#it's just such a step down from SEA still...

[betweenstorms]

Part Eight of Where We Part (previous chapter) (masterlist) (first chapter) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Snow fell in thick, lazy flakes as you stepped off the bus, pulling your scarf up to your face to fend off the bite of the cold air.

Simon’s message had come so suddenly, a single line on your screen: I’m back. That was all it took, warming you more than any fire could. You were out the door before your mind had fully registered it, anticipation sweeping through you, carrying you down the stairs of your building, leaving your flat a dark, empty shell in the evening.

It didn’t matter that it was the dead of night.

You would’ve gone to him any night, any hour. You would’ve crossed any distance just to be near him.

Your heart raced with each step, beating faster than the snowflakes that drifted from the ink-stained sky. As you hurried down the street, snow crunching softly beneath your boots, the streetlights casted golden pools that glimmered on the fresh powder like scattered crystals. It was as if the world itself had dressed in crystallised anticipation for this reunion, wearing precious jewels, cloaked in silver and shadows.

You were almost at his building, your breath coming in puffy clouds of white, cheeks flushed and eyes as bright as the stars. The cold had painted your skin with winter’s blush, and your hair was windswept, tousled from your hurried journey, but you barely noticed. All that really mattered was the light in his window, that faint glow that told you he was there—

—waiting for you.

You rang his doorbell, almost out of breath. Before he could even answer, you whispered, “It’s me.”

There was no response, only the faint click of the door unlocking, welcoming you in with a warm embrace. You took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the elevator entirely, unable to waste another moment. With every step, the pulse of longing, of hope and fear, grew louder, until you felt it in your throat, a hum beneath your skin.

Since that night you’d sent him the message, confessing the love you’d held silent for so long, you’d dreamed of this, the chance to look into his eyes, to see if they held the same unspoken answer you’d always hoped for. God, those eyes—dark and mesmerising, holding worlds within them, as though he carried a universe in his silence.

You longed for them, for the soft gravity that pulled you close despite never really feeling the warmth of their orbit. It was an ache full of longing, this yearning to exist in his universe that you could only glimpse from afar, a place where the planets reflected in his gaze, a shooting star that felt like home, even though you’d never really set foot there.

When you reached his door, you paused for a heartbeat, steadying yourself, feeling the swell of your own breathing. Then you knocked, and he opened the door. His gaze immediately met yours, and in that instant, you felt every mile, every moment of silence, every whispered wish converge in the space between you.

The sight of him was almost too much, like a dream finally taking shape before you.

Simon Riley stood in the light of his flat, dressed in the simplest of clothes—a worn shirt, loose at the collar, and faded jeans that seemed to soften his sharp edges. His face was still, unreadable as ever, though his eyes held a quiet promise that caught you off guard, drawing you into him. It was like looking into the depths of a calm sea, pitch black and unfathomable, but with an undercurrent that promised there was so much more below the surface.

“Made it through the snow, then,” he hummed.

You smiled nervously, fidgeting with your fingers. “Would never let a bit of snow stop me.”

Your voice was soft, almost tentative. The words felt too small for the weight of this very moment, but they held a sincerity that seemed to resonate between you.

After a seemingly endless moment, Simon stepped aside, silently inviting you in.

You crossed the threshold, letting the warmth of his flat wrap around you. It felt comforting, like slipping into an old dress. You fumbled with your scarf and coat, casting them aside with clumsy fingers, your movements a touch too quick, too eager. Everything felt heightened, the ordinary taking on a new gravity, and you couldn’t help but feel as though you were seeing his place for the first time, taking in every small detail like it was something precious.

His space, with its muted colours and sparse furnishings, had always struck you as a reflection of him—a spot of quiet endurance, stripped down to essentials, nothing unnecessary, nothing to soften the edges. You’d teased him about this countless times, saying he could pitch a tent on the street and call it a day, that he needed a woman’s touch here, a little warmth, a little life. 

But tonight, as you looked around, you realised you wouldn’t change a single thing.

Every corner, every empty wall, every threadbare cushion felt distinctly, profoundly him, and that familiarity wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Here, in this bare simplicity, he was himself, and you felt the privilege of being allowed in.

You drifted into the living room, awkwardly resting your hands on the back of his grey sofa, your gaze roaming over the room as if you’d find answers tucked into the corners. You could feel his presence behind you, solid and grounding, yet somehow distant.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, you asked him, “What happened, Si?” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but the question hung heavy in the air, thick with the weight of everything you needed to know.

You wanted to believe that his absence was just the nature of his work, that it was a necessity and not a choice, but part of you feared otherwise. Part of you feared that now, just when you had finally given voice to your love, he would vanish again, leaving you without the chance to know what lay hidden in his heart.

He didn’t answer at first, his gaze shifting away from you and his expression darkening as he drew a long, tired breath.

After a few painfully long seconds, he finally exhaled, his shoulders sagging as if he carried a weight you couldn’t see.

“Work,” he stated, his voice rough, laced with a weariness that seemed to go far deeper than the past few weeks. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, a gesture you recognised as his way of grounding himself, of trying to find the right words. “Things got… messy.” His jaw tightened, and you knew, there was so much he wasn’t saying, layers of meaning buried in his words, like the murmur of a story beneath the surface of a still lake.

A lake that held a monster.

“How messy?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.

Simon mirrored your posture, leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans, tilting his head to observe you with a strange, clinical intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes seemed to hold a quiet calculation, as though he was gauging just how much truth you could bear, assessing the weight he might lay upon you without breaking you.

Seeing the look in his gaze, you straightened, pulling yourself up, a brave front in the face of his hesitation, though you felt your facade cracking. He must’ve seen it—the slight tremble in your stance, the way your fingers twisted together to keep them from shaking.

With a sigh, he looked away, his gaze dropping to the side table where a half-empty glass of whiskey sat, a faint reflection of the dim lamplight glinting in the amber liquid. 

You hadn’t noticed it until now.

At that moment, the message you’d sent him on New Year’s Eve, the confession of your love, felt impossibly insignificant and childish. Whatever you’d been waiting for, whatever words of love or promise you’d hoped for, seemed small in the shadow of the silence he wore like a second skin. You wondered if, amid everything he had faced in the past months, your feelings had become another burden for him, another layer of complexity he didn’t need.

Whatever had dragged him down into this quiet desolation felt much larger, much darker, and for the first time, you questioned whether you truly belonged in his world, whether he could let you in without burdening you with things he fought so hard to bury.

“Didn’t mean to leave you, love,” he murmured, the words barely audible, his gaze still fixed on some invisible point beyond you. The quiet roughness of his voice was like a brush of cold air, chilling and real, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. “Work went sideways.”

You shifted your weight, fingers finding your elbow in a nervous scratch.

“What d’you mean?”

He moved slowly, reaching for the glass of whisky, lifting it to his lips but pausing, as though the answer was nestled somewhere in its amber depths. He took a single, measured sip before setting it down again, exhaling heavily.

“One of my mates didn’t make it,” he murmured, his voice like sandpaper, rough and scraped thin by grief.

Your hands clenched unconsciously, fingers digging into your palms, leaving little half-moon imprints that stung. The thought of him losing someone again, of him carrying yet another loss on those already abandoned shoulders, twisted something painful in your chest. But you said nothing, sensing that he wasn’t finished.

“Happened right in front of me. Shot in the fuckin’ head. And the bastard who did it slipped away, just like that. Bloody vanished.”

His confession hit you like cold rain, each one soaking into you, settling with a heavy, aching permanence. So you looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the hollowness lingering in his gaze. In his deep voice, you could almost feel the raw injustice, the senselessness.

“Went up to Scotland after,” he murmured, his voice thick, his gaze far away. “Took his ashes with the team. No family left that wanted anythin’ to do with it. Just us. So we scattered him there, in the hills.” He paused, his hand resting on the glass, his fingers tightening around it. “You’d have liked him. Right pain in the arse, but big heart. One of the fuckin’ best.”

“Oh, God,” you whispered, words catching in your throat, useless and small in the face of something so raw, so immediate, so irreversible. You felt the painful ache in his words as though they were your own, a dull throb that settled beneath your ribs, swelling and settling like a bruise you couldn’t see.

You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, anything, to reach across the impossible gulf between his grief and your presence, but each phrase you thought of felt inadequate and hollow. Somehow, the words felt too sharp, like fragments of glass too small to piece together as a whole.

What could you say that he hadn’t already heard a hundred times, that wouldn’t sound hollow in the wake of so much loss?

The last time he’d lost someone, you’d written him a letter. You’d written to him about the tragedy of childhood, about guilt, about family, about all the things you wished you could take back. Pages upon pages of words had come to you then, spilling out with a feverish need to comfort, to connect, as you lay in a bloody hospital bed, trying to capture everything you couldn’t say to him in person. Back then, every thought had felt vital, every line a confession of all you wished he could hear.

But here, standing in front of him, faced with the raw, unhealed wound of his sorrow, you felt adrift, unable to find even a single sentence that could touch the mere vastness of his agony. You wished you could say something to soothe him, to ease the suffering he bore, but every instinct told you that this grief was too sacred, too traumatic and too deeply embedded for anything you could say to lessen it.

So you did what you always did when you were lost—

—you started to ramble.

“You’re… you’re so fuckin’ strong, Simon. I mean it. To carry all this, to keep going. I can’t even imagine—” Your words caught in your throat, and you pressed on, fumbling, “Whatever you need, I’m here, yeah? Just say the word. I mean, if there’s anythin’ I can do—”

Before you could finish, he let out a sigh.

An all too familiar reaction, cutting through your words with that weary impatience you knew so well.

That sigh had always been enough to silence you, to bring you to a halt. He looked at you with a weariness so deep it felt almost like an accusation, as though your very presence exhausted him in some strange, bittersweet way. You could feel the anxious heat blooming under your skin, your palms damp with the tension that had knotted itself in your chest. You hugged yourself tighter, as though afraid that if you let go, you’d simply fall apart.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

The command was soft, but it held that same authority that was so unmistakably him. So you blinked, his order lingering in the air, settling into your skin like a brand. Your mind struggled to process the meaning behind his words, to make sense of the kind invitation hidden beneath his blunt command. His tone was gentle, almost tender, yet there was an unspoken weight to it, as though this was more than just an instruction—

—it was a surrender.

You felt like you were being given a choice, a step across a line you’d both danced around for years, but he’d left no room for uncertainty. The moment was his, and you felt the weight of it settle around you.

When you didn’t move, when the reality of his request rooted you to the spot, he let out a quiet grunt, a sound both frustrated and resigned, and stepped closer to you himself. The distance between you disappeared in an instant, and the air felt thicker, charged with something unnameable that made your skin burn.

You felt the warmth of him even before his hand reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sweater before settling on your waist. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but there was a quiet conviction in the way his fingers curled around you, pulling you just a fraction closer.  He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the quiet hum of his breath, steady and measured.

Leaning against the sofa, you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart racing wildly as his eyes bore into yours, dark and unguarded.

You had never seen him like this.

The world narrowed, focused entirely on him, on the roughness of his calloused hand against your body and the way his gaze held yours like you were something precious, something he was trying desperately not to break. Your knees brushed against his, a subtle, almost shy touch that felt strangely intimate, like a promise you didn’t dare to speak. He loomed over you, a figure carved from all the resilience and sorrow he’d carried through his life, a force of gravity that drew you in even as he held back.

Your breath caught as he said, “This is why I’m here.”

The words sank in slowly, stirring a sense of nervousness, of realisation.

“Yeah, I know, but—” you replied, your voice trembling, almost inaudible. “I just… I didn’t know what you were going through. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have made things harder for you. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologisin’,” he cut in, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, grounding you in the present, pulling you out of the spiral of guilt. “You’ve been doin’ that shit since we were kids. Fuckin’ annoying, y’know that?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I mean—”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his bluntness, the way he could strip you down to the very core with so few words, cutting through every layer of pretence.

His tone was rough, his words clipped, but the faintest hint of amusement softened his gaze, a glimmer in his eyes that betrayed the sharpness of his voice. There was no real anger there, no frustration, only a quiet, steady warmth that held you in place, disarmed you completely.

You looked up at him, utterly captivated, feeling the way his fingers pressed against you, warm and solid, a gentle weight that made your skin prickle with hurried anticipation. He was looking at you as though you were the centre of the universe, as though you were something irreplaceable, and in that moment, every doubt, every hesitation melted away.

The world around you dissolved, leaving only him, the unspoken emotions flickering in his gaze, the faint brush of his thumb along your side—a gesture so small, so quiet, but charged with something vast, something that held years of waiting, of missed moments, of unspoken words. Your poor heart thundered, a wild beat that matched the intensity in his eyes, the silent confession that seemed to hover between you, waiting, unspoken, in the air.

“Never been good at sayin’ things, not when they matter.”

His other hand rose, stalling for a second before brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was featherlight, a rare gentleness that felt almost out of place against the roughness of his hand, the hand of a soldier who had known only violence and destruction.

But here, with you, he softened, his fingers lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if he was memorising the feel of you, storing it away like a keepsake. The closeness between you was dizzying, each breath shared, each hurried heartbeat in tandem, and the weight of his confession was enough to make your knees tremble.

He scoffed, his gaze dropping, but he didn’t release his hold on you, not even a little bit. “I’m too much of a fuckin’ coward to say it right, to say what you deserve to hear. But all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. That’s all I bloody want, alright? So I left. Left you to find some other bloke who could give you everythin’ I couldn’t.”

The words landed softly, almost lost in the stillness of the room, but they pierced you deeply, each syllable burrowing into your heart.

It was as if he was laying himself bare, offering you the fractured pieces of a man marred by grief and shadows, hoping you’d take them and see him not for what he had done, but for what he could be. The years of silence, all the glances and all the unspoken promises, all seemed to unravel in that single moment.

Simon Riley, the unbreakable, unshakable figure you’d known since childhood, stood before you now in this split second of the universe, open and exposed, offering you himself.

Your heart swelled at the sight and you felt yourself drawn even closer, like gravity binding you both together in a way that felt irreversible. You reached up, your hand steady despite the wild beat of your pulse, and let your thumb brush along his scarred lips, tracing the rough edges and feeling the warmth beneath.

“Y’know, I thought I knew what I wanted,” you whispered, each word carrying a weight you hadn’t known until this moment. “Thought I wanted a picture perfect life, the kind you dream about, that I had to meticulously fix everythin’ in my life to deserve happiness… but none of it means anythin’ if it doesn’t include you. Ever since we were kids… maybe I’ve loved you since then, without even knowin’.”

He let out a soft, almost bitter huff, a sound that was somehow both happy and sad. His gaze fell away, then he turned his head, just enough that his lips brushed the inside of your hand, a gesture so fleeting it could have been a mere accident. But it wasn’t.

You felt the warmth of his breath, the slight tremble in the touch, and it set something alight within you—a spark that had lain dormant, waiting, perhaps, for this very moment.

“You’ve got some daft ideas, love,” he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken, the quiet tremor of a man who’d spent too many years swallowing his own feelings. His words were meant to sound gruff, deflecting, yet the way he looked at you gave him away entirely, his gaze lingering on you as though he could see something he’d missed before.

His gaze lifted, and for a moment, he looked almost fragile, as though he didn’t quite believe he was worthy of your words, of your love. But then, something shifted in his eyes, a spark of hope flickering in the depths of his soul.

And just like that, he closed the last sliver of space between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate, a silent vow that spoke of all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say, a kiss that felt like both a promise and an apology for all the years spent apart, all the words unspoken. 

The kiss deepened, a slow, tender exchange that felt like a thousand promises wrapped into one. He tasted like whiskey, cigarettes and regret, like something raw and real that anchored you to him, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as he pulled you impossibly closer. You felt his heartbeat under your palm, steady and strong, and it felt like coming home after wandering for years, lost in a world that had never made sense without him. The warmth of his lips spread through you like the quiet promise of dawn breaking over a frozen landscape, melting away the distance that had once felt insurmountable.

“Fuck,” he murmured into your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

And then he whispered, barely audible, a breath against your skin, “No more partin’.”

The words cut through you, raw and piercing, like an arrow finding its mark. You understood, in that moment, that this was where the distance ended, where all those unspoken goodbyes, all the quiet departures of the heart, finally came to rest. He was offering you something more precious than any words could capture—a life in which you wouldn’t have to watch him walk away again, in which the space between you would no longer be an endless, aching divide.

You leaned into him, feeling the truth of it settle in your bones, feeling the relief that washed over you, a warmth spreading through you that felt like homecoming.

In that moment, you understood that this was the place you had both been searching for, that all the roads had somehow led here, to him, to this quiet room, to the snow falling softly outside, to the words you’d both carried with you all this time, waiting for the right moment to be spoken.

Outside, the night stretched on, blanketed in white, the world a vast, unbroken silence. But here, in his arms, in the space where all words had faded, you knew that the search had finally ended.

And so, the chapter closed, not in the place you thought it would, but in a place neither of you could have ever imagined—a place without partings, without endings, a place where you could finally be whole together.

Thank you so much to everyone who followed this story and for all the incredible support and love along the way. I’m incredibly grateful to each of you who stuck with me until the very end, and I hope you’ll join me on my next project. I’m planning a new story that will focus on Simon, Johnny, and Reader, and of course, I’ll be continuing Skin of Thunder as well. Thank you again from the bottom of my heart!

[mullermilkshake]

Satoru gets back late

MINORS DNI - Tags: Yakuza AU, Fluff

Satoru huffed the long day away.

The traffic away from Ryomen headquarters was stifling, a sea of red car lights in tandem with each other as though the world just knew that Satoru was trying to come to see you.

He trudged out of the elevator and made his way down the hall to your front door. It wasn't unusual for Satoru to let himself in seeming as he had his own key.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Doll," he opened the door looking down at his feet just as low as he felt. "I got called into an emergency meeting that I couldn’t get out of. My boss is an asshole.”

You said nothing, he noticed you standing right there in the hallway by the living area with a look on your face.

“What?”

A raised brow should have told Satoru everything he needed to know, but he was an idiot right now.

"What's wrong?"

Taking three steps towards him, your eyes darted around at his neck. “Have you been fighting again?”

“Huh?" holy shit how did you find that out with one glance? "No… No course not, baby.”

The glare you gave him was one that screamed 'don't take me for an idiot, Satoru Gojo.'

“There’s blood on your collar.”

Shit.

"Uh..." quick fucking think of something.

The thing was, you knew Satoru's position in the Yakuza, you just didn't approve of it. And yes, you got into a committed relationship with him knowing this, but that didn't stop you from voicing your concerns every now and then.

"Be honest with me, Satoru. How did that blood get there, because I know it wasn't a cut from shaving."

"Shit. I can't lie to you," Satoru slumped and leant against the closed front door, the guilt of even trying to hide anything sank like concrete.

"I can't stop you from doing what you're doing, but I care about your well-being. This fighting isn't healthy. What if-" you stopped yourself and bite down on your lower lip.

"I'm not gonna get injured if that's what you're thinkin' about, Doll."

"You don't know that. You just don't," shaking your head solidified that fact.

Satoru didn't know, however he adopted the whole live fast die young gig long before he ever met you, way before he even joined the Yakuza. It was just how Satoru operated.

Still, your large welling eyes stopped Satoru right where he was. "I'm sorry."

What else could he say right now that wasn't going to make you cry further? Nothing really, so he came over and pulled you close to him.

Maybe he could tone it down a bit, try this stupid method Sukuna suggested at the meeting and gather intel before smashing skulls. It just wasn't as fun though, was it?

However Captain Yaga would be back soon and then Satoru really would have to behave.

"How can I make it up to you?"

Looking up at him, he could see how red your eyes actually were. "It's not about making up, Satoru. It's promising to take care of yourself."

He nodded without hesitation. "Alright, I promise."

In honesty, you were the perfect person to balance out his pointed edges. And despite how far he wanted to go with people sometimes, most of the time it was only really you he wanted to impress and keep happy.

Everyone else could suck it.

[ak319]

Lovesick Village Boy x Fem civil servant reader

《Beloved's Veil》

PART VI

➺ Part V

"Rahim, please… say something," you tried again, your patience stretched thin by the gnawing worry in your chest. This was the third time you'd asked, and with each unanswered attempt, your resolve to get to the bottom of things only grew stronger. If he didn’t speak soon, you were prepared to go straight to his family’s home yourself.

"That's it." You rose to leave, but before you could take a step, a small hand gripped your sleeve, halting you. Rahim’s expression was haunted, his eyes wide and pleading. His hand trembled, clutching you like you were his only anchor in a sea of terror. The fear in his gaze didn’t diminish your anxiety, it only sharpened it, tightening like a vice around your heart.

"You’ve got to say something, kiddo," you murmured, leaning close so he wouldn’t feel pressured. "You’re making me worry here."

Finally, after a silence that stretched unbearably long, Rahim’s voice came, barely a whisper. "U… uncle…"

You leaned in, gentle and steady. "Habib?" you prompted softly. "Are you talking about him? Yes, tell me, Rahim… what happened?"

He hesitated, the words hovering at the edge of his lips, but then, as quickly as he’d started, he fell silent again, retreating into himself. His eyes shifted away, shadowed and unreadable, as if something unspeakable lay hidden just beneath the surface.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing that pressing him further wouldn’t help. He needed time. Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, you signaled Odai to come closer. "Odai, stay with him," you instructed, casting a final, lingering glance at Rahim

"B-but what about you, ma'am? Where are you off to?" Odai's voice trembled slightly as he watched you prepare to leave.

"To his house, with Maha," you replied firmly, glancing at the clock on your desk. It was 7:30 a.m., too early for peace but not for action.

Odai shifted uneasily. "I should go with you, and Maha can stay here."

You silenced him with a look, then took the gun from your locker, its cold weight in your hand grounding you with the resolve you needed. "I can handle it, Odai. Just watch over him and call me if anything changes."

Odai nodded reluctantly, his eyes flickering to the unconscious Rahim. And with that, you left, setting out with Maha, who looked more unnerved than usual, her hands twisting in her lap as you drove.

"What if… what if it’s related to the story I told you, ma’am?” Maha's voice was small, hesitant. “And from what you’ve told me about Rahim, and everything… what if Habib’s… possessed again? I warned you, didn’t I? It’s not right to get tangled with him, or that family. The way his brother insulted you…” Her hands clenched in her lap, remembering that day, the bitter words she still hadn’t forgotten.

“Maha, we talked about this.” You kept your voice calm, though tension simmered beneath. “Habib needs help. This… this might be something worse, yes. God, I have no idea what we’re going to find there or how deep this goes. But if this is connected to him, I’m stepping in, Basim’s objections be damned.”

Maha looked at you with renewed determination. Her gaze shifted to the gun secured in its holder beside you, her expression hardening with resolve.

“Yes, ma’am.”

═════ ◈ ═════

When you reached the house, the air was thick with an unsettling silence, the kind that seeped into your bones. There was something about it that felt wrong, like an invisible void, as if you had come to collect the fragments of something lost. The house, once a familiar place of comfort, now felt like a hollow shell. You shook off the feeling, attributing it to the paranoia caused by Rahim's cryptic behavior and the events of the night.

"Ma’am, he... he’s very sick. He wouldn’t stop saying your name..." Kadir's voice faltered as he stood beside Habib's bed. You looked down at the unconscious man, your grip tightening on his hand as his body trembled. His mouth was dry, letting out soft, pitiful whimpers that seemed to grow quieter, calmer, as if he found some semblance of peace in your presence.

"What did the doctor say?" You asked, keeping your voice steady, despite the deepening sense of dread gnawing at you.

"He has a high fever, and he's under extreme stress..." Kadir responded his voice a mixture of concern and exhaustion. You glanced at Dana, who was sitting beside Habib, her eyes filled with a motherly worry that was almost suffocating. She didn't need to say anything, her gaze spoke volumes, each one filled with unspoken fear and you couldn't take it anymore.

"I’ve had enough." You stood abruptly, your voice hardening with resolve. "I’m taking him with me. And nobody here is going to stop me." Your stance was unwavering, your eyes locked with Kadir's, whose face paled at the weight of your words.

Kadir seemed to hesitate, but the look in your eyes made it clear you wouldn't be moved. He nodded slowly, his expression resigned, knowing full well what you meant.

"I just..." you continued, turning your attention to them, "Do you both know where Rahim is?"

The couple exchanged a glance, confusion crossing their faces. "Rahim? He must be in his room... You want me to call him?" Dana’s voice was tentative, unsure of the sudden shift in the air.

"No, no." You cut her off. "He’s not in his room. He’s in my bungalow." You watched as realization hit them like a wave, their faces draining of color as you explained the strange events that had unfolded, the boy's frantic running, the collapse, and the chilling connection to Habib. Their expressions grew ashen, the weight of the situation settling over them like a suffocating fog.

Kadir blinked in disbelief, his voice a low whisper. "I better go... inform Basim of this."

"No." You turned, cutting him off once again, your tone sharp. "Not until I leave with Habib. I am not in the mood to deal with him right now. Trust me, you don’t want me to." Your eyes flickered to the unconscious figure of Habib, then back to Maya, your resolve unshakable.

Maya, who had been quietly observing the situation, nodded in agreement, her eyes meeting yours with understanding. She didn’t need to ask any more questions. The decision had already been made.

"In fact, you both are coming with me, I think... Rahim might not mind it." You said with a touch of certainty, even though your mind raced with the implications of the situation. The bruises you had seen on the child’s body were unmistakable, and they burned in your mind. You were certain they were from Basim. You had seen his cruelty before, and this was no different. A gut feeling told you the two were somehow connected, and the thought churned uneasily in your stomach.

"Um, yes, definitely." Kadir’s voice quivered slightly, his worry for his grandson and son making him agree without much resistance.

"Good," you responded briskly, trying to push the anxiety down.

The air between the five of you was tense, the weight of unspoken words hanging like a heavy cloud as you made your way back to the bungalow. Your eyes were drawn to Habib, his limp form resting against his father in the backseat, his chest rising and falling weakly. The image of him like that, vulnerable, fragile, almost lost, was a stain in your mind that wouldn't fade.

By the time you arrived at the bungalow, the place felt more like a sanctuary and a prison in equal measure. The heavy silence from earlier still clung to the house, but now you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Dr Ali was already there, pacing in front of the door, looking visibly tense. He was here to check on Rahim and Habib.

═════ ◈ ═════

it had been three days since the atmosphere in the bungalow had turned so heavy, each day thick with the silence of unspoken fears and unanswered questions. Habib, thank God, was showing signs of improvement, but he was still too weak, refusing to eat and constantly haunted by nightmares. The only time he seemed to find peace was when you were by his side. His vulnerability clung to you like a weight, and no matter how many times you tried to shake the unease off, it lingered.

In the other room, Rahim was still as quiet as ever. He hadn’t spoken a word since you brought him back, and every day that passed without him opening up felt like another failure, a missed opportunity to get to the root of whatever was haunting him. Still, his grandparents’ presence did seem to calm him in some way, though you couldn’t help but wonder if that was enough. You prayed for his voice every night, hoping he would say something, anything, to give you a clue about what he was going through.

Kadir had told you that Basim and his wife had gone to visit some relatives for a wedding, which felt... odd, to say the least. How could a wedding be more important than their son’s condition? And why hadn’t they been told about what was happening? Kadir, of course, insisted that it was better they didn’t know yet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. His reasoning didn’t sit right with you. And then, there was Samir and his family, who had moved out of the village with no warning. Something didn’t add up. Why would they leave so suddenly, just as things were escalating?

Maha’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone tentative but insistent. "There is... I just... feel fishy, ma'am. I mean, all the Rahim fiasco and how Kadir insists on you marrying-"

You held up your hand, cutting her off, your voice steady but carrying a weight of finality. "It was my decision, Maha. I want it to be done."

"But, why, ma'am... why so fast? Shouldn't we wait for things to settle?"

You let out a slow breath, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you gathered your thoughts. "Maha, I can't have some man in my bungalow..." You trailed off, hoping she understood the gravity of what you were saying. "Y'know, try to understand."

Maha was silent for a moment, her eyes dropping to the floor as she processed your words. Then, without a word, she nodded, her expression softening with understanding.

"I have... talked to my parents," you continued, your voice low but resolute. "And they agreed. Fortunately. Tomorrow, go find the cleric. Bring him, and in the afternoon, the ceremony has to be done with." Your parents were shocked to hear your sudden announcement but as you kept the details about the current situation mostly vague they agreed, somewhat happy and given our urgency they agreed to be on a video call during the ceremony. It was going to be a small one, Habib's parents, Rahim and you both.

"Yes, ma'am." Her tone was firm, her eyes momentarily drifting to the hallway. You followed her gaze, only to catch a glimpse of Rahim standing by the corner of the hallway before he quickly disappeared out of sight. You sat there for a moment, your heart thudding against your chest as you absorbed the subtle shift in the room

"Rahim..." You stood up, your mind heavy with worry, and moved toward the hallway. You quickly were on your feet and stalked in the direction, Maha, following behind.

With a gentle knock, you entered the room, your eyes falling on the boy sitting quietly on the bed. His back was turned, half of his body facing the door, but his posture was stiff, unnatural, like someone trying to brace against something they couldn’t see or understand. The atmosphere around him was thick with tension, his usual mischievous energy nowhere to be found.

"Um, Maha..." you said softly, and she nodded before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone with him.

You stepped forward slowly, the floor creaking faintly under your weight as you sat down beside him. For a long moment, you said nothing. It seemed there was nothing to say, no words that could bridge the silence between you both. You just sat there, letting your presence speak for itself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his voice broke the stillness, soft and hesitant. "You... are going to marry...?"

At first, you were unsure whether it was a question or a statement, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. You glanced at him, his face still angled down, avoiding your gaze, but the emptiness in his eyes struck you hard.

"Yes... I am... isn't that a good thing?" You gave him a soft smile, one that didn’t reach your heart, but you tried. Gently, you reached out and rubbed his back, trying to offer comfort, though you knew he wasn’t the same boy who had always bounced around, full of life and questions. "You getting this cool aunt." You chuckled to lighten the mood.

But his response was far from what you expected.

"Don't."

"You...don't...want me to marry Habib?" He stayed quiet. Once again.

"Rahim…" you whispered, though you knew he probably wasn’t listening. But you couldn’t stop yourself. "Talk to me, please."

"They...they...always...just didn't let me tell you. I wanted to." His leg started bouncing and you immediately held his hand, the other on his leg to calm him. "Take breaths, I am here, you are safe. No body is going to do anything. So, talk freely, and fully. Whoever it is about. Even if it's Habib, if he's done something to you, tell me that too. I won't say a word to you, or anyone about this to anyone. Even if it is about... the thing regarding your uncle being possessed and all...I know the story...Habib himself told me, so don't think of me as a stranger. Alright?"

He nodded and wiped a tear. He took moments to clam down and with a heavy breath continued. "My...uncle...he..." He breathed in a breath.

"Was never possessed."

“He’s known for his extraordinary beauty. I have not seen him myself though. So, up until he was about sixteen, everything seemed fine. But then, he suddenly vanished from his friends’ lives and stopped attending school. Despite the family’s best efforts to conceal the issue, it eventually came to light that he was... possessed."

"When I was younger—around sixteen—I... went through something. Something I can’t fully explain, even to this day."

"It was like... something else had control over me. I was sick...and I was dangerous. I hurt people--people I loved, hurt myself too. My family didn’t speak about it much after it was over. They believed it was better left forgotten. But I can’t forget. I’ve tried to move on, but..."

No...those...those are all stories? He gave you and himself to catch a breath then continued.

"When I was a child," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I thought...what everyone thought that...indeed Uncle was. He was praised for his beauty, and my dad... hated him for it. Every chance he got, he'd tear into him, beat him, humiliate him. It only made Uncle more closed off. He stopped going out, hid from everyone, saying he was cursed by his own looks." Rahim’s voice cracked, his gaze distant as if seeing those memories unfold all over again.

The words tumbled out of him, fast and desperate, as if he had held them in for too long. "He started saying someone was using black magic against him, someone in the family. And my dad, he... he enjoyed it. He fueled those fears and made Uncle believe he was haunted and cursed because he was angry at Uncle for rejecting my aunt's hand and just y'know jealous. Everyone around started to believe it too because he started to act...like...he was. It became this... rumour that swallowed him whole. Even the cleric knew it wasn’t true, he told everyone but no one listened. And my grandfather, even he started believing it."

Rahim’s shoulders shook, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to contain his grief. "We live in a village where nobody talks about mental illness. People don’t understand, they don’t want to understand. They just accepted that something was wrong with him and left him to rot. But I knew… I knew it wasn’t magic. I researched on my own, in school, and I just can't figure out what's wrong with him but I know there is....there is something psychological. I wanted to help him, I tried to, but nobody would listen."

Tears streamed down his face now, his voice breaking as the words poured out like a dam finally bursting. "Dad would beat me whenever I tried to bring it up. And Grandfather who has always been helpless against my dad always said that he will be fine once he gets married… he just wants to marry Uncle off because he thinks marriage will fix him like that’s some kind of miracle cure. Especially getting him married to you.... someone of your status. But it’s all... it’s all bullshit! Marriage won’t solve anything! The medicines he takes are just mostly sleeping pills and--and some herbal stuff my grandfather gives him which are not what he needs! He needs a proper treatment...proper treatment."

Rahim’s outburst ended in a sob, his chest heaving as he broke down completely. He was no longer the reserved, cautious boy you knew, he was vulnerable, raw, and heartbroken, carrying the weight of years of pain and helplessness on his young shoulders.

"When you came here and even better, took interest in my Uncle, I thought that maybe marriage wouldn't be bad because he would be free and you would get him treated, I would tell you about it myself when the time is right. It was...about to happen but...again my Dad...he ruined it, I thought it was over, you were out of his life, but I still hoped, he loves you so much and I know you do too so...I was ready to help my uncle run away but.."

You were too shocked to even ask him why he had stopped speaking and simply let out a questioning hum.

"My mum and dad… they… they tried to…"

"Tried to what?" You were both startled by the sudden ringtone of your phone. Seeing Odai's name on the screen, you quickly answered, bracing yourself against the possibility of more bad news.

"Ma'am, I checked the footage from the village gate. Samir left last night with his family around 4 a.m. But Basim and his wife… they never actually left the village."

Your eyes widened. "What? Are you saying… they’re still here?"

"Yes, ma'am," Odai confirmed before you ended the call. You turned back to Rahim, whose face had gone pale, frozen in place as if dreading the implications of this revelation.

"Rahim…" you said slowly, your voice soft yet urging. "They tried to what? And… where are they?"

(AN: Did you guys expect that ʘ‿ʘ? Do comment and lemme know! Also, I know I should have mentioned it earlier but the story is set in 1990's due to which especially in the village people don't use much tech, like wifi and all cuz not everybody has computers etc that's why Rahim did whatever research he could in his school's library and computer.)

[stellar-solar-flare]

If I’m not too late… Bucky Barnes + vacation?

Sorry about the delay. It has been A Week (TM). This is part of Stella's Halloween Shenanigans, for which I'm no longer taking new prompts. Thank you everyone who sent a prompt, all requests will be fulfilled!

Reboot - Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

“Oh, what does the gossip magazine say?” Bucky said as he stalked closer and lifted his sunglasses, revealing his dark eyes.

Fluff, romance, established relationship, heavily implied sexual content. | Mature | CW: Maybe very very light dom/sub dynamics if you squint? | 500 words.

Reader is female, no description of appearance. She has a PhD from an unspecified area of study.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

As soon as he stepped out onto the terrace where you lounged in a pool chair, Bucky’s eyes locked onto the StarkPad you held in your hands. The giant parasol offered just enough shade for you to comfortably read, as well as protecting you from the sun that poured from the sky. All around you, a beautiful Mediterranean landscape bathed in the light. The private villa that Tony had lent to you was close enough to the sea that you could only not see but hear it – and yet enjoy perfect privacy at your own pool.

“What are you reading, honey?” Bucky asked with a dangerously innocent voice.

Oh, shit.

“A gossip magazine,” you smiled.

“Oh, what does the gossip magazine say?” Bucky said as he stalked closer and lifted his sunglasses, revealing his dark eyes.

“Outrageous things,” you still tried as he stopped right next to you, and you took a moment to appreciate his form in khaki shorts and a loose white shirt that was partially opened. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

“I bet,” he said, and without further warning, he snatched the StarkPad from your hands.

“HEY,” you tried, grabbing for the device in vain as he scrutinized the contents of the screen. “Ever heard of privacy, jerk?”

Not dignifying your complaint with a response, he turned his gaze to you, raising his brow.

“It seems that the gossip rags have gotten quite a lot more highbrow lately, to contain scientific articles about quantum matter,” he said dryly before lowering the pad to your table. “I recall something about a mutually agreed ‘no work during the vacation��� policy, no, doll?”

You bit your lip; he obviously wasn’t truly mad at you, simply teasing, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“You were taking forever at the gym. I thought there was no harm done if I looked at a little something,” you grumbled. “But leave it to the man from the early 1900s to call out his fiancée for using her brain.”

He chuckled, but you didn’t miss the glow of pride on him as your new title had reminded him of the purpose of this vacation. He leaned over you, his hands coming to rest on both sides of you at the edges of the chair. His arms were effectively caging you in, and you swallowed as you saw the muscles grow taunt.

“Quite the contrary, doll,” he smiled. “I love your brain. Which is why I’m trying to get you to take a break every now and then.”

He leaned down, and you could feel the slightest hint of stubble on his jaw brushing against your cheek as he whispered directly into your ear.

“There is only one occasion when I want your brain empty, my love,” he rasped as his vibranium hand slid down your body, which was covered only by your bikini and a gauzy beach wrap. “And I do think that it’s high time we give that beautiful mind of yours a break.”

[goldencherriess]

The supreme lord of the bathroom.

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Fem! Reader

Summary: A new arrival at Camp Half-Blood announces new opportunities.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: angst if you squint

Previous part || Series masterlist

Y/N blinked against the sunlight. It was pouring out the window onto her face like a golden cascade. Her ears caught sounds of laughter and chatter. It wasn’t the first time she woke up in the middle of a morning chaos. Life in Cabin 11 had always been that way, too lively for her likeliness. People always shuffling, talking loudly and giggling. It was a cabin which burst with life, but it was also too overcrowded. She rarely felt she got a breather to herself. Most of the time she was yearning to be left alone to her thoughts, but always a Hermes kid jumped at the opportunity to talk to her. She always shut them out. A side of her felt grateful for the warmth she was greeted with when she had first stepped into the cabin, but another side of her was longing to know to which cabin she truly belonged. 

Someone jumped on her bunk bed, dipping the mattress. “Wake up, sleepy head!”

“I’m already awake. You lot had awakened me up,” she replied groggily, opening one eye and gazing at the person who was currently taking most of her bed. 

The boy only shrugged innocently. “That’s Cabin 11 for ya. You’re stuck with us,” he grinned. “For a while,” he hastily added once he saw Y/N furrow. 

She only sighed, before getting up. “It’s been four years, Luke.”

Luke was the first who befriended her the day she stepped into the camp for the first time. She could still remember the warm smile he approached her with. 

“Yeah, but others had to wait longer. They still got claimed, though.”

“And others didn’t,” replied Y/N bitterly. 

Luke cast his eyes down. “I know, I’m sorry.” A smile spread on his lips again. “You know what I’ve heard?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, while she gathered her hair into a ponytail. “Amaze me.”

“The new kid. He killed the Minotaur. And Annabeth thinks he’s the one. You know, he might just be. Play your cards right and you might get yourself a quest. The quest.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she let her hair fall back down. “Really?”

Luke opened his mouth to reply, but familiar hooves entered the cabin and interrupted him. The tall and lean figure of Chiron stood in the doorway, clapping his hands. “Everyone, everyone. Your attention, please.” Y/N turned her head, curiously taking in the sight of a golden-haired boy beside the centaur. “This is Percy Jackson, I trust you will see to whatever he needs.”

She turned back towards Luke. “Is this the kid?” she asked him, pointing towards the blonde. 

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

A grin spread out on Y/N’s face, illuminating her sharp features. “Great. I’ll make the introductions. Don’t interrupt me and let me approach him first. This could be important.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“Promise me, Luke!”

Luke raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I promise! Just don’t scare him off.”

She ignored him and took small steps towards the boy, analyzing his every move. She could tell he was feeling out of place, confused and furious. She could tell because she saw her younger self in his shy eyes and unsure steps. She crossed her arms and leaned on the banister beside his sleeping bag. He was just crouching and taking something out of a backpack when she spoke up. “So, you’re the one who killed the Minotaur?”

He got up and turned around abruptly. His gaze landed on Y/N and she thought his eyes resembled the deep sea and its secrets. “How did you-”

“News travels fast,” she shrugged. 

He only huffed. “Look, if you want to give me a hard time, just do it tomorrow. I can’t do any more today.”

“Are you the kid who killed the Minotaur? It’s a yes or no question,” repeated Y/N more firmly, straightening her back and distancing herself from the bannister. 

The boy’s eyes travelled to the horn besides his backpack.She followed his gaze. “So, you did. It’s true what they say.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, shuffling his feet. 

“What’s your name?” asked Y/N, taking a step closer towards the newcomer. She could feel Luke’s gaze burning holes into her back. 

“Percy.”

She smirked. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Percy. I’m Y/N.” She stuck out her hand in greeting, and he shook it hesitantly. 

“Heard what happened to you on the hill,” a familiar voice said. Luke came up beside her, approaching Percy just as he did once to her. “And I just… wanted to say I’m really sorry.”

Percy’s gaze slipped towards Y/N, who was still closely watching him, before it fell, aimlessly looking around and taking in the sight of the wooden floor. 

“I know what you’re going through. Believe me.”

“You might not believe it yet, but you’re one of us,” said Y/N, lowering her head to catch his gaze. “You’re a demigod.”

He lifted his gaze, latching onto hers. He almost started at the intensity in them. They strangely reminded him of a thunderous sky in a storm. 

“I’m Luke. You met Y/N here. We’re your friends now.”

“Percy,” he replied, shaking Luke’s hand before his eyes panned to Y/N. She hesitantly smiled, before she turned around. “Settle in, no one’s doing your bed around here!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Bossy,” he whispered under his breath. 

Luke chuckled lightly from beside him. “She means no harm. It’s just the way she is. We figured she might take after her godly parent.”

“Who’s her godly parent?” asked Percy, taking his gaze off Y/N, who was just picking up a set of arrows and a bow. 

Luke scratched the back of his head. “We, uh, we don’t know. She’s unclaimed. Has been for four years now.”

Percy nodded slowly. He understood. “Just like me,” he murmured.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/N loved to watch the birds fly and sing between the emerald trees. She would sit for hours, glancing at the skies every once in a while, while she cleaned her arrows and bow. Today was no different. Sitting under a cooling shadow of a pine, she glanced upwards, catching the sight of an eagle slashing the skies in two. Annabeth was sitting besides her, talking her ear off. “He drools when he sleeps.”

“Does he?” she replied absently.

“Yes, but that’s unimportant. Irrelevant. I think he might be the one.”

Y/N’s lips curled. “I think so too. We might get that quest after all, Annie.”

Annabeth smiled back, her teeth glinting in the sunlight. Not a second later, her face turned serious. “Have you talked to him yet?”

Y/N raised an arrow to her eye level. It glistened. “Do you think it’s clean enough?”

Annabeth’s gaze slid to the silver tip of the arrow. “Yes. Did you talk to him yet?”

“Yes, I did.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And he seems sad.”

“Obviously he would. He’s new and unclaimed.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed and she let her gaze slide away. “No, wait- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Annabeth stuttered.

The eagle let out a cry and it flew away. “It’s quite alright, Annie. It’s the truth,” she smiled bitterly. “Plus, this is why I want that quest. A chance to prove myself and to get his attention.” Her ears recognized Luke’s voice, coming out of Cabin 11. Percy was walking beside him, his eyes shining in wonder. He was looking up at him like a child would look up to their older sibling. She recognized the look. She turned back towards Annabeth. “Got a strategy for Capture the Flag yet?”

“Working on it, but it’s coming around nicely,” smirked Annabeth. 

“Never doubted it. Meet you later to talk it through?”

“You got it.”

Y/N smiled before she waved her goodbye. Her steps carried her to the boys, before Clarisse La Rue, the resident bully of the camp (Y/N still vividly remembered her first week. She almost got herself beaten up by her at a Capture the Flag game, before a gust of wind hit Clarisse in a tree trunk, knocking her out for a half of day), bumped into Percy. He grunted, rubbing his shoulder. “Hey!”

Clarisse turned around and pushed him. He fell, the cold earth hitting his back. Y/N sped up, her bow clutched in her hand. 

“Woah! Hey, knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on,” voiced Luke.

 Y/N reached Percy, holding her hand out to him. He clasped it and she helped him to his feet. He threw her a shy smile and she acknowledged it with a nod. 

Clarisse’s face morphed into a look of false astonishment. “Wait, so this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Percy replied, looking around. 

Clarisse smiled wickedly. “I’ll bet.” She took a step towards him. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy?”

Y/N’s eyes shifted from Percy to Clarisse, her knuckles turning white on the bow. 

“You better be ready for it when it comes.” Clarisse snapped her head towards him, scaring Percy. He took a step back. She laughed and turned on her heels.

“Don’t you get bored, La Rue? Picking on kids half your size?” questioned Y/N, her voice firm and sure. 

Clarisse turned around slowly, her face as still as a stone, a cold and deadly look in her eyes. 

“Oh, right. You’re doing it for daddy,” continued Y/N. “Not working though, am I right?”

Clarisse’s lips twitched in anger. “Still unclaimed, L/N?”

Y/N felt a pang in her chest, but she smirked nonetheless, “Still afraid of me?”

Clarisse only scoffed before she turned her back on her, fisting her hands. 

“Well, she seems nice,” said Percy, pointing at Clarisse’s retreating form. 

“Ares kids,” sighed Luke. “They come by it honestly.”

“Don’t mind her too much,” said Y/N, her hands finally relaxing on the smooth wood of her bow. 

“You’re not afraid of her,” stated Percy, turning to look at her. Once again, he saw that bold look in her eyes. 

“Why should I? She’s just insecure. I’m afraid of nothing, I won’t start shaking in my boots because of a jealous Ares kid.”

“Why don’t they mess with you?”

A smirk bloomed on Luke’s face. “They know better.”

“Luke’s the strongest swordsman at camp and Y/N’s the best archer you’ll ever meet,” voiced Chris, a boy with an earthly brown complexion and jet black curls.

Percy blinked and Y/N could see the gears in his head turning. “So they leave you alone because’ glory’ ?”

Luke nodded.

“So if I get glory Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“You learn fast,” said Y/N, regarding him with a glint in her gaze. 

“Exactly,” added Luke. 

"And people think I’m a big deal?” continued Percy, looking up at Hermes' child. 

Luke crossed his arms, nodding his head hesitantly. “Well, sorta, but-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me,” the blonde said, turning to look at Y/N, as if asking her for her approval. Her smirk fell. It was as if she was looking into a mirror, seeing her pain reflected in a kindred spirit, in the eyes of a boy who felt utterly confused and lost and furious at the world. 

“You can’t force the gods to do anything,” interjected Luke, before throwing Y/N a worried glance. 

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?” shrugged Percy, slowly moving his gaze off Y/N to Luke. 

“Maybe.”

Y/N’s voice outpowered Luke’s, her hand once again clenching her bow, until her knuckles turned painfully white. “Definitely!” The boy in question gaped at her. 

A smile shone on Percy’s face, his eyes glinting with determination. “Well, great. Where do we start?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/N’s hands never quivered when she held a bow and an arrow in her hand. Whenever she held the weapons, she felt she had a sense of control she had lost the moment she found she was a demigod. She inhaled and slowly exhaled, grounding herself and emptying her head of thoughts. She slowly pulled the arrow and released it. The arrow cut the air and hit the target. A smile broke on her face and she lowered the bow. She turned to look at the golden-haired boy, who was already gazing at her with awe shimmering in his eyes. She handed him her bow. “Your turn.”

He took the bow out of her hand. “I wanna be very clear about this, I’ve never done anything like this before, and it looks super dangerous.”

Luke lifted a shoulder. “And you never killed a Minotaur before either, ‘till you did.”

“There’s a first for everything,” added Y/N, taking out an arrow. Her eyebrows disappeared under her hairline and she held out the weapon. Percy, unsure, shifted his weight, before he accepted the sharp, silvery arrow. 

An Apollo child drew out a lighter, but Y/N raised her hand in a warning, her head shaking in a very definite and clear “no”. Percy raised both of his arms and closed an eye, trying to focus on the target but it blurred in front of his eyes, much like the air would dance in a very torrid day in downtown New York. 

“You’re holding it wrong,” stated Y/N from beside him.

“Am I?” frowned Percy. 

She sighed. “Yes.”

 Percy could feel her come up behind him. Her fingertips touched his elbow, raising it slightly. “Stay straighter.” Percy straightened his back, feeling warmth creeping up his neck. “And relax your hold on the bow, it’s not going anywhere.” His fingers loosened around the bow. “Focus.” Percy thought that focusing would be a bit too hard when he could literally feel Y/N’s breath near his ear, but he tried nonetheless. 

She took a few steps back. “Release the arrow.” 

And he did just that, except the arrow didn’t comply with his will, it flew over everyone’s heads and it stabbed the dark earth. Apollo’s children shrieked and fell to the ground, in an attempt to shelter themselves from the furious arrow. Percy himself fell, a grimace painting his features. Y/N pulled her lips into a thin line, staring at the place the arrow landed. It shone in the sun.

“Should I try again?” questioned Percy meekly. 

“No!” Everyone yelled. 

“Tough luck,” said Y/N, looking down at Percy. 

“Right,” he mumbled before he stuck his hand out, a silent plea to be helped to his feet. 

Y/N extended her hand, but she only took the bow out of the boy’s hold. “See you around, newbie!” she yelled once she turned on her feet, marching towards where the arrow was mockingly glinting in the sun rays.

She was pretty sure she heard him swear under his breath. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The light was throwing pretty shades under the tree. A wind picked up and Y/N’s hair ruffled. She looked up at the tree. It was a beautiful pinetree. It was also a lifeline. She heard the stories about it, about how Thalia sacrificed her life to save Luke, Annabeth and Grover. Annie recounted it too many times, Y/N could now recite it in her sleep. She reached out a hand and touched the rough surface of the deep brown bark. It was like a prayer and she almost had the sudden urge to climb it, to regard the world, the wide, swaying blades of grass. To let the winds whip her face in a gentle caress, to let the smiling sun shine on her. 

She wasn’t afraid of heights. Growing up, while her mother was still very much alive, her cheeks still bursting with colour, she would get all her pants ripped just because she was stubborn enough to climb trees. She’d be closer to the sky, she used to say as an excuse. But then, she turned 5 years old and the wooden, rustic cabin was replaced by towering sky-scrapers. The once fresh mountain air was now thick and heavy. And the damp, dewed earth was taken by concrete floor. She hated the city, but it seemed that the city hated her back, as she did not find her place there. 

Light footsteps spoiled the silence and she knew who it was, before she turned around. 

“I think you would have gotten along,” Annabeth voiced.

Y/N turned around. Annabeth was looking up at the tree with longing in her eyes.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

She took a seat under the tree’s shade. Her friend followed suit, comfortable silence enveloping them both like gentle hands. Distant laughter could be heard and Y/N basked in the joyous sounds. 

“I watched him. He’s awful at archery and sword making.”

A snort escaped Y/N’s lips and she turned to look at her friend. “He is more than awful at archery. He’s horrendous. Never letting him get anywhere near a bow and an arrow again.. A danger to humanity.” She shook her head, laughing softly to herself.

Annabeth lightly smacked her arm. “Do not laugh! This is serious stuff! He needs to be quest worthy!”

Y/N’s chuckles subsided, a ghost of a smile still present on her lips. “You know I want this as much as you do, Annie. I’m just saying things as they are. Why sugarcoat it? He has no talent in archery.”

Annabeth huffed. “I’m still keeping a close eye on him.”

“You do that,” Y/N nodded. Then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she turned her whole body toward Annabeth, criss-crossing her legs. “What about Capture the Flag? Any progress on that?”

“Yes and no. Still figuring things out.”

Y/N started nodding, her lips slightly parted, but Athena’s daughter interrupted her. “You’re on my team, obviously.” And she bumped her shoulder with hers. 

A grin illuminated Y/N’s face and she giggled, bumping Annabeth right back. A blowing horn cut the air, announcing that it was dinner time. Annabeth got up with a grunt, dusting her pants, before reaching a hand out to Y/N and smiling down at her. Y/N let herself be pulled up and she threw Annabeth a mischievous grin. “Race you to the tables?”

But she didn’t give her time to answer, as her feet had a mind of her own and sprinted across the hill, down to the camp.

“You cheater!” she heard Annabeth yell, a note of laughter in her tone. 

The sun was casting down, bathing everything in fiery orange and Y/N was feeling good. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Is there a Greek god of disappointment? Maybe someone should ask him if he’s missing a kid” Y/N heard Percy say, as she tried to catch her breath (she won the race as she proudly teased Annabeth about it). She picked up an ivory plate, before she waved her friend goodbye, catching sight of Percy’s golden hair. 

“Oizys… but she’s a goddess,” replied Chris, as Y/N squeezed herself between him and Luke. “And her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s more like failure.” 

She wished for spaghetti, like her mother used to make her in the cold evenings (and then her aunt tried to pick up the recipe. Her spaghetti always turned out to taste like cardboard, the sauce too gelatinous, but the thought and her trying were endearing. She ate them all the same). The spaghetti morphed themselves in her plate, swirls of steam rising into the air. Its savoury aroma tickled Y/N’s nostrils and her stomach grumbled.

“How did the first day go?” she said, as she caught Percy’s blue gaze.

“Awful,” he replied, playing around with his food.

“Well, every first day is awful,” she shrugged. She remembered how miserable she felt on her first day at camp, missing her aunt and feeling confused. 

“Thanks, very reassuring.” He threw her a sarcastic smile.

“You’re welcome. Just a reality check.”

“What Y/N is trying to say is that this was just the first day, the others won’t be as bad,” voiced Luke.

“Yes, cause that’s exactly what I was trying to say,” said Y/N, rolling her eyes with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Luke bumped her shoulders with his. “Tone down the sarcasm. It’s his first day.” He then turned to look at Percy, reassuringly smiling at him. “We’re gonna find the thing that you’re good at. I know it.”

A bell chiming cut through the air and Luke turned around. “Our turn.”

“Our turn for what?” frowned Percy, looking at Y/N as she got up. 

“Prayers,” she smirked, before gulping down a fork full of spaghetti. They tasted just like she remembered. 

“Burnt offerings,” added Luke, picking up his own plate. “The gods like the smell, so it gets their attention before you say a prayer.”

Percy frowned. “They like the smell of burnt mac and cheese?”

“They like the smell of begging,” chuckled Chris, before taking his plate and leaving the table. 

Y/N cracked a smile, spiralling the spaghetti on her fork, the sauce dripping down the side of it, vermillion on silver. 

“You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen,” explained Luke. 

“Do they, though?” mumbled Y/N, mouth full of food. 

Luke didn’t seem to hear her, as he left the table, back straightened. Percy stared her down, lips slightly parted. Y/N gulped down the spaghetti, the sauce burning her throat. “What?” she asked harshly. Her eyebrows pinched. 

The boy jumped, as if out of a daze. “You just- You got something on your face.”

“Do I?” She hastily wiped her cheek, a wild look in her eyes. 

“Not there. There,” he replied, pointing at the corner of his mouth. 

Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Red sauce painted her hand and she scoffed, before she licked it. Spices and the taste of home invaded her mouth once again. “Thanks,” she mumbled before she turned her back on him, taking steps toward the fire in the centre of the dining pavilion.

The flames were dancing playfully. It was as if they were twirling in a never-ending tango and for a moment she thought she saw a woman smile in the golden light of the flames. She blinked and the flames stared back at her. She scraped the remaining spaghetti off with the fork into the fire. The flames heightened and the smell of home reached her nostrils. “To my father. Please, show yourself,” she whispered. 

She gave up guessing a long time ago. Her first guess was Apollo. But then again, she didn’t have a talent for singing, nor did she have a knack for writing (and if you were to ask her, she didn’t make a good nurse either). After a while, she realised that she might be the daughter of a minor god or one of the many children of a major one, a nameless and faceless child in a crowd of thousands. 

The fire gave one last puff and crackle and she turned back to the table, where she put back the plate. Percy was still there, watching her every move. Her eyes snapped to his. They really resembled the ocean. Her lips curled slightly, in a smirk. “See you tomorrow, newbie. You’d better show your Minotaur-killing skills at Capture the Flag.”

And she turned on her heels, marching towards Cabin 11. 

“Wait, what’s that?” she heard him yell. 

Her smile broadened, her fingers twitching at the thought that she’d hold her bow again. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Capture the Flag was a glory induced event for the demigods at Camp Half-Blood. For Y/N was no different. She looked forward to the energised atmosphere, the wind-swept woods, the cathartic battle cries. She loved the feeling of freedom and the confidence she felt when holding her trusted bow in hand. But most of all, she looked forward to winning.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor,” Chiron’s sure voice boomed across the woods. Y/N stood proudly with the bow in her hand and a fistful of arrows on her back, “As always, there will be no maining and no killing. I trust these rules will be respected.  Any magical items you may possess, are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed but may not be bound or gagged. Let the games begin!”

A conch horn blew, announcing the start of Capture the Flag and Y/N grinned, a sense of confidence surging through her veins. The Red Team let out furious battle cries and The Blue Team responded just as much. 

“All right. We have twenty minutes before the second conch and game on,” said Annabeth as she came up to her, Luke and Percy ( who was very much fidgeting, but Y/N chose not to say anything about it, as she thought it would hurt his ego. Not that she cared, but she needed her team to focus and win).  “You know what you're doing?”

“Yes, m’am” nodded Luke. 

She turned towards Y/N, who smirked. “Always.”

Luke started to walk away, but Annabeth speaking up stopped him in his tracks. “Hey. Today feel like a winning day to you?”

Luke slowly nodded. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Y/N saluted Annabeth and Luke before her gaze slid towards the blonde, who was silently watching the interaction. “See you later, newbie! Try to not get yourself killed!”.

And she was off, on her way, running through the woods, going over Annabeth’s plan. Do what you do best, climb up trees, arrows ready. Watch over Percy, make sure they end up near the river. I’ll be right there, watching on, she said to her. 

Her feet skidded down muddy paths, the smell of fresh grass and pine trees enveloping her. She heard an eagle croaking and she looked up, catching sight of it as it flew across the camp. She stopped, heaving. She turned towards the tree beside her and she put the arrow on her back, before she proceeded climbing it. The rough bark scraped her palm, drawing blood, but she felt like a child, playing in the backyard. Once she reached a safe branch, she looked at the horizon, the red helmets of the rival team weaving between the emerald green of the woods. She scoffed before she closed her eyes, inhaling. A wind caressed her cheek and a second conch blew. She snapped her eyes open, her mind void of any other thoughts beside the desire to win. She jumped from branch to branch, from tree to tree before she came across a clearing. She recognized Percy’s blonde mop of hair, as he laid on a log with his eyes closed, his fingers playing with a leaf. She leaned against the bark, watching him.

For a split moment, she wondered what was going through his mind. He looked so peaceful, different from the many times she felt him tense or stiffen. She also had the urge to just let her eyes close and enjoy the silence and the sweet sounds nature had to offer, but the scarlet helmets of the opposing team caught her attention. She straightened  her back, slowly taking out her bow. 

Percy warily sat up, watching as Clarisse took off her helmet and chucked it towards the woods. “Flag’s that way. It’s not here,” he pointed to the other side of the woods. 

“We know,” replied Clarisse. “Yeah, glory’s fine. Revenge is more fun.” 

She slammed her spear onto the ground. The weapon crackled to life with orange light. Y/N tightened her hold onto the bow and she took out an arrow, watching as Percy hastily grabbed his shield and sword. 

“No maiming. It’s like the one rule,” he said, body stiff. 

“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while. I’ll live,” smirked Clarisse before she attacked Percy. 

Y/N swore under her breath as she watched the boy struggle, swiftly dodging every strike. She raised the arrow and the bow, targeting one of Clarisse’s team mates. Percy fell onto his knee, after he managed to counterattack Clarisse’s crackling spear. Y/N inhaled and exhaled before she released the arrow. It swished, cutting the air, before it stabbed the earth near the foot of The Red Team player. The boy backed in shock, and Clarisse looked around, eyebrows furrowed. “Who’s there?” she yelled.

Percy threw a glance upwards, his gaze meeting Y/N’s. She gave him a solemn nod, before she backed into the shadows. The distraction gave him enough time to swipe his sword at Clarisse. She met his attack with one of her own, pushing him with her spear. He fell backwards, over the log, the wind knocked out of him. Y/N grimaced, she took out another arrow, ready to intervene once again. 

“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” Clarisse stated. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better.”

Y/N raised the bow. The arrow was ready to be launched.

“Are you feeling up to that yet?” asked Clarisse as Y/N released the arrow. It implanted itself at her feet and the girl took a step back, shock painting her features. Percy got up, speeding through the woods. 

“Guess that’s a no,” said Clarisse, after she recovered from the shock, taking after him. 

Y/N put the bow on her back and she jumped from the tree, landing on her feet. 

“Great aim!” she heard a familiar voice say. 

Y/N smiled. “Thanks, Annie.”

The girl appeared beside her, a blue Yankees cap in her hand. She was grinning. “We’re winning this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, a sense of urgency taking over her brain as she remembered that Percy was still very much alone in a three-to-one fight, but a blood-curdling scream interrupted her. She snapped towards the source of the sound and let the feet carry her to it, the woods whizzing past her. She stumbled onto the shore just as Luke and their team arrived, triumphantly holding the flag and cheering. The scarlet flag was swaying in the wind.

Her gaze found the blonde. Clarisse was holding him by the armour. She pushed him away, once the Blue Team invaded the shore. Percy fell to his knees, his chest heaving. 

Y/N let out a breath in relief as she approached the boy. “You alright?”

He looked up to her and she noted his left eye was slowly turning purple. Blood stained his cheek. He tried to catch his breath, gulping. “Yeah,” he managed to say. 

“You did well,” she replied as she stuck out her hand. He looked at it, before his hand touched hers, and she heaved him up. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze met hers. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

“Not bad, hero,” Annabeth voiced as she took off her cap, appearing before them.

“Were you here the whole time?” questioned Percy, a note of annoyance seeping into his tone. 

“Yes.”

“You were here the whole time and you didn’t help me?” He briefly glanced at Y/N. “I mean, even Y/N helped, but you didn’t?”

Annabeth simply shrugged. “Yes.”

“Why?” asked Percy in disbelief. 

Y/N glanced behind her shoulder, catching sight of Clarisse scowling her way. Y/N figured Clarisse might have realised where the arrows came from. She threw her a brief smile. 

“Listen… Percy,” she heard Annabeth say. “I’m sorry.”

A splash echoed and Y/N whipped her head around. Percy had fallen into the water, angrily staring at Annabeth. “What is wrong with you?” he yelled. He got up, small waves washing onto the shore. 

At first, Y/N thought her eyes were deceiving her, but they couldn’t have, they never did. She had the best aim and target in the whole camp, they never let her down, not once. She watched in amazement as Percy’s injuries healed right before her eyes, water dripping down his arms and face. Her lips parted. 

“I don’t understand,” said Percy, looking at Annabeth before he moved his gaze onto Y/N. 

A blue glow caught her attention and she raised her gaze. A shining trident was hovering over Percy and Y/N blinked, a puff of air escaping her lips. 

“Your dad’s calling,” smiled Annabeth in awe. 

Y/N’s lips twitched and she felt how the blood in her veins turned to ice, the green-eyed monster invading her thoughts. Perseus Jackson had been claimed, in just a few days. She remained unclaimed up to this day, even after four years of waiting, of praying and of capturing flags.

 Suddenly, the idea of getting a quest spurred her on and she knew that Percy’s arrival at camp and claiming hadn’t been a coincidence. She could feel it in the wind. A storm was bubbling. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: and we're off to a start! I'm very excited to share the next chapter. Stuff is about to go down.

If you'd like to be added to my main tag list or the series tag list, drop a comment or send me an ask!

Lots of love xx

Main tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead @asgards-princess-of-mischief @islayhawkin

Series tag list: @mynicknameisgasoline @constellation-archive @leptitlu @br3nt-12 @utterlyunawarewriter

[miabbh]

Undocked ⚓🦇

vampire ship captain!Baekhyun x reader

Synopsis: With the madness that the passage of time brings to his kind, he is forced to save you from what he himself did to you, when you were trying to run away from your state of life just much as he was.

Genre: fluff, semi-explicit, tiny bit of angst, mentions of blood | around 8,5k words

There are only two circumstances in which there is nothing left to do: when you die, and when you lose hope. Even so, for the ultimate end, these two must coexist.

He still carried hope; you, life.

With age, for those of his kind, wisdom was joined by madness and lack of control, intertwined with growing folly and perdition. The omen of the end was revealed as an irresistible temptation: a visceral desire to reintegrate with those from whom they had once been estranged, in the illusory hope of recovering their lost humanity. But this closeness only awakened the dark nature that dwelled underneath, summoning the beast that hungrily waited to break free. When the mask fell, horror and carnage were unleashed and the inevitable followed.

Baekhyun recognised the signs well, spectral melodies that echoed with the arrival of each new moon, as familiar as they were terrifying. What had begun as a mournful whisper, steeped in nostalgia, now explodes into ferocious cries from the depths of his diaphragm, rising up his throat to become inhuman screams, reverberating like echoes in chambers of cold stone.

The sea has become his only bastion since it started to become a threat to stay on land for long periods of time. If it hadn't been for Chanyeol, these last three months on land would have had much more to embitter his conscience than the resentment that he might not survive until the end of the decade.

The ships he commanded became progressively smaller, safer, as safe as it was to have a vampire who couldn't control his instincts confined to a vessel with a hundred or two of humans. Small ships with two hundred filthy rich humans, with addictions corrupting their souls and bodies—they weren't exactly the most desirable, not even for when the most savage being revealed itself.

Grateful for his survival instincts, Baekhyun clung to what still made him feel useful and happy—the helms of the small cruise ships on which he shared command with Chanyeol.

He didn't even have a safe harbour now, except for the two of them.

Still, he smiles, with a smile that defies the very essence of what flowed through him, overflowing with an unsuspected tenderness, so authentic that it seems to question the nature of the blood that courses through his unholy veins.

And then, you.

For the first time in decades, his smile found a more sub-lime purpose.

He sensed your presence even before his eyes reached you, as if the sweetness you radiated was an invisible enchantment, crossing the ballroom with a subtlety that stood out amid the decadence of perfumes and muffled voices. For a moment, Baekhyun let himself be carried away, his attention lost, disconnected from the insipid conversation between the officials and the cruise company representatives. Moved by an almost spectral impulse, he looked for you and saw you coming through the varnished wooden door, trying to tidy up your hair that had come loose from the simple but elegant updo, possibly because of the wind outside.

He followed your every hesitant step with fascination, until you settled by the window, away from the crowd.

He saw you for the first time at check-in, when your fragrance was mixed with a touch of apprehension, as you carried a suitcase in one hand and a camera in the other, walking down the corridor towards the cabins.

There was something hypnotic about the way you captured the world around you: the empty corridor, the plaster mouldings on the walls, the minimalist ornaments and, finally, the number on your door—64. Or the fact that you found interest in the simplest detail of the signature on the ship's map.

A faint smile had appeared on his lips as he watched you from a distance, like a figure lost in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

There was an unusual magnetism about you, a presence that seemed to belong to another era, and he felt drawn to your existence. Yet you remained motionless, your countenance serenely composed, concealing the turmoil that was agitating your spirit.

Now, seeing you come in late for dinner, occupying a solitary table, aroused in him a restlessness that bordered on despair. The desire to get up and walk over to you resounded like an inexorable call, but he held back. Chanyeol mentioned his name, and Baekhyun, momentarily pulled out of the spell that was enveloping him, once again concealed the intensity of his interest with the dexterity of an actor.

The wind blew so hard the moment you stepped out on deck that it almost ripped out the clip holding your hair in a semi-formal updo. Since you checked in mid-afternoon, you had been contemplating whether to stay in your cabin all night or attend the welcoming dinner offered by the cruise company. And now, on the verge of descending the stairs to the harbour, you were rethinking your choice.

The dinner was taking place in a small ballroom, just above the harbour where the cruise ship was docked. From the movement around you, it seemed that all the other passengers were already there when you finally grabbed hold of the metal railing of the staircase that connected the ship to the harbour. At least it didn't sway in the wind!

It's not that you're a fan of these occasions—exquisite dinners, without knowing anyone, without a clear purpose—and it wasn't with that in mind that you joined this mini holiday on the Atlantic. But the movement of the waves, which you weren't used to, made you uneasy. If the boat capsizes because of the wind, or water gets into the cabins, or the lights go out because of the afterlife, you didn't want to be the only one left on board because you were embarrassed to sit alone at dinner.

A lot had driven you to that moment, despite your tendency to be anxious at the thought of getting on a boat on the high seas without knowing how to swim.

There wasn't much to look forward to in your daily life; everything and nothing happened at the same time. You rushed to stay in the same place, in a tedious and exhausting limbo, where you didn't even know who you were anymore.

That wasn't the work perspective you had when you did your master's in photography. Your job in a photography agency was well paid, your nine and a half hours three out of five days a week of work were almost forgotten when the end of the month arrived and you managed to pay all the bills and enjoy a bit of pampering for your collection of photographic equipment. However, you soon saw your landscapes and city moments captured on camera turn into all the same photographs of individuals with their arms crossed with more or less similar promises, against a monochrome background and perfectly controlled lighting.

Your dream, tucked away in a corner of the living room and in a few drawers and cupboards, only saw the light of day on some Sundays. Just like your creativity.

After seven years at the same pace, you felt betrayed. Betrayed by yourself. You didn't have the time, despite the material you'd invested so much in; you didn't have the energy, despite the will and encouragement of those who loved you. Carrying a camera in your hands had gone from a comfort to a burden on your heart.

The passion slowly faded without you realizing it.

Until 18 months ago, when exhaustion overtook the usual tiredness, and getting home consisted of taking a quick shower, leaning against the kitchen worktop while Alejandro handled the pots and pans with your dinner, and barely remembering to eat it to wake up in bed the next day with the alarm clock ringing.

Alejandro was an attentive and caring and funny boyfriend. You met while fighting over the last almond cookies from the bakery in your street.

It started with a small, deadly hatred for each other, always with a view to getting to the stand first. It was a bit ridiculous, when you thought about it outside of moments of competitive adrenaline, but you only had to watch him round the corner on his noisy motorbike to not-so-discreetly chain his way to the bakery door.

Everything changed the day they both arrived at the bakery at the same time, exhausted from racing each other. You laughed together for the first time, your faces flushed from running, and he offered you the last almond cookie. From that moment on, something unfolded naturally. Before long, he was in your life in a solid and stable way. Competition gave way to quiet complicity, and his presence became comforting.

With him, there was a sense of solid partnership that emerged in the simplest moments: a silly joke at the end of the day, the care taken to put a blanket over you when you fell asleep on the sofa, or the way he looked at you, as if every beat of his heart was thanks to your presence.

In the last six months, however, it was only through the selfie with him that you had as your lockscreen that you saw him. Work days went by in a flash, and you only remembered to go home after the usual stress of fighting for a parking slot in front of your building. Everything else was a mixture of yawns, a heavy body and your mind thinking about what you had to do the next day.

Your end came after almost four years. He was understanding, but offered a lot of resistance. Maybe that's what you deserved... how could you love someone if you didn't even love yourself? If you weren't even fighting for what you wanted?

You were so, so close to giving up—to giving up on the life you had. But then you allowed yourself to take a risk. The final straw came the day you broke your camera lens at one of your work meetings. To help it, your car wouldn't start when it was time to leave; you had to park almost on the other side of the block when you arrived at an empty, dark home.

It was enough!

The letter of resignation appeared on your computer in minutes, as if your fingers knew better than your mind what you wanted to say.

Sending it took a little longer, you were given two hours—shower and a not very successful attempt at cooking—to send the email.

And send it you did.

A week was enough to realise that you had been impulsive. But a part of your mind wouldn't allow you to feel guilty; that's what you wanted deep down, wasn't it?

The walls of an empty flat, the work folders on your computer, the photos on your camera memory card didn't really allow you to rest.

You had no tears left to cry-not even for yourself, nor for the film playing in the background on TV, full of inspiring phrases about resilience and courage.

When the ad break came, you almost laughed at the irony: an advert for a cruise line that promised the perfect escape from a monotonous life.

"I'm spending a week on a cruise across the Atlantic. I promise I'll keep you updated, but please don't call me." is what you said to your parents and friends after booking a cabin on the company's website, extending the conversation a little further with rearrangements about the upcoming festivities.

A small cruise with only 170 people in total, in search of a little peace from the hustle and bustle of the city and something beautiful to photograph, that would touch your soul, that would make you feel connected to your dream again.

What a good synopsis for what you hoped would be a good restart to your life, rather than a stray from the end.

To begin with, however, you decided to leave the camera, your only constant companion, in the cabin.

Today, it was just you.

A crew member guarding the entrance, with a watchful eye, was waiting at the bottom of the stairs and asked:

"Are you going to dinner, miss?" You nodded. You nodded. "That car can take you there."

The black car with the company logo was parked a few metres away. You walked down the remaining steps, a sudden relief in your chest as you felt you were on solid ground, the wind no longer so strong.

"Yes, please."

He signalled, and the car lights came on before the driver got out of his seat and opened the back door for you.

The car door closed beside you with a soft click, muffling the sound of the wind whipping through the harbour. You watched the small, illuminated ballroom approach, feeling a mixture of hesitation and discomfort.

You looked around, searching for some familiar sign, but you knew you were alone.

As you entered the lounge, the soft lights and the hushed murmur of conversation created a cosy atmosphere. You looked for a discreet table, away from the centre of attention. You found one, by the window, overlooking the harbour, now shrouded in darkness were it not for the ship's outside lights. You sat there, watching the lounge. Your gaze passed over the unfamiliar faces, the elegantly decorated tables, feeling like an outsider among everyone.

As you settled in, you let your gaze wander around the room. The unfamiliar faces mingled in conversations and laughter that echoed in the background. You had met some of the crew during check-in, but you only recognised the second captain, Chanyeol, sitting at a table in the centre with a few other crew members. He was smiling in the same way as when you first saw him: a smile almost too sweet for his height and build.

You took a deep breath, looking at the table in front of you and wondering how long you would have to stand there before it was acceptable to return to the cabin. Perhaps you could order something light to eat and escape before the end...

While you were analysing your surroundings, one of the waitresses approached you.

"Can I get you something, miss?"

"Something light, please." you said in an almost inaudible tone, forcing a polite smile. You didn't have much of an appetite.

She nodded and, a few minutes later, brought you some soup and an omelette with roast vegetables. You nodded your thanks and started eating.

A woman at the next table laughed at something, and you looked up. You should have sat back to them. Or sideways, at least... Suddenly, that familiar feeling of strangeness when eating returned, and you had to put down your spoon and drink some of the cool water, opting to attack the omelette for the time being.

You ate in silence, as quickly as possible without seeming rushed. You could already feel the relief creeping in, about to escape, when the lights in the lounge subtly changed and soft music began to play. The first chords of a waltz-like melody filled the room, and you were overcome with a mixture of curiosity and delight.

A small dance floor opened up in the centre, and couples began to join in slowly, lulled by the music.

You didn't realise that this was what they meant when they said "𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬".

The beauty of the dance and the human warmth that radiated from the moment touched you in a way you hadn't expected. You automatically grabbed your phone to capture some images. You wished you'd brought the camera when the photo didn't quite live up to expectations.

Possibly the few hundred photos you had taken of your own volition and pleasure only existed because of Alejandro. He didn't like being "immortalised in bytes" and had already made that clear several times, but you still allowed him to sneak into one or the other. His serene smile, dark skin and black hair added an intimate and real touch to the photographs. It was a piece of your story, too.

If he was here, maybe you could 'live the moment and save it on your minds' on the dance floor too.

You didn't let the memory get to you. Or you tried to. A heavy sigh demanded to be released.

You looked around. You hadn't realised how interesting the space was: a mix of an older architectural style, probably over two hundred years old, from the windows and columns and chandeliers, with the flooring you see everywhere these days and the round, simple tables of this century.

It was a beautiful location for wedding photos. With the right decoration, some flowers, a happy couple and family and friends genuinely celebrating. Maybe you could get a few shots of the sun harbouring through those huge windows. Just the silhouette and the sky painted orange and pink...

You were back in your element, observing and freezing moments. The smile grew on your lips unintentionally, imagining the possibilities that space had to offer.

You turned to photograph the chandelier when someone approached your table. A man with a gentle smile on his lips stopped next to you. You didn't recognise him immediately, but there was something about the way he looked at you, with a quiet curiosity, that disarmed you.

You pressed your phone against the chest.

"May I have the honour of this dance?" he asked, his voice low and calm, but full of a kind of magnetism.

He was tall, with brown hair and a deep, sweet gaze to match his smile, which became a little smaller as his cheeks rose. The dark blue tone of the knitted sweater suited his features so well, as did the gold pendant he wore around his neck.

The women at the next table watched him with intent, a hint of envy in their wrinkled noses or in the nerve of their eyebrows. He, however, didn't seem to notice.

Surprised, you looked at him. Why you?

There was a calmness about him that drew you in, as if he were in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world to wait for you.

You hunched your shoulders, as if that could hide you.

"I... I'm not very good at dancing any more…" you said with a small, nervous smile.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes shining with lightness.

"I promise I won't trip you up.”

And 'no' was no longer an answer to that inviting slender hand.

"Well, then..." the cellphone was left on the table when you placed your hand in his, a little hesitant. But he remained still, holding your hand with a gentleness that gave you confidence.

When you reached the dance floor, the lights seemed to soften even more and the music enveloped you in a slow and enchanting rhythm. You smiled nervously when your free hand rested on his broad shoulder, the other subtly rolling into his until they fit together.

A soft touch of a waltz enveloped you. The first steps were tentative, but he guided you confidently, and as the dance progressed, you began to lose yourself in the moment. Your movements became fluid.

The room glowed with twinkling lights, and the warmth of the crowd became a distant backdrop.

It wasn't difficult. You had danced before, yes. Several times, with more or less public, when the simplicity of teenage life gave you time to experiment and dedicate some time a week to activities that were a rewarding indulgence.

The firm touch of his hand that held yours high, the light pressure of his fingers on your back brought back that feeling of going back in time. And suddenly it seemed like everything had a solution.

His face in profile, as he measured the spacing between the other dancers before making you move forward, showed serenity and fun. If he only knew what he was doing for you…

He felt your gaze on him.

"My name is Baekhyun, by the way." he said, turning to you, eyes fixed on yours.

Baekhyun.

You smiled at him and said your name.

He repeats it with a smile that you used to only see through the camera when you went out to take photos in the park. As if it were a name with immense meaning, beautiful, and because it is yours.

For a moment, everything seemed perfect.

In a sudden change of pace, in your distraction, you tripped over your own feet. A brief moment of imbalance, and before you can correct yourself, you feel yourself losing your stability, the ground slipping away from you.

That was living in the dream, wasn't it? Waking up to reality in the best part... Have you prepared yourself for the pain of falling, or waking up still at the table trying to figure out how to use a spoon without feeling embarrassed.

But instead of the impact, you felt Baekhyun reacting instantly, pulling you closer.

“Sorry." you murmured, pressed against his chest, grabbing the shoulder of his sweater when the world stopped being on pause.

A moment of silence fell over the two of you before it turned into an explosion of laughter. He laughed, and the sound of his laughter was contagious. The environment around you seemed to light up even more, and you couldn't help but smile as you felt the lightness of the situation.

“Thanks." you whispered. Baekhyun just smiled, his eyes shining with a mix of amusement and relief.

“I was the one who promised not to let you trip… I’m sorry.” he said.

“I was distracted.” you explained.

“Me too.”

The sequence returned to the beginning, the steps almost already memorized.

The melody calms down, and as the song approaches the end, you feel a slight sadness, a reluctance for the moment to end. Baekhyun pulled you a little closer, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel as if time could become infinite.

When the music finally stopped, they both walked away a little, breathing heavily and their hearts still beating quickly. He removed his hand from your back immediately, but the one holding yours remained.

"Thanks for the dance, Baekhyun.”

He smiled again, a smile that seemed to know more than it let on.

"The pleasure is mine."

As you moved away from the center, you heard Captain Chanyeol's voice approaching, along with another man. Baekhyun's hand suddenly squeezed yours.

“Good evening, miss.” he said to you, smiling. Dimples appeared on his face. “Captain, the president of the music group who will be on board.”

Your eyes widened, feeling your heart speed up.

Captain? Was Baekhyun the captain?

You felt heat rise to your face, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. He had introduced himself in such a simple way, without any mention of his position, that you also took the liberty of treating him without apparatus.

He greeted the man, releasing your hand.

"Captain...?" you murmured, more to yourself than to him, but his gaze fell on you as soon as he let go of the man's hand.

Baekhyun allowed himself to smile, a light but controlled expression. He hadn't introduced himself properly so as not to cause you more hesitation, or shyness, and because it really wasn't important at the moment.

"Yes." he said. "But I prefer Baekhyun. Captain only during duty hours.” He winked before giving a curt nod. “And it seems that the service calls. I hope to see you soon for a second dance, though.”

Without thinking, you just nodded yes.

And with that, he smiled and followed the other two men to the back of the room, his expression slightly more serious. What would it be like to see him in uniform?

Stop, silly!

He didn't want to leave you so soon. He had fun dancing like he hadn't had fun in months. Dancing had that effect on him, especially waltzes.

Waltzes were a tradition that the company maintained to preserve the classic charm of the experience, something that looked good in slogans and advertisements, but in reality, few passengers knew how to dance like they used to. They were now just a warm-up for the following songs, later in the night, of modern beats, which pulsed in an irregular, almost disconcerting way, with chaotic and intense rhythms that seemed to tune out the rhythm of his immortal—but eternally of good taste—heart.

By that moment, he would have retreated further into a corner, trying to ignore the modern cacophony.

The conversation with the director didn't take long. Some basic questions about the presence of the musical group on board, very brief technical details and a more personal presentation about each of the artists.

Baekhyun tried to look interested, but he already knew everything he needed to about them. The rest, the logistics and security personnel took care of. Age was beginning to weigh on him as he had to deal with things he didn't need to.

Chanyeol, however, seemed to be enchanted by one of the artists. The questions came and went, more flirtatious than actually work related—in 1500 years of friendship, he had never heard Chanyeol take as much interest in the strings of a bandolin as he does now.

The imposing melody of Blue Danube woke him from his reverie. A classic that never goes out of style, even though it's not the same to listen to the recording and live. He looked back at the dance floor, looking for you.

He didn't see you anywhere. He stretched his neck, looking for you in the corners. You seemed to have a preference for them…

Contrary to your observation, you danced well, loose and fluid, responding perfectly to his movements. Your hand rested on his shoulder, light but firm, while your arm rested gently on his. You twirled with grace, following him around the track without losing your balance, and he felt every accelerated pulse of your heart against his chest. It was delicious torture.

Every dance movement, every light touch you exchanged, was an internal battle to not give in to the desire to have you closer. And even with all his experience, your presence destabilized him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

He wanted more. And he promised you that.

He felt an elbow on his ribs, and he looked to his left, Chanyeol looking at him with a knowing smile.

“Go there and ask the lonely maiden to dance.” teased Chanyeol, with a playful smile on his lips. “She's waiting for you near the bar. But if you take too long, I might invite her myself…” The sparkle in his eyes was unmistakable, always ready to instigate, test Baekhyun's limits, as only Chanyeol knew how to do.

Baekhyun gave him a warning look before slowly turning around. The thought of seeing Chanyeol spinning you around the track made him act faster than he would like to admit.

It had always been like this between the two: teasing, sarcasm, but a deep complicity that transcended any words. Chanyeol was the only person with whom Baekhyun could be himself, the only one who knew every dark detail of his existence. They shared a long history, marked by moments of mutual salvation. Chanyeol had been there on countless occasions when Baekhyun had almost succumbed to his wilder, more destructive side. Without him, Baekhyun feared that his decline would have already led to irreversible disasters.

He also knew that his friend was always attentive, especially at times like this—in a place full of people. Chanyeol made a point of keeping him grounded, especially now, when the presence of someone as… tempting as you was around.

Maybe that was the real reason behind Chanyeol's joke—to distract him, to help him maintain control over his mind. He was Baekhyun's balance, the firm rope that kept him from falling into the abyss of his own nature.

But him dancing with you? Hell no!

That would be a disaster for his heart. Chanyeol had a charm that was very difficult to resist.

“Relax.” Chanyeol added, patting him friendly on the shoulder. The two ladies in the artist group laughed. “You don't need to bite. Come on, do your part. Promised is due, and I am more one to bite than to twirl.”

Baekhyun laughed at the pun.

“You lack chivalry.” he said.

“It wasn't necessary. They were happy enough when I sat serenading them.”

Baekhyun didn't look back this time.

His eyes searched for you, and there you were, near the bar with a glass of something orange. He hesitated for a moment, watching you from a distance. There was a quiet beauty about you, a serenity that contrasted with the brightness of the party. Maybe that was what attracted him—that aura of someone who seemed to be in a world apart, immersed in something that others couldn't see.

The slow steps guided him to you. A part of Baekhyun couldn't help it: your blood called to him. He knew it smelled delicious, sweet and filled with deep emotions.

It wasn't just the physicality that attracted him—you were breathtaking, really!—but the complexity of what you felt, which made every beat of your heart an irresistible invitation. And despite the sweetness, he knew there was something bitter mixed in. Emotions like sadness, anguish, or perhaps loneliness, filtered into the blood, making it richer, more seductive.

Containing his predatory impulses, Baekhyun stopped a few steps away from you and, with a controlled smile, asked you to dance again.

“I think I owe you a dance, miss.”

Your eyes lit up with a brief hesitation just like the first time, but you accepted. When your fingers touched his hand, he felt the familiar wave of desire rise through his body, but he quickly pushed it away.

He needed to keep himself grounded.

The eyes fell on you again. He couldn't be less bothered, but you seemed to be embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“Does it bother you about the envy on their faces or the attention you attract because you are so beautiful?” he asked, eyes on yours.

The blush that passed through you through the stages did not escape his attentive gaze. He tried not to laugh, but he couldn't contain it. He moved his hand to your ribs, his fingertips now brushing the bone of your spine.

Your lack of reaction made him realize that perhaps he had gone too far. He didn't want to push you away or make you shy. He wanted to see you laugh again.

It was like your every laugh still echoed in him, awakening a primal desire to protect you and a pride that tingled in his fangs. Baekhyun forced himself to contain the impulse. He fought against thirst, against the hunger that had been growing in the last few days.

“Sorry." He murmured, with a hoarse voice and his gaze fixed on yours.

“It’s fine.” you replied, smiling. “I’m not used to so much attention, that’s all.”

He tilted his head, his smile softening his features. “Then let’s pretend no one else is here.”

For a brief moment, it seemed as if the world had truly disappeared around you.

The urge to pull you closer, to feel your warm skin beneath his lips, was almost uncontrollable. The thought of whispering your name before erasing any memory of what was about to happen tempted him terribly.

You were smiling. An infectious smile that Baekhyun couldn't help but imitate. The sound of your racing heart filled his ears, each beat more tempting than the last. It was like a mesmerizing melody, calling him closer to danger.

But it took a moment. A fleeting distraction, small, but enough to break the spell that kept him contained. Suddenly, his head turned towards the bar, his heightened senses picking up something you hadn't yet noticed. A smell. An aroma that tore through his control with the ferocity of a hungry beast.

So tempting… but he couldn't!

The desire to get closer, to feel the heat of your skin, to taste the sweetness that emanated from you was almost unbearable. He bit his lower lip, trying to push away the images that invaded his mind.

The barista, with a pained expression, threw a lemon cut in two into the trash while examining his bloody finger. The smell of blood invaded the room, subtle for anyone else, but for Baekhyun it was like a spark that ignites gunpowder.

In an instant, his heart sped up. The world around him seemed to lose focus, and his instincts took over. The scent of blood was like a drum echoing in his ears, his vision becoming blurred, and his gaze fixed on the bar. He twirled with you, but the movements were no longer smooth; his touch, once light and safe, became erratic, tense.

A familiar tremor began to be heard within him, a deep sound that vibrated through his chest, as if he were the one doing it. Then it began to climb up his throat, his mind becoming confused with how high pitched the scream promised to be, tearing through his dry, painful string.

His arm's grip on your waist loosened, and you, without the firm support of seconds before, stumbled slightly, almost falling backwards.

“Baekhyun!?” Yours echoed through the space, hitting the walls, the tables, the chairs, the chandelier, but it was still distant for him. But he couldn't ignore your soft groan of pain when you grabbed his shoulder tightly.

Quicker than awareness returning to him, Baekhyun slid his hand to your back, pulling you towards him in one swift movement. He held his breath, wide eyes still searching the ground as shock coursed through his body. He could still smell that blood—not the best, certainly, but enough to stop his hunger.

The touch of your skin, the closeness of your face, and your eyes—so alive with adrenaline, so bright under the hall light; in suffering—met his with an unexpected intensity.

You were the 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙮; and you were 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩.

The predatory instinct vanished, giving way to the pity that twisted his empty stomach.

“Hey!” He asked in the next instant, his gaze fixed on yours as you leaned on him and touched your heel. His throat burned with each word. “You got hurt…”

He watched you contort your face before smiling slightly.

“It's nothing.”

Baekhyun couldn't accept the realization. He swallowed a lot of saliva, trying to hide his fangs in his closed mouth.

No, I couldn't leave you there, injured, because of him.

“Let me help you get out of here.”

Chanyeol found you both on your way to the nearest table, his eyes worried, but Baekhyun didn't seem to notice, kneeling at your feet as he made sure of the extent of the damage caused by his own distraction.

“What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay, miss?”

Baekhyun followed the movement of your head, nodding, a slight smile on your lips. He would even believe it if he couldn't feel your heart skipping a beat every time he moved your ankle to the left.

“It was just a misstep-”

“I didn’t hold her properly.” Baekhyun said immediately, looking at Chanyeol finally.

Their eyes met, and no words were needed for them to understand each other. The smell of blood remained in the air, now mixed with a smell of alcohol and saline, but the effect was still there.

Chanyeol got a little closer, but Baekhyun felt the threat. He moved to the side, still on his knees, blocking Chanyeol with his own back.

You got hurt because of him. He was the one to take care of you, not Chanyeol.

“It’s not like I-” you start to speak, but he spoke up again.

“You did nothing wrong. You're a good dancer.” his voice was firm, holding your feet as if it was made of glass.

You swallowed hard, little tempted to counter. It was the truth, anyway.

Chanyeol took a step closer, putting a hand on Baekhyun’s shoulder. He looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“I'll get you some ice, okay?” he says, still smiling. But the squeeze on Baekhyun's shoulder just made it clear that he knew what was going on.

The pain on Baekhyun's throat wasn't there anymore. All that remained now was the constant tremor of a low, deep roar on his chest, just above the diaphragm; and the need to do something for you.

He nodded, and as Chanyeol disapeared to the other side of the room towards the bar, he looked up at you again. You looked so beautiful under all those imitations of crystal chandeliers. Pink cheeks, the strands of hair that had already been loosened by the wind even more loose from the dance movements.

How could he be distracted, when you were right in front of him? He spent the whole night admiring you. And was your blood worth so little like the one from the bartender?

He was getting mad...

Along with the realization, the damn cacaphony began. Colourful lights illuminated the room as a man on a mix table began to speak before putting on his headphones. It seemed to awaken everyone from table conversations, and some passengers even ran to the dance floor.

He sighed discreetly—he would have a huge headache due to those spotlights; then, he noticed the light scent of discomfort coming from you.

He glanced up again, catching the discomfort in your expression. You sighed, not from the regret of missing the dance floor—though he couldn’t quite imagine you there, either—but from a different kind of unease. He couldn’t help but smile, a quiet understanding passing between you.

“Not a fan of this kind of music?” he asked, the faint amusement in his tone not lost on you.

You tilted your head thoughtfully.

“It’s not that I dislike it… it’s just too much noise, too many lights. Not my thing.”

He nodded.

“Would you like to go back to the cruise? I can accompany you.”

“Oh! There’s no need!” you replied, but your voice faltered slightly, betraying you. Then, a small smile crept onto your face. “Though… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to escape this…” you said, gesturing to the vibrant chaos of the ballroom. He chuckled.

“Noise pollution?” he teased, his smile growing as you shrugged.

“You said it.” you replied, smiling shyly.

Gently, he helped you with your shoe, slipping it back onto your foot before standing and offering his hand. As he led you through the exit, he made sure to keep Chanyeol out of sight. Baekhyun didn’t want anyone pushing you away from him—not now.

The chill of the night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and you shivered under the brisk wind.

He looked around, looking for the car that was assigned to transport him. Two pairs of bright lights lit up, and quickly a black car stopped in front of you.

A car took you to the harbour, stopping at the ship’s stairs. As you moved to step out, Baekhyun reached into the front seat and pulled out a crisp white coat and gently draped it over your shoulders. The fabric was heavier than you expected, and as you looked down, the insignias and name tag caught your eye—this wasn’t just any coat. It was his Captain's jacket.

He held back his smile when he saw you blush. You felt the warmth of his hands linger as he guided you inside, steadying you with a quiet presence that spoke louder than words. His hand settled respectfully on your back, but you could feel the subtle strength in his touch as he supported most of your weight up the stairs. Each step unhurried.

Reaching your cabin door, you fumbled with the card, eventually leaning against the frame. Baekhyun let you go.

"Thank you." you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze drifted over to him, meeting his eyes. For a second, they glimmered with something he wasn't able to hide—a guarded warmth, an unspoken need.

He smiled, a gentle shrug lifting his shoulders. Words danced on his lips, wanting to spill out—a proposal, The proposal—but he held it back. He didn't want to scare you. Instead, he simply nodded.

"Anything you need, just let me know.”

You nodded.

You nodded, and he couldn't help himself but question if you could feel the quiet weight of his words.

"Okay. Thanks, really!" you replied, suddently distracted by the soft vibration of your phone.

Glancing at the screen, you caught a glimpse of a name with a heart beside it. Baekhyun’s gaze flickered to your phone too, just for a split second. You didn’t answer the message right away, though.

“Well… see you tomorrow!" you managed, forcing casualness. Baekhyun nodded, his lips curving in a faint smile, though his eyes were far away.

The door closed softly, and you were gone.

But Baekhyun stood there for a moment longer, staring at the empty space where you had been, the air still thick with your scent, your warmth. His thoughts spun, entangled with questions he couldn’t answer. Who were you? How had you managed to slip so effortlessly into his world, so precious yet so heartbreakingly alone?

He wanted to know you.

As the silence settled, a sharp, electric pang flared in his fangs, the ache tearing through his dry throat like fire.

He clenched his fists, feeling the sharp bite of his own control fraying at the edges. He knew he should leave, put as much distance between you and his growing hunger as possible. But you were close—so close he could still feel the warmth of your skin, still smell the lingering trace of your perfume. The temptation was maddening.

The shaking resumed, sounding like a small growling beast.

Inhaling deeply, he turned on his heel, willing himself to walk away before he lost control entirely.

Just as he was about to walk away, you opened the door again, your voice breaking the stillness.

“Baekhyun, your jacket!" you called, holding it in your hand.

He turned, his gaze meeting yours. Your hair had fallen loose, framing your face, and he could see the slight rise and fall of your chest, hear the quickened beat of your heart from rushing to catch him. The air thickened between you both—there was no turning back now.

His eyes softened, then darkened, as if caught in some ancient longing he didn’t quite understand. He moved forward, stopping just shy of touching you, his eyes locked on yours, his voice dropping to a murmur that wrapped around you like a whisper of velvet.

“Look at you… my sweet, sweet thing. The most precious I've seen in years, and you're alone." His voice softened, filled with a hint of reverence and an ache he couldn’t name. "How could anyone… not see you?”

Something in his words gripped you, pulling you toward him. Your heart raced faster, a warmth spreading in your chest as his eyes held you captive. The jacket slipped from your fingers, forgotten, as you reached out, your hand finding the edge of his knit sweater. You held onto it, steadying yourself, letting the warmth of him seep through the fabric. His thirst flared, sharp and relentless, yet a strange calm held him in place. For the first time in what felt like eternity, he felt… patient.

You leaned against him yourself, your breath a bit too fast, your heart beating at the same rhythm. You touched him first, his jacket falling on the floor as you grabbed his knit sweater. He felt thirsty, but something was different. He was in no rush.

Standing on tiptoe, your injured foot hanging slightly, you leaned in, lips brushing his cheek.

"You can do it" you whispered, a mix of trust and challenge in your voice.

His eyes widened, flickering with surprise before his expression darkened, shifting into something deeper, more primal.

He hesitated. The beast protested.

"That's the moment you say my nameeeee~" you hummed, and he inhaled exasperatedly.

He cradled your neck gently, as if afraid to break you, tilting your head just so. His lips brushed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. And with one last, shuddering breath, he whispered your name as he surrendered to his hunger.

The first taste of you was pure ecstasy—a bittersweet blend that brought him to life, flooding his senses with warmth and fire.

Your essence, rich and alive, filled him with a rush of emotions he hadn’t felt in decades. He felt the years of hidden sorrow and hope, the fragile resilience woven into every drop. Your hands gripped his arms, a quiet and ecstasy gasp leaving your lips, and he drew you closer, held you tighter, as if afraid you might vanish.

He couldn't stop.

But then, something in your touch changed—a weak tug, a small gasp that sounded almost like fear. He barely registered it, lost in the intoxicating pull of you, until–

You sagged against him, all strength leaving your body.

Reality slammed into him, jolting him from his trance. He pulled back, eyes wide, his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you from collapsing.

Your skin was pale, your breathing shallow, your pulse… barely there. Horror twisted inside him as he looked at you, truly looked at you, lying limp in his arms.

The shaking in his chest stopped.

He found himself lost, savoring the taste of your blood still in his mouth.

What had he done?

He laid you gently on the bed, panic clawing at him as he stumbled back to shut the door. He returned to you, hands trembling, searching desperately for any sign of life, any flicker of warmth. But there was nothing. Only a cold, unnerving silence.

"No…" he whispered, voice breaking. This couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t meant to go this far. “No, no, no, no!”

Desperation took over, and he bit into his wrist, feeling the sharp sting as he tore the skin. Blood pooled, rich and dark, and he held it over your lips, letting three heavy drops fall, each one a plea, a promise. The thick red drops slid past your parted lips, disappearing into the silence.

He knelt beside you, breath held, his own heart pounding as he waited. The seconds stretched, each one heavier than the last. He could hear his own ragged breathing, his mind swirling with regret, dread, and a glimmer of impossible hope.

What if you never woke up? What if he had ruined everything in a single moment of weakness? He leaned over you, fingers brushing your cheek as he searched for any sign—any flicker of response.

The morning sky stretched wide and endless, a muted blue broken only by soft clouds trailing across the horizon. Baekhyun and Chanyeol stood silently at the helm, watching the port dissolve behind them as the ship drifted toward open waters. They had left the shore far enough behind that the sounds of the world had dulled to a whisper, and only the calls of the seagulls lingered, fading with every passing minute.

Down below, passengers waved handkerchiefs and hands, faces alight with excitement for the journey ahead. But Baekhyun’s gaze didn’t stray to the crowd. He was drawn to you, standing alone at the railing, a vision of life and light, your camera raised to capture the farewell. Your face was bright, the morning sun painting you in hues of gold, and you spoke softly into the lens, your voice and smile warm as you preserved the moment in time.

You were radiant, steady, and full of life—a version of you more at peace than he had ever seen.

Yet, as Baekhyun watched, he felt a weight sink into his chest. There was a part of you that now belonged to him, a quiet connection, an unbreakable thread woven between your souls.

His mark on you was invisible, but unmistakable—your skin gleamed with new vitality, your movements fluid with confidence, and there was an unmistakable calm within you.

But Baekhyun felt none of that peace. He could feel his own pulse, strained and uneasy, every muscle tense as he took in the sight of you—his heart was beating because of want he’s done to you. In giving you a part of himself, he had altered something pure and untouched within you, a gift he neither intended to give nor was proud of.

Watching you now, he knew he couldn’t undo it. You would carry that fragment of him forever, and the thought was as exhilarating as it was crushing.

Beside him, Chanyeol finally broke the silence.

He’d seen Baekhyun like this before, months ago, when the weight of his choices seemed too great for even him to bear. But the look in Baekhyun’s eyes was different now, a raw and silent longing tempered by something close to grief.

Chanyeol placed a hand on the railing, his voice soft yet steady.

“You might not like hearing this, Baekhyun… but you’re old.” he murmured, glancing at Baekhyun before looking back toward you. “And what you did…” he hesitated, his tone growing solemn “…she might get just as mad as you.”

Baekhyun’s eyes finally left you, meeting Chanyeol’s gaze with a mixture of exhaustion and determination. There was no room for denial now, no deflection or escape. The centuries he’d spent, the weight of his years, had worn on him, carved grooves into his soul that he could no longer ignore. A lifetime of restraint, of hiding his true self, had left him alone, forever a stranger on the edge of others’ lives. But now, with you, he’d crossed that line. And he couldn’t take it back.

“I’ll take care of her.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though resolute.

Chanyeol studied him for a long moment, a quiet understanding in his eyes.

“I hope..” he replied slowly, his words a gentle warning “...that you can take care of yourself first.”

The ship’s horn sounded, a deep, resonant call that rippled across the water, as if echoing the weight of Baekhyun’s unspoken fears.

Yet in that moment, the distance between him and the shore, between you and him, felt wider than the sea itself. He wondered if he could bear it, if he could truly hold himself together when everything he wanted was just out of reach, sailing further from him with each passing second.

As he looked back toward you, a soft breeze lifted your hair, carrying it gently over your shoulders. You lowered the camera and turned looking up to the control room, catching his gaze, your expression soft, searching, as if you too felt the silent tension between you—even though you didn't know why.

The corners of your lips lifted in a quiet smile, one filled with questions, trust, and a quiet, unspoken understanding.

Baekhyun’s heart twisted as he nodded, forcing a faint smile in return. There were so many things he wanted to say, words that sat heavy on his tongue, words of apology, of desire, of regret. But he knew they would only complicate things, only deepen the fragile bond between you.

Instead, he turned back to the helm, gripping the wheel as though it were the only thing anchoring him to the present.

He knew he would take care of you. But he also knew that in doing so, he might be forever lost.

masterlist

[sekai-no-koi]

i do wish the graphics were better. or maybe just different? if they had to switch to a different style as opposed to point-and-click, i would've liked a 2D visual novel or something. also if they haven't improved on the graphics, the chances of the controls being the same are pretty high, right?

[piplupod]

also need to keep reminding myself that one outing will not fix my brain, and even one entire month of outings will not fix my brain, i will feel less insane yes but i will still be fucking terrified of messing up social interactions probably my entire life to some degree. but the fear will lessen over time if i keep up regular interactions with ppl who are not my abusers (and hopefully lessen the time i spend around abusers bc they keep seemingly undoing any progress i make 🙃), or at least... i hope that's true LMFAO. one can dream!

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

after spending all of season 2 gleefully imagining hannibal getting his comeuppance... I think mizumono broke me

[pseudowho]

Read Part One of "Breeding Hips" here...let's gooooooo!

It was supposed to be a simple beach trip-- "Give the kids a break in Okinawa", Gojo said. "It'll be fun!" Gojo said.

Kento had failed to check the staff attendance list. Of course they'd invite you, with your natural warmth and the way the kids loved you. Of course they'd invite you, when you'd seemed so down lately.

Of course they'd invite you, with how the sea-breeze pleated the saran around your hips, barely-there, almost as soft as the way your plush creased at the top of your thighs when you sat he'd heard Shoko laughingly call them your "thighbrows" and how he could have bitten Shoko's head off as you cringed mortified and covering yourself up shit don't go please dont leave--

In his hotel room, Kento groaned in abject self-pity. He tried to breathe in time with the hushed roar of the waves, lapping up the shore like a lovers' tongue. In...out...in...out.

His head rested against the cool wall, his forearm planted above it, while his other hand tried to grip his aching length into submission, torturing himself with fuck up after fuck up after fuck up and it all started with that ill-fated car journey--

He'd take the edge off, he thought, slipping his hand into his beach shorts, shivering as he swirled pre-cum over his hypersensitive tip, biting the back of his hand as he began to stroke himself-- just one more time, and then I can cope--

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"...and in the most disrespectful possible way?"

Kento made a strangled, animalistic noise in the base of his throat, stalling the car at the traffic lights. He sat, ramrod straight, sweating like a virgin.

"...dont." He warned, his voice throaty and dangerous. "Don't."

A frisson of electric ran down your spine. You clenched your fists in your lap, staring straight ahead, and whispering; "Oh...okay."

The car journey was fraught with silence. For "disrespectfully" were the words bloomed into pictures, graphic and obscene, that Kento used to get himself off to you. "Disrespectfully" were the stones of shame weighing his pockets, as he showered himself down, water rehydrating the cloying cum stuck to his belly. "Disrespectfully" were the feral parts of him that sought to lift you onto the counter and bite you, until you were crushing his head between the thickness of your thighs.

"Disrespectfully" was so unprofessional, Kento could vomit. Still, saliva pooled under his tongue, unable to eschew "disrespectfully" from his mind when you asked him in that petalsweet voice.

"Disrespectfully" opened the car door for you. "Disrespectfully" offered you the curtest of bows as you headed inside. "Disrespectfully" waited until you'd definitely gone, before rubbing his eyes so hard, lights fizzlepopped behind them. "Disrespectfully" took him over the edge again, and again, to the imaginary sound of his thighs slapping into the backs of yours.

You screamed into a pillow, never able to look Nanami Kento in the eye again, after overstepping so hard, so fast.

The next few weeks of work with Nanami Kento were like sharing an office with a well-dressed wooden broom. Even pencil skirts didn't appear to break him.

They did. He spent the best part of two weeks stiff, in every way.

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He hadn't known you'd be coming to the beach, until the watermelon incident.

You and Shoko had been day-drinking, in just swimsuits, and you brought the curves and giggles of the Piña Colada glass with you. Misty as the clouded glass, you swayed with Shoko, and each step you took closer, the lower Kento's IQ dropped, point, by point, by point. That heavy arse flicked from side to side, bopping Kento's sanity away with it.

Somehow, impossibly, you held a whole watermelon in the deep divot of your waist. Your hip shelved it up, your squishy saddlebags plumping out beneath the heavy, verdant weight. With one arm draped above to hold the watermelon in place while you staggered hand in hand with Shoko, it all looked so effortless. Kento was sweating bricks, his book all but forgotten.

Thank god for dark sunglasses. He looked up without looking up. Hidden in sun-lounger shade, he watched you, obsessing in secrecy, a modern day peeping-Tom. You're okay Nanami pull yourself together stop being such a fucking boy--

"Hey, hey..." Shoko teased you, grasping your hip-squash with the girlish friendship needed to get away with it, "...I bet you could crush that watermelon between your thighs."

Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no--

You laughed, you and Shoko high off your own supply. Shoko sat on the sand, placing the watermelon between her thighs, trying her best to squeeze them together as you wiped tears away, sitting down beside her.

And Kento watched how your ass spread, how your thighs spread, like melting gumdrops, want to fucking bite them--

"I'll give it a go...c'mere c'mere...nonono Shoko, 's my turn!"

Shoko rolled the watermelon across the sand. Kento wasn't aware his mouth had dropped open, when you opened your legs, leant back on the sand, like heaven's gates opening...and you clamped the watermelon between them.

And squeeeeezed.

Kento pressed his book over his lap, a tent over a tent. His mouth was dry, his throat thick. He moaned, somewhere deep in his chest, as a hot little dribble of pre-cum dripped down the leg of his swim shorts.

Surely she can't break a watermelon just between her thighs, those hips couldn't be that stro--

Crack.

Shoko cheered. You threw your arms in the air, and cheered. Your inner thighs dripped, stickysweet with watermelon juice. You lay back, laughing in the sand, your arms still above your head.

Kento relieved himself to the bar, his head swimming, still clamping his book over his throbbing lap, far too dizzied to be surreptitious.

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The day-drinking buzz faded by the time the seagull calls grew tired, against ombre skies. Shoko remained smashed, and Gojo designated-driver'd her to her room. Sandals grasped in one hand, with the salty sting of a chafe between your legs, you ambled across the beach, past the waterside bar.

Except, you stopped. To see him.

Kento's head was in his hands, his shirt opened and hanging off broad, lightly freckled shoulders, seasalt crystals down his back. You frowned at the volume of empty glasses in front of him.

"...Ken--...Nanami?"

Kento's elbow gave out under him with a grunt of surprise, his head lurching, swoopy before recovering. Narrow, slanted eyes glared at you, bleary.

"...oh. 's you."

You drew your saran around yourself, astonished by how such a big strip of fabric was still barely enough to cover your arse. Kento could feel himself thickening already, burying his face in his hands again with a groan. He stood, his legs barely responding to commands. He tried to sober himself, standing tall and stern, his usual self, wettened by drink.

"I'll walk you to your room."

"You don't have to do that--"

"I insist."

In truth, you weren't sure if you should walk Kento back to his room instead. He repeatedly fell a few steps behind, before shaking himself off and catching up again.

Each time, Kento's drunk eyes dropped, the mesmerising swing of your hips, the dimpled jiggle of your arse...how his tongue thickened like his cock, thirsty and hungry all at once and god she's lovely too the whole deal the whole nine yards shit Kento how can you look at her so--

"Thanks. For walking me back."

Kento clenched. Time's up. His face was flat, expressionless, downcast to the floor. You cleared your throat, opening your door and stepping through.

"Goodnight, Nanami--"

A foot jammed your door, Kento growling in pain as it squashed his sandal'd foot. You looked slowly up to his face, feeling a trickle of hot, terrifying anticipation slide down your spine. Kento's eyes drilled into you, whiskey on his breath, sobering rapidly as he made up his mind.

"I'd...like to come in."

You throbbed. Every hair stood on end as you asked.

"...respectfully?"

Kento's jaw clenched so hard, you heard the crack.

"Disrespectfully."

[whytheylosttheirminds]

the boy is mine - r.c.

(blurb, 1.4k words, season 4 bf!rafe x gf!reader)

summary he's got finally got his shit tight, but now everybody wants him, and that just won't do...

content fem receiving oral, 18+ minors do not interact

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The sun was hot and angry, casting a golden glow on Rafe as he cracked another beer and threw it back. You watched his tall frame from your beach chair, lip between your teeth as you took in the sharp panes of his stomach. You squirmed slightly while your eyes tracked the little trail of hair that led lower, lower…

But you weren’t the only one looking. 

The music bumped through someone’s speaker as a group of bikini-clad girls pulled up their chairs and umbrellas right next to your group’s coveted spot.

Your friend leaned over in her beach chair, “think someone’s got eyes for your man.” You followed her nod to the gaggle of bottle blondes with fake tans who were whispering to each other and smiling in his direction. 

“That’s cute,” you snorted.

Rafe was none the wiser to their stares, reaching his hand down to help you to your feet, pulling you toward the water behind him.

“Think you’ve got some fans,” you told him once you were bobbing in the waves, your arms around his neck as he crouched low to meet your eyeline.

He smirked, “maybe I should go sign some autographs.”

You smacked his shoulder, making him laugh despite your pouty frown. He stood from the water, lifting you with him so they could see your legs wrap around his waist. He grabbed your ass, holding you up with ease as his lips found yours.

The girls on the beach were suddenly very busy checking their phones and setting up umbrellas, disappointed looks on their faces as Rafe showed you off.

Back at his house, Rafe lead you into the outdoor shower, turning on the lukewarm water to wash the sea and sand from your body. When he caught you frowning, he tapped the side of your head gently, his signature way of asking what’s on your mind.

“I’m glad you’re so successful, I just don’t like that everybody suddenly wants what’s mine,” you explained.

He looked down at you, eyelids low as his gaze traveled over your body. His hands slid up your sides slowly, thumbs slipping under the thin string of your bikini top, sweeping over your ribs.

“So possessive,” he smirked.

“Just think everyone should know you’re off limits by now,” you whispered, stepping closer to him until you were chest to chest.

You nudged your nose against his neck, guiding him to tilt his chin up and reveal his throat to you. Your lips started out soft, tickling him with little kitten licks between each gentle kiss. When you reached his Adam’s apple, you let your teeth graze over the sensitive skin. Rafe winced, his obvious erection pressing against your belly and making you hungrier for him than ever. 

Finally, you sucked harder, right where his neck meets his broad chest. After a few moments of pressure, you pulled back and wiped the glossy spit from your lips, smiling in satisfaction at the purple-blue mark you left on him. You moved to leave another, but he interrupted you.

“Bet those girls on the beach wouldn’t tease me this much,” he grumbled.

You responded by wrapping your fingers around his throat. He chuckled smugly under your hold, deep vibration tickling your palm. It’s merely a symbolic gesture, your small hand doesn’t even fit half way around his neck. You squeezed harder, but he was still smiling. You narrowed your eyes at him, no more fucking around.

Your hand snaked up higher, around to the back of his neck. As you ran your fingers up over his buzzed hair, you let your nails scratch enough to raise goosebumps along his skin. When you reached as high as you could go, standing up on your tiptoes and still nowhere near matching his height, you pressed his head down hard, nails digging into his scalp. 

Rafe stumbled for just a second before understanding the assignment. He lowered to his knees slowly, shuffling forward until your back brushed against the wall, the water from the shower cascading over your shoulders and down your body.

“Bet those girls on the beach couldn’t make you drop to your knees without saying a single word either,” you taunted him.

He grabbed your hips and dug his fingers in, pushing you back against the wall hard.

“Tell me who else, baby,” you continued, “who else can put big bad Rafe Cameron on his knees? Hmm?”

His stare was icy as he looked up at you from the ground. You returned your hand to the top of his head, redirecting his gaze to your bikini bottoms.

“Show me who you belong to, baby boy.”

You could tell he was considering fighting back, the desire for control almost tempting enough to bring him back to his feet. But then he saw the growing wet spot over your center. Licking his lips, he nodded slowly, like a king admiring his feast.

His long fingers untied your bathing suit strings one at a time, causing the thin fabric to fall away and leave you bare in front of him. You lifted one foot to his shoulder, lowering him even further.

Rafe looked up at you, eyelashes fluttering over his pretty blue eyes as he spread you with his first and middle finger, his tongue flicking between them and hitting right where you needed it to.

“Exactly like that,” you sighed, head falling back so the water from the showerhead ran through your hair like a waterfall. “You know just what to do.”

No rush, he took his time. This was his house. He could take you on any surface, in any room, at any time. And he would. But first he was gonna make you come on his tongue right out in the open air. 

He’d developed this whole neighborhood, practically running this half of the island at this point. All these new houses were filled with people who owed him money. He runs this shit, and yet here he was, on his knees for you. The thought was so fucking hot, you had to bite back your moan.

“Nah let it out, angel,” he coaxed between sharp licks to your clit. “I want you to scream ‘til the neighbors hear, yeah?”

You smiled big at that command, “you want all your new neighbors to hate you?”

“I don’t care what they think as long as their checks clear.” 

He lowered his mouth to your entrance, lapping you up, grinding his nose back and forth on your clit until he was completely buried, covered in you. You couldn’t even feel the water falling on you anymore, your skin on fire with pleasure. Rafe’s hands slid up your thighs and over your stomach, before slipping under your bikini top and palming your tits with perfect pressure.

As instructed, you let your moans and cries fly. When he let one hand fall from your chest so he could slip two fingers inside you, curling at the knuckles and tapping the tips against your g-spot, your whole body trembled.

“Mmm, that’s perfect,” you praised. “You gonna make me come all over your face?”

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, licking a long stripe across your clit. “Make a mess for me, baby.”

He circled back, dragging his tongue the other way as his fingers danced along your walls. Your foot pushed hard against his shoulder, like you were trying to stomp him out, but he held himself up against you, the burning stretch in your thigh only adding to the intense pleasure.

“Oh my god! Yes, yes Rafe!”

You soaked him, one hand on his head and the other digging into the flesh of his shoulder as you came.

When you finally cooled down, body weak and wrung out with pleasure, he stood and guided you even further under the cool stream of the shower. He rubbed his hand along your inner thigh, letting the remnants of your high wash down the drain. 

“Now why the fuck would I need any other girl when you give me that, huh?”

“That’s right, baby,” you agreed with a blissed out grin. “I got so much more for you, too.”

Rafe carried you into the house, and he didn’t even have to ask for you to get on your knees. 

Before you started, he made sure all the windows were wide open so everyone in the neighborhood could hear exactly who he belonged to.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[witchywcmans]

PLEASE, EAT. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after you've been bitten by a sea serpent, you know the consequences are either death or the possibility of turning into one yourself. thankfully for you, laios touden is the devourer of all things monster and he is dedicated to getting that venom out of you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ sex pollen-adjacent, cunnilingus + fingering, praise, breath play (kinda, if you squint), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 3k

song inspiration ━━ too sweet, hozier / more than friends, isabel larosa

author's note ━━ this is the first time I've ever written and posted an x reader one-shot on here, so please be gentle with me lol. I usually only write x oc fics bc I'm a yapper and I love creating characters. but alas...I was perusing the laios x reader tag and wanted to read something with this plot, couldn't find it, so I figured I'd just do it myself 🫡

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

This was definitely one of the worst situations you’d been in.

You had joined Laios’ adventuring party just a few months prior. They had found you on floor 3 of the dungeon, shivering and mourning the loss of your father. His body, dead in your arms, and beside him lay the lifeless body of a ghoul you had killed. At first, the party’s leader, Laios Touden, had only been interested in taking the ghoul's body so they could use its bones for utensils after the flesh rotted off. But it was Marcille who noticed the tears in your eyes, how you trembled from the cold, and suggested they take you in. You almost declined, not wanting to leave your father’s body, but knowing he’d soon turned into a monster left you with only one option. Your father had been with you for the past twenty-five years of your life, and now, you were leaving his dead body in a dungeon to travel with a group of strangers.

You soon came to appreciate your new party, though, and you felt your father’s spirit within each of them. Marcille had his kindness, Chilchuck had a comparable wit, Senshi was gifted with excellent cooking skills, and Laios … well, you were still figuring that out. And surprisingly, it was Laios who you began to connect with the most. His knowledge of monsters was unmatched, and he had a passion for learning how to prepare them while they traveled deeper into the dungeon. He was overtly blunt, much like you, and possessed similar advanced fighting skills due to both your fathers' teachings.

Sometimes … sometimes though, you found yourself staring at him more than you should have. His face was abnormally perfect, as if he’d been carved by an artist. His tousled ash-blonde hair reminded you of a lion, and his eyes … sometimes you could’ve sworn they were made out of gold, shimmering like molten lava. Each time you thought this way, you smacked yourself when no one else was looking. I mean, Laios was your friend, your party leader. Having a crush, especially in circumstances like these, was unethical. You had always been focused on one thing: helping your party and making it out of this dungeon alive, for your father. You wouldn’t let a little crush deter you.

Everything had been all well and good until today, when you and your party reached the end of floor 4. When Laios had struggled to fight off a sea serpent, you joined him in the lukewarm water, using your crossbow to shoot the creature in the head. Finally, Laios was able to step in to slice the serpent’s head off … but not before the creature could snap its jaw, tearing one fang down your hip. You jumped back, screaming as you felt the venom seep into you instantly. Some said sea serpent venom would kill you immediately, others said it turned you into one of them, cursing you to haunt the waters with them as penance. As soon as the head was cut, Laios carried you away from the water, and the last thing you heard was Marcille cursing him out before you were rendered unconscious. 

You were woken up – hours, maybe days later – by a drop of water hitting your face every few seconds. Lifting your head from the makeshift tunic pillow, you took in your surroundings. You were at the entrance of floor 5, in a damp corner of cobblestone, while water dripped down onto the floor every so often. There was a moist bandage covering your side where the serpent’s fang had cut into you, part of your tunic ripped to shreds. Hunger boiled in your stomach, making you groan and rub your head. Laios was sitting just a few feet away, a small fire in front of him to keep warm. Marcille had to have helped him with that; there was no way to craft a fire in an area this damp.

“Am I dead?” You asked softly. 

Laios immediately turned in your direction, his mouth lifting in a smile. “Of course not.”

Your stomach did flip flops as you took in his smile, hunger consuming you. You needed something to eat – bad. Your body felt hot and sweaty, and you wondered if it was just from the humidity, even though Laios didn’t look affected. Sitting up, you informed him, “Well, that was one of two options my father said would happen from a sea serpent bite. Which means …” You lifted the bandage up, noticing the gills that started to form on the healing wound. A turquoise hue surrounded the gills, almost like a bruise. “Oh, fuck,” you muttered.

Laios stood, looming over you while asking, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the other option,” you replied, too hungry to cry. “The bite is –”

“– Turning you into a sea serpent,” Laios finished. “Honestly, I thought that was just a myth. But when the bite didn’t kill you …” His mouth twitched, tongue darting out to wet the corners of his lips. “We have to suck the venom out. That has to stop the mutation.”

Your head snapped up. “Huh?” 

But as soon as your eyes met his, you started to wondered if what you were experiencing was hunger after all. Perhaps … a different kind of hunger. Laios stared down at you, the sparkling gold replaced by a dark hazel. It was just you two in this little corner of the dungeon, but you suddenly felt exposed, so naked, under his gaze. Your body was hot all over, sweat sticking to uncomfortable places. And your thighs … a burning need emerged between them, soaking the thin linen of your undergarments. This had to be a symptom of the bite, but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Your worry had been replaced by an ache that only he could fix.

No – absolutely not. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. You were turning into a sea serpent.

But the need between your legs still throbbed.

“It’s like when a snake bites you on the surface,” Laios said, crouching down to your eye level. His closeness made your heart rate pick up. You realized then that he had shed his armor, kneeling in front of you in just his gambeson, which clung to his muscles and wide frame. “A sea serpent is part snake. Sucking out the venom should stop the mutation. You’ll probably experience symptoms from the bite for a few more hours, but they’ll stop eventually.” 

He started to peel back the bandage, taking a look at the gills forming on your hip when you gripped his wrist. Immediately, his skin burned, making you even more hot. You ripped your hand away from him, and with sweat trickling down the side of your face, you said, “Don’t you think this is … weird? Maybe Marcille should do it.”

“Marcille and the others just went back to another part of the level to find dinner. They won’t return for an hour, at least. This can’t wait.” He inspected the turquoise gills with concern, before his eyes snapped back to yours, noticing the way your black pupils filled almost the entire iris. “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you. It’s just …” What exactly was the reason again? Oh, yes, it was pulsating hunger dripping between your legs from the bite, and you were terrified how you’d react the second his lips wrapped around your wound. The symptoms would just get worse. But he was right – this was the only way. Fuck, this had to be the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced. 

“Fine,” you finally relented, lying back down on the cobblestone. You did your best to get comfortable, but the makeshift pillow hardly provided much cushion between you and the floor.  “What should I do?”

“Nothing, just lay back and let me take care of it.” Laios lifted your tunic a smidge, and just the tenor of his voice made your ache even worse. “We’re just gonna … get this out of the way. And then …” His fingers hooked on the waistband of your pants, and you immediately clutched his collar. If you touched his skin again, you were sure to moan.

Laios looked from where your hand was gripping him and back to your eyes. “Your pants need to be off so I can have better access to the mutation. It’s on your hip.” You swallowed hard, knowing he was right, and your hand started to slip off his collar. “We’re friends, right?” He asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Good,” he smiled again, and you struggled to hold back a plea for him to touch you. He pulled down your pants, tossing them to the side. For a moment, he paused, taking in your soaked underwear and running his fingers over the mutation on your hip. He licked his lips again, and then said in a rather blunt tone, “You’re so –”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, snapping your eyes shut to prevent further embarrassment.  Though you had never minded Laois’ occasional lack of social cues, this was one of those moments you needed anything but. “Just get the venom out.”

Laios tugged your underwear down a little to see if the mutation had spread. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he informed you, lowering his head to your hip. “I’ve read that these bites can have a multitude of internal symptoms. Nightmares ... sweating … fever …” He ran his tongue over the gills, making your breath hitch instantly. “… And especially, arousal. Neat, huh?” He chuckled, and just his warm breath on the gills made you even more wet. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he assured before finally wrapping his mouth on the wound.

Your body burned even hotter than before as soon as his lips touched your skin. He sucked the venom out of you, spitting out blue globs every other second. His hands gripped your side, digging into your flesh and leaving crescent shapes from his nails. As you felt the gills start to close up, you couldn’t help but moan and arch into nothing. This felt better than any time you masturbated … any time you imagined your party leader above you … Fuck, who would’ve thought sucking sea serpent venom out of you would feel this good? Thank the gods the rest of their party was off catching dinner. You couldn’t deal with them possibly hearing this.

It surprised you when your orgasm flooded through you like a crashing wave. As Laios finished sucking out the last of the venom and the mutation closed, your arousal came to a definite peak and you let out a whine. You grabbed his arm, cumming from absolutely no stimulation.

Laios didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he was mostly preoccupied with inspecting the area. You opened your eyes, your cheeks tinged pink, and saw the globs of venom to the left dissipate to nothing but water. You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m sorry, I –”

“The mutation closed. I was right!” Laios looked down at you, a big grin covering his face. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I definitely don’t feel a second set of lungs on my hip anymore.” You lifted your hand when you noticed a trickle of blue staining his lip, wiping it away with your thumb. “But I … my body is still …” The ache inside you had simmered slightly, but it was still there, lingering underneath the surface. 

This was genuinely humiliating. Maybe you should’ve just decided to turn into a sea serpent after all.

Laios grabbed your wrist before you could pull away from his face. He leaned into your palm, running his long nose down to your inner wrist. “Your skin is so warm. I can still smell how aroused you are from the serpent bite.” His eyes burned into yours, keeping your hand close to his face. “I can help. Do you need another release?”

Your cheeks got even more red when he acknowledged your orgasm. Shaking your head, you said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can just –”

“I’d be honored to,” he replied, quite gruffly and persistent. His fingers tugged your underwear down with precision and ease, despite the damp fabric clinging to you. He spread your legs wide and placed them on his shoulders. Lowering himself down, he inhaled the scent of your climax and hooked his arms around your inner thighs. He smiled up at you – your pretty face red with embarrassment – all dopey-eyed and grateful. “You lot like to call me the devourer of monsters. Perhaps I should devour the last bit of monster out of you.”

He inhaled again, groaning like he typically did when he was hungry. His hot breath against your achingly wet pussy made you whimper with desperation. “You smell so good down here,” he whispered. “I’d wager you taste even better.”

You gasped as soon as he dove between your legs, licking a stripe through your folds, tasting your recent orgasm. He flicked his tongue over your clit before sucking on it with feverish excitement. Slick gathered on his tongue and he whined, needing more. So much more. You were the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted. Better than any monster, better than anything on the surface. 

“So good,” he muttered into your pussy, lapping against your clit, doing anything that would get him more of your arousal. “You taste so, so good.”

You whimpered out his name and attempted to close your legs, but he held them opened with all his strength. His arms wrapped around your thighs went tight, bruising the sensitive flesh. Your jaw went slack while your own hands scrambled for purchase, eventually landing in his cropped hair. You tugged, hips bucking against his face, making him groan even more. This allowed him to hold your hips a little higher, and his tongue finally dipped into your leaking entrance. You heard him grunt the second he plunged his tongue deeper, his nose nuzzling your clit. 

He devoured you like a starved man. He devoured you like you were a boiled scorpion, or roast basilisk, or – even better – like sweet, delicious homemade cheesecake. 

“Laios,” you whined, feeling your fever dissolve with each lap of his tongue. “Laios, it’s … fuck – it’s okay, I feel –”

“Need more,” he muttered, his voice low and laced with need. He was practically humping the stone floor as he buried his tongue as far as it could go inside you. Your hips couldn’t stop bucking forward, riding his face as you felt your orgasm building at the base of your stomach. Laios was completely transfixed. He wanted to be here, nestled between your thighs, for every meal. He’d take you away from the rest of the group before dinner, lapping away to the sounds of your pleas and whimpers, so help him gods. He’d do this every day, every night, whenever you wanted, for as long as he was alive. Fuck monsters. He could survive off the taste of you for the rest of his life.

Slipping his tongue out of your hole, he went back to sucking on your throbbing clit and feeling your legs start to tremble. You had to be close to another release, and he was desperate to taste it. He paid all his attention on your clit, snaking one hand up and sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into your entrance in tandem. “Fuck,” you moaned, tugging on his hair once again, “fuck – gods, Laios. I – I’m s-so close –”

“Please,” he begged, smearing your slick all over his mouth. “Please, you’re so good. Need to see how you taste when you release on my tongue.” His own hips continued to buck against the floor.

You choked on a cry when you finally came all over his tongue. He groaned, loud and drawn out, when he finally got a taste of your sweet climax, knowing that it was him that brought you to this point. The orgasm felt long, like the ocean bringing you in and out, and your whole body trembled. He continued lapping at your clit as it pulsed under his tongue, his fingers curling inside you through your orgasm. When you finally breathed out and started to come down from the high of it all, Laios stayed between your thighs, allowing his tongue to gently swirl your clit. Maybe if he continued, he could taste a little more of you …

You found your voice, hoarse from overstimulation. “Laios, please, you have to stop,” you begged, yanking his head up from between your legs. His mouth was covered in your slick, and then he was giving you that dopey expression again, making your heart clench. Your body was no longer hot and sweaty. Laios had completely cured you of the sea serpent bite with that expert mouth of his. He unwound his arms from your thighs, bringing his fingers that were still covered with your wetness to his mouth, tasting the last of your orgasm. You watched him, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, until he was looking at you again with those golden doe eyes.

“That was amazing,” he said, like he was in a haze. When your eyes flickered down, you realized he was hard in his pants, but it wasn’t like he even noticed himself with the way he was staring at you. “We should do that again sometime.”

He stood up, and you scrambled to pull your clothes back on before the group came back. You stammered, “It’s okay, uh – we don’t have to. Especially if you don’t want to. We could just –”

“I want to,” he cut in, a determined look in his eyes. “What are friends for, right?” 

[losersiren]

𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭

"𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒽, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒.” CW: Fem reader (she/her), possessiveness, suggestive Note: This is my first time writing something like this and posting it...go easy on me o(>< )o

The chandlers decorated the ceiling above the spacious ballroom, giving a gentle glow to the people filling said ballroom. The social season has just started to blossom, giving men and women room to court each other if one is blessed with the opportunity for such an experience. Catching the eye of a reliable suitor is quite troublesome– most of the men here do not fit any of your requirements, and if they did, they would suddenly be caught in a scandal of sorts, causing them to be an outcast. Not a good look on you or your family name.

You idly toy with the fan in your hand, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces in the room. The task at hand feels insurmountable, and finding a suitable suitor in this town is daunting. Perhaps, you muse, debuting late was a misstep, a decision that now seems to mock you. You could always become a spinster…and ruin your reputation and lineage because you choose such an idiotic choice… regrettably it may be the easier option. 

“Pray tell why you’re glued to this corner as if you’re some wallflower,” A witty baritone voice whispers in your ear, the hairs of your neck standing upright while a cold shiver runs down your spine.

The sense of familiarity washes over you, and the resentment still lingers from years ago makes its way forward. The Earl’s son, your childhood close friend, who left you without a word after he said he’d be there for you.

What a bastard

“Have you ever heard of personal space? Or have you forgotten the amount of lectures your mother ingrained into your head on etiquette when you were just a brat?” You bite back with venom coating every word you spit out. You place your fan on your left ear.

”Ah, I see.” He steps back and gives you space. “You’ve become cold-hearted towards me since my departure overseas. I was only gone for a mere moment.” He switches his position from behind you to in front of you. He takes up your whole vision, his maturity, more evident now since the last time you saw him as a juvenile boy. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Yet he still has his teasing nature; no boarding school or amount of lectures can take that away from him. He bows a little lower than he should, his right hand to the opposite shoulder and his left arm behind his back. He looks up at you with those oh-so-regretful grey eyes. “I wholeheartedly apologize for departing overseas in such an impulsive matter without even notifying you in any way. I should’ve sent you letters and a hoard of messenger doves to accompany you”. “But I did not, and for that, my Lady, I've made a significant sin in your eyes– I do not deserve your forgiveness, but oh, if you could grant me such a pleasure.”

His voice is as quiet and soft as a starving mouse stealing food from a kitchen, careful for only your ears to pick up his pleas for forgiveness. Just as though you were a goddess punishing him, which he should be reprimanded tenfold in his eyes, who was he to abandon you without a trace? Though the situation before was entirely out of his hands, he didn’t want to go to that goddamned private school that was away from you; he fought tooth and nail not to go. Every house servant had to push and hold him down because he kept fighting; even his family members were victims of his wrath. His father, The Earl, still has fading scars from that night years ago.

He should’ve fought harder for you.

People around you start noticing; who wouldn’t? One of the most prestigious Earls of this country’s only son is bowing dishonourably low, borderline grovelling like a peasant caught stealing a measly loaf of bread. You feel eyes turning onto you, women whispering between their fans to one another, wondering in what predicament the next-in-line Earl would be for him to be embarrassingly bowing to a one-of-a-mill daughter of a viscount—a rank lower than him and a woman at that; your fan placement is not making it look better. Immediately change the position of your fan from your left ear to twirling it in your left hand, hoping he understands the situation he has put not only him but you in.

 He only smiles in return. “Stand straight; You look like a fool.” You hiss, “Do I have your forgiveness, Darling?” a scoff escapes your mouth. “That is either here or there! Be proper. Others are watching.” That doesnt deter him, nor does he care about them. “So my apology wasn't sufficient? Since you are thinking about everyone else but me.” More eyes make their way onto the pair of you, and whispers grow with the exchange of gossip. “You’re acting like a child-” He cuts you off. “Shall I go on my knees for you? I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but preferably, I would love to be in a more…secluded environment.” A smirk graces his lips at the thought. “Or shall I kiss your feet-” 

“You are a soon-to-be- Earl! Has that school taught you nothing? God, you’ve become more insufferable, I swear.” Your face feels warmer now, and embarrassment takes over you from his childish yet sincere teasing.

The young lord’s eyes fixated on you, on your lips, how your dress accentuates your already perfect self, your hands, oh, how he wishes to feel them against his. The years it's been since he saw you, he could listen to you scold him for hours on end; it doesn’t matter what you are saying. Just hearing your voice is enough. God knows it's been too long since he’s been deprived of you. He thanks his past self for sabotaging whatever male decided to even think of courting you. Though he was far away, his social standing never changed.

The lord decided by the second month he was away from you to pay his old servants to send him as much information as possible on the vermins that would try to nestle their way into your life. He would…No, he has ruined anyone who wanted to get in between you two. And he’ll keep it that way. You’ve stolen his heart since meeting him as a lad.

“So you wish for me to kneel? As you wish.” He starts to kneel; gasps can be heard. But you stop him, holding his shoulders upright; his eyes widen as you touch him.

You’re so close

“I forgive you…I forgive you…”

“I forgive you, Ambrose…”

Oh…

His name on your tongue….

His mind blanks. Has he gone to heaven? Oh, you sweet angel, you have him wrapped around your finger. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

His smile is blinding as he stands and looks down at you.

“Then now that's settled…May I have the honour of a dance with yours truly?”

.." Or shall I beg more?"

End Notes: Fun fact (not really): I based most of this post on The Regency era, and that includes fan language! That is why I described the readers' actions with it. Placing the fan on your left ear means "I wish to get rid of you." Twirling the fan with your left hand means "We are watched." Thought that would be something fun to add (^.^)

[sonseulsoleil]

Okay it’s like 2 AM. But Percy and Annabeth struggle to have a baby for a long time. Mortal fertility doctors say there’s nothing wrong and so they know it’s the gods. More specifically, it’s Hera being a petty bitch. They make offerings to Demeter and Dionysus hoping that blessings from the other fertility gods will help offset Hera’s doings. Annabeth gets pregnant, but Hera is still the goddess of child birth, so she miscarries. After that they stop trying for awhile. It’s too painful. They focus on the demigod kids they foster instead. After awhile, Annabeth gets pregnant again. They haven’t made any more offerings, but Percy wonders if Mr. D still remembers all that Diet Coke and gold. In any case, they’re holding their breath, making lots of offerings, including to Hera. They don’t tell anyone until it’s unavoidable because she’s showing. They don’t look at baby name books or have a baby shower or anything, too afraid of getting attached, of facing that loss and pain again.

But apparently Hera’s found her compassion, because Annabeth gives birth to a healthy baby girl—Annabeth’s spitting image, except for her sea green eyes and the freckles on her cheeks. She’s their little miracle, and the day she is born they burn so many offerings for Hera, it’s a little ridiculous. And some for Dionysus and Demeter, just to be safe.

(What they don’t know: Dionysus has a soft spot for that kid Peter Johnson, and is always down to pick a fight. He never really got along with his step-mom anyway.)

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,816 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

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It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did, how we left you there. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

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[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You surprise them with terms of endearment in their language

(Or, pretending that Teyvat uses certain languages based on the regions.) 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

✧ You don’t remember what prompted you to emit this word specifically, however, its occurrence was as natural as the auroras in the Snezhayan sky. During a typical day, when you were casually conversing with Pierro, you just replied with:

“Of course, just be careful, mel.” (honey)

It was out before you could register it, and you hoped he didn’t catch on. But it's known that nothing passes by the Jester unnoticed. Pierro’s gaze was uncharacteristically stunned, yet it softened the moment he turned to you. 

“It’s been… centuries since you called me that.” 

You averted your gaze away in shame, muttering a small apology. But the Director stepped closer to you, his gloved fingers brushing underneath your chin to look you tenderly in the eyes. 

“No, no. I do not seek an apology. You often called me melimelum (honey apple) during our days of guilelessness. Go on. Utter these words for me once more. I must know whether you remember them as much as I do.” 

Meeting his gaze, you stammered upon your words but managed to convey “mi mel” (my honey) for him again despite your coy disposition. The Jester smiled as if an eon-long frost had been melted off his heart. Thus, he leaned closer to relish your lips in his, whispering.  

“That’s more like it, corculum (sweetheart). These words are always sweeter when uttered by your lips.” 

✧ It is no one's surprise that you and Capitano participate in convivial challenges. Who else would match the harbinger’s fierce ambition for competition if it weren't for you, his partner? From duels, training, and games, to even… endearing nicknames. Yes, just loudly calling each other cute nicknames until the other gives up, in the privacy of your own home. 

“You may be the strongest man in Tevyat, Capitano, but!” - you loudly proclaimed “I can still defeat you in a battle of wits.” 

“Your words bring forth a challenge that I seek, my beloved. If you dare to challenge me, know that I will not back down.” 

“Hmph!” - you crossed your arms, a triumphant smile already gracing your features. “My dear, sweet Captain. Don’t be so sure of yourself. It’s clear that I love you more.” 

“Absurd,” - Capitano clenched his fists, his resolve is unshaken. “My love for you brings mountains to dust and the seas to dry. It is clear that I love you more.” 

“Tsk, tsk. I can still express my love in a far wider range, geliebter (loved one).” - There it was. Your special attack as you spoke confidently back. “ You better not underestimate me.” 

The Captain froze, his stance now rigid. Even through his pitch-black helmet, you could see you seized him off-guard. A word he has not heard in centuries, even more so, you put in the effort to pronounce it correctly. The Harbinger stepped closer, his sharp fingers gently cupping your cheeks.

“My dear, cherished, loved engelchen (little angel). Where did you learn that from? Such sweet words will not be tolerated. I shall memorize the entire dictionary to out-win you in this battle of precious monikers.” 

“Oh yeah? We’ll see, herzblatt (sweetheart), because I did my research! So I win!” - you mumbled proudly, even when Capitano kept squishing your face by squeezing your cheeks lovingly. 

Your little ‘warfare’ was left at that, and you didn’t think much of it afterward. A successful conquest; or so you credulously thought. Little did you expect, that in a couple of days, Capitano would burst into the room, a thick book in his hand labeled ‘Dictionary & Encyclopedia of Teyvat's Ancient Languages’.

“My dear, you won’t believe this! I have found a compelling addition to what I must call you, notlazohtlé." (my precious thing)

“U-um, Capitano. You didn't actually spend days trying to memorize a whole… dictionary, did you?”

“Nonsense. A warrior never backs down from a challenge. Especially one bestowed upon him by his yōltzin.” (lover)

✧ When Il Dottore heard you speak, he had to ensure the grip on his book was firm. He swore he almost dropped it but made sure to conceal it, as his back was facing you while he stood in front of bookshelves. 

“What did you just say?”

“Habibi” - you retorted simply. “Or, do you prefer azizam?” (my dear)

There was a prolonged silence coming from the Doctor. The sound of this native tongue brought a conflicting range of abrupt disgust and wistful familiarity. Yet Dottore clenched his jaw; there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his voice, and he would much rather go on pretending he hadn’t heard you say those words. 

"What are those harebrained names you are calling me? Has your time in Sumeru made you so asinine?"

You were not surprised he reacted this way. Nonetheless, It was futile to hide your solemn disappointment, so you sighed - "Never mind..." 

The book he had been flicking through was gradually set aside. Although you couldn’t read his expression, he remained eerily still. 

"Say it again." 

"Hm?" 

"I said,” - Il Dottore suddenly turned, stepping closer to firmly set his hands on the table, looming over you. “Say it again." 

Oh no, you thought. “I said habibi. Like people in the Sumeru desert region often say… But I thought you’d loathe it so maybe aziz-” 

Your words were cut off, as the Harbinger cupped your jawline and made sure to silence your doubts with his own lips. The sudden kiss was as sweet and warm as honey, and as ardent and fiery as the blazing deserts of Sumeru. 

“I was not being serious.” - He explained after leaning away, even if his scoff came out stilted. He didn’t mean to be rude, instead, he was impressed you went your way to learn these expressions. His hold on your jaw abates in an instance “Call me whatever you want.

You blink - “Well, you studied like… twenty languages since you were a student. So I wanted to gauge your reaction. What about ‘my heart’? was it kalbi, or…?” 

“...Ya balsam qalbi (O balm of my heart), you just called me a dog.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but laugh at your antic. Your sweet attempts at endearment were beyond him, especially when you fumbled on pronunciation. Thus, he settled with teasing you, locking his lips back with yours. You could feel his love wash over you like the gentle breeze blowing across the sand; carrying away any lingering worries and leaving you with the joy of being with him.

✧ Scaramouche abhors seeing couples being all mushy and sweet in public. Lovers giggling when embracing under the shade? Ugh. Calling each other cute nicknames as they walk? Disgusting. Stealing discreet kisses while no one is looking? Nauseating! 

His reaction is nothing new for you, as he frequently crossed his arms in annoyance. Particularly after a nearby married couple passed by the two of you, one of them saying “Anata, don't forget to buy some sugar and flour on our way home.” - Just people going on with their lives. What you didn't expect was how the Puppeteer would latch to your arm and accuse you:

“Why are you not calling me that!?” 

You blinked in bewilderment - “...what?” 

Scaramouche huffed, his expression sour - “You know what! Dropping the semi-formalities and using Anata (dear). Don't make me repeat myself.” 

“But that's how married couples refer to each other.”

“So?” 

Silence. The two of you awkwardly stood still, frozen. And then it clicked. “I can’t believe my ears… The 6th of The Fatui Harbinger,” 

“Wait, I take it back –” 

“Is asking me,” 

“Don’t. Don’t you da–” 

“To use anata, like a precious spouse would do to their loved one! Aaa!” - you gushed and beamed, your tone countering Scaramouche’s flustered groans, while he tugged at his hat to conceal his furrowed eyebrows. “Should I welcome you home with a cute pink apron, telling you that dinner and a bath are ready, too? Or maybe, offer you something else… ” 

“You’re insufferable. I regret even bringing this up now.” 

“Fine, Fine. I'll stop." - you sighed after a hearty chuckle. “Sometimes, rigid formalities can appear as an insult too, you know. After all, what sort of sweetheart would I be if I didn’t consider your troubles."

You mused innocently at the mental image of using terms of endearment like a married couple. However, your imagination was interrupted as the Harbinger took it upon himself to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"Did I tell you to stop? If we're going to pretend to be a cute, married couple - then do so properly. Besides, what was that part about offering something else when greeting me back home?” 

✧ When you prepare little surprises for your beloved Pantalone, you often come up to him with contagious excitement, eager to show what nick-nacks and artifacts you brought along. This time, you recently returned from an expedition in Liyue, and as always your affluent partner greeted you with honeyed enthusiasm, embracing you tightly as you spoke of your adventures.

“Pantalone, Pantalone!” - You exclaimed gleefully “I learned something new while I was staying in Liyue Harbour!” 

“Oh? And do tell, sweetheart, what is it that caught your curiosity this time?” - Pantalone spoke elegantly, helping you undress from your adventuring garbs. 

“I was familiarizing myself with certain literary texts and it led me down a rabbit hole of traditional phrases common in Liyue… And I figured out how to call you precious! Bǎobǎo!” (baby) 

Pantalone’s eyes shot wide open with renowned zeal. He grinned and clasped his hands, “Oh, my treasure! How adorable of you! And did you go all the way out just to learn this for me? Let me hear you say it again.”

“Bǎobǎo! It suits you! Or maybe you prefer xīn'gān?” (heart and soul)

Pantalone was ecstatic, his smile further widening - “My, my, you certainly worked on your pronunciation. Your stay in Liyue paid off then, because dear, you are making me swoon with your adorable surprises. Pray tell, what other phrases did you learn?” 

“Well, I was told that lǎogōng (hubby) is good.”

“Mhm, yes, yes.” - Pantalone nodded.

“Also huài bāo,” (naughty)

“O-oh?”

“And wǒ yào nǐ,” (I want you)

“O-.... oh,”

“And also shǐjìn yīdiǎn (go harder), but I was told this one is a little bit intense.”

The Regrator became motionless. You gazed at him with such pure naïveté, so oblivious that your charming perception didn't grasp the weight of these foreign words. He placed his hands on your shoulders firmly and inquired seriously:  

“My sweetheart. Who, exactly, taught you all this?”

“Well, so. There was this lady who had a small perfumery shop by Chihu Rock. I think her name was Ying'er.” - you pondered but smiled “She was a nice lady, she taught me all these phrases, and said they would work like a charm!”

Pantalone had to exert all his mental strength to avoid fainting or exploding. He is unsure of what exactly, but one more word from you and he'd drop to his knees with a ring for you. Rather than translating your earlier words, the Harbinger lets out a shaky sigh and focuses on controlling his hitched breathing.

“Oh, Shǎguā (silly). If you were unsure of the words' meanings, you could have just asked me and I would have demonstrated. Personally.”

✧ It was another day at Tartaglia’s family home in Snezhnaya. You visit him often and his family has long since welcomed you as part of their household. Especially the siblings, as Teucer and Tonia always welcome you with tight embraces whenever you arrive. 

When you found your beloved Childe in the kitchen, he innately greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, asking: “You’re right on time, sweetpea. We’re planning on making homemade meat dumplings. Maybe some borscht as a side dish too. Is that okay with you?” 

To which you simply nodded, already moving to help - “Of course, milyy (sweet). Do you need me to start with the bullion?” 

The Harbinger stopped. He never heard you use native terms, but when he registered your words, his head quickly snapped toward you in astonishment.

“Do my ears deceive me?! Did you just call me…!” 

Aha, so you got him. You tried to hide your giddiness, a faint grin threatening to appear - “Well, I just tried to use something new. You love nicknames, right? So perhaps…” 

“Say it again!” - The man practically leaped at you, his eyes now glowing with elation as he hyped you up to reveal your cards. 

“Okay, okay big guy, just take it easy. I just said milyy (sweet). Maybe you’d like it if I said… lyubimyy (darling)?”

Tartaglia gasps as your sweet words hit his ears, but then a wide grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is this a challenge? If so, fight me! I will shower you with more love for each sweet word coming out of your mouth. But I warn you, you'll have to use them a lot more often from now on.” 

He kisses your cheeks again, this time with even more passion and fervor while he cupped your cheeks. His lips felt like waves crashing against the shore, and each one left an invisible imprint of love and adoration on your soul. As you chuckle at his affectionate antics, small hushed voices interrupt you two. 

Teucer and his sister Tonia were peeking behind the kitchen door, giggling as they eavesdropped on you two. However, when Tartaglia caught their gazes, the rascals scurried away giggling.

“Hey! Quite sneaking in! Did your parents not teach you to give adults some privacy?” 

Latin: melimelum (honey-apple), mel (honey), corculum (sweetheart) German: geliebter (Loved one), herzblatt (sweetheart), engelchen (little angel) Nahuatl (Aztec): notlazohtlé (my darling/precious thing), yōltzin (lover) Persian: azizam (my dear) Arabic: habibi (my dear), Ya balsam qalbi (O balm of my heart), qalbi (my heart), kalbi (my dog, lmao)  Japanese: Anata (informal you, dear for couples)  Mandarin: Bǎobǎo (baby), lǎogōng (hubby), huài bāo (naughty), wǒ yào nǐ,” (I want you), shǐjìn yīdiǎn (go harder), Shǎguā (silly melon) Russian: milyy (sweet), lyubimyy (darling)

*While I speak Arabic, and Russian and know a little bit of Japanese; If you have some additional info on the linguistic part, or speculation or spot some inaccuracies - please, please, please 🙏 kindly share them with me! I am open to fixing any mistakes. Or if you just have headcanons and love projecting certain languages onto these characters like I do - share them with me! 

Thank you