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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 days ago

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 21

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18 || PART 19 || PART 20

Chrissy’s in Steve’s bed, sprawled out on her stomach, trying to plow through her homework when Steve says, “I need your help.”

Her heart’s in her throat as she whips her head toward him, already halfway through jumping up off the bed, ready to bury whatever body he needs burying.

But, he’s not even looking at her; he’s restlessly tearing a blank piece of paper into tiny little pieces, and his ears are a familiar, damning red. He’s not worried, he’s embarrassed.

“Jeez, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” Chrissy sighs, flopping back down onto the bed. She’s gotten far too used to all of Steve’s problems being life or death, and whatever this is, she can tell it’s not that.

“Sorry,” Steve mutters.

She just waves her hand and flips her notes and textbook closed, ready to think about something, anything else. “What is it, boy troubles?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously, only to drop all pretenses when Steve ducks his head like a turtle hiding within its shell. “Already?”

“It’s not a problem, Chris, god,” he sighs, running his hand anxiously through his hair. “I just thought—nevermind, it’s stupid.”

And then he just, picks his homework back up, as if Chrissy would ever let him get away with that. “Steve Harrington,” she snaps, only feeling marginally bad when he snaps his head back up. “Nothing about you is stupid.”

He’s still turtling into himself, but he nods dutifully, so she continues. “Now, tell me what you were going to say.”

He groans, flopping down on the bed to stare up at his white ceiling, barely blinking. She follows his lead, collapsing bonelessly next to him and rolling atop all their coursework until she’s nestled into his side, both of them giggling.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder, and finally begins to speak. “I have a date with Eddie tomorrow, right?” he says, looking down at her for confirmation. She nods, even though he’d never given her a specific date. “And I wanted you to help me, like, plan it?”

She blinks, nonplussed as the blush on his cheeks disperses across his cheeks. She rolls over, elbow planted on his chest so she can use it to prop her chin up and peer down at him. “You need help planning a date?” she asks, voice incredulous.

He groans, reaching up to hide his face from her view, but she grabs his wrists and yanks them back down. He pouts up at her while she watches on, unamused.

“Most of my usual date plans are like, public? We can’t exactly just show up at Benny’s and share a milkshake, you know?” Chrissy grimaces, not having thought of that, but before she can apologize, he continues talking. “And besides…”

He trails off, eyes darting back and forth between her eyes as his blush travels down his neck and up the bridge of his nose.

“Besides?” she prompts, voice soft.

“We started this whole thing together, right?” he asks, looking earnestly up at her. “It wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t finish it together.”

Chrissy’s shriveled heart grows three sizes and bursts with such a ferocious love that she collapses onto him without warning, arms wrapping around him and squeezing tight enough that he groans.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” she says, ignoring all his pleas for her to loosen her hold. “I’m so glad you looked pathetic enough that day for me to come ask if you needed help.”

“I didn’t look that pathetic,” he grumbles, finally succeeding in tossing her off of him, sending her careening off the bed and onto the lush carpet of his bedroom floor.

He peers over the side of the bed, looking worried, so she smiles up at him until he reaches down and helps her back up.

“You looked like a wet puppy someone had tossed in a river,” she replies, bulldozing through his continued complaints to ask, “now, what were you thinking?”

In the end, it’s a fairly typical date set-up, but instead of dinner at a nice restaurant, it’s in Steve’s home. They lay a checkered table cloth across the Harrington’s breakfast nook, make sure he has all the ingredients for burgers and fries, and then set about attempting to make milkshakes once Steve reveals he’s never made them before.

Their first attempt splatters chocolate ice cream and milk all over the ceiling. Their second results in a water concoction that, while edible, is less than pleasant.

The third is thick, barely able to be sucked through one of the straw’s Steve had stolen from Benny’s. It’s perfect.

“Can you dump Eddie so I can go on the date instead?” she asks, barely pausing in her pursuit of sucking the shake through her straw.

Steve laughs and replies, “Or, I can just make you one whenever you want,” he says, nudging the shake closer to her, leaving his own straw inside.

She beams, and drinks the entire thing.

Steve accosts her before lunch the day of, telling Jeff, “can you tell everyone we’ll be missing lunch? Thanks,” before dragging her away.

“I thought we were done with this,” she says, settling into the seat across from him as he pulls out a familiar notebook she hasn’t even glimpsed for weeks.

He opens it, but doesn’t turn to the back of the notebook where all his rough draft secret admirer letters lay. Instead, he pulls a light blue envelope from the front and hands it over to her.

She stares down at Eddie’s name in Steve’s messy scrawl, clearly written carefully to keep it legible.

“Steve?” she asks, ghosting her fingers over the letters before looking up into his anxious face.

“It’s just—I liked writing the letters, so I wanted to give him one on our date, so,” he breaks their gazes to look down at the envelope, biting his lip. “I already wrote it, but it wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t read it first.”

Steve Harrington, Chrissy thinks, eyes welling with all the fondness her body’s too small to contain. “Okay,” she sniffs, smiling down at the letter as she carefully slides her finger under the envelope’s flap and pulls it free.

It unfolds into the letter itself, Steve having clearly reverse-engineered it from all the times Eddie had done the same. Only then does she realize that at some point, he must have stolen a page from her planner because that’s the same as the first time, too.

She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything, just hunches back over the letter and begins to read.

Eddie —

I know we don’t have to do this anymore, but I miss it. Isn’t that the strangest thing? I’m happy talking to you face to face, holding your hand beneath the table, pressing my lips against yours, but I miss reading your words, and I miss writing my own.

So, here I am, writing you the day before our second date, so nervous and excited I might just throw up. Because we can do it now, you know? We can do all the things we’ve talked about (and more). I’m excited to do them with you.

If the date goes well, I want you to put this under your pillow, hold my face in your mind, and dream of me.

Hopefully Yours, Hopefully Always,

Steve

P.S. I know you can just put them in my locker now, but maybe put this one in The Return of the King? Just this once, for me?

“How is it?” Steve asks when she’s been staring down at the words on the page for probably too long. “Is it okay?”

“It’s perfect,” she says, grinning when his entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “And so are you.”

***

“They’re not coming to lunch,” Jeff says as he settles onto the bench at their usual table, a slab of lasagna already somehow congealing on his tray.

“Are they okay?” Eddie asks, dropping his own fork to try to glean any worry on Jeff’s own face.

“Steve was definitely excited when he dragged Chrissy off,” Jeff replies, shrugging. Before Eddie can even spit out his follow-up question, Jeff continues, “no idea what they’re doing, though,” and he closes his mouth.

“I know,” Robin calls from down the table, voice all sing-songy and sly.

Eddie turns to glare at her, but she just keeps grinning around her sandwich, Vickie looking equally lost at her side.

“Are you going to enlighten the rest of the class,” Eddie asks, gesturing to the rest of the table despite clearly being the only one who gives a shit.

Robin grins wider and replies, “it’s a secret,” tauntingly like she knows somehow that word is his ultimate trigger.

Eddie whines, but no one pays him any mind. Even more cruelly, he doesn’t see Steve for the rest of the school day, leaving him flushed and flustered as he rushes home to get ready for their date.

Unfortunately, it’s Wayne’s day off, so he’s there to heckle Eddie as he changes his outfit enough times to leave his hair a frizzy mop on the top of his head.

“You dressin’ for a date or to be the janitor’s new mop?” Wayne asks, laughing as Eddie rushes past him and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

Unfortunately, Wayne’s right, so Eddie runs a damp brush through his hair, trying to make the frizziness merge back with the rest of his hair. When it doesn’t really work, Eddie folds his hair into a bun and elects not to look at himself in the mirror again.

With ten minutes to spare, Eddie moves his frantic pacing for the living room, walking back and forth in front of Wayne, fingers gyrating as he tries to keep them from further ruining his hair.

“You really wearing that?” Wayne asks, long since having given up on trying to watch the TV, Eddie’s body too much of a moving obstacle to crane his neck around.

Eddie stops and stares down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with this?”

It’s a more put together version of his usual style: his only pair of black jeans that haven’t gotten any holes yet, clunky boots, still adequately polished from his last date with Steve, a plain black t-shirt, fingers full of rings except the one he keeps bare, the ring still on Steve’s own finger.

“You know what I mean, boy,” Wayne sighs, looking him up and down with so much judgment that Eddie wants to shrivel up and die. “Ain’t the jacket a bit much?”

Eddie fondles the green and white cuff of the jacket’s sleeve. He does a little spin, like a dog chasing its own tail, trying to get a look at the way it hangs on his frame.

Wayne’s right—it looks almost incongruous on him, clashing absurdly with the rest of his outfit, but it’s got Steve’s name on its back, and a small, shivery part of Eddie likes that. Jock courting rituals are absurd, but there’s maybe something to this one.

Maybe Steve will like it, too—his name on Eddie’s back.

“Is it too much?” Eddie asks, voice taking on that higher pitch that only dogs can hear. He turns to Wayne, panicky and desperate. “Do you think it’s coming on too strong?”

Wayne’s mouth twists up all sardonic and wry as he snorts and replies, “that boy’s been writing you love notes for months. There ain’t no such thing as too strong, for a thing like that.”

Eddie feels his cheeks warm. He breaks eye contact, looking down the floor as he scuffs the toe of his boot against the carpet bashfully.

Before he can voice any of the self-conscious bullshit kicking around in his head, there’s a knock at the door. Eddie snaps his head up and freezes, staring with mounting hysteria at the closed front door until there’s a second knock and he snaps back to life.

“Oh my god, places everybody!” Eddie cries, clutching at his head in panic, undoing all the work he’d done on his hair in one fell swoop.

“I ain’t moving,” Wayne says from the chair.

Eddie rushes past him, skidding to a halt in front of the door. He wastes precious seconds taking a few deep breaths before he swings the door open, fake smile plastered on his face. It melts into something excited and real when he catches sight of Steve.

Steve, who’s wearing the leather jacket Chrissy still hasn't returned. Steve, who’s fiddling with the lapels and blushing self-consciously until he catches sight of Eddie’s own attire and bursts out laughing.

“Great minds think alike, huh Harrington?” Eddie asks, smiling down at him.

While on Eddie, the aesthetic mismatch looks bizarre, Steve’s light-wash jeans and green polo somehow only enhance the effect of Eddie’s oversized leather jacket.

“It’s The Return of the King,” Eddie says, looking up and down Steve’s body, smirking before catching sight of his befuddled face. “We’ve really gotta get you up to date on Tolkien.”

“Oh, the hobbit books?” Steve asks, smiling brightly. “I just started the first one. Bilbo’s a pretty cool dude.”

Eddie takes a shuddering breath, heart kicking up a notch. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” Eddie replies in a hushed tone. Steve Harrington is reading The Hobbit. This fact somehow has him feeling more faint than seeing him in Eddie’s own jacket. He clears his throat, face hot, heartbeat rapid. “Should—should we go?”

His voice squeaks awkwardly, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice. He just beams up at Eddie and takes two graceful steps back off the front stoop, holding his arm out to gesture Eddie over the threshold of his own trailer.

Eddie slams the door, muffling Wayne’s embarrassing call of, “have him home by ten!” just in time.

He skips down the steps and latches onto Steve’s held out arm, letting Steve lead him toward his car like a gentleman.

“You know, I think Chrissy and Jeff had some sort of weird sex thing with this jacket?” Eddie asks, shaking his arm demonstratively.

“Yeah, Chrissy told me.”

"Seriously?" Eddie squawks, stopping suddenly enough that he kicks up gravel beneath his boots.

"No, you idiot,” Steve says, laughing at him even as he stops beside him, still holding onto Eddie’s arm.

“Oh, good because—”

“Jeff did.”

Eddie sputters, eyes wide until he turns and sees Steve’s shit-stirring grin. “You’re the worst,” he says, pouting as Steve just starts laughing again. “Why do I even like you?”

That has Steve’s ears turning pink, and his eyes averting to look toward his car, seeming almost shy. “Well,” he starts before cutting himself off when his voice comes out strangely high. He clears his throat and continues, “shall we?”

Steve gestures toward his parked car with his free hand because return of The King or not, this guy’s somehow, inexplicably, a nerd.

Eddie wants to kiss him about it, but they’re in public, already toeing the line of what’s acceptable in polite society, so all he does is squeeze Steve’s arm where it’s still wrapped around his and reply, “we shall.”

There will be time for kisses later—time for all of the things Eddie’s finding he wants to do with Steve Harrington.

They’ve got nothing but time.

The End

If you've read this far, thank you so much! Especially if you've like, reblogged, or commented. It all means so much to me, and I appreciate every single one of you.

This could have gone on for another 50k, I'm sure, but this feels like the right ending to me. It's not a story about Being Together, it's a story about Finding Each Other, and they've both done that, with Chrissy, and Robin, and Jeff, and now with each other <3<3<3

Now, one final shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for both being the best beta a guy can ask for, and to be the one who came up with this idea at all. It literally couldn't exist without you, and I appreciate you so much <3<3<3

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic

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misswynters · 3 days ago

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Alone in the rumble, as you died in his arms

short drabble

pure angst / hurt no comfort

requested. by anon

Flames danced in the ruins of Piltover, their light painting the chaos in flickering shades of orange and red. The once pristine city was now a battlefield, torn apart by Ambessa’s Noxian forces. Smoke billowed from the destruction, and the air was thick with ash and the metallic tang of blood. Ekko sprinted through the wreckage, his heart pounding with a fear he hadn’t felt since he lost his family in Zaun.

Every explosion made him flinch, every shadow looked like you. He had sworn to protect you, to keep you safe despite the horrors of this war. You weren’t supposed to be here, not in the thick of the fight, not in the crumbling heart of Piltover. But you had insisted, standing firm in that quiet, determined way of yours.

“Zaun fights against corruption. I won’t stand idly by and do nothing,” you had said, your hand brushing against his.

But now, as he tore through the smoldering streets, his heart filled with dread. Jinx’s globe, her insane, chaotic weapon of destruction, had careened into one of the towering structures nearby. The crash had sent debris flying like deadly shrapnel, and he had lost sight of you in the chaos.

He shouted your name, his voice hoarse from the smoke and desperation. His feet stumbled over rubble, and his eyes scanned every twisted beam and broken wall for a glimpse of you. Your name that once brought warmth now felt like a prayer. The world around him was collapsing, literally. Another blast shook the ground, and a wall buckled under its weight. But all he could think about was finding you.

And then he saw it. A hand peeking out from beneath a pile of rubble, fingers limp and covered in soot. His breath hitched as he ran toward you, adrenaline driving his every step. When he reached the debris, he fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he began pulling away the heavy stones and broken wood. “No, no, no,” he murmured under his breath, the words spilling out like a mantra.

Finally, he uncovered you. Your body was twisted and broken, your beautiful gown torn and stained with blood. Soot clung to your skin, and a deep gash ran along your temple. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“Firefly…” His voice cracked as he leaned down, cupping your face with shaking hands.

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dim. The spark that always lit them, the one that had drawn him to you in the first place, was barely there. “Ekko…” you whispered, your voice so faint it was almost lost amidst the chaos.

“I’m here,” he said, his tears falling freely now. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Just hold on for abit.”

You tried to smile, but it was weak and fleeting. “I… I don’t think I can,” you murmured, your words slurred from the pain.

“Don’t you dare say that,” he said, his voice breaking as he pressed his cheek to yours. “You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know. You’re gonna make it. We’re gonna go home. You just have to stay with me.”

But your body was trembling, and your breathing was shallow. He could feel the life slipping away from you, and he was powerless to stop it.

“Mmhm,” you hummed softly, your voice trembling as tears spilled from your eyes. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he whispered, his heart shattering. “I know, Firefly. I’m here with you, okay?”

Your hand lifted weakly, brushing against his cheek. “I wanted to stay and see it… the future you talked about,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I wanted to be there with you.”

“You will be,” he said, even as the truth clawed at his throat.

But your eyes were beginning to close, the light in them fading like a dying star. “Promise me…” you whispered.

“I promise,” he choked out, his tears falling onto your face as he held you on his lap. And then, with a shuddering breath, you went still. Your body went limp completely against his, no more strength to hold onto.

“No.” The word left him in a broken whisper. “No, no, no!” He pulled you into his arms, rocking back and forth as the weight of your loss crushed him. The city burned around him, but he didn’t care. The world could end, and it wouldn’t matter. You were gone. The one who had brought light into his life, who had stood by him even when the odds were stacked against them, was gone. And it was his fault. He had promised to protect you, and he had failed.

His tears fell freely now, mingling with the blood and soot that covered your face. He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I love you. I’ll always love you.”

Around him, the war raged on. But in that moment, Ekko was frozen, trapped in a world where the only thing that mattered was the girl he had lost. The flames reflected in his tear-filled eyes, their light a cruel mockery of the fire you had once carried within you. He held you close, his heart breaking with every passing second. And as the sounds of battle echoed around him, one thought consumed him: he would never let your memory fade. He vowed to himself that he would add you onto a mural, the one were the rest of the people he cared about were. The future you had dreamed of, the one you had believed in, it was his now. And he would fight for it, no matter the cost.

a/n. first time doing angst for him…idk if i can even do this to him bro 😞 (literally wrote this while at work so sorry if it doesn’t make sense)!

banner. @anitalenia

#arcane masterlist #arcane ekko x reader #arcane ekko #ekko fics #ekko imagines #ekko arcane #ekko x reader #ekko league of legends #ekko angst #arcane fanfic #arcane x gender neutral reader #arcane angst #arcane fic #arcane spoilers #arcane imagine #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x reader

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selfdiagnosedeyemotif · 12 hours ago

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oh you just KNOW im gonna be extra about this

S - Summertime [My Chemical Romance - Danger Days: The True Lives of Famous Killjoys] E - Eternal Sunshine [Flower Face - Girl Prometheus] L - Last Words of a Shooting Star [Mitski - Bury Me At Makeout Creek] F - For the Best [Gregory and the Hawk - Leche] D - Dead! [My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade] I - If You Could Save Yourself, You'd Save Us All [Ween - Quebec] A - After Dark [Boyscott - Spellbound] G - Goodbye [Bo Burnham - Inside] N - Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out) [Arcade Fire - Funeral] O - Oats We Sow [Gregory and the Hawk - Moenie and Kitchi] S - silver spoon [dead boyfriend - battle of carthage] E - End of Summer (I Used to Know) [The Front Bottoms - Single] D - Disco [Surf Curse - Heaven Surrounds You] E - Early Sunsets Over Monroeville [My Chemical Romance - I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love] Y - You're Gonna Go Far, Kid [The Offspring - Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace] E - Everything for Free [Gregory and the Hawk - Come, Now] M - Mermaids [Forest City Lovers - The Sun and the Wind] O - Old Friend [Mitski - Be the Cowboy] T - Twin Size Mattress [The Front Bottoms - Talon of the Hawk] I - I'm Not Okay (I Promise) [My Chemical Romance - Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge] F - First Day of My Life [Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning]

okay this is. this is me after finishing typing now. this took me honestly like forty minutes this was excessive. because for some reason i was like. im gonna do some side challenges. so youll also notice that there are no album overlaps here. and also that ive pulled one song from each of MCR's four main releases

additionally. some shoutouts. apparently i like a lot of songs that start with the letter b. Biblical Love (Flower Face), Be Still (The Killers), Be Nice to Me (The Front Bottoms). i think thats it. the letters c and g were also highly contested

also! no chappell roan! i dont care for that! but also my favourites of hers are Pink Pony Club, Kaleidoscope, and Coffee. so fuck me i guess. and i wasnt willing to sacrifice Goodbye to make room for Good Luck, Babe! so thats egg on my face i guess.

anyways normally i would. link these songs. youll have to forgive me for doing no such thing this time. or tagging. if youve actually reached the bottom of this for some reason uh. join on in if you want to! woo! collapses on the floor in a puddle of my own blood!

bored so i thought id do a tag game :)

rules are you have to pick a song for each we letter of you name and/or username if you don’t wanna use ur real name :)

T: Two Pills by TX2

Y: You’re gonna go far by Noah Kahn

L: Loving You by Thomas Headon

E: Enchanted by Taylor Swift

R: Rise and Grind by Noahfinnce

tagging: @riceandcurry3 @newsies-lodging-house @st0rmyseas @nosuchthingasdeadlanguages @misha-misha @bigmack2go @paralleluniversesfan @apairofnewshoeswithmatchinglaces

no pressure :)

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padfootagain · 1 day ago

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Love in Verses (XXXI)

Chapter 31 : ‘Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This is The Party… chapters 31 and 32 are twin chapters, the party will be told from both perspectives, this one from Andrew’s and the next one from MC’s. Just so you know…

This is one of the first scenes I’ve written when I began working on this project, so I’m quite fond of it even if it makes me cry…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3678

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Watching my friend pretend her heart isn’t breaking

On Earth, just a teaspoon of neutron star would weigh six billion tons. Six billion tons equals the collective weight of every animal on earth. Including the insects. Times three.

Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief – just a teaspoon and one might as well have consumed a neutron star. How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then. How impossible to believe that anything could lift that weight.

There are many reasons to treat each other with great tenderness. One is the sheer miracle that we are here together on a planet surrounded by dying stars. One is that we cannot see what anyone else has swallowed.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

It was working, Andrew was certain of it.

He had hoped it wouldn’t, that seeing you flirt with another man would leave Frank unbothered, ignoring you completely. It was a little cruel, maybe, because it meant that you would be sad, that you would be hurt by his reaction. But as he stared at you letting a man trace a line up your arm… your bare arm…

Andrew looked away, feeling sick, feeling like his world was crushing down around him. Collapsing. It was like… like being dumped by Samantha all over again…

He downed his whiskey, letting the burn of the liquor ground him to the present once more, but the relief was temporary, and soon enough, he was looking up at you again and you were leaning to whisper something in that stranger’s ear.

He turned around this time, unable to stomach the sight of him resting a hand on your waist.

The plan was simple. You were to make Frank jealous, by wearing that divine dress you had bought with Andrew, by flirting with another man. Andrew had thought about playing that role, being the man you would flirt with, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t have survived the cruelty of that situation, of you faking to be interested in him that way. Not when he loved you so ardently. And so, he was merely keeping an eye on you now, staying close to one of the tables where whiskey was being poured generously, avoiding to talk to anyone at this gigantic party, checking that you were safe, while you let another man flirt with you and touch your waist…

He downed another glass…

“You’re alright, Andy?”

He turned to his left, following the voice that now called him. Samantha, of all people… brilliant.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” he answered, shifting awkwardly.

“Thanks for coming today. I’m glad we can still be friends despite all of this. I know that it must be… peculiar sometimes, but… Thank you, I truly appreciate it.”

“No need to thank me for that.”

She placed a hand on his forearm, and once, not so long ago, it would have made his heart grow warm. Now, he felt nothing. It felt like they had happened a lifetime ago, the days when he loved her.

He thought of you, behind him, and he tried not to picture you kissing that stranger, because then he…

He poured himself another whiskey, downed it again.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked, raising up an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you drinking so much since college!”

“Well, we’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

He looked at her once more. Her and her dark hair, and her beautiful eyes, and the lips he thought he would spend the rest of his life kissing. How strange… now she let another man kiss them, and he wanted to kiss someone else… Their mouths didn’t belong together anymore. And Andrew then realised that he was okay with that. He wasn’t okay with how it had all happened, how it was still happening… but he couldn’t picture himself loving her again. He was looking at her, beautiful and perfect on paper… and all he could think of was you.

The music was loud, they had to raise their voices to be heard over the shallow beats. The chatter of the room Sam and Frank had rented for the special occasion was almost deafening. Andrew’s head was spinning a little, the alcohol kicking in. He still wanted another drink…

“Do you… do you hate me?”

He frowned, surprised by her question, by how direct it was too. She was a pro at circling an issue.

He thought for a moment, didn’t find an obvious answer.

When he thought of hate, he thought of that man with his hand on your body. He thought of Frank and the way he still made your heart bleed…

“Why are you asking this?” he asked back instead of answering.

“Because I… I know that the way we ended things was… messy. But I don’t want you to hate me. I… I still care about you, Andy, even if…”

“Even if you don’t love me anymore.”

It was becoming a little hard to remain standing, his world was spinning.

Were you still there with that guy? Would you… would you let him kiss you the way you had let Andrew do it in your office? God… would you be the one kissing him, the way you had kissed Andrew that night in your flat?

Samantha blinked, Andrew was puzzled as he noticed tears in her eyes.

“I think… a part of me is always going to love you, Andy.”

His eyes grew round in surprise. Was it working? Was their stupid, idiotic, foolish plan working? This was ridiculous…

… would you go back to loving Frank? Frank was a fucking dickhead…

“Do you ever wonder what could have been our lives if we had remained together?”

I wouldn’t have loved Y/N the way I do now…

And yet a couple of seconds later, he was changing his thought.

I would have fallen for her still… despite loving you…

“I used to,” he answered truthfully, stopping his answer before it would hurt her, but she insisted.

“And now?”

He was too drunk to lie. And if he were to be fully honest, he didn’t mind being rough, hurting her a little. He hated himself for the selfishness of it, but he answered earnestly anyway.

“Not anymore, no.”

“Really?”

“I… I don’t think of you like that anymore. I’ve moved on.”

She raised an eyebrow, but seemed unimpressed.

“Have you? So quickly?”

He shifted, uncomfortable. And he didn’t like being bitter, being too honest and being hurtful because of it, but… but you were flirting with another man, and Andrew was drinking too much tonight… And you were wearing that green dress, the one you had bought together, and he could picture you now, and he didn’t want Frank to see you in it and regret you, because he didn’t deserve it and… and you had bought that fucking dress for Frank… for Frank…

“I don’t love you anymore,” he said plainly, the flatness of his tone hurtful by itself. “Like I… I’m not in love with you. I… I want someone else.”

“Someone else?” she asked, and her voice was annoyed but he noticed the glimmer of a tear at the corner of her eyes.

She was hurt. But then again, she had been the one shattering his heart and his self-esteem, and his world, and the confidence he had taken so long to build…

He went on anyway.

“Yeah… I… we’re not dating or anything. But I… I like her. A lot.”

“Have you asked her out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think she’d be interested. That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

No, he didn’t mind that you didn’t feel the same. You were a little too good for him anyway. Out of his league. You ought to deserve better…

“Now, that’s just your head saying dumb things,” she said, and even if her tone wasn’t kind, her words were reassuring.

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

“Andy… when are you going to understand that… You do deserve to be happy? That you are worthy of happiness too, huh?”

His next comment was unnecessary, but it felt good to tell the truth anyway.

“I had grown better at that while we were together. You breaking up with me to run off with someone else kind of destroyed that progress…”

He stopped resisting the urge to drink, reached for another whiskey, downed it in one gulp.

“I’m sorry, Andy. But we… weren’t right for each other.”

He wanted to argue, for the sake of it, to contradict her, but he was honest instead.

“I have to agree with that.”

He looked in your direction again, just a quick glance, just to check that you were alright. Frank was staring at you from afar too. That guy was leaning closer now, although you didn’t seem so willing to play along anymore. Andrew’s heart quickened, and soon it was pounding…

“Andy?”

“Hmm?” he asked back without looking at Samantha.

A sign… just one sign from you and he would come and make sure that guy would stand back…

Frank seemed to have read your body language as well, the bastard… he was walking over to you. Andrew closed his fists tightly, refraining from crossing the distance between you and him, from pushing that guy away, from telling Frank to fucking leave you alone because, Christ, you deserved so much better than him…

“Are you listening to me?”

Andrew almost jumped as Sam touched his arm again…

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, yeah… sorry, I was… lost in thought…”

“I was saying that I’m glad you and Y/N seem to get along. As you’re working together. I was worried when I learned she was Frank’s ex that it would make things awkward at your workplace.”

“We’re fine.”

I’ve fallen in love with her when I didn’t even think I was capable of loving anyone else after you…

“She seems nice,” she added, but her voice was weirdly flat.

“She is,” Andrew nodded, his heart fluttering as he talked of you. “She’s… she’s grand. She’s really nice, and… she’s a laugh, like… and very smart too.”

“Sounds like a catch.”

He didn’t answer, she didn’t seem to notice.

She was staring at you now too, while Frank had reached you and that stranger. He was talking with the guy, seemingly ignoring you, and even from afar Andrew could see that you were disappointed. The son of a bitch. He was pushing that guy away, without acknowledging you, he was making you feel terrible about yourself, Andrew could tell, and…

“I wonder what Frank saw in her.”

Andrew pondered on her question, and… God, he had so many things he saw in you. Your kindness, your wits, your passion for your work, your sense of humour, your smile, your eyes, the curve of your eyelashes, how fucking smart you were, your warmth, your voice, your way to scrunch up your nose a little when you were thinking, your anger, your talent, your…

… you, just… you…

But Frank? Did he see all that?

How could he have seen all of that, and still leave you?

The guy you had been talking to left, his drink in hand and a polite smile on his lips. Frank turned to you, got a conversation started. And Andrew wished he was right when he thought he could read in your expression that you were forcing yourself to look happy with his attention. Andrew didn’t believe in God, but he prayed still, silently, for you to see that Frank was not good enough for you, for you to long for his company instead… Christ, he hoped he was right when he read in the way you leaned away from Frank that you had changed your mind, that you didn’t want him to touch you the way he had just held your arm…

“Anyway, who’s the lucky woman you’ve spotted then? Do I know her?”

Andrew looked at Samantha, but he couldn’t hide the annoyance in his voice as he answered.

“I don’t really want to talk about that with you, honestly.”

“Right…”

Frank was taking a step closer to you, his hand inching for your waist…

Andrew was never one to pick up a fight, but he wanted to punch your ex in the face so bad…

“I feel a lot of resentment today, Andy…” Samantha said, trying to dissect his brain, the way she used to when they were together, but Andrew was not in the mood. “Did something happen?”

He let out a long exhale through his nose, refused to answer.

“You said you were ready to put all that happened behind us.”

He was about to argue, but he couldn’t. She was right. What a fucking fool he had been… to think that he should still want her after she broke what they had spent years building, for some random guy she had met a few weeks before. And then she was inviting him to her wedding, and he was there running back right into her arms? She was marrying Frank after knowing him for mere months when she had claimed not to be ready for marriage with Andrew when they had spent seven years together? She had not even agreed to move in with him… It seemed to hit him then, how much of a fool he had been, and the little self-esteem he had left finally took over to show him that he deserved better than to be treated like that. Anyone would deserve better. He was being an absolute fool. And you were too, you and your broken heart and he couldn’t do this anymore, he couldn’t pretend that all this was alright, that he didn’t want to kiss you…

He had one last question to ask, one last thought that was holding him back, one last answer he was too afraid to receive. He finally asked it.

“Frank left Y/N two weeks before you left me,” he started, the coldness of his tone unusual for him. “Did you sleep with him while we were together?”

Samantha blinked.

“Why are you asking me this?” she asked back, but Andrew didn’t back down, his hazel eyes turned into steel.

“Answer me. Did you sleep with Frank before you left me?”

She remained silent, and he knew what it meant.

He thought he would be hurt, and he was, but the main emotion that came rising in his chest, made his blood boil, blinded him for a moment, was hate. Rage and hate. A lethal combo…

He huffed, shook his head.

“I left right after, and it wasn’t planned… it happened once, and then I left, and it didn’t last… it’s not like I was having an affair.”

“Shut it!” Andrew hissed. “Just… shut up for once!”

Her eyes grew round. It was so unlike Andrew to use such a mean tone…

“Andy…”

“I can’t believe you did something like this to me…”

“You’re not perfect either, Andrew, don’t pretend…”

“Don’t pretend what?! That I was always faithful to you? That I loved you? That I wanted to spend my life with you when you dumped me for a guy you barely knew?!”

“And why do you think I did that?” she answered, with venom in her words, and Andrew hated himself for falling for it. He knew she was being mean, that he shouldn’t have believed her, but he was the one always doubting his own worth, he couldn’t help it… “I’m sorry, Andrew, but you weren’t perfect either. And the truth is, I wasn’t happy enough with you.”

The word enough echoed in his head, out of context, he applied it to himself. He could feel his brain starting to spiral… but he forced his gaze to remain on Samantha. His thoughts had turned to you, and he had to check…

“Did Frank cheat on Y/N too?”

“What does it matter to you…?”

“Just. Answer. The. Damn. Question,” he hissed through gritted teeth, struggling not to shout it instead.

She heaved a sigh, but answered still.

“No… no, he didn’t. The first time anything happened between us was three days before we two broke up. And Frank had already ended things with Y/N to be with me.”

Andrew heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thank God,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair, and Samantha frowned at his reaction.

“What does it matter to you?” she snapped.

“It matters to me that I’m glad her partner didn’t do this to her,” he replied, grabbing another drink.

“If you’re so angry at me, what are you doing here?”

Andrew bit the inside of his cheek to refrain his earnest answer.

Because Y/N needs me here.

“Honestly, I have no fucking clue…”

He downed yet another glass, walked away before Samantha could answer anything, and he headed towards the exit, fleeing the reception. He caught your eyes as he was passing not too far from you, refrained his urge to reach for you and hold you close, but his expression made you frown.

The cold air hit his cheeks, he realised he hadn’t picked up his jacket. The alcohol was getting to his head, the inky sky filled with stars was spinning above his head. He spotted an area with a few trees and a corner covered with grass. He aimed his feet in that direction, unstable, struggling to stay upright.

And you were still in there, with Frank, why fucking Frank, why him, why couldn’t you want…

“Andy?”

He turned around at the sound of your voice, almost falling in the process.

“You’re okay?” you asked while you walked closer, extending a hand to steady him if he needed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied.

“Are you drunk?”

“A little bit,” he admitted, averting his eyes in a sheepish way.

“Do you want me to take you home? I didn’t drink at all tonight…”

But the image of Frank leaning closer, reaching for your waist flashed before his eyes. He clenched his jaw, opening and closing his fists repeatedly, not knowing what to do now with his own body, with his too-long limbs, with the knowledge that you too wanted Frank and not him. And Andrew hated that guy for taking everything he wanted away. For making Samantha leave him. For taking the life he thought he was going to build with her. But most importantly, for taking you away, even now… Andrew hated your ex for hurting you, for breaking your heart, and for being unable to let you go, for dragging you along with him, for keeping you dependent when he had someone else, and of course… of bloody course, Andrew had to fall for you, when you loved Frank.

What could you see in a guy like him? What did Andrew lack that made you unable to choose him instead of Frank?

He sat down in the grass, his brain swarming with thoughts that made him as dizzy as the liquor did.

“I think I’m… gonna stay here for a couple of minutes,” he answered, voice distant and words slurred by too much whiskey.

You sat down beside him.

“You’re okay?” you asked again, voice gentle, caring. Andrew wanted to cry at the sound, to hide in your arms and let it all out… his rage against Samantha, his jealousy against Frank, his love for you…

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Frank?” was his answer instead of yielding to his own wants and lean closer.

“You didn’t seem well.”

“I’m fine. This is your chance, it was working…”

He saw you clenching your jaw, even if there wasn’t much light around the venue. The parking lot was close by, with a few lampposts there. The moon was high and bright though, and through the windows of the venue behind the two of you, light was pouring into the night. It made for a dim lighting, but just enough for him to distinguish your features.

“I’d rather stay with you for a while,” you breathed, something pained and aching in your voice.

That fucking asshole… Andrew was certain Frank had hurt you somehow, said something wrong…

“I saw you talking with Samantha… what did she say?” you asked, changing subject and aiming straight for the sensitive one without knowing.

It was Andrew’s turn to clench his jaw. He didn’t say anything.

“What did she say?”

He shrugged, but you insisted, and he ended up yielding.

“She cheated on me with Frank.”

Your eyes grew round, and there was wrath shining in them too.

“He didn’t cheat on you,” Andrew hurried to add, wanting to alleviate your pain and worry, but your expression didn’t change. “It happened right after he broke up with you, but she hadn’t broken up with me yet… so technically…”

“What a fucking bitch…” you spat, and he was surprised by the harshness of your words, so much so that he giggled.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“I’m so sorry, Andy,” you breathed, reaching to rub his back.

“It’s okay. I just… I just want to forget her now.”

You nodded but looked away.

“So… I’m losing my partner in crime for good?” you joked, but there was something strained in your voice, revealing of some kind of ache.

“I’ll still help you with Frank, that’s alright. If… if that’s what makes you happy…”

He froze when you leaned closed, rested your head on his shoulder. He reached out without thinking, the alcohol making him bolder than he usually was, and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in a tight hug. You remained like this for a couple of minutes, or perhaps a little longer than that, Andrew wasn’t sure. He was too drunk to notice the passing of time, he felt too warm holding you in his arms…

“Let’s get you home, Andy,” you broke the comfortable silence that had settled around you, broke his embrace to get up. You offered him your hand and helped him up, let him lean on you while you walked to your car.

And he wanted to tell you that he loved you, that he had for some time now. That he didn’t want Samantha anymore, only you. That he dreamt of you in his bedsheets, dreamt of what you would look like under him, dreamt of kissing your eyelashes. That he wanted to hold your hand, that he looked at you sometimes when you worked, in your shared office, because he just couldn’t help it. That you were beautiful, that he thought about you all the time, that he couldn’t eat at the thought of spending a moment with you. That he wanted to kiss you now, and forget about your exes, and take you on a nice date, whatever you would like.

He wanted to kiss you, but he didn’t.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier au #hozier professor au #hozier series #series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #professor au

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chaos-in-deepspace · 2 days ago

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LADS Xavier: Stardust | SFW Angst

So anyway, did y'all see the um...story branch trailer for Xavier that was posted an hour ago? Well. Here we go. 1.2k with angst and comfort.

Pairings: Xavier x Reader Warnings: Angst but with Comfort Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

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Xavier

“Xavier,” your voice cracked as you saw him clutching his chest. He collapsed onto the ground as you rushed over to him, grabbing his hand, “Xavier!” you said it more forcefully. How were you supposed to know this would happen? One moment, you were fighting wanderers, trying to find clues on a possible Aethercore, and the next…how did this happen? You don’t even remember how you got here; the only thing on your mind is Xavier right now.

“I-I’m,” his voice cracked, and it almost sounded like a death rattle as you heard the sharp intake of air. It was almost like his lungs refused to allow anything inside of them right now. YOu couldn’t even register the wetness on your cheeks as you tried cupping his cheeks.

He was so pale, so cold. How did this happen? How did this happen to him? Your heart beat erratically as you looked at him, his eyes already glazed over. You could see the shine of whatever collar was around his neck. You know you had seen it before, and he never told you why it was there, but now it was so much clearer. Another shaky intake of air, this time almost wet like his lungs were filling up with water.

“What can I do?” you said, trying to help him. Why was he glowing now? His body seemed brighter, almost like the light of his evol. It was unnatural as you looked at him. His temperature hadn’t changed; he was still cold as ice, and his skin was now clammy. “Xavier, please tell me there’s something I can do.” You cried out.

Then you saw it, the paleness of his face as he looked up at you; those brilliant blue eyes now lacked the normal luster they always held. They were almost hollowed, ghosts of their former self, and completely unfocused as he tried looking directly at you, “It’ll be okay?” he said, “I promise, it’ll all be alright.” He tried to assure you, but his voice was so quiet and almost distant. It was like he was speaking so far away, his words echoing through a tunnel, and you realized now that it was because there was too much blood rushing in your ears. You were panicking; you were losing him.

“Please, Xavier, don’t…” you said, choking out a sob, “You can’t leave me, not like this. There’s still so much we have to do.” You cried out, holding onto him for dear life. Even as you held him, though, you could feel it. His body slowly became nothing, turning into the brilliant light that was normally a comfort to you. Now, it was mocking your naivety, thinking that things could stay the same as they always had. Thinking that in this lifetime you could find happiness with him.

This…lifetime.

“I promise, just look into the sky,” Xavier said, and through tears, you tried looking up, but it was overcast, “My light, I promise, it’ll always shine on you. Guide you. It’ll never be far.” He said, letting out a small cough. Then he was gone, and in an instant, your entire world crumbled. Your nails dug into the ground as you wailed into the night sky; the only thing left of Xavier was a singular star-shaped charm that you so often saw on his light blade.

He was gone, and you felt…so hollow. It was nothing like when Granny died or Caleb died. It was like a part of your soul was ripped out of your chest, and you could only stare at the ground, sobbing and letting your tears wet the dirt underneath you.

Then, there was a startled gasp from your throat. Your eyes snapping open to reveal nothing but darkness around you. As your eyes adjusted and you came to, you felt something warm around you, the brush of something soft on your wet cheeks and a voice that was so familiar and grounding it made you sob again.

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and you could finally hear it, “It’s okay, shhhh it’s alright,” Xavier’s voice was trying to get you out of whatever nightmare you had been having. You turned in his arms and wrapped your own around his torso, pressing your face into his chest. You couldn’t help the sobs that escaped you, little hiccups leaving your throat as you cried into his chest. His hands never left you, one of them playing with your hair, the other rubbing along your upper back.

His words were soothing, letting you know he was there, he was with you, he’d protect you. But you couldn’t protect him. It sent you spiraling again as you hugged him closer, and you felt his lips on your forehead now, his hand rubbing away some of your tears as he forced you to look at him.

“Hey, come on, look at my little star,” he murmured, his voice calm despite your hysterics. You could hear his breathing for once, forcing your own to even out with his own as you felt your heart slowing down a bit, your body no longer in a complete panic despite how your mind still told you that you let him die.

“Xavier,” you finally said, your voice wrecked and broken as you cupped his cheek. It was warm under your palm, soothing; his skin wasn’t clammy, and he felt alive. His blue eyes shined down on you, and you realized then that he had used his evol to make speckles of yellow light engulf the entire room, creating a starry night scene around you.

“Yes, I’m here, it’s okay.” He said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles, “I’m not going anywhere, so you can breathe.” He was soothing you, and you were melting into him. It was a nightmare, a bad dream, but it had felt so goddamn real.

“You’re really not going to leave me…” you began, biting your lower lip as you tried not to cry again, “You won’t turn to stardust, right? You won’t die on me, right? You’re gonna stay right here by my side.” You could see the way his eyes widened at your statement before taking on a more solemn look.

“I have never, and will never have any intention of leaving you,” he finally said, “My place is by your side, and I’ll do everything I can to remain by it, to make sure you’re okay.” He promised you, and you nodded.

“And what about you?” your voice sounded so tired, “You’ll make sure we’re both okay, right?” you asked, needing to hear it. Something flashed in his eyes as he took in a shaky breath, then he nodded.

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure we’re both okay.” He settled on. He was sitting up now, dragging you with him as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed his forehead against your own, “I’d never want to see you sad.”

“Then you have to stay alive, no matter what.” You spoke, knowing what you wanted, “Because without you…I…” he could see the tears welling up in your eyes again.

“I know, shhh, I know.” He was rocking you in his arms, “I’ll do my best not to die, okay?” they weren’t the words you needed to hear, but it was a little nice to hear his honesty. At least he’d put in the effort to stay alive for you.

“Okay,” you finally said, the word was barely a murmur as you closed your eyes, “Okay…”

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Xavier Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Xavier #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #xavier x reader #l&ds #l&ds xavier #l&ds xavier x reader #lads x reader #lads xavier #lads xavier x reader

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seongwars · 2 days ago

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away with the wind | xiv

Pairing: dragonrider!Seonghwa x ex-dragonrider!Reader AU: dragon rider au | strangers -> lovers Summary: A spinal injury forces you to retire from dragon racing, and with it, the end of your engagement to Song Mingi. Park Seonghwa, a rising star in the world of dragon racing and heir to the prestigious House Park, seeks a new dragon after an unfortunate accident on the skyway. As the saying goes, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Word Count: 7.5K (sorry!) Warnings: dragon violence, kidnapped children, swearing, mentions of blood

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a/n: this chapter's for the san girlies

Emergency Evacuation Order: Leave Immediately

A massive dragon has been sighted wreaking havoc, with confirmed reports of collapsed infrastructure, fires, and heavy casualties. Troops have been deployed in response to the ongoing destruction. All citizens are urged to evacuate now to ensure their safety.

San stood at the edge of the city, flanked by soldiers armed with automatic rifles modified to fire incendiary rounds. The harsh glow of searchlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the monstrous form of Yeosang’s dragon as it circled above, its rotted scales gleaming like a living war machine.

“Coordinates locked!” called an officer from the command unit, his voice muffled by the roar of jet engines overhead.

“Missiles are primed and ready, General Choi!”

San’s jaw tightened as he tracked the dragon’s movements. It wasn’t just a creature—it was a weapon, an apex predator bred for war created by the hands of man. Its talons carved into the sides of buildings as it perched on a crumbling skyscraper, its long neck craning to survey the chaos below.

“Negative,” he ordered. “We’re too close to civilian zones, we have to flush it out.”

A squad scrambled into action, launching rockets that briefly lit up the battlefield in fiery streaks. The dragon twisted in midair, evading the barrage, and, in a swift and devastating counterattack, unleashed a torrent of searing flames engulfing the battlefield in a hellish inferno.

The explosion shook the ground violently. San barely had time to duck as vehicles burst into flames, sending debris and shrapnel flying in every direction. Stelle folded her massive wings around him, shielding him from the onslaught. Falling debris struck her armored hide but bounced off harmlessly. Her golden eyes, piercing and insistent, turned to him with urgency.

“Drones, target the left wing,” San ordered, his voice rough but firm. “Smoke it out now!”

From above, a formation of drones shifted into position, releasing a barrage of missiles. The dragon roared in frustration as several struck its wing membranes, tearing through the delicate structure as the beast faltered mid-air. But as the smoke cleared, the hope drained from San’s face. The dragon flapped its wings once, twice, regaining its balance with ease. The damage had been superficial at best.

His heart pounded in his chest as he racked his brain, desperately trying to remember every detail of a dragon’s anatomy. He could hear the frantic chatter in his earpiece, soldiers shouting over each other as they scrambled to recalibrate their approach. But he forced himself to block out the noise, his mind racing through everything he’d ever learned from his training and folktales about dragons.

“The wings are reinforced,” he muttered, piecing it together out loud as his eyes scanned the beast.

“The scales are too thick for standard rounds... Headshots require too much precision…” His gaze darted across the dragon’s body, searching for anything—a crack in its armor, an unprotected joint, anything that could give them an edge.

Then it hit him—He could almost hear Jongho’s nagging as if he were standing right beside him, dropping a precariously tall stack of books onto the table.

“This is ridiculous,” San grumbled, flipping the book open. “Do you really think I’ll ever need to know the difference between a fire gland and a venom sac? Or the exact length of a dragon’s vertebrae?”

“If you don’t understand how they move, how they breathe, or where they’re vulnerable, you’ll be dead,” Jongho retorted sharply.

“What kind of soldier would you be then? You’ll thank me later!”

San had sighed, dragging his hand down his face, but the seriousness in Jongho’s voice had silenced any further complaints. He’d spent the rest of the night pouring over diagrams of wing joints and muscle structures, muttering curses under his breath.

But now, standing in the middle of a battlefield with a dragon circling above him, its eyes scanning for its next target, San let out a breathless laugh.

“The throat,” he said aloud, his voice firm. His eyes narrowed as he locked onto the underside of the dragon’s neck, where the scales thinned just slightly to allow for flexibility. It was a small target, but if they could strike that spot with enough precision and force, it might be enough to sever critical muscles and disrupt the glands beneath.

He tapped his comm, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Focus on the throat—right under the jaw! We take that out, we stop the fire.”

“Understood, General,” a voice replied, shaky but determined.

“Let’s fly,” San said, gripping Stelle’s reins tightly. She let out a fierce roar in response, her wings flapping open as she ascended into the fray, ready to execute San’s plan.

⊹

“Y/N said you had the coordinates for the kids,” Seonghwa demanded, striding toward Mingi.

Mingi, lounged casually against a van, barely sparing him a glance at first. When he did, it was with that infuriating, shit-eating grin that stoked Seonghwa’s temper.

“Well, hello to you too,” he drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm.

Seonghwa stopped a few feet away from him, his patience visibly thinning. “Time’s running out,” he snapped, his voice low but filled with restrained anger.

“Do you have the coordinates or not?”

“I do,” Mingi said, his voice firm, though doubt flickered in his gaze. He folded his arms, his stance challenging as his eyes narrowed.

“You gonna kick in the door and hope for the best?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Seonghwa replied coldly, his posture unyielding as he stood tall, meeting Mingi’s stare head-on.

“And if it doesn’t work, I can always call reinforcements.”

Mingi let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless as it echoed through the room. He shook his head, the bitterness in his expression unmistakable.

“Reinforcements,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with disdain. “Ah, I forgot. You’re always trying to play the hero, aren’t you? The golden boy with his endless connections and resources.”

Seonghwa’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening as he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the kids and I made a promise to see it through. Either you give me the coordinates or get out of my way.”

“Enough,” Yunho interjected firmly, stepping between them before the tension could escalate further. His calm yet commanding presence immediately demanded their attention.

“This isn’t the time for that. Is there anything else we need to know, Mingi?”

Mingi glanced at Seonghwa, his defiance momentarily tempered by Yunho’s steady tone.

“The facility won’t be as heavily guarded as the lab,” he admitted, his tone begrudging. “But it’s still a stronghold.”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground before he continued. “And the kids...might not come quietly.”

“What do you mean?” Yunho asked.

Mingi’s expression darkened. “They’ve been through hell,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a bitterness he couldn’t quite mask.

“The testing, the experiments—it’s messed with their heads.”

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay focused. Letting anger take over wouldn’t help—not now.

“How many are there?” he asked, his tone clipped, trying to push past the sinking weight settling in his chest.

“At least fifteen. Maybe more. It’s hard to say for sure. Some were... eliminated,” Mingi replied. The word came out jagged, laced with bitterness and contempt as he forced it out.

Seonghwa’s expression darkened, his brows knitting together as he absorbed the information. “Fifteen,” he repeated, the word hanging heavily in the air.

His mind raced, already calculating the logistics. Supplies. Transportation. Medical aid. The sheer manpower needed to extract so many—and that was assuming they could even move.

“And how many of them can even move? If they’ve been subjected to tests—”

“You think they’ll be marching out of there in neat rows? Most of them are half-starved, scared out of their minds, and don’t even know what ‘safe’ looks like anymore.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. He knew Mingi was right; the kids weren’t just prisoners—they were victims of something far worse, and whatever strength they had left was likely hanging by a thread.

Yunho glanced between the two men, his own expression grim. “Then we need to be prepared,” he said evenly, breaking the tension.

“If we’re going to do this, we have to go in ready for anything—not just the defenses, but the kids themselves. Their fear. Their distrust. Everything they’ve been through.”

Seonghwa’s gaze hardened, the determination in his eyes unshaken despite the grim picture Mingi painted. “We’ll figure it out,” he said firmly, his voice carrying a quiet but undeniable conviction.

“We’ll need supplies—food, medical kits, and a contingency plan for the worst-case scenario.” His mind raced, organizing the next steps with the precision of someone who refused to let failure be an option.

“Mingi,” Seonghwa continued, his focus turning to his rival, “you know the layout better than anyone. We’ll need every detail—entry points, exits, guard rotations, weak spots.”

“Yunho,” he said, his tone softer but no less commanding as his attention shifted, “we’re going to need more than Voltage and Starshine to ferry the kids out. Find us extra transport.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with the gravity of the task ahead. Then, his voice softened, the quiet determination in his tone making it clear there was no room for doubt.

“But no matter what,” he said, his gaze locking on each of them in turn, “we’re not leaving them there. Not one.”

The brightness of the surgical light above felt almost intrusive, forcing your eyes to flutter shut. Each beep of the monitors echoed like a countdown, a reminder of the risks surrounding the procedure.

Your body felt like it wasn’t entirely your own—numb, heavy, distant. Even the sharp sting of the anesthetic was fleeting, overtaken by a spreading warmth that dulled your senses. Your head felt heavy, the edges of consciousness slipping further away with every passing second.

Somewhere beyond the haze, you think you hear Seonghwa’s voice, but you can’t make out the words. The last thing you saw before darkness took over was the bright light overhead.

And then silence.

“She’s under,” the nurse announced, checking the monitors. Steady beeps confirmed your vitals, though the subtle fluctuations suggest a body already trying to fight the invasive tech.

The surgeon leaned in, her gloved hands steady above the incision site. “Let’s get this done before the implant integrates itself into the spinal column. No room for error,” she muttered.

With surgical precision, she made the first incision at the base of your neck, the scalpel slicing cleanly through layers of skin and muscle. Blood welled around the edges of the cut, quickly suctioned away to maintain a clear view. Beneath the tissue, the faint metallic glint of the implant caught the overhead light, a foreign presence embedded deep within your body.

Her brow furrowed as she maneuvered delicately, parting sinew and nerves with control. Sweat beaded at her temple as she worked to sever the intricate web of connections between the implant and your spinal column.

Outside the operating room, your family waited in agonizing silence. Sunmi paced in tight circles, her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Your grandmother sat on the edge of a chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, lips moving in silent prayer. Every so often, her gaze flicked toward the door, as if willing it to open and deliver good news.

The shrill ring of a phone cut through the heavy quiet, startling everyone. Your grandmother fumbled for her device, hands shaking slightly as she answered.

“Sangjoong?”

“I know this might not be the most opportune time,” his voice crackled from the other end of the line.

“But Seonghwa has asked for our help.”

Your grandmother’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “What do you mean?”

“Time is running out,” Sangjoong said, his voice filled with urgency, “and it’s a long story, but Seonghwa has the coordinates to the location of some missing children linked to Cromer Labs. There are two dragons available to help with the extraction but he’ll need more.”

Chunja’s gaze flickered toward Sunmi, who had stopped pacing, her eyes wide as she stared at your grandmother.

“I…suppose,” your grandmother began, her voice measured but laced with an undertone of hesitation, “since the military is preoccupied with that monstrosity, the burden must fall elsewhere.”

For a moment, Chunja remained seated, her hands gripping the arms of the chair as though grounding herself for what was to come. Then she stood slowly, her movements carrying the weight of years spent navigating impossible choices. Yet, there was no trace of weakness in her posture.

“It will be done,” she said firmly, the hesitation gone from her voice. Her eyes burned with an unyielding determination as she tightened her grip on the phone.

“Tell Seonghwa I’ll bring three dragons.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the faint hum of static underscoring the enormity of her promise.

“I’ll send you the coordinates,” Sangjoong replied, his tone grave but tinged with relief. Without another word, the call ended, the screen going dark in her hand.

“You’re not really going, are you?” Sunmi’s voice broke through the quiet, tinged with urgency and disbelief.

Chunja’s lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of Sunmi’s question settling on her like a shroud. For a moment, she stood still, the silence stretching between them. Then, with a slow breath, she lifted her gaze.

“Aurora hasn’t been at war for 200 years, but we will be if we don’t stop what’s happening with that dragon.”

She paused, her gaze distant, and for a moment, Sunmi thought she wouldn’t say more. But then Chunja’s shoulders straightened, and her tone took on a deeper gravity.

“When I was young, the riders before me warned us of this. They said that peace wouldn’t last forever—that one day, the skies would burn again, and it would be up to us to hold the line.” Her expression softened, touched by a flicker of something almost mournful.

“I didn’t believe them. I thought we’d outgrown war, that we’d finally learned.”

Chunja turned, her eyes meeting Sunmi’s, sharp and unyielding. “But I look at the next generation—the children we’ve trained, the dragons we’ve bred full of fire and hope—and I see it in their eyes. They’re not ready. Not for this. If we don’t act now, they’ll be the ones dragged into a war they don’t understand, against an enemy they’ve never faced. I won’t let that happen.”

“If I have to risk everything to give them a chance to live in the peace we’ve had, I’ll do it.”

⊹

Yeosang stood atop the roof of Cromer Labs, observing the battle between humanity and Hope unfold beneath him. She was magnificent—his masterpiece. The way she twisted and dove, effortlessly outmaneuvering the Auroran military’s clumsy aircraft, filled him with a rare sense of pride. Her form was immaculate, every movement a testament to years of meticulous work, trial, and sacrifice.

The battle below was a cacophony of explosions, melding with the roar of gunfire, and the desperate shouts of soldiers scrambling for cover. Missiles and drones screeched overhead, in an attempt to land a hit on her, but she was too fast. Too agile. Every shell that came near her was met with a graceful twist of her body or a sweep of her tail that sent it careening harmlessly into the ground.

“Beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, voice barely audible over the chaos below.

Yet even as he admired her, a voice in the back of his head reminded him that the Auroran military was relentless. Squads were regrouping, heavier artillery was being deployed, and from the corner of his eye, he caught jets breaking through the clouds.

Hope roared again, this time in pain, as one of the jets managed to land a glancing blow along her flank. Yeosang’s heart seized for a moment, his fists clenching at his sides. She faltered in the air, her wings shuddering, but recovered quickly, retaliating with a burst of searing red flames that engulfed the jet, sending it spiraling in a fiery wreck.

Yeosang’s gaze returned to Hope, who had regained her momentum, surging through the remaining jets with determination. For all their efforts, the Auroran military was fighting a losing battle. Yeosang knew it, and from the looks of panic and desperation below, so did they. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a statement. A testament to the power of what he had created.

Smoke billowed from wreckage, the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth rising to meet him when a sudden, high-pitched whine pierced the air.

The strike hit Hope's throat before she could react, embedding deep into the vulnerable space between her armored scales. She let out a strangled, guttural roar that reverberated through Yeosang like a physical blow.

“No!” A shout tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained. His face dropped as he watched her writhe in pain, struggling to lift her head. Smoke and debris obscured his view, but he could see the harpoon glinting in the pale light.

Rage surged through him, hot and unrelenting, searing away any remnants of logic or restraint. He turned his gaze skyward, his eyes locking onto the craft responsible. It hovered ominously, its sleek design unlike anything the military had deployed before.

Then his eyes shifted, narrowing as they locked onto the unmistakable figure leading the charge—a rider atop a dragon nearly as formidable as Hope.

San.

“Of course,” Yeosang hissed under his breath, his voice trembling with fury. The strike wasn’t a fluke. It was a warning shot, meant to prove that San wasn’t just a soldier—he was a tactician. A predator.

Yeosang’s gaze snapped back to Hope, her massive form heaving with labored breaths as she struggled to push herself upright. Blood seeped from the wound in her throat, staining the debris around her. Yet despite the pain and the odds, she didn’t yield. Her fiery eyes burned with defiance, her growls low but unbroken.

"You think you can match her? Match me?" Yeosang gritted.

Hope let out a deep, guttural growl as she shifted, attempting to rise despite her injuries. The harpoon may have struck deep, but it hadn’t stolen her fire. Even through the haze of pain, she zeroed in on Stelle, her instincts sharp and unrelenting. She wasn’t done fighting—not yet.

Above, San’s sharp eyes met Yeosang’s from across the distance. There was no gloating in his expression, no trace of smugness. Instead, his face was set with cold, unwavering resolve. He wasn’t here to play games. This wasn’t a spectacle for him. It was war.

Yeosang’s jaw tightened, his fury simmering beneath the surface as his gaze flicked back to Hope, watching as she fought against her injuries, her growls deepening into something almost primal.

“Stand down,” San ordered.

Stelle’s wings shifted slightly, her posture tense, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. San wasn’t threatening—he was offering Yeosang a choice.

Before Yeosang could answer, Hope let out a guttural snarl and launched herself into the air, propelled by a surge of desperate fury, and in a heartbeat, collided with Stelle.

San, perched firmly on Stelle’s back, barely shifted as her wings flared out, catching the air with ease as she twisted to avoid Hope’s next attack. Her talons lashed out, grazing Hope’s shoulder and drawing blood, but the dragon barely flinched, her defiance burning brighter.

From below, Yeosang watched the clash with clenched fists, the battle a representation of the storm brewing within him. The air crackled with tension, the sky above him a blur of flailing wings, scales, and unyielding resolve.

Seonghwa paced outside the meeting point near the holding facility, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. The distant roars of dragons and the echoing explosions from the battle with Yeosang reverberated through the air, each rumble amplifying his unease. The rendezvous was supposed to be quick–yet, every second felt like an eternity.

On the horizon, shimmering forms emerged over the ridge, causing Seonghwa to freeze mid-step. Cirrus and Eos glided into view, their scales reflecting the moonlight even in the dead of night. Trailing behind them was a larger shadow that made Seonghwa’s heart drop. Dante landed last with a thud, sending tremors through the ground. His fiery amber eyes scanned the area before narrowing at Seonghwa.

“Lady Chunja,” Seonghwa called, jogging toward Chunja as she dismounted. Relief washed over him as Cirrus trotted forward, nudging him lightly in greeting, but it was quickly overshadowed by the audible huff from Dante. He swung his massive head to the side, a deliberate show of disinterest as Seonghwa approached.

“Seonghwa,” Chunja greeted, brushing dirt off her cloak. She didn’t seem winded from the flight, her composure as unshakable as ever. “Has everyone else arrived?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa replied, his voice tight. “Hongjoong, Yunho, and I will be assisting with the extraction, which leaves you and Lord Kim with our retreat.”

Chunja nodded, her sharp eyes assessing the surroundings. “Cirrus, Eos—hold position here. Dante…” She patted the elder dragon’s side, her tone softening.

“Try to behave.”

Dante rumbled low in his throat, the sound reverberating like distant thunder. His gaze shifted to Seonghwa, who stood his ground despite the tension crackling between them.

Mingi emerged cautiously from the shadows, his expression guarded as he approached. The faint tension in his posture was unmistakable, and his eyes flickered briefly over each dragon before landing on Chunja.

Your grandmother straightened slightly, her gaze cool and assessing. Though she was no stranger to second chances, her wariness of Mingi lingered, especially after all that had transpired at the end of your relationship.

“My lady,” Mingi greeted, bowing slightly to Chunja. His voice was steady, but there was a subtle hesitation in the way he spoke, as if testing the waters.

“Mingi,” Chunja acknowledged, her tone neutral but carrying the weight of her watchful scrutiny.

Dante’s gaze flicked over toward Mingi, his expression unreadable, though the slight flare of his nostrils suggested his own distrust. Your grandmother cleared her throat, reminding her dragon to stand down.

“What’s the status inside?”

Mingi blinked, as if shaking himself free of the moment, and cleared his throat in response. “The facility’s defenses are spread thin,” he began, his voice firm as he focused on the task at hand.

“Most of the guards were drawn to the city because of the dragon attack. We have a narrow window of opportunity.”

“And the children?”

“They’re being held in the lower levels,' he replied grimly. 'I didn’t see many guards down there, but the clock’s ticking. The longer we wait, the more likely reinforcements will show up.”

Chunja nodded, her sharp eyes narrowing as she calculated their next move. “Understood. Then we don’t waste another moment.”

⊹

Mingi slipped through the side entrance of the facility, the faint hum of the security systems buzzing in his ears. It wasn’t heavily guarded—not like the lab, but that only made him more cautious.

He adjusted his earpiece, keeping his breathing steady. “I’m inside. No sign of resistance yet,” he whispered.

The corridors were dimly lit, the walls suffocating as he moved deeper into the facility. The air was sterile, yet heavy with an unspoken tension. Faint sounds echoed—distant machinery, muffled cries that made his stomach churn.

The children.

He turned a corner, coming face-to-face with a single guard. The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed the guard by the collar, slamming him into the wall with a force that knocked him unconscious before he could raise the alarm.

“Clear,” he whispered, moving past the crumpled figure.

Behind him, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Seonghwa moved into position, their eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement. Hongjoong knelt briefly by the guard’s body, ensuring he was fully out cold before signaling the others to advance.

They moved quickly, their footsteps muffled against the polished floor. The faint hum of machinery buzzed in the background, broken only by the occasional distant echo of voices or the sharp hiss of steam from the facility’s ventilation system.

They pressed forward, the dim hallways twisting and turning like a labyrinth. The air grew colder as they descended deeper into the facility, the faint sound of muffled cries and shuffling feet growing louder with each step.

Mingi’s chest tightened as they rounded another corner, revealing a large, reinforced door. A keypad blinked red at its side, indicating its locked status. His fingers flew over the keypad, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he bypassed the security protocol.

“Give me a minute,” he muttered, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill.

The heavy door slid open with a hiss, revealing a dimly lit room lined with capsule-like pods stacked neatly along the walls. Each pod was just large enough to hold a single person, the frosted panels glowing faintly with a white light. Inside, children of various ages were curled up in makeshift beds, their faces pale and drawn under the dim glow.

As the door opened fully, heads began to turn. One by one, the children stirred, blinking against the sudden shift in light. Their movements were tentative at first—hesitant, unsure—before the realization dawned on them: the strangers were there to help.

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho didn’t hesitate. Moving quickly, they slid open the pods, speaking softly to the children as they extended their hands.

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong assured, his voice calm and steady as he coaxed a young girl to climb out of her pod. “We’re here to take you somewhere safe.”

Seonghwa knelt beside another pod, offering a reassuring smile to a boy clutching a thin blanket tightly around his shoulders. “Can you stand?” he asked gently. The boy nodded, his thin legs trembling as Seonghwa helped him to his feet.

The children began to gather in small clusters near the center of the room, their movements stiff and uncertain as they clung to each other for comfort. The atmosphere was heavy with quiet murmurs and stifled sobs, a mix of relief and fear.

Mingi crouched near them, his tone soft but steady as he coaxed them closer. “Come on. Stay together and follow me,” he urged, his gaze scanning the group to ensure he didn’t miss anyone.

The children moved as a single, trembling mass, their feet shuffling against the floor as Mingi led them toward the exit. Each sound—the creak of the walls, the hum of machinery—made them flinch. Their fear was palpable as Mingi and Hongjoong worked quickly to lead them out.

From the shadows of the far corner, a figure stepped forward. It was an older boy, his frame lanky but strong, his expression sharp and watchful. He looked about seventeen, his dark eyes scanning the room quietly. His presence was commanding, a stark contrast to the younger children.

Yunho froze for a moment as recognition flashed across his face.

“Jinsik?” he called, his voice soft but filled with urgency.

The boy stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening slightly. His gaze locked onto Yunho, and after a tense moment, he gave a small, sharp nod.

“You’re alive,” Yunho breathed, the tension in his shoulders easing as his expression softened. He took a careful step forward, as though approaching a skittish animal.

“Your father never stopped looking for you. He asked us to help.”

The mention of his father made something flicker in Jinsik’s expression. His jaw tightened, his eyes darting to the ground before flicking back to Yunho’s. There was no anger, no joy, just…shame.

Jinsik hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. The room seemed impossibly quiet, save for the muffled murmurs of the other children as they gathered near the exit.

“He shouldn’t have,” he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness and self-loathing. “It’s my fault I’m in this mess to begin with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was just another pawn in Cromer’s game. They promised my family everything and I believed them. But it was all a lie,” his voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Yunho’s heart ached at the sight of the young man before him, his shoulders hunched under the crushing weight of guilt and betrayal. “Your father doesn’t care about any of that,” Yunho said firmly.

“He just wants you back. You’re not a failure, Jinsik. You’re still here, and you’re safe. All that matters is getting you home.”

Jinsik hesitated, the lines of tension in his face softening slightly as Yunho’s words sank in. His shoulders loosened just a fraction, but the doubt in his eyes lingered, a trauma response developed from betrayal and disappointment.

“If it helps…” Yunho began, his voice growing lighter, an edge of warmth creeping into his tone, almost teasing. “I think there’s someone here you really admire who wants to help.”

The boy blinked, startled by the shift in Yunho’s demeanor. His brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

Yunho didn’t answer directly. Instead, he jerked his head toward the far end of the corridor, where Seonghwa was crouched, gently adjusting the blanket around a young girl he had scooped into his arms. The girl clung to him, her tear-streaked face buried in his shoulder as Seonghwa spoke to her in low, soothing tones.

Jinsik’s gaze followed Yunho’s gesture, his eyes widening as he watched Seonghwa balancing the girl in one arm while performing a headcount of the children.

“That’s…” Jinsik whispered, his voice trailing off. His lips parted slightly, in awe.

“P-Park Seonghwa?”

Yunho nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The one and only. So, what do you say? Ready to get out of here?”

Jinsik looked down, his jaw clenching as emotions churned within him. Slowly, he exhaled and gave a small nod, his shoulders lifting as he straightened. The doubt in his eyes lingered, but now there was a spark of determination breaking through, fragile but growing stronger. Without another word, he stepped forward, moving to join the younger children as they huddled together.

The sound of boots pounding against the floor grew louder, echoing through the corridors like an ominous drumbeat. "Find them! They couldn’t have gotten far!" a voice barked, harsh and commanding.

“Faster!” Hongjoong urged, his voice a harsh whisper as he crouched beside the maintenance hatch, holding the panel open. “Come on, kids—don’t stop now!”

The children shuffled forward in a trembling line, their movements sluggish with fear. Yunho, his face tense but calm, stayed in the middle of the group, gently guiding them one by one into the cramped passage.

"You’re doing great," he murmured, his large frame shielding them from the growing chaos around them. "Just a little more."

Mingi stood at the back, his eyes darting between the approaching corridor and the last of the children climbing into the hatch. The walls groaned ominously, the aging facility betraying its fragility. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting shadows across the floor that made the younger ones flinch and cling to each other.

Mingi’s stomach twisted. They were running out of time.

“Seonghwa,” Mingi hissed, his voice low but sharp. “Take them. I’ll stay back.”

“What?” Seonghwa snapped, spinning around to face him.

“There’s no time to argue,” he shot back, his voice sharp but quiet. His gaze flicked to Yunho, who nodded grimly and ushered the last child into the hatch.

“If they see you,” Mingi continued, “it’s over for all of us. I can buy you time.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “This is insane, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” Mingi interrupted. “They need you more than me. Go.”

For a moment, Seonghwa hesitated, the conflict clear in his eyes. But then Hongjoong grabbed his arm, his voice low and bitter. “He’s right. We have to get them out. Now.”

With one last glance, Seonghwa ducked into the hatch, pulling the panel shut behind him.

The corridor fell eerily silent. Mingi exhaled slowly, his hands balling into fists at his sides. The flickering light above cast a pale glow over the empty hallway, the stillness almost unnerving. The guards rounded the corner moments later, their weapons raised.

“There!” one of them barked.

Mingi stepped forward, raising his hands in mock surrender. His lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and disdain. “Well, you found me,” he drawled, his tone deliberately lazy and dripping with defiance.

“What now?”

The guards hesitated, their formation faltering as they processed the scene. Their eyes swept over the hallway, confusion creeping in when they saw no one else. This wasn’t what they’d expected—a lone figure standing calmly in the middle of the chaos.

“Sir…Mr. Mingi?” one of them stammered, lowering his weapon slightly. His gaze wavered, as if trying to reconcile the defiant man in front of him with the S-class rider.

The guards hesitated, their formation faltering as they took in the man standing before them. Mingi’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes tracked their every move, sharp and calculating. He stepped forward deliberately, forcing them to react.

The lead guard’s face darkened as he stepped forward, his weapon still raised but unsteady. “We were told intruders broke in. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“If you’d stop pointing those things at me, maybe I’d explain,” Mingi replied smoothly, his hands still raised in a mockery of surrender.

“Unless, of course, Cromer Labs wants to deal with the PR nightmare of you roughing up their golden boy.”

At the mention of Cromer Labs, the guards froze, their faces a mix of confusion and apprehension. “He’s... he’s sponsored by the labs,” one of them muttered, glancing nervously at the others. “We can’t touch him.”

“You lay a hand on me, and I guarantee the higher-ups will have your heads. So maybe think twice before pulling that trigger, yeah?”

The guards grew more uneasy, their weapons shaking as they looked at each other in uncertainty. The tension was thick, but Mingi stood firm, appearing confident despite his racing heart. Behind him, the children's footsteps had stopped—they were gone and safe now. That was all that mattered.

Outside, Chunja stood rigid, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The cold night air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her sharp eyes scanned the surrounding shadows, searching for any sign of trouble.

“Jang’s a fool—always has been,” Chunja muttered under her breath, her voice low but seething. “Keeping Lady Lee around was his biggest mistake.”

Sangjoong snorted, shaking her head in disdain. “The man’s a walking disaster, as is, it’s pathetic.”

“She’s gotten comfortable—complacent.” Chunja’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That’s why she’s sloppy. I can’t wait until the Court buries her.”

Sangjoong’s smirk faltered, his expression turning serious. He pushed off Ventus, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Still, we need to be careful. She isn’t someone you corner without expecting a fight. She’s got dirt on half the council.”

Chunja rolled her eyes. “A family man with a son who works in the archives is all the dirt they have on you,” she said sharply. “You really think that’ll stick?”

“It’s not about what sticks,” Sangjoong replied, his tone measured. “She’s clever, Chunja. And desperate people are dangerous.”

Before Chunja could deliver another biting remark, movement at the edge of her vision drew her attention. Her head snapped toward the building, her posture immediately stiffening. Beside her, Dante, Eos, and Cirrus rose to their full height, joined by Lord Kim’s dragon, Ventus. Their tails swayed low and deliberate, their sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any threats.

The heavy door swung open with a low groan, and the soft murmur of voices spilled into the night. A small crowd began to emerge, their movements slow and tentative. Children—thin, pale, and wrapped in thin blankets that offered little protection against the chill—filed out in clusters. Their faces were etched with exhaustion and fear, but Yunho and Hongjoong guided them gently, their reassuring words coaxing the children forward.

Chunja’s expression softened, the ferocity in her eyes giving way to something gentler, though no less intense. “The children,” she murmured, uncrossing her arms and stepping forward slightly.

“We have to move quickly!” She turned back to the dragons, her hand raising in a commanding gesture. “Cirrus, Eos, prepare to mount. Every second we wait, someone else gets hurt.”

The dragons responded instantly. Cirrus stepped forward, lowering herself to the ground so the children could climb on more easily. Her eyes were sharp but gentle, and she rumbled softly, as if to reassure the nervous little ones. Eos mirrored the motion, her wings folding neatly as she crouched, ready to bear her load.

Sangjoong moved to assist, lifting the smaller children onto the dragons’ backs. “We’ll need to double up on a few of them. There’s no time for a second trip.”

“We’ll manage,” Seonghwa said firmly, his voice steady as he guided another child toward Starshine. “The dragons can handle it.”

Chunja took one last look around, her sharp eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. Satisfied, she stepped toward Cirrus, grabbing hold of the reins and vaulting onto the saddle.

The dragons rose in unison, their wings spreading wide as they prepared for flight. The children clung tightly to the ropes, filled with fear and awe as the powerful beasts beneath them began to stir.

With a mighty push, they launched into the air, their wings beating against the night sky as they carried their precious cargo to safety. Below, the ground quickly disappeared, leaving only the distant glow of their destination ahead.

“Where’s Dante?” Hongjoong asked, pulling Rami’s reins into an ascent.

Chunja glanced over her shoulder, her grip tightening on Cirrus’ reins. “He’s still down there,” she said calmly, her tone casual despite the growing tension.

Far below, Dante’s massive form stood out against the dark, his stormy scales blending into the surrounding rubble. The faint flicker of emergency lights played off his dark, iridescent scales as he prowled through the wreckage. Guards poured out of the collapsing facility, their shouts echoing into the night as they scrambled to mount a defense. Firelight built in his throat, molten and alive, spilling from the edges of his teeth like liquid gold.

“What is he—” Seonghwa started, leaning forward, but Chunja waved him off with a flick of her wrist.

“He’s finishing the job.”

Dante reared up on his hind legs with a deafening roar, his wings unfurling in a display of raw power. With a sudden exhale, a torrent of fire engulfed the facility in a single, devastating wave. The blaze consumed the facility in seconds, the flames hungrily devouring walls, machines, and anything left standing. Explosions burst like fireworks, sending debris shooting into the sky. The guards who had dared to give chase turned and ran, their shouts lost in the roar of destruction.

“That’s one way to put an end to things,” Seonghwa muttered.

Chunja smirked, leaning back in her saddle as Cirrus banked to give her a clearer view of the spectacle. “Efficient as always,” she remarked, completely unbothered by the destruction below.

Dante remained on the ground for a moment longer, his chest heaving as the last embers of his attack faded. Then, with a powerful leap, he launched himself into the sky. His dark wings cut through the smoke, and within moments, rejoined the others.

The elder dragon flew close to Chunja, his eyes meeting hers briefly. She gave him a small nod, her expression softening. “Good work,” she murmured, though her voice was lost in the wind.

Ahead, the other dragons maintained their pace, the children clutching tightly to each other as the wind rushed past. Chunja glanced toward the horizon, her eyes narrowing slightly as the faint glow of the Park Estate came into view.

The two dragons collided in mid-air, their snarls reverberating through the night as claws and teeth clashed in a brutal, primal dance. Scales and firelight flew, and the sky seemed to tremble under the weight of their fury.

Hope, undeterred by Stelle’s onslaught of flames, snarled in response. Her rotting scales shimmered as she surged forward with a burst of speed, her claws slashing through the air in an attempt to cripple Stelle. San tugged on his reins, guiding Stelle just enough to avoid the blow, the tip of Hope’s claws grazing her side.

“Don’t falter now,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, though it was unclear if the words were meant for Hope or himself.

High above, Stelle dipped suddenly, her wings snapping close to her body as she plummeted toward the ground. San's grip on her harness didn't waver, his focus sharp as he prepared for her next maneuver. Hope followed, her roar tearing through the night as she dived after them.

Stelle roared as she banked sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding another fiery barrage from Hope. San leaned into her motion, his gaze flicking between Hope and the horizon, where the military forces lay in wait. The plan was simple but brutal: lure Hope into a vulnerable position where her exposed underbelly could be targeted. But getting her there was proving to be anything but easy.

San’s sharp eyes tracked every motion. “She’s guarding her underside,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his tone. “We need to expose her.”

Stelle let out a snarl in agreement, her intelligence matching her rider’s. With a sudden burst of speed, she dove toward Hope, her claws extended as though going for another strike.

Hope’s jaws snapped toward Stelle’s neck, but the war dragon abruptly shifted mid-dive, angling her body away at the last moment. Instead of landing her blow, Hope overextended, her balance faltering as she left herself momentarily exposed.

“There!” San shouted.

But Hope was quick to recover, her wings beating furiously as she propelled herself upward to regain her position.

“She’s too fast,” San muttered, narrowing his eyes. Then, an idea sparked. “Stelle, we need to keep baiting her. Keep her focused on us, and make her think we’re desperate.”

Stelle grunted, angling sharply as she dove again. This time, her movements were erratic, almost sloppy, as though she was struggling under Hope’s relentless assault.

Below, military forces were in position, their weapons primed and ready with projectiles waiting for the perfect shot. Stelle dove low, her wings slicing through the air as she skimmed just above the ground, weaving a frantic path to evade pursuit. Hope surged behind, her larger, heavier form struggling to match Stelle’s speed. Forced to descend lower than usual, Hope pushed hard to close the distance.

San’s breath hitched as he watched the pursuit unfold, every beat of his heart mirroring the tension in the air. His voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

“Now, Stelle! Climb!”

With a powerful beat of her wings, Stelle shot upward, spinning sharply to avoid Hope’s snapping jaws. The maneuver left the rotting dragon exposed, her underbelly glinting in the moonlight as she struggled to adjust her trajectory.

From the ground, a signal flare burst into the sky. The first cannon fired, its projectile screaming toward Hope with deadly precision. It struck her exposed underbelly, exploding into a burst of fire and shrapnel.

Her furious roar morphed into a cry of agony as she twisted midair, desperately trying to evade further strikes. The second and third projectiles followed in quick succession, slamming into her with unrelenting force. Her mighty presence diminished to pitiful whimpers as she plummeted toward the ground, reduced to a flailing mass of wings and scales.

“No!” Yeosang fell to his knees, his outstretched hand trembled, as if he could somehow catch her fall or undo the damage.

Dust and debris filled the air, but Yeosang remained frozen, his face pale and contorted in disbelief. “You can’t take her from me!” he bellowed, his words heavy with despair.

“She was mine,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, the sharp edge of his anger giving way to an overwhelming grief. His chest heaved as his mind raced, grasping at the enormity of his loss.

“How…how could this happen?”

For a moment, all the fight drained out of him, leaving him hollow and shaking. Then, slowly, his grief ignited into something darker. His gaze snapped upward, locking onto those responsible. His jaw tightened, and his trembling hands clenched into fists.

Stelle circled above, her movements sharp and vigilant as ground troops swarmed around Hope's fallen form. On the lab’s rooftop, several helicopters hovered ominously, encircling Yeosang, preventing him from attempting escape.

“It’s over,” San called out through the cacophony of rotor blades and distant shouts. There was no room for doubt, no hesitation in his tone. His gaze bore into Yeosang’s, unwavering even as the other man trembled with the weight of his grief and rage.

<< xiii | xv >>

a/n: we're close to the finish line (only 3 chapters left to wrap up everything nicely) 😭 sorry if this seemed rushed, I had to cut 2K words of dragon fights and traumatized children

taglist: @chngbnwf, @sunnysidesins @litolmochi @syubseokie @park-simphwa @szakias @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @maliamaiden @signingsongbird @passionandsuga @mitchii

@notevenheretbh1 @intowxnderland @foxinnie8 @sanriomilk @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

#away with the wind #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez #ateez au #dragon rider au #fantasy au #seonghwa x y/n #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x you #seonghwa

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bratbarzal · 1 day ago

Text

On My Side (NH13)

Pairing: Nico "I think the hockey gods were on my side" Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy

WC: 6k

part of the On Your Side universe

*This is a bonus chapter set after the ending of the overall fic, and can be read as a standalone if you haven't read the fic, but if you want to understand their dynamic and Poppy's personality a little more, you should!!!

Description: 18+ MDNI, Nico comes home to Poppy after scoring his first ever career hat-trick for the Devils. Way more fluff than smut but Nico is down bad as always.

A/N: You're all a bunch of enablers and that's all I have to say on the matter!!! Hope this fills the void while I continue to struggle with chapter ten lmao there is mention of Baby Cheeto in here but no spoilers for her name. Nico calls her Bug as a nickname, like _____-Bug, Chäferli (little bug) or just Bug for short, but it isn't her actual name. I can't use Cheeto forever lmao. I was literally trying to think of a title and remembered he said the words "on my side" WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HE'S A MASTERMIND he's an oys!truther if I ever saw one! Painfully obsessed with Poppy if you ask me. Also the way Cheeto would rock the heck out of this it's so cute I had to share

Nico Hischier likes to think he’s a patient man.

Finally scoring his first career hat-trick after 8 years in the NHL, after 476 games played with the Devils, would be the ultimate testament to that.

Doing so in the first ever game with his daughter in attendance - on home turf, his mother and Poppy holding her up in the family suite during warm-ups in her little Devils teddy sleeper that he can only just make out from down on the ice, but has his rampant heart beating out of his chest all the same - has him thinking that maybe, after all those years, after all those games, the stars had been aligning for him the whole time.

And it was that sort of patience he had tried to tune into since the end of the second period, when he knew Poppy had left early to try skip traffic and get their little girl home safe for bed.

It’s what he tries to channel in the aftermath of the game, swarmed by reporters in the locker room, trying to remain polite and professional, not rushing them through their questions or giving half-assed answers - knowing he owes a lot more than that to the organisation that has allowed him to get this far. Trying to save just a speck of energy to give when he finally gets home, collapsing into the warm embrace of the girls he knows are waiting patiently for him.

It’s what he holds onto when he has to take a detour on his way home, dropping his mom off at her hotel and trying not to visibly squirm in his seat as she regales him with stories of how his daughter had captured the hearts of everyone she encountered, swallowing down the slight jealousy that he hadn’t been there to see it and clinging to the fact that he had his own success elsewhere in the night - success that played second fiddle in his own mother’s eyes to the experience of sharing her granddaughter’s first ever game with her, an experience he had to endure twice as she called his father from his car, deep chuckles ringing through the speakers as he tried to get a word in edge ways beyond her excitement.

It’s what has him shaking with anticipation as he almost skips down the hall to their apartment, mustering up the rest of his energy to walk into their home without the weight of the world on his shoulders, leaving any doubt, any insecurity, any lingering self-deprecation at the door so he can bask in this moment with the two hearts that are shaped entirely to fit him into them.

And it’s what has him shaking off whatever disappointment tries to creep in when he sees his little girl asleep in Poppy’s arms, knowing whatever tiny part of her he will ever get will always be enough - even if her big, glassy eyes aren’t looking up at him, even if he doesn’t come home to one of those heart-stopping beaming smiles she has started to give to him whenever he enters the room - her being here, sleeping safely in the arms of her beautiful mother, and him getting to come home to whatever version of them he can, is more than he could ever ask for.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the hat-trick hero.” Poppy’s soft voice carries to him as he makes his way over, dropping his bag on the floor and keys on the counter, heading straight to where she is now standing and pressing a kiss to her waiting lips. “Hi, handsome.”

“She didn’t wanna say goodnight to her daddy, huh?” He tries not to sound too dejected - he’s supposed to be on a high, after all - but after half an hour of his mother unintentionally bragging about all the attention she had been giving to her Gromi all night, he can’t help the slight sag of his shoulders - especially knowing that she’s going to be spending the morning with his mom tomorrow, too.

“Sorry, baby, we watched a little of you on the TV and then she got hangry,” Nico finds himself hypnotised by her still figure, enamoured with the way she exudes sheer calmness. The smile that creeps up on his lips seems to do so by muscle memory - a dopey kind of smile he’s probably had plastered on his face since she came into the world kicking and screaming 2 months ago, a smile permanently etched into his features from probably even before that. “I promise I tried to keep her up, she literally fell asleep on my boob.” Poppy whispers, watching with warm, glittery eyes as Nico takes in the sight of his two favourite people in front of him - Poppy already changed into one of his shirts, settled for the night, and his baby girl all cosy in her little teddy bear onesie, pacifier bobbing between her plush little lips.

“Look at her hat,” he pouts, running a finger along the folded seam of the way-too-big beanie Poppy has perched on top of her head, the knit fabric falling just short of her closed eyes. “That’s adorable.”

“Your mom put it on her before we left,” Poppy chuckles lightly, “Wanted to keep it on until you got home, we had to celebrate the hatty properly.” Her brows raise as if gesturing to the bill of the cap on her own head, one of his, he’s sure - no doubt stolen from their closet as soon as she got home.

“My little good luck charm,” he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek before he lifts himself back up and bends toward Poppy, “Gonna have to start coming to all the games.”

“I’ll let you break the news to her when she wakes up,” she hums as he presses his lips to hers, “She has a very low tolerance for everybody telling her to smile and getting all up in her space, been grouchy all night.”

“Just like Mami, huh, bug?”

“Oh, you think you’ve got jokes now?” Poppy scoffs as she steps back, ready to take their daughter to bed. “Score your first hatty and you think you’re funny?”

“Always been funny, babe,” he smirks, flicking at the cap sat on her head before he takes it off, flipping it to place on top of his own and following her down the hall. “I’ll prove it to you when I get her first laugh.”

“She’ll be laughing at you, not with you.”

“Better than nothing.”

Nico sits on the edge of their bed as Poppy reaches into the crib to retrieve the sleeping bag in there before she lays it down beside him. He does the work unzipping and readying it for her to place their daughter inside while she rocks her still-sleeping body, and the two of them work in tandem to get her inside before zipping her back up, with Nico softly pulling the beanie from her head and watching her fluffy hair fan out in its absence.

He runs a gentle hand over her head to smooth it down as Poppy lifts her, and leans into where she offers her up for a kiss before she puts her in the crib. Nico watches with a soft smile etched into his features, the familiarity of it all spreading warmth throughout his chest, his favourite part of every day being this - sharing a goodnight routine in the comfortable quiet, the two loves of his life safe and happy within arms reach.

None of it feels new or daunting anymore, just easy - and despite the constant warnings of it not always being this way, Nico just wants to feel it to its fullest extent; sheer happiness and serenity.

Poppy returns to the front of him, and he instinctively spreads his legs to accommodate her, palms laying flat against his chest and his hands falling to her hips. She just looks at him for a good few seconds, eyes shimmering with admiration, lips tugged between teeth and a head tilted as her expression flickers into something more intense.

Her hands travel down his arms, wordlessly, until she grasps at his wrists and pulls him to stand, leaning up to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “C’mon,” she whispers while her lips are still against his skin, “Wanna celebrate you.”

As if getting to come home to her isn’t celebration enough.

He follows her back through the hall with their hands clasped together, arms stretched between them so he can watch the hem of his shirt ride up against the backs of her soft thighs, and he starts to feel his throat go dry.

He thinks of all those mornings they would spend in the kitchen together in the summer, his shirts a little tighter around her pregnant belly, riding up against her curves and leaving very little to the imagination when she’d wear just his t-shirt and nothing else.

She’s wearing panties now, he can tell, could see the bottom of them peaking out when she’d leaned over to put their daughter in her crib. But he doesn’t mind inching them off, quite likes the slow pace of unwrapping her like a gift - a well-deserved present for all his hard efforts on the ice.

It’s where his fingers find themselves almost immediately when she stops just short of the couch, spinning and practically launching herself into his waiting arms. He can’t help but chuckle as they collide, large arms wrapping around her frame as she melts into him, hands gripping either side of his jaw to pull him down in a clash of teeth and tongues. He palms at her ass as she presses her hips forward, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties and wriggling under them until his knuckles are covered by the fabric, squeezing at the flesh until she groans into his open mouth.

He feels deft fingers working between them to rid him of his own clothes, clumsily popping open the buttons of his jacket before working their way up his chest, slipping into the arms and helping him shrug it off. The weight of it drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and when her hands return to his chest for the next item of clothing to be removed, she pushes him back with an exaggerated huff.

“Baby, how many layers do you need?”

“You in some kind of rush, or something?” He chuckles, chasing her lips with a crane of his neck, getting a quick kiss in before she pushes him back again with palms laid flat on his broad chest.

“Your daughter has some sort of radar for when we’re within 2 inches of each other,” she says as her hands slide down, the feel of them through the extra layers he has on still present as she travels past the hard ridges of his abdomen. She grasps tight at the bottom of his hoody, and he lends a hand to tugging it up and over his head, throwing that to the floor, too. “We gotta get a move on before she wakes up,”

“My daughter?” He scoffs, removing his undershirt while she’s distracted, relishing the feeling of a heavy gaze on his chest once it’s fully revealed to her hungry eyes. “She’s really given you such a hard time that you’re disowning her?”

“She isn’t letting me have a hard time at all, that’s the problem.” Her hands reach back out seemingly of their own volition, fingers fanning out across his skin as her stare glides down, the weight of it sliding down his skin to the point he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

“That was weak for you.” He teases.

“I’m out of practice,” she pouts, closing the distance once more and pressing her lips to the slightly stubbled skin of his jaw, nipping at the flesh as her ministrations travel across his features, his jaw, his neck, the spot just below his ear, where she mutters, “Wanna show you how proud I am of you,”

“Oh yeah?” He asks as she works at the button of his pants, pushing until they pool at his feet and he can kick them off.

“Mmhm,” she moves her kisses back to his waiting lips, “Been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all day,” he mutters back, bending to lift her with hands gripping her ass, “Been thinking about you teasing me in the kitchen this morning,” he starts heading for the couch, mind spinning as she continues kissing him - thinking of all the plans she had been making for the two of them while his mom takes Little Bug out in the morning, finally giving them some much needed, uninterrupted time to themselves. Plans of wasting the morning away between the sheets, sharing showers, having no responsibilities other than paying attention to one another. “Thinking about having you all to myself tomorrow."

“You gonna let me give you a preview?”

He chuckles as he falls back onto the couch, all grace thrown out the window as they sink into the cushions, her still holding onto him and now straddling his lap, lips stretched into a blissful smile as he looks up at her.

She presses them straight to his, and he can’t bring himself to mind the way their teeth clash at her eagerness, hips grinding down onto his as she settles onto her knees.

He could spend forever kissing her like this, sensual and sloppy, the slight scratch of her nails against the sides of his neck and his grip on her thighs guiding her movements straight onto the aching growth between his legs.

He bucks up to meet her, and their lips part with a wet smack as she groans.

"Bet you can’t wait for me to shave, eh?” he smiles as he swipes a thumb across the space between her nose and lip, the skin red raw from the scratch of his moustache.

“You know damn well I’d ban you from ever touching a razor again if I could.” She says, breathlessly, slowly thrusting down onto him.

“Tell that to your little red muzzy, you’re giving Luke a run for his money,”

“Hey,” she swats at his chest in feigned outrage, “The kid tried his best!”

“No more talk about Hughes when you’re sat on my lap,”

“You brought him up!”

“Thought I was getting a preview,” he groans as he shuffles, reaching between them to slip a hand between her legs, tucking his fingers beneath her panties and swiping against her heat. “Jesus, Poppy.”

“Told you I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she pecks at his lips again, raising her hips a little to give him further access to slide his fingers through the almost excessive wetness that’s near enough soaked through her panties.

He prods at her entrance, two fingers slipping straight in until she’s gasping against his cheek in sheer bliss. His digits move with ease, working his way up to his knuckles as he drinks up her pleasured moans, his chin tilting until their open mouths just press together without kissing, panting against one another as he works her up.

He pushes the fabric of his shirt up her thighs with his other hand, exposing his handiwork to hungry eyes so he can see the way she glistens between her legs - can see the way his fingers slide in an out of her.

She takes his shirt off, throwing it beside them on the couch so she can see too, looking down for only a moment before she’s throwing her head back.

He’s so hard just watching her that it’s almost painful - straining against the seams of his briefs until they’re tenting beneath her. And she must notice, nimble fingers working him out until he’s thick and hot and heavy in her palm, gripping around him in with her thumb swiping at his tip, hips shuffling until his fingers slip out of her heat and she can move on her knees to hover above his waiting cock.

He takes a hold of himself while her hands raise to steady herself on his shoulders, and he waits with bated breath as she lowers herself, sinking past her entrance until he’s sheathed entirely, tight, wet walls wrapped around him in a long-awaited embrace.

Their moans fall out in sync, both of them stilling, the only movements between them being the soft rise and fall of panting chests.

It’s a minute before she starts to rock her hips, leaning back down to distract herself from whatever unease needs to fade away with the press of her lips to his - tongue swiping at his, sucking and nipping at the muscle as she works herself to the point where she can lift herself up a little.

“Fuck me,” he whines out in an elongated groan as she sinks down on him again, tight and slick and warm, and he feels tension in every cell in his body, strung taut to the point where he feels like he could snap entirely in any given moment.

“I’m working on it,” she pouts, “Think I overestimated my talents here,”

“Think you’re very talented,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her jaw as he lays large hands on the dip of her waist, fingers tickling into the arch of her back so her movements are a little smoother, a little more fluid. “So good to me, yeah? Just need a hand.”

He guides her hips into a steady rhythm - up, down, forward, back - until she’s rocking onto him in a mind numbing pace.

God, he thinks, this is heaven.

It’s been so long since he’s had her like this. Probably all the way back in Switzerland in the summer, and he thinks a lot about this situation mirrors that - trying to stay quiet, trying to feel as much of each other as they possibly can without drawing attention from sleeping parties one room over.

He remembers thinking, all those months ago, that it wouldn’t be possible to love Poppy any more than he did, then - that he couldn’t possibly feel more for her than he did when he shared that part of his world, and she had embraced it with open arms. She had blended straight into his family, had adapted herself to his routine, had brought new life and colour to what he had always considered vibrant, anyway, but she had changed the meaning of it all.

But she had done the same to life in Jersey.

Long gone were any feelings of homesickness he used to get - especially around this time of the year. Fully immersed now into his season, summer seeming too far from his reach that he started to forget what home felt like. But not anymore.

Home is Poppy. Home is their baby girl sleeping soundly in the next room. It’s playing one of the greatest games of his career so far, meeting milestones he had been reaching for for so long, standing in the centre of the arena he has built his career in, hearing the rapturous cheers of fans chanting his name, and driving back knowing the love garnered there could never possibly compare to the love waiting for him in his apartment.

He brings her face down with a palm splayed gently across her jaw, fingers reaching back to tickle at the nape of her neck and thumb swiping tenderly at her soft cheekbone, until their mouths collide. He shifts his hips to meet her ministrations, finding a rhythm that has her gasping into his mouth, enough that his tongue can slip past the seam of her lips and press against hers - hot and fervid and eager.

He wonders as the pressure builds if this passion will ever wither. If this need to profess his love for her will ever wain away, if he’ll ever be casual about the way in which she has become the entire centre of his universe.

He hopes not.

He hopes when he’s 80, he looks over at her and his heart still hammers in his chest. He hopes his mouth struggles to make sense of all the ways in which his brain tries to convey what she means to him - hopes he still stutters around his sentences and feels weak to the very base of his spine at the mere thought of her.

In fact, he doesn’t hope at all.

He knows he will.

“You feel so good,” Poppy mutters into his mouth, panting against his swollen lips, “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Yeah?” He thrusts up, “You missed being full of me?”

He’s missed this far out look in her eyes, glassed over and almost gone as she nods in response - they haven’t really been able to get to this stage with their quick fumbles and rushed hookups in the last 2 weeks since she got the all clear from her doctor for them to start being intimate again. Sure, they had developed other methods over those first 6 weeks, making good use of hands and mouths in whatever limited time they could find together, but nothing compares to this.

To being attached at every point like they are one.

“You gonna come for me?”

He still remembers her tells, fluttering lashes, trembling thighs, stuttered breaths all combined with the spine tingling way in which she tightens around him, and he manages to time it so they come together, one final burst of energy used to lift his hips just as she sinks down, body slumping into tremors that wrack through the both of them.

He holds her in place for a second, large hands pushing his shirt up her back as he starts to rub circles into her flesh, soothing her back into a softened consciousness - hazy and frazzled but still in tune with every movement he makes.

Her nose presses into the expanse of his neck, lips pecking at all the sensitive spots she can seek out as they both try to catch their breaths - and he realises she was probably right before, they haven’t had time like this for a while now.

Still, he’ll take what he can get.

She lifts her hips just enough for him to slip out, and reaches to the small table at the side of the couch where she has miraculously stashed a pack of baby wipes. She takes two out, using one to clean the both of them before she bundles it into the clean one and discards of it back onto the table to be disposed when she eventually gets the feeling back in her legs.

And it’s as soon as Poppy’s legs give way and she collapses into him that they both hear it - a soft wail carrying through the monitor behind the couch. Cries filling the space around them and bursting their bubble with an almighty pop!

“Told you,” Poppy mumbles into his neck, skin sticky with a soft sheen of sweat. “Won’t even let me get a hatty of my own,”

Nico scoffs, snorting out a loud chuckle that shakes where she rests on his chest, and despite her feigned irritation, she feels her cheeks puff out into a soft, unbreakable grin. “Like you’d have lasted 3 rounds.”

“What happened to me being very talented?” She pouts, mustering whatever strength she has left to push herself up, swinging a leg back over and moving to stand, only for him to grasp back at her, pulling her until her back falls into the plush of the couch.

“Talented, Poppy, not super human,” he chuckles, standing from the cushions and tucking himself back into his briefs. “I’ve got her.”

“It’s probably wind, I changed and fed her before she went down.”

He presses one last kiss to Poppy’s head before heavy feet carry him down the hall toward their bedroom, where their daughter’s crib is temporarily positioned until she starts to sleep a little further through the night. He doesn’t bother flicking the light on as he enters, able to follow his muscle memory straight over to where she is without tripping over his own feet, and he lifts her as soon as he can, cooing at her as she cries into his chest.

“I’ve got you, Chäferli,” he mutters as he rocks her gently, large hand completely encompassing where he can feel her back through her sleeping bag. “Daddy’s here,”

He reaches over to shut off the monitor before he ambles over to his and Poppy’s bed, sitting with his daughter still clutched to his chest, little hiccups coming out as his hand tries to work up her wind.

“Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He asks, so deep into his routine of talking to her about anything and everything that he no longer second guesses it. “My little bug, you’re okay.”

It takes a good few minutes to calm her down, to the point that Nico thinks she might even be hungry and he’ll have to call Poppy in, wiggling a finger between her lips to see if she latches on, but he continues to pat and rub at her back until she burps, and her cries turn into little coos, that turn into soft pants with wide, sparkling eyes staring up at him in wonder.

He looks down at her in the same way, dark eyes flitting across her every feature. Across the soft but thick head of hair, the crazy long eyelashes, the puffy lips and the little button nose.

She looks so much like Poppy that he feels his chest ache every time he looks at her - but it’s a good kind of ache, a longing and content kind of ache, that only aches to remind him of everything he stands to lose if he doesn’t work hard enough to keep it.

“Gromi told me you were charming everybody at daddy’s work,” he tells her with a soft smile, the pad of his finger pressing at the tip of her nose. “Says she’s gonna have to show you off around the city on her own tomorrow.”

Tiny fingers reach up to clasp around his, holding on and clutching with a grip he’s sure wasn’t so firm that morning when he had said his goodbyes.

“Careful, bug,” he tells her, “You hold Papi’s hand too long and he won’t let you go.”

Wide eyes gleam back at him, and he watches in awe as they start to crinkle in the corners.

He becomes all too aware of the hammering of his heart, and lays her beside him on the bed in fears that the echoing thud of it beating against his chest might disturb her. He curls up beside her, making sure she’s flat as he gets himself comfortable, and just lays there for a good few minutes, watching her as she watches him.

There isn’t a feeling in the world that compares to this, he thinks. He could score a hundred hat-tricks, have a million people chanting his name, and it won’t come close to how adored he feels in this moment, how proud he feels to have played any part in making a little human so perfect and beautiful.

He leans forward, kissing softly at her puffy cheek, careful not to press too hard that she feels the scratch of his moustache, and he relishes the little squeal of what he hopes is delight she gives in return.

Poppy gives it 20 minutes before she decides to venture through to their bedroom, having cleaned up and busied herself sterilising bottles so they’re ready for Katja to come pick up in the morning. It’s been a rare occurrence lately that Nico has had his one-on-one time with their daughter, him being so busy with training and their trip to Florida - and he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t fess up to the ways in which it gets him down, but she knows he feels like he’s missing a lot.

She changes so much day to day - discovers so much about the world around her - and as much as Poppy tries to save things for him to see on his own, tries to find the balance between sharing the little moments she gets with him and letting him experience them for himself, she knows there’s nothing she can do to keep that nagging voice at bay.

He’s always been that way, unable to completely silence the thoughts that tell him no matter what he does, it isn’t enough.

He’d even done it tonight - his first career hat-trick, him being the first Swiss-born player to score a natural hat-trick, a stadium filled with fans chanting his name, dominating a team the Devils hadn’t beat at home in close to 10 years - and it hadn’t been his best performance.

She would gladly spend the rest of her life convincing him he’s good enough, she thinks.

Her and their little Bug being the ones who get to welcome him home after a night like tonight? She doesn’t know what she did in a past life to get the Gods on her side like this, but she’d do it again a thousand times over.

As her feet pad softly down the hall toward their room, she listens out for the soft voice she usually has the pleasure of eavesdropping on when she thinks he doesn’t know she’s hovering on the other side of the door. A soft voice that tells their little girl exaggerated stories from his day about her uncles, about his games, about whatever he got up to while he was away and what he brought back for her from his travels. But this time, it’s quiet - the peaceful kind of quiet that wraps around her like a blanket, tranquil and warming as she pushes the door open and steps into the room.

Nico is curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the covers, and his arm is draped gently over their daughter’s sleeping bag, their faces inches apart as soft snores fall from their parted lips. She inches closer as quiet as she can manage, leaning over them and taking in their similar profiles - the gentle slope of their mirrored noses, dark lashes framing closed eyes that are turning darker to match her daddy’s day by day.

If anyone had told the Poppy of last November that this is where she would be now - that this is where she’d be with Nico - she never in a million years would have believed it.

He has transformed her life in such little time that she can barely remember the before. Can barely remember a night she fell asleep in any other bed, by any other side, or woke up to anyone else. Can barely remember feeling anything close to this kind of happiness, this kind of content.

It’s like he’s introduced her to a whole new level of feelings. Ones she struggles to describe, like there’s no word in the English language that could possibly convey what he means to her.

Maybe his language has a word for it. Something that she’s never heard before, but just sounds right. Like she knew it somewhere much deeper than her brain allowed her access. She’ll have to ask him, tomorrow - when they finally have a morning to themselves and she can work up the energy to crawl out from under the sheets with him.

A part of her wishes she could take a snapshot of this moment - could send it back in time to the Poppy who never thought this kind of life would ever find her. The Poppy who was drifting, coasting, floating, afraid of landing on her own two feet and having to drag them for the rest of time through unfamiliar territories. The Poppy who pushed down her ever expanding adoration for the man currently cuddled up to their entire life in the bed they share, who convinced herself he could never possibly feel the same way, and wasted years of her life when she could have had this.

But another part of her thinks, what’s the point?

She has him, now.

She’ll have him forever.

She allows herself to watch for a minute as they take deep breaths in sync, all the post-game tension in Nico’s body long melted away, before she quietly shuffles over to the bathroom to get herself ready for bed.

She manages to make her way back over in the dark without stumbling, by some miracle, and reaches over to pick her baby girl up without interrupting her sleep, standing beside her crib and rocking her a little just to make sure she’s still fully drifted off - relishing the feeling of soft puffs of air falling into her neck as she cradles her.

Nico must wake at the loss of contact, instincts kicking in immediately when he can no longer feel the little body that had been resting under his protective arm, and when Poppy looks back over, she can see the reflective glint in his eyes as he watches her - soft and adoring and tooth-achingly sweet.

Instead of putting her down, she bounces gently on her feet back over to Nico’s side of the bed, sitting beside him as he shuffles up, and the two of them just watch their daughter as she sleeps.

For all the times they have been warned that this bliss is temporary, that it’s just a phase, Poppy can’t see it ending for as long as Nico looks at her like this. Like he has the entire world sat in front of him.

“She was smiling at me before,” he whispers as he repositions himself, legs spread so that Poppy can sit between them. “Was trying to get her to calm down, and she was just looking straight at me with those big sparkly eyes and she smiled right at me.”

“She was doing it a little when we got home, earlier.” Poppy whispers back, hoping he doesn’t mind her raining on his parade a little to tell this story, “We just caught your interview on TV after the game, and there was this close up of you, and she smiled so big, Nico. She never smiles like that for anybody.”

“That’s ‘cause you snitch on her and tell everyone it’s gas.”

“I don’t want anyone else thinking they’re special.”

“But I am?” He asks, reaching to swipe the back of his finger softly against her cheek, the soft moonlight sifting into the room reflecting off of the ring on his finger, the quick glimmer enough to catch Poppy’s eye, to distract her so much that she can only hum in response, lips curving into a tender smile.

“Yeah,” she breathes, the tranquility of the room a stark contrast to the way her heart erupts into thunderous applause for him - akin to that of the stadium full of fans earlier that night. Thousands of voices chanting his name, singing his praises, cheering him on for all the glory he brought to their night. He brings that to Poppy, tenfold, every day. “You’re really special.”

He leans over their sleeping daughter to press a loving kiss to Poppy’s lips, careful not to disturb the little angel between them, and Poppy kisses him straight back, fervent but fleeting.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” she mutters into his mouth, careful not to invest too much of herself into another moment they’ll swiftly get interrupted from.

“You gonna show me in the morning?” He mumbles back, their lips still touching, noses pressed together, his hand still cradling her face. She nods, and he feels her cheeks round into his palm. “Gonna give me that hatty you promised?”

“Gonna give you whatever you want.”

“Another baby, Frau?”

She scoffs, swallowing down the fizzing feeling at the back of her throat the nickname.

“Ask me again after your next hat-trick.”

#nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier smut #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier fanfiction #*writing #*oys #I'm beyond caring about the amount of spoilers for the next few chapters in here what am I supposed to do #NOT write domestic hischier family after the other night?????#he literally begged and pleaded with me to write this #ANYWAY I finally got to write actual dad!nico this was so fun #I might let him make ME juno #I feel like his hatty really played second fiddle to me just writing how in love with each other these two are lmao #ALSO I FORGOT TO WRITE IT ABOVE BUT S/O AGAIN TO RORY!!! AS ALWAYS!!!! SHE IS MY SOUNDBOARD FOR EVERYTHING AND I LOVE HER

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levans44 · 2 days ago

Text

leave me with nothing when I come down

pairing: steve rogers x fatal touch!reader

summary: The Almighty Captain America, laid to waste by your bare hands and pussy.

Now wouldn’t that make for a nice headline.

warnings: 18+ SMUT, just pure filth, some angst, FWB, hate fucking, heavy choking, breath play, sub steve rogers, subtle fdom, reader has fatal touch meaning she can't make bare skin contact with anyone without killing them

word count: 1.8k

a/n: I... don't even have words for this one, really. just that steve rogers with a choking kink and submissive streak would heal me.

"Second time this week.”

“Shut up. Take that shit off.”

A 2 a.m. text is all it takes.

He’s at your door, helmet in hand, hair wild from the ride—straight off the tarmac, still carrying the scent of Marrakesh on his skin.

There's no small talk, no kissing, no preamble.

It’s not like he needs it anyway, the strain of him evident against the kevlar—a monument raised in devotion.

Because out there, beyond the sanctum of your studio apartment, he’s a god of war—sharp lines, discipline incarnate. Issuing orders like edicts and delivering punishing blows in the name of combat training.

But in here? He’s just a man.

Yours.

His uniform sloughs off like old skin—discarded offerings marking a trail to the altar of your living room. The shield leans haphazardly against the doorframe, forgotten.

There’s a dumb, boyish grin on his face when you corner him against your threadbare couch, climbing over him and settling roughly in his lap. And when your bare thighs slide up next to his own, caging him beneath your heat, his lashes flutter involuntarily—because the first touch is always an adjustment, no matter how many times he’s been here.

Like a live wire pressed to his skin, ripping through his veins and setting every nerve ablaze.

All the white-hot brilliance of a collapsing star; tiny supernovas erupting under his skin, leaving behind a constellation of heat marking your divine path.

You narrow your eyes at him, nostrils flaring, yet your dainty fingers still tremble when they rise up to his chest.

The locus of your power—where your touch is most potent—laid flat over the flushed skin covering his heart. The thrum of his pulse flutters against your palm, reassuring.

Still beating.

The first time you'd touched him, you’d been so cautious—fingertips barely grazing his skin, sending sparks across the top of his knuckles. Yanked your hand back just as quickly, wide-eyed and breathless as if you expected him to crumble to the ground in front of you.

Instead, he’d caught your quivering hand in his, grip warm and unyielding.

It’s alright.

Guided it under his shirt, pressing your palm flat against his chest, just left of where the five-point insignia's etched into his skin. He'd kept your hand there for a long while, letting you feel the warmth of human flesh, the steady rise and fall of a moving ribcage besides your own—maybe for the first time.

Met your gaze as if to say:

See? Still beating.

Disbelief and trepidation in your eyes when you stared back, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But when it didn’t—when he didn’t—you’d gone straight for his lips instead.

“Where’d you go, Rogers?”

Your distant warning calls him back, punctuated by a soft tsk as your hips tease slow circles over his lap. One hand braced on his shoulder for leverage, his stomach glistening with your arousal.

There’s something chiding in the furrow of your brows, the purse of your lips—like you’re disappointed that he’s managed to remain in one piece. Like setting him alight was the only absolution.

He blinks, still drowning in the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming burn reduced to a steady buzzing as his eyes focus back on you.

But it’s too late—you’ve found other ways to keep his mind tethered.

Your arm slides behind your back, finding the head of his cock, swollen red and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. As soon as your fingers graze the tip, his breath hitches, abs clenching like he’d taken a blow to the gut. His hands shoot up to grip your hips, palms searing at the contact.

An appeased grin touches your lips as you stroke him once, twice, then sink down in a single, fluid motion, the heat of your body enveloping him whole.

“Oh, fffu—“

His mouth falls open, a half-formed hymn forming on his tongue, the rest swallowed by the ruthless pace you set.

Both hands anchored to his chest as you lift back up, until just the head of his cock is enveloped by the tight, wet ring of your entrance. You swivel your hips in a slow, teasing circle, testing his restraint before sinking all the way back down. Then you'd start over from the top, the weight of your thrusts heavy and relentless—eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back as if you’re basking in the first downpour after a lifelong drought.

He tracks your every movement, eyes lazy and half-lidded, head lolled against the back of the couch. The thick column of his neck bares itself to you, his jugular pulsing a steady offering.

And being the merciful god you are, you take it.

Four dainty fingers curl around his throat, your thumb pressing just enough to feel his breath catch, his pulse thundering under your grip. Searing heat shoots up his neck, sharp static rippling across the flesh.

And as his vision grows hazy around the edges, you begin to glow at its center. Your silhouette illuminated by a blinding radiance as you bask in his pain—the ache, the burn, all laid bare for you.

“That’s it, show me.”

His voice breaks out gravelly and thick, nearly unrecognizable with you pressing down on his vocal cords. His hands grow restless, quick to worship the curve of your hips, your stomach, before sliding up under your shirt. Calloused fingertips find your nipples, pebbled and straining against the flimsy cotton, and pinch hard enough to elicit a choked gasp. He smiles as you glare and press harder against his neck, betrayed by the way you clench around him when he repeats the gesture.

The only man who can withstand your touch without succumbing to its power. His super-soldier healing ability absorbing your raw, unbridled energy, strong enough to send anyone else into a permanent coma with just a moment’s touch.

And there’s a thought in there somewhere, deep in the corner of his sex-fuddled, oxygen-deprived brain, about something Sam once told him. How some people grow so accustomed to pain that they seek it out—caught in a relentless cycle of self-destruction and sabotage, never having known a life without it.

Sound familiar, Steve?

And maybe the fact that this was what he was thinking about, in the midst of being fucked into oblivion, was a good example as any to prove Sam’s point. But he shoves that thought aside too, tossing it onto the ever-growing pile, stacked miles high.

Like all the others, it’ll have to wait. When you’re not grinding your hips and arching into his touch, so warm and tight and perfectly fitted around him.

So he pushes you harder, meeting your thrusts and pinching your nipples sore until you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. Draws you to the edge, just like he knows how, that line where control and reason blur into nothing but raw sensation.

His Adam’s apple bobs under your palm when he swallows thickly, smiling:

“You’re gonna cum, aren't you?”

You let out a sharp breath, eyes squeezed shut, whispering as if you’re pleading for forgiveness.

“Shut up. Shut up.” Your prayers grow louder still.

“God, just fucking—”

He meets your glare with a steady gaze, the subtext in his eyes clear as day:

Do it. Try me.

You slow the relentless rotation of your hips, brows furrowing as you lift your other hand. It hovers for a moment, uncertain, before draping over the one already pressed to his neck.

The added pressure’s enough to actually render him starved for air, back arching as his breathing grows shallow. Pressure builds up in his ears, the blood rushing to his head and muffling the world around him, leaving him with only the thrum of his own pulse and the filthy slaps coming from between his legs, wet and frenzied as you pick up your pace.

Your brows are knitted together, a bead of sweat rolling down the curve of your temple. Knees rubbed raw against the scratchy upholstery as you roll your hips over and over, hands still fixed over his throat. With no room to swallow, spit starts to pool in his mouth, the same time your rhythm falters, a familiar pattern of spasms signaling your end.

He’s right there with you, teetering on the brink—whatever breaths he can muster getting shorter, faster. It leaves him lightheaded and reeling, the serum working overtime to absorb the onslaught of your energy.

And if the thought of his healing ability stretching out so thin, enough that you could actually choke him to death, only makes his dick swell inside you, then… fuck it. He likes the noises you make anyway, eyes rolling back every time it finds that tender spot deep within you.

The Almighty Captain America, laid to waste by your bare hands and pussy.

Now wouldn’t that make for a nice headline.

He drops one hand to find your clit with deft precision, desperate to see you tip over the edge before his lungs give out. Rubs tight, small circles, just above where his dick’s plunging into your heat, until you're twitching violently against him, collapsing forward with a sharp, fractured cry.

Your hands release around his throat, flying up to grip his hair instead, and the sudden rush of oxygen precipitates his own release as he bucks up into you, a strangled groan ripped from his abused throat.

He finds solace in the crook of your neck, the cradle of something divine, as light bursts behind his eyes. He comes in thick, pulsing ropes, his body collapsing under the weight of the sensation, trembling as he’s made undone by your touch.

He blinks away black dots from his vision in the comedown, ears still ringing as you shuffle off his lap. You raise a soft tissue in his direction, smiling at his defeated form—legs spread and chest heaving—and grant him a few more breaths before he lifts himself off the couch.

“Same time next week?”

"Fuck off, Rogers.”

With a tired huff, you snatch up his uniform off your floor, shoving it against his chest. He smiles, letting his hand brush against yours, savoring that electric surge one last time.

His shield feels feather-light when he slings it across his back, giving you one last look before you slam the door in his face. He doesn’t miss the blush that bloomed across your cheeks, just seconds before you averted your eyes, mirroring the one on his own face.

Because the truth is, he needs this just as much as you do. Maybe more.

Someone to break the parts of him that never healed quite right, snapping them clean so he can piece them back together.

As he stares at the faded mahogany of your apartment door, that familiar high begins to settle in—a fleeting but vivid taste of what it felt like before the serum, when cuts stayed open and bruises remained tender for weeks.

And as the long-lost weight of exhaustion starts to seep into his bones, making his eyelids grow heavy, he rejoices.

He’s treading on nothing but air when he bounds down the stairs of your building, giddy with anticipation for a night of deep, unbroken sleep.

He’ll dream of you until the next time he’s back.

#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #sub steve rogers #captain america #captain america smut #captain america x reader #captain america x you #choking #breathplay #angst #msub #fdom #fwb #hate fuck #smut #reader insert

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l2vedive · 9 hours ago

Text

BUTTERCUP w. kwon soonyoung (hoshi)

countryside boy x rich girl au (915)

pairing: kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x fem!reader

note: loosely based on the filipino romcom crazy beautiful you . please rb ur thoughts and give a like if you've enjoyed this read , thank you !

you’re trudging along the dusty road, fuming under the late afternoon sun, the straps of your heels biting into your feet. this place—this forsaken countryside—feels like the embodiment of everything your mother knows you hate. dirt, roads that lead to nowhere, endless fields, and the smell of livestock. your punishment couldn’t be more humiliating.

but you’re done playing her game. the bag over your shoulder holds just enough cash and a charger for your phone. you’d figured out the bus schedule last night; all you needed was to sneak out unnoticed. no more dealing with nosy neighbours or the suffocating boredom of country living.

but of course, nothing goes as planned.

"hey, miss," a voice calls from somewhere behind you. instinctively, you clutch your bag tighter and quicken your pace. it’s not the friendly sort of tone you'd expect from a stranger.

then, as if out of nowhere, someone grabs your arm. panic shoots through you as you try to yank yourself free, but the man is faster, rougher. your bag is ripped from your shoulder, and your heart lurches as you realise you can’t overpower him.

"get off me!" you scream, but the road is deserted, the fields stretching endlessly on either side. the man runs off, your bag slung over his shoulder.

before you can decide whether to chase after him or collapse in despair, someone else appears, jogging towards you.

"what the hell was that?" you demand as soonyoung stops in front of you, hands on his hips like he’s just finished a casual morning run.

“relaaaaxx,” he says, eyeing you like you’re some kind of puzzle. “you alright?”

"do i look alright?" you snap, but your voice wavers. you hate that you sound scared.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks in the direction the thief ran off. then, without warning, he bends down, sweeping you off your feet and hoisting you over his shoulder like you’re some kind of sack of rice.

"put me down!" you shriek, pounding at his back with your fists. he doesn’t even flinch, the muscles under his worn shirt taut as he starts walking down the road.

"you’re welcome," he says, smirking.

"welcome for what? you didn’t do anything!"

"you were about to pass out from panic. i’m saving you."

"by carrying me like this?!"

he chuckles, the sound low and infuriatingly casual. "you’d rather stay here alone? the thief might come back, you know."

you stop struggling for a moment, because damn it, he’s right.

he brings you to a small, slightly dingy motel on the edge of town. the sign flickers in and out, and the smell of damp wood hits you as soon as he sets you down in the doorway.

"you’ve got to be kidding me," you mutter, brushing yourself off.

"what? not five-star enough for you, princess?"

you glare at him. "why are you even helping me?"

“let’s just say i’m… invested in your journey,” he says with a smirk that sets your nerves on edge.

you fold your arms, not buying his vague answer. "and what’s that supposed to mean?"

"well," he starts, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it means i know you’re trying to run off back to the city. and i also know you’re not going anywhere now."

"how do you know that?" you demand, your voice rising.

he gives you a sheepish smile that somehow manages to infuriate you more. "because the guy who stole your bag is a friend of mine. and, uh, your mom hired us."

for a second, you think you’ve misheard him. "what ?"

"it was her idea. she wanted to scare you into staying put." he shrugs, like this is all perfectly reasonable.

you stare at him, mouth open. "you’re joking."

"not really," he says, looking annoyingly unbothered.

"so you’re in on this?"

he raises a hand in mock surrender. "hey, i’m just doing my job."

“your job ? ” you step closer, glaring up at him. "so you’re what? some kind of low class actor now?"

"general helper," he corrects, flashing you a grin. "i do odd jobs. sometimes legal, sometimes… less so."

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "this is insane. my mother is insane."

"maybe," he says, his tone annoyingly light. "but she’s got good taste in collaborators."

you want to slap that smug look off his face, but you also can’t help noticing how sharp his jawline looks in the dim motel lighting. you shake the thought away.

"you’re lucky i don’t call the cops," you mutter, turning away.

"on who? your mom? " he teases, following you into the room.

“you’re infuriating,” you snap, spinning to face him.

"and you’re spoiled," he fires back, leaning in closer. his smirk is still there, but his voice drops an octave, taking on a flirtatious edge. "but i guess that’s why i took on such a strange yet fun request."

"fun?" you echo, eyes narrowing. "you think this is fun?"

he steps closer, close enough that you can see the gold flecks in his brown eyes. "admit it," he says, voice low. "you like the trouble."

you hate that your heart skips a beat at his tone, hate the way he’s looking at you like he knows exactly how to get under your skin.

"you’re delusional," you say, but it comes out weaker than you intend and you mentally slap yourself for it.

"hmm, maybe," he murmurs, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "but that's probably because you’re stuck with me now, buttercup."

— please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.

#hoshi x reader #seventeen fics #seventeen au #seventeen x reader #svt au #svt fics #svt x reader #svt hoshi x reader #svt hoshi #seventeen hoshi #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen #svt #kwon soonyoung #kwon soonyoung x reader #l2venotes

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theresattrpgforthat · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you happen to know of any ttrpgs that utilize dragoons as a class option/thematic presence?

THEME: Dragoons

Hello, so when I followed up with you, you mentioned that you wanted dragoons from Final Fantasy, rather than the historical dragoons - and I’m glad I clarified, because I was sifting through historical games at first. From what I understand, the main points of dragoons is that they are a class who fights with a spear, with strong elements of launching themselves into the air/attacking from heights to land hits with extreme force. I also understand that they are meant to have strong relationships to dragons. So let’s see what we’ve got.

Final Fantasy Legend Edition, by Mildra the Monk.

This is an intermediate-complexity tabletop roleplaying game based on the Japanese console RPG series, Final Fantasy.Whether you're a veteran or someone new to the series, these streamlined rules and various customization options will help you get started with ease.

When I went to check out this game, the Dragoon class was the first image listed on the storefront. This class comes with some classic jump abilities, and other character abilities that are all about pinning down your enemies from the air. You also have access to the appropriately-themed Dragon Arts, tying your character intimately to their historic roots. The game itself moves through what it calls a four-phase structure: Preparation, Exploration, Encounter and Downtime. Each arc is likely to follow a quest that has been given to your characters, and these four scenes give you a procedural structure that typifies many ttrpgs.

Megalos: Crystalpunk Fantasy Roleplaying, by matara.

MEGALOS is a game for telling stories about adventures in the clouds, fighting evil empires, and dueling ancient gods. The Worlds of MEGALOS are vast and old, each a cosmic emanation connected to one another by the Wellspring- the source of all aether in the cosmos. Make your own World of MEGALOS or play in one of ours, from the Oradam Rift to Pallid Telkane to Zone Gachette to The Erefane. Soar through the air in an airship, dogfight imperials, and wield aetheric magicks as a punk-rock witch.

This tabletop game is inspired by things like classic JRPGs, electronica music, and medieval alchemy. MEGALOS is the first game to use the SLIPSTREAM game engine, which uses pools of d20s as the core of its task resolution mechanic.

The martial damage class for Megalos is called the Throne, and it hast at least two subclasses that I think you could use to make a Dragoon-like character. As a base class, Thrones have access to a flight ability called Liftoff, and both Arklights and Champions use this ability to do some neat things with combat.

Arklights are warrior monks, interested in the “protection and cultivation of ‘good’”. They have a lot of light and wings metaphors, including an ability called Falcon Dive, which allows you to dive at your opponent while in the air, with an upgrade ability to inflict piercing damage to multiple enemies. Then there’s the Champions, fighters who are all about learning new techniques and experiencing combat as a way of life. They’re very brawl-friendly characters, but their abilities Aerial Charge (which launches you in the air) and Meteor Drop (which is practically a dive-bomb attack) give me pretty strong Dragoon vibes.

Lancer, by Massif Press - and the Field Guide to Suldan, by KaiTave.

Lancer is a tabletop role playing game centred on shared narratives, customizable mechs, and the pilots who crew them. Set many thousands of years from the present day, Lancer imagines a future where a survivor humanity has spread to the stars after weathering terrible ecological collapse on Earth -- the end of the Anthropocene as a consequence of unrestrained consumption and poor stewardship.

Lancer features a mix of gritty, mud-and-lasers military science fiction and mythic science fantasy. In the setting, conscript pilots mix ranks with flying aces, mercenary guns-for-hire brawl with secretive corporate agents, and relativistic paladins cross thermal lances with causality-breaking, unknowable beings.

Lancer’s big thing is the ability to make a mech that can do some really cool things, all based around combat. You build your mechs with pieces you gain access to through licenses, many of which are distributed by various companies and organization. The base game has the IPS-N Nelson Frame, which is all about close-quarters combat and high mobility, with a gigantic War Pike that can puncture armour. If you want to go full Dragoon mode though, you’ll want to download the Field Guide to Suldan fan expansion, which has an additional frame option for the Nelson, giving you the power of flight - and an ability called Drive Burst, which allows you to move really fast in one direction and do a whole bunch of extra damage to anyone in your way.

If you want a game that’s all about figuring out neat combos and making your machine really really good at specific things, you want to try Lancer.

Fabula Ultima, by Need Games.

FABULA ULTIMA is a Tabletop Roleplaying Game inspired by Japanese-style console RPGs, or JRPGs. In Fabula Ultima, you and your friends will tell epic stories of would-be heroes and fearsome villains, set in fantasy worlds brimming with magic, wondrous locations, and uniquely bizarre monsters!

A game that is typically advertised for folks who want a Final Fantasy experience, Fabula Ultima is likely going to hit a lot of similar plot beats and game moments that feel familiar. When it comes to character creation, you are expected to put together a few different options to make someone with a lot of cool talents that you can expand on as you grow.

One of the pre-gens in Press Start, a quick-start version of the game, looks fairly Dragoon-like, with a heavy spear and a move called “Soaring Strike” that looks like it can send you airborne to fight flying enemies, so I think it should be fairly easy to make the kind of character you’re looking for.

First Fantasy, by Marc Strocks.

A one-page RPG created for the game(s) jam. In the year 199X, technological cities grow thicker by the day, feeding off the planet's resources. Demonic fiends fill the wilds, attacking anything that moves. With a weapon by your side, you travel the world. This is your mission. This is your story.

First-Fantasy is a single page full of a lot of roll tables, both for character creation and adventure creation. This game feels like it’s relying on folks who are well acquainted with the lore and tropes of Final Fantasy, and gives you a few tools to add chance to your story. Character creation is pretty slim, but the Dragoon class does give you the basics: a spear or a sword, a Jump-charge ability, and the metal plate you’d probably expect a knight of some kind to wear.

UMBRA, by Star Bear Games.

UMBRA is a Table Top Role Playing Game in which you delve into a world of bug Knights! It features the quick and snappy combat of the LUMEN system.

Under and within a grand oak tree lays a sprawling metropolis known as the Cradle. Making their lives under the watchful rule of the Ashen King, are the bugs of the Cradle. Every bug has a part to play, big or small, in the kingdom. For you, oh noble Knights, your part is that of protector.

Inspired by Hollow Knight, I thought about Umbra for two reasons: one, because the titular character of the game does a lot of jumping when in combat, and two, because this game is based in LUMEN, which is all about modular combat and strategy.

You cobble together a few different things to make your character unique, including a House, a weapon, and armour called Regalia, which give you different abilities or advantages. If you want to make a Dragoon-like character, I’d recommend making a bug from Horn House, which gives you the hard-hitting, high-damage typical of an armour-puncturing spear. You’d then make your spear by taking a Point weapon and giving it tags like Reaching, to give yourself the ability to stab from a distance. Then for Shell regalia, you can take either Hovering Wings, which gives you the ability to fly, or Propelling Wings, which give you heightened jumps, allowing you to stay in the air for extended periods of time.

If UMBRA itself isn’t the setting that you want but you like this level of customization, then I recommend checking out some other LUMEN games for different genres, but the same easy-to-learn fast-action strategy.

RottenFall Heroes, by LazerSamuraiGG

In a world forever changed by cosmic disaster, ordinary lives collided with the extraordinary. It all began with the sudden appearance of mysterious beings, turning unsuspecting humans into monstrous entities known as the ROTTEN. The trigger? A mysterious collision between an Obsidian Pyramid and the moon.

As if this upheaval wasn't enough, interdimensional beings known as VILLAINS seeped into our reality, distorting familiar landscapes into surreal nightmares.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, emerged a glimmer of hope – the Heroes. These courageous individuals joined forces, establishing schools and enterprises to combat the encroaching darkness. They ventured forth into the warped realities, confronting villains and safeguarding the innocent.

Mechanically, I cannot honestly say that RottenFall Heroes has anything that looks like a Dragoon in fighting style. However, what it does have is a class called a dragon knight, which involves a person who has a solemn pact with an ancient Dragon, who has granted them access to special powers. In Dragon Form, you are especially talented at wielding two-handed weapons, and I think you can choose a spear or lance if that’s what you desire. You can also re-roll your attacks when fighting with your clawed hands, and you’re resistant to fire. If you want the connection to dragons more than the ability to jump really high and pile-drive someone from the sky, then you might be interested in RottenFall Heroes.

You might also want to check out…

The Fire Emblem recommendation post I put up a couple of weeks ago.

The Official FFXIV TTRPG has Dragoon options! And it looks like there are free versions of the rulebooks.

This playbook for SLAYERS is all about playing a Dragoon-like character.

#dragoon #final fantasy #tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #indie ttrpg #asks #dnd

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starlost-mochi-x · 2 days ago

Text

lonely st. ✧ chapter ix : healing

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: mentions of panic attack, lots of crying, hyunjin collapses from exhaustion at one point, mild mentions of injuries and blood/bruises, hyunjin is kinda mean, best boy felix

a/n: one to go! thank you for all the love <3 please read this post before you open this chapter if you haven't already 💫

series masterlist | skz masterlist

Felix poked his friend on the shoulder. "You excited for the tournament games, Hyunjin?"

"W-what?"

"Are you excited for the tournament games?"

Hyunjin blinked blearily, trying to clear his fuzzy head. "Sure."

He was trying to focus on what Felix was saying, truly, but he just couldn't get the events of the past two days out of his head.

Sitting with Y/n in class, having her fall asleep on him at Felix's place; it was all constantly at the forefront of his mind, and he hadn't been able to sleep. Or focus. Or keep his head in the game.

Or do anything, really.

Coupled with the realisation of his newfound (or perhaps just realised) love for her, all in all, Hyunjin could do nothing but sleepily follow his friend to the bus stop, where their coach was waiting to take them down to the basketball tournament.

It would be seven days away from home; the tournament was a week long event, and normally Hyunjin would have been excited, but today, he felt off. Like he had forgotten something.

Maybe he had forgotten something.

Jisung had come over to help him pack his suitcase just the other night, since he'd forgotten about it in the bustle of having to finish homework, wrap up errands, and the neverending preparations for the upcoming games.

"Normally it's my job to forget to pack my suitcase," Jisung had said to him as he'd helped Hyunjin fold his clothes into his bags. "Feels strange seeing you so unprepared, Hyun."

Hyunjin sighed and pulled out his jacket, setting his duffel down for a moment to pull it on. Him and Felix were currently walking across the field to the coach, which was waiting at the stop a little further ahead. The sky overhead was a milky purple, streaked with light orange and the faintest shimmer of blue, gleaming through the clouds to highlight the early-morning sun, which was still halfway through rising behind them.

Hyunjin glanced at Felix, walking to his left; the blonde haired boy was walking with his head down, watching as his sneakers spread little droplets of dew across the freshly mowed grass. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were a little swollen; it wasn't uncommon for Felix to look like a sleepy chicken in the mornings, especially when they had to travel somewhere early for games.

Hyunjin assumed he probably looked the same way; he hadn't bothered to brush his hair that morning, vouching for a quick shower to wake him up instead. He'd turned the handle after stepping in and had been hit on the back with a flurry of cold water, and his spine still tingled as he relived the memory with a wince twinging at the corners of his mouth.

He hadn't been able to sleep that night, either; he'd been debating for several hours on whether to tell Y/n he was leaving for a week, and he had kept struggling with the decision as the stars had risen higher in the sky.

The night before...

Hyunjin lay in his bed, the sheets rumpled and messy, his hair in the same state. He pressed a hand to his chest, where Y/n had lay a few days earlier; he found he suddenly missed her warmth and the comforting weight of her body against his. A flush painted his cheeks suddenly, his ears dusted pink. But it faded as he picked up his phone, biting his lip.

He had to tell her about the tournament; would she be upset that he'd left it so last minute? He'd told Jisung and Felix not to mention it too much around her; they'd asked why, and Hyunjin found he didn't have an answer.

Perhaps he was worried that things would be different after he came back from the tournament; would she have had some sort of personality transplant by then? Would she have decided that he wasn't good company after all, or that she would much rather be friends with Jisung, or Felix?

The worries swirled in Hyunjin's mind and he opened the chat with Y/n, deciding to tell her anyway. Even if she did decide to hate him, he couldn't bear the fact that while he was away, she might be all alone and be wondering where he had gone. He couldn't do that to her; she deserved to know.

drama king 🏀: hey drama king 🏀: you awake?

He waited silently, his phone held over his face as he relaxed against the pillows, waiting for a response. His arm began to hurt after a few minutes so he rolled onto his side, eyes strained and watering as he glared at the screen.

y/n 🌸💫: hyunjinnie y/n 🌸💫: why are you awake its like 2 am y/n 🌸💫: are you okay?

Hyunjin exhaled in relief, feeling suddenly guilty for waking her with his impulsive actions.

drama king 🏀: sorry. i'm okay drama king 🏀: just, i wanted to tell you something y/n 🌸💫: which is?

Hyunjin let his cheeks puff up as he exhaled harshly, his head spinning slightly at the forceful puff of breath. He typed out a reply.

drama king 🏀: you know the basketball tournament i mentioned to you a while ago? y/n 🌸💫: yeah, what about it? drama king 🏀: it's tomorrow y/n 🌸💫: yeah? y/n 🌸💫: and

Hyunjin let out a little noise of surprise, running a hand through his hair. Was she baiting him, trying to catch him out? He couldn't see any other resolution; how could she have possibly known when the tournament was? He'd never mentioned the dates to her, not that he hadn't wanted to. Again, he found himself struggling to grapple with a conclusion as to why he had been so hesitant to tell her about it.

drama king 🏀: wait- you know about it? drama king 🏀: you know that i'm leaving tomorrow? y/n 🌸💫: of course i knew y/n 🌸💫: it was hard not to know, when it's all jisung talks about in math class with me. you know, when he's not busy listening to g-idle and drawing on my hands y/n 🌸💫: he's a lot of fun

Hyunjin's heart sank for some reason and a mild feeling of irritation settled in the pit of his stomach. Why did he suddenly feel so downcast? Was it because he'd been expecting her to not know about the tournament, and therefore be upset with him for not telling her beforehand? Had he wanted that?

But despite all of that, why was she directing the conversation to Jisung of all people?

Don't be stupid, he chided himself. She's just mentioning how she found out about the tournament. Don't be mad at her, or Jisung.

He typed a response, thumbs flying over his phone screen.

drama king 🏀: oh y/n 🌸💫: just 'oh'? y/n 🌸💫: what's wrong

Hyunjin switched his phone off for a few minutes, pondering her question. What was wrong? He'd been feeling so different lately, and not just because of the fact that he'd discovered his true feelings about her.

No matter how hard he tried, there was always some sort of feeling or thought just out of his reach, and it was beginning to tick him off. Usually he was composed with his feelings; he hadn't even been feeling this stuck after he'd cut Yeji off for saying nasty things about Y/n to him. No, he felt worried.

Why am I worried? Is it about the tournament? It could be. Is it because Coach told me after the last practice that I'd have to step my game up if we wanted to win the championship? Or am I doubting my skills even though I've practiced till I ached?

Am I just worried about leaving her?

y/n 🌸💫: hyunjinnie?

Her notification snapped him out of his spiraling, confused thoughts.

drama king 🏀: yeah, sorry drama king 🏀: i just drama king 🏀: i'm gonna miss you

Shit!

He hadn't meant to type that! Frantically, he propped himself up on his elbows and fumbled to navigate to the settings icon, where he switched the wi-fi off. If he was lucky, the message wouldn't go through...

Of course, no such luck.

The 'delivered' icon sat proudly on top of the risky message and Hyunjin fought to keep his phone by his side even though he felt like throwing it out the window. Y/n's typing bubble popped up and he clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to fight the urge to scream and wake everyone else in the household.

y/n 🌸💫: i'll miss you too y/n 🌸💫: but i'm not going anywhere y/n 🌸💫: you can still text me even when you leave for the tournament, you know, if you have time...

Hyunjin stared at the messages, mouth agape in disbelief. Another message popped up under the previous ones.

y/n 🌸💫: if you want to, of course

Hyunjin let a soft, relieved chuckle escape his lips. He could almost hear her frantic, shy tone as she hurriedly reassured him there was no pressure in the matter.

Even though she was saying something that was completely a choice to him, Hyunjin found it endearing that she was making sure he knew he had a choice in the first place.

He typed a response quicker than his fingers could coordinate it.

drama king 🏀: i'd like that. y/n 🌸💫: good y/n 🌸💫: now go to sleep, you maniac

Hyunjin laughed at her response, his eyes crinkling cutely at the corners as he clutched his phone tighter.

Y/n reacted to his previous message with a little black heart, signaling the end of the conversation. Hyunjin froze for a couple seconds before tossing his phone onto the bedside.

Burying his face in his pillow, he kicked his legs, unable to keep the increasingly widening smile from stretching his face til he felt it would split from the force of his happiness.

The butterflies in his stomach fluttered up and out of his throat in the form of a light, bubbly laugh that he hardly recognised as his own.

She really was sweet.

"Alright, boys, line up and I'll count you onto the coach..."

Felix took Hyunjin's arm as they lined up behind the other boys waiting to get onto the coach. They were all dressed in the same, dark tracksuit, with the school logo on the back and white stripes running down the sides of the sleeves and pants.

Hyunjin felt so sleepy he though he would drop where he stood. He looked up the front, where his basketball coach was counting on the boys in pairs.

Everything had been loaded onto the bus; in his daze of reliving the memory of Y/n the night before, Hyunjin hadn't realised that Felix had taken his stuff to be loaded, realising that he was too tired to do it for himself.

He turned and lifted Felix's hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to it in a soft, affectionate gesture. Felix smiled sleepily at him just as Jisung wrapped his arms around Hyunjin's shoulders.

"Hi!" He grinned, nuzzling into Hyunjin's neck.

Hyunjin groaned despite himself. Jisung was about the only one who was awake at the moment; Felix nodded to him subtly and sneaked the half-empty can of Monster from his bag, taking a sip and wincing at the strong, caffeinated flavour. He waved the can in Jisung's face.

"You shouldn't drink this stuff so early, Ji," he chided lightly, handing the can back to his friend, who shoved it into his bag, apparently unaware of the possible dangers of drink spillage.

Hyunjin sighed and looked ahead as Jisung whined a reply to Felix; normally, his friend's boundless energy and comedic antics would have cheered him up.

But for some reason, the pang of irritation he'd been feeling in his gut since he'd found out that Y/n had been sitting with Jisung every math class began to settle in, and this time, it was a lot faster than it had been previously.

But he wasn't sure why.

Hyunjin clenched a fist as Jisung accidentally knocked him in the back harmlessly as he re-enacted something to a friend behind them, sending him forward a step. Their coach was still counting the boys onto the bus, and Hyunjin turned just as Jisung spoke.

"Lixie pixie, wanna sit with me?" Jisung poked Felix's cheek, grinning.

"Sorry," Hyunjin cut in suddenly, aware of the suddenly brusque, cold tone in his voice. "He's sitting next to me."

Felix looked at Hyunjin in surprise, then looked back at Jisung, who had paused, his grin fading a little.

"Oh," he said, his smile returning. "That's okay. I'll sit with Innie instead."

He dropped behind them to clutch at Jeongin's arm, and began talking with him about the latest update to the game they played together, apparently unaffected.

Felix nudged Hyunjin's shoulder just as they were counted onto the coach.

"Jinnie, what's wrong?" He whispered.

Hyunjin gritted his teeth as they walked down the coach aisle, and he settled into the back corner next to the window. Felix sat down beside him, touching his knee worriedly. He made to speak, but was interrupted as their coach called out a few instructions, some of which included 'No sticking your hands out the window to flip passing strangers off' and 'No throwing chewed gum at each other'.

"Standard procedures, really," Felix murmured in Hyunjin's ear. "I wonder if the other boys' basketball teams at the tournament get instructions like that."

Hyunjin smiled despite himself, and propped an elbow against his knee as he tucked it up to his chest. Letting his head rest against the window, which was vibrating slightly with the movement of the bus, he closed his eyes.

Felix stared at him pointedly, eyes flitting to Jisung before fixing themselves on Hyunjin's figure.

"Jinnie."

"Mmm."

"What's wrong? Why'd you snap at Jisung?"

Hyunjin opened his eyes, glaring defensively at his friend. "I didn't."

Felix's voice was low. "Yeah, you did. What happened?"

Hyunjin sighed in exasperation. "Are you gonna laugh at me?"

Felix shook his head vehemently, swaying with the motion of the bus as it headed onto the freeway.

Hyunjin sighed and adjusted himself so he was more comfortably facing his friend. "It's just- I found out that Jisung sits with Y/n every math class."

Felix tilted his head. "So? I thought you didn't mind."

Hyunjin sighed again. "I didn't mind. But- now they're so close, Felix. What if- what if Y/n decides she likes Jisung more than me?"

Felix leaned his head against his friend's shoulder, tucking his knees up to his chest as he rested. "Why would she like him better?"

"Because he's funny, and easy to talk to, and a better basketball player than me, and Y/n gets along so much easier with him-"

"That's not true," Felix looked at him, taken aback. "Y/n gets along well with you. Why are you so worried? You were fine a couple days ago, Jinnie..."

"Because I like her," he blurted out suddenly.

Felix hurriedly clamped a hand over his mouth as a couple of the boys in front of them looked back at Hyunjin in interest, smirking to each other. Glaring at them, Felix waited until they turned back to the front, and lowered his voice, moving closer to Hyunjin. His eyes were wide.

"Took you long enough, man."

Hyunjin tugged on a strand of his blonde, messy hair, pouting. "Don't be mean."

Felix rolled his eyes in response, sighing dramatically. "I knew the second you started talking to her you liked her. Everything was confirmed after you both fell asleep on my couch a couple days ago."

Hyunjin whined, shoving him, trying to tone down the scarlet flush on his cheeks. "Felix!"

"It was cute!" his friend protested. "Besides, you two are adorable together."

Hyunjin groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Do you think she knows?"

Felix shrugged, looking at him pointedly. "Do you think Jisung really likes her?"

"I don't know, but he draws on her hands all the time, which has to mean he likes her, right?"

"Jinnie, he draws on your hands too most days."

Hyunjin looked down at his hands and sighed; true to his friend's word, there were faded, inky doodles of anime characters and cutesy hearts and stars all over the backs of Hyunjin's hands, worn by hand-washing and natural wear.

"Okay, fair point, but still-"

"Jinnie."

Hyunjin threw his hands up, digging through his duffel for his water bottle. His throat had gone suddenly dry. "Okay, fine. Even if Jisung doesn't like her, how am I supposed to fix this?"

"Tell her how you feel, pabo."

Hyunjin spluttered and drew the water bottle away from his mouth, water running down his chin. He thwacked himself in the chest repeatedly.

Glaring at Felix, he protested, his voice suddenly pitching several octaves higher than before. "I can't do that!"

Felix deadpanned at him. "Why not?"

"Because, then it might ruin everything-"

Felix pressed his fingers and thumb together and apart repetitively in a talking motion, rolling his eyes.

Hyunjin flicked his neck, his friend recoiling dramatically, clutching at himself.

"Oh, I am wounded-"

"Shut up." Hyunjin settled back into his seat, crossing his arms. "I just have to wait until I'm ready to tell her. If I tell her."

Felix stopped his dramatics suddenly, poking Hyunjin's shoulder. "Jinnie, if you wait til you're ready, you're gonna be waiting a long time. And who knows? Maybe she feels the same way."

Hyunjin shook his head. "She doesn't. Well, I don't know."

"Do you know that for sure?"

He shook his head again. "I don't know that either."

Felix sighed, settling back into his seat and moving his shoulders, getting comfortable. He slipped his sneakers off and tucked his feet further underneath himself.

"At least talk to Jisung about it. He'll understand."

"And what if he likes her?"

Felix grinned. "Fight to the death."

Hyunjin groaned and let his head thud against the window. The passing scenery outside faded and blurred as it began to rain lightly. A sudden downpour drew surprised explanations from some of the boys, and Hyunjin closed his eyes, hoping to try and catch up on some sleep before they arrived. It was a long bus trip anyway. He'd have plenty of time to sleep, and think over what Felix had said.

Glancing across, he noticed Felix had plugged in his headphones, and was busy listening to some sort of music video he'd downloaded on his phone.

Turning back to the window, Hyunjin traced the droplets of rain sliding down the glass pane, and thought hard. The last championship game was back at school; sort of like the finale of the tournament. Their opponents would travel to the school to verse them in a final game of basketball.

It was during the school day, too; it went from the lunch break to the end of the day. If he had time after the game, maybe he could catch her and tell her how he he felt about her.

But she'd have to show up, he reasoned. She's never not at school, though. I don't think I've ever seen her take a day off. Maybe she just likes being at school better...

He bit his lip. Could he possibly tell her over text? No, he couldn't do that. She might misunderstand something and take it the wrong way. Then everything would be ruined.

Or maybe, he could tell her over a phone call, when he got a chance alone. But there was always a risk that she would forget about the confession once he returned.

Why is this so hard?!

Hyunjin sighed and rested his head on his folded arms, moving so he was leaning onto Felix. He was far more comfortable than the window sill anyway. He lightly scratched Hyunjin's head before resuming the video on his phone.

Hyunjin shut his eyes and made a plan.

First, he would try and focus on the first few games of the tournament; that would surely guarantee an easier path to the championship title.

Then, when he had a free moment, he would find out somehow if Jisung liked Y/n.

Then, he would talk to Y/n over text when he had time, just to sus out whether there was a chance of her liking him.

Finally, he would decide whether to confess to her.

Foolproof plan, he thought to himself sarcastically as his eyelids began to droop.

What could possibly go wrong?

The dorms were wide and spacious; the boys were split into groups of four and sent off from the bus with their things. Hyunjin stopped to help Felix take his suitcase down from the bus well; in his other hand, he held the schedule for the rest of the day.

There was a long, outdoor corridor with a corrugated roof that led down to the boys' dorms; most of the schools in the prefecture had already settled into their respective rooms. There were about 20 schools competing in the tournament, but Hyunjin and Felix didn't see anyone walking around besides a couple of rowdy teenage boys bouncing a basketball.

Most of the teams had arrived several days before, and Hyunjin figured they were most likely out practicing in the main courts behind the dormitory buildings. The sun had finally risen fully, though it was hidden behind a sheen of grey, overcast clouds.

Jisung and Jeongin were already inside when the boys entered. The room smelt faintly of wood and fresh linen, and Jeongin was busy rifling through the cupboards for fresh sheets as Felix set his bag down on the nearest bunk.

There were two bunk beds, set on either side of the wall, and a door one side for the bathroom, the other door being the one they had just entered through.

Hyunjin pressed a finger to the frame of the bunk beds; it was hard steel, set in black. He shivered slightly; the room was cool.

Jisung and Jeongin had already claimed the top bunks, and Felix had sat down on his bed under Jeongin's, leaving Hyunjin the other bottom bunk under Jisung's. Not that he minded; he much preferred the bottom bunk anyway, since he was so tall. He'd had a few extremely close, unfortunate encounters with the ceiling more than once when he'd claimed a top bunk for himself in the past.

The pang of irritation he felt towards Jisung settled down for the time being as Felix handed round the schedule. Jeongin had finished making his bed and he moved to sit beside Hyunjin, reading over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Hyunjin relaxed into the much needed comfort.

They had two hours off to unpack and freshen up, as well as explore the campus. Then they'd eat quickly in the main hall and begin stretching, warming up, and training for the rest of the evening. He looked sideways at Jeongin, who already looked exhausted.

"Today's gonna be so long," he murmured, pouting.

Hyunjin chuckled and ruffled the younger boy's hair, making him squint like a fox. "It's okay, Innie. It'll be over before you know it."

Jeongin pointedly glanced across the room at Felix, who had fallen asleep on the bed. Jisung moved and climbed off the top bunk, settling down next to Felix and wrapping an arm around his torso. They looked as tired as Hyunjin felt, but he knew that if he fell asleep, he ran the risk of missing the practices scheduled for tonight, and he knew Coach would be upset.

So he stood up, with some effort, and moved to the small bathroom to splash water on his face. It was a simple little room; with a bathtub and shower in the corner, hidden by a sliding frosted glass door, and two sinks with a large mirror hanging above it, a towel rack to its left. There was a smaller door to the right, which Hyunjin assumed to be the toilet.

He leaned over the sink, letting his hands dangle in the cold stream of water, attempting to wake himself up a bit more. He looked at himself in the mirror; he was tired and pale, the bruised colour under his eyes prominent and speaking measures to how hard he'd worked in the past few weeks, or how little he'd slept. Turning the tap off with great effort, he touched his lips with a wet finger; they were chapped and split.

"You look like shit," he told himself quietly.

"Innie, pass!"

Felix caught the ball and weaved his way down the court, effortlessly evading the blockers. The thumping of the basketball and the squeaking of shoes reverberated around the court as Hyunjin took his spot near the hoop.

His eyes flitted to Felix before checking both sides for any attackers, and he caught the ball effortlessly, years of muscle memory kicking in. He looked up and leaned onto the balls of his feet, ready to shoot; the blinding white lights overhead glared off the court and made his eyes water, like the sun was coming closer to greet him.

He jumped and shot into the hoop, his palm slapping the net. Flicking his wrist, he watched in satisfaction as the ball slipped through the net, landing on the ground with a pleasing thud.

He high-fived Felix and let Jeongin tackle him in a side hug; looking straight past Jisung, he glanced at his Coach, who nodded and turned away.

Things were looking up.

The rest of the evening practice went smoothly enough; Hyunjin managed to shoot a few more hoops and he was beginning to feel stronger with each resistance drill they went through. He tried to control his breathing as Jeongin held his feet while he did situps.

They were supposed to do forty in four sets; by the third set, Hyunjin began to feel a little dizzy. Jeongin had already done his sets, and Hyunjin could see his chest heaving as he leaned forward, holding firmly onto his sneakers as he bent his middle up and down. His abdomen ached but he pushed forward.

Just a couple more...

It was like someone had switched him off. He collapsed back onto the court, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding white court lights. His chest heaved and his torso ached, his abs burning. Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't get up, the energy draining out of him like a broken sandglass.

"Hyunjin, you okay?" Jeongin asked in concern, letting go of Hyunjin's shoes and moving to his side. "Captain?"

He could do nothing but heave; everything hurt so badly and all he'd done was a few situps. He could see Felix and Jisung looking on in concern to his left, and he hated the sympathetic looks the other boys gave him as his coach moved to assess his state.

Stupid, he thought, tears welling in his eyes. You're so weak. Innie did the set just fine. Why can't you?

He moved to get up, gritting his teeth, and pushing Jeongin's hand off of him. But it was replaced by the larger, veiny hand of his coach, who pushed him back down onto the courts, pressing a cloth to Hyunjin's forehead.

"Take it easy," he said. "Just give yourself a couple minutes. Might need to sit tomorrow's game out."

"No," Hyunjin gasped, struggling.

Jeongin rested his hand on the captain's shoulder. "Please, Captain. You've been at it all day, even before the tournament."

Hyunjin sighed and let himself be helped up with some difficulty. He felt humiliated being helped off the court by his coach, Jeongin under his other arm.

Like he was incapable of doing it himself.

But he grudgingly accepted the waterbottle one of the other boys passed to him and he found he was glad to be sitting down, even though he'd much rather have been on the court, shooting hoops and working hard.

It felt strange to sit on the bench and watch as his teammates coordinated perfectly with each other, passing and shooting and communicating, and a strange feeling of affection and pride settled in his stomach, quelling the nausea rising in his throat and the ringing in his head.

Hyunjin knew he was prepared; he'd checked the game strategies over and over, practicing layups and his evasive techniques until he had felt like he would drop. He knew it would bear fruit, but even still, he couldn't help feeling like he could have worked harder. His teammates seemed to be doing fine in regards to the physical exertion, and he was one of the fittest on the team, so why had his body just given up on him all of a sudden?

"Jinnie, you good?"

Felix sat down next to him on the bench, gently bumping his knee with his own. He was sweaty and there was a towel around his neck.

Hyunjin hummed, not taking his eyes off the floor. "Yeah."

"You just sort of- collapsed."

"I didn't. I just felt so tired all of a sudden."

Felix took a swig of his water, exhaling. "You look really pale, man. Give yourself a break."

"I want to play."

Felix leaned back on his hands and laid one over Hyunjin's hand, which was gripping the side of the bench. "I know you do, but if you keep working so hard, you're gonna give out even worse. What are we gonna do if you drop to the floor in the middle of the game?"

Hyunjin grumbled. "The team can play without me then."

"We need our captain."

"No, you don't."

Felix looked taken aback, and perhaps a little hurt. "Jinnie, come on. Is this all because of Jisung?"

He scoffed. "No."

"Then what?"

Hyunjin gritted his teeth. "It's nothing."

"Hwang Hyunjin."

"I just don't know whether I'm good enough!" He threw his hands up. "Okay? I don't know. I haven't been doing my best."

Felix looked sad. "Hyun, you've been working harder than any of us."

"I just don't know whether it's enough."

Felix put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not about how much you can do. It's about what all of us can do. Together. You can't play basketball solo, or do anything else alone for that matter."

Hyunjin sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Then what? I know you're trying to help, but I still feel so- stuck."

Felix's voice was soft as he gazed at his friend. "Coach gave you the rest of the evening off. Take a walk or go back to the dorm and rest. Or go and talk to Y/n. Maybe she can help."

"Do you think so?"

Felix nodded. Hyunjin made to get up, nodding once to his friend in sincere thanks.

He dialled Y/n's number as he left the gym.

"So, how is it?" Y/n's voice was teasing through the phone. "Is it everything you ever dreamed of?"

Hyunjin scoffed and leaned against the railing. He was on the upper floor of the boys' dorms, leaning over over the metal bars and letting the evening breeze ruffle his hair. The lights were off too, currently, so he was bathed in a dimness that brought a strange comfort to his heart, relaxing the ache he felt in his muscles and blanketing a sense of peace over his being.

Or maybe that was just Y/n.

"Yeah, it's good."

"Just good?"

"I feel so tired for some reason," he said quietly, switching his phone to speaker mode. "I'm just worried I'm not doing enough."

Y/n's voice floated around him as he replied. It was like a warm hug. "I mean, you are captain. That comes with its own burdens and responsibilities. But you have the rest of your team to rely on too, if things go wrong."

"Felix said the same thing."

Y/n's tone became insistent. "And he's right. You don't have to do it alone."

Hyunjin scoffed again, blurting out something rather nasty. "You're one to talk."

He regretted it as soon as he'd said it; his eyebrows creased at the realisation of his own stupidity and he noticed the line had gone silent. He bit his lip.

Y/n's voice came through, softer this time. "I'm not alone. I have you, and Felix, and Jisung."

"I'm sorry, it came out so harsh, just-"

"I know, you're exhausted. You sound exhausted too. It's okay. Have you slept?"

"Not much," he said quietly, running a finger along the edge of his phone.

Y/n let out a little chuckle. "Do me a favour."

"Yeah?"

"Are you in your dorm, or your room or whatever?"

Hyunjin glanced out over the railing, the night breeze lifting his hair from his forehead and providing some much-needed relief. "No."

"Go to your dorm."

Hyunjin did as she said, letting himself fall silent save for the sound of his footsteps as he headed to his room. Shutting the door behind himself, he glanced around the dark, empty room. He switched Jeongin's little portable puppy lamp on, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow.

"Okay, I'm here."

"Open your bag. The red and black one."

He did so.

"Go to the left pocket."

Hyunjin paused, feeling suspicious. "There better not be something alive and kicking in my bag, Y/nnie."

She laughed, the sound high and pretty, though a little manic. "Nah, you're good. Go ahead, open the pocket."

Hyunjin put his phone down beside him and unzipped the inner pocket. Inside was a sleek cardboard box with a pull tab at the top and a paper of some sort. He could hear Y/n giggling away on the line.

Bringing both the items to his face, Hyunjin realised what they were. A box of Y/n's trademark colourful bandaids and a little note. He unfolded it and set the bandaid box down gently.

Good luck with the basketball tournament, Hyune! Cheering for you, just make sure you don't fall over too much. The bandaids are just in case you do. For the love of everything, make sure you take care of yourself too.

Y/n

Tears welled up in Hyunjin's eyes. "Are these for me? How- how did you do it?"

Y/n chuckled. "I got Felix to sneak them into your bag for me. Do you like it?"

"Yes, I love it. Thank you so much. I lo-"

He froze. Taking a deep breath, he fought to stay composed. His voice had gone quieter.

"I really miss you, Y/n."

"It's been a day, Hyune. Can I call you that?"

"Yeah, but still. And sure."

There was a pause on the other side of the line. Then Y/n spoke in a quiet, hesitant voice.

"I miss you too, Hyune."

Then she ended the call.

Hyunjin blinked for a few seconds, stunned. He sat down heavily and picked up the bandaid box. Y/n had doodled his signature little ferret next to the brand label and drawn a tiny heart and star next to it.

Hyunjin sat in the lamplight and cried.

"Lix, time to get up."

"Nauhh.."

Hyunjin sighed, adjusting his feet on the steel ladder of the bunk bed, and leaning over the top to look at Felix. All he could see of his friend was his fluffy, messy head of blonde hair and a stray foot poking out the bottom of the bed. He tugged lightly on a strand of Felix's hair and climbed onto the bed entirely.

Laying down next to his friend, he ignored the shouting and whining coming from the bathroom, most likely Jeongin and Jisung fighting over who got to use the bathroom first.

"Lix," he murmured, pulling the covers away. "Come on. First game of the tournament."

"I don't want to.."

Hyunjin sighed. "Would you rather stay here and sleep?"

"Duh."

Rolling his eyes and feeling no irritation whatsoever, Hyunjin brushed a gentle finger down Felix's cheek, whispering sweet nothings to him until he woke up entirely. He really did look like a sweet, sleepy chicken.

Once Felix had climbed down from his warm nest on his bunk with some gentle coaxing and promises of a biscuit from the breakfast in the main hall, Hyunjin freshened up himself, slipping on a plain dark shirt and shorts. Jisung had already left to catch them all seats and Jeongin was busy making a phone call to someone outside. Hyunjin took Felix's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and told him go ahead to Jisung at the main hall.

"I have something to do," he said quietly to him.

Hyunjin shut the dormitory door and sank down against it, the floor cold against his bare feet. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. All he had to do was get through the day and do his best in the game.

He was the captain and the star player.

He could win one basketball game.

Exhaling, he stood and took his jersey from his bag, slipping out of his plan shirt and pulling his shorts on. He took his sneakers from their bag and opened the door of the dormitory. He began walking down the hallway, letting his bare feet pad against the concrete, socks shoved in his pocket. He rounded the corner and immediately ducked behind it, almost hitting his head on the wall. His heart pounded as he processed what he'd just seen.

Felix was standing next to the entrance to the gym, talking to a girl.

A girl.

What the heck? I thought it was just the boys' tournament here!

Peeking around the corner, he stared curiously at the girl. She was of average height with long, sleek, dark hair and a blonde streak through it. She was wearing a sleeveless jersey and a pair of shorts. There were black arm and knee pads on her joints, and some of the blonde streak in her hair was falling into her face.

She must a volleyballer. Jeongin told me a while ago that their tournament included a short stop here. Maybe that's it.

Hyunjin watched on nosily as the girl teasingly hit Felix on the shoulder, nothing more than a testing touch. He smirked as his friend blushed, laughing and responding in what looked like a shy, shaky way. The girl laughed in the same manner.

Awkward idiots, Hyunjin thought with a grin. He checked his watch; he had a couple minutes before the game commenced. Hopefully Felix would come to his mind and realise he had a team waiting for him.

Hyunjin turned and took the long way around to the court.

The gym was a hustle and bustle of different teams and coaches in a variety of different colours of uniforms, some on the court, some off. Most of the teams were split amongst their assigned courts, most training and warming up with their respective coaches. Hyunjin navigated to the back court, where his own team was, and began to help the younger members stretch and go over game tactics.

Felix came in just as everyone began to line up to bow to the other team, skidding into place next to Hyunjin, who shook hands with the other team's captain before stepping back into place.

"Forgot about the game, hmm?" He murmured, smirking.

Felix scoffed. "Forgot about breakfast, did you?"

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, keeping them then trained on the opponent's captain. "Shut up. Make sure your little girlfriend doesn't make you late next time."

Felix went red, not looking at Hyunjin as the referee went through the standard procedures for the game. "Could say the same thing about you and Y/n. But sure, I won't be late next time. Sorry, Captain."

Hyunjin playfully patted Felix's back as they took their positions on the court. Hyunjin stood, poised and knees bent, eyes fixed on the ball that the referee held between him and the opponent's power forward. He'd done this plenty of times; the ball toss was one of the reasons he was the star player of the team.

The whistle blew and Hyunjin leapt, almost feeling his opponent's chest brush against his own. He slapped it out of reach and Hyunjin landed lightly, sprinting after it and beginning to weave his way down the court with Jeongin.

Four hoops and thirty minutes later, Hyunjin sat down on the bench, congratulating his team members on their performance so far. He took a swig of water and wiped his face with a towel. The note from Y/n was tucked into the pocket of his shorts, zipped up, and Hyunjin reached a finger inside to touch it lightly.

It was like his little lucky charm.

The red numbers on the clock read five minutes left as the game resumed.

Four.

Hyunjin passed to Felix, who ducked from an opponent and passed to Jisung, who made his way down to the hoop, where Hyunjin was sprinting.

Three.

Eyes fixed on his friend and ready to receive the ball, Hyunjin took a step back, almost crossing the boundary line.

Two.

Stumbling, he ducked under his opponent's arm and stepped in front of him, eyes fixed on the ball as it flew through the air to him.

One.

Catching it and almost slipping, he leapt and shot into the hoop above him, his torso twisting awkwardly to accommodate the shot.

The buzzer rang loudly as the ball fell through the hoop. Landing, Hyunjin slipped as his opponent shoved him harshly in the ribs.

He fell hard on his side and found a smile gracing his sweaty face, though he felt winded. Trying to suck air into his lungs and almost laughing at their first victory, he struggled into a sitting position, cradling his left forearm.

Felix and Jeongin tackled him in a hug, Jisung lifting him up. Hyunjin didn't even notice, overwhelmed by the realisation that they'd won the game and the slowly increasing throbbing pain in his forearm.

Ten minutes later, Hyunjin sat in the gym infirmary, cradling his arm as the nurse wrapped a bandage around it, throwing the bleeding tissues in the bin. He'd fallen and scraped it, resulting in a nasty friction burn and an even nastier bruise. His wrist hurt a little but the nurse assured him it would fade.

Felix sat grinning in the corner, having walked him to the infirmary in the first place. He was as sweaty and exhausted as Hyunjin felt, though a disapproving glare twinged his features.

"That guy shoved you really hard," he stood and stretched after the nurse had left.

"Yup," Hyunjin grinned. He wasn't even angry, flushed with the sheen of victory. "Oh, well."

Felix peered at the bandage. "Gonna use one of Y/n's bandaids?"

Hyunjin nodded, turning his forearm over and stroking a finger along the interior, feeling the rough bandage under his fingertip. It had looked pretty bad and had bled even more, but he knew he could push on til the end of the tournament. Until he saw Y/n, he was going to work as hard as he could.

He could hold out til then.

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