunch of inhumane noises in your sleep which prompted you to wake up and take a look, but the last thing you expected was-

“Are you having a fucking party here?” You grimaced at the sight of the three boys in a circle with half eaten food in between, noticing a bunch of new dishes that you hadn’t seen in a while, the fragrant scent of it filling your nose and almost calming you. Wooyoung looked at your disgusted expression and only laughed harder.

“This one was supposed to be in the cell,” you pointed at Wooyoung as you looked at Yeosang and Jongho in question. “What is going on?”

“He was complaining about being hungry and when he offered to make us food, we decided to check how good a cook he was,” Jongho answered. “Surprisingly good, turns out. You should have seen him in the kitchen, y/n.”

“Since the station hasn’t sent a message yet, that means they haven’t figured out that we have a human aboard. We could use him as our servant,” Yeosang’s eyes gleamed with mischievous hope.

“That’s what you think of me?” Wooyoung smacked his biceps, looking hurt. “I thought we were friends!”

“No one is becoming friends with anyone here,” you clapped, prompting the boys to start cleaning up. “Don’t make me call the station myself, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Aren’t you a boomer,” he clicked his tongue.

“A boomer?” You asked, wondering what that meant. 

“A true boomer,” Wooyoung grinned, passing you a tray of food he had kept for you. “Basically means you don’t know how to have fun.”

“I’m not here to have fun,” you grimaced at the word and he pressed the tray into your hands before resuming tidying the floor, leaving you standing awkwardly in the middle. Yeosang caught your eye and urged you to sit and try the food and you reluctantly obeyed-

And immediately thought of home.

Home, when your grandfather and grandmother were alive and cooked the human dishes for you- the dishes that they had learned from their parents. You could taste the familiar spices that your grandmother loved in the broth Wooyoung made, the scent immediately transporting you to one of your happier memories when you didn’t have to worry about being an anomaly and could enjoy simple moments with your family. You looked at Jongho who was smiling knowingly- he could definitely understand what you were feeling right now.

“I can’t eat this,” you looked at Jongho.

“It’s okay, Captain,” he chuckled. “It’s just like our grandparents made for us, yeah? Go on, have a taste of the vegetables too.”

You hesitated but reluctantly took a spoonful of the vegetables with rice, a sense of dread washing over you but Yeosang’s hand on your back calmed you and you realised that maybe, the feelings of dread were present because you were scared to accept that there was a human on board who was making you acknowledge the human parts in you through food, of all things. 

That’s what you disliked about being human- that you were so easily swayed.

Wooyoung watched you cautiously from a corner while he absently sweeped the floor with a broom- he hadn’t expected you to react that way and it was surprising to see the group of you interact. If you weren’t fully human, he wondered why you weren’t as hostile towards Jongho as you were to him.

You finished your food before you knew it, and though it annoyed you that Wooyoung was proudly grinning, you decided to give it a rest for now and focus on the more important matters. 

“What is this device?” You placed the black rectangular, almost hollow box on the table and Wooyoung pursed his lips, tossing the broom in the corner and joining your crew on the table. 

“What do you think it is?”

“A broken radio?” You asked, opening its back to show how it had no batteries. “I can’t read it.”

“And what would you mean by that, sweetheart?” Wooyoung asked and once again, you had to repress the anger bubbling in your throat at the term while Jongho and Yeosang shifted uncomfortably in their positions.

“I can read memories and emotions or feelings associated with objects, and I can’t read this,” you clarified for him. “And I want you to tell me why unless you want me to read you.”

“That’s… strange, actually,” Yeosang cocked his head, taking the device from you. “Are you sure you can’t read it?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed, looking at Wooyoung. “So?”

Wooyoung’s hesitation was palpable. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Don’t even think about lying,” you told him, the neurons protracting from your fingernails making him jump a little.

“Whoa, put your murder mittens away,” Wooyoung shielded himself with his hands raised between you. “You probably can’t read because it’s what it looks like- a broken radio. It has no deeper meaning-”

“Everything has a deeper meaning,” you glared at him. “You wouldn’t bring a broken radio to space, for starters. Have you been getting some sort of a signal?”

When he didn’t answer, you knew what you had to do. You looked at Yeosang who nodded and came in front of Wooyoung. “If you really want to get somewhere with her, you better cooperate.”

“I would, but I don’t know if I can trust her- you guys with the information I have,” he admitted, sounding serious. “I do receive signals sometimes, but they don’t really make sense. I’ve been able to trace them, though, and it looks like they come from around here.”

“An alien sending signals to a human on earth?” Jongho looked at Yeosang. “Doesn’t sound implausible. What for, though?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Wooyoung shrugged. “It’s mostly gibberish- I can’t make sense of it.”

“Did you at least note them down?” Jongho asked.

“Yeah, in a notepad- it should be in my bag,” Wooyoung said, getting up and grabbing his bag from the couch, shuffling through it while you made eye contact with your crew, all three of you as sceptical as the other.

“It’s not here?” Wooyoung looked at you. 

“Everything that belongs to you is in that bag,” you said. 

“We didn’t touch it,” Yeosang said, and the boys raised their hands in surrender.

“Did you drop it?” Wooyoung looked incredulous.

“I’m not that clumsy,” you got up, snatching his bag and looking through it yourself but finding no signs of a notepad. You shot him a dirty look. “You left it behind on purpose, didn’t you?”

“That thing?” Wooyoung pointed his finger outside, the veins on his neck and arms popping out in anger. “It contains everything I worked for. It’s the reason why I risked my life to come here, and you’re telling me that we left it behind because you were in a rush?”

“So it’s my fault now?” You scoffed in disbelief. “You could have mentioned you needed to get your little notepad when we were transporting you!”

“Well, I obviously did not want someone to see the contents of it!” 

“Guys!” Jongho butted between you two, making you both sit down on the couch. “It’s okay. Wooyoung, just allow y/n to look into your head so she can copy everything that was on the notepad here for you. Simple! No biggie!”

“I won’t let her do that,” Wooyoung folded his arms. “That’s invading my privacy.”

“You’re invading our privacy by being here too,” you commented. 

“Then throw me outside,” he simply said and you groaned loudly. Yeosang stifled a smile- he had never seen you so riled up and he made a mental note to thank the human later.

“Please, cooperate,” Yeosang requested gently. “She knows the importance of privacy and will do her best to not snoop around in your mind and only look through the contents of the notes. Right, Captain?”

You nodded. You opened your mouth to add that you couldn’t help it if the person you were reading unintentionally pushed a memory your way but Yeosang knowingly ignored you and continued. “Wooyoung, if we think the message you’ve been receiving is important, we might not deliver you to the station at all. You sound like an excellent navigator and… we kind of need that.”

“We don’t need that-”

“Oh, shut up,” Yeosang waved a hand and you pouted. “You can take your time thinking about it- we don’t have to do that now. But we will have no choice but to report you to the station if we can’t find some common ground.”

“Between death and joining you, there’s not much of a choice here, is there?” Wooyoung asked grimly and you almost felt sorry for the human. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll write what I remember from the notes, but you can help me fill the gaps.”

“Wonderful,” Yeosang clapped. “Let’s scatter now.”

—--------------------------

You had to admit, you felt a little sorry for reacting that way towards the human who, like he had said, really had no choice but to cooperate or face death.

Or perhaps, it was the Wooyoung being human and sneaky and making you feel guilty on purpose. You wouldn’t put past humans to do that- sure, you were the daughter of one and a friend of another, but you had seen your fair share of humans hiding behind the excuse of their ugly nature.

However, your guilt solidified when you found the man diligently scribbling in a new notebook with a jug of coffee by his side. You shook your head at the sight- what was with humans and their addiction to caffeine? But you supposed you couldn’t complain- whatever kept the human running and made your job easier. 

You sensed Wooyoung’s body getting tense when he sensed your presence and you knocked on the door right at that time, pretending you hadn’t been standing there for a solid few minutes. He nodded and you entered, sitting down next to him.

“What are you writing?”

“Anything about navigation that I can recall from the top of my head,” he showed you the notes and you made an impressed face. 

“Are humans on Earth that advanced in space navigation already?”

“As of recently, yes, but not many, and they usually keep it to themselves,” Wooyoung told you. “They’re afraid the government and the space councils will exploit their services.”

“Sounds like our government,” you scoffed.

“I guess we do have something in common then,” he grinned. “I was one of the few who kept my research to myself, but I also made the mistake of snooping around and finding things I shouldn’t have learned.”

“You said something about the group of humans who got lost in space,” you asked, shifting on the couch so you were facing him. “Do you remember their names?”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes slightly. “Those humans settled on Star 1116. Jongho’s one of them, right? A descendant of them?”

You nodded and he wowed at that, taking a few moments to let that information sink in. “And what about you?”

“I’m one of them too,” you admitted. No harm in him knowing. “My mother is a Nexi, though. My father was the grandson of one of the humans who got lost- but why do you believe they didn’t get lost?”

“I heard the superiors talking about how their spy network failed to achieve results,” he sighed and you felt your heart sink. “The plan was  to pretend to get lost and settle on one of the planets in the Temporal Nexus so they would keep reporting back to Earth with their findings.”

“Did they?” You asked, unconsciously holding your breath.

“I guess they felt welcomed enough that they stopped very soon, and my people never looked for them in fear that their secrets had been exposed. The Temporal Nexus Accords happened right after so the humans on Earth had to pretend they had no knowledge of those humans in space and thought they died.”

You fell silent, staring at the rings on Wooyoung’s fingers while you processed that.

Your great grandfather and great grandmother were spies. If anyone were to find that out now… 

“They must have lived well,” Wooyoung said gently with a smile. “I won’t tell anyone, if you’re worried about that. I’d say Jongho, at least, deserves to know the truth though.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I’ll tell Jongho soon. They lived well, but after they had kids and our grandparents were old enough to have their own, the Nexi started discriminating. It got a little messier afterwards, but we’re still here. Just… kind of outcasted.”

“The Nexi are just like humans then. It’s such a human thing to discriminate among races, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame them,” you scoffed. “They will have a field day if they learn that they were right about humans all along.”

“But who’s gonna tell them?” Wooyoung pretended to zip his mouth. You smiled at that and he smiled back. “Did you come to read… me?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you said and he resigned into the couch. “It won’t hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m worrying about, but okay,” he urged you to start and you raised your palms in the air, letting the neuron extensions protrude from your fingernails. Wooyoung watched in awe as the silver steel-like branches curled around each other in an intricate pattern. 

“I’ll touch your forehead and close my eyes when I read,” you felt the need to tell him. “I will try not to look into your private memories but I can’t control what you send me, and unless you have a good mental fortitude I will only see what you show me.”

“Interesting,” he said, gulping when you scooted forward. You locked eyes with him, finding it almost endearing how his mismatched yet beautiful eyes widened when you gently placed your palms on his temples, letting the neurons extend and entangle with his hair to stick on his scalp.

“Ah… that tickles a bit,” Wooyoung muttered and you stifled a smile. “Do I close my eyes too?”

“You don’t have to,” you answered and shut yours. “Think of your notepad, now. I’ll have a general look before I start noting down.”

“Got it,” he said, shutting his eyes to focus.

You saw the notepad, as clear as day, and the last place he recalled using it was the control room in his spaceship. You relaxed when you realised he had indeed been telling the truth. You then saw the navigational reading and glimpses of incomprehensible messages- incomprehensible to him. 

You were about to draw back but you saw a montage of his memories in the spaceship- you felt the loneliness that he had felt being alone in space for so long- a few months and no human or alien contact. You felt a bit of dread as he wondered if he made a wrong decision leaving the Earth in the manner that he did- stealing information and sneaking past them. You felt his will to live fluctuate when it started to feel like he was on a wild goose chase. 

And then you felt just the briefest moment of acceptance when he noted down how long he had to live with the amount of food he had left on the spaceship. He was mostly relying on supplements but he wasn’t sure how long that would keep him healthy.

Before you could draw back, he pushed one memory in focus- the reason he cooked for all of you tonight. He was grateful to be alive and he needed the food more than you- more for the joy of cooking for himself and for others, for the act of simply eating with company, no matter who it was.

When you opened your eyes, you found that you were just as breathless as him. You didn’t know if he had intentionally pushed that memory into focus but it was enough. 

“Well,” you retracted one hand away, keeping the other at its original position. “Might be a little uncomfortable but we should start writing now. You can help me fill in what I don’t understand, is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” he adjusted himself so the notebook was between you two on the couch now. You rested your elbow against the cushion so it wouldn’t hurt. “Shall we begin?”

It took you about an hour of filling in the gaps but thankfully, Wooyoung had done most of the work. The navigation section was finished soon and then you moved to the messages he received from the radio which you realised were in one of the Nexi codes. It required a series of messages to be arranged in a specific numerical pattern to decode it. Thankfully, Jongho had the right device for it so you intended to let him handle that department.

While writing the notes, you learned about his time at the space centre on Earth. Wooyoung seemed to be a talkative person and you listened to his story about how he and a few other astronauts and space scientists always disagreed with the government which ultimately controlled their operations. Apparently, the humans were always on the lookout for a number of things- a planet like Earth, for starters. The secret to stop ageing or extend the age cycle.

“Why would they want to extend their miserable lives?” You grimaced when you heard that. 

“Sometimes, the little things are enough to want to live a little longer, I suppose,” Wooyoung mused, taking the pen from you and finishing a string of messages for you before handing it back. “There’s a race of you that has an unusual cycle, isn’t that so?”

“The Original Nexi,” you told him. “A few descendants of them still live though they are scattered and stay low. They don’t age like we do- after a certain age, I suppose around sixty, they start ageing backwards. They get to be young again but the fun ends there. They’re back to being babies and then one day, they turn into stardust and scatter in the atmosphere.”

“How poetic,” Wooyoung scratched his chin. “I suppose it has its pros and cons.”

“More cons,” you commented. “No one wants to take care of you by the time you become a baby for the second time.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s a sight,” he snickered, asking you to skip an irrelevant section and you started on the last page. “Look at that. We’re almost done.”

“Thank you for cooperating,” you meant it. “Your navigational skills… they’re quite impressive. I might just have a place for you on this ship. Depends on your behaviour though.”

“You are on your worst behaviour, I want it just like that~” Wooyoung started singing and you smiled- his voice really was pretty. 

“You seem to like that song.”

Silence filled the room and you finished writing the last sentence, shutting the notebook and turning to him, finding him surprised.

“How did you know?”

Oh. You had made a mistake.

“What did you see?” Wooyoung asked again, and this time, involuntarily you saw more memories and you shut your eyes because of the intensity of those memories-

Wooyoung’s voice. He was singing the song in a small room with the lyrics on the screen, loud background music blasting in that space along with the sound of uproarious laughter, the bass of the music in synchronisation with his heartbeat. Bright, colourful kaleidoscopes of lights danced with their bodies, swaying around one another. You felt joy, in its pure and raw form, and then-

You were transported to another memory associated with that song- back in the spaceship as he sang it alone, his voice the only thing echoing off the walls with only the dim white light to accompany him. There was no joy anymore- just yearning for something that was not and might never be.

“Get out of my head, y/n,” Wooyoung gently wrapped his hand around your hand that was still placed on his temple. You opened your eyes in surprise at the contact, blinking a few times to let your vision adjust. His words finally registered inside you and you looked into his eyes.

He wasn’t angry. He simply looked tired and perhaps, he knew exactly what memories you had seen. You retracted the neurons from his scalp and now that it was just your fingers tangled in his hair, you unconsciously caressed the soft strands. He moved your hand away softly, placing it in your lap and looking at the joined hands for just a moment before he pulled away.

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” he nodded in understanding. “It’s okay.”

You nodded, realising you were still leaning into him. Taking a deep breath, you picked the notebook and got up.

“The notes will be with Jongho- he can decode the message,” you told him. “You can rest now.”

“Can I ask you something?” Wooyoung looked at you expectantly. You raised a brow and he took that as a sign to continue. “Do you only read the memories or are you able to feel the emotions or feelings associated with the memory too?”

Your silence was enough for him. He nodded in understanding, having gotten his answer.

As you made your way back to your room, you wished you could have told him that this was the first time you felt human emotions in such depth, in such an unfiltered and almost vulnerable way. Such innocent, humane feelings that almost made you forget that alien blood ran through your veins.

—---------------------------

While none of you had officially announced Wooyoung’s position as a navigator in the crew, he seemed to take on that role naturally. He made home in the control room with Jongho and they learned a lot from each other- Jongho about navigation and what it was like to be a human on Earth, and Wooyoung about the Temporal Nexus Galaxy and what it was like to be a human among the Nexi.

However, the more interesting part was how he managed to make Yeosang warm up to him. Yeosang wasn’t one to talk a lot and none of you in the crew were very physically affectionate, yet it seemed like Wooyoung had claimed the man as his target. He was always clinging to him- holding his hand, clutching his arms as he rubbed his cheek against him, casual pats and ruffling of hair (of which Jongho was also a target), hugs of all and every kind, and smooches. What was funnier was how Yeosang claimed to dislike all of that yet you would find him smiling to himself afterwards. 

Whatever it was, Wooyoung had a magnetic personality and everyone’s eyes followed him, as did yours. You were often in your designated corner with your journals and equipment, making calls to the station to send daily reports, sending messages to anyone who would want to hear your theory about Star 1117 and possibly help you in any way while not reporting you to the authorities. It was hard to be in the same room as Wooyoung and not look at him and lean towards him, you were finding. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t try to be as physically affectionate with you as the rest, or not include you in whatever stupid debate they decided to have for the sake of passing time- he was simply hesitant to touch you because he wasn’t sure if you could read him without your neuron extensions- or ‘murder mitten’, as he referred to them. Kitty claws was not the only term thrown around now.

Jongho’s device had successfully decoded the message but you were all waiting for the next signal as there were still missing parts. The radio was kept in the middle of the room so anyone could hear it if it woke up. Meanwhile, you shared your knowledge about Star 1117, the planet that could not be found. 

In the Temporal Nexus Galaxy, there were exactly 1117 stars or planets in the beginning, as marked by the Original Nexi, the first aliens born out of the celestial matter when the galaxy came into being. While the 1117th planet was never located, it was historically and scientifically accurate information that your galaxy had 1117 cycles. Each complete orbit of the planets around the core marked by the presence of a single sun- almost like the sun in the solar system- caused one planet to disintegrate into celestial matter. 

Wooyoung shared his knowledge of your galaxy and you found out that the humans were also aware that the only remaining planets in your galaxy were Star 1116, which was your home, and Star 1117. Star 1117 existed but it could not be located no matter how much the authorities and everyone else tried- there was too much clutter in the galaxy, they claimed. 

All the planets that finished their cycle disintegrated into rocks and stars. Some of the rocks the aliens made habitable when there weren’t enough planets to accommodate them, while some aliens resorted to pods and spaceships as their home. The further you went to explore in the Temporal Nexus, the harder it got to navigate and find your way back which was why a lot of the explorers who tried to locate Star 1117 or its byproduct (in case they were wrong about Star 1117 still being whole) never returned.

You were just discussing the myths surrounding the star while you ate lunch- Wooyoung was also the designated chef now, and you had to admit that part of the reason you were okay with his presence in the spaceship was because of the food he made for you all and not just because you had delayed your decision until you could properly decode the message. 

“I personally think Star 1117 was the first planet to die and our home is actually Star 1 instead of 1116 and they’re all wrong about the number of cycles that has passed. It’s a reverse order,” Yeosang said. “This, or there’s no Star 1117 in the first place.”

“Yeah, the Space Council could have easily modified the data,” Jongho nodded.

“But I read them,” you said, referring to the council members that you had secretly read. “They don’t think that’s true.”

“Maybe they’re made to think that that’s the truth,” Yeosang pointed out and you shrugged.

“Maybe Star 1117 isn’t a planet like your other planets in this galaxy,” Wooyoung added casually while munching on a potato stick. “Maybe it’s just an ugly old rock and you all think that it has to be a planet like Star 1116.”

“Well, I hope the authorities are looking into that possibility because the current cycle is ending soon. That means there won’t be a habitable planet for humans,” you said, looking at Jongho- while you were part alien, you functioned more like a human and couldn’t just travel in space without a certain amount of oxygen, just like Jongho. “And that also means that we will lose our home.”

Yeosang passed a tight-lipped smile at that- you all had family who lived in Star 1116 and refused to leave even though they were aware that this planet would soon disintegrate. They wanted to live there until the last possible moment before making a decision- die with the planet or move to a space pod. They were too old to do anything to save their home so you were using this opportunity to try to save it for them, along with your crew. While the government did not allow such missions for the common people, you were carrying it out secretly. You would be labelled criminals if you interfered with their mission.

“That’s a shame. I’ve heard Star 1116 is a very beautiful planet,” Wooyoung said and you all nodded- it really was the most beautiful planet to ever exist in that galaxy. “What do you plan to do about it?”

“Honestly, we have no idea, we’re just trying to find more information on when the cycle will end so we have a clue about how much time we have instead of waiting for the government to announce that we have numbered days,” Jongho said. 

He was about to continue when you heard static and you almost thought it was one of your own radios until Wooyoung got up and brought his radio back to the table, the four of you huddling closer to watch the messages appear.

“Pass me a pen,” you asked Yeosang who obeyed and you gave it to Wooyoung who had already opened the notebook to write down the message. It was mumbo jumbo to the three of you but all the colour seemed to leave Jongho’s face when Wooyoung finished writing the message.

“What’s wrong?” Yeosang asked, patting his cheek to make him come back to his senses.

“Uh, let me confirm the message,” he mumbled weakly and you rushed to get his decoding device. He thanked you and started to insert the message in the device while already knowing the final version since he had played with this device enough to not need it anymore. When he typed the decoded message, he looked at all three of you before setting it in the middle of the table.

“‘I am 1118,’” Wooyoung read the message, frowning. “‘Do not save 1117.’”

Silence filled the room as the message hung in the air over your heads, your hands getting clammier with each passing second. You looked at Yeosang who looked just as lost and then at Wooyoung who was checking his readings again as if making sure that he hadn’t made a mistake.

“There is no Star 1118,” you said what everyone was thinking out loud. “Isn’t that right? Wooyoung?”

“I’ve never heard of Star 1118,” he admitted in all seriousness. “Star 1117 has always been the focus of attention, right?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “But someone from Star 1118 is sending you a message and telling you not to save Star 1117? Is that what it is?”

“There can’t be a Star 1118,” Yeosang frowned. “We can’t even locate 1117. I think if there were two missing planets, we would have found at least one, right?”

“Unless the government is hiding something?” Wooyoung suggested. “Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Yeah, he might be right,” Jongho agreed with Wooyoung. “But I think we should start with locating where this message came from. That would certainly make things easier.”

“I suggest an infiltration of your space council to find information because it looks like you’ve had no luck so far,” Wooyoung raised his hand while looking at you, asking if everyone was in.

“That’s too risky-”

“But you can read the aliens, right?” Wooyoung interrupted and you folded your arms. “You can read objects. You can read their data- all we have to do is sneak past them,” he said, folding his sleeves with a smug face. “And I happen to be a pro at that, as you already know.”

A jab, but also an attempt to smoothen the rocky beginning of your relationship. You scoffed in answer, knowing all too well what he was talking about from the bits you had seen from his journal. “We’ll be labelled space criminals. They would do anything to find us and have us tried in court.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, you’re all space criminals anyway,” he shrugged. “You’ll only be living up to that title. Besides, don’t you want to save your home?”

“You will help us save our home?” 

“If I can be of help,” he nodded. “I came here to find Star 1117 too. We have the same goal, right? Find Star 1117 and save your galaxy. You get to save your home, and I get to rub this in my government's face and… clear the name of my friends who got caught in this mess without me.”

“Didn’t catch that sob story when I read you,” you told him and Yeosang snorted, resulting in all of you sharing a laugh, the room echoing with nervousness, anticipation and excitement-

And hope. You met Wooyoung’s eyes and he nodded earnestly, his smile making your heart feel warm, a feeling you had forgotten.

You smiled back this time.

—--------------------------

“Wooyoung, I swear to the all one thousand, one hundred and seventeen stars, if you don’t move your knee right now-”

“I’m trying,” he hissed, smacking your back and you let out a horrified gasp at his audacity. “I can’t move it- bear with it.”

“It’s digging into my calf and it hurts,” you sighed. 

“Whose genius idea was it to sneak through the vents again?” Wooyoung asked and that shut you up.

It took you all just about two days to form an elaborate plan that would involve Yeosang getting access inside the Space Council building to present the monthly report physically with the excuse of meeting up with his cousin who worked there. When he called his cousin, the poor guy was quite surprised since they weren’t on friendly- or any terms, per se. He did complain about the strictness of the Space Council and how visitors weren’t usually allowed, but since Yeosang’s parents were ex-employees of the Council, it helped his case and his request to visit was almost immediately approved.

That left Jongho in charge of camouflaging the spaceship and he contacted a few of his friends who happened to be mechanics and had some spare technology that they could share with him. They were sceptical about why the human needed camouflage- it definitely raised suspicion, but Jongho had always been good at shutting people up with money so the mechanics were more than happy to help him out, thanking him for helping their declining business. 

You and Wooyoung, of course, had to be the ones to sneak in. You were hesitant to take the human with you- his vitals weren’t the problem since he was wearing the watch just like you which ensured your vitals remained normal. The problem was the risk of taking an unregistered human inside the very space that made sure all humans were registered in their data. 

Plus, Wooyoung’s claim that he could ‘watch out’ while you read their data wasn’t very helpful- you weren’t sure if he would be able to get you out of a tight spot if you got caught. He claimed to be good with guns so you reluctantly loaded him with as many weapons as possible and when you were almost sure he wouldn’t be a liability, if not a help either, you agreed to let him accompany you.

He was good at sneaking in. He had studied Jongho’s inventory of machines and tools and taken anything he thought was useful. While Yeosang entered from the main door, the two of you turned on the camouflage on Jongho’s illegally obtained wristwatch and took access inside the building through the backdoor while another alien entered. Before you could be scanned, Wooyoung pointed at the vents and you squeezed yourself into the tight space, crawling on all fours with Jongho’s voice guiding your directions. 

“Can you both fight later?” Jongho huffed. “Take a left and then jump down- you’ll land in a storage room. I can’t guarantee that it will be empty, so make sure your camouflage is working and you’re silent when you land.”

“Got it,” the two of you muttered in unison and you angrily tucked your hair back before leading the way again, having Wooyoung follow behind you. You paused before it was time to jump down, extending your neurons to read the room and after finding no signs of life for now, you landed softly with a thud, signalling Wooyoung to come down as well.

“That’s convenient,” Wooyoung pointed at your fingernails. “Can they act as a weapon?”

“Haven’t tried that yet but I suppose I’ll be forced to, soon,” you pointedly looked at him and he stuck his tongue out before Jongho asked you to find your way to the storage room that was across the hall. Wooyoung opened the door just a fraction and you pushed him with your elbow to take a peek.

“No one outside?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” you whispered. 

“Well, that’s what your kitty claws are for. Go ahead,” he said and you sat down on the floor, extending the neurons once again and finding a few men who seemed to be on duty, stationed in front of the rooms that were on either side of this room. You got up and moved away to talk to Jongho.

“Is there no other way?”

“None,” Jongho sighed. “Should I ask Yeosang to do something about it?”

“No, I have a sacrificial lamb right here,” you smirked dangerously at Wooyoung, who pointed at himself with wide eyes and furiously shook his head.

Moments later, he was carrying a bunch of folders and going out of the storage room as if he belonged there. You watched from the crack in the door as he pretended to look at the room number and went just a few steps ahead before dropping everything to the floor.

“Curse the stars,” he huffed angrily. “I’m gonna be late and my boss will kill me.”

One of the guards came into your vision, looking at Wooyoung with narrowed eyes. “Who’s your boss again?”

“Just the angriest one here- no need for names, am I right?” He shook his head and the guard seemed to buy that for the moment. “Asked to get some files,” Wooyoung started gathering them and the guard bent down to help. Wooyoung looked back, meeting eyes with you for just a second before looking at the second guard. “Would you help? I need to grab another bundle from the storage.”

The second guard hesitantly joined the first, grunting as he bent down. Your heart seemed to be beating between your ears as Wooyoung came back inside the room.

“What do you say I knock them out?” 

“Just keep yapping- I’ll make it,” you told him and he signed okay, grabbing another box of files and going back outside. You heard the three talk among themselves and you mustered all the courage before making a dash across the hall, turning the knob-

To find it locked. It would need an identification card to open it, and you didn’t have enough time for Jongho to do his thing. Panicking, you looked at Wooyoung who visibly swallowed and you made a neck-slicing motion.

“Now who’s that?” The second guard spotted you and that was all Wooyoung needed to take out his gun from the jacket and smack the guard’s head with the butt of the gun. The other guard punched him in the stomach with such force that Wooyoung doubled up as he let out a weak exhale-

And before you knew it, the neurons were extending from your fingernails and slashing at the guards while forming a protective barrier around Wooyoung at the same time. Wooyoung yelled an ‘I’m okay!’ which finally made you stop- not after having inflicted enough cuts on the guards to make them clutch at themselves in pain. 

Wooyoung looked at you, half-impressed and half-horrified. You decided to make sense of it later and said, “We should probably… shut them in the storage.”

“Yeah… why don’t you use your murder mittens for that too?” 

You scowled at him but did exactly that and Wooyoung smacked them hard enough to knock them unconscious though you were pretty sure it was petty revenge. He dusted his hands and looked proudly at you afterwards, catching you stifling a grin. He raised a brow and you finally let out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“If you have both had your fun,” Jongho’s voice interrupted though he sounded amused- while he couldn’t see what was happening, the audio was enough. “Yeosang’s almost done and you’re still doing god knows what.”

“Sorry, Wooyoung’s having too much fun,” you put the blame on the human and moved along, ignoring the earfull that Jongho started to give Wooyoung. You used the identification card of one of the guards to open the door, finding yourself in the recent archives section of the control room- you didn’t need to tap into the alien parts to hear the chatter from the main room that leaked into this one.

“I’ll keep watch, you can start,” Wooyoung said and you nodded, wasting no time and shutting your eyes, letting the neurons branch out and touch everything in your surroundings- the shelf where hundreds of files were stacked, the numerous hard disks along with paper notes, the walls that contained memories of the people who had touched it recently, the floor where the employees must have walked a million times-

And where Wooyoung stood, and you almost thought your eyes were open when you saw him watching you in awe while staying alert. Despite not wanting to read him without his consent anymore, you saw the brief flash of what was playing in his head right now-

The sight of you slashing at the guards to protect him.

You pushed that scene and the feelings associated with it aside and let the neurons store every bit of information that they could until you started losing your breath and feeling faint- a sign that you couldn’t take it anymore. You thought you heard Wooyoung call your name before you retracted the neurons and rested your back against the wall, catching your breath.

“Too much?” He asked and you nodded, wiping your forehead. 

“We’re done, Jongho,” you said and he hummed in response, letting Yeosang know so he could leave as well. 

“Good job everyone,” Jongho said as you all started to make your way back out. “I’ll serve you all drinks tonight. And maybe sing for you.”

—--------------------------

If you thought Jongho was a good singer, he certainly had competition now. 

Sure, Jongho could move stars with his voice. You always joked that perhaps Jongho was an alien and his voice was his alien characteristic because there was no way a human could sound so powerful and mesmerising.

But perhaps, it was a human thing to sound so captivating, to sing like you intended to break the heart of the listeners and heal it again, to have your voice flow like the honey aliens only heard stories of- something they could describe and perhaps create association with yet only dream of having. Perhaps, it was a human thing to possess a voice that could make you feel like you were floating among the stars as one.

Or maybe… it was just Wooyoung. 

And just you, feeling all of that and more.

You tried reasoning with yourself- you had been hearing Jongho sing since he could speak so it probably didn’t sound so special to you anymore because you were used to it. If you could experience his singing for the first time again, you were sure you would be as blown away as the other person- as Wooyoung was.

But when Wooyoung sang in a voice so soft and mellow, you could feel your heart melt and you felt the sudden urge to sit out on the deck of the spaceship, in the hollow silence of the space and watch the stars.

“No way he’s the same person who sounds like an animal when he talks, right?”

You exhaled in relief when Yeosang said that but you were sure his drunken heart wasn’t as moved as yours was. 

And it didn’t help when Wooyoung locked eyes with you as he sang about the human emotions of longing, sadness, happiness and love. Of sorrow and bitterness, of peace and hope. 

You had been fine for the most part of the night- after returning to the spaceship, the boys started to prepare a meal while you passed out on the couch, surprising Wooyoung who was told that you were just taking a power nap to recover your energy. They woke you up when the table was set and while you ate, you told them that you were still processing the information you had absorbed and nothing you could process so far was relevant. While Yeosang told you all about his ‘adventures’ and how wonderful an actor he is, the room filled with overlapping chatter and laughter with the tinkling sound of your glasses as you drank. 

And now that the humans had been singing for a while, you silently excused yourself with a smile on your face that had been plastered on your face since you woke up. You exited the spaceship and laid down on the deck to watch the endless expanse of the universe. With your hands resting on top of your beating heart, you let your chest rise and fall in synchrony with the glimmering of the stars around you. 

You could hear your own breaths but Wooyoung’s voice still seemed to be ringing in your head and you found yourself smiling again. You recalled when your grandfather had told you stories of his father and his time on Earth- how humans used to sing at gatherings around fire while they ate candies or drank warm beverages. You had never experienced that but you always thought they might have looked strange doing that, until tonight when Jongho and Wooyoung started singing and Yeosang started clapping along- perhaps, this was what it was like to be truly human. To enjoy the little moments in life and make the most of them.

“Now that’s one way to stargaze.”

You almost jumped, letting out a startled sigh and Wooyoung grinned at that. “Can I join you?” 

“Uh, sure,” you patted the space next to you and he settled down, watching you for a moment before he assumed a similar lying position next to you.

“It’s beautiful,” Wooyoung sighed dreamily. “The stars.”

“Sometimes I wonder which of these stars were planets where we lived,” you said. “I think a lot of people here must look and wonder which one of them is their home.”

“It’s a shame how the cycles here work, but isn’t it somewhat relieving to know that the place that was once your home is now all around you? In the form of celestial matter.”

You turned your face sideways to look at him. “Is it though? To know that you have no home anymore?”

“But home is where the heart is,” he smiled, looking at you.

“Do humans still use that phrase on Earth?”

“We’ve always been using it,” he said. “Where did you hear it?”

“From my great grandfather.”

“He’s still alive?” 

“No,” you chuckled. “I have his journals. He missed planet Earth a lot but he said that home is where the heart is and his heart was here with his family. It never made sense to me, though.”

Wooyoung shifted his body to lay down sideways so he could look at you as you talked. “And why is that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Home is a place, not an emotion or a feeling. My home is under the shade of the tree near my house where I grew up.”

“That’s where your heart is,” he told you.

“No, my heart is here,” you patted your chest. “It’s pumping blood.”

“My dear y/n,” he pinched your nose and if you had been sober, you would have smacked him. “Heart is an organ, yes, but it’s also a feeling. You leave a piece of your heart everywhere- back home, with your friends, with the people you lose. It is what makes you a whole person.”

“Still does not make sense to me,” you pouted.

“It will, one day,” he assured you, a knowing look on his face.

“What was your home like?” You asked after a few moments passed.

Wooyoung took a deep breath, folding his arms, his hair beginning to fall sideways slowly. You turned to face him too, unable to resist the urge to tuck them back. He didn’t comment on it, knowing it would remind you of the distance you were always consciously creating. “My home was near the sea- you have it here too, don’t you?”

“Something like that,” you told him, recalling the human sea you had seen flashes of from your great grandfather’s journal. 

“My home was the place where I spent my whole life, where my parents were,” he said and you noted how there was something sad about the way he smiled. “My home is with the friends I left behind, and even though my workplace started resembling a prison… that place is also my home.”

“Was it hard to leave home, knowing you might never go back?”

“Well, I didn’t think too much about it, I trust my navigational skills,” he said and you rolled your eyes. “But yeah. It started feeling like a mistake until I met you guys.”

You nodded- you knew all too well what he was talking about, having felt his loneliness firsthand. “Don’t you want to see your home again?”

“Maybe I’ll go back, but… I think I have a home here with you guys too,” he said cautiously and your brows furrowed as you tried to unravel its meanings. “Don’t you feel like you have a home here too? With the boys?”

You fell silent, pondering over that. “Will you show me your home, Wooyoung?”

“How- oh, with your kitty claws?” 

“I call them neurons, but yes,” you locked eyes with him. “I’ve always wanted to see what Earth looked like from my great grandfather’s mind. His journal doesn’t really give much.”

“What do you want to see?”

“Everything special about planet Earth, and… cats.”

“Cats?” Wooyoung frowned. “I thought you had them here? Yeosang called your neurons kitty claws?”

“It’s just a phrase we adopted from the description of cats and feline creatures we have in his journals,” you told him and he clapped, saying a long ‘ah’ in realisation.

“What about dogs?”

“We have something like that here, but I’d like to see that too,” you smiled.

“Okay, there’s so much to see- do you want to see now?” Wooyoung asked and you shook your head. 

“I’m still processing the information I got from the Space Council. Maybe some other day.”

“Sure, whenever,” Wooyoung said and you watched him for a few moments, the silence surprisingly comfortable.

“Did I scare you earlier?” You finally asked the question that had been weighing on your mind since you came back. “When I attacked the guards?”

Wooyoung stifled a smile. “I think I was more surprised that you went all murder-mode to protect me rather than being scared,” he confessed, “but I won’t lie. It was a little scary.”

You bit your lips, feeling something like guilt wrapping around your heart. Wooyoung inched his hand closer, looking at you for permission before holding your hand and caressing it.

“You don’t scare me,” he admitted, “I don’t care if you are capable of slitting throats with your nails or neurons or whatever they are. I saw how frightened you looked when the guards attacked me. I can’t get that out of my head.”

Now that was new. “Why can’t you get it out of your head?”

“You and your questions,” Wooyoung laughed, bringing your hand closer to inspect. “Hey, your hands look pretty normal. Like human hands. Where do the neurons even come from?”

You showed him by protracting them just a fraction and he wowed, taking both your hands and examining the skin around your nails when they retracted. “Pretty seamless, huh? Can you produce them out of your feet too?”

“Yeah, Yeosang had a wonderful time having me try that,” you laughed at the memory. “I can, but I don’t for obvious reasons.”

“You would look like a frog if you did,” Wooyoung told you.

“What’s a frog?”

“I’ll show you when it’s time, but… I’m scared you won’t like it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and when he started describing a frog, he finally earned the long due smack, your laughter ringing in the space while Jongho and Yeosang watched from the window.

“Didn’t realise she could laugh like that,” Jongho wiped a fake tear from his eye.

“She laughs with us too,” Yeosang said.

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand,” Jongho waved a hand in dismissal. “Her laugh sounds different.”

“Really?” Yeosang looked at Jongho. “Sounds the same to me.”

“It’s a human thing,” Jongho smiled and Yeosang shook his head at that, knowing all too well what he was talking about.

—---------------------------

“We have a big fucking problem, guys.”

All three heads turned dramatically in succession and you looked away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“Did you finish processing already?” Jongho asked and you nodded, slumping down on the couch next to Yeosang who had been pretending to take a nap. The younger two, who had been playing some board game that Wooyoung had been teaching the boys, rolled their chairs in front of you and you nervously fiddled with the sleeves of your black shirt.

“Yeah, I sped things up and… do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

The boys exchanged glances and everyone agreed on the good news first. You took a deep breath, “The Space Council has identified all of us and are sending out ‘wanted’ posters. They know we stole information and they’ve put a bounty on us.”

“That’s the good news?” Yeosang looked just about as horrified as the rest of them. You let out a short laugh.

“Congrats on officially being labelled space criminals now, I guess?” You offered and Jongho groaned loudly, muttering something about how his parents were going to kill him, bounty or not. “Now, the bad news?”

“Go ahead,” Jongho muttered, folding his arms in bitter resignation.

“Well, I don’t know how bad it is but they have secrets that they’ve hidden so well that even I couldn’t read them,” you started and Yeosang whistled at that. “I kept hitting a dead end whenever I came across something related to Star 1117, and there’s absolutely no way of locating the planet- not that they know of, or if they do know, they’re hiding it a bit too well.” 

“So was our attempt futile after all?” Wooyoung asked.

“Not really- it means that they do know a lot about Star 1117- at least the higher-ups. They’re just hiding it from everyone else.”

“Why are they keeping it to themselves? Do they want to keep Star 1117 all for themselves when the time comes?” Jongho questioned. “Do they not want the rest of us finding out?”

“Or maybe they don’t really know a lot and are just as clueless as us,” Yeosang offered. “Did you find something about how to locate it?”

“I think radio waves are our best option, so Wooyoung’s radio will have to do. I have something that can help with that, so let’s just track whoever is sending us that message and get answers from them?” You suggested.

“Sounds like a plan. We’re already working on using the radio as a navigational device so let us know what needs to be done next,” Yeosang agreed.

“Sure. There’s also something strange I came across,” you added, “but I don’t know if it’s of any value.”

“Let’s hear it anyway,” Jongho leaned forward in anticipation.

“You know the stories about the first aliens in this galaxy? The Original Nexi who are supposedly the first aliens in this galaxy?” 

“Yeah, that bloodline still exists, right?” Jongho asked, having recalled hearing rumours about them. “The Original Nexi who are born, grow up until a certain age and then start ageing backwards until they die?” 

“The humans would love to hear their secrets by the way,” Wooyoung looked both ashamed and proud of his people at that moment.

“Yeah, so,” you continued. “I think the first aliens are from Star 1117- that’s what I read in one of the files. That must mean the planet exists. If we can find one of the Original Nexi descendants who are alive today, we might be able to get some information about Star 1117. Maybe some of them even live there and we just haven’t been able to find them. Maybe that is why they’re trying so hard to hide the planet.”

“Woah,” Jongho exhaled deeply. “Now that’s news.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, a sombre silence taking over while all of you collected your thoughts. You decided to break the silence and give them a heads-up. “Since we’ll be wanted criminals now, let’s cut all contact with the station and destroy any tracking devices on this spaceship. Jongho, I trust you can take care of that?”

Jongho nodded and you continued. “Yeosang, please make sure our families are safe when they go to investigate- make sure they know that it might get messy so they can defend themselves if need be, okay?”

“I’ll let our friends know too- especially people we’ve been in contact with recently,” he said in a grim voice and you agreed, the realisation that you would all be in danger soon washing over you with a crash and you involuntarily shivered. Yeosang patted your back. You glanced at Wooyoung who had an unreadable expression on his face.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Wooyoung assured you and you nodded in answer. “Let’s speed up our radio navigation first.”

You agreed and got up, moving towards the control panel with Jongho, and Wooyoung looked at Yeosang, wiggling his brows.

“I guess my role is still chef?”

Yeosang chuckled. “You can keep doing whatever you’ve been doing. Kind of like an anchor, don’t you think?” 

Wooyoung was pretty pleased to hear that, immediately cheering up at Yeosang’s acknowledgement of his role as an ‘anchor’ when he had previously been referred to things like ‘maid’, ‘comic relief’ and worse. He disappeared into the kitchen knowing he didn’t have a lot of time before he would be called to help with the navigation.

And it was about an hour later that the smell of meat prompted everyone to drop what they were doing and join Wooyoung at the table. The meal was mostly silent, all of you feeling spent now that there was a threat hanging over your heads. Wooyoung could feel the palpable stress in the air but let you all have a moment to yourselves. After clearing the table, he was called to help with the navigation and he worked in harmony with Jongho and you, the hours passing by in a blink and sleep forgotten until-

“A signal!” Wooyoung shouted, making you and Yeosang get up with surprised grunts from your half-asleep state while Jongho high-fived him. 

“And, it’s gone- but it was there,” Jongho quickly input the readings into the radar and got a location. “Just a few tem-nex units away, should take us a few days.”

“Brilliant,” you felt hopeful all of a sudden, laughing in relief as you looked at Wooyoung in gratitude. He smiled in return, hand on his chest as he nodded. Yeosang clapped dramatically when Jongho started to yawn, making the two giggle and you got up, looking at the time.

“I think we should set our route and get some sleep, all of us. It was a long day,” you said and everyone agreed, Jongho immediately taking his place on the couch, pushing Yeosang away with little kicks.

“Go to your own room and get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll sleep here in case something fishy happens.”

“Alright, geez,” Yeosang rubbed his thighs, the youngest smiling as he swaddled the blanket. Yeosang saluted you and Wooyoung mockingly before going to his room.

“Want a drink, Captain?” Wooyoung offered and you gave him the side-eye. 

“Shouldn’t you go to sleep?”

“The adrenaline will take some time to wear off,” he explained and you shrugged. “I’d really like to take the drinks outside this time, and I could do with some company, unless you’re too tired?”

You decided to join- you could do with a drink and some company too, you reckoned. It had been a stressful few hours and your nap hadn’t helped at all- you kept thinking about whether you had been too reckless and doomed your friends and family by infiltrating the council and stealing top secret information. Sure, it could be justified- the government was all but dooming the people with the way they were handling things. If this really was the 1116th cycle, they had done little to nothing to prevent an apocalypse and the people were still in the dark about the ensuing damage which could be anywhere from just Star 1116’s collapse to the whole Temporal Nexus galaxy swallowing itself.

And you had never felt so worthless. You were merely a speck of dust in this vast galaxy and everything that you were doing to save it looked like it was all in vain.

“Cheer up, eh?” Wooyoung said as he clinked his bottle with yours. “It will be okay. We’ll be fine.”

You had to admit, you were rather impressed by his ability to read the room or the emotions of someone. He did it better than you could with your neurons and that was saying something. 

“I just feel like I’m going in circles. It’s not the first time we’ve received a signal that indicated that we might be close to Star 1117, but it’s the first time I’ve felt hope. I don’t know what I will do if it turns out to be nothing.”

Wooyoung hummed in thought. “If it turns out to be nothing, you’ll try again, just like you have for so long now. You won’t give up.”

“I know I won’t give up,” you nodded. “I want to do anything to make sure Star 1116 stays like it is, even if… even if I can’t ever go live there again.”

And perhaps, it was that possibility that had been weighing you down all along- what if you were chasing after something you shouldn’t and risking your chance of ever going back home? What if your last memory of Star 1116 would be when you got drafted as space patrol?

You recalled that day- just another morning with you munching on some snacks while you worked at the office with Yeosang and Jongho. The three of you had always been a unit even in the Space Centre in Star 1116. Your unit was the one in charge of detecting foreign matter around your planet but you were always abusing your power- since you had access to a lot of devices and archives, you were conducting your own research about Star 1117 which almost everyone was aware of. It wasn’t something you did secretly anyway.

But even though you saw it coming, the notice that your unit was transferred to Space Patrol still made your heart sink. You went to the superiors to have them change it- Jongho and Yeosang shouldn’t be dragged into something that you insisted on doing, but the two were already there trying to do the same for you. The three of you laughed like fools afterwards as you processed what this meant-

That you were on to something and the Space Centre did not want you snooping around anymore. That was how you ended up harbouring spite for the Space Council and continuing your mission in secret. It had been a long and lonely journey for the three of you but at least you had each other. And with Wooyoung’s addition to the crew… 

Things had definitely changed for the better.

“I can understand,” Wooyoung smiled wistfully. “I didn’t exactly leave Earth on good terms either. It was quite a similar situation as yours- I would have been imprisoned for trying to expose state secrets if I had stayed any longer, so I just decided to sneak away and collect evidence about their dealings with Star 1116 and their plans for Star 1117. I feel sorry for the people I left behind- they must be dealing with my mess.”

You recalled hearing about his friends earlier- he seemed to worry about them a lot. “Do you want to go back… once you collect your evidence?”

Wooyoung shook his head. “Do you think I’ve been doing my job ever since I met you?”

“Well, I didn’t stop you from doing what you needed to do,” you muttered and he laughed.

“Look… there’s no way I’m going to go back to Earth and tell them that you exist. You’re the evidence I was trying to find, and… I’d rather keep you all to myself.”

“Jung Wooyoung,” you warned but he only took a few chugs of his beer in response. You crossed your legs, shifting to face him.

“I understand how much home means to a person, and I wouldn’t want to be someone who prevents you from going home and clearing the name of your friends. Please, I already feel guilty as it is…”

“Look, I came here to find out if the humans that got lost here were still communicating with my people back on Earth, right?” Wooyoung began. “Turns out those humans had morals after all, from what you told me. They never betrayed the aliens here and lived in harmony with the rest of the aliens here. They made a home here. Isn’t that beautiful?”

“And what about Star 1117?” You asked and Wooyoung’s lips tightened in a smile. “What have you been trying to find about Star 1117?”

“Well, you know why they sent your great grandfather and his group to the Temporal Nexus. Humans have always been in search of anything they can get their hands on; they're greedy like that. Be it slowing the ageing process or finding another planet that they can make their home. After all, Earth will collapse one day. In the solar system, they haven’t had much luck so they’ve always been secretly exploring other galaxies.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” You asked. “We’re the same. Our planet collapses and we go live on another.”

“But you take everyone with you, don’t you?” Wooyoung asked grimly and you frowned in confusion. “You do not leave your people to die, do you?”

You shook your head in denial and when he sighed, you had your answer. 

“Are humans that selfish?” 

Wooyoung stretched his arms, a melancholic smile plastered on his face. “Sometimes. Not all of them, I like to believe. It’s just the power that makes them lose their morals.”

“I guess it’s the same here then,” you shrugged. “The Space Council does not want us finding any information on Star 1117.”

“I have a feeling that they have a good reason for that. Let’s hope I’m right,” he settled the empty bottle on the deck. Yours was still half full and in your hands. You watched Wooyoung trace shapes on the surface of the deck, his dark hair falling down on his forehead. 

“Will you show me your home?” 

Wooyoung looked up at you in surprise. “Now?”

“I feel like this is the moment that I should read you,” you answered in all honesty and he looked a little confused but agreed anyway. You scooted closer and raised your hands in front of him. He awkwardly raised his own, intertwining them with yours before he realised-

“Oh, the forehead, right?” He was about to pull his hands away when you let the neurons extend and wrap around his hands, effectively binding them to yours and Wooyoung raised a brow in response, speechless for once. You stifled a smile and let the neurons wrap along the bulge of veins in his arms, the silver branches sneaking under his sleeves and taking shape along his collarbones before appearing on his neck.

When you felt Wooyoung stiffen just a fraction, you stopped, the neurons curling around his neck. You couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he looked with the silver branches on him, and it awoke a spark deep inside you. You almost felt breathless, as did he, before you asked him the one question that would make or break this moment.

“Did I scare you?”

Wooyoung looked at you for a few moments too long, watching your pupils contract and dilate in anticipation, silver like the extension of you around him. And he asked himself-

Was he scared of you? Did the idea of being so exposed to you make him want to cower away? Did he not like the way you had him trapped under you? Did he not appreciate that you were still asking for permission? 

Weren’t you only human too? Figuring out these unfamiliar feelings just like he was? 

Wooyoung decided to take a leap of faith in you and tightened his hold around your hands in answer- you had read him for a long time when he was first brought in your spaceship but that was a wholly different experience from this moment. This was so much more intimate with darkness enveloping the space, the stars twinkling like an endless glimmer around you, and the shift in your relationship now that you had warmed up to each other. 

A different way than he had warmed up to the boys, he noticed. 

“I’m not scared,” he caressed your hands in answer. “I told you before- you don’t scare me, y/n.”

You smiled in response and let the curled branches extend along his temples, wrapping around his head like a crown. You wished he could see himself in that moment, but you shut your eyes as he pushed his memories to you.

Earth. 

So different from the Earth that you had seen in your great grandfather’s memories. There was more architecture- tall greyscale buildings that threatened to touch the sky. Where was the green grass? Why did the sky no longer seem as blue as it had in the Earth that you had seen?

Suddenly, you saw exactly that- a sky of fluffy clouds with rays of sun emerging through it and painting the lush fields of grass yellow. You saw the flowers that you always loved- the same roses and daisies from your memories. There was the sound of water in the distance- waves. It had to be waves. There was the sound of a woman calling Wooyoung’s name and you looked into the distance at the small cottage. Someone zoomed past you and you twirled around again, taking a scared step back as you saw a little ball of black fur-

A cat.

A startled laugh left your lips as the cat rubbed its soft body on your bare legs. You picked it up and kissed the top of its head before running towards the smell of food- Wooyoung’s food- no, his mother’s food. The person he learned to cook from, the taste that he carried in his hands. 

The scene shifted yet again and this time, your legs were submerged in water and you looked around in confusion- why was the water falling from the sky? You craned your neck upwards to find that it was not the sky where the water was coming from but the top of a mountain, the stream crashing against deep brown rocks just like the one you sat on, a green carpet around it- moss, it was called. You had a stick in your hand and before you could figure out what to do with it, you felt two taps on your shoulders. You turned around to see a child who had a stick just like yours with a tiny creature lodged in it, threatening to fall on the ground. Scared, you cupped your hands and let the creature take refuge in your palm. You watched it carefully, the dark green bulge of its throat rising and falling in quick successions, and its tiny, webbed feet-

A frog. 

You were laughing as the frog jumped out of your palm and landed on the rock near you, joining its own little gang of friends. You washed your hands with the cool water and splashed it on the children around you.

This was what it was like to be a kid on Earth. 

You opened your eyes and saw Wooyoung smiling widely. He grinned before he asked, “Did you see it?”

“I did,” you pouted. “And I do not look like a frog, Wooyoung. Shame on you.”

Wooyoung laughed loudly, squeezing your hands subconsciously. “What else did you see?”

“Well, I saw a cat, thank you very much for that,” you smiled. “I could smell food- your mother cooked for you, right? It smells just like your food.”

“Really?” He seemed pleased to hear that.

“Exactly like that,” you confirmed. “And… I saw tall buildings. What was that?”

“That was the city where I lived before I came here, where I moved to after I grew up.”

“It looked… void of life,” you told him and he agreed. “Earth has changed.”

“We call it ‘modernised’,” he shrugged. “But yeah. Earth has changed, and so have its people.”

“Do you want to see my home someday?” You asked, beginning to retract your neurons and he shivered slightly. “It’s not much, but it’s definitely something like the Earth that my great grandfather left behind. And I wish I could show you like you showed me, but… you can see it in person.”

“You’d take me to Star 1116?” He asked in surprise.

“Yeah, well, don’t think I’m doing it for you,” You started and he scoffed. “It looks like we’ll have to go anyway- at least to warn the people if things don’t work out.”

“Well,” Wooyoung kept his hands intertwined with yours even after your neurons were fully retracted. “I’m not one to give false hope but let’s not give up and stay optimistic about this, okay?”

You nodded and looked at his hands that fit so well with yours, and you found yourself thinking how truly incredible it was to be this fascinated by such a simple thing as your hands in someone else’s. And that led you to think about how much you had changed since you met the human from Earth.

Wooyoung seemed to have noticed that you were deep in thought and he leaned down a bit to enter your vision, gently asking, “What are you thinking?”

You looked at his deep brown eyes that glinted with mischief and curiosity as he held your gaze. You let your eyes travel along the slope of his nose, pausing at his parted lips that were starting to curve into a smirk.

“I’m thinking you’re too close,” you muttered, pushing him back but he only pulled you closer which induced a startled gasp from you. 

You sucked in your breath just as quickly when he caressed your knuckles with his thumb before planting a kiss on both your hands. He then proceeded to look at you, his gaze almost darkening.

“Too close?” He asked, almost as a challenge. You were too surprised to answer, an unfamiliar but pleasant feeling pooling in your stomach. 

“Let go of my hands before I chop your hands into pieces,” you warned and he immediately let go, raising his hands in surrender and he would have thought that you were serious were it not for the laugh that you let out afterwards.

“And you said I don’t scare you?” You scoffed. “Try harder, Wooyoung.”

“Hey,” he scoffed back in utter disbelief. “You played dirty. I cherish my hands, okay? If you shred my hands into pieces I can’t do this-”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you close- a bit too close, so that your faces were mere centimetres apart. Your eyes widened in surprise and when his initial surprise wore off, he tilted his head a bit, his eyes scanning your face and looking for any signs of apprehension. Upon finding none, he proceeded to cup your face with his other hand.

“If you hurt my hands, I can’t hold you like this, can I?” He whispered.

“Wooyoung-” you began but he shook his head, planting a chaste kiss on your forehead and grinning cheekily afterwards, making you smile shyly. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said, letting go and scooting away this time. “Don’t go all kitty claws on me please-”

This time, you decided to show him just what Yeosang had meant when he called your hands kitty claws. If it was the planet Earth, or even Star 1116, his shrieks and laughter would have woken creatures from their deep slumber.

But since it was just your spaceship, it only made Jongho and Yeosang grunt in their sleep and his voice was lost to the stars.

—------------------------

“This is insanity,” you managed to say, your breaths quickening with every second as you monitored the radar, watching not one, not two, but three patrol spaceships enter the range of your spaceship, quickly covering the distance behind you.

“We’re running away, right?” Jongho asked but didn’t wait for the answer, pressing a button and activating the speed boost, though that did nothing to calm you. You climbed up to the dome to take a look at your surroundings, zooming through the glasses that all of you had on since you spotted a spaceship following you. 

A number of things had happened in the last few days which led you to this point, so close to finding out the source of the signal Wooyoung had been receiving on his radio. Your names were circulated among all the residents of the Temporal Nexus with a significant bounty on your head, and even Wooyoung’s face was plastered on the ‘wanted’ posters. That prompted you all to cut contact with everyone including your family and acquaintances, though Yeosang had sent a warning to the families and assured them that you would be okay. However, the anxiety that came with the possibility that you all might not ever be able to go back home gnawed at all of you.

For now, there were more important matters. Jongho worked on camouflaging the spaceship as best as possible while the rest of you worked on tracing the signal to the most accurate location, finding yourself in unfamiliar territories. The Temporal Nexus was a vast galaxy and your spaceship was well-equipped so it allowed you to cover a great amount of distance in a short amount of time but there were some spaces in the galaxy that were considered ‘red zones’ or unsafe, to put it simply. These spaces were usually considered to be a hotspot for mysterious, unexplainable spatial activity and it was thought to be the points where a planet may have completed its orbit in time, resulting in a ‘tear’ in space. To the naked eye, it would seem like a mass of vividly coloured gases with little electrical sparks emerging from it. All the residents of the Temporal Nexus knew to avoid it-

But the residents of Temporal Nexus weren’t nosy like you were. And how could you ignore it when the signal was coming right from that point? It was only a matter of time before the Space Patrol around the red zones would detect your spaceship and be on your tail-

And here you were. Just a few hundred tem-nex units away from the red zone, from the source of your signal, the Space Patrol quickly catching up, the boys preparing to attack while you monitored the situation- it was just an excuse to take a breather and think where did it all start going so wrong. If you got arrested now, it would be the end.

“Captain?” Jongho called. “We’re closing up on the red zone. What do we do?”

“We can’t steer around it, can we?” You asked grimly, climbing down and going to look at the map that highlighted all the red zones in the galaxy- there were about eight red zones in your proximity alone and the only clear path was your way back which was now crowded with space patrols.

“Not really- I don’t think we can lose them,” Jongho took a deep breath.

“I say we keep going,” Wooyoung said. He had been monitoring the radio which started malfunctioning as soon as you entered the range of the red zone. “We’re getting signals from there- all the messages we got are from that mass,” he pointed at the blue cloud of gas not far from you now. 

“It’s dangerous,” Yeosang shook his head. “There’s no telling what could happen once we enter that mass.”

“Only one way to find out,” Wooyoung’s lip curved in a smirk. “I have a feeling there’s a reason the space patrol is hell bent on catching us before we reach the red zone, and it’s not our safety.”

“Makes sense,” Jongho agreed. “There have been instances of people trying to get to one of the red zones but never have the space patrol been so active in trying to stop them. Usually one ship is enough.” 

“We are wanted criminals,” you reminded them. “They have a reason.”

“And what’s the reason?” Wooyoung asked. “That you almost found out information about Star 1117’s location? And now you’re going to the red zone? Hell, if I had to say, it would look like you’re on the right path.”

Yeosang exchanged glances with you- Wooyoung was on to something. It made sense- if you had tried stealing information about any other thing, perhaps the Space Council wouldn’t have reacted so brashly. 

“Alright, forwards we go,” you announced and Jongho nodded, immediately going back to steering the spaceship. “But if at any point we feel like it’s dangerous, we’re going back, space patrol or not.”

“Got it,” Jongho grinned, speeding up the ship once again. You went back to the dome to activate the shield, deciding not to go on the offensive for as long as you could manage- you didn’t want more charges added to your criminal record.

For a few moments, all of you focused on your tasks- Yeosang blasting any rocket that came your way, Jongho focusing on entering the red zone while Wooyoung assisted him, monitoring the radio. You gave directions from the dome, silently praying that this mission would not be a futile one when you heard the familiar static noise from the broken radio. 

Immediately, all of you were hovering around Wooyoung and watching the radio try to display a message on its screen but failing to. It looked like something was disrupting its signals.

“It has to be because we’re near, right?” Wooyoung looked up at you and you nodded. 

“Keep following the source- I’m going to try and get readings from outside,” you told them but before you could move and anyone else could verbally stop you, Wooyoung grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t go outside. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m only opening the dome,” you told him gently, your heart clutching at the sight of worry in his eyes- for you. “I’ll be right here.”

Wooyoung hesitantly let you go and you gave him a small smile before going back up and opening the dome, taking a little peek out. You rested your palms on the surface of the exterior and let the neurons spread around the spaceship so you could read the air and the surroundings- it didn’t always work but sometimes when there was something foreign in the air, you could read it.

“We’re entering the red zone in front of us in about two minutes, Captain,” Jongho warned. “You sure you want to be out?” 

“I’ll be fine- it’s not dangerous,” you assured him but still shut the dome halfway in case you would have to retreat in an emergency.

However, nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. 

Jongho announced that you were going to enter the zone in about thirty seconds and Yeosang positioned himself beside you with his gun. The two of you were covering the back of the spaceship when the air around you turned foggy, indicating that you were in the red zone’s range. You were just trying to get a reading when you saw something from the corner of your eye-

“Jongho!” You warned but it was too late- another spaceship came out of nowhere from within the red zone and hit the back of your spaceship so that Jongho lost control of the steering. The impact of the collision made your spaceship swerve dangerously to the left, making it spin. Yeosang lost his footing and unceremoniously landed down, shouting in warning and you retracted your neurons just in time to draw your hands back before the domed window fell back in its place. You would have fallen in a painful position but Yeosang managed to catch you just in time, though the rocking of your spaceship still made your head bang against the ladder rather painfully.

“I got it!” Jongho shouted and managed to stabilise the ship, and the gasp that he let out when he finally got a clear view outside made you wonder if something had gone wrong-

But Wooyoung looked just as speechless. Yeosang helped you up, making sure you were okay before you two joined them to look at the scene outside-

It was the same pitch black darkness of the space, void of any stars but surrounded by the blue masses of gas. And right at the centre was a small, glowing thing- it was too far to make out its shape but it looked like a rock from afar.

“Are we inside the red zone?” You asked in confusion.

“We crossed it, and now we’re inside the space surrounded by the red zones,” Jongho settled back in his seat in surprise. 

“And we’re getting a proper signal- look,” Wooyoung managed to add amidst the confusion of the situation, pointing at Jongho’s device that you had used to track the signal from Wooyoung’s radio. 

“There’s no one following us anymore” Yeosang went to check from the dome as if he couldn’t believe the radar readings. “We’re alone here.”

“Did you see the ship that crashed with ours?” You asked and Yeosang shook his head in denial. “Damage report?”

“Minor, nothing to be worried about for now,” Jongho assured. “So? Do we inspect that? Why is it glowing like that?”

You looked at the luminous thing in the middle of the space- this couldn’t be Star 1117, right? It was too small to be a planet. Was Yeosang right then? Was this just a byproduct rock or mass of the star that was once a planet?

“Before we go,” you began, a suspicion gnawing at you. “Let me read the collision real quick. There’s something odd about the spaceship that collided with ours.”

“Right? We didn’t detect it on the radar,” Jongho said. 

“That might have been because of whatever was messing with the radio signals?” Wooyoung suggested but you weren’t sure. You went back to climb the ladder that led to the dome and this time, you sat outside on the surface while you protracted the neurons to read.

And what you saw made cold wash all over you- you must have let out a surprised sound because Yeosang was outside with you, his eyes filled with worry.

“It can’t be,” you shook your head. Nothing made sense anymore. 

“What is it?” Yeosang asked. “Tell me.”

“It was our spaceship,” you told him and he frowned in confusion. “I saw our spaceship- this exact one.”

“That’s impossible,” Yeosang shook his head. “Maybe you’re wrong?”

“I’ve never been wrong,” a grim realisation started to dawn on you and you beckoned him to follow you down. “It wasn’t detected on our radar because it’s our spaceship. And it must have crashed with ours to bring us here, to this point.”

“Are you thinking… duplicates? Time travel?” Jongho looked at you in disbelief. “I could call you crazy if we weren’t here right now, but… you know those are just theories, right?”

“You can choose not to believe me,” you said, understanding his point, “But I know what I saw.”

“Time travel in the Temporal Nexus, huh?” Wooyoung scratched his chin in thought. “Isn’t that what Temporal Nexus means in the first place? A point where different timelines intersect?”

“That refers to the points in our galaxy when the cycle of one planet comes to a completion right when the cycle of another planet begins,” Yeosang said, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Unless…”

“Unless your Space Council decided that’s what you all should know?” Wooyoung smiled knowingly. “Just like they didn’t tell you about that thing? About the red zones? About Star 1117? About Star 1118?”

“Let’s just… inspect that first before we start drawing conclusions,” Jongho said weakly and you all agreed, taking a seat next to the two. You sat next to Wooyoung and looked at him- could he be right?

He seemed to understand exactly what you were feeling, and when he slid his hand in yours, you didn’t draw away. You held it and squeezed it back. You needed that.

And it seemed like he needed that more when you started getting closer to the luminous form and realised that it looked more like a person than a rock or a star.

“Am I… going crazy?” Jongho asked, pressing the side of his glasses to zoom in, “or is that a literal fucking person hovering in the middle of space?”

“Are you sure that’s our source?” Yeosang sounded doubtful as he looked at Wooyoung who was beyond speechless, for once. You checked for him and sure enough, you were on the right path.

“Stop the spaceship,” you said when you saw the figure move and Jongho immediately did. The figure- person- turned around and all of you wowed and cursed under your breaths. 

“That’s just… an Original Nexi, right?” Yeosang stood up to get a better view, prompting Jongho to continue approaching the figure. “Apart from the… glowing part.”

It sure looked like one- it had the characteristic androgynous appearance of one, with a stone etched under one eye like a teardrop. Jongho stopped the spaceship and looked at you.

“Are we inviting them in or are you going out?”

“No way that thing steps inside,” Yeosang shivered involuntarily. “I don’t want my spaceship glowing and sticking out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m pretty sure the glowing isn’t contagious,” Jongho laughed. “But he’s right. It’s better if the two of you go out. We humans can chill and watch, right, Wooyoung?”

“Right,” he sank lower in his seat. “You’re on your own, sweethearts.”

Yeosang scowled at the human before extending his hand for you. 

“Don’t even try to read that thing,” Wooyoung warned in a low voice. You pursed your lips in answer before you joined Yeosang, exiting the spaceship from the dome and climbing down at the shaft that Jongho had opened for you to stand on. 

You were now facing the figure, standing tall and powerful- there was no way this was just one of the Original Nexi- this person and everything about their presence was making you want to sink to your knees. 

“Ah… how many times have we crossed paths now?” Its voice, smooth as silk, sounded inside you. Startled, you looked at Yeosang who was just as shocked, if not more.

“I don’t think we have crossed paths…” you narrowed your eyes as the person smiled knowingly. “Who are you?”

“I take it you got the message, then? It must be our first time meeting,” the person sighed as if the weight of the world was crushing it down. You noticed how up close, the glow from its skin wasn’t as obvious- perhaps, you were engulfed in it now. 

“Who are you?” Yeosang asked. “And how are you here, like this?”

“Who do you think?” It asked, positioning itself so it looked like it was perched on an invisible surface. “You are looking for Star 1118, right?”

“And how do you know that?” You asked. This time, there was no apprehension in your voice but simply curiosity and wonder. 

“Because I am the one you have been looking for,” the smile on its lips was so sad that it made you want to cry. “I am the one you saved and the one you let go of. I am the beginning and the end of this Temporal Nexus- I am Temporal Nexus, in its truest form. I am what you call Star 1117, and what you will call Star 1118 if you make the mistake of saving me.”

This time, your knees did go weak and Yeosang let out a gasp, utterly astounded. The person just watched you both with eyes that were both apologetic and full of resentment.

“Star 1117… is a person?” You breathed. 

“Not really,” Star 1117 shrugged, the golden long hair flowing like a halo around its figure. “Just one of my forms. Just one of my names.”

“I don’t understand,” you said, turning to look at Jongho and Wooyoung who were listening in to your conversation from inside, both equally dumbfounded.

“Sweet child of the Nexi,” Star 1117 began. “I am the Temporal Nexus. I am all the stars in this galaxy and their cycle. I am the Original Nexi, the very first, and all of you are my descendants. At this moment, I am Star 1117- Star 1116’s cycle is almost complete and as a cycle comes to completion, I start assuming the next form. This is my final form, for the final cycle- there are no planets anymore- not after 1116.”

You did not know for how long you simply watched the person’s figure shimmer as if it was also a mass of gas- perhaps, if you touched it, your hand would pass right through its form. You and Yeosang stood in shock, trying to process your thoughts.

Star 1117 was a person, not a planet. This being was the core of the Temporal Nexus.

“If you are the Temporal Nexus,” Yeosang began, glancing at you for a moment before continuing, “you must be the past and the present. Isn’t the last cycle supposed to be the 1117th?”

“As the fates have intended, yes,” Star 1117 nodded. “And you’re out here to change that. In fact, you do. You find a way to save me and have the Temporal Nexus live its 1118th cycle. But that is where everything goes wrong,” the person smiled in a melancholic manner. “The Temporal Nexus is supposed to die with its intended last cycle. If you try to change the design of the universe, the universe finds a way to retaliate.”

“‘Do not save 1118’,” you quoted. “Why?”

“Because you triggered not only the end of the Temporal Nexus but the end of the galaxies surrounding me!” Star 1117’s voice boomed this time, making you clutch Yeosang’s hand. “The solar system is next- it will swallow in on itself, before its intended time. There will only be an end and no beginnings anymore.”

“That’s impossible,” you shook your head in disbelief. “You sent a message- to not save 1118. That means you were alive.”

“Oh, I was alive long enough to find a way to make things right,” Star 1117 smirked. “The human in your spaceship- it is he who sent my message. It is him who crashed into your spaceship just now so you made it here- it is him who gave us another chance to make things right and not make selfish decisions.”

You turned to look at Wooyoung who had an incredulous look on his face as he pointed at himself. You turned back to the Original Nexi.

“How?” Yeosang asked.

“In the time when I’m 1118, I’m weak and I fall,” Star 1117 admitted grimly. “The human who never made it to Star 1117 and never met any of you found my weak form. With his help, we formed the last link to the past and here we are. He does not remember because it is not him- it is the person who crashed his spaceship in yours. His origin and conclusion will remain to be unknown until you make a decision- save me, which will lead me to the human on Earth, or let me go, which will take us to a new path- perhaps, one where the world doesn’t end like that.”

“It was our spaceship that crashed into us,” you said.

“And I always wondered how he came to possess it,” Star 1117 sighed. “I hope you make the decision that leads to that moment in this timeline.”

“The decision to let you go?” You scoffed. “We will have no home- what about all of the Nexi? Aren’t they your children? Do you not care for them?”

“I do. But I have lived long enough, and I have seen what happens if you try to save your galaxy. Do not make the mistakes you have made so many times now,” Star 1117 almost pleaded. “Do not save me. Save yourselves.”

“I will save my home and the people who matter to me,” you said through gritted teeth. Yeosang put a warning hand on your shoulder but you shook it off. “You are the Temporal Nexus. You can’t die like this- you can’t take away my world- our world,” you motioned at the boys inside the spaceship. “I will find a way to save you and the galaxy.”

With that, you turned on your heels, not waiting for Yeosang. You were far too overwhelmed to think or care. 

“There is no other way. You have tried everything. You have failed every time.”

Star 1117’s words were lost to space. Yeosang stood awkwardly, wanting to follow you inside but having too many questions of his own to do that. He turned to the being. 

“If you are the Original Nexi, does that not mean that you grow old and young like your descendants?”

“I did, in the beginning, when I was young. When I was Star 1,” Star 1117 smiled. “After a certain time, when I started approaching my end, I got stuck in this miserable state, unable to age and unable to do anything but exist and die a little with each cycle,” the star raised its hand, proving that indeed, there was a translucence to its body indicating the weariness that dripped from its voice in a physical form. “Your people- the Space Council- they protected me and tried to help me, but to no avail. They realise that there is no answer to this. Some things are meant to die at their time, Kang Yeosang. Tell your friends that I have suffered enough for this world.”

—-------------------------------

You must be human, you thought, because you couldn’t stop crying.

Ever since the conversation with Star 1117, you had been overwhelmed to no end. You came back to the spaceship and shut yourself in your room. You knew the boys let you have your space for a while but it was Jongho who came to knock on your door first. 

“Captain? You alright in there?”

You didn’t respond though you were pretty sure he could hear your sniffles. He continued. “I’m not exiting the red zone until you’re out, okay? Until I have your orders. Take your time, I understand.”

You muttered a thank you and that was enough for Jongho. It was Yeosang who came next to check on you.

“All that talk about not being as emotional as a human. Tsk tsk. Look at you,” Yeosang said, attempting to lighten the mood. You did let out a dark chuckle though that only made you cry some more. 

“Come on. Tell me what’s got you crying so much.”

“I just need a few minutes,” you told him. “I’m sorry for being a mess.”

“It’s okay- just… come to us if it’s too much, okay? You’re not alone.”

You knew that. You were not alone, however, you had never felt more lonely. And you were starting to realise why-

You had subconsciously read Star 1117. While Star 1117 had been making all those claims, your neurons protracted just a fraction. The luminous light around you was a part of the being after all-

And all you got to read was pain. Extreme pain- not the physical kind, but the one that weighed on your soul. You felt utter loneliness- one that crushed you like nothing else. You felt the urge to cease existing but also felt helplessness like nothing else. No wonder Star 1117 had sounded so weary. You couldn’t imagine being in its place.

But then… what about your home? What about your people? What guarantee was there that you could all make it safely out of the Temporal Nexus when the last cycle comes to a conclusion? You had only one purpose in life ever since you understood how your home would die in your lifetime- and that was to prevent it. If you could not stop the unavoidable, you would have liked to have found a new home-

But there would be no home in the Temporal Nexus anymore. This spaceship was not a home. Space pods were not home- besides, you would have to find a place in another galaxy. What if you were never welcomed anywhere anymore? What if your family and friends refused to leave this galaxy?

You must have stopped crying a while ago, staring endlessly at the plain ceiling when a knock sounded. You had no energy to hum a response. The door clicked open and someone peeked in.

“I’m coming in,” Wooyoung announced, sitting next to you on the floor in a similar crouching position, your backs against the wall.

“Drink some water- please,” Wooyoung requested and you finally spared him a glance, taking the water bottle and drinking a few gulps.

The water from Star 1116. That was your home.

“Did you finally process all of it?” Wooyoung asked.

“I don’t know what to do,” you told him, “I’m so lost.”

“You read Star 1117, didn’t you?” Wooyoung asked gently, already knowing the answer. He couldn’t help but slide closer when you nodded with an absolutely heartbreaking expression, tears in your eyes. He intertwined his hand with yours and let you rest your head on his shoulder- he could tell you were tired but he needed to tell you something too.

He told you that he went outside to have a conversation with Star 1117, and he told you what he learned from it- specifically about Star 1118 and Wooyoung’s role in all of this.

“The Temporal Nexus is the point where the past, the present and the future meet,” Wooyoung explained, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “In the past, there was an alien girl who was half-human but had beef with her own human counterpart. Her name was y/n-”

“Wooyoung-” you warned though the two of you shared a chuckle over that. 

“She was the captain of her little crew, with Jongho the human driver, and Yeosang the pretty alien… fighter? Engineer? What even is his role?”

“We don’t have roles, we just… make do with what we can do,” you shook your head. “But carry on.”

“Right. So, the Captain learns that Star 1116’s cycle is about to end, and that Star 1117 is not a planet but a being by infiltrating into the Space Council- this time through the main door, not the vents,” Wooyoung laughed. “She learns about how the Space Council have also been trying to find a solution to save their home but are closer to giving up than to finding answers. Together- because that time you don’t become a space criminal- you find a way to prolong Star 1117’s cycle by concentrating the energy of all the red zones scattered out in the galaxy and transferring it to the last cycle.”

“That makes sense,” you nodded. “Red zones are energy byproducts of the previous planets.”

“Right? Star 1117 reluctantly agrees, and you all succeed- Star 1116’s cycle prolongs and leaks to Star 1117’s. The original last cycle, the 1117th, was supposed to be a shorter one since it’s just the galaxy ending itself before it reaches the 1118th cycle. But this time, the 1118th cycle begins. You all realise that you made a grave mistake and that the galaxy will eat itself like it was supposed to, but since it requires more energy to do that now, it will swallow the neighbouring galaxies and possibly trigger the end.”

You took a deep breath. “I triggered the end.”

“Not you alone, but basically… yeah. It suits you, doesn’t it?” Wooyoung chuckled, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders and caress your arms assuringly. 

“Not helping,” you muttered.

“Well,” Wooyoung huffed in resignation. “You try to make things right. You get this spaceship to Star 1117 and get it on board- its form is weakened by then and it is Star 1118 by that time. You set the destination to Earth, knowing someone on Earth would have figured out that their solar system was going to collapse soon and would do anything to change things. You leave the poor Star alone and go to save your family and friends.”

“And Star 1118 makes it to you?”

“Somehow, yes,” Wooyoung nodded. “I have always studied the Temporal Nexus deeply, so when I receive signals on my radio- yes, the radio I have now- I go to investigate the source and find your spaceship underwater near my hometown. With the help of my friends and the Space Centre on Earth, I recover that ship and find an ethereal being inside- Star 1118. Since the being is the Temporal Nexus- the past, the present, and the future of your galaxy- it finds traces of itself on me from another time.”

“Oh heavens,” you raised your head up to look at him. “It’s a time loop, isn’t it?”

“More romantic than that. We were meant to meet, y/n,” he smiled widely, pinching your nose but you were too surprised to react. “Star 1118 sets the loop into motion- or rather, propels it forwards and backwards, forwards and backwards. Jung Wooyoung now has one mission- to find the tear in space that will transport him to that moment to warn you-”

“The spaceship that collided with us,” you breathed, understanding how it worked. “It must have taken a few attempts.”

“Hence why it is a loop,” Wooyoung nodded. “However, Jung Wooyoung also did something else, which was quite genius of him if I have to say.”

“And what’s that?”

“Jung Wooyoung and Star 1118 worked together to send messages to my radio, which prompted the present me to make different decisions. And here we are,” he concluded with a dramatic sigh. “Things have changed. You can still make the same decisions and it might lead to a time where Star 1118 is not able to go to Earth to warn Jung Wooyoung. That would be the end. Or…”

“Or I could let it be,” you shrugged away from Wooyoung’s arm and buried your face in your hands. 

“I think you already know, but Star 1117 has suffered a lot,” Wooyoung said, and you were once again amazed by how gently he talked to you despite knowing what you had done- what you might do. “It suffered alone for 1117 cycles. You put an end to its sufferings and you might find a new home. A better one.”

“My home is Star 1116,” you said, though the words started to sound like a weight over your heart now. “Not everyone can let go of their home.”

“I thought you understood by now that home is where the heart is,” Wooyoung said and you looked at him to find him smiling. “Where’s your heart, y/n?”

Like the soft embrace of a mother, you felt the answer wrap around the physical organ that was your heart- the answer that was a feeling, an emotion- and not strictly a human one at all. You didn’t have to be human to understand that your heart belonged to the people around you- to your family because they were yours, to Jongho and Yeosang who were your friends, and to Wooyoung- the human who had to be your saving grace. 

Home was also the house and the land where you grew up, but it was not the location or the building that made it a part of your heart- it was the things that you associated with home. Your alien mother, your human father. Their parents who had once lived there, whose memory clung to the walls and was etched in the frames that sat on the mantle. Home was the lake next to your house but what made it a part of your heart was the memories of splashing water on Jongho and Yeosang, and the memories of your parents teaching you how to swim.

Home was where the heart was. And as long as you had the pieces of your heart next to you, you would be home.

“Did you find the answer?” Wooyoung cupped your face to wipe the tears that left your eyes, smiling knowingly. You smiled back, clutching his hands that were caressing your cheeks.

“Home is where the heart is,” you told him, your voice wet with emotions. “And you are my heart, Jung Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s eyes curved like moons as his smile grew wider. He nodded, the two of you sharing a laugh. You couldn’t help but notice how beautiful this piece of your heart was. You leaned forward to rest your hands on his neck, surprising him a bit. His hands went to rest on your waist and you pecked his lips, looking at him shyly before pecking them again, unable to look at him any longer so you closed the distance between you two as you hugged him. He let out a laugh of disbelief before he relaxed, burying his nose in the crook of your neck and hugging you back just as tightly, rocking your bodies slightly.

“I found a home with you too,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

You nodded, your heart filling with foreign emotions- like a pleasant tickle to your heart. Perhaps, this was what it felt like to give your heart to someone.

—-----------------------------------

Everything was happening too soon for your liking, but with the help of your friends, you were coming to terms with the fact that you could not save the Temporal Nexus Galaxy- that there was nothing that could be done and the best decision you could make was to let Star 1117 go. 

You stayed in the red zone for a whole day after your talk with Wooyoung. Exiting the red zone would mean confronting the Space Patrol and you had to make a decision before that. Jongho and Yeosang were coping by studying about time loops and talking to Star 1117 about how it worked and if there was any possibility that could work- if Star 1117 was all the past, present and the future of the Temporal Nexus, it would know if any of the decisions the residents of its galaxy made led to a hopeful future. But there was none. 

After exhausting every possibility, they finally came to talk to you and let you know that they had made their decisions- they were going to get their families out of Star 1116 and find a new home. They were also aware that some of their families and acquaintances might choose to stay and disintegrate with the planet, with their home. Now they were just waiting for you to make your decision.

And it was a little conversation with Jongho that made you wonder just what you had been so bitter about.

You joined him by the window as he stared at the blue masses of energy around the spaceship. He smiled to acknowledge your presence before saying, “Wouldn’t it be so good if we could just go back to the past and relive our childhood?”

You smiled back- your childhood really was a fond memory, something you kept very close to your heart. “How young are we talking?”

“Hmm… good question. What would you say is your happiest memory on Star 1116?”

“Honestly? Probably the time when I showed you and Yeosang that I finally learned to swim. We had a little fight afterwards about whose technique was better,” you said and he grinned at that. 

“What do you think? Would you like to go back to the past?”  

You pursed your lips in thought. Sure, your past was a golden memory and saying that you missed that time and wanted to go back wasn’t supposed to hold literal meaning, but if you were offered to go back, would you?

“What about you?” You asked.

Jongho exhaled, putting his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t. I like where I am now. I’m still with you and Yeosang. Nothing has changed.”

You nodded- your answer was the same. 

“And I will continue to be where the two of you are,” Jongho added. “Create more happy memories. Hell, maybe we’ll look back to this moment one day, right?”

You nodded slowly. Wooyoung had changed your perspective a lot and you were finally starting to understand Jongho.

“I might even visit Earth and see what the hype is about,” Jongho suggested and you chuckled. “Maybe we can all go to drop Wooyoung. He’s slowly taking over the spaceship. Next thing we know we’ll be calling him captain and he’ll be slaving us.”

“Right? Maybe we can chuck him into that mass and see where he lands,” you pointed at the red zone in front of you, sharing a laugh with Jongho. 

“You know, I thought about it a lot, why in all the timelines that exist, according to Star 1117, you- we keep making the same decision- trying to save the galaxy. Do you know what’s the only difference this time and why we all are seriously considering letting things be?”

“Wooyoung?”

“Yes,” Jongho confirmed. “This is the only timeline known to Star 1117 where he makes a different decision and ends up being a part of the crew. Makes you think about how the butterfly effect works, right?” He ruminated. “In all the timelines, we made different decisions that led us to the same outcome- apocalypse. Things are very different now, and this might be our last chance at making sure we do not trigger the apocalypse.”

“I know,” you folded your arms around you, hugging yourself. “We can’t be the only factor triggering the apocalypse though, right? What if we make the right decisions this time but we still end up losing everything?”

“Well… only one way to find out- if we make the right decisions now,” Jongho looked at you, hope in his eyes. “So. Did you make a decision?”

“I think you know,” you looked wistfully into the space around you. “Let’s go say goodbye to our home.”

Jongho smiled proudly at you. “Star 1117 told me that you were very bitter and hellbent on saving the galaxy in all the timelines. It’s good to see you smile like this, Captain. You seem almost human.”

“I am human,” you said casually but for Jongho, it was the first time hearing you acknowledge your human lineage and he put a hand over his mouth dramatically to stifle a gasp. You only rolled your eyes in response, spotting Wooyoung from the corner of your eye who simply passed you both a cheeky smile and waved before disappearing into the kitchen. You recalled just how adamant you had been about not accepting that you were human too. 

But being human didn’t sound so bad anymore.

And with that decision, you said your goodbye to Star 1117. The being did not thank you for making the right decision. It simply curled in on itself and weeped, the tears escaping its eyelids and evaporating into the air like glitter. You felt the being’s exhaustion and sadness as though it was tangible and that only made you more sure about what you had to do.

Right as you exited the red-zone territory, there was a spaceship waiting for you. It signalled for you to stop and a person stepped out, displaying their Space Council id and demanding to enter your ship. For a moment, you were scared of the consequences of your action- were you going to be arrested now? Would you not get to say goodbye to your home? But when the person made an okay sign, a collective sigh of relief passed and Yeosang pressed the button to open the door for them.

The tall figure clad in a black striped suit with a waistcoat entered, looking around your spaceship with curiosity. You noticed silver extensions on one of his hands, kind of like your neurons except they almost looked like an accessory. The other hand was covered in a black glove and you wondered why.

“Greetings,” he smiled. “I’m Jeong Yunho from the Space Council. It’s good to finally meet you, y/n.”

“Me?” You frowned. “Do I know you?”

“You don’t,” he shrugged, “but I do. From multiple timelines. I’ve been on your case since the very first timeline, working with Star 1117 to find a solution that does not involve exterminating you because Star 1117 insisted that while you and your friends may be its doom, you could also be its saviour.”

You suddenly felt dizzy at his admission.

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you about my adventures chasing your crew,” Yunho chuckled. “But for now… I’d like to accompany you to Star 1116 and make sure you stay on the right track. You will need me if you want to go home because I have not yet lifted your criminal charges. And… you have an unregistered human aboard,” Yunho glanced at Wooyoung who waved his hand awkwardly. “We have a lot to do, folks.”

You scanned his figure with suspicion, your neurons extracting subconsciously wanting to get a reading from him. He noticed that.

“If it helps,” he began. “I’m one of the Original Nexi. There’s a group of us that work in the Space Council solely for the sake of protecting Star 1117.”

“You’re letting Star 1117 die, though,” Yeosang commented in your stead and you silently thanked him. That had been on the tip of your tongue too.

“The Temporal Nexus is called temporal for a reason, isn’t it?” He retorted. “To protect the essence of Star 1117 and this galaxy is to protect its heart- its residents. But I think you all already understand that by now.”

The knowing smile he passed you made you want to ask more questions but he interrupted with clapping and barking orders- you were apparently short on time now and needed to inform the residents of Star 1116 and the rest of the galaxy as soon as possible so everyone could make the big decisions and they could initiate their final operation- to leave the galaxy for good.

And it was no surprise that it was Wooyoung who got the Original Nexi to talk and open up. While Jongho set the spaceship on auto towards Star 1116, the three of you watched from a corner, huddled next to each other. Not too far on the table sat Wooyoung with a warm meal for Yunho, learning anything and everything about the Original Nexi and Yunho himself, learning about his experience with your crew in the different timelines and more. You didn’t even realise that you were biting your nails with narrowed eyes full of scepticism until Wooyoung looked around for you and laughed at the sight of the three of you.

“I guess I’m relaxed because it is actually our first meeting- we haven’t met in any other timeline,” Wooyoung grinned. “Not that I would have known if we had anyway. Right?”

“Right,” Yunho grinned back, shaking his head at the three of you. “Just a reminder that we were friends in some timeline and enemies in the other.”

“Yeah, I think I can understand why,” Yeosang muttered, looking pointedly at Wooyoung. 

“How are you able to remember the timelines?” Jongho asked his first question in a while.

“These,” Yunho raised both his hands and shared a look with you. “We’re quite similar, but I’m able to look into different timelines too.”

You made an impressed face and the blinkers lit up, indicating that you were reaching Star 1116’s territory. Jongho went to steer the spaceship himself and Yunho joined him, striking up a conversation having noticed the equipment on the dashboard. While the two talked, Wooyoung joined you and Yeosang, resting his hand on your knee and squeezing it to make sure you were okay. You nodded in response and pointed at the screen, your heart filling with warmth at the sight of the star.

“We’re home.”

Home. As soon as you could see the lush green fields that surrounded your house, you were on your feet and making your way to the screen, eager to step out. You would have to land at the Space Centre where you previously worked and Yunho made sure you could pass through every security check without any inconvenience. Wooyoung stood next to you and you told him all about the Space Centre and your time as a unit there. 

Wooyoung’s eyes were filled with awe, his mouth parted in surprise as you all stepped out of the spaceship. The view from the screen had been good, yes, but nothing compared to stepping inside that picture, and for Wooyoung who was a human from Earth… you wondered if that was what your great grandparents and their team must have felt when they first landed on Star 1116.

“It’s like Earth, you were right,” Wooyoung nodded, almost jumping when a few will-o’-the-wisps circled his figure and fluttered away. Jongho giggled at his reaction and smacked his back.

“Like Earth but prettier, right?” He said. “That’s what I keep hearing.”

“No, you heard that right,” Wooyoung agreed. “Our grass looks dull compared to this- how is it so vibrant?”

“Wait till you see the lakes,” you told him, knowing that was probably the most surprising part from the memories of your great grandfather. 

“We should show him the cave too!” Yeosang joined you both. “It’s a nice spot to bury him- no one would know. He’ll be dust along with the planet-”

“And he would never make it past the tarantulas that protect the cave,” Jongho chuckled darkly and Wooyoung decided he felt safer with Yunho, falling in step with him while the Nexi shook his head in amusement at the interaction. 

“You should have chucked me in the red zone,” Wooyoung folded his arms and you snickered until you realised that he must have heard that bit from your conversation with Jongho. You exchanged a glance with the youngest who pointed at you, transferring all the blame. Wooyoung’s pout deepened and you took a deep breath.

“Boys, I’m going to steal this one for a while,” you went towards Wooyoung and hooked your arm around his, your crew hooting in appreciation and suggestively wiggling their brows, Yeosang going as far as pretending to gag. You asked Yunho if it was fine and he assured that it was, asking all of you to meet up back at the Space Centre in a few hours. You intertwined your hand with Wooyoung’s.

“What would you like to see first?”

“Hmm…” Wooyoung took a while to think, his eyes scanning everything in sight the further you walked away from the Space Centre, looking at the passersby with curiosity- you couldn’t blame him. The residents of Star 1116 looked far from human in their appearance- from looking almost human like Yeosang to having iridescent coloured skin or accessories like horns or wings.

“Show me your favourite places- all of them,” Wooyoung looked at you, kissing your temple. “Show me the shade of the tree near your house where you grew up, the lake… the places from the journals that you talked about- everything.”

“Would you like to meet my family too?” You asked hesitantly, not sure if the human would be up to it but his warm smile erased any doubts in your heart.

“I would love to.”

“My mother will love you,” you laughed. “My father can be a little… hard to please.”

“Well, I know just how to win his heart,” he winked at you and you accepted the challenge.

You showed him all your favourite places, keeping your house for the last. You walked around the streets without a care in the world for the first time in a while, making him try some local delicacies and showing him the animals unique to Star 1116- it was more of a surprise to him to find that the things you called ‘dogs’ here were more spiky than furry and he told you that you were missing out on the joy of hugging a dog. You grimaced- hugging a dog here would create pokes in your skin unless you had scales or a protective barrier like most of the aliens here.

You took him to one of the bigger lakes in the area and he was utterly fascinated by the way he could see almost every creature inside the lake thanks to the glowing properties of the soil under the lake. He experimentally dipped his hand inside the water, feeling the coolness of the lake quite like Earth’s but somehow feeling more at ease- it always unsettled him when he was near a water body on Earth and could only imagine what was prowling inside. He looked around, noticing the little things that made Star 1116 so beautiful- mountains made of smooth, patterned rocks. Trees with leaves of multiple colours, unaffected by the season and with little gems dangling from the tips of its branches where flowers would have been. The strange birds with their unusually elongated bodies that flew in the sky. The sky that was dark and the ground that he stood on that lit the planet.

It was truly a magnificent sight, and Wooyoung could understand why you- why everyone was reluctant to let go of their home.

Lastly, you walked to your house and you pointed at all the places on the way which had some memory associated with them. You told him about how the humans lived in a little community here- most of them were too old to leave their home. Some of them rarely came home, opting to explore the space instead- like you. Then you told him about your family- your mother was a crime scene investigator and your father was a medical researcher. Wooyoung was impressed to hear that and told you he would love to hear more about that.

When you reached the little cottage by the lake, you paused and took a deep breath, taking in everything. It was still the same- the wooden exterior looking worn out, the smell of wet mud filling your nose, the sound of children in the distance. You pointed at the house.

“That’s me.”

Wooyoung nodded, giving your hand a squeeze to tell you that he was ready. You walked towards the door and pressed your thumb on the lock, the door clicking open and then you heard the familiar footsteps of your mother approach you. Her face lit up at the sight of you and then she paused when she saw your hand in Wooyoung’s. She scanned him with curiosity. You looked back and forth between the two- it would only be a moment until your mother would realise that Wooyoung was not a human. And Wooyoung-

You could tell why he looked surprised- your mother wore her neuron extensions like a crown over her head at all times. Apart from her striking copper hair, she looked very much like you. 

Your mother smiled knowingly at the two of you before spreading her arms and you grinned, walking right in her embrace and melting into it. 

“Well done, love,” she whispered. “I heard about what happened with the Space Council and Star 1117. You did so well.”

“I’m sorry,” you told her, knowing that she didn’t need your words to hear what you were sorry about, nor did she need to read you. She simply knew what you meant. She always did.

“No need for that,” she drew back with a kiss to your forehead. “I see you have a guest.”

“Yes, this is-”

“A human,” your father completed that for you, clad in a mismatched outfit which was indication that he had been holed up in his room with some research again. Wooyoung finally bowed at your parents. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jung Wooyoung… from Earth.”

“And what are you doing here with my daughter?” Your father inquired. You may have rolled your eyes if this was any other situation but your mother let you know that she had also heard about Wooyung’s role in the recent events. Relaxing a bit, you let Wooyoung handle the situation.

“She arrested me, sir.”

The room was silent for a moment before your mother snorted, ending up with all of you laughing and you shook your head at Wooyoung- you had never told him about how your parents met but it was something similar. Your father welcomed him with a pat and kissed the top of your head before steering him to the lounge, eager to hear the stories from Earth. 

And just like that, the house became a home with Wooyoung and your mother cooking together while they chatted, your father and you catching up with each other. Not too long after, the doorbell rang and in came Jongho and Yeosang, claiming to have ‘smelt’ Wooyoung’s cooking all the way to their house. They definitely didn’t get a message from your mother to join them.

You had about half an hour left until you had to go to the Space Centre. Your heart felt full watching all the people you loved gathered and Wooyoung fitting right in as if he had always been a part of this little unit. He caught you watching him with a smile on your face and raised his brows in question. You signalled that you were going outside and once he joined you, you asked if he wanted to sit by the lake.

“I’ve been soaking up all the memories of today,” you told him, showing the neurons on your fingertips shaped like nails. “I don’t think I can ever forget today’s events.”

“I did well, right?” He smiled proudly when you nodded in response. “Well, I’ve always been everyone’s favourite even back on Earth.”

You made a face at that and he scoffed. “Read me if you don’t believe me.”

“I do believe you- you have a way of charming people,” you admitted and he grinned. You showed him the spot next to some big rocks where you used to sit when you needed space. 

“This is probably my favourite spot on the whole planet,” you told him, flattening your hands on the ground once you sat, reliving the memories of this place in quick flashes. 

“I can see why,” Wooyoung looked around. With your home on the back and the view of the mountains in the front, he thought he could stay here forever.

“Yunho told me that Star 1116 will die soon, but the galaxy itself won’t end soon- it will take some time and if we’re lucky, it won’t happen in our lifetime,” you sighed deeply. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad. We will still need to find a new home. We can’t make one in the Temporal Nexus anymore.”

“Well… if you hadn’t told me that Star 1116 was your home, I would have assumed the spaceship was,” he said and you raised a brow. “It has such a homey feel to it. We can take all our time to explore the other galaxies and find a new home.”

“We?” 

“You don’t think I’m going back to Earth just like that, do you?” Wooyoung tsk-ed. “Not without you, at least.”

“Really?” You made a face. “I thought I’d be getting rid of you soon-”

Wooyoung leaned forward right when you turned, your noses brushing and your heart fluttering. Wooyoung’s gaze fell on your lips and a little smirk creeped on his own lips. 

“I know why you have your kitty claws out, sweetheart,” he tilted his head just a fraction and you instinctively gulped. “You’ve been saving all the memories of this place- with me this time.”

Well. He wasn’t wrong. Your lack of response was an answer to him and he fully smirked as he drew back. 

You wanted to tell him that you brought him here to make one final memory of this place. You curled your fingers around his hand and when your eyes met, it was like he understood your intentions. He took your other hand and pulled you over him so that you settled on his lap.

You trailed the pointy tips of your neurons along his temple and his spine, making him shiver. He loved it when you watched him with fascination and teased him experimentally as if you were afraid of his reaction. However, he welcomed every little thing you did to him. He let you cup his face and when you kissed him, he groaned in relief before kissing you back, one hand supporting him up while the other curling in your hair. You moved your lips along his in synchronisation and you loved the way he held you.

You drew back once you were out of breath, sharing a grin- this was your first proper kiss. You rested your hands on his shoulders and he lay down on the ground, eliciting a surprised sound from your mouth at the new position. Before you could comment on it, he cupped your face and brought you in for another kiss, the other hand going to rest on your waist. It was slow and sensual, not a care for time or any other thing. Just you, Wooyoung and your favourite spot in the Temporal Nexus. 

When you broke apart and settled down next to him in his arms, you watched the stars together and you showed him one that glowed with a very familiar golden tint.

“That must be Star 1117.”

Wooyoung agreed, absently caressing your arm. You looked at him, finding him deep in thought. You scratched his chin like you had seen him do to the black cat from his home and he smiled at that.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking… will you watch the stars with me every night from now on?”

You kissed his cheek in response.“Only if I get to sleep in your arms- you are my home, Jung Wooyoung.”

[sky-is-the-limit]

Captain Price and Commander Graves fighting for your attention would consist of:

(Reader is part of TF141 and only has a professional relationship with both. On the outside at least.)

Explicit part 2 here

➳ Price having to hastily leave the room whenever Graves would so blatantly hit on you by either complimenting your shooting skills or devouring you whole with his gaze so he wouldn't remove Grave's head from his neck.

➳ Graves daydreaming about Price getting blown off whenever you'd call him 'Captain' or look at him with those puppy eyes awaiting for a command and Price staring at your lips for way too long.

➳ Price purposely pairing you up with him so you wouldn't have to be the one to go with Graves and his Shadows (plus a lot of whining from Soap cause he'd always have to do the dirty job.)

➳ Gaz would have to physically remove Price from the meeting room when Graves wouldn't agree on moving forward with the mission unless he had you on the team.

➳ Graves insisting loudly on you joining the Shadow Company after this mission cause he'd be a much better boss and he'd take such a good care of you under his command, a thousand filthy words hiding behind that everlasting smirk on his face.

➳ Price trying to hide his smile whenever you'd tell Graves to fuck off cause your team, especially your boss are just fine and you're good where you are.

➳ Price taking advantage of how comfortable and safe you feel with him with gentle touches, even better if Graves would be there to watch, touching your shoulder, fixing something on your uniform, lingering his fingertips a bit too long whenever handing you something.

➳ Graves biting back by making you laugh, telling you the stupidest jokes quietly enough so no one else would hear just to watch your cold exterior towards him crumble, earning a giggle from your lips before you replace it with your usual annoyed expression towards him.

➳ Price ordering you to do little things outside of the mission just to prove how obedient and eager you are to follow his every command with your usual, playful "Yes, Captain" or "Right away, sir" with a tone that revealed your obvious favoritism and Price having to excuse himself way too early for 'bed' cause that's all he could think about.

➳ Graves feeling so jealous he would unfortunately take it out on his Shadows, wishing you were calling him your Commander instead. One time, it accidentally fell from your lips while you had to pair up with them and Price wasn't present, and he almost finished in his pants.

➳ Price accidentally letting his calm composure slip and mumbling a soft "Don't leave." Wanting to add a silent 'me' at the end but then quickly realising how frustrating it was that Graves proposal got under his skin even though he knows how loyal to him you are. "Don't leave the task force, Y/L/N. We need you here."

➳ Graves following you outside in the beautiful quiet of the night, only the stars and the cool breeze accompanying you as you both sat in silence on the ground. He would let his guard down a bit, telling you all about the starry night sky back in his hometown in the US and how you'd love to see it, indirectly asking you to.

➳ Price bringing you coffee late in the armory while you'd be cleaning your weapon, sitting down next to you with his warm tea in hand. Just your presence would be enough to calm the thousand waves crushing in his mind.

➳ Graves would definitely become a stalker accidentally, trying to catch you alone cause whenever you'd be around your task force or Price, you wouldn't pay him much attention. "Running away from me, soldier?" He'd corner you against a surface, gaze intimidating like a predator about to devour his prey.

If you were to reply with his title like "Why would you think that, Commander?" He'd probably forget where the two of you were and press you up against the nearest wall.

➳ Price would notice you easing up for Graves and would take matters into his own hands, asking you straight away if there was something going on between the two of you and telling you how unprofessional it was, jealousy so very visible on his face.

"Are you jealous, Captain?" Your tone playful and unserious like always. He'd finally do something bolder, frustration catching up to him like a wildfire. "What if I am, Y/N?" He'd throw his cigar on the floor, eyes never leaving yours before closing in so the remaining smoke would hit your face along with the realisation.

"Do something about it then." And so he would.

➳ Graves would intentionally let slip something about yourself that you have told him on your little private midnight walks in front of Price, to let him know that the coldness you display is in fact only for show and that he knows more about you on a personal level.

➳ Price would have to take a step outside before doing something he'd regret, cursing the universe and Shepherd for bringing this asshole into his path to steal you away from him before his racing thoughts would get interrupted by the very person he despised the most.

"We're both grown men here, Price. Oh, and you know what they say. Sharing is caring."

What Graves would imply made him look even more dangerous in Price's eyes. Either let the better man win your affections or have them both share you so you wouldn't have to choose, even at the same time:).

[solbaby7]

Drifting Away

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: angst (sorry but it just hurts so good) swearing, mentions of poor mental health, romantic undertones

summary: You've been drowning for a long time and finally someone notices

--

Azriel could hear you crying at night.

He wasn't sure when it started; how long it had been going on before the slinking shadows darted about the house, enjoying their free reign when he hears a noise. One so soft he nearly brushed it off as a breeze but he hears it again. A little louder, more throaty and then it clicks; the undeniable sound of despair being swiftly hidden away by the dark hours of the early morning when others were asleep and none the wiser.

There's an urge to check on you, one so overwhelming he taps his fingers against the smooth mahogany desk filled to the brim with mission reports and carefully notated maps with neat notes tucked in the corner. His ears strain for the sound again, mentally agreeing that if he heard it once more, he'd have no other choice but to check it out.

But nothing sounds.

Not for one minute, or two or twenty but he doesn't forget about it.

Especially not when he sees you the following morning, wearing a bright smile and laughing louder than anyone else in the room. He's subtle in the way he observed you, notating your mannerisms and the effortless charm that dripped from your tongue.

The picture of a well adjusted woman. One who seemed happy and fulfilled until the final line was spoken and the one-woman cast bowed for her performance, basking in the applause from a crowd well entertained.

You were attentive; borderline motherly in the way you took care of everyone around you--easily handing off the food from your plate without even batting an eye and Azriel's brow quirks in attention when he hears you decline more when offered; insisting that you're full, showing off a clean plate as you casually wipe your mouth against dark linen cloth.

However, he's certain you didn't take even a single bite.

It piques his interest; the warning signs of a silent struggle and he finds himself unable to stop from noting other things about you.

Like, the way you seemed to be a reliable sounding board. Mor or Feyre or Cassian would come to you for advice, spilling their burdens on your shoulders and you always welcomed them with open arms. You would nod quietly, never once interrupting and always providing such carefully curated advice. The kind you learned through life experience; pain and sorrow and true mind numbing emptiness that came from growing up with bright embers of hope; only to be pushed into the world and realize how far people will go to snuff those embers out.

And never once did they ask if you needed comfort in return.

“For a spymaster, I would have assumed you’d be better at being subtle when you stare.” It’s startling how silent you’d been, shifting from one end of the room to the next without being detected by his hearing or his shadows—shadows he now notices are circling around your feet, tickling at your bare toes against the wine red rug. “What were you looking at anyway?”

Hazel eyes are calculating when they take you in, brows furrowing when you smile down at him, humming to yourself as you twiddle your toes through the ebbing darkness that grows around your legs, teasing at the hem of your dress with a little tug. “You.”

Rhysand sits proudly in a chair big enough to be a throne, large decorative pillows perched under his arms and a grinning Feyre eased into his lap, head curling into his neck with content. Even Nesta and Cass were sitting closer than usual on the couch, feet bumping at the others as she pretended to be absorbed in some book but there was no way she was actually focusing with Cassian’s arm curled around the back of her shoulders. Mor chats idly with Armen, glittering jewelry shoved on two slim fingers and you can’t help but linger on all the incredibly powerful beings around you.

Such purpose all around and somehow you still couldn’t find your own.

“Well, it’s not everyday I get the privilege of your attention.” You twirl once, the material of your dress skimming the tips of his fingers. “Do tell—how do I look?”

Azriel doesn’t correct how that couldn’t be further from the truth. There’s a pause, his voice more soft when he speaks so it gets drowned out in the chatter behind you. “You look lonely.”

The reply makes you stop your toying with the shadows, gentle smile faltering when you squint down at him, throughly caught off guard. “What?” Azriel watches the second you seem to recompose yourself, smile sliding back in place but he can see the way you look at him, regarding him cautiously; wondering where he was getting at. “That’s ridiculous. I live in a home filled with my closest friends and family.”

You anticipate the nod, the smile and then the conversation will continue like nothing had ever happened; the answer appeasing the questioner and you’d continue about your day as you did all the others. But Azriel doesn’t change the subject, doesn’t accept the answer provided. Instead, a golden hand raises, tea still steaming over the rim. “Then, why do you seem so sad?”

“Where are you getting this from?”

“Because I heard something last night,” He watches the way you freeze, lids squinting a fraction and your hands actually tremble at your side.

“Hm," It’s alarming how good you are at taking control of the conversation; how your body adapts to the emotion that your brain predicts Azriel wants you to convey—happiness. His head slowly tilts to the side when you tip your head back and laugh, one that was so convincing even he nearly fell for it; but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Always the spy, when do you ever take a day off?"

Az can't seem to tear his eyes off of you, not when Cassian chimes in with an inebriated laugh, a heavy hand clapping down on his brothers shoulder and you're grateful for the distraction. The ability to slink into easier conversation, to craft a carefully woven picture of serenity but the golden gaze boring into the back of your head is distracting; makes your hands shake ever so slightly over the width of your glass, the condensation dripping cool trails down the length of your arm.

He doesn't get the chance to speak to you for the rest of the night; either being whisked away by his brothers or somehow getting lead away by Elain and Fey when asking for help bringing out a few more things from the kitchen. Shadows trudge by, being his eyes and ears when one returns with the same conclusion; gone, gone, gone.

For the rest of the night, Azriel remained on edge, unable to relax into the drink in his hand and his foot is practically bouncing a hole in the hardwood when the others finally start filtering out for the night; stumbling into one another on their way to their rooms. Ears strain to hear each door close and he's light on his feet when he bristles down the hall, sharply turning to the right and once he's at the end of the hall he comes to an abrupt stop.

Light still pours out from the crack beneath your door and nerves build in his stomach when he sees the shadow of your feet walking past; there was no reasonable explanation to be here—on this floor—and that becomes abhorrantly apparent when the door opens and your raising a brow at him. "Listening in on ladies in their bedchambers is not very gentlemanly of you."

"I wasn't. Well, I was but it wasn't like that." Azriel's walking past you, entering your room without even asking and he seems genuinely startled by the way it looks. Not that it was dirty or unkempt but it was painstakingly bare. Years of living there and still there were no pictures on the wall, no trinkets or feminine flare; just a bed with thick blankets and a shelf filled to the brim with books. A desk with a single sketchbook and a little bag of pencils and charcoals.

"What?"

He's still taking it in; it had to have been nearly eighty years and still it looked almost identical as it had when Rhys had first offered it to you as your own. "It's just not what I expected, that's all."

Your arms are crossed over your chest, hair braided tightly and it swayed as you walked, still dripping wet from a shower. It was alarmingly warm but you still wore a long sleeved shirt and fluffy socks that went up to your knees. "What did you expect?"

Az shrugs, turning to face you when he hears the way you slowly close the door. "You've been here a while. I suppose I had just expected to see more of you in here."

"Another one of your assessments?" There's no hiding the bite in your tone, the defensive stance you take when he begins wandering around; eyes eating up what little things you did have. Fingers graze over the spines of books, picking up one with tons of little dog-eared pages. "Please do tell what my lack of interest in interior decor says about me."

Book pages flutter, stopping when he catches one page more crinkled than most and his brows furrow when realizing the wrinkly circular dots were tears—your tears. "I wasn't evaluating you but since you asked," Azriel tucks the book under his arm and your lips part with a huff but he doesn't acknowledge the grumbles you give about taking things without asking. He's too busy scanning the contents of your desk; a cup of pens, little bottles of paints and a few brushes to accompany them. The thin drawer attached is half-filled with sketchbooks that were tightly bound an sealed with wax; a clear sign to stay the fuck out. "It shows that even after claiming to be perfectly content in a house filled with your so called "closest friends and family", you still refuse to get settled. That could stem from a plethora of things; variables I've accounted for but a definite conclusion is still pending at this time."

"Asshole," You all but hiss, smacking his hands away from sifting through the pages of the sketches and scribbles scrawled beside them— angsty little depictions of your thoughts when things got too overwhelming; when all you craved was a hot bath, one of Rhys' expensive bottles and an empty house so you could dance the line on how long you could hold your breath underwater.

"You asked." Ever the observer, noting the key you pull from under the neckline of your shirt, bending at the knee to unlock the side cabinet and open it just enough to shove the sketchbook inside. It's locked up tight and the intrigue only grows. "You also didn't say I was wrong."

"Fine," You concede, arms behind your back and braced against the desk, a body barrier between him and the secrets you weren't ready to confess. "You were wrong."

Azriel only smiles and your breath actually catches by how genuinely handsome he is. For once, he's not in his fighting leathers but somehow, the laid-back fashion of his dark sweatpants and t-shirt had your knees even more shaky. "Okay, then tell me something about you—something real."

The request startles you, brows screwing up and nose crinkling. "Why?"

A hand waves around him, shadows sliding over barren walls as if to aid in making Az's point. "Because, I should be able to get everything I need to know from being in what should be the most intimate place in the world for you but all I can get is that you like expensive sheets and quality curtains."

"I enjoy good sleep." It was the only two things that mattered when the sadness really set in. When minutes blurred into hours and in a blink of an eye you'd somehow skipped all three meals and everyone was shuffling away to their rooms for the night. "And I'll have you know the pens and colored pencils alone are more expensive than the duvet and curtains combined."

Azriel hums, fingers ghosting over the tin specifically made to hold them in place, perfectly color coded and all sharped to a point. "You draw? How don't I know that?"

"Because it doesn't save lives." It's meant as a joke, it even sounds like one but for some reason the shadowsinger can't seem to share the laugh. You refuse to meet his eye, creating some distance and tucking the key swiftly back under the fabric of your shirt, hands moving to fiddle with the ends of your sleeves. "I'm not all that good anyway."

"Good enough to spend so much money on supplies."

You let out an annoyed sigh and it doesn't affect him one bit; in fact, he finds himself enjoying any other emotion besides the faux smile he'd seen permanently plastered across your features. Your room smells like something Azriel can't place and he finds himself moving again, taking in more and more, trying to find the source of the sweet scent. "Is there a reason that you're here? You know, in my room instead of your own on the floor above us." You begin to trail behind him, following his line of sight and you too begin looking for whatever he was, rummaging through your closet and sniffing at your perfumes. "What are you doing?"

"I can smell something," It comes out distracted, body working without rationality when he ducks into your bathroom, sifting around shampoos and conditioners, soaps shaped like flowers and ivy but none of it is right. Not until he moves to the little cart by your clawfoot tub, fingers ruffling about vials and jars until he finds something that has your spine straightening. “What is this?”

There’s a pause while your will your voice to relax. “Infused rum.”

“Infused with?”

A scoff, bare toes on glossy floors when you snatch the bottle from him. “I don’t know, I don’t pay extra to get a history lesson. I just like how it makes me feel.”

Azriel raises a brow, eyes scanning the rest of the cart before sparing a glance at the empty tub. “In the bath?”

“Everyone has their own version of relaxation.” The bottle clinks back into place on the cart, tucked inconspicuously next to the other brightly colored vials and jars; perfectly hidden to anyone not equipped to pay attention to such things. “Do you usually question Mor or Elain of their drinking habits?”

It’s meant to push him away. To cut deep and throw him off your trail because Azriel was getting too close—too personal. “I would if they came to dinners faking smiles.” One step ahead forces you to take one step back, eyes squinting like a wounded animal bracing for one hell of a fight if it meant getting away. “I would if I saw them fading into nothing after spending their nights sobbing themselves to sleep.”

“Now you’re just speculating.”

“Am I?” Azriel pushes, evading your space and ignoring your attempts to create distance. It has to be some sort of manipulation tactic; distracting you with his intense presence in order to scramble your brain so that by time you realize he’s backed you into a corner—it’s too late. “Then tell me I’m wrong.” His left hand raises, his wrist enclosed in shadows as his fingers curl around your neck. Your pulse hums against his skin, heartrate spiking at the intimate touch and all words are robbed from your vocabulary.

“Azriel—“

The low rasp of his voice cuts you off, gentle grip never faltering from your neck. A shiver runs down your spine, the callouses on his thumb a welcomed roughness when sweeping at the curve of your chin. “It’s okay to be sad,” His scent is overwhelming, affecting your body similarly to a few glasses of fae wine and it takes effort for your knees not to tremble. “Just don’t let it consume you.”

For a second you think he’ll kiss you with how intensely he stares at your mouth, pulse still jumping against his fingertips.

The distance never fully closes and the phantom reminder of his touch remains branded on your skin as he slowly exits your room. And for the first time in years, instead of sniffling wrinkles into novels overflowing with friendship and love or drowning your sorrows in curated liquors —you sit at your desk and draw the sharp lines of Azriel’s jaw and that intense darkness shadowing golden irises and somewhere along the lines, you find a sliver of hope.

[predestinatos]

warm enough for you | CL16 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: charles has a special way of getting under your skin, especially when he insists on staying after the party is over. chapter 1 of an ongoing series.

tags: enemies to lovers, smut with a bit of plot, cocky!charles, bratty!yn

word count: 3.6k

minors dni ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! warnings & note underneath

warnings: smut, drunk (tipsy) sex, oral (f!receiving), penetration, unprotected sex.

author's note: first time attempting at writing smut and posting anything so please keep up with me. currently working on part 2.

Everyone was slowly leaving your apartment, the party reaching its natural end. Bottles were scattered across your living room, but apart from that, the flat was not as messy as expected. The party was more of a get together, given the small venue where you lived.

You were dizzy, the alcohol getting to your head and body, but conscious enough to decide that you could still clean things up before going to sleep. You waited for everyone to leave, and as you were getting ready to finally let out a deep breath you seemed to be holding the whole night, you notice someone standing, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Fuck you scared the shit out of me,” you start. His tall figure contrasted with the multicolored shadows of your living room, still dancing to a rhythm that was no longer there.

Then he chuckled. You knew it was him, he did not have to make a sound for you to recognize his frame, the way he always crossed his arms when he looked at you, as if in constant judgment. But if you had any doubts, that sound gave you all the certainty you needed. It was the chuckle he let out before a snarky remark. “I’m sorry, princess, I didn’t know you were so sensitive…” and there it was. The pet name used solely to annoy you, the tone that clarified his only purpose was to get under your skin.

“I would argue with you, but honestly I just want to clean up so please leave, thank you.” It was true. You enjoyed entertaining this back and forth, feeling him getting more and more irritated yet pleased with himself. But you were not in the mood for it, at least not now. Your head was softly spinning and taking your mind off of things is exactly what you need.

As you walk past him to the living room, in an attempt to showcase how you were not going to even acknowledge him, let alone join him in his games, he pushes himself off of the doorframe. “Just thought you could use some help.”

This was ridiculous, and you let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Since when does he want to help you? Ever since the day you two met, he made it his mission to be as unhelpful as he could, rolling his eyes at everything you said, giving counter arguments to your opinions even if he agreed with them, all whilst smiling towards you with the look of pleasure over someone’s anger. You tried your best to avoid him, but it was impossible to do so, since your friend group was the same. Wherever you went, there he was, and vice versa. Eventually, obviously, you started acting the same way towards him as he did with you, and this just amused your friends even more. That was why he was here, in your apartment. He comes with the friends package, whether you like it or not.

Once again, apart from the laugh, you said nothing else. Instead, you leaned down and started picking up the empty bottles from the floor, whilst the lights kept changing colors from blue to purple to red. To your surprise, you hear him do the same, although he stumbles on himself a bit more than you. “Lightweight” you say, smirking, making your way towards the kitchen to put the bottles in a trash bag. That, and because the silence in the living room was too loud, made it too tight for both of you to fit.

As you placed the empty bottles carefully in the bag, avoiding the loud noise of glass on glass to heighten your soon to come headache, you feel a hand on your waist. His hand. His grip was tight and soft at the same time, sending shivers down your body which contrast with your annoyance. “Excuse me” he said behind you, almost whispering in your ear. His hand left your waist as fast as it got there, an indication of how he was aware you wanted more. “Was this less scary?” he asked, ironically.

You turned to look at him, almost ignoring the fact that you were trapped against the balcony as his body. You could feel his gaze on yours, and while you tried to hold it, you realized you couldn’t. The best you could do was run a hand through your hair in an attempt to disguise the tension running through your body. “You’re such an asshole” you said.

He finally looked away while smiling to himself, staring out the window. You took a second to notice the way his throat bobbed up and down, his hair was messy and careless due to the alcohol on his system which lowered his inhibitions. “You like it though.” Before you could turn away, his gaze stared at your again. His breathing was heavier than usual, the drunken smirk on his face juxtaposing with his furrowed eyebrows and darkened eyes. His face was so close, too close, for you to think straight. You looked at his lips, breaking eye contact once again, letting him win once again. “You wish” was all you could reply.

Without moving, his voice asked in defiance, “so what if I do?” You could feel his eyes exploring your body, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady, too controlled breaths. The red light in the living room shone behind him, highlighting his shape hovering above you. “That’s rich coming from you” you snickered. As much as you were feeling the tension between you both, as much as your teasing and bickering was reaching to a degree of immense repressed desire every time you two were in the same room, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You couldn’t.

The first time you two met, he went out of his way to drunkenly inform you, at a club, that you two “would never happen” and that he “would never fuck you.” To this day you fail to understand where the comment came from, to this day you don’t understand why he hates you so much but insists on making his presence known to you.

At first he seemed confused at your comment, his eyes searching your face for an explanation, but soon enough they widen in realization. Letting out a soft laugh, Charles ran his hands through his hair, making it even messier. “You still think about that?”

It was a ridiculous question, and he knew it. It was hard to hear something like that from someone who you basically had just met, even though he was drunk when he said it. You had not even had time to consider any sort of thing happening between you two and he had already declared it impossible. It seemed unbelievable that someone could be so full of himself to the point of declaring he was not going to bed with you, even before you showed any interest.

You pushed him away softly, and he did not stop you, despite his clear disappointment. That emotion was quickly replaced by a raising of eyebrows as he saw you open the door to the fridge and taking out two cold beers, handing him one. “You don’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so help yourself.” Was all you could say.

This behavior could be explained by the alcohol running through both of your veins already, by your tiredness over the night, or the sheer need for company you had been needing for a while. You moved towards the living room again, slouching down on the sofa, and you needed not look back to know Charles was following you.

He lifted your legs, which were resting softly on the couch, only to sit down and place them on his lap carefully, with a grin splattered across his face. His side profile revealed a certain rigidness, his jaw tight and tense, but his eyes were soft and calm. “Did you mean it, though?” you asked. You seemed to have interrupted his thoughts, because his expression was lost at your sudden break of silence in the dark room.

“What do you think?” he asked back, never willing to give you the upper hand or satisfaction of a normal conversation. You tried to distract yourself from his cold hand caressing your leg, mostly because you did not know how much of it was intentional. He seemed to be doing it so nonchalantly and carelessly, you wondered if most of it was just instinct.

You tried to calm your voice before you replied, even though the first word that came out of your mouth sounded deeper and higher at the same time, uneven and nervous. “Well- I think, according to what you said that nigh-“ you started, but couldn’t finish. He did not allow you to, interrupting you and turning his face to you for the first time since you two sat down. “I know you’re not that dense, princess.”

Even in the darkly lit room, you felt his gaze burning your skin, focusing on your lips, then your neck. Meanwhile, you stared at his hand, moving slightly up your leg, sending shivers throughout your whole body, shivers you wish he did not notice, but knew, deep down, he was aware of. He knew the effect these had on you, he knew how to please, because that was his reputation. And you hated it at first, hated that he was so confident in his skills and so utterly arrogant about them, but now it only aroused you even more. You took a big sip of your beer, in an attempt to cool your now burning body.

That seemed to remind Charles he was himself holding a bottle of beer in his own hand, because upon seeing you swallow the liquid, he looked at the hand which was holding it. Moving it in order to hold it by the neck, grinning to himself in proud arrogance, he brought it close to your skin, your body hissing in pleasure at the temperature. You closed your eyes and exhaled softly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this seemingly simple action affected you, but also not wanting him to stop.

He whispered your name, the request for you to look at him implicit in his voice, and you complied. His movements did not stop, a slow game he seemed to be playing with you, in an attempt to see how far he could go. “You look so fucking hot,” he breathed.

Your body was aflame with lust, and so was his, you could tell. You could see him struggling to even speak clearly, to move clearly, trying his best to control his movements which threatened to unleash themselves. “Careful, Charles, you don’t want to break your promise,” you teased, as you slowly moved closer to him, both in defiance of his actions and tempting him to proceed with them.

He freed both of his hands as you placed yourself directly in front of him, sitting on his lap, feeling his erection through his jeans. “You’re making it very hard for me not to do it” he murmured. “Am I?” you asked again. You were feeling bold, enjoying how both of you were toying with the thin line between hate and desire, between forbidden and allowed. Charles merely nodded hungrily, his hands placed on your hips, caressing them softly.

Your pulse quickened at the touch, but also at his greedy and dark expression. You moved your hands towards his shirt, which you start unbuttoning slowly, revealing more and more of his skin slowly. Before you could move to the fourth button, he abruptly grabs a hold of your wrists and pins you to the sofa, underneath his frame. “Stop being such a fucking tease,” he demanded with an aggressive ardor in his voice. With that, he guided your hand which he was still holding towards his erection. You realized the agony he must be in, how his cock must be throbbing underneath those layers of fabric. You felt weak yourself, with an intoxicating need to undress, to ignite the fire that was visibly about to burst into crimson flames.

“You deserve it” you replied with a smirk. It didn’t seem to convince him, this attempt of yours at seeming stronger and unaffected by what was happening. You and him were playing a game but it was getting too real, too intense, too tempting. Letting go of your hand and getting closer to you, his lips mere inches away from yours, he placed a hand between your legs, feeling the pooling wetness growing. Your whole body shuddered at this, a moan escaping your lips and giving you away. “You’re just making it harder for yourself,” he whispered smugly, lips brushing against yours.

Desperately you pulled him in for a kiss. His kiss was filled with intoxicating craving, a groan escaping his lips at the sudden action, his hips grinding against you in frenzied movements. Breaking your kiss, his lips moved towards your neck, softly biting it and leaving wet marks as he kept going down. You undid the knot holding your short dress together, thanking yourself for the easy-access choice of wardrobe.

As he kissed your stomach and paused at your navel, looking up at you as if asking for confirmation. You looked at him and saw how he looked: disheveled and flushed, his cheeks red and messy hair. He looked absolutely mesmerizing, the mix of complete submission but demanding attitude affecting your body through a quickened pulse. You could only nod your permission, finding yourself at a loss of words. He did not hesitate to pull down your lacy underwear, leaving you exposed to him, feeling his warm breath against you. All at once, his lips were exploring your opening, followed by his tongue, moving with ravish.

You cried audibly in pleasure, your back arching against him in untamed pleasure. Unable to hold his own need for pleasure, Charles unzipped his jeans and began stroking himself. His ragged grunts made your body melt in jolts of bliss, and watching him touching himself as he ate you out sent you completely over the edge.

He raised his eyes at you as he kept savoring you, some of his hair sticking to his forehead, his gaze filled with contrasting innocence and total control over you. He pulled his lips away from you, placing himself above your frame, making you look so small in comparison to him. He hovered over you, shirt completely unbuttoned, hand still pleasuring his cock, visibly throbbing with need. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of him, face wet from your juices and his saliva, chest rising and falling incoherently. “I knew you’d love it” he breathed out.

It was admirable, really. How he still teased you and made it his mission to get under your skin, even like this. “That’s all you’ve got?” you replied, eyebrows raised, eyes half closed in unspoken defiance. “You’re jerking yourself off like a desperate teenager and I’m the one ‘loving it’?” you were testing him. Trying to see how much you could push him over the edge, annoy him, how he would take it out on you – or not.

“God you’re such a fucking brat” he hissed, holding your body with ease and turning you around, lying on your stomach. With his knees, he spread your legs apart and positioned himself between them. You felt him lower himself down, preparing yourself to be filled up, to quench the thirst growing at every passing second but- nothing was happening.

“What the fuck-“ you complained, annoyed. It was slightly embarrassing, your frustration over how long he was taking, and when you turned your head around slightly to see what was wrong, you saw that he had won. He was doing it on purpose, despite his own desperation to bury himself inside you. Amused, he chuckled bringing his hand to your back, caressing it as if to ease your pain in mocking comfort. “You have to tell me what you want, princess.”

“You can’t be serious” you hissed back. But he was, and you knew it. You had gotten this far already, and yet he would not let this go, and you did not know why he insisted so much. You had no idea how much it turned him on to see that only he could affect you like he did, to see how much control he had over you.

Rolling your eyes and doing your best at a monocordic voice, you complied “fuck me, Charles.” Yes, you were being bratty and petty, and yes, you would do anything just for him to fill the emptiness you were feeling inside you.

“You’re such a brat,” he growls as he thrusts himself into you. Your instantly arch your back in pain ad pleasure, feeling his whole body vibrating into you with untamed hunger. His hands grip your waist and force you to switch from a lying position to all fours, allowing him to access you easier. He continued his thrusts as he left bites on the back of your neck, and you filled the room with your cries.

He was not being soft or sweet about it. Charles was completely immersed in his need to have you, so much so that he could barely see anything apart from you, back arched in pleasure for him, the switching lights illuminating every curve of your body in sensuous effect. He dreamt about possessing you like this so often, thought about how good you’d feel so many times, that what was happening seemed to him unreal. He felt himself close to coming as you clenched around him, but before he could so, he pulled himself out of you.

 “Not yet,” he started. His voice was husked and lazy, a reflection of how much restraint it was taking him not to fill you up already. You were about to protest, being so close yourself, but as you turned around you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of him. His green eyes were glossy, his face completely flushed and sweaty from withhold pleasure. As you stared at him, he raised an eyebrow and gave you a half-smile. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, doing nothing to fix it, but it didn’t matter. He seemed almost shy about how you were looing at him, which was insane and ridiculous, given what you were doing, what you were.

 “I want to look at you” you said. This caused Charles’ eyes to widen in surprise, not expecting your bluntness. Even you were shocked at what you said and how demanding you sounded, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Holding one of your ankles and placing it on his shoulder, Charles entered you with unleashed violence, his gazed interlocked with yours. You thought about how pornographic the view must be for him as well, your swollen lips, some tears of pleasure running through your cheeks, and a sloppy smile plastered across your face. You feel absolutely lightheaded, almost drunk with ecstasy. “Putain, j'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça” he said, French escaping his lips as he loses all capacity to form coherent thoughts. This just made your pulse quicken, your skin bursting with fulfillment.

 His pace fastened even more, as he grunted and throbbed with how good he felt inside you. “Your cunt feels so fucking good” he kept repeating, his eyebrows furrowed as if attempting to delay his orgasm. “Charles, I- I’m gonna cum” you try telling him, between breaths and moans. “Fuck, fuck, look at me” he demanded, holding your face so it wouldn’t move away from his gaze. With that, you erupted in pleasure, completely undone beneath him, body trembling.

The view was so overwhelming, Charles couldn’t help but come as well, filling you up with fervent ardor, his body falling limply on top of yours. He remained there, his breathing uneven and erratic, just like yours.

You both lost track of time as you lay there, together. You could have fallen asleep like that, maybe you had, there was no way to tell. He felt warm and comfortable against you, and you felt so close and secure to him that neither of you dared to move.

After a while, his fingers starting drawing small, invisible designs on your still sensitive skin, causing you to giggle. For some time, you two just existed together with nothing else retraining your behavior, your own hands playing with his soft hair, a tired smile on his face.

You wake up with light filling your living room, giving you momentary blindness. The headache was done with its threat to show up, now attacking you with full force, limiting your movements and thoughts. Despite everything, you remembered the night before. Even if you did not, there was evidence that something had happened – or, better, there wasn’t any, and that’s what caught your attention.

The living room was pristine and looked untouched. You were fully dressed in some comfortable clothes, and the TV was on despite the fact that its volume was almost fully off. It seemed as if this was an ordinary day, but you knew it wasn’t.

You grabbed your phone and stared at its screen empty of any sort of texts, notifications or messages. Nothing to prove the night before. You knew it was a mistake to do so, but you couldn’t help typing out the text:

To: Charles (Asshole) Hey, got home safe? (11:33am)

All you got back was a small text underneath yours, which said “Read (11:47)”

[nanaslutt]

thinkin about the one bed troupe with coworker!nanami

contains: fem reader, manhandling, degradation, choking, size kink, mean nanamin, the knee thing :p, dom/sub undertones implied, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, gentleman nanamin at the begining<3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

finishing up with a mission that took a little longer than expected and having to book a room last minute at some run down motel with nanami, the only room available only housing one bed :(

after a long back and forth conversation with lots of protests from nanami insisting he would sleep on the floor, you both end up taking the bed,

both of you laying on your sides facing the wall, your back to nanami, his chest towards your back

he tried his best to maintain a respectful distance away from you, proving futile as his large body alone took up more than half the twin bed

“goodnight’s” have been said, getting all settled in under the covers after nanami flicks off the light on the bedside table

feeling the heat from his body radiate against your back, realizing just how close you were in proximity, silence filling the room, save for his deep breaths that reached your ears, making goosebumps run down your arms

rubbing your thighs together as subtly as possible, gaining the courage to push your ass back into his crotch, sayin, “sorry nanamin, ‘s just so cold..” and he believes you because you’re his sweet little coworker, why would you lie to him?

he feels absolutely awful when his dick twitches at your cute little voice, cock now tenting in his pants

squeezing his eyes shut he tried to think about anything other than your hips wiggling back into him every couple seconds

he knows he shouldn’t feel like this, you’re just trying to get comfortable! the mattress is stiff and it really is cold in here! he’s praying you don’t feel how hard he is, cock now standing under his clothes at full attention

little does he know his filthy coworker knows exactly what she’s doing

biting your lip, growing wetter as you get exactly the right reactions you wanted out of him, trying not to moan as you feel how fucking big he is between your cheeks

he places a big hand on your hip and grips hard, when your subtle grinding gets a little too obvious, “are you doing this to me on purpose?” his deep voice whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine, suppressing a whine

“thought you were cold but you’re just a little slut, huh?” he harshly rolls you onto your back, pinning your smaller frame underneath his much larger one, sliding a knee between your legs he pushes right up against where you needed him most,

“had me feeling so guilty for getting this fucking hard,” he emphasizes by reaching a big palm between you and rubbing himself over his slacks, “i was trying to be respectful.” he continues, releasing the strong grip on his cock and roughly grabbing your neck,

you gasp, using both your hands to grab his thick wrist, feeling lightheaded from the strength he was showing off

“but you don’t wanna be treated with respect, isn’t that right?” he seethed, leaning his face down inches from yours, emphasizing his point by squeezing your neck, your jaw dropping open, whimpering at his rough treatment,

“you think i’m an idiot? huh?,” he pushes his knee into your core and you snap your legs shut around his rippling thigh, “think i’m some dumb whore like you? huh?”

and what happens next has you sealing your own fate,

you fucking smirk, and he swears he’s never felt the need to put someone in their place as bad as he needs to put you in yours now, “oh you think this is funny?” he growls releasing your neck opting to grip your jaw and make you look directly at him, veins bulging on his hands, “let’s see if youre still laughing after i fuck the brat out of you.”

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!

Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.

But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.

You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.

Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!

Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

JJK Masterlist | Twitter | Ao3

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

You’ve never set foot in a demon’s realm.

You’ve heard the stories—flames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.

You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. You’ve done well. It’s why you’ve been given this task—a pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.

The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heavens would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choice—though you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.

Maybe that’s why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.

Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many ‘gifts’ that have set you apart—the way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldn’t be explored. Finally, it’s all paid off.

Or…at least that’s what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.

Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.

You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. It’s what you’ve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.

The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.

Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.

“To be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.”

Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.

You knew to expect this pain, but it’s different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.

Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.

An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. It’s small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but it’s there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, it’s there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.

Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.

You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.

Then—through burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.

The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.

Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though there’s a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.

Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. It’s built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.

Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. It’s a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. They’re littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realize—

Hemlock

A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in it’s refined beauty, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.

You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.

With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.

While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.

You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.

The monolith’s base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sight—this is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.

You’re struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.

On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no amulet capable of manipulating time.

It is a book.

A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.

Such a simple relic, but you feel it’s dark power from your spot at the altar.

You’ve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.

Do not open it.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

Do not look inside.

These are your rules—your absolutes. And yet…

Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldn’t feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.

It’s temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.

It’s quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along it’s ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through it’s own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. There’s a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.

But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.

Do not open it.

You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.

But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and it’s right here.

In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.

“Father,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Give me the strength against temptation.” Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. “Guide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pure…”

But even as you pray, your body rebels—your fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. There’s a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this once—look inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.

Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. You’re no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darkness—easily tempted and consumed.

You’re not damned, you’re not, you’re not—

“What do we have here?”

The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.

You’re not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.

But you’re met with nothing—just the empty garden path you came from.

When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.

He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.

He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.

The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal hands—navy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like he’s been waiting for you.

He’s beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memory—flashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.

He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. You’ve seen him—or you think you have—convinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.

And in your dreams too—dreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. You’d wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.

Perhaps that’s why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps that’s why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?

Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.

But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those ‘coincidences’ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?

You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. “Hallowed be thy—”

The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.

“That name,” he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, “holds no power here.” His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.

He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.

He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.

This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. You’ve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.

Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.

But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.

“How interesting…” The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. “An angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely there’s a rule about that, is there not?”

You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.

“Give it back!” Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.

A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isn’t the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. He’s giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.

“W-well, you…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You can’t see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.

The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.

“Demon,” you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.

His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.

“That is not my name.” He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. “Though, I suspect you already know what it is.”

Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.

“I don’t—I’m here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.”

“They sent you to steal this relic,” he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.

“I would not steal.”

“Coming to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.”

You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.

“I was invited.”

You’ve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. There’s a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But you’re afraid—whether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerous—you still don’t know.

“I-I was chosen,” you insist, despite what you feel.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.” His head tilts as he regards you.

The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. “Take it. Return to your divine purpose.”

You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.

You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you until—

The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.

“That’s not—” you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that you’re trying to deny.

The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers until—

The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.

“Stop this!” Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. “But why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demon’s realm? Why alone? Why you?”

Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but it’s more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.

“The relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilities—”

“Your abilities,” he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, “the ones that they’ve tried to suppress. The ones that they’ve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and you’ve been given this divine purpose?”

The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.

“They finally saw my worth,” you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. “I am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.”

Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.

“Lies.”

Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. “I would not lie!”

“Neither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.”

“No.”

“There is no relic.” The tome in your hands disappears, it’s solid form no longer tethered to existence.

“Give it—”

“There is no mission,” he presses on. “There is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.”

“To you…”

“An offering, little angel.”

The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.

“No. They would never sacrifice someone. They—they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do that to me.”

The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.

The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.

“Father! I’ve retrieved the relic! I’m home!”

But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesn’t even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, you’ve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.

“H-hello?” you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. “I-I said I’ve brought the relic.” Silence. “Hello?!” You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?

You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.

“Please,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “Will someone—”

“They will not open the doors, little angel,” the demon speaks from behind you.

You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.

Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?

“Perhaps it is a mistake,” you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. “Why would they do this to me?”

You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. There’s a flicker of something that crosses his face—amusement? Maybe pity?

“They have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.”

The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.

“They fear you, little angel,” he continues, voice softening. “Your potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.”

You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. “I will not.”

The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. “Such defiance,” he purrs. “It’s quite…alluring.”

You can’t help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. “I will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.”

“Like me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?” His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. “You deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.”

You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.

“Come now, my dear.” The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.

“I can smell it on you,” he continues, his voice a silken caress. “The insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.”

The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.

“Do you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.”

He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if you’ve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.

“You pluck your true self,” he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. “But they only grow back stronger, don’t they?”

A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.

“Even so…I cannot leave?”

He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.

“You have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.”

Your eyes bubble with tears. It’s an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. There’s a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.

“If I stay…what will you give me?” you ask, your voice small and defeated.

The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.

“You already think in ways that will benefit yourself, don’t you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.” The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. “Anything at all.”

You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.

You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. It’s unbecoming of an angel, they’d say, a physical manifestation of want. But you’ve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.

“Anything?”

He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.

“I want…” you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. You’ve never given it a true voice, and now that you’ve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.

The demon’s eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. “You wish to read the tome.”

You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.

“Take it,” he urges in a seductive whisper. “It is yours.”

You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, it’s feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words you’ve always wanted.

When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realm—its history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.

From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.

“This is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.” He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. “There is so much more I can show you,” he whispers in your ear again. “Would you like that?”

Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.

Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.

He takes you back to where you began, the realm’s outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as souls—humans that you recognize from your years of observation.

“Do you remember her?” the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. “The woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.”

You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.

“You watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.” His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. “Heaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.”

“How do you give purpose if you are a demon?”

The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “It is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.”

Each soul that you pass triggers a memory—struggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarity—he was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.

“You’ve been watching me then,” you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.

“It is my nature,” he rumbles from next to you. “You understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.” His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. “Here, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.”

Power.

A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heaven’s sterile authority.

The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. “The first taste of true power always overwhelms.” Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.

Every soul’s story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.

“I…” you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.

“What else would you like?” he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. “Earthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.” The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. “Even something as simple as this.”

You’ve never had wine—it’s forbidden—at least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and rich…your mouth waters.

“Freedom to roam where you wish.”

Glimpses of different realms flash by—clouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the lands—places you’ve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.

His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. “Or perhaps…” Another shift. A dark room you remember faintly—through gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize it’s you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.

Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing that’s ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the scene—to the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.

He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after night—your grace singing, skin hot and sweaty—essence coating your thighs.

“I—” you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. “This is wrong…”

His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. “Your body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.

“Even your grace recognizes where you truly belong.” He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. “Here. With me.”

His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.

“Every dream they tried to bury,” his hands trail up your thighs, “every desire they made you forget…” he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. “All of it has lead to this moment. To me.”

“I—” you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.

“You were meant for this realm,” he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. “I will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.” You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. “You’ve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.”

His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. “Anything you want,” he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of it’s rapid flutter, “you will have, little angel.” His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. “But you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.”

You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. “I should not…”

“Surrender,” he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. “Let me worship you.” A kiss to your collarbone. “You will never be denied again.” His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. “Submit to what you have always wanted.”

The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything you’ve always wanted, could be given to you right now.

All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.

Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.

For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize he’s waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreams…

“Please,” the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.

His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. “Say it properly, little angel.” His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. “Tell me.”

Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. “I want…I will to surrender.”

You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and it’s as euphoric as you’ve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.

The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.

He tastes like he smells—green tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. It’s intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.

What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.

Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demon’s large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.

He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.

A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, they’re warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.

His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.

“You taste wonderful, little angel,” he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. “But I must taste more.”

He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. It’s longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.

He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.

You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.

You’ve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.

“Look at how much you give me,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that you’ve sunken your fingers into at night.

You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demon’s broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.

With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.

“Please,” you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.

His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.

Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.

He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.

“Beautiful,” he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your taste—tangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. “But I must have all of you to make this complete.”

All of you?

You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widen—he’s definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.

He’s beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. He’s impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.

He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and there’s a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.

He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though he’s tall, you’re able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.

You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.

As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

“My angel,” he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. “That pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.”

The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.

The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.

He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. It’s a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.

The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if you’re being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.

One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.

“Perfect,” he breathes against your shoulder. “Look how well you take me.” His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.

You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.

The demon’s nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until you’re not sure where he stops and you begin.

The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.

“That’s it,” he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.

You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.

“Transform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.”

“Yes,” you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and you’re falling, you’re falling, you’re—

The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as you’re bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.

He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.

He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.

What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.

The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.

You don’t know why, you don’t know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.

“Please, please, Father,” you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. “Forgive me.”

“We will have none of that,” he warns, out of breath. “You seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.”

His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. “Keep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.” He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. “In your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesn’t she?”

You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.

“I’ve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate. I’ve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this don’t you?”

You try to whisper your Father’s name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.

“You won’t say his name here anymore. Not in my realm—in our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.”

Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.

The monolith quickens, a hummingbird’s wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.

Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.

“I can’t—” you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. “Please.”

“Please what?” he groans.

“More, please more, more, more,” you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.

“Say my name,” he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. “Let the skies above hear who you belong to now.”

You don’t know where the name comes from. He’s never given it to you. You’ve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, you’ve always known all along. Known him.

“Nanami,” it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. “Nanami, please—”

His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.

The monolith’s pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.

“You were an offering—a gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now you’re mine. And your Father sent you to me,” he growls against your throat. “My dark goddess.”

His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.

“Let go. Surrender to me completely.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.

All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.

You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.

You can’t breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.

Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.

Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.

“I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanami’s eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. “I’m yours, Nanami.”

“Take my essence, little angel,” he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. “One day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.”

Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.

“Yes, Nanami,” you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.

His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.

He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.

He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.

He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverse—washing away heaven’s hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.

You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.

He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.

Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly now—the way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.

He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.

The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, they’re identical in height and grandeur—a statement of what he promised you—equal rule.

Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.

He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.

Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. “You look magnificent,” he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.

With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.

Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.

The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanami’s lips to your palm once more.

As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.

It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.

Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!

[haoboutyou]

hello!!! I really enjoy your fics and was wondering if you could do wonwoo, cheol & mingyu where they're crushing on you? separate ones!!

when they have a crush on you | hhu

fluff | 1278 words (300-ish per member) | no warnings

an: hihi! hope this is what you're looking for! it took me a while ngl I have new-found respect for headcanon writers T-T + added vernon because 🤷🏽‍♀️

divider credit

1. Choi Seungcheol

He carries your bags for you. 

You’re not sure when it started, but you’ve noticed that Seungcheol would always carry your bags for you, even despite your insistence. It’s like he’s made it his own personal mission to carry your stuff for you, even when you’re out with others. of course, this came hand in hand with the other guys teasing you two whenever you hung out. It doesn’t help that Jeonghan often jokes that Seungcheol’s crush on you is an open secret, but the boy in question wouldn’t even dispel his best friend’s words, flushing bright red every time.

“Seungcheol, give me that!”

Seungcheol stops in his tracks, causing you to bump into his back. The equipment in the box clinks against each other as he turns around, facing you. Wordlessly, he dumps the box into your waiting arms, smirking when you almost topple over at the unexpected weight. 

“I told you, sweetheart; leave the heavy lifting to me.”

You glance up at him, a slight blush from the unexpected nickname. When did he start calling you that? A bead of sweat glistens on your brow as you brush that thought away, your expression a mix of defiance and sheepishness. 

"I can manage," you mumble, trying your hardest to conceal the struggle in your tone.

He can’t shake off the apprehension swirling within him. He had warned you, hadn't he? Yet, you continue to persist, your determination outmatching your physical strength. Concern floods Seungcheol as he watches the way your arms tremble at the weight of the box. 

He approaches you, gently but firmly emphasising again. "I told you, y/n.” With a resigned sigh, he reached out, his hands enveloping the box, effortlessly lifting it from your grasp. "Stubborn as ever," his voice's a certain fondness, tugging at your heart for no apparent reason.

You watch him, a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment colouring your features as he continues walking away with the box. Eh, what harm is an extra hand?

2. Jeon Wonwoo

He lets you win in games.

Wonwoo’s proud of his in-game skills; he’s not afraid to say his reflexes sharp and his strategies are flawless. He’s rather good too– having high rankings in the server makes him cocky, Seungcheol likes to say. But as he glanced at his crush beside him, he notices the slight furrow of your brow, a hint of frustration clouding your features as you struggle to keep up.

A pang of empathy tugs at his heart. Wonwoo did ask you to join him at the internet cafe; he only wishes that you would learn to enjoy the game as much as he did. And so, in a split-second decision, he dials back his intensity, purposely taking on more hits to level the playing field.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you suddenly found your character gaining ground, rallying against the opposing team with newfound vigor. Unbeknownst to you, Wonwoo was subtly adjusting his tactics– allowing you to seize the advantage, all the while maintaining the illusion of competition.

Your team wins. Across you, Jihoon whoops in joy. “That’s foul!” Chan baulks opposite Wonwoo, clicking away furiously on his keyboard. Wonwoo smirks as he leans back in his chair, the loser banner blinking brightly on his screen. Arms stretching up, he leans over his monitor to peek your screen.

Your eyes seemed to shine brighter than the screen in front of you. Contrary to the boy next to you, your monitor flashes an animated victory banner.

“I did it! We–I did it!” you clap your hands together, grinning ear to ear. You lean towards Wonwoo to bump shoulders with him. 

He chuckles, arms crossing behind his head as he leans back in his seat. “Yes, you did!”

3. Chwe Vernon

He gets you medicine.

“Here.” A box drops in front of you, breaking the concentration you had on your laptop in front of you. 

You look up from your screen in confusion. “What’s this?” 

Vernon nudges the box of painkillers in front of you. He settles down on the chair opposite yours, acknowledging Seungkwan seated beside you. 

“You said you had a headache.” He acts nonchalant as he dives into conversation with his best friend, but the heavy blush creeping up his neck suggests otherwise. Yes, you had texted him earlier asking if he had painkillers on him, but you recalled him replying a plain ‘no’. Either he was lying (you doubt it– why would Vernon lie to you?) or he had stopped by a pharmacy just to pick up some for you.

You’re slightly flushing now, and not because of the dull throbbing in your head. Sure, Seungkwan had fed into your delusion earlier, suggesting that Vernon might have a crush on you– but there’s no way that’s, right?

You sneak a glance at your two best friends in front of you, now engaging in a deep argument about potatoes. Vernon’s brows furrow even deeper but soften when he realises you’re looking his way. The shy smile he sends your way causes cartwheels in your stomach before replacing it with an exaggerated gasp directed to Seungkwan’s way. 

You bury your head back into your laptop, mumbling a quick thanks before trying to focus on your work. Still, you can’t shake off what Seungkwan said about your best friend.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think Vernon has a crush on you.”

“That’s ridiculous, Kwan. He sees me as a friend, just like you.”

Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows, choosing to scroll on his phone instead half-heartedly. “Sure, Jan,” he scoffs.

You slink back deeper in your seat. That can’t be true, right?

4. Kim Mingyu

He gets jealous of others.

Mingyu watches from across the cafe as you laugh at something Seokmin said, your smile radiant, eyes sparkling with amusement. He feels a knot tighten in his stomach– a familiar pang of jealousy gnawing at his insides. Aren’t you standing a little bit too close for comfort? Your easy camaraderie is triggering a surge of insecurity within him.

Seokmin is charming, there is no denying it. He has a way with words, a magnetic-like personality that drew people in effortlessly. And you seem rather captivated, hanging on to his every word. Usually, your laughter rings out like music to Mingyu’s ears. Today, though, it was all a cacophony of discord. A reminder of what he could be missing out on.

He clenches his fists, trying to push down the rising tide of jealousy threatening to consume him. Mingyu knows he had no right to feel this way; you aren’t his to claim, and Seokmin had every right to befriend you. But logic did very little to quell the sudden surge of possessiveness coursing through his veins.

So he sits, pouting on his own until you notice him from the corner of your eye. He stares you down with his big puppy eyes until you sigh and walk over to your best friend. Your hand can’t help but run through his soft dark hair.

“What’s wrong, Gyu?”

“Hmm?” he leans into your touch, nuzzling against the palm of your hand. “Nothing, Y/n.”

You shoot him a condescending look. “Yeah? You shooting Seokmin daggers with your eyes for nothing?” Your eyes flutter shut as you sigh, shaking your heard in disbelief. Then, ruffling his hair, “If you say so, Gyu.” 

“Anyways,” Mingyu clears his throat, looking up at the cafe’s menu board. “Have you decided what to get? My treat today!” 

“Really?!” Your eyes sparkle, glad you won’t have to open your wallet today. “Help me finish the then cakes, okay? Promise!” 

[silverynight]

Recharge

Based on the mha manga finale

"Your childhood friend is taking too many extra shifts; he'll pass out soon at this rate."

Aizawa does that a lot lately; he casually walks into Izuku's classroom or his office, only to drop random information about Katsuki. It's usually something Aizawa disapproves of.

Izuku sighs, looking up at the window from all the essays he has to grade. Lately, Katsuki is making him worry too much.

The funny thing is that Aizawa believes he has some secret power to make pro hero Katsuki stop or change his mind; sure, they're friends, and he often listens to Izuku (yes, he also pays him a lot of visits) but it's not like the young teacher can work miracles.

"I'll talk to him," he promises. This time, he needs to think about something to make him take a break. He doesn't want Katsuki to end up hurt during one of his missions because he's too tired to focus.

Izuku spends a couple of minutes staring down at his phone; thinking about what to text Katsuki. The truth is that they see each other pretty much every week, and he's the one who usually asks Izuku if he can go to his apartment or hang out with him.

Izuku never reaches out first and it's not because he doesn't want to; the only reason he doesn't ask Katsuki to come is because he's aware how hard it's for pro heroes to make time for social stuff. Besides, he doesn't want to bother him.

Now, it's been two weeks since he last saw Katsuki; Izuku has been thinking about it even before Aizawa approached him, but he refused to mention anything about that to Katsuki because he didn't want to annoy him. He had decided to wait because it was obvious Katsuki hadn't contacted him for a reason.

However, if it's because he's been overworking himself on purpose, Izuku needs to make him stop before he collapses or at least try to talk to him out of it.

Hi, Kacchan!

Do you have time today to hang out with me? We can stay at my place and order takeout!

He sends it before he regrets it. Izuku bites his bottom lip, but forces himself to look at the works he's grading because he seriously needs to get back to it.

Katsuki answers just a few minutes later, and it's a bit surprising considering how busy Aizawa said he was.

I have another patrol later today. I won't be free until 2 am. But maybe I can come over in two days?

Is it his second one in a day or his third? Izuku's mind fills itself with anxious thoughts and wonders when was the last time Katsuki had a proper night's sleep. Why is he overworking himself? Pro heroes make good money, he shouldn't be struggling financially...

He doesn't ask any of those questions or tells Katsuki to reschedule. Izuku has no idea why Aizawa is always so sure he can make Katsuki change his mind. His friend has more important things to do now; honestly, it's a miracle he finds the time to hang out with Izuku once a week.

He shouldn't insist, but Izuku decides to be honest.

Don't worry about it! We can see each other when you have more time!

I just miss you, that's all! Good luck with your patrol, Kacchan!

Izuku leaves his phone next to him on the table, takes a deep breath, and gets determined not to worry about his friend for a while.

An hour later, he gets another text from Katsuki.

Ashido is going to take that last patrol. I'll be at your place at 6 pm.

Izuku grins before going back to his own work, determined to finish everything by 5; he'll have enough time to take a shower and tidy his apartment a bit before Katsuki arrives.

Just when he's done with the essays, he gets another message.

I miss you too.

Izuku has to cover his face after that one; he's not sure why it makes him blush.

***

Izuku is more or less satisfied with his work when there's a knock at his door. Katsuki is at the other side, hair still dripping wet from his shower, wearing casual clothes and carrying a few boxes of takeout.

"Kacchan!" Izuku beams, making his friend smile in response. He takes the boxes from his hands and walks towards his little kitchen as the pro hero takes his boots off and leaves them at the entrance.

He's still way taller than Izuku, even without the boots.

"You brought katsudon!" The excitement in his voice is obvious, but he doesn't try to hide it. "Thank you, I–Kacchan?"

He turns around, only to be pulled into a tight embrace; Katsuki tilts his head down in order to nuzzle against Izuku's green curls. He takes a deep breath.

"I missed you so much, nerd," he mumbles, sincerely, almost like he can't stop himself from doing it.

Izuku giggles, hoping the blush on his cheeks is not too obvious, and he tries to step away, only for Katsuki to pull him right back into his arms with a grumpy huff.

"Wait. I need to recharge," the pro hero insists, resting his head on the teacher's shoulder. "Alright. I'm better now. Besides, you must be hungry."

Only when Izuku takes a few steps back he notices how tired Katsuki actually looks. There are shadows under his eyes, his face has a few cuts, and Izuku just knows his muscles must be killing him.

Narrowing his eyes, the green haired teacher cups his friend's face, watching as Katsuki closes his eyes and surrenders into the touch.

"I'll fix those scratches, and I bring you something for the sore muscles. Sit here," Sometimes Izuku gets a little bit bossy when he's worried, but he doesn't realize it until it's too late.

Besides, Katsuki never complains, in fact, he does as Izuku asks without hesitation.

After he patches the pro hero up, trying not to get distracted by his intense stare, Izuku sets a few plates and arranges the counter so they can eat together.

They eat mostly in silence, although it's difficult for him to focus just on his delicious food because Katsuki keeps staring at him.

His face is slightly warm, and he gets so flustered he decides to talk about his students and then ask about Katsuki's day.

When Katsuki starts mentioning his shifts and patrols, Izuku decides to bring up the topic that has been worrying him the most.

"So you've been taking extra shifts?"

Katsuki nods, exhaustion visible on his features.

"You should take a break, Kacchan. Maybe a day off."

"I'm fine."

Even though Katsuki has changed, he's still as stubborn as he was when they were teenagers.

Izuku tries not to roll his eyes.

"I'd like to see you more often," he mumbles, feeling nervous. "I miss you when you're not here."

It's completely true, but part of him regrets saying it; it's not like Katsuki has time to make Izuku feel better. They're just friends.

"I'll try not to take too many shifts," Katsuki surprises him saying. His cheeks are slightly pink too. "So we can hang out more."

The young teacher beams in response, unable to hide his joy. Katsuki smiles back, leaning closer, looking flustered too.

"It's just... I have a project," he says after a while. "And I need to save a lot of money for it. It's... really important to me."

Oh. Izuku understands and he also has the feeling Katsuki doesn't want to give him too much information about it; it's okay. He'd do the same if he wasn't sure he was going to make it happen.

He can see how important it is for him in the way his red eyes shine. Izuku is almost sure Katsuki is going to open his own agency! It must be that!

"Will you tell me more once it's ready?"

Katsuki grins from ear to ear before getting closer to him; for a moment, his exhaustion vanishes as those red eyes meet Izuku's. He grabs both his hands in his.

"I promise. I can't wait for you to see it, Izuku."

There's something about the way Katsuki says his name that has Izuku blushing even more; his eyes stare at him with something close to adoration, but he's not sure and he certainly doesn't want to get the wrong idea so the teacher decides to ignore it.

He jumps from his seat and starts cleaning the counter before doing the dishes instead.

Katsuki offers to help, but Izuku asks him to wait in the living room while he finishes.

"You should stay tonight," he whispers next to him, leaning over the couch after a couple of minutes. He catches Katsuki dozing off.

The pro hero must be truly exhausted.

"What?" Red eyes blink back open in a second. The words seem to have caught him off guard. "You mean..."

"Yes," Izuku smiles, noticing that Katsuki is leaning closer. "Stay with me."

"But what... I mean, we should at least talk about it first," the pro hero blurts out, flustered, his face turning into a deep shade of red that makes the teacher worry. "I don't want this to be a casual thing. Besides, I have never–"

"What do you mean casual?" He cuts the blond off, feeling completely lost. "Well... If you want to, we can have regular sleepovers! What about every two weeks or so?"

It's perfect! That way, Katsuki wouldn't be able to take that many extra shifts!

The noise of Katsuki facepalming himself is so loud it startles Izuku. That big hand slides down his features like he's trying to gather some patience and strength at the same time.

"Of course you were talking about a sleepover," he mumbles so quietly the teacher wonders if he heard it wrong. Then, staring back at Izuku, he adds: "Yes, we can do that."

"Great!"

***

"I'm not wearing that!"

"Come on, Kacchan!" Izuku pouts, looking at the oversized All Might t-shirt and the pants that might not go along with it, but they're the same brand and are, in fact, very comfortable.

"Listen, I own a few things that are All Might themed too, but this is just awful," Katsuki grimaces, looking at the clothes like they have offended him personally.

"You can't sleep on those jeans," the green haired teacher protests. "You won't be able to sleep properly. Besides, this is the only thing I have that you can wear. My clothes are too small for you. I promise this really comfy! I love to wear these to sleep!"

Katsuki visibly relaxes when Izuku says that last bit; he looks from him to the clothes a couple of times.

"You wear these to sleep? Aren't they too big for you?"

"Yes, but I love oversized clothes!" Izuku smiles.

The pro hero stares down at him for a couple of seconds without saying anything; Izuku wonders if he forgot about what they were talking about when he suddenly blinks, snapping himself out of it, and then turns slightly pink.

"Fine. I'll see if I have something else–"

"No," Katsuki yanks the clothes right from Izuku's hands. "I'll wear them."

When Katsuki joins him in the living room again, he admits to himself that his friend was absolutely right about the clothes.

They fit him, but they don't look like his style at all.

"You look like a nerd, Kacchan," Izuku says before bursting into laughter.

"You little shit! This was all a trap to make me wear this crime against fashion! My parents would have a stroke if they saw me in this!" He lunges towards Izuku, making the teacher laugh even harder.

When Katsuki catches him in his arms, prompting them to fall over the couch, Izuku realizes the pro hero is chuckling too.

However, when the laughter dies, they're still wrapped around one another on the couch, and Katsuki refuses to look away from Izuku; the younger teacher gets too flustered he pushes his friend away.

"Let's watch a movie!"

Katsuki insists he needs to recharge first and the best way to do that is if he's as close to Izuku as possible so he ends up with the pro hero's head over his lap.

They only watch the first half of the movie, and Izuku is not sure Katsuki watched it at all because he caught the pro hero staring up at him a couple of times instead.

Katsuki falls asleep quickly after Izuku starts running his fingers through his blond hair.

The teacher sighs, turns the TV off and checks his mail on his phone while Katsuki sleeps. He reads a few of his students' works for a while before carefully waking Katsuki up.

They have a "discussion" about who gets to sleep on Izuku's bed, and the teacher ends up losing, so he brings an extra futon to the living room so Katsuki can sleep comfortably.

The pro hero wakes up first and is already making breakfast for two when Izuku walks out of his bedroom.

They chat for a while before Katsuki gets ready for work.

At the entrance, he hesitates right after putting his boots on before turning around again and pulling Izuku into a hug.

"Recharging?" He chuckles, hugging him back.

"More like getting some extra energy for the day." He whispers as he nuzzles against Izuku's curls.

"Okay, Kacchan."

"Let's do this next week," he says, smiling down at him, thumb stroking the teacher's scar on his right cheek.

"Yes!"

"I'll see you this Friday, Izuku."

***

As soon as he sees Ashido's smirk at the other side of the break room, Katsuki sighs, but he still walks towards her.

"I'm guessing it went really well with Midoriya. You haven't stopped smiling since you got here."

Katsuki is really bad at hiding his true feelings for Izuku, which is why he finds it ridiculous and frustrating how the nerdy teacher hasn't realized it himself yet.

"Yeah."

"I don't know if I should feel glad because it looks like you slept through the night or sorry because he didn't keep you awake."

Ashido wiggles her eyebrows in such a way Katsuki is not sure why he keeps falling for her stupid teasing.

But he blushes anyway and swears he'll never tell her that for a moment he thought Izuku wanted to sleep with him.

He would have done it gladly, but he would have professed his undying love for Izuku first because Katsuki doesn't do things by halves.

Loving Izuku is a lifetime commitment.

"SHUT UP!"

"Fine," she makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. "You're no fun."

Katsuki grabs the bento Izuku shoved into his hands that morning, as he made him promise he'd take a lunch break.

That's the only reason he's there.

"How's the suit going?" Ashido asks then, prompting Katsuki to smile again.

"Great. Hatsume is finally done with Izuku's gauntlets. I'll see her this afternoon to test them myself."

"He's going to love it," she assures him, putting a hand over his shoulder.

"I know," Katsuki mumbles, smiling down at his bento.

He can't wait to show it to Izuku. To see him wearing it.

It's going to take a while, but he'll get there eventually; he'll help Izuku fulfill his dream.

***

Patreon