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dreaming-medium · 7 months ago

Text

Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

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A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

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Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?��, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

#Lee know x reader #Lee Minho x reader #Skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #Lee know x y/n #Lee Minho x y/n #lee know reader insert #Skz x y/n #Lee know fluff #Skz fluff

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kateschi · 5 months ago

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get them fangirls away!

synopsis: katsuki’s greatest battle isn’t on the field—it’s surviving relentless fangirls. good thing he has you to shield him

pairing: secondyear!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

katsuki doesn’t run away from fights. he’s a fighter—loud, explosive, and always ready for a challenge.

but this?

this is different. this is a nightmare of his own making, and no amount of explosions is going to fix it.

“dynamight-senpai!” the shrill voices echo down the hallway like a siren’s call, and katsuki’s eye twitches.

his palms spark with irritation as he quickens his pace, trying to lose them in the maze of ua corridors.

but they’re relentless, chasing after him like their lives depend on it. why the hell don’t these brats know when to quit?

“dynamight-senpai! wait for us!”

he clenches his jaw. they’re like a pack of wolves, except these wolves ask for autographs and selfies instead of sinking their teeth in. still, they’re dangerous.

his eyes dart around, scanning the hallway for any possible escape route, when he spots you up ahead.

you’re leaning casually against your locker, completely unaware of the chaos barrelling toward you.

a plan clicks into place immediately.

he pushes off the ground, sprinting towards you with quick, desperate steps.

the frantic pounding of his footsteps catches your attention just as he skids to a stop behind you, ducking down to use you as a human shield.

“katsuki—what the hell are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide with confusion as you turn to face him.

“fangirls!” he hisses, crouching even lower behind you, his breath slightly ragged. his red eyes flicker toward the hallway entrance where the fangirls are rounding the corner, their faces lighting up the moment they spot him.

before you can ask any more questions, the first-years come to a screeching halt in front of you, out of breath but still buzzing with excitement.

they don’t even seem to notice you, their eyes locked onto katsuki who is half-hidden behind you like a kid caught in trouble.

“dynamight-senpai!” the leader squeals, pushing her way to the front of the group. “we’ve been looking all over for you!”

katsuki grits his teeth and curses under his breath, barely peeking over your shoulder. his hand grips your shoulder a little tighter, holding onto you for dear life.

“go away,” he growls, but his usual explosive tone is muffled by your presence, sounding more irritated than intimidating.

the fangirls, however, are undeterred. in fact, they seem even more excited by the sight of their idol so close—and apparently, within reach.

“we just want a picture, dynamight-senpai!” one of them pleads, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “just one, please?”

“no,” he snaps, but it’s lacking the usual bite. his eyes dart to yours, desperation flashing across his face for a split second. “damn it, why won’t they leave?”

you bite back a laugh. the mighty katsuki, hiding behind his girlfriend from a group of over-eager first-years. this is too good.

taking a step forward, you square your shoulders and block katsuki from view even more. “I think you heard him. he said no.”

the leader of the fangirls blinks, her enthusiasm faltering just a bit as she finally acknowledges your presence. “wait... are you...?”

you raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a knowing smirk. “yeah, I’m his girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air for a moment, and you can practically see the wave of shock that ripples through the group.

the girls exchange stunned looks, their expressions ranging from disbelief to awe.

“dynamight-senpai has a girlfriend?!” one of them whispers, her eyes going wide.

katsuki smirks as he straightens up a little behind you. “yeah, you heard her. my girlfriend. and if you don’t back off, she’ll beat your asses into the ground.”

you glance back at him, giving him a pointed look. “seriously? that’s your plan?”

“damn right it is,” he mutters, crossing his arms as if he’s made the smartest move ever. “they’re annoyin’ the hell outta me. figured I’d let you handle it.”

one of the girls in the back gasps, clutching her hands to her chest.

“wait, we didn’t mean to upset him! we’re just...we’re such big fans of dynamight-senpai! he’s so amazing!”

“yeah!” another chimes in, her eyes wide and pleading. “we didn’t mean any harm!”

you sigh, looking them over. they’re not bad kids—just... overly enthusiastic.

but katsuki is your boyfriend, and while you’re used to his temper, you’re not about to let anyone, even a group of fangirls, mess with him.

“look, I get it,” you say, your tone softening slightly, though you still keep it firm.

“you’re excited and all, but katsuki isn’t some kind of photo op. he’s just trying to get through his day. how about you give him some space?”

the leader looks embarrassed now, her earlier excitement faltering. “we didn’t mean to bother him...”

katsuki huffs from behind you. “you did.”

you glance at him over your shoulder, shaking your head slightly. “so helpful.”

he grumbles under his breath but stays quiet, letting you handle it. you turn back to the girls, offering them a small smile. “just...be respectful, okay?”

the leader nods quickly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “y-yeah, we’ll leave him alone. sorry for bothering you, dynamight-senpai and h/n-senpai.”

katsuki grunts, obviously relieved they’re finally getting the hint. the group lingers for a moment longer before they start shuffling away down the hall, their chatter much quieter now.

once they are gone, you turn to katsuki, raising an eyebrow. “so... hiding behind your girlfriend now? that’s a new one.”

he scowls, though the faint blush creeping up his neck was hard to miss. “shut up. I wasn’t hiding.”

you can’t help but laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “sure, ‘cause using me as a shield isn’t hiding.”

“tch. you handled it, didn’t you?” he shoves his hands into his pockets, avoiding your gaze. “better than blowin’ ‘em up.”

you smile, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “you’re lucky I’ve got your back.”

he grumbles something under his breath, clearly too stubborn to admit you were right, but he takes his hand out of his pocket to intertwine your fingers together.

of course, that isn’t without a side-eye when you grin.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x y/n #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou x you #bakugou x fem!reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugou x female reader

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yuzujjn · 6 months ago

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` ꣑꣒‎ ONE WIN, ONE DATE : 심재윤 ─── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

ʬʬ. football player!jake x cheerleader!reader 𖥔 ݁ ARCHiVE 7OO wordcount fluff . . . skinship, kisses ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ happy bday to jakey, && for my juni bby

YOU'RE STANDING ON THE SIDELINES, pom-poms in hand, watching jake tear through the field like he owns it. he’s got this intensity in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse pick up because you know he’s giving it his all—just to win this game. all for one reason: he bet you that if he wins, he gets to ask you out.

it’s been a fun, flirty thing between you two for weeks now, but this? this is new. he made sure the whole team knew about his little bet, which has them teasing him endlessly about finally "making a move on his dream girl." you catch a few of his teammates smirking and nudging him before the game starts, and jake just rolls his eyes with a lopsided grin, eyes glancing at you every now and then. you swear you can feel his gaze even from across the field.

the game is close, way too close for your liking. you’re on edge, practically jumping each time he gets the ball, and maybe you’re clapping a little louder than anyone else (not that you liked him, or maybe you did). in the final minutes, it’s tied, and jake’s team has the ball. you watch as he gets the ball, weaving through the opposing team with an ease.

the crowd holds its breath, and so do you.

with a swift, clean kick, jake scores, sealing the win. the stadium erupts, but jake’s eyes find you instantly, a smug, triumphant smile on his face as he’s mobbed by his teammates. when they finally let him go, he sprints over to you, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“so…” he starts, leaning over, hands on his knees, slightly out of breath but still managing to look cocky. “still gonna pretend you’re not into me?”

you roll your eyes, though your cheeks are definitely giving you away. “who said i was ever into you?”

“i could tell.” jake flashes that heart-melting smile, moving closer. you’re aware of the other cheerleaders watching, and you’re definitely aware of his hand grazing your waist, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

“oh, yeah? you’re that confident?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice betrays you.

“confident enough to win a game for you,” he says with a smirk. “and i did say i’d ask you out if i won.”

“so ask away, sim,” you challenge, folding your arms.

he lets out a chuckle, his fingers brushing yours as if testing the waters. “okay, let me ask properly, then.” jake clears his throat dramatically, taking your hand in his. “y/n, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

you’re pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults, but you manage to keep your cool—sort of. “hmm… maybe. depends. what kind of date are we talking about?”

jake grins, squeezing your hand gently. “whatever you want. something fun. something that’ll make you smile like that.” he nods at you, obviously noticing the way your lips are curving, despite your attempt to stay composed.

“fine,” you say, relenting with a playful eye roll. “but only because you tried so hard.”

he leans in, closer than before, his voice just above a whisper. “only the best for you.”

your heart skips, and you glance down, trying to hide the way his words affect you. but jake isn’t done; he tilts your chin up, meeting your gaze. "guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“guess so,” you whisper, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you realize he’s not moving back. his hand is still at your waist, his thumb gently tracing circles on your hip. the stadium is still loud around you, but it feels like it’s just the two of you here, his face inches from yours.

“think i can get a ‘good game’ kiss?” he asks with a wink, his voice teasing but hopeful. you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling now.

“don’t push your luck, sim.” but before he can respond, you lean up, giving him the quickest, softest peck on the lips. it’s barely there, but it’s enough to make his eyes widen in surprise and a smile spread across his face.

“you’re making me want to win every game now,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep scoring, then,” you reply with a grin, stepping back slightly, though your hand stays in his, fingers tangled together.

“oh, trust me, y/n,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you, “i’ll be scoring a lot.”

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daylighted · 5 months ago

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LIVEWIRE — jj maybank x reader.

livewire (n) — an energetic or unpredictable person; a force of nature. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthat boy is a livewire; he'll ruin you, or die trying.

. . . or, jj's crashout — featuring you.

includes, SEXUAL CONTENT! MDNI. kinda pwp. crashout!jj. best friend!fem!reader. forced proximity. high stakes. dirty talk. jj is vocal. p in v. unprotected sex ( do not do this they r just so ridiculous & horny ). ( semi ) public. he has absolutely no pullout game but he's forgiven for it </3

NOTES. if the door logic doesn't make any sense realistically ... that's not my business. i'm not writing for realism i'm writing for the JJ GIRLS who want 2 fuck CRASHOUT JJ. also my apology for the quote in the tagline ik its too soon still but i joke 2 cope.

Red and blue littered the autumnal afternoon sky, sirens overshadowing the lyrical chirps of the birds, the scattered winds blowing red and orange leaves down the Kildare streets.

JJ Maybank is a fucking force to be reckoned with. In his wake, town hall’s alarms reared their deafening screeches, the aforementioned chilly winds blowing in handfuls of leaves to scatter the podiums and the foldout chairs. There’s a lone chair on its side in the middle of the well-kept grassy front courtyard. There’s glass burrowing itself in the dirt, reflecting the golden sun’s light at every which way when you turn your head.

The other pogues are screaming at him to go, to run, and he’s shocked for a moment. Stood like a deer in headlights at the actions that he took. Who knew how much one boy was capable? All of the destruction that two hands could elicit?

Oh, and what an empowering thought it is, too: realizing what you are capable of doing when you are pushed to the brink.

There’s that look in his eyes, before he turns on his heels and takes off into the wood, disappearing like a speck in the small bit of forestry separating town hall from the rest of the downtown area.

You know what that look means. This is merely the first in his rampage. Fire burns blue in the thin line of his irises, everything else overtaken by adrenaline and fucking rage.

“Someone has to—” Kie starts, and you realize that you’ve been staring straight ahead at the trees he vanished into, eyes locked on the exact path he took. “Someone has to go, go make sure he’s okay—”

Sarah’s eyes lock on yours. John B grimaces for a second, like he’s considering it, before he looks at you, too. Kie’s words, albeit vague, had never sounded so directed before. Pope—

Pope is getting tossed against the hood of a cop car, and suddenly, the pogues aren’t looking at you anymore. Their gazes break and shatter away from you like the shards of the window surrounding your feet.

Your heart is racing. You. Chase him down. And what did they expect you to do? To tell him that this wasn’t him, and to stop while he’s ahead, and to hold his hand and guide him back to safety away from the cops’ sirens and cars that had already broken away from the crowd to hunt for him?

No. This was JJ, and he wouldn’t stop while he was ahead, and he was going to take the cops on his tail like a challenge to keep going until he cracked — or they did.

You were the only one that ever understood him, really. That was why their eyes immediately shifted to you when the topic came up that someone had to find him, because even while they wanted to help, they would only drive him further away. Not you. Never you.

You’re turning on your heel and sprinting before anyone can realize what you’re doing. Not the screaming kooks, demanding lawyers and justice to the unlistening winds. Not the pogues, banging on the remaining cop cars to free him, free Pope, stop this fucking madness—

It’s like a thin line is painted on the ground between you and JJ. An invisible rope, loose but growing more taut the closer you follow on his tail.

You follow it. Follow that red string into the trees, letting it tug you along until you break out of the shadowy wood and onto main street.

A car alarm blares. Glass shards on the trunk of it, surrounding the asphalt around it. You slow to a stop to avoid catching any of those sharp, loose pieces in your shoes. Even now that the imaginary red line has faded, you can see traces of where he went in the path of destruction he made.

A shop’s window busted a few feet away from the car. A street pole sparking and buzzing lowly, electricity humming through the air like a siren’s song, tempting anyone it came across to touch it. Touch the livewire.

Just a few feet away, there he is. JJ has an outdoor seating chair in his two hands, and he’s seconds from tossing it through the glass window of the cafe it was in front of.

“JJ!” You shout, your voice faint beneath the sound of the car alarm, the sparking of the electrical fire, the hum of electricity buzzing all around you.

His head swivels to look back at you, and he looks fucking vicious. He looks like no matter what you say, he’s not going to stop. Not here. The electricity coming from the dented-in box on the street pole is feeding directly into his veins.

“Not supposed t’be here,” he calls back, and now that fury is directed at you. As if he ever could have stopped you from following the breadcrumbs he only ever left for you. “Can’t fuckin’ stop me.”

You crunch glass beneath your feet as you run toward him. It’s too late to do anything about the cafe window; its pieces spill onto the glossy wood floor, some splayed onto the sidewalk.

“Who said I’d try and stop you?” You ask him once you’re close enough. His hand runs through his mussed blonde hair, tugging the strands straight up.

His eyes flit to you, eyebrows raised behind the loose strands falling back down over them. “M’not letting you get into this shit, too,” he says just as sternly. “It’s my fuckin’ life I’m ruining.”

“Why?” you ask him, and it is a genuine question, even though you don’t think he’s going to answer. So you start to spit out your own theories. “Because of your dad? Because of what Luke did?”

His eyes drop to the ground, squinting like he’s looking for something through the shards surrounding his feet. The bat. The end of it sticks out in front of your shoes.

You bend down to grab it, holding the hitting end out toward him. His eyes are so dark when they glance at it, and then back up to you. His eyes were always oceanic, but now they seemed to be drowned out by the stormy black clouds that were his pupils.

JJ’s eyes linger on yours. He’s never really made an effort to read you before, more of a take it on the chin sort of guy when it came to how people were, and what they meant to him. But he studied you now, and it was almost unnerving, trying to guess what exactly he saw reflected back to him.

His fingers close around the hitting end of the bat in a tight grip, using it to pull you closer to him. He’s holding it out to the side, just so that it can’t go taut and rigid between the two of you, allowing you to be tugged closer than you would have been able to be.

His breaths come in furious pants, audible once you were close to him. He was a livewire. He was sparking, burning everything he touched, trying to take it all to the ground.

Destruction was always so pretty when it was at his hands. He did everything with purpose, whether it was for the good of who he cared about, or for his own grievances.

And this sort of destruction, the kind you saw his eyes fall into once you were close enough to share breaths? It was golden and fiery, and full of promise that would break the thin line between your friendship and something else.

You knew it in the same way that you knew how to follow that red, invisible line to him. Red because it was a bad idea, a waving red flag, telling you to stop, stop, stop. But it connected the both of you, regardless of its color; so how were you expected to?

“Feelin’ hungry?” JJ asks, voice low and almost sinful with the way that it rasped.

You don’t mean to balk, but you do. It wasn’t a question you expected him to ask, but the double meaning in it, the innuendo laced words, had you stifling on your own words. “For what?”

The bat slips from his grip, and it falls to hang loosely at your side. “We broke it, we buy it,” he says with a nod toward the shattered gap in the cafe’s window. “Or… not buy it.” His eyebrows bounce when he looks at you, and he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Did you think I was talkin’ about something else?”

Your face flushes. Then, you drop the bat to shove at his chest with both hands. “Shut up.”

“What, you feelin’ all hot and bothered, sweetheart?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tryna get some fugitive dick before it’s tossed in the slammer?”

Your face is hot, the trail of heat from your reddened cheeks traveling like a river stream to your lower stomach. “Shut up, JJ,” you seethe, though it has none of the fire you wish it did. You didn’t know why; you had so much of it running through your blood then that it should have made you sound more fiery than you did.

“Uh huh,” JJ cackles, his hand lifting to the back of your shoulder, pushing you toward the broken window. Once you’re a few steps ahead of him, his hand claps on your ass. “Andele, andele! Cops on the horizon.”

It takes every bit of your willpower to not whirl around and smack him back. You don’t, because unfortunately for you, the sting only adds to your stomach becoming molten liquid, and for the other, more pressing matter, of the cops’ lights glowing red and blue at the very end of the street.

You duck into the hole in the glass, feet crunching down on pieces of glass and debris. He follows immediately after, though when he slips into the building, it’s more stumbling than anything graceful.

“Head t’the back,” he huffs, nodding toward the push-to-open door behind the front counter. “M’not gettin’ fucking caught before I fuck up that goddamn realtor’s house.”

Arguing with him is a bit useless. JJ’s never been one to listen to anyone when his mind is set on something. You knew this from the moment that you took off in his direction to find him. Still, you almost open your mouth to make the effort to stop him, so at least you could say you did try.

He cuts in front of you, stepping around the chair he tossed through the window, hopping over the countertop. He stops when he’s leaned against the door, holding it propped for you.

“I’d say ladies first, but someone’s takin’ their sweet ass time,” he prods, nodding in gesture to the kitchen.

You scoff, shaking your head, as you circle around the counter, shoving your shoulder into him when you duck underneath his arm. “Some of us aren’t so akin with vandalism.”

“Some of us,” JJ mocks, his fingers digging into your ribcage as he falls into step behind you, “need t’lighten the hell up.”

“I’m sorry, but are the cops not literally outside? End of the road?” It’s useless to humor him and his pestering, but it makes your heart beat a little bit faster, so who are you to make it easier for him and just go along with his ploys?

He tsks. “Semantics.” His head spins around as he takes in the room surrounding them; typical bakery style kitchen, mixers and cutting boards and ovens, sinks lined up on the back wall. There’s tall fridges and deep freezes on one side of the wall, and parallel to it was— “Aha, there we go.”

JJ cuts in front of you again, doing a little hop and a skip as he bumps his hip into this new door, tugging the handle down as he opens it. “Pantry, or whatever,” he scoffs, his face twisting up, “doesn’t matter to me what the hell it is. Gonna have to camp out in here, you and I.”

Of course you were. You’d signed up for this, getting involved in this round of his criminalistic habits, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have the right to be annoyed. Weren’t you lot chased by the police enough as is?

Still, you step into the pantry, the smell of chocolate chips and something else sugary hitting your nostrils the moment you’re inside. Boxes of ingredients line the shelves, including the ziploc bag of chocolate chips.

JJ’s snatching it up before you can even process it, diving his hand into it and popping the handful between his plush lips. “Told you. Break it, we bought it.”

Your eyes roll. Vandalism and theft. Probably a hefty sentence, nothing that either of you could afford with Poguelandia on the brink of destruction and your debts already piled high.

He zips the bag back up and tosses it back on the shelf. “Walkin’ around like you got a stick up your ass, sweetheart,” JJ muses, his fingers closing around your elbow. “Told y’to relax, didn’t I?”

“No,” you say slowly in response. “You told me to lighten the hell up.”

One side of his mouth quirks in a half smile, dimple gracing his cheek in the process. “Semantics,” he repeats, and he uses the grip he has on your arm to tug you back into his chest. “I could help you lighten the hell up.”

“I sincerely doubt it, JJ,” you huff, your expression as unimpressed as one’s could be. “You’re the entire reason—”

His mouth crashes against yours before you can finish that sentence. His mouth is as soft as it looks, the inner shell of his lips chapped. He tastes like weed, like the taste of it is so familiar in his mouth that it embedded itself into his taste.

You almost don’t kiss back. It’s one of those things that feels like a bad idea because it is. That pointless rule about no kissing on other pogues went out the window the moment Kie and Pope got their hands on each other, but it still felt wrong, to break one of the rules that cemented the glue that held this group together.

You kiss him back anyways. The moment that you start to respond to his advances, his tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, pushing his way in. He starts walking the both of you backwards, deeper into the pantry, until your back hits the wall.

JJ’s hands drop to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly to wrap your legs around his waist. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him further in until his chest presses against yours.

His hands let go of you, the press of his body against yours on the wall and your legs tight around his waist keep you held up. His fingers close around the hem of your dress’s skirt, tugging it up.

Your eyes pop open, falling down to your exposed panties pressed against his denim jeans. When you glance back up at him, lips still lightly pressed to his, they’re blue again, and glimmery.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, stealing another kiss in the process. “Just… tryna get your mind off of—”

“The manhunt?” You finish for him, and he laughs breathlessly against your mouth.

“Mm, m’not doing a great job at distracting you, then,” he teases, one of his hands letting go of your dress, the other fisting the fabric as he holds it up. The free hand’s fingers slide down, down, down, until their tips are pressed on the edge of your panties. So close he could probably feel the slickness leaking through the fabric.

“This all for me, baby?” he asks with that infuriating amusement curled around his words. “Or is it the danger of all this, too? Like bein’ an outlaw with little ol’ me?”

You aren’t even going to dignify him with an answer. Your bottom lip wedges itself between your teeth, your hands curling into fists against the fabric of his shirt.

His middle finger starts to rub slow, lazy circles over your swollen clit through the damp fabric of your panties, his lips parted like he’s going to say something stupid about the whine that falls from your mouth—

When the sirens get so loud that it echoes around the small pantry. They don’t dissipate, either, which means…

“The door,” you choke out, nodding behind JJ to the pantry door. He’d shut it behind the both of you, but there’s a lock by the top of it, one of those chain link ones. “The lock—” You try to clarify, your brain a bit muddled.

JJ’s head turns to glance behind him, and you watch his eyes dance up to the chain, too. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Such a damn worrier.”

“I’m not—”

Always useless arguing with him. He cuts you off by gripping at your thighs again with his lithe fingers, lifting you off of the wall and tugging you into his chest.

You grab fistfuls of his shirt so you don’t fall backwards at the sudden movement, your lips curled into a scowl.

He doesn’t seem to notice. He holds you in his arms as he walks to the door, pressing your back against this one so he can remove one hand from your leg, and lifts it to chain the lock.

“Better?” he teases, and you’re about to scowl at him again when you watch the smile drop from his lips.

Just as suddenly as he’d yanked you from the wall, he’s dropping to the ground, your body falling right along with him, knees crashing into the hardwood floors as you land into straddling him. Your mouth opens to gasp, or swear, or gasp and swear, when his fingers close over your lips.

The cops. You hear them, then, the muffled voices and muddled words. Through the crack beneath the door behind JJ’s planted ass, you see their flashlights, too.

His eyes meet yours, and he nods once, his expression grim. You blink, and his eyes are again filled with that glimmering mischief that never, in his life, has meant something good.

And it was truly delinquent of him this time, as his hands drop to the button and fly of his jeans. Your mouth opens and closes in protest, because there’s no way he’s thinking that you two are going to fuck on some cafe’s pantry’s floor with cops right there—

“Oh, get that look offa your face,” he whispers, nosing your chin up and stealing a kiss when you’ve met his eyes again. “As long as you be quiet, what’s the big deal?”

“You have nothing but awful ideas in that head of yours,” you snap in a low whisper, through your gritted teeth. “I’m not having sex with you right now—”

JJ’s eyebrows raise. His eyes fall down to your slickened thighs, to the panties beneath the dress pooling his waist that he knows are wet with your arousal.

“Fuck you.” It’s so pathetic to say, such a weak argument, but it’s the only thing that you can even think right now. Your heart is pounding in your chest with adrenaline and need and the fact that you can feel his hard dick straining in his jeans against your pussy.

JJ tips his head in a nod, his lips still quirked. “Aye aye, captain.”

He undoes the restraints on his jeans, and his fingers disappear into the flyguard. Your eyes bounce between his face and his hands, his expression contorted in pure concentration that would be adorable if it wasn’t so seriously not. His tongue’s poking between his teeth, panting like an excited puppy, and you just want to—

“Hop on, baby,” he says triumphantly, and those stupid lips curl into an even more stupid grin. His hands pat his thighs to draw your attention downward.

Fuck.

Your eyes must darken at the sight of him, hard and leaking precum, because he starts cackling like there aren’t police on the other side of the door, trying to cuff him and throw him in the backseat of a police car. “C’mon. Don’t be stingy now, baby, I see how bad you want it.”

There are rare moments that JJ is right. Broken clocks right twice a day, or something like that. When he’s right, he’s always dead on, and it’s infuriating.

You glance up at the little window in the door, and for then, at least, it’s clear. No shining flashlights beaming into the pantry you’re both camping in…

You make bad decisions far less than JJ does. Still, like broken clocks, you both align sometimes.

Lifting your hips off of his lap, his hands grasp at the backs of your thighs, guiding you onto his waiting cock, slapping it lightly against your pussy a couple of times before he lines himself up and drags the swollen head of it down your folds beneath your panties. He doesn’t give any warning before he pushes himself into you, a hard thrust that brings him all the way to the hilt at once.

Your lips fall open in a sharp gasp, and just barely does his hand make it over your mouth before the moan falls out of your mouth. One hand over your mouth, the other on your ass, guiding you into moving.

“As much as I love that mouth of yours,” JJ groans into your ear, low and rough like the words are being pried out of his lungs and torn through his ribs, “gonna have to keep it down this time.”

He’s such a fucking hypocrite, though — the moment you adjust to the size of him filling you completely, stretching your inner walls to accommodate to him, and you start to move on your own? His head tips back against the door, guttural moans underneath his breath.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he manages, and you slam down on him again, his hand dragging your hips forward to grind your aching pussy against his pelvis in slow circles. “Oh, fuck, baby—”

“Shut up,” you muffle through his hand, even though it’s getting to you too, his palm stifling every gasp and breathy whimper before it leaves your parted lips.

His hand clasps tighter around your mouth, his heavy, half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “You’re not the one in control here, baby.”

It’s easy to forget, with him stretching you out and being relatively gentle right now, that he’s higher than he’s ever been. Adrenaline turns people into carcasses of themselves; wearing them down to the bone, using every scrap of energy available.

His blown pupils are glimmering with it. He’s daring you with nothing but a look to see what happens when you keep running your mouth. His hand relents its hold on your mouth, and the other stills your hips as you stay suspended halfway down his cock.

The whine you let out is something you’ll deny later. The gravelly laugh he lets out is something that indicates he won’t let you.

JJ smears his hand across your mouth, taking the saliva from the corner of your lips and spreading it across them, your cheek, before his two fingers slide into your mouth. “Not so bossy now, are you, baby?” he asks under his breath, as he thrusts his fingers in and out, as he slams his hips up in that same relentless pace as them. “Not so bossy when I’m fucking that mouth and that pretty little pussy.”

His words burn from your lower stomach to up your spine, electric everywhere they reach. You can do nothing but take it, your hands on his shoulders for some sense of stability.

Each thrust has the tip of his cock against your cervix, has his fingers clawing along your tongue as he presses them down on it just enough to pry your jaw open.

“Lemme see that smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs, those two fingers spreading out into a V, forcing the corners of your lips up and into a wide grin. You sneer, and all that does is make him pound into you harder. “Don’t act so fuckin’ fussy, you’re gettin’ what you wanted, aren’t ya?”

His fingers press on your tongue again, and your lips close around them again. It’s a good distraction from the way you want to scream. Not like you’d ever put that thought in his head with his ego.

JJ slows his pace, but each thrust is just as hard, so deep in you that you can feel each of them, each minute detail; the thick head of his cock against your cervix, every inch that stretches you further with each of those thrusts, the obscene sound in the silent room of skin slapping against skin.

“Baby, m’not gonna last much longer,” JJ pants into your ear, his voice still as rough but with an air of desperation. “Not like this, not with how fuckin’ good you’re bein’ for me, nice and quiet while I fuck your juicy pussy— fuck, baby.”

He drags his fingers over your lips again, this time down, down the valley between your breasts, your stomach, your navel, until they’re planted right in the hot wetness of your folds. They find your clit and begin to rub the swollen nub, slow and gentle and completely at odds with the brutal fucking.

You’re good, though, even without his hand covering your mouth. Even with—

A flashlight beams through the glass window above the both of you. Your eyes glance up to see it, and JJ’s staring at the spotlight of gold in the center of the room, just inches from his extended legs.

It flicks left, right, and you see the glimmer in the eyes of the officer right there, face pressed to the glass, hear the doorknob jangle against the chained lock—

JJ doesn’t stop. His pace becomes quicker, more erratic, more desperate. Your jaw trembles with the effort to keep your parted lips from making any sound at all, the precipice so close that you’re terrified of whatever noise is going to come out of your mouth when you cum.

The beam from the light swings away, disappearing as the officer walks away, muffled words through the walls separating you and JJ from them.

It’s just in time, too, because you cum with a soft and breathless gasp, your walls pulsing around his cock, your head falling forward to bury into his collar. His moans begin to shudder in your ear, and you know that he, too, is cumming. Feel it seconds later, when your head starts to clear from the haze of ecstasy, as the warmth of his cum fills you, his cock twitching inside of you.

JJ lifts his fingers from between your legs and pops them into his mouth, the sound of him sucking the essence of you off of them making your legs tremble around him. “Like fuckin’ sin,” he whispers reverently.

He’s so pretty like this. All spent and molten, softening cock inside of you like an extension of you now. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, thumb brushing stray hairs off of your face in the process.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, just as reverently as before, voicing the same thoughts you’d been having about him.

“You’re so stupid,” you say in response, not capable of telling him how much you love him, feeling it to be the wrong time, too cheesy, another thing he’ll tease you about later.

It’s there, though, on the tip of your tongue. I love you. And you do, so much that it aches. This man that’d been your best friend since you could remember anything. This man who sacrificed everything constantly for everyone.

He wouldn’t have to sacrifice anything anymore, you wanna say. He could rest now, you wanted to say, too.

But it feels wrong. And there’s always another time to tell him when it doesn’t just seem like bliss-driven thoughts. There’s always another day.

notes, thoguht my grief was over but the ending made me cry for some reason that's how u know this death hit deep bc why am i crying over like four lines in a Smut pls

#dahlia's ☆ journal #dividers by cafekitsune #pogue!reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #outer banks #obx #outer banks one shot #obx one shot

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jamietarttsnorthernattitude · 1 year ago

Note

For word thing: stairs, hurt, bed

Thank you thank you friend!

All from thought i wanted love ('til you showed me what it was):

Bed

Jamie heard the door open, and his skin prickled in warning. He had to get out of here. He had to go. The nurse turned her head and spoke to the man. “He woke but started to become agitated. Not uncommon with head injuries. Especially if he was mugged, poor lad. We’re giving him something to calm him down.” Mugged? Had he been mugged? Where? When? The doctor injected something else into his IV, and the man stepped closer, and the nurse moved to allow him space. Jamie tried to move deeper into the bed but whatever they gave him was working, and he was struggling to stay awake. Jamie felt his eyes drift close, but they snapped open as the person by his bed spoke. “It’s okay, I’m here now,” Every voice in his head screamed at him to get out of there, but the darkness pulled him farther and farther away from consciousness. The man’s words reached through the void, grabbed him and held him down as he struggled to free himself. “You’re safe, son.” Dad.

Hurt

“Did, did they call Mummy-Mum?”Jamie coughed, Dad wouldn’t like him calling Georgie Mummy. He’s not going to like Jamie asking after her at all. “Did they call Mum?” Mummy was his emergency contact and they would’ve called her. She and Simon will be here soon. They’ll make Dad leave. They’ll sort it all out while his brain was too concussed to do it himself. “They said they did, but the woman didn’t answer. Probably busy working or with that husband of hers. You know how she is.” No, James didn’t know how Mummy was. She had never put Simon before him. And bless Simon, he had never expected or wanted anything different. If Mummy knew he was in hospital she would be breaking all sorts of speed limits and sound barriers to get to him. Fuck, his head hurt.

Stairs

“Dad?” Jamie called out weakly. He didn’t want to attempt the stairs on his crutches when he was already unsteady, but he also knew he should be resting his ankle. “Dad?” he tried again. Jamie wasn’t sure if he wanted his father to hear his cry or not, but Jamie didn’t have any longer to think as James appeared at his bedroom door. “Ah, he’s awake,” James smiled, and Jamie got fresh goosebumps on the back of his neck.

As for the sprint, I did a total of 45 minutes and added 700ish words, some concussed Jamie spiralling for your pleasure.

Roy was going to fucking kill him, letting his father back into his life like the fucking idiot he was or if he really had gone and gotten himself mugged. Either way, he would be in the dog house at the dog track. “Didn’t even have the prick signal, and you managed to out-prick yourself anyway,” the older man would likely say, or something similar, because pissing off a stranger seemed much more likely than a random mugging. Roy would be pissed at him, but Jamie couldn’t deny the safety he felt at the thought of his friend and coach. He’s here, he’s there, he’s every fucking where Roy Kent. Well, where the fuck was he now? Disneyland Paris with Phoebe, he remembered belatedly. Fuck.

#thank you thank you thank you #nativestarwrites word and sprint challenge #lets see if i use different tags for each of these lmao #fic: thought i wanted love ('til you showed me what it was)#aka the misery fic #cw implied abuse #jamie tartt #fuck jamie's dad #mentioned roy kent #fic: TIWLTYSMWIW

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strangersatellites · 2 months ago

Text

posting this feels like I'm crawling out of my grave and gasping for air

anyway- inspired by this post by @inthedarknessofnight

here's 1.3k of concert photographer!Steve and rockstar!Eddie because I couldn't get this out of my head

gimme, gimme more

1.3k words | this is the most g-rated thing I've ever written, it won't happen again

Steve’s feet hurt.

They always do after a show, but this one was particularly hard on him.

He’s been at this venue for two years now and shot countless shows in that time. But never in his career has he been challenged so– athletically.

The photo pit at this place is light years better than his last venue. There’s more than enough room for all of the photographers and their gear without stepping on each other. Usually Steve is grateful for this because surely there is only so many more beatings his 35mm can take before it kicks the bucket. Today though, he’s grateful for the space because of the full-tilt sprint this band had him in.

He’s never seen anything like it.

Well, less so did the band have him in a sprint and more so the frontman but, semantics.

The guy is everywhere. Steve could barely keep up with the way he ran around stage, jumping, climbing on equipment, leaning off-stage toward the barricade.

It was fun but Jesus, what is his deal?

Steve hadn’t even known who Corroded Coffin was 24 hours ago. Now he’s burned through two SD cards in an hour and a half.

The guy’s hot and a good photo subject, sue him.

Well, he thinks he’s a good photo subject at least. He won’t know until he’s culled through every single shot. Steve’s a good photographer, took to it naturally the first time he picked up a camera. His downfall though, according to his college professors at least, was that he pays absolutely no attention to what he’s shooting while he’s shooting it. Hence the overshooting.

On more than one occasion he’s gotten started on editing and someone is wearing an outfit he’s never seen before, someone’s got sunglasses on in every photo, a tag hanging off their jacket. All he’s concerned with is the framing, the lighting, and the focus. The content can be a problem for Future Steve. Everything can be fixed in post.

Almost.

Anyway, his feet hurt and he hates culling, so he pours himself a full glass of wine and plops down on the couch in front of an episode of trash tv with his laptop and props his feet up. Settles in for a long night.

2,461 images.

He throws his head back with a groan. Ugh.

The first hundred or so are garbage.

They always are.

A few shots spent fucking with the exposure, a few the focus, some the flash.

He denotes the purple flag as his ‘good’ tag and orange as his ‘trash’ tag. The orange is stacking up fast. Around 163 he starts finding some good images. Ones that aren’t tainted by motion blur from his running around after this frontman.

His photos of the drummer are pretty sick; he can't lie. The lights and the smoke and the near-manic smile on his face make for great photos. He’s not even this band’s personal photographer but he can imagine at least one of these will get posted to the band's socials. He’s good, what can he say?

He has a good bit of the bassist, his energy infectious enough you can almost feel it through the screen. Purple is making a comeback.

He finally gets through some crowd pics, some more drummer, some guitarist, some detail shots before he finally makes it to the frontman. 731 photos later.

What did Wikipedia say his name was? Eddie, he thinks.

Weird, the very first shot Steve has of him he’s making fierce eye contact with the camera.

Ew.

No matter how long Steve does this, photos of people looking directly at the camera never get less jarring.

Orange tag. Trash.

The next one is exactly the same.

Shit.

He’s really bad to fall victim to the high speed shutter on this camera and often finds himself with a dozen copies of the same picture. Looks like he’s done it again.

Orange.

More piercing eye contact.

What? He squints and flips back and forth between the last two photos.

They’re not even remotely similar. As a matter of fact, Steve was in a completely different location in the pit for the second one.

Green tag. Come back to this.

Taking a long swig from his glass he shifts so his laptop is closer to his face. Thinks that surely he’s not seeing this right.

He takes to forgoing his tagging system and just flipping through every photo as fast as his fingers can press the arrow keys.

He’s clicked through about 200 when he starts getting worried, his heart rate speeding up. Surely he got something usable.

“What the fuck?”

He’s clicked through 50 or 60 more when he decides that, no he did not fall victim to the shutter speed at all. This guy is just making direct eye contact with his camera in every single photo.

Steve’s not mad, the opposite really. He didn’t spend much time looking at the guy during the show and now he gets to have an eyeful while he works. What’s there to be mad about?

He is, however, mildly concerned that he won’t have a single decent photo to use for the venue socials when he posts about this show.

Whatever. Maybe fans of their music are also fans of uncomfortable eye contact. Who knows?

He finishes sifting through the rest of the photos, Eddie staring directly down the lens in every one, one’s where he’s not the subject included. Throws them all in an editing software and mass edits them all at once. He’ll detail edit later.

While the eye contact was a little unsettling, he did get one photo he’s particularly happy with. One that makes it look like the staring was on purpose.

It’s during the second to last song, a ballad– or as close as you can get with a metal band. Eddie’s standing center-stage and Steve had snagged the spot directly in front of him. He’s looking straight down, backlit with red spotlights, surrounded by smoke pumping from side-stage, and just close enough that Steve can see the sweat dripping down his neck. He looks a little bit scary, but that’s how Steve likes ‘em.

That’ll be the cover photo for sure.

He shoots an album link to his boss to review before he distributes them anywhere, then spends the next twenty minutes laughing to himself while he collects the goofiest photos of Eddie staring straight at his lens.

He puts them in a new album and copies the link.

When he opens up Instagram and searches Corroded Coffin he lets out a low whistle at the six million followers. Maybe he really should know who these guys are. With that many followers he doubts they’ll even see a message from his personal account, but whatever. He clicks on the message button on their profile and hits paste.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Great show tonight! Somebody tell this guy that he is allowed to look away from the camera though…

He only waits a few minutes for the reply.

@ corrodedcoffin HOLY SHIT THAT WAS YOU

@ corrodedcoffin Wait hang on

His phone pings with a message from a new account.

@ whoiseddiemunson HOLY SHIT THAT WAS YOU

@ whoiseddiemunson Sweetheart I wasn’t looking at the camera

Steve furrows his brows, confused. Starts typing a response but gets interrupted by another message.

@ whoiseddiemunson I was looking at the smoking hot guy behind it. Kinda hard to get a good look when he’s hiding behind the camera though.

Steve feels his cheeks flush and huffs a laugh to himself.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Well the guy behind the camera did manage to get a few good ones even though he was under surveillance the whole show. Wanna see those?

@ whoiseddiemunson Hell yeah I do. I just scrolled through your profile, your work is amazing. Do you want to show me the rest? Maybe over coffee tomorrow?

Steve smiles. His earlier heart palpitations replaced with butterflies.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Is this a date?

@ whoiseddiemunson It better be

#gin writes #I never thought that tag would see the light of day again #gin wrote #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #shot of gin #I am a photographer and have way too much inside knowledge to NOT write something with this #allow me to info dump at you rq #steddie fic #this is only 1.3k words and it took a LOT out of me #how I ever used to write full length fic is beyond me #good on past gin #because #present gin is WORN OUT #author has been listening to a lot of Britney Spears #hence the title #you can just be literally so back whenever you want #and I’m so back

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wonderlandwalker · 29 days ago

Text

The promises we cling to | Finnick Odair x reader

thg masterlist / inbox / part two

summary: this is basically just me starting with the "people are watching / then lets give them something to look at" prompt and maybe getting a little lost in the process

word count: 3.6k

tags / content warnings: angst, fluff, violence, blood, injury that whole shebang, I actually proofread this one but that doesn't mean I spotted everything sorry in advance

a/n: apparently the only time I'm capable of writing is when im less than a day away from my constitutional law final and delusional because i've been awake for 38 hours so hopefully this will give me enough dopamine to actually get a passing grade

Finnick knows how this works; he’s known it since he was fourteen years old and first stepped foot in an arena. Since the moment he lost sight of you, since the bloodbath separated you, Snow’s words haunt him with every cannon he hears: "She is just another thing I can take from you."

And yet—

He still dares to believe you’re alive.

Not because the Capitol hasn’t tried. Not because the odds are kind. But because you promised. You swore you’d fight. And Finnick clings to that vow like a prayer, even as the arena’s cannons rattle his bones. Last night, he’d counted the fallen—your name absent from the sky’s grim ledger. But three more cannons have split the air since dawn, and now—

Now he’s not sure what to believe. The rational part of him—the part carved into survival by years of Capitol cruelty—knows the truth: They’re playing with him. But the other part, the raw and bleeding thing behind his ribs, doesn’t care. The rebels’ plan echoe in his head, "Stay put. Wait for extraction." But he’s itching to move, to act, to do something besides sit here and wait. Every muscle in his body is filled with restless energy, his fingers tapping a precise rhythm against his trident. The inaction is worse than any challenge the arena could give him. He wants to run back into the jungle, to tear through the branches until he finds you, but he knows you. That's the cruellest part.

He knows how you think, the way you map escape routes before you even enter a room, the way you always have a back-up plan for your back-up plan. And right now, this beach is your plan. It’s the rendezvous point you had all agreed on before the Games even began, a secret strategy the rebels had managed to lay out. If he leaves, he risks missing you. If he stays, he risks leaving you to die alone. The dilemma claws at his ribs, and around him he can hear the others strategise, but their words blur into static. All he can hear is the phantom echoe of your voice in his head as you tell him it will be okay. Johanna catches his eye from across the beach, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Stop pacing. You’re making me twitchy.” He forces himself to let out a deep breath, focusing on the movement of the water in front of him. He needs to put himself back together; he needs to stay here.

But then—your scream. It tears through the jungle, a sound so visceral his body moves before his mind catches up. He’s already sprinting, the grip on his trident tight as his instincts kick in.

"Finnick, stop—!" Johanna’s voice is lost to him over the rushing of blood in his ears. The trees blur as he runs; he doesn't think about the careers that could be close by, the traps that he could trigger or the fact that he’s doing the exact opposite of what he’s supposed to. The flicker of movement to his right catches his attention, and he’s about to change directions when the jabberjays descend. They’re a swarm of wings and needle-sharp cries as they surround him, their voices stitching together into an illusion of you: your gasps, your sobs, the way you’d whispered his name before being forced apart. He stops moving and staggers to his knees. It’s not real. He knows it’s not real. Knows that Snow’s fingerprints are all over this new form of torture. But logic means nothing when his hands are shaking, when his lungs refuse to work, when every instinct screams to run, find, save—

Johanna grabs his shoulder, her nails biting through his skin. "Breathe, Odair."

The jabberjays' cries fade into the jungle's chorus, leaving Finnick hollowed out and raw. Johanna's grip on his shoulder remains, her fingers digging into muscle like she's the only thing keeping him from splintering apart.

"Get up," she hisses, voice low and urgent. "We need to move before those things lure anyone else here." Finnick's hands still tremble as he pushes himself to his feet. The phantom echoes of your voice cling to him, sticky as blood. He wants to argue, to plunge back into the green hell after you, but Johanna's right—the sound of the jabberjays could be a beacon for every tribute left in the arena.

The walk back to the beach is a blur of snapping branches and Johanna's muttered curses. When they break through the treeline, Beetee's head jerks up from the makeshift radio he's been tinkering with, his glasses flashing in the sunlight. "Did you find—?"

"No," Johanna cuts him off, shoving Finnick toward the water. "Go clean up before I toss you in the water myself.” Finnick's gaze drifts to the treeline, his fingers twitching at his sides. You promised you'd fight. He just needs to believe you're still fighting.

You wake to the taste of copper and dirt. The world swims into focus slowly—first the ache in your ribs, then the sticky warmth of blood matting your hair to your scalp. Somewhere in the chaos of the bloodbath, a blow to the head had sent you sprawling into the undergrowth, separating you from the others. The jungle hums around you, deceptive in its tranquillity. Every rustle of leaves could be a mutation, every snapped twig a Career hunting for stragglers. The beach is your only chance—you know Finnick will be waiting there, even if it kills him. You press your back against a tree, lungs burning, and your ribs scream where a Career’s boot found its mark yesterday, but you know you need to keep moving; too much time has passed already. You know the way his voice cracks when he’s trying not to beg, the way his hands shake after nightmares, you know he’s counting cannons, just like you are—each one a fresh wound. So you bite down on the pain and move.

The arena doesn’t kill you quietly; it creeps in through the cracks—the stench of rotting foliage, the too-sweet tang of tracker jacker venom lingering in the air, the way your own sweat stings the cuts on your palms. So you move in bursts, pausing to listen between steps. The arena's traps are everywhere.

When the jabberjays come, their shrieks weaving together your name in Finnick's voice, you almost believe it's real. Your chest cracks open with want, but you bite your tongue until you taste blood. The jabberjays' voices fade, but their poison lingers in your bones. You press a trembling hand against the rough bark of a tree, counting breaths until the phantom sound of Finnick's screams stops echoing in your skull. Every rustle of leaves sends your pulse skittering. The wound on your ribs throbs in time with your footsteps, a fresh bloom of pain with each misstep. You try to focus on the memory of Finnick's hands steadying you after nightmares – his thumbs brushing your wrists in slow circles. Breathe. Just breathe.

The first hint of salt air cuts through the jungle's rot. Your knees nearly buckle at the scent – it smells like Finnick's skin after swimming, like promises whispered against damp hair. The ground begins to slope downward. Somewhere beyond the trees, waves crash in a rhythm you'd know blind. You're close now. So close. A twig snaps; you freeze, muscles coiled.

Then—a sound. Not a cannon. Not a mutation. A rhythmic tap, too precise to be accidental. You know that sound, like you know the hitch in Finnick’s breath when he wakes from nightmares. Like you know the way his fingers drum against your hip when he’s impatient, when he’s afraid, when he’s trying to pretend he isn’t either. The beach is close. You know that rhythm, the way his hands move when his mind is racing, when the nerves he’d never admit to are fraying his control. And just like that, you’re running; you’re reckless. You can smell the sand now; you can almost hear their hushed voices. But the arena has one last cruelty in store.

You feel it before you see it, that split-second prickle at the back of your neck, the sudden hush of the jungle like the arena itself is holding its breath, and you know the fatal mistake you’ve just made. Memories crash over you like a riptide. The bouncing of his knee under the kitchen table on the morning of the reaping, the way he’d flinched when your fingers brushed his wrist, then clung to you like you were the only anchor in a storm. You remember the Tuesday he’d shattered a teacup at 3 a.m., his breathing coming out in jagged bursts. You hadn't asked him why; it didn't matter why. You had just slid down beside him, pressing your forehead to his temple until his lungs remembered how to work.

And that damned peach pie, the memory of flour dusting his lashes as he’d laughed at your frantic perfectionism, only to turn pale as a ghost when you’d yelped at the oven’s burn. His hands, so careful, always so careful, cradling your blistered palms while his voice stayed as steady as the tide. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s just pie.” It had been his mother’s recipe, the first thing he trusted you with that hurt to share, and you were more upset over messing it up than the burn on your hands. And that night on the beach, salt air clinging to his lips as he whispered “Promise me” with a desperation that carved itself into your bones. The version of Finnick the Capitol moulded was gone; there was only the raw, trembling truth of him.

It had reminded you of the first time you met. The way Finnick’s laugh had faltered when your eyes locked across the room years ago—like he’d been sucker-punched by his own heartbeat. The Capitol’s golden boy unravelled in an instant. The sun was starting to rise over the water, the soft light showcasing the tension in his shoulders.

You’ve seen Finnick Odair wear a hundred masks, but this—this restless hesitation, his fingers worrying the edge of his sleeve—is new. You open your mouth to ask him, but he speaks first. “I know you like to tease me about the clichés I tell you.” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming into the tide. “But I need you to know I mean every fucking word.” When he turns, the look on his face steals your breath. This isn’t the polished charmer from your early days or even the fractured man who once sobbed into your collarbone after a Capitol party. This is something rawer. Something terrified.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck on instinct, threading through sweat-damp curls. He shudders, leaning into your touch like a dying man offered water. “I know,” you whisper. “No.” His hand clamps over yours, pressing your palm flat to his pulse. It’s racing. “When I say I’d die for you, I mean it. Let me mean it.” The words are a blade between your ribs. “Finn—”

“We’ve both known what will happen at the reaping, even if we pretend we don’t.” His thumb traces your knuckles—so gentle, so at odds with the fire in his eyes. “You’d walk into that arena alone just to spare a stranger. That stubbornness is why I—" He chokes. “But you have to let me be selfish too.” A tear slips down your cheek, but he catches it before it can fall from your face. “Promise me.” His voice cracks.“Promise you’ll survive, even if I don’t.”

You want to argue. To shake him until his teeth rattle. But the plea in his gaze is a mirror of your own soul. “I promise.” His exhale is a seismic thing, like he’s been drowning for years. You seize his wrist before he can pull away. “Promise me too. That you’ll fight, no matter what.” There’s a flicker of agony in his eyes, but just like you had known, he knows you need to hear him say it. “I promise I’ll try.” There are so many unspoken words as he looks at you. So many more clichés you know he wants to give to you, so many reassurances you wish you could give him, but the one promise you have always shared is louder than ever: you won’t let them have the satisfaction of knowing they can break you.

So maybe this is how it was always meant to be. The thought comes to you with eerie clarity as Brutus enters your line of vision and his fingers crush your windpipe. You’ve kept your promises, you’ve fought like hell, and now—now you’ve made it back to him, even if only for a final heartbeat. Your vision tunnels, and every gasp is like a knife being dragged through your lungs, but you don’t stop moving. Your fingers reach for the blade embedded in your palm — the one you’d taken from another tribute hours ago, the one still slick with your own blood. Brutus snarls as you drive it into his wrist, and for one glorious second, his grip loosens. You suck in a fractured breath, but then his other hand slams you against a tree. “Is that all you’ve got?” His breath is rancid, and stars burst behind your eyes, the world around you fracturing into fragments as he lifts you off the ground, once again stealing your breath from you.

You think of Finnick, the real him, the one who kissed you like he was starving as he trailed a path all over your body, who whispered against your thighs like he was reciting a prayer. Just as you’re about to give in to the memories, throught the static in your ears, you hear it, and Brutus’ head snaps toward the sound.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

The voice is raw with fury, edged with something worse—terror. Brutus actually flinches. It’s a voice you’d recognise anywhere; you’d know it underwater. In a hurricane. At the end of the world. Finnick.

You hit the ground hard, your lungs screaming as they try to reclaim the air you’ve been gifted once more, but all you can process is him. The unmistakably feral look twisting on his face as he slams into Brutus like a tidal wave, the sickening crunch of his fist meeting jawbone—once, twice—each blow precise and vicious, the way his trident lies abandoned behind him; he didn’t even bother using it. This isn’t combat; this is butchery. Your vision swims as you stagger upright, only to collapse again. Every gasp feels like swallowing broken glass, but you have to get to him—

Crack.

The sound isn’t just heard. You feel it in your bones. Brutus’ head snaps sideways, his knees buckling as Finnick drives an elbow into his temple. There’s no finesse, just a boy who’s spent too many years sharpening himself into a weapon, finally cutting loose.

A wet cough wrenches from your throat, and Finnick’s head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t break. For one fractured second, his rage falters. You’ll remember that look forever. How his eyes went wild, how his breath hitched—like he’d just watched you die. The sound of your wheezing seems to snap him out of his trance. Though he’s covered from head to toe in blood spatter—none of it his—he has never looked more fragile to you. He rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as one hand cradles your face while the other takes yours, pressing your palm against his ribcage to help you steady your racing breaths. His thumb strokes your cheek in slow, uneven sweeps—a nervous habit. The blood smearing your skin is thick, still warm, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Finnick is looking at you like this, like you’re dawn breaking over the ocean after the longest night of his life.

Despite the ache in your arms, you lift your free hand and catch his—the one that had been tracing restless patterns against your skin—and press his palm to your chest. You know the steadying rhythm of your heartbeat is one of the few things that can anchor him now. A spark flickers to life in his eyes as they roam your face, as if he’s memorising the proof that you’re here, alive.

“I’ve missed you.” The words are too small for the weight in your chest, but they’re the only truth you can grasp. His chuckle is rough, warmth bleeding into the sound, and it reignites the dull ache in your heart—then fans it into a wildfire when he murmurs, “I missed you more.” You can feel the want boiling inside him—the way his adrenaline sings for him to crush you against his ribs, to kiss you like he’s pouring every unsaid vow into your lungs. But he hesitates, fingers twitching against your collarbone. Still afraid, still fragile.

“I’m okay, Finn. I promise.” A smile ghosts his lips, but his next words are barely audible. “Everybody’s watching.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. You remember the first oath you ever swore to each other: Don’t let them in. Don’t let them twist this. Your relationship was never just yours—it was a stage play for all of Panem, a performance where even you sometimes forgot where the script ended and the truth began.

Yet here he is, clinging to another promise—the one where he swore to shield you, even from himself. You see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands hover like he’s afraid touch might shatter the illusion of control. He’s trying so damn hard to be what you need: steady, selfless, safe. But the irony is delicious. His restraint is the proof you crave. It screams what the cameras will never understand—that this, right here, is the most real thing either of you has ever had. So you tilt your chin up, your voice a challenge and a dare as you scan his face: “Then let’s give them something to look at.”

Your words are another whisper, so quiet you fear they might dissolve before they reach him—but then his head snaps up, his gaze scouring your face like a man reading a map in the dark. And then he breaks. He lunges forward, lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath. It’s overwhelming, it's perfect, the familiarity of his mouth against yours is everything you had been craving since you last saw him. You kiss him back like it’s the only language left to you, pouring every unsaid ‘I love you’ into the press of your lips. His touch is featherlight yet feverish, hands tracing your arms, your spine, as if trying to memorise you through his fingertips. And in this fragile bubble of shared breath and tangled limbs, you find it—the truth you’ve been starving for.

Finnick kisses like it’s his salvation. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, insatiable, while his arm bands around your waist, hauling you flush against him until not even air separates you. You feel the frantic thudding of his heartbeat where your chest meets his, a wild counterpoint to your own. When he groans into your mouth, it’s a sound you want to bottle. It’s not enough. Even now, with his skin against yours and his pulse thundering under your palms, you’re already aching for more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he makes the world vanish.

A very deliberate cough shatters the daydream you’d been lost in, and the two of you spring apart like kids caught making out behind the gym. “You two never fail to disgust me.” Johanna’s voice is flat, devoid of even her trademark sarcasm, and the heat that floods your cheeks is embarrassingly familiar. “If you’re done trying to swallow each other’s faces, we’ve got shit to do.”

Finnick snaps back to reality first, hauling himself upright before pulling you up with him. His hands linger, like he needs the contact to convince himself you’re really here. Johanna rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t stick, already stalking back toward the clearing—but not before you catch her gaze flickering over you, her lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. Of course she cares, she's the one who introduced the two of you to begin with.

“I think she might actually be glad I’m not dead.” You murmur, and his laughter is warm against your ear. The sound settles something in your chest, a reminder: You’re here. You’re together. Maybe, against all odds, things will be okay.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he jokes back. “She’s just relieved she won’t have to suffer through my moping anymore.” The lightness in his grin tells you everything—he’s found his footing again. And so have you. But as Finnick’s thumb brushes your wrist, you both hear it: another cannon in the distance. The Games aren’t over yet.

[prequel: The masks we wear]

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carnalcrows · 2 months ago

Text

NO WAY OUT – THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x bottom male reader

synopsis: Trapped in a nightmare disguised as a quiet town, you make a desperate deal with the devil in a suit.

content warnings: 18+, dubcon (borderline noncon), gore, death, coercion, spit used as lube, painful penetration, a gun. dead dove do not eat

word count: 1.8k

The town had been quiet. Too quiet.

You had arrived with a small group, dumped in this unfamiliar countryside village with little explanation beyond the cryptic instructions: Survive until dawn, and you will be rewarded.

There was no mention of what you were meant to be surviving. No clarification on who, or what, might be out there.

It looked real enough—a cluster of rustic houses, a few scattered street vendors, a convenience store at the corner, and a small diner where an old radio crackled with static-laced music. There were people, too. Locals, you assumed, tending to their shops, walking lazily down the street, chatting as they leaned against their bikes.

And yet… something was off.

The air felt too still, like the town itself was watching. The people—while convincingly real—had a strange, rehearsed quality to them, like actors in a poorly directed play. A woman behind the fruit stall smiled at you, but her expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. A man sitting on a bench flipped through a newspaper, but his gaze never actually moved across the page.

You weren’t the only one who felt it.

“This is weird, right?” one of the others muttered beside you.

You nodded, keeping your voice low. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”

“Where even are we?”

No one had an answer.

Then, the first shot rang out.

A loud, piercing crack split the air, echoing between the buildings.

You barely had time to process it before a man in the center of the street jerked violently—his chest erupting in a burst of blood. He staggered backward, mouth opening in shock, hands clawing at the gaping wound before his legs gave out beneath him. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

For a moment, no one moved.

The woman at the fruit stall blinked at the corpse as if unsure how to react. The man with the newspaper lowered it, his lips twitching downward in something almost like annoyance.

Then the second shot rang out.

A woman’s head snapped back, a spray of red painting the shop window behind her. Her body crumpled.

Panic detonated.

Screams tore through the air. The "locals" abandoned their pretense of normalcy, scattering into nearby buildings, locking doors behind them. The other participants—actual people—bolted in every direction, sprinting for cover, shoving past each other in blind terror.

You ran.

Your breath burned in your lungs as you tore down the street, dodging past fallen bodies, slipping in their blood. You barely registered the faces around you—people who, just moments ago, had been joking nervously about what the challenge might be. People who were now dead or dying.

Someone tripped in front of you, hitting the pavement hard. They barely had time to push themselves up before another crack split the air—blood spattered across your face. Their body slumped forward, unmoving.

You kept running.

The town was a trap. The entire thing had been staged—a perfectly crafted illusion of safety, meant to lull you into a false sense of security before the real game began.

And now, the hunt was on.

You skidded around a corner, chest heaving. The bullets weren’t stopping. The laughter—the laughter—of your unseen pursuers echoed between the buildings. This wasn’t just a game to them.

It was fun.

Your stomach twisted violently. You had to hide.

The convenience store was the first thing you saw.

You ducked inside, slamming into the nearest shelf, sending a few snack bags tumbling to the floor. The store looked untouched. Too normal. The flickering lights, the neatly stocked shelves—it all felt like a cruel joke.

You pressed yourself into the corner, crouching low. Your hands were shaking. Your breath came too fast, too loud. If they found you—if they saw you—

The bell above the door jingled.

You went rigid.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

And then—

"You shouldn't be out here alone."

Your blood turned to ice.

The voice was smooth, velvety—too calm for a situation like this.

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned, pressing your back harder against the shelves. He stood just a few feet away, partially silhouetted by the convenience store’s flickering fluorescent lights. His suit was crisp, clean—untouched by the chaos outside. He looked completely at ease, like he’d just stepped in for a late-night snack instead of stalking a blood-soaked battlefield.

Your gut twisted.

He wasn’t one of you.

"You… you have to help me," you forced out, even as your voice wavered.

His expression didn’t change. "Help you?"

Your chest heaved. "They’re killing people out there—I don’t know what’s going on, but we have to get out of here before—"

He took a step closer.

You froze.

Something was wrong.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and measured, like he was considering something. You swallowed hard. He hadn’t looked surprised when you mentioned the killings. He hadn’t asked what was happening. He hadn’t even looked concerned.

Then it hit you.

He already knew.

Your stomach dropped.

He was one of them.

Panic clawed its way up your throat. You tried to move, to run—

Too late.

He surged forward, faster than you could react. A hand slammed into the shelf beside your head, cutting off your escape. The other gripped your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His touch was deceptively light, almost gentle—but beneath it was an unspoken force that made your pulse hammer in terror.

"Now, now," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You shook.

He was playing with you. Toying with you.

Your survival instincts kicked in, overriding every other thought in your head. You grabbed onto his wrist, voice cracking with desperation. "Please—I’ll do anything—"

Something in his eyes gleamed.

Oh.

Oh, you’d just said the magic words.

The corners of his lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t reassuring—it was wrong, twisted by something dark and knowing. He leaned in, tilting his head like he was thinking about what to do with you. His thumb traced absently along your jaw, a touch too intimate for a situation dripping in blood and fear.

"Anything?" he echoed.

You felt sick.

Before you could take it back, before you could rethink—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow.

It was hungry.

His lips crashed against yours, rough and possessive, as if tasting victory. His hand tightened on your jaw, angling you up to meet the force of it. The kiss was messy, feverish—sloppy. His tongue swiped against yours without hesitation, deepening the kiss with a level of control that made your knees weak.

Your mind was screaming.

This was wrong. So wrong.

And yet—your survival instinct told you to go with it.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, gripping it like a lifeline. His breath was hot, uneven, and the way he moved was deliberate—like he was savoring this, drinking in every little shudder, every sharp inhale you made.

You didn’t want this.

But you wanted to live.

His grip on you was suffocating, his body caging yours against the shelf. You whimpered into the kiss—half from fear, half from the raw intensity of it. He devoured you, taking his time, making it clear who was in control.

And then, finally, he pulled back.

A strand of saliva still connected your lips.

His thumb ran over your bottom lip, almost affectionate, before he leaned down, his voice a breathy whisper against your ear.

"Good boy."

The realization hit you like a freight train.

You weren’t escaping this.

You had already been caught.

His hand trailed from your jaw to you neck– almost choking you as his other hand went to the hem of your pants, pulling them down with a swift tug.

Reality hit you, and you looked up at him– wide eyed. His hand left your neck

“Hey– maybe this isn't a good idea–”

You were silenced by a gun pressed to your throat.

“I don't think you're in the position to make demands here, hm?” He questioned, revelling in the way your eyes widened with fear.

He trailed the gun down from your neck to your boxers, pushing it down gently to reveal your erection.

“So you do enjoy this… And here I was thinking I was the bad person.”

You shuddered as he nudged your cock with his gun– you were fucking terrified.

The hand that wasn't holding the gun went to your lios6, parting them open.

“Suck.”

You merely obeyed, sucking on his digits until they were slick enough.

He removed them with a pop and suddenly turned you around, so that your back was facing him.

He must've put the gun aside, but a guy feeling told you that you shouldn't try to run.

He prodded a finger at your hole– making you gasp. This wasn't right, this–

You screamed as he pushed his finger through the tight ring of muscle, the pain being almost too much to bear.

Without concern, he pushed two more fingers in, making your back arch into him.

His other hand held you close, digits pushing in and out of you, squelches filling the air.

The pain was soon overcome by pleasure, and you found yourself moaning softly, eyes drooping.

“Please–” “Please what? Use your words.”

“Fuck me– god–”

You didn't even get to finish your sentence before he removed his fingers from your hole and replaced it with the head of his cock.

You whined at the sudden intrusion, feeling so, so full.

He pushed his entire length in, until the tip almost hit your prostrate, before pulling out to the head and slamming back in with full force.

Your back arched, a loud moan leaving your lips.

Both his hands steadied themselves on your waist, holding you upright as he fucked into you like an animal in heat.

This man must be really pent up.

Your hands held onto the nearest shelf, the packets on it nearly falling out due to the heavy movement.

He practically pushed you into the shelf, your face getting smushed into the ramen packets.

Without a care in the world, the man continued fucking you animalistically, using you for his own pleasure.

Suddenly, without warning, he came into your with a low groan, hiding his face into the crook of your neck as he painted your insides white.

He pulls out of you as you come undone, coating the food that (hopefully) no one was going to touch.

He got up and adjusted his suit, reaching for this gun as you slowly turned yourself around, arms shaking.

You felt your eyelids close before you heard the cock of the gun.

You looked up in shock to see the gun being pointed straight at you, the man looking completely nonchalant.

“But– you said you would let me go–”

“Well… I lied.”

The gun fires.

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nevernonline · 8 months ago

Text

✧.* how to lose the girl; xmh

synopsis: minghao was feeling tired of shallow relationships. his friends, noticing his frustration, challenge him to pursue a girl and then push her away within ten days. intrigued by the idea, he reluctantly accepts the bet as a fun challenge.

part of my ninety minute movies one shot series. ♡︎

paring/s: afab reader x non-idol hao.

genre/s: humor (sort of lmao), low-key fuckboy hao

warning/s: alcohol consumption, some bad jokes, nothing too bad or seggsy

word count: 10.3k

content: all the vibes of how to lose a guy in ten days but nawt. enjoy xo!

Day 1 - The Bet

In the lively heart of the city, Minghao, was out flaunting his charming looks and a playful grin, typically on his much too expensive and lavish work lunches which gave him and the rest of his colleges an excuse to pick up a bunch of beautiful women to take home every night, a lot of them falling hard for him no matter how poorly he left them hanging the morning after. But lately, he noticed how he always found himself drowning in a sea of shallow connections, and it was starting to wear on him.

Sensing his distress, his friends hatched an interesting plan to inject some excitement into his love life: they dared him to make a girl fall for him and then push her away in just ten days! “No way in fucking hell could he pull this off, he’ll get bored by day four.” jeered one friend, gleefully rubbing his hands together. With a mix of reluctance and curiosity bubbling inside him, Minghao accepted, eager to see how fast he could make a girl sprint for the exit.

Across town, y/n was navigating her own challenges. She was as her friends described a fierce, independent powerhouse who was on a mission to conquer the advertising world and prove to her office overrun by male colleagues that she meant business. Relationships? She just viewed them for what they were distractions in her quest for success—something she simply couldn’t afford. With her sights set on her career, she was about to discover just how unpredictable life and love could be when the most unexpected challenges came knocking.

Day 2 - The Meeting

Minghao first spotted Y/n at a coffee shop, her eyes glued to her laptop as she furiously typed, rather loudly should he add. He decided she would be the perfect target. Something about her tight lipped focused face, her hair perfectly slicked into a ponytail, not a hair out of place, something about her felt more like a challenge than a perfect sweep for his bet.

He approached her with his trademark smile, confident and carefree. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, gesturing toward the empty chair across from her. y/n looked up, a mix of annoyance and intrigue in her gaze.

“Actually, yes,I don’t care to do my work around a fuck boy flirting with me, my office has enough of those. Have a good day.” she replied bluntly, not ready to be derailed from her work.

Minghao, undeterred by her obvious dismissal, sat down anyway. “I’m Minghao,” he introduced himself. “And I think you owe me a chance to change your mind.”

She raised an eyebrow, still looking down at her computer, typing a bit less loud now, almost as if she was intrigued and didn’t want him to know but the scowl on her face said she was still skeptical. “Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that?”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he leaned in closer. “Let’s just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he replied playfully. “But first, you’ll have to let me take you on a perfect first date.”

Y/n almost chuckled at his audacity, but there was an undeniable spark of intrigue in her gaze. Little did she know, mingling with Minghao was about to shake up her life.

“Fine. If that will get you to leave me alone while I work, I’ll agree.”

“I’m not leaving here until I get your contact information,” Minghao laughed.

Rolling her eyes, Y/n dug through her wallet, searching for a business card. “Here,” she said, finally pulling one out and extending it towards him.

But Minghao just held his hand up in a stop-motion gesture, shaking his head. “No, not a business card. I need to know you’ll actually show up, so let me have your personal phone number instead.”

Y/n stared at him, incredulity mixing with a lingering smile. “Oh, so bold. And what makes you think I will?”

“Because,” he leaned closer, his expression earnest now, “I have a feeling that once you get to know me, you won’t want to miss out. Plus, if I leave with a business card, how will I ever convince you to let me take you on that perfect date?”

Her skepticism flickered for a second under the brightness of his confidence, but she still hesitated. “You really think you can convince me?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his tone teasing yet sincere. “And if I fail, I promise I’ll leave you alone forever. Deal?”

For a moment, Y/n pondered the spontaneity of his request, weighing the pros and cons. Finally, a grin broke free on her lips as she typed her number into his phone, the anticipation of the unknown sparking excitement within her. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, handing back the phone with a hint of warning in her tone.

Minghao's eyes lit up with genuine delight as he saved her contact. “You won’t regret this,” he promised, his voice softening a touch.

As he returned the phone to her, Y/n couldn’t help but feel a flutter of uncertainty mixed with exhilaration. Perhaps there was something to this spontaneous gamble after all. Little did they know, that simple decision would pave the way for an unforgettable connection and adventures neither had anticipated.

Day 3 - The Chase

Over the days that followed, Minghao played his part, showering her with attention that ranged from over-the-top romantic gestures to quirky surprises. He brought her favorite pastries to the office, sent her memes that made her laugh, and even bombarded her with cheesy pick-up lines. Each time, Y/n found herself torn between annoyance and amusement.

At first, she had tried to brush him off, responding to his texts with one-word replies or simply ignoring his more audacious attempts to brighten her day. However, Minghao persisted, his cheerful determination almost unwavering. One afternoon, she returned from a long meeting to find her desk decorated with colorful sticky notes adorned with doodles and handwritten compliments. “You’re the best part of my day,” one note claimed, and despite her initial irritation, a small smile tugged at her lips.

Minghao was relentless, his charm starting to break down her walls. She had to admit there was something about him—he was refreshingly carefree, unlike the uptight guys she usually dated. While others might have tried to impress her with their accomplishments or flashy gifts, Minghao found ways to make her laugh, embracing a lightheartedness that was both refreshing and frightening. But Y/n was determined to keep him at arm's length; she had a career to focus on.

Still, the more time they spent chatting, the more she found herself looking forward to his texts. Each meme and quirky voice note felt less like an intrusion and more like a highlight of her day. One evening, after a particularly grueling week, she found herself daydreaming about a potential picnic under the stars, something Minghao had suggested a few days prior.

“No, no,” she chastised herself, shaking her head as she turned her attention to her laptop. “Stay focused.”

Yet, every time she tried to immerse herself in her work, her mind would inevitably wander back to him. The way he laughed, the warmth in his gaze, even the way he playfully challenged her every now and then—there was an undeniable pull that made it hard to ignore him.

On a particularly busy Friday, while sipping her coffee and reviewing a presentation, she felt her phone vibrate on the desk. A message appeared: “Hey, just thought you might want to know that your favorite pastry is waiting at the corner café. No obligations. Just a little pick-me-up to start your weekend. 😊”

Y/n's heart softened, a flutter of appreciation sweeping through her. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, trying to suppress the smile creeping onto her face. Maybe she could allow herself a moment of distraction.

She quickly glanced at the time and the empty office around her, nobody here really worked on the weekends aside from herself so she decided to take a break just this once. With a random jolt of excitement, she stood up, brushed aside her work-related thoughts, and headed to the café. She spotted him sitting comfortably at a small table, a bright smile illuminating his face. Before she could even say a word, he raised a pastry in greeting, “I didn’t know if you liked it warm or cold, so I got one of each, just to be safe!”

Her laughter bubbled out despite herself. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“But I did, you mentioned to me the other day you never have fun on the weekends anymore because you're busy working, ” Minghao countered, setting the pastries down and leaning back in his chair. “Life's too short not to indulge in the little things. Besides, you're worth it.”

His words stirred something in her, something she had kept buried under layers of practicality. A mix of anxiety and excitement danced in her chest as they shared bits of pastry and stories, laughter weaving between them effortlessly. And for the first time in what felt like ages, Y/n considered that perhaps life wasn’t just about hard work and career goals—it could also be about spontaneous moments and unexpected connections.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting warm hues of orange and pink across the café, Y/n let herself enjoy the moment, her defenses slowly crumbling, piece by piece. “Want to go for a drink? Unless you have plans or something?”

“You’re asking me out? Wow, Y/n, I’m pleasantly surprised. I’d actually enjoy that. Big boss lady is paying, right?” Minghao pressed, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but a laugh escaped her lips. “Very funny. I should have known you’d want to make this about money,” she teased, her heart racing slightly at the thought of stepping into the realm of casual dating.

“I’m kidding. But you know I’d never let you cover the whole tab, right?” he replied, his voice playful yet sincere. “How about we split it? One thing I’ve learned is that relationships, friendships or otherwise, are all about balance.”

“That sounds fair but please let me get it actually I feel a little bad about you always paying anyway. Plus, I asked you. That's how it works right?,” she agreed, her spirit lifted by his lightheartedness. “Where do you want to go?”

“I know this cozy little bar just around the corner. They have some cool drinks and the vibes are good,” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Plus, I’ve heard they serve a mean nacho platter.”

“Nachos and drinks sound perfect. Wow- I hate that I actually got excited by a fucking macho platter, but okay.” she replied, feeling a surge of excitement and momentary embarrassment over some fucking chips with cheese. She was surprised at how nervous yet invigorated she felt.

As they walked to the bar, the warm evening air enveloped them like a casual embrace. With every step beside him, Y/n felt the weight of her daily grind lift. “So, what’s your go-to cocktail?” she asked, surprisingly eager to keep the chatter flowing.

“I’d say I’m a classic and simple beer or wine dude, but I’m always game for something a bit off the beaten path. You?”

“Dirty martini,” she answered, a proud smile crossing her face. “Simple but sophisticated.”

“Ah, the big boss lady indeed. But the real question is gin or vodka?” He winked, and for a moment, she felt herself blush, something she hadn’t experienced in ages.

“Vodka, but shut you fucking mouth and don’t tell any martini enthusiasts. Extra dry, extra dirty.”

“Not extra wet and extra dirty?”

Y/n nearly choked on her own spit, watching his face crinkle into a big smile before they erupted into laughter.

They snagged a small table tucked away in a corner, perfect for engaging in their own little world.

After placing their orders, conversations flowed as smoothly as the drinks. Minghao effortlessly switched between sharing amusing anecdotes about his life and asking Y/n about hers, genuinely interested in her career aspirations and what fueled her passions. With every laugh they exchanged and each shared story, Y/n found herself relaxing more, drawn into his effortless charm.

“Alright, I need the truth,” Minghao said, leaning in as if about to share a juicy secret. “What’s your biggest guilty pleasure?”

Y/n took a moment, contemplating her answer before finally admitting, “Reality TV. It’s a little bit shameful, I know, but there’s something about the drama that I can’t resist.”

Minghao laughed heartily, the sound filling her with warmth. “No shame in that. I actually can’t lie and say I don’t enjoy watching Love Island. I’m more of a cooking show fan, to be honest. Nothing quite like watching people fail spectacularly while I sit there eating takeout as if I can cook this shit myself.”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to have a night where I introduce you to some of the best reality stars of all time, where you will sit and not fucking complain. And since I can cook, I will go hell's kitchen style on the stove. ” she declared, a playful challenge glimmering in her eyes.

“Hey, look I’m game, but only if you let me judge your cooking like I’m the god himself Ramsay.” he exclaimed, his excitement unmistakable. “Just let me know when. I’ll bring the snacks and the commentary.”

As the evening progressed, they shared stories about childhood memories, dreams, and the quirks that made them who they were. With each revelation, Y/n felt a deeper connection forming, an understanding that perhaps taking a little time away from work wouldn’t derail her ambitions after all.

Maybe it was time to let a little chaos in, she thought, as their conversation twisted and turned down unexpected paths, igniting sparks of joy she hadn’t anticipated, making her question everything she thought she knew about herself and about love.

Minghao got the vibe that his little plan for making Y/n fall for him could potentially end up with him feeling the same way, but not yet. He pushed that feeling deep down inside his gut, almost like he could hide it from everyone, including himself. His heart raced with excitement, but mingled with a twinge of anxiety. He didn’t want to rush things or scare her off with his burgeoning feelings. Just because she was opening up didn’t mean she was ready for more, and he wanted to tread carefully even if it was just to fuck around for a bet with his friends.

“So, Y/n, since you’re not working tomorrow, want to come hang out at my place for a bit? Have a nightcap? Maybe watch a movie or something?” Minghao questioned, his voice casual, but the flicker of anticipation in his eyes betrayed him.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, the prospect of going to his place stirring a mix of excitement and nerves within her. She knew this was a step beyond their playful banter, a leap into a territory where she would need to confront what she was feeling. But the words “why not?” danced on the tip of her tongue.

“Sure, I’d love that,” she replied, a hint of eagerness surprising even herself. “But fair warning, if we’re watching a movie, it has to be a good one. Nothing corny please.”

“Oh come on, you seem like you’d love a good rom-com, I can tell.” Minghao laughed, and she found herself laughing along, the playful banter feeling natural and comforting.

As they bickered back and forth about their movie preferences, Y/n felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of spending more time with him. Maybe this was the chaos she needed in her life—this lighthearted connection that sparked something new and exhilarating.

“I know just the film to break your resistance,” Minghao declared, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “Prepare yourself for a classic, then. I think you’ll love it, it’s one of my favorites.”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it. But if it’s as terrible as I imagine, you owe me.” Y/n countered playfully, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

“Deal.” he shot back with a cheeky grin, and the two clinked their glasses together in agreement, the camaraderie between them solidifying.

As they finished their drinks and shared a few more laughs, Y/n couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was just the beginning—like an entrance into a world she had pushed away for too long, forever maybe.. And Minghao, with his undeniable charm and knack for fun, was animating a side of her she had almost forgotten existed.

After wrapping up the evening at the bar, they stepped back into the cool night air. The streets were softly illuminated, the stars twinkling overhead, creating an atmosphere that was very special. As they walked side by side toward Minghao's apartment, the distance felt comfortable, but somehow charged with an undercurrent of anticipation.

“Y/n,” Minghao said, breaking the gentle silence, “I know we’ve only just started hanging out, but I just want to make sure you feel okay about this. I mean, about coming over.” He glanced at her, his expression earnest. “No pressure at all—I just genuinely enjoy your company.I’m not trying to be a player or whatever you assumed I was when we first met.”

His sincerity made her heart flutter. “I’m glad you said that, but it was fuck boy and you maybe have proved yourself beyond that title. I enjoy this too, and I think it’ll be fun to hang out more and get to know you. Just…uh, promise you wont judge me too harshly if I end up hogging the blanket during the movie or talking with popcorn in my mouth or something.”

“Fair warning accepted,” he replied, a teasing gleam in his eye. “I might have to initiate a blanket-sharing strategy, I think we can make it work.”

They both laughed, the playful energy crackling between them as they approached his building. Maybe she could allow herself to embrace this unexpected chaos, to explore a connection without overthinking it for once. And who knows? Perhaps Minghao wouldn’t just be a passing ship but a delightful step into a new chapter of her life.

As they stepped into his cozy apartment, Y/n tucked that thought away for later, intent on simply enjoying the moment—and the thrill of where it might lead them.

Minghao took her coat off her shoulders, hanging it on the small black hooks by his front door. Sliding his own off gently placing them side by side. Instructing her where to place her shoes and bag on the marble entry table donning photos of his friends and family.

“Your apartment is really cute, I can tell you like living here. It has a warm feel to it.”

“Yeah, I do,” Minghao smiled taking in a whiff of his tobacco scented room spray, and grabbing y/n’s hand to lead her into his living room, taking a brief stop at his bar cart and grabbing a bottle of wine, while handing her two glasses to carry in her empty hand.

The aroma of the wine filled the space as he poured their glasses, the deep crimson liquid swirling beautifully.

Minghao grinned, taking a sip of his own before handing one of the glasses over to her. Their fingers brushed for a moment, sending a spark of electricity that made her smile shyly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab the remote.”

Y/n settled onto the couch, sinking into the overly plush cushions. She took a moment to look around, noting the way the soft lighting cast a warm glow over the walls adorned with art—pieces that seemed to reflect Minghao’s adventurous spirit, each one telling a story.

When he returned, remote in hand, he plopped down beside her, his warmth radiating through her as he casually leaned back, scrolling through his streaming options. “Alright, let’s see what we have here. Brace yourself for my fucking unmatched taste in cinema,” he teased, glancing at her with a twinkle in his eye.

“Give me all that you got, I’m ready,” she replied with playful confidence, leaning into the moment.

With a few flicks of the remote, they settled on a classic action-comedy. The opening credits rolled as they adjusted their seats, finding a naturally comfortable closeness. The shared space between them began to feel charged with anticipation.

As the film began, they laughed together at the antics on screen, occasionally glancing at each other, enjoying the laughter as a bridge between their hearts. Every shared chuckle seemed to layer on the connection that was forming, an unspoken understanding lacing the air around them.

“Minghao, I, uh have got to admit, this isn’t what I expected tonight,” Y/n said during a quiet moment, her eyes sparkling. “But I’m really glad it worked out and that I met you.”

“Yeah? Really? Me too,” he replied, his gaze softening as he turned to her. “I’ve wanted to hang out like this for a while. I wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same, but I’m glad we did. I’m glad I forced you to give me your phone number that day.”

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest at his honesty. She had been guarded for so long, and here was Minghao, effortlessly peeling away at her layers with every shared moment.

As the movie progressed, he reached for the popcorn bowl perched on the coffee table, offering it to her. Their fingers brushed again, igniting an electric thrill that danced between them. The film faded into the background as Y/n found herself getting lost in the depths of his gaze.

“Okay, I’ll admit,” she began, leaning in slightly, “your blanket-sharing strategy may be your ultimate plan to seduce me. I see you.”

Minghao chuckled, taking her playful jab in stride. “Guilty as charged. What can I say? Who could resist a cozy blanket and beautiful company?” He pulled the soft throw from behind the couch, draping it over their laps.

As he settled back beside her, their shoulders nudged together under the blanket, his hand wrapped around her thigh and Y/n felt her heart race. There was an undeniable chemistry in the air, palpable like the fragrance of the wine swirling around them.

Without thinking too much about it, she rested her head on his shoulder, throwing her hair back to reveal her neck—not as a move, just a way to make herself more comfortable. As she leaned in, she caught the subtle scent of Minghao’s cologne, warm and inviting, and felt the gentle rise and fall of his shoulder beneath her cheek. It was a small gesture, yet it felt so natural, almost like an instinctive draw to his warmth.

Minghao looked down at her with a side eye, surprised at how effortlessly they had crossed this invisible line. He couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin looked under the low light and the way her eyes widened with joy as she laughed at the antics on the screen. Her laughter was contagious, reverberating through him and making his heart race a little faster, a little louder in the calm of the room.

Suddenly, Minghao felt an unfamiliar pang of anxiety creep into his chest. The bet had seemed innocent—a way to explore the chemistry simmering between them—but now it felt like a threaded line tugging at him in different directions. Maybe the bet was a bad idea after all, because now he felt himself falling for someone without knowing what could come next, just like that. It was as if he had opened a door to an inevitable chaos while still trying to remain in control.

Yet every time she shifted slightly against him, every laugh that slipped from her lips, deepened the connection he felt. He had initially thought he’d be the one charming her, the one doing the chasing, but here they were, and Y/n’s mere presence had knocked him off his feet. It startled him, this flicker of vulnerability—that maybe he wasn’t just playing a game; he was investing real emotions.

“You okay?” Y/n murmured, tilting her head up to meet his gaze, her brow slightly furrowed as she noticed the contemplative look on his face.

He quickly masked his thoughts with an easygoing smile. “Yeah, just caught up in the movie,” he replied, trying to divert her attention. “The action scenes are really intense, right?”

Though she seemed to accept his diversion with a playful nod, he could see the hint of curiosity lingering in her eyes, a flash that told him she sensed something in the air between them. A moment of silence stretched between them like a tightly pulled string, neither of them willing to break it. Instead, they allowed the movie to fill the space, as he leaned down and planted a soft kiss against her lips. Something subtle and quick that was just perfect for the moment and wouldn’t derail the nice night they were sharing, he wasn’t ready for that yet.

As the film progressed, Y/n shifted again, curling her body towards him slightly as a particularly funny scene played out, her laughter bubbling forth. It was that unfiltered joy he found intoxicating—a refreshing reminder that life could be this light, this fun, and maybe even a little crazy.

Day 4 - The Competition

During a group outing with friends, Minghao decided to reveal the second phase of his plan: he started being annoyingly competitive. “Let’s have a game night.” he declared, his voice ringing with enthusiasm as he rallied everyone around him. "I challenge you all to a series of ridiculous contests, from karaoke battles to board games. Losers buy the drinks." There was a mixture of excitement and groans from the group, but Minghao was unfazed. He thrived in this atmosphere, eager to galvanize Y/n into joining him in the chaos.

Y/n, who he knew hated losing, found herself reluctantly swept up in the energy of the night. A glimmer of excitement sparked in her eyes, even as she partnered with Minghao, who pretended to be completely uninterested in the competition. She could see the mischievous glint behind his facade, his playfulness luring her in.

As they tackled their first karaoke challenge, Minghao grabbed the microphone. He belted out an off-key rendition of her favorite song, doing little to hide his comedic flair. “You're fucking terrible at this.” Y/n teased him, trying to contain the laughter that bubbled up at the sight of his unfiltered enthusiasm.

“Maybe I’m just trying to get you to help me improve,” Minghao shot back, his smile never wavering. He pointed the microphone at her cheekily, inviting her to join in. The playful energy between them was palpable, the laughter of their friends helped her gain confidence.

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t quell the smile creeping onto her lips. “You know I fucking suck at singing, right?” she joked, hopping up on stage beside him. In a moment of spontaneity, she grabbed the microphone and took the lead, pouring her heart into the next part of the song, using her off-key notes as a comedic backdrop. Her confidence radiated, and soon the others joined in, clapping and singing along.

The laughter and energy of the room felt electric, and for a moment, the competition melted away, leaving only joy. The night continued with a series of board games and ridiculous challenges, each one causing Minghao to lean in closer to Y/n as they plotted ways to win.

“What’s your game plan?” he whispered to her, though the intensity of his smile hinted he was thoroughly enjoying the game itself more than he let on. The way his eyes sparkled made her heart race a little, stirring a thrill she hadn’t anticipated and in that moment all she wanted to do was wipe the smirk off his face with her lips.

“Honestly? I think our only plan is to distract the other teams with our charm,” Y/n replied, gesturing theatrically. “We’re clearly the most entertaining, so I kind of like it. It's a sweep.”

Minghao laughed, and the sound resonated in her chest. “Perfect strategy.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers as they whispered strategies into the fray of friendly competition raging around them.

As the night wore on, the playful banter and friendly sabotage culminated in a final showdown—an impromptu trivia contest that had everyone shouting questions at one another. “This one’s a gimme. Come on.” Minghao said, grinning ear to ear as he looked at Y/n. “I’ll let you take this one.”

She raised an eyebrow, half-surprised by his sudden willingness to let her answer. “Uh-huh, so this is your secret strategy—make me do all the work?” she said, nudging him playfully.

“Only the smart person's work,” Minghao shot back, laughter dancing in his voice as he leaned into her side. “And besides, I can’t afford another karaoke performance like that—I’m salvaging my reputation here.”

She smirked, appreciating the electric vibe still lingering in the air. “Fine, but you better promise to make up for it after this.”

Their competitive banter continued as the final questions rolled in. Y/n felt surprisingly exhilarated, and she realized that within the madness of the game night—amidst the silly antics and the thrill of competition—something deeper was taking root in her heart. Minghao, in all his competitive glory, was not just a friend; he was somebody who brought out a side in her she hadn’t even known existed.

Day 5 - The Realization

As time progressed, y/n found herself letting her guard down, enjoying Minghao’s company more than she intended. They shared late-night conversations, honest stories of their pasts, and hilarious anecdotes that made her laugh until she cried. But just as quickly as those feelings bloomed, fear crept in. Could she afford to get attached?

Both of them shied away from being honest with their feelings as a matter of protection from their pain in the past.

Minghao especially realized how complicated the situation was. Could he really move forward with her without telling her the truth of why he asked her out in the first place? However, if he tells her the truth, he could lose her altogether. Each day that he hesitated felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, an unspoken tension hanging between them like the heavy clouds before a storm.

He recalled the tender moments they shared—the laughter, the stolen glances, the way her smile lit him up even when he felt like the weight of the world was on him. But lurking beneath those cherished memories was a foundation built on secrets and half-truths. He grappled with the fear that if he revealed the underlying reason for his affection, she might see him as just another guy in her life trying to throw her off her path, rather than someone who genuinely cared.

The truth was like a double-edged sword; it could liberate him or shatter the fragile bond they had formed. In those quiet moments, he could feel his heart wrestling with his mind—one part needing authenticity, while another begged for the safety of keeping his own secret. Was there a path that could lead them both to what they wanted rather than hurting them both?

He knew that eventually, he would have to choose a direction, but every path was filled with uncertainty. Perhaps, for now, he would focus on the little things—the warmth of her hand in his, the gentle way they navigated tough conversations. Yet, deep inside, he wondered how long they could remain strangers to their own truths. The clock was ticking, and each moment felt like an opportunity slipping away.

Day 6 - The Plan Backfires

In an effort to push Y/n away to avoid hurting her, Minghao started purposely sending mixed signals. He ignored her texts, acted uninterested in their plans, and even pretended to be busy whenever she attempted to schedule time together. But to his surprise, Y/n didn’t waver. She matched his energy with playful banter and unwavering support, showing up outside his office with his favorite coffee just when he needed it—the same way he had done for her.

Each time she appeared, a smile lighting up her face, it reminded him of how deeply she understood him, and he knew his plan was backfiring. She took his teasing in stride, firing back with witty comebacks that reminded him of the vibrant connection they shared. He felt the walls he was trying to build between them start to crumble, intrigued and frustrated by the strength of her positive attitude.

Why was he pushing her away when all she seemed to want was him? He could see the concern behind her laughter, the way her brow furrowed slightly when she caught him lost in thought, and it tore at his heart. Was this really the right way to protect her, or was he simply running from something that could be good for both of them?

On one particularly tough day, as he stared out the window, he caught a glimpse of her leaning against the wall, coffee in hand, waiting for him to take a moment to breathe. The sunlight caught her hair, giving her a glow that made her look like an angel in real life, and his chest tightened. She wasn't the kind of person to give up easily, and maybe that’s something he was drawn to.

Instead of the irritation he anticipated feeling, Minghao began to appreciate her staying power. In that moment, he felt both grateful and terrified—grateful that she cared enough to stick around, and terrified that the longer he held back, the more he risked losing a part of himself he had forgotten even existed.

With each passing day, the facade he’d constructed started to feel less like protection and more like a prison. He saw how much she believed in him, not just as a friend, but as someone capable of finding happiness again. But as the walls crumbled beneath her unwavering kindness, he grappled with the realization that if he didn’t confront the truth soon, he might not just push her away, he might just lose her. Minghao knew he would have to decide soon to continue the charade or to find the courage to let her in.

Day 7 - The Confession

One night, while they were taking a walk, the air was heavy with tension, and Minghao couldn’t take it anymore. “Why do you keep coming back? I’m clearly trying to push you away,” he blurted out, the words spilling out in a rush, tinged with frustration and desperation.

Y/n stopped, turning to face him, her expression suddenly serious for once. “Because, Minghao, I see something in you. I didn’t set out to fall for you, but I can’t help it. You starting to pull away is confusing me. What changed overnight that you can barely even look at me anymore?” Her tone was both challenging and vulnerable, a blend that cut through the discomfort hanging between them.

“It’s because—” Minghao swallowed hard, his heart racing as he looked into her eyes, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against his chest. He focused on her furrowed expression, “This was a bet, and I—”

“A bet?” Y/n’s voice rose, sharp almost like a knife diving into his chest. The surprised look on her face shifted rapidly from confusion to hurt, and it churned something deep within him. He was struck again by the disbelief in her eyes.

The silence between them was thick and suffocating. Minghao took a breath, searching for the right words, but they were lost on him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way,” he pressed on, his voice softer now. “We started out as a joke—something to distract myself. It was my friend's idea that I foolishly agreed to. And then… then you became real to me.” He paused, trying to convey the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

Y/n crossed her arms, visibly hurt, but her gaze didn't waver. “You mean to tell me that all this time, all those moments we had—that they were just part of some fucking game with your buddies?” Her voice trembled slightly.

“No. It may have started that way, but it turned into something much deeper,” he pleaded, desperate to convey his truth. “I didn’t plan to fall for you. I didn’t plan on feeling this way at all. But once I did, I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought pushing you away would protect you from the truth.”

Y/n shook her head, her expression a blend of frustration and heartbreak. “You think pushing me away protects me? Minghao, it only pushes me into uncertainty. If you had just told me from the start, I could have chosen to stay or walk away. But now, you’ve just made everything ten times fucking worse.”

Feeling increasingly guilty he stepped closer, trying to bridge the distance he had created. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I should have been honest with you. I never wanted to hurt you. The fear of losing you, it…” he trailed off, unsure how to articulate his feelings.

Y/n took a deep breath, her demeanor softening just a fraction. “You need to make a choice, Minghao. Either let me in, all the way, or please let me go. I.. uh, can’t handle this right now. I’ll try to give you a call in a few days or maybe see you around.”

The weight of her words settled heavily in the air, and Minghao realized that it was time to confront not only the truth of their beginning but also the reality of what was blossoming between them. He had been running from the idea of vulnerability for so long, but now faced with Y/n’s determination, he found just enough strength within himself to start breaking down the walls he had built. As he watched her walk away from him not turning back around like he wished she would have, for once, Minghao felt the stirrings of hope amidst his fear.

Day 8 - A Challenge

With Minghao’s words hanging in the air, Y/n found herself re-evaluating her feelings. She had initially wanted to leave him there on the street as a part of her past, but the connection they shared was stronger than she had anticipated. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want it to end after all, but she wasn’t willing to let him get away with tricking her so easily.

She decided on her own plan—something to throw him off his game truly in her own style just to get back at him, but only all in good fun. It was time to show Minghao that she wasn’t someone to be underestimated.

Y/n had gotten in contact with one of Minghao's friends, a guy named Jisoo whom she had met during their karaoke competition. After a quick chat filled with enthusiasm and laughter, she proposed the idea of entering a “Battle of the Bands”-style karaoke show hosted by her workplace for charity. Jisoo was immediately on board and even rallied a few more of their friends to join in. But Y/n made one thing clear: they absolutely couldn’t let Minghao in on the secret. This was her chance to catch him off guard.

In the following weeks, his friends practiced relentlessly. Y/n wasn't just aiming to win at work; she wanted to create an unforgettable evening, one that would leave Minghao in pure shock. They practiced their songs, and even designed matching outfits for the event—a whimsically themed performance that would be impossible to forget.

Finally, the night of the charity show arrived. The venue was filled with colorful lights and the buzz of excitement as coworkers and friends gathered, taking their seats for what promised to be a lively night. Y/n donned a not necessarily work appropriate dress that reflected the playful spirit of her prank and maybe to catch someone's eyes. She could already see Minghao mingling with some of his friends, his laughter filling the air, and she felt a mixture of nerves and anticipation flutter in her stomach.

As the show kicked off, the energy in the room was contagious. The first few acts were entertaining, but Y/n could barely focus. She was waiting for her moment to take the stage and introduce Minghao and the others who were waiting to humiliate their friend gathered backstage, the excitement was palpable. They could hear Minghao in the crowd, cheering loudly for the groups, and Y/n smiled to herself, knowing what was coming next.

When it was their turn to perform, Y/n’s heart raced. She walked onto the stage, focusing on the bright lights and the sea of faces staring back at her. She could spot Minghao in the crowd before she introduced him, watching his slightly puzzled but amused look on his face as he recognized members of his circle.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Y/n shouted into the microphone, and the crowd erupted in cheers, clinking their glasses and waving them in the air as the spotlight warmed her skin.

“I have a special surprise for you all this evening!” The anticipation in the room built up in waves as she paused for effect. “You won’t believe what I’ve been up to. If you haven’t already heard, I recently met someone!”

The crowd roared in excitement, whoops and claps echoing around the venue.

“Shocking, right? You might have seen him around the office. Can we get a spotlight on him?”

The beam of light swept through the crowd until it landed on Minghao, who looked around, momentarily startled.

“Everyone, meet Minghao!” Y/n continued, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “We actually met at the coffee shop below the office. I was drowning in my mid-week project when he approached my table and asked me out on a date. I’ll admit, I was pretty hesitant at first. But he worked his charm on me.”

She smiled warmly, letting reminiscence wash over her. “We ended up going out a few times after that, but just a few nights ago, he let me in on a little secret—it was all a bet set up by these guys right here!”

Y/n dramatically pointed behind her at a group of men clad in glittery outfits, their faces a mix of embarrassment and amusement as they realized they’d been called out. Laughter erupted once again, and Minghao could only shake his head, a smirk on his lips as the crowd carried on, fully entertained by the unfolding story.

The laughter from the crowd soared, and Y/n could see Minghao’s face shifting from amusement to slight embarrassment when a man behind him yelled up to the stage. “A bet? Seriously?” he called out.

“Yes. You heard that right.” Y/n responded, leaning into the microphone as she theatrically rolled her eyes, embracing the absurdity of it all. “Turns out, my romantic escapades were all part of some grand scheme these guys made up.”

The men behind her chuckled sheepishly, with one of them, a tall guy with a dazzling smile, shouting playfully, “In our defense, we thought it was a great idea. Including Minghao.”

“Oh, it definitely was,” Y/n replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks for the great dates,you guys. I had no idea I was part of a reality show, I watch them enough you’d think I’d catch on.” She paused for comedic effect, letting the laughter settle before leaning closer to the audience, her tone more serious. “You know, honestly, Minghao surprised me in ways I never expected.”

She glanced over at Minghao, whose cheeks were slightly flushed under the spotlight but wore a sincere smile. “I was a bit hesitant at first, sure. But then we really connected. And who would have guessed that the guy who interrupted my focused day with a charming smile would become someone so special?”

Cheers erupted from the crowd again, and Y/n took a deep breath, enticing them with what was coming next.

“And, since we’re being honest here,” she continued, teasingly leaning into her role as the narrator of this unfolding tale, “I feel like we need to make Minghao work just a little for his redemption. No?” The audience murmured in excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve arranged a little surprise for him tonight,” Y/n said, gesturing to the side of the stage. “Minghao, my friend, you've got just one more challenge ahead of you.”

Out of nowhere, a karaoke microphone was handed to Minghao from his left side and the crowd erupted into cheers and laughter again. Minghao held it awkwardly, glancing at Y/n with a mix of uncertainty and delight.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, genuinely confused but slightly intrigued.

“You’re going to sing! Duh. Don’t be dumb,” Y/n declared, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips. “The audience deserves to see what they’re in for. Plus, it’s only fair after that little trick you pulled. You’re going to serenade us all.”

Minghao let out a laugh, his initial shock transforming into acceptance. The crowd erupted once again, chanting, “Minghao! Minghao!”

Feeling the energy in the room, Minghao stepped forward, climbing up the stairs with a new light in his eyes. “Alright then, I guess I have no choice but to give the audience what they want!” He took a deep breath and gazed at Y/n one last time before launching into a fun, upbeat song that brought everyone to their feet.

As he sang, Y/n couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection. Despite the insane circumstances that brought them together, there was something genuine unfolding between them, amplified by the shared laughter and excitement of the evening.

With each note, Minghao seemed to shed any lingering nerves, pouring his heart out into the music. The audience was enthralled, dancing and singing along, swept up in the joy of the moment. Y/n found herself cheering louder than anyone else, her laughter mingling with his infectious energy.

And maybe, just maybe, she thought as she watched him shine on stage, this night was the perfect reminder that sometimes the best stories come from the unexpected. It wasn’t just about the twists and turns of their initial meeting; it was about the connections forged when they embraced things together. As Minghao finished with a flourish, the crowd erupted into applause, and Y/n couldn't help but wonder how many more surprises awaited them on this journey.

Day 9 - A Change of Heart

Determined to make a last-ditch effort to win her back, Minghao doubled down on his resolve. He sent her a series of texts brimming with encouragement, recounting the fun they’d had the night before. “I never imagined I’d be up on stage like that, but it was totally worth it,” he wrote, his fingers flying across the screen. “You have this incredible way of bringing out the best and most ridiculous in people. I genuinely had a good time, especially seeing those fuckers in glitter pants.”

He poured his heart into his messages, sharing how her laughter had ignited a spark within him, and how getting to know her was quickly becoming the highlight of his life. “You made me feel brave, even while I was totally making a fool of myself,” he typed with a grin, imagining her laughter echoing in his ears. “And honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing about it. You’re amazing, Y/n.”

As the hours passed without a response, doubts started to creep into his mind. Had he gone too far with the whole bet thing? Would she take his lighthearted texts as desperation? But he couldn’t shake the feeling of knowing there was something real between them.. So, he gathered his courage and decided to call.

When Y/n picked up the phone, her voice sounded bright but cautious. “Hey, Minghao. What’s up?”

“Y/n, Hi I don’t know if you saw my texts, you’re probably busy, but I just wanted to check in after last night,” he replied, his heart racing. “I hope you’re still not too mad at me for the bet thing. I promise I didn’t mean for it to be a setup. I actually really enjoyed being with you."

There was a momentary silence, and he held his breath, waiting for her response. “I’m not mad,” she finally said, her tone softening. “I thought it was an interesting twist, honestly. You had me laughing for hours after I got over it a little bit and after talking to your friends. But I just… didn’t want to feel like I was part of some game.”

“I totally understand,” he said quickly, wanting to assure her. “I’m really sorry for how it started. But I want you to know that my feelings for you are genuine. I liked who I was with you last night and every night really , and I want to get to know you better—like, for real, not as a bet.”

Y/n paused again, and he could almost hear her contemplating his words. “You mean that?”

“Absolutely,” Minghao responded, feeling more confident. “I know we started under unusual circumstances, but every moment I’ve spent with you has felt real. You bring out a side of me I didn’t really know I had, and I really love who I am when I’m with you. So, what do you say? Can we start over?”

He could hear her take a deep breath from the other end, and his heart raced in anticipation. “Okay, let’s do that,” she finally said, her voice brightening. “But let’s be clear the only bets this time will be on actual games, not people's feelings”

Minghao laughed, relief washing over him. “Deal. Just me trying to impress you from now on.”

“You already have, that was your promise from the start and you followed through.”

As they chatted and made plans for their next outing—a casual coffee date, just like they first met no strings attached—Minghao felt a renewed sense of hope. He was determined to show her that he was sincere, that the bet was just a silly beginning to what he hoped would be a beautiful journey together.

After they hung up, Minghao couldn’t help but smile to himself. It wasn’t just about winning her back; it was about starting anew, embracing the possibility of a real thing. And as excitement bubbled in his chest, he began to plan how he could make their next date unforgettable. After all, if Y/n could turn a wild bet into a night filled with laughter, he was ready to dive in and see where this newfound adventure would take them both.

Day 10 - The Second First Date.

As the days crept closer to their date, Minghao found himself overrun with excitement and nerves. He wanted everything to be perfect. Standing in front of his closet, he debated over his wardrobe, tossing shirts onto the bed haphazardly. He could feel the pressure mounting the stakes felt higher this time—not just because he was going to see Y/n again, but because he wanted her to see him as more than just that guy than a guy who bet on her feelings.

Eventually, he settled on a casual but stylish outfit, one that he felt confident in. Being genuine was the goal, after all, and he didn’t want to put on a facade. Just before he headed out the door, he glanced in the mirror, giving himself a final pep talk. “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”

At the coffee shop, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the chatter of customers. Minghao arrived early, pacing a bit with anticipation. He chose the same cozy corner table her first noticed her at, where they’d have some privacy but still be part of the lively atmosphere.

When Y/n walked in, his heart skipped a beat. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her hair cascading over her shoulders and a warm smile lighting up her face. She spotted him, her eyes sparkling with familiarity, and his nervousness began to fade away as she approached.

“Hi, nice to meet you, you’re Minghao right?” she greeted, her voice filled with warmth.

“Hey, yeah. I’m glad you made it,” Minghao replied, standing to greet her. They exchanged a brief hug, and it felt surprisingly comfortable.

As they settled into their seats with steaming cups of coffee in hand, the conversation flowed naturally, as if they’d never left off. They chatted about everything their favorite shows, upcoming plans, and the ridiculous things they’d seen online lately. Laughter punctuated their discussion, the kind that made the world around them feel distant.

At one point, Y/n playfully leaned back in her chair, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So, tell me—what’s your strategy for impressing me today? More dance moves? Karaoke?”

Minghao laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days. “Let’s save the dancing for another time. I’m still trying to recover from the last performance,” he said with a smirk. “But I promise I have a few tricks up my sleeve—nothing too embarrassing.”

“Just promise me no more betting, I’m out of chips for now.” she said, stern but unable to hide her smile.

“Cross my heart,” he promised dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “From here on out, it’s just me and you having honest and genuine fun.”

Their coffees had transformed into connection, a beautiful blend of camaraderie and flirtation. As they moved towards dessert, Minghao felt a spark growing between them.

With a playful glint in his eye, he decided to take a leap. “So, if we’re doing this—like, seeing where it goes, how about I take you on a mini-adventure next time? Something a little less…traditional?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, “And what exactly does that entail? You are not talking about hiking, or something like that right? I would kill you.”

“A little scavenger hunt around the city?” he suggested, warming to the idea. “We could visit all the spots we love, and maybe even some new places. Get ice cream, take pictures, and just enjoy the day.”

Her face lit up with enthusiasm. “That sounds amazing. I love it.”

Seeing her excitement filled him with joy; this felt right. With their coffee date unfolding so smoothly, he was beginning to understand that this was not just about rekindling a spark but about building something new.

As they wrapped up, Minghao walked her to her car, and the atmosphere felt electric. Before saying goodbye, he couldn’t resist leaning in slightly. “If I promise to make each outing better than the last, will you promise to keep coming back?”

Y/n looked at him, her expression softening. “I think I can manage that, if you also kiss me” she replied, her smile brightening the evening.

With a renewed sense of hope, Minghao pulled her in from her waist kissing her multiple times before backing up slightly and letting her get into the driver's seat, she rolled down the window and wagged her finger at him for one more kiss, and then he watched her drive away, heart brimming with anticipation. He was ready to dive into this adventure, ready to explore whatever lay ahead with Y/n by his side. Their story was only just beginning, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like everything was falling into place.

Epilogue

The days that followed were an exciting blur of planning and anticipation. Minghao found himself digging into his old notebooks, jotting down ideas for the scavenger hunt, trying to think of all the little things that made their city special. He wanted to weave in personal touches that would make the day unforgettable for Y/n—places that could bring back memories of their first date or spots he knew would make her full of joy when he revealed them.

With each idea, he found he was not just planning an outing but also crafting an experience centered around her, and this realization filled him with a sense of purpose. He’d always believed that little moments could mean everything, and now he was eager to show Y/n just how much he cherished their new relationship.

When the day of the scavenger hunt arrived, Minghao woke up with a mix of nerves and excitement. He’d set everything in motion, and now all he needed to do was let the day unfold naturally. He picked a comfortable outfit—something relaxed but still appealing—and made his way to the meeting spot they had agreed on: a park that was alive with the sounds of laughter, children playing, and the distant strumming of a guitarist.

As he waited, he felt a buzz of anticipation in the air around him. The moment he spotted Y/n walking towards him, his heart soared. She looked radiant, her hair dancing in the breeze, and her smile lit up the entire park.

“Hey, you.” she greeted, a lilt in her voice that made him grin wider.

“Ready for a little adventure?” he asked, trying to mask the excitement bubbling beneath his calm exterior.

“Absolutely. Just tell me what we’re doing,” she replied, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“First off, we have to get our scavenger hunt gear,” he said, pulling out a small tote bag he had packed. Inside were colored pencils,a camera for taking photos at each stop, a notebook for jotting down clues, and a list of locations they'd be visiting.

“What’s all this?” she laughed, peering inside with delight.

“Just some supplies to help us document our adventure” Minghao said cheerily. “The first stop is that little coffee stand we found last week, where they have the pastries.”

With a shared laugh and playful banter, they made their way through the park, stopping for pictures at every significant spot—an old oak tree where they took selfies, a fountain that they threw pennies in while making a wish, and a mural that had caught Minghao’s eye during their last outing. The connection between them deepened as they shared stories, memories, and more feelings than ever. As they reached the coffee stand, Minghao took a moment to watch her as she chose her pastry. She had a way of illuminating the boring everyday things, and he felt grateful every time she shot him a smile. After they got their treats, he pulled out the next clue.

“Okay, next up,” he said with excitement, glancing down at the list he had created. “We have to find the spot where they sell the best ice cream in town. But there’s a catch—you have to lead the way.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Me? Alright.. This should be interesting.”

With her leading the way, they began to navigate the streets, stopping to chat with street performers and peeking into quirky shops. As they reached the ice cream parlor, the enticing scent of waffle cones met them, and they quickly placed their orders.

“That is definitely a win,” Minghao said, savoring the first bite of his matcha chocolate chip. He looked over to see Y/n’s eyes light up with delight as she tasted her basic but cute vanilla with sprinkles.

As they sat outside, sharing stories about their favorite childhood flavors, Minghao felt a warmth spreading in his chest. Each moment they shared layered on a sense of intimacy, deepening their bond.

The rest of the day continued in this delightful fashion, each stop on the scavenger hunt bringing them closer together, transforming their connection into something rooted in genuine affection. The final clue led them to an overlook, a perfect sunset view of the city sprawled out before them.

As they stood side by side, overlooking the vibrant hues of orange and pink washed across the sky, Minghao turned to her, feeling the weight of the moment.

“I’m really glad I took this leap,” he said, his voice sincere. “Today has been incredible. You make everything better, including me.”

Y/n looked at him, her expression softening. “I feel the same way. This day has been one of the best I’ve had in a long time. Really, thank you.”

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, he could feel the pull toward her. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned in, capturing her lips in a gentle yet tender kiss. It was a clear promise of what was to come—not just in this moment, but in all the moments yet to unfold.

Standing there, as the last light of day faded into twilight, Minghao felt a newfound certainty settle within him. This was just the beginning of a beautiful adventure with Y/n, and he was ready to explore every twist and turn that life had to offer together.

Minghao had set out to lose a girl in ten days but instead found something he never expected: a genuine connection. As he and y/n embarked on their new adventure as one and they both realized that sometimes love sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and sometimes, the risks of opening your heart are worth every moment.

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helen-with-an-a · 3 months ago

Note

could you write a jessie fleming x Putellas!sister!reader

reader is really shy and doesn't talk much so alexia thinks reader is still single but at the friendly match between canada and spain jessie gets fouled badly and reader sprints across the field do comfort her and be there for her

Hiiiii - so I'm combining this with another ask for a multi-part Jessie series and a little idea that has been floating around in my head. This is the first part of a multi-part blurb story that follows a loose timeline but is also not really. Each part is based on the 1 of the 5 senses plus a bonus. I hope you enjoy it.

Sight

Sight : Sound : Smell : Taste : Touch : Cryptaesthesia

Jessie Fleming x Putellas!Reader

Description: R sees Jessie for the first time

Word Count: 1.7k

Growing up with Alexia as your sister was hard. Not bad, not negative – just a constant ... challenge. It felt like being a part of something extraordinary but knowing you’d never be the star. Alexia was Alexia Putellas, a name that carried weight, a name that carried talent and recognition. You were just ... you. While Alexia’s accomplishments lit up the room, you often felt like you were always a beat behind, your achievements cloaked in her shadow. It was impossible not to feel the subtle comparisons, the whispered remarks about being “Alexia’s hermanita,” as if that alone defined you. You never scored as many goals or had as many trophies, everything you had ever done, Alexia had done before you. Make it into La Masia, play for Barça B, play for the first team, break into the national team, receive your first cap, your first goal for La Roja ... Alexia had done it all before, you had usually gone on to do even better things.

Maybe that’s why, when the chance came, you decided to say 'fuck it' and move to Chelsea. Ona was heading to Manchester, eager for a chance at some more playing time that just wasn't happening at Barcelona. You chose London, craving change – a place where you could define yourself, beyond your last name and your big sister. You were just twenty-two, still piecing together who you were outside of Alexia’s Hermanita, and yet here you were, packing up and moving to another country right in the middle of a global pandemic. The Blues had come knocking over the summer, Emma had seen videos of what you could do, of who you could be on the pitch. She had taken a chance in making the phone call, and you had taken a chance in saying yes.

It was daunting, nerve-wracking, exciting, all at once. You’d be alone, out of your comfort zone, away from family and everything familiar. A new language, new weather, different culture, new people. But maybe ... maybe that was exactly what you needed: a fresh start, a space to breathe without the shadows, a chance to be more than “just the hermana.” What was there to lose?

And then you saw her. Jessie.

She stood a little off to the side, almost as if she wasn’t sure she belonged there, but her presence filled the room all the same. Your eyes caught hers for just a second, and that was all it took. There was something about her that felt disarming and comforting all at once – a softness in her expression that drew you in like nothing else had since you’d arrived in London. You no longer felt the nip of the autumn air, you were no longer completely lost, surrounded by people you barely understood. You were ... you weren't quite sure what you were, but something had definitely shifted.

Her smile was shy, barely there, but it made your heart lurch as though you’d known her forever. She wore a slightly oversized Chelsea hoodie that made her look small and cosy. The sleeves were pulled over her hands, and she had a baseball cap perched on her head, tilting just enough to let wisps of hair escape. You could see her gaze flitting around, a bit uncertain, like she was trying to take everything in without being seen herself.

“Uh, hi,” Jessie said, her smile gentle as she extended her hand toward you. Her eyes met yours with quiet confidence, even though her cheeks were tinged with a soft pink.

“H-hi,” you replied, wincing a little at the way your English sounded, thick with the nervousness you couldn’t shake off. You’d spoken English so many times before, but something about this moment ... about Jessie ... made it feel clumsy, like you were learning the language all over again. You had a far better grasp of the language than Alexia had, one of the few things you could pride yourself on being better at, yet here you were, stuttering and stumbling over a simple word.

Jessie must have noticed your hesitance, because she gave you an encouraging smile and then took a deep breath, braving a few Spanish words herself. “Estoy encantad...o… encatada?”

You couldn’t help but smile at her effort, the way she scrunched her nose slightly, clearly uncertain of the words. It was charming and utterly adorable. “Encantada,” you corrected her gently, watching her try the word on her lips.

“Encantada,” she repeated, a little more confidently this time, her voice soft and almost musical as she looked up at you.

Then she took a breath, as if gathering herself, and said, “Estoy encantada de conocerte.”

It was imperfect, yet so endearing, and you felt your heart skip as her words hung in the air. It was a simple phrase, but it felt like the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

“You are… Canadiense, sí?” you asked, testing the waters, wanting to know just a little bit more about her.

“Canadiense? Oh, Canadian?” Jessie’s face lit up as she caught on. “Yes, uh, sí.”

“Do ... you speak ... French?” you asked, each word slow and careful as you sifted through your English, hoping you hadn’t lost her.

Jessie laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, no. I don’t speak French, unfortunately. We had to learn it in school, but nothing really stuck. I didn’t try as much as I should have in the lessons…” She paused, a sheepish smile appearing as she realised she was rambling. “I just really didn’t care at the time, and now that I’m out of school – and out of Canada in general…” She trailed off, catching herself, cheeks going pink as she realised how fast she’d been talking. “Sorry,” she apologised, her voice a little softer, almost embarrassed.

You shook your head with a reassuring smile, though you’d only caught pieces of what she’d said. Truthfully, you hadn’t been concentrating much on the words themselves; you were too mesmerised by her expressions, by the way she talked and the way her mouth moved as she spoke.

Her hands twisted together, fingers nervously playing with the hem of her hoodie. Her chocolate-brown eyes sparkled with hints of light you couldn’t look away from. Every so often, her gaze darted back to you, checking if you understood, if she hadn’t lost you entirely, but to you, the details hardly mattered. You felt a warmth spreading through your chest, and you realised you’d never wanted to listen to anyone quite as much as you wanted to listen to her.

The first few weeks at Chelsea were a blur of excitement, nerves, and blushing uncontrollably whenever Jessie was around. It seemed like she could simply walk into a room, and your cheeks would betray you, heating up despite your best attempts to play it cool. Every time you were near her, words tangled in your mouth, your mind going blank as she flashed you that easy, shy smile. You’d catch yourself stealing glances, mesmerised by the smallest details – the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the quiet focus in her eyes, the subtle hints of laughter that danced on her lips when she was listening.

But on the pitch, Jessie was something else entirely. Watching her play was like watching art in motion. She moved with a confidence and skill that felt almost otherworldly, commanding every inch of space around her with a natural grace and intensity that left you breathless. You had seen good players before. You had watched Alexia win all of her accolades, but this ... Jessie was something entirely different.

You couldn’t help but be captivated by her. There was a beauty in her game that went beyond skill; it was something deeper, something raw and magnetic that had you spellbound.

“Hola,” Jessie greeted you with that soft smile, walking over as you both lingered in the changing rooms after training one afternoon.

“Hi, Jessie,” you replied, already feeling the blush rush to your cheeks.

She shifted her weight slightly, her fingers curling around the strings of her hoodie, a familiar gesture you’d noticed before – a nervous habit that only seemed to surface when she was around you. “I was wondering…” she began, her voice quiet, almost shy. Then, after a short breath, she asked, “Puedo invitarte a cenar alguna vez?”

The Spanish threw you, startling you out of your own thoughts. “Que?” you blurted automatically, your mind scrambling to catch up with what she’d just said.

Jessie’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she looked down, her gaze dipping as if she suddenly wished she could disappear. “Did I say that wrong?” she mumbled, her voice muffled with embarrassment. “Oh gosh, this is so embarrassing.” She shifted, her hands clutching her hoodie strings a little tighter. “I… I was trying… am trying…” She paused, taking a deep breath before looking up at you, eyes wide. “Could I maybe take you out to dinner sometime? Like… on a date… I don’t know.”

You felt a rush of warmth bloom in your chest, realising what she was asking.

“Sí,” you managed to say, a shy smile spreading across your face as warmth bloomed in your cheeks. “Uh … yes, Jessie, me encantaría eso.”

Jessie’s brow furrowed slightly as she tried to process your words. “You… encantar…?” she repeated, her expression a little puzzled, eyes full of that earnest concentration you found so endearing.

You chuckled softly, “I would like that.”

“Oh!” she said, her smile returning, wider and more certain now, her fingers finally letting go of her hoodie strings. There was a new spark in her eyes, a look of pure relief mixed with excitement, and it made your heart skip. She looked so genuinely happy, her gaze locking with yours in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

“Good,” she whispered, almost to herself, her smile turning soft and shy again. “Cool ... I … I’m really glad.”

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callsigns-haze · 2 months ago

Text

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 3

Part 1 here Part 2 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

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

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters.

Word count: 18.3k

“Uncle Cassy? Rhysie?” she tried again, her voice louder this time but shaky.

A gust of wind rushed past her, and she stumbled, dropping her stuffed toy in the snow. Kaia gasped, quickly bending down to retrieve it. When she straightened, her eyes caught movement—a flicker of brown fur darting between the trees.

“Bun-bun!” she exclaimed, her fear momentarily forgotten. Her small legs carried her forward as fast as they could, her wings flaring with determination.

She followed the bunny deeper into the woods, unaware of the growing distance between herself and safety. The snow was deeper here, and she struggled to push through it, her breaths coming in soft puffs.

Finally, she came to a small clearing. The bunny had stopped in the middle, its nose twitching as it nibbled on something hidden in the snow. Kaia’s face lit up with delight, and she dropped to her knees, crawling closer.

“Hi, bun-bun,” she whispered, her voice soft with awe. “Kaia not scare you.”

The bunny twitched its ears, watching her cautiously but not running this time. Kaia reached out a mittened hand, her tiny fingers trembling with excitement.

But before she could touch it, another strong gust of wind blew through the clearing, sending a flurry of snow into the air. The bunny bolted, disappearing into the trees.

Kaia froze, her outstretched hand hovering in the air. She blinked at the spot where the bunny had been, her heart sinking as she realized it was gone.

“Bun-bun…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The clearing felt empty now, and the cold pressed in on her small frame. Kaia stood up, hugging her toy close and looking around. Everything looked the same—the same tall trees, the same snow-covered ground. She spun in a slow circle, panic beginning to bubble in her chest.

“Dada?” she called, louder this time. “Rhysie?!”

Her voice echoed through the woods, but no one answered. The realization hit her all at once—she was lost.

Tears welled up in her big hazel eyes, spilling over and freezing on her flushed cheeks. Kaia sniffled, wiping at them with her mittens, but they kept coming.

“Kaia sowwy…” she whimpered to no one in particular, her small frame shaking as she clutched her toy tighter. She took a shaky step forward, then another, unsure of where she was going but desperate to find someone—anyone.

“Kaia cold…” she whispered, her voice breaking as she trudged further into the unknown, the trees swallowing her tiny figure in their shadowy embrace.

-----

Cassian and Rhys sprinted through the snow, their boots crunching harshly against the ground as they called out for Kaia. Their voices echoed off the trees, but all they received in return was the sound of the wind howling through the forest, the world around them unnervingly silent.

"Kaia!" Cassian shouted, his voice hoarse with a mix of fear and desperation. His wings flared behind him, instinctively seeking altitude, trying to get a better view, but the snow and trees blocked his sight.

Rhys was no better. He was using his magic, casting them out like dark tendrils, hoping they would find her scent, hoping they would be able to pinpoint her location. His face was taut, the normally calm and collected High Lord now fraught with panic, his chest tight as he pushed forward.

"Where the hell could she be?!" Rhys snapped, his teeth gritted as he forced himself to stay calm, despite the growing panic clawing at his chest. His magic stretched across the landscape, but they couldn’t seem to find her.

“Kaia!” Cassian yelled again, his voice cracking as he scanned every tree, every path they’d passed. “Baby, where are you?”

His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and it felt like every second that passed only made the distance between them and her grow wider. His mind raced—she’s too small to be out here alone. She’s too young. The snow— His breath hitched, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Rhys, we’ve searched everywhere. We need to—” Cassian stopped mid-sentence, his gaze frantically darting between the trees. He could hear nothing except his own frantic breathing. No sign of her, not even the faintest trace. His wings rustled anxiously as he moved through the snow, but it was like she’d just vanished into thin air.

“No,” Rhys whispered under his breath, shaking his head as if to push the thought away. “She can’t be gone.”

Rhys's eyes were wild as he searched the surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the trees. His usually calm demeanour was slipping, his worry palpable in the way his posture was stiff and rigid. “Cassian, we need to find her. We—”

Suddenly, Rhys’s hand flew to his chest, his breath catching. A surge of panic surged through him, and he spun, locking eyes with Cassian. “We can’t lose her. We can’t…”

Cassian’s wings twitched as his frustration boiled over. “We won’t. We’ll find her, Rhys,” he barked, his voice louder than before, but even his own words didn’t seem to soothe the storm of worry that was overtaking him. "Kaia! Come on, baby, where are you?"

They both continued to push forward, searching for any sign, but it was like the forest itself had swallowed her whole. The snow crunched beneath their feet, but every direction they turned only seemed to get colder, darker, and more empty.

Rhys was beginning to lose his focus, the lack of any trace of her driving him to the edge of his control. "She has to be here," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Cassian. His shadows were no help, his power failing him in the vast expanse of the woods.

Cassian glanced over at Rhys, his face pale with worry. The wind picked up, biting into their skin, making it harder to breathe and focus. The trees seemed to loom taller, closing in on them with every step they took, the very environment mocking their efforts to find her.

"Kaia!" They both shouted again in unison, their voices overlapping, but the silence that followed was deafening.

"I— I can’t—" Cassian’s voice faltered as he stopped abruptly, taking in a shaky breath. The panic was suffocating, his heart hammering in his chest like it would burst. His thoughts raced through his mind in a chaotic mess, and his wings drooped slightly in exhaustion. The cold gnawed at him, but it was nothing compared to the terror swelling in his chest.

Rhys stepped forward, his eyes scanning every direction. He reached out with his shadows again, desperation thick in his voice. “Kaia...”

They both paused, hearts pounding, waiting for some sign of her—anything to guide them. But nothing came.

“Where the hell are you, Kaia?” Cassian’s voice broke through the quiet, his hands clenched into fists.

They were losing time. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity, and with every step, the dread sank deeper into their chests.

The temperature was dropping quickly, and both Cassian and Rhys could feel it—sharp and biting against their skin. The once soft, powdery snow now seemed to cling to them, heavier, as the wind picked up, howling through the trees with an eerie howl. The cold was seeping deeper into their bones, an oppressive chill that made their breaths come out in white puffs, cutting through the silence around them.

Cassian shivered despite the fire in his chest, the cold gnawing at him in a way that he couldn’t ignore. He looked up, squinting against the wind, his heart racing in his chest. "She’s too small for this..." His words were barely audible against the wind, but the deepening cold in the air only made his worry grow worse. She can’t be out here, not in this.

Rhys clenched his jaw, his usual calm demeanour cracking under the weight of fear. "It’s getting worse..." he muttered, his hand instinctively moving to his chest as if to steady the growing panic inside him. He called to his magic once more, desperate for any sign of Kaia. Where are you? His mind screamed, but the answer never came.

Cassian’s wings twitched uncomfortably as the freezing air wrapped around him, pushing against him as if the forest itself were trying to separate them from the rest of the world. The cold was only getting sharper, and it felt like it was closing in on them. The once beautiful landscape, full of snow-capped trees and quiet serenity, now seemed like an endless maze, trapping them in its grasp.

“The wind’s picking up... she’s not prepared for this,” Rhys said, his voice tight with concern. He turned to Cassian, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of dread and frustration. "We have to find her. Now."

Cassian nodded sharply, the cold digging into his bones as if trying to freeze the fear within him. The air felt heavy, pressing in on him, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation. His wings were flared again, and he was desperately searching for any movement in the trees, any glimpse of Kaia’s small form.

"Kaia!" Rhys shouted once more, his voice cutting through the cold silence. “Where are you?”

The wind howled in response, but there was still no answer. Nothing but the crushing silence and the cold, creeping into their bodies, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Cassian’s breath hitched in his throat as the realization set in. The temperature was dropping, and it was doing so rapidly. If they didn’t find her soon, the cold could be more than she could handle. Her wings weren’t built for this—too young, too small, and unprepared for the harsh winds that swept through the mountainside.

Rhys’s expression hardened, his power flaring around him, but even his shadows couldn’t find her. "We need to move faster, Cassian," he urged, his voice tight with urgency. “If she’s out here in this, she won’t last much longer.”

Cassian didn’t need to hear any more. His wings beat hard against the icy air, carrying him deeper into the forest, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, but the cold kept pushing back against them. The chill pressed into his skin like a vice, and his heart pounded in his chest, matching the fear that rose within him.

The two of them continued to search, but the weight of the freezing air, the deafening silence that surrounded them, and the growing panic made it harder to focus. She has to be out there. They both thought. But each second felt like an eternity, and with every passing minute, the temperature dropped further.

"Kaia!" Rhys called once more, his voice almost a growl, but still no response came. The wind cut through him, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of dread that churned in his stomach.

The cold wasn’t just a physical threat—it was a symbol of the fear that had lodged deep inside them both.

-----

Kaia crouched under the large tree, hugging her toy tightly to her chest, her small wings wrapped around her body for warmth. Her toddler instincts had led her deeper into the forest, further away from the safety of the cabin and the sounds of her uncles’ calls. The cold had numbed her little hands and made her cheeks flush a bright pink, but she was determined to stay where she was, feeling safer in the shadows beneath the thick branches.

The wind howled above her, the snow swirling like a blizzard as the forest seemed to close in on her. The trees creaked, their branches swaying violently in the wind, but Kaia barely noticed the icy cold seeping deeper into her bones. Her wide, innocent eyes were focused on the soft movement around her—just a small speck of motion that caught her attention. Her instincts tingled, a small sense of curiosity overriding any lingering fear.

From the corner of her eye, a figure emerged from the shadows—tall, cloaked in dark, tattered fabric that fluttered eerily in the wind. Kaia’s eyes narrowed as the figure came closer, her small body still trembling from the cold. The figure’s face was hidden beneath a heavy hood, but Kaia could see the sharp outline of its face—a hollow, ghostly shape that sent a brief pang of unease through her chest.

But then the voice came—low, croaky, as if it had been unused for far too long. It rasped through the air like dry leaves.

"Come here, little one..." The figure’s voice was unnaturally soft, almost coaxing, as it reached down towards Kaia. "Come with me... I’ll keep you safe."

Kaia blinked, her confusion clear on her face as she looked up at the figure. She didn’t recognize the voice, but the words... they were so familiar. Safe. It sounded so comforting in her small, innocent mind, a reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

Her little hands grasped her toy tighter, but the figure’s voice soothed her, and the warmth in its tone seemed to push away the lingering fear from the cold and the isolation.

“Come... you’ll be warm with me. I’ll take you somewhere safe, where no one can hurt you...” The figure’s hand extended further, reaching for Kaia with long, skeletal fingers, the tips twitching like a spider’s legs. It was as if it knew the deep vulnerability of a child alone in the snow and how easily it could be manipulated.

Kaia’s eyes flickered from the figure’s hand to its face, but she didn’t see the danger, her dada always protected her from it. All she saw was something that promised warmth, protection—things that she needed in the moment. Her tiny mind, too young and trusting to see the threat, reached out and took a hesitant step toward the cloaked figure.

“Safe...” Kaia muttered, her toddler speech slurring as she spoke the word with complete faith. She moved forward a few steps, the wind biting at her cheeks, but still, the figure seemed to offer something she couldn’t resist.

The figure’s hand hovered just out of reach, beckoning her closer, and Kaia took another step, her wings twitching with uncertainty but not enough to stop her from moving forward.

"Yes, that’s it. Come with me, and you’ll be safe," the voice croaked again, and it felt like the only thing Kaia needed to hear in that moment.

She took another step, the promise of safety outweighing the concerns in her tiny heart. The figure’s cold presence was nothing more than a shadow against the warmth of the words it spoke.

And for the first time since running away from the cabin, Kaia felt a flicker of something warm inside her—something that made her trust this cloaked stranger without hesitation.

-----

The snow was heavier now, falling in thick, relentless sheets. The once-silent woods had transformed into a labyrinth of white, where each tree and path seemed indistinguishable from the next. The wind whipped through the branches, howling like a creature in pain, and the temperature had dropped further. Every minute they spent out here was a risk they couldn't afford.

Rhys and Cassian had been searching for over an hour, their hearts pounding in their chests as they called Kaia’s name again and again, but the only answer was the howling wind and the creaking of trees. The world had become a blur of white, the snow underfoot crunching with every step they took, but it was as if Kaia had vanished into thin air.

Rhys wiped the snow from his face, his violet eyes darting over the trees, his senses straining to catch any trace of her. He could feel the overwhelming panic creeping into his chest, a tightness that refused to loosen. Kaia’s small, fragile form—so vulnerable in this brutal environment—was all he could think about. The thought of her out here alone, with the temperature continuing to plummet, made every inch of his body ache with worry.

“Where is she, Cass?” Rhys snapped, his voice tight with barely contained frustration. He knew they’d searched every inch of this area, and yet there was nothing. No sign of her footprints, no faint trace of her presence, no little voice calling out to them.

Cassian was no better off. His wings were heavy with snow, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he scanned the woods. His heart had started to race long ago, the cold starting to settle deep in his bones. "We can’t keep doing this, Rhys," Cassian said, his voice strained, “We’ve covered every inch of this damn forest. We’re not going to find her out here like this.”

Rhys' face twisted in frustration, his mind whirling with guilt. “We can’t stop searching! She’s out there somewhere, Cass. We can’t—”

Cassian cut him off with a sharp shake of his head, his voice low and pained. “If we stay out here any longer, we’re going to freeze. The temperature’s dropping fast, and we’re losing our daylight. We can’t keep going like this, not without risking more lives.”

Rhys clenched his jaw, his hands balled into fists as the realization sank in. He knew Cassian was right. Their wings were covered in snow, their bodies cold and numb from the exposure. And worst of all, their search wasn’t yielding any results. They were only growing weaker and more disoriented by the second.

The harsh reality struck him—Kaia couldn’t survive out here for much longer. The cold, her wings still so new and fragile, and the isolation. She wouldn’t have the strength to make it on her own for long. Rhys’ heart dropped like a stone in his chest.

“We need to go back to the cabin and get help,” Rhys said, his voice low, filled with the weight of dread. “We can’t risk any more time out here.”

Cassian nodded grimly, and they both turned, reluctantly heading back in the direction they had come from. The snow had begun to swirl around them more violently now, their path obscured with each passing second.

It felt like the entire forest was conspiring against them.

They moved with urgency, but there was no escaping the sinking feeling in their stomachs. With every step, their hopes seemed to slip further away, the cold gnawing at their very souls. Cassian’s thoughts were consumed with guilt—how could he have let this happen? How had he failed to keep an eye on her? Kaia was just a baby, so small and so trusting.

“How long until she can’t survive out here?” Cassian muttered, his voice tight with emotion. Rhys didn’t answer, because they both knew the answer. The temperature was dropping so rapidly, and Kaia was just a little girl with tiny wings—she could be so easily lost to the cold. And truly Rhysand knows she'd be dead by now.

“Don’t talk like that, Cass,” Rhys snapped, his voice strained, his fists clenched tightly as they pushed forward.

“Just saying it like it is,” Cassian muttered back, his voice rough.

The moment Rhysand and Cassian reached the cabin, exhaustion hanging heavy in their bones, Rhys wasted no time. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of their failure in not finding Kaia pressing down on him like an iron vice. His wings were stiff with the cold, and his breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered into the warmth of the cabin.

He didn’t even take a moment to pause. His mind was already reaching out to Morrigan, his thoughts sharp and urgent.

Mor, he projected mentally, his voice laced with panic, get over here, now. Bring Emerie with you.

He felt a brief, sharp moment of silence, then the flicker of Morrigan’s presence, her steady, confident tone coming through in response.

On our way, Rhys, Morrigan’s voice came through, smooth as silk but filled with a clear sense of urgency. What’s happening?

Rhys didn’t have time for pleasantries. He inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing with barely controlled panic.

Kaia’s gone, he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. She’s somewhere out there, and we’ve lost her. We need help now—Emerie’s skills will be vital.

There was a pause. He could sense the shift in Morrigan’s thoughts, her usual unshakable calm now touched with concern.

We’re winnowing now, she replied quickly. Hold on, Rhys.

And just like that, the presence of Morrigan and Emerie vanished from his mind. He reached for Cassian, who was pacing by the door, his face pinched with guilt and frustration.

“They’ll be here,” Rhys said firmly, trying to give his friend something to hold onto in the face of the uncertainty. “Mor and Emerie are on their way.”

Cassian didn’t look reassured. His eyes were still filled with the same terror Rhys had been carrying since they first realized Kaia was missing. But at least they had done something. At least they had people on their side who could help.

The air in the cabin felt suffocating as they waited, every second dragging by in painful silence.

Rhys glanced back toward the door, the tension hanging thick in the air. Every time the wind howled outside, it felt like a reminder of how much time they were losing. How much they couldn’t afford to waste.

Then, with a crackle of energy, the faint sound of the winnow shimmered in the air, and the door slammed open. Morrigan and Emerie appeared in an instant, stepping into the cabin with force and purpose.

“Where is she?” Morrigan asked, her voice firm yet laced with concern as she took in the sight of both males standing there, clearly drained.

Rhys exhaled sharply, his voice tight. “She ran off into the woods. We’ve been searching, but we’ve hit a wall. The cold’s gotten worse, and we can’t afford to waste any more time.”

Emerie was already moving, her dark eyes scanning the room. “I’ll go with Mor,” she said quietly, her voice unwavering. “We’ll track her together.”

Morrigan nodded and winnowed again, Emerie following right behind her. Rhys and Cassian shared one last look before Rhys reached for his brother's arm.

“We’ll be here,” Cassian said quietly, his voice strained. He swallowed hard, doing everything in his power not to show the fear gnawing at him.

“Do what you have to,” Rhys replied, clapping Cassian’s shoulder briefly before turning back, where they would wait. It was all they could do. All they couldn’t do, it felt like.

Rhys stood in the center of the cabin, the silence suffocating around him. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he stared at the door through which Morrigan and Emerie had just left, their forms already vanished in the winnow. His body was still tense, but in his mind, the only thought running over and over was how he had failed.

He had failed you.

He had failed Azriel.

And worse of all, he had failed Kaia.

The knot in his chest grew tighter as his hands clenched at his sides, the cold bite of his fingers doing little to ground him. Kaia, his niece—the child he had vowed to protect—was out there in the forest, alone, in the freezing cold. The thought of her vulnerable, small wings not ready for the chill that was settling over the land, it felt like a blade twisting inside his gut.

He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—let that happen.

His thoughts turned to you. He couldn’t even imagine the fear you would feel when you woke up and found that your daughter was gone. You had enough to deal with, with Kaia’s early birth, the struggle it took to get her healthy and safe. Rhys had promised himself that he would always be there for you, that no matter what happened, you and your family would never suffer in silence.

And now, he’d failed.

The weight of the responsibility, the lives of everyone he cared about—Azriel, his brother who had already been through so much, had been through hell just to get to where they were—pressed on Rhys’s chest like an anchor. How could he have let this happen? How had he not seen the signs earlier, that Kaia might slip away, that she might wander off like this? He had taken his eyes off her for seconds.

Seconds.

It was those seconds that had been enough for her to slip away, enough for the cold to set in, enough for everything to go wrong.

Rhys stepped toward the window, the weight of his own failure nearly crippling him. His wings hung heavily behind him, almost dragging the ground as he stood there. The wind outside howled with fury, the snow piling in thick layers. It was as if nature itself was mocking him for not being able to protect his family.

His mind flashed to Azriel—the look in his eyes when he realized Kaia was missing, the way Azriel had begged him to find her, his quiet desperation filling every word. How could he explain to Azriel, to you, how he had failed them both?

“You promised you’d keep her safe, Rhys,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the howl of the wind. “You promised.”

It was an empty promise now, hanging in the air like a ghost. The weight of the world, the weight of his promises, felt like it was about to crush him.

But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t break down completely, not now. Not when Kaia was still out there, not when there was still a chance to bring her back.

He pressed his hands to his face, taking a deep, shaky breath. His mind began to race again, to push through the overwhelming grief and guilt, forcing himself to think. They would find her. He wouldn’t give up.

But the guilt of failing—of letting you down, of letting Azriel down, of letting Kaia down—was going to follow him for a long time.

Cassian sank down onto the couch, his body heavy with exhaustion and dread. His legs felt like they might give out beneath him, the weight of the search, the worry, and the guilt pressing down on him in waves. His hand ran through his hair, gripping it as though he could pull out the frustration, the fear, and the helplessness that had settled deep inside him.

His breath was ragged, his chest tight with the panic of what had just happened. He could still feel the cold of the forest, the snow biting at his skin, the echo of Kaia’s laughter ringing in his ears, the way she had run off so carelessly. He had let his guard down, he never does that. He had promised to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe—and he had failed.

He looked over at Rhys, who was standing near the window, his posture rigid, his face drawn with the same pain that was gnawing at Cassian. They both knew what this felt like—what it meant. It wasn’t just about Kaia being out there in the cold. It wasn’t just about the dangers she might be facing. It was the weight of responsibility, the crushing sense of failure that came with not being able to protect the ones you loved.

Cassian’s heart clenched at the thought of you, of how you’d feel when you woke up and realized Kaia was missing. He couldn’t bear to imagine the horror in your eyes, the panic, the worry that would consume you. And Azriel… Azriel, who had already been through so much. He would be devastated. How could he look him in the eye knowing that Kaia, his little girl, was lost?

Cassian’s hands balled into fists, but he didn’t have the energy to release the tension in his body. His eyes flickered to the door, his mind racing, trying to come up with a plan. They couldn’t give up. Not now. They couldn’t let the cold or the darkness defeat them.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, the nagging doubt crept in. What if it was too late? What if the cold had already taken Kaia, already—

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight with emotion. He slammed his fist into the cushion, trying to release some of the frustration, the helplessness, the overwhelming guilt.

He had failed. He had promised he would protect her, and now…

Cassian clenched his jaw, trying to hold it together. But the weight of the failure, the guilt of what had happened, settled deeper into his bones.

“We’ll find her, Cass,” Rhys’s voice broke through his thoughts, a quiet but steady reassurance. But even Rhys’s calm tone couldn’t fully mask the fear and guilt they both shared.

Cassian nodded, though he didn’t believe the words as much as he wanted to. The thought of Kaia out there alone, vulnerable… it was too much.

He had to hold onto the hope, but in that moment, it felt like the darkness would swallow them all.

Nearly three hours had passed, and every minute felt like a lifetime. The cabin was heavy with the silence of defeat as Rhysand and Cassian anxiously paced back and forth, each man lost in his own tortured thoughts. The cold outside had only grown more intense, and the weight of the search hung over them like an unbearable cloud.

Finally, they heard the unmistakable sound of the winnow, the sudden rush of air that signalled the arrival of Morrigan and Emerie. But as the door opened and the two women stepped inside, there was no joy in their faces, no relief in their posture. The hope they had arrived with seemed to have dissipated, replaced by something heavier—something darker.

Morrigan’s jaw was set tight, her eyes dark with the same frustration and helplessness that had taken root in both Rhys and Cassian. Emerie’s face was even grimmer, her usually sharp, determined gaze clouded with the weight of failure.

“We’ve searched every inch of the area we could,” Morrigan said quietly, her voice tight, as though even speaking the words was too much. She let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself, but the sorrow was clear in her expression. “The wind and the snow have wiped away any tracks. We couldn’t find anything, Rhys. Nothing.”

Rhys and Cassian both stood frozen, the reality of her words sinking into them like a cold, hard stone.

Cassian’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, and for a brief moment, the room seemed to spin. He wanted to argue, to fight, to demand that they keep searching, but he knew deep down that Morrigan was right. If she couldn’t find her, no one could.

“What do you mean nothing?” Cassian asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the desperation was clear. He wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. “You’re telling me she’s… gone?”

Emerie, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, her voice quiet but heavy with the weight of the truth. “The snowstorm is getting worse, and we’ve done everything we can. I’ve searched the forest using my power, but there’s no trace of her. No scent, no sign. It’s like she vanished.”

“Damn it…” Cassian’s voice cracked as he tried to control the rising panic in his chest. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes blurred with unshed tears. He couldn’t process what he was hearing. His little niece, the one he had promised to protect, was… gone.

Rhys looked over at him, his eyes filled with a kind of understanding, but it didn’t help. Cassian didn’t need understanding. He needed Kaia.

“I don’t…” Rhys started, his voice faltering for the first time since they’d arrived. “I don’t understand. How can she just vanish? Where the hell is she?”

“She’s lost in the woods,” Morrigan said softly, shaking her head as though she too couldn’t believe it. “But it’s not just the woods. The weather’s too much, and her wings… they aren’t fully developed. It’s too cold for her out there. We all know that.”

Cassian couldn’t breathe. Every word felt like a punch to the gut, and yet there was no escape from the weight of them. He had failed her. He had promised to protect her, and now he had no way to make it right. He didn’t know how to even begin to fix this.

“Are we… are we just giving up?” Cassian asked, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, but they all came back to the same horrifying conclusion. They had lost her.

Morrigan and Emerie exchanged a glance, and the silence between them was deafening. They knew what he was asking. They had searched. They had exhausted every option they had. But even they couldn’t bring themselves to say the words that hovered on the edge of their lips: they couldn’t find her.

“I wish I could say something different,” Morrigan said finally, her voice strained. “But we have to face the truth. The longer we wait, the colder it gets out there. And Kaia… she’s so small, so vulnerable. If we don’t find her soon, we might not be able to.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. There was no denying the harsh reality.

Rhys turned away, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to hold himself together. His mind was reeling, his thoughts racing, but they were all rooted in one thing: Kaia was missing. And no matter how much he wished, hoped, or prayed, he couldn’t change it.

Cassian let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as he finally allowed himself to sink into the couch. His body was rigid with tension, but the weight of the situation, the overwhelming guilt and fear, left him too exhausted to even speak.

Kaia was out there in the freezing cold, alone. And no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t bring her back.

The snow outside the window had only grown more violent as the minutes passed. The winds howled like a wild animal, clawing at the cabin, sending gusts of snow swirling in every direction. It battered against the glass, a constant reminder of the storm raging outside. The once soft flakes had turned into sharp, biting gusts that seemed to cut through the air, obscuring any semblance of visibility. The wind's shrill scream echoed through the cabin walls, only adding to the tension that hung heavily in the room.

Inside, the four of them sat in grim silence, the warmth of the fire doing little to ease the chill that had settled in their bones. The storm outside was relentless, and yet, in that moment, it felt like the world was closing in around them.

Cassian rubbed his face, his hand rough against his stubble as he gazed out the window, his eyes dark with worry and frustration. The wind outside howled, a reminder of how helpless they were against the elements. He could hear it tearing through the trees, shaking the branches violently as if it was reaching out to take what they had lost. His heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts racing as the guilt continued to eat away at him.

"This storm isn't letting up," Rhysand muttered, his voice low and thick with a mix of frustration and helplessness. He stood at the window, his eyes scanning the dense snowfall, but there was nothing but a wall of white. "If the snow continues like this, we won't be able to see anything in that forest, and Kaia... she's out there somewhere."

Morrigan, standing beside him, clenched her jaw as she too watched the storm with concern. "We can't wait much longer. We need to get back out there, but the weather's getting worse by the minute. It’s dangerous."

Cassian shot a glance at her, the strain of his emotions written all over his face. "We already know that. But what choice do we have? We can’t just sit here and do nothing." His voice cracked with the weight of it. "She's out there in this hell."

The wind picked up again, howling louder than before, and the snow outside seemed to blur the world beyond. Each gust of wind felt like an attack, stripping away any remaining hope. The trees outside creaked and groaned under the pressure, bending at impossible angles as the storm raged on.

"We need to move now," Rhysand said, his voice resolute despite the growing storm. "We don’t have the luxury of waiting for it to pass. We’re already losing time." He turned to the others, his face hard with determination, even as the worry in his eyes betrayed him. "If we’re going to find her, we need to do it now. The longer we stay here, the less likely we are to make it through this."

The wind howled again, shaking the walls of the cabin, and the sound was almost deafening. The fire crackled in the hearth, but it seemed so small, so insignificant against the fury of the storm outside. The tension in the room was palpable, and the cold from the wind seeped deeper into their bones, no longer just a physical chill, but an emotional one.

Rhys turned to Cassian, his face tight with the weight of the decision. "We’ll need to go out together. We can’t afford to split up. If we’re going to have any chance of finding her, we need to move fast."

Cassian nodded grimly, though his gaze remained locked on the window. "If we don’t find her soon, the snow will cover her tracks. We’ll lose her completely."

Morrigan sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. "And if we can’t find her in this storm, we may never find her again."

As the storm outside continued to howl and rage, the cold was no longer just outside their cabin walls—it was within them too, gnawing at their hearts as they prepared to venture back into the storm.

-----

Azriel sat at the far end of a long, oak table in the camp lord’s private quarters, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of the glass in front of him. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the flickering light casting shadows that danced across the walls, creating an oddly calming atmosphere for the tense conversation. His sharp eyes, however, never stopped scanning the room, watching for any subtle movements or changes in posture from the camp lord sitting across from him.

The camp lord—a tall, broad-shouldered fae with a reputation for his cunning in negotiations—was leaning back in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand, his expression one of practiced indifference. The man’s dark, storm-grey eyes bore into Azriel as he spoke, though Azriel’s own gaze never wavered, his usual calm demeanour unbroken.

“I trust you understand the importance of this deal, Shadowsinger,” the camp lord said, his voice low but firm. “The terms are clear. We provide the resources, you offer us the protection we need for our interests. You’ll get what you want in return for ensuring my people are safe from those who might disrupt our trade routes.”

Azriel nodded, his expression impassive. “I’m aware of the stakes. But don’t mistake our cooperation for a favor. We expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.” His voice was as steady as ever, yet there was an edge to it—a subtle warning, unspoken but understood.

The camp lord smiled, a sharp, calculating grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. You’ll find that I honour my word. After all, it is my reputation on the line.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their respective roles hanging between them. Azriel's shadows flitted restlessly around the room, a reflection of his own unease. He had been sent here to ensure the safety of the agreement, to verify that the camp lord’s offer was genuine, and to keep watch over any potential threats. Yet in this moment, with the fire crackling and the wine dulling his senses, his thoughts kept wandering back to the cabin, to Kaia’s absence, to the tension he had felt when he left.

"I trust you’ve taken care of the logistical matters as we discussed?" Azriel asked, his tone almost casual, though his mind was far from relaxed.

The camp lord set his glass down, eyes narrowing as he folded his arms across his chest. “Everything is in motion. We’ve reinforced the defences around the perimeter and are increasing patrols. You can tell your people that the camp will be secure. My people are loyal.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Loyalty can be bought. It’s trust that I need.”

The camp lord smirked, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Trust is earned, Shadowsinger. But you should know, my loyalty is not so easily swayed. We’ve been through worse. This is just another battle.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately. His fingers brushed the edge of his glass again, the coolness of the crystal a stark contrast to the heat in his chest. He was getting impatient.

“Do you think I care about your battles?” Azriel’s voice dropped, the shadows around him flickering slightly in response to his growing frustration. “I came here to see if your promises are worth anything. Don’t waste my time.”

The camp lord straightened, his smile slipping for just a moment before he regained his composure. “I assure you, the resources we discussed are already being prepared. In exchange, we expect protection, as agreed.”

Azriel’s gaze hardened as he leaned forward slightly, fixing the camp lord with a piercing stare. “Then I’ll expect you to be here when the time comes. If not, I’ll deal with it.”

The camp lord didn’t flinch, maintaining his calm exterior, but Azriel knew the threat had been heard. He wasn’t here for idle talk, and he certainly wasn’t here for more empty promises. He needed results, and he needed them now.

There was a brief silence as the two of them sat in the stillness of the room, the tension thick in the air. Azriel’s thoughts wandered once more to the cabin, to Kaia, to the storm brewing outside. He felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, the gnawing worry creeping in.

But he wasn’t going to show it.

Instead, he stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled. “I’ll check in again before I leave. Make sure everything is in order.”

The camp lord nodded, sensing that the conversation was winding down. “Of course. And I trust you’ll take care of any... potential threats while you’re here?”

Azriel’s lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile as his shadows swirled in the corner of the room. “That’s what I’m paid for.”

With one last glance at the camp lord, Azriel turned and walked toward the door, the weight of his responsibilities pulling him back to the cabin. There was no time to waste. His family was waiting.

-----

Kaia was sitting in the corner of a small, dimly lit house wagon, her tiny hands bound tightly to the wooden post. The cold, damp air pressed in through the cracks in the walls, and the musty smell of the wagon’s interior made her wrinkly nose twitch. Her little chest heaved with sobs as tears streaked down her pale cheeks, her little body trembling from the fear of her unknown surroundings.

The cloaked figure was standing near the doorway, their back turned to her as they muttered something under their breath. The harsh, scratchy fabric of the cloak swished as they moved, but Kaia wasn’t paying attention to that. Her small, frantic breaths were all she could focus on, each sob wracking her fragile frame as she strained against the ropes that bound her.

"Shut up!" the cloaked figure suddenly screamed, turning toward her with eyes that burned with anger, their voice hoarse and threatening. Kaia flinched at the sharp tone, and her body instinctively shrank back, her little hands pulling uselessly at the ropes. Her sobs grew louder, her small voice rising in desperation.

"Pwease..." she whimpered in her baby speech, her voice thin and full of fear. "Want Mama... want Dada..."

The figure took a step toward her, their presence looming over her small, curled form, but Kaia barely registered it. All she could think about was her mama and dada. The faces she missed so much, the warmth of their love and safety. She wanted nothing more than to be held by them again.

"Shh," the figure hissed, reaching out and grabbing her chin roughly, forcing her to meet their cold, impassive gaze. "You’ll be quiet, or else."

Kaia recoiled, tears filling her big, frightened eyes, and she began to cry harder, her wails echoing in the small wagon as she called out for the only two people she knew could make everything better.

"Dada!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Mama, pwease... Dada!"

She squirmed against the ropes, trying to pull herself free, but they held her too tightly. The world seemed to close in on her as the sound of her own voice echoed through the small wagon, a cacophony of fear and confusion.

Her cries filled the air, the desperation in her tone clear as day, but the cloaked figure just stood there, their face impassive, their expression unreadable. Kaia didn’t understand what was happening—didn’t understand why she was tied up, why she couldn’t feel the warmth of her mama’s arms or the comforting presence of her dada.

“Shut up,” the figure muttered again, their voice a low growl as they stepped back.

But Kaia couldn't stop. She couldn’t stop wanting to be with the people who loved her, the ones who made everything better. She cried louder, her sobs wracking her small body, her heart aching in her chest.

"Dada! Mama!" She said through hiccupped sobs, barely able to form the words as they slipped from her lips in her frantic baby speech.

All she wanted was her parents to come and take her away from this horrible place, away from this cold, unkind person who was hurting her. But there was nothing she could do. All she could do was cry, her tiny voice breaking with each word as she called for her mama and dada over and over again.

The cloaked figure moved toward Kaia with an unsettling quietness, the air around her growing colder as they approached. She instinctively recoiled, her small wings fluttering desperately in an attempt to escape their grasp. But the figure was too quick. They reached down, their hands cold and unyielding as they grabbed a firm hold of her wings—those precious, delicate appendages that had caused her so much pain already.

Kaia’s breath hitched, a sharp, painful cry escaping her lips as the figure yanked her upward, the sharp tug pulling at the sensitive skin of her wings. Tears immediately filled her wide eyes as she whimpered in pain, her wings folding tightly against her small body in a desperate attempt to protect herself.

“Shh, quiet now,” the cloaked figure murmured, but their voice had no kindness, no comfort. It only made Kaia’s heart race harder, her tiny body trembling in fear. She wanted to cry out, but the pain in her wings made it hard to form the words, and all she could do was whimper.

“Pwease, pwease,” she begged in her baby speech, her voice breaking with each word. “W-wings hurt... mama... dada... pwease!” Her hands balled into tiny fists, but they were too small to fight back. She was too small, too fragile.

But the figure wasn’t listening. They only dragged her through the cramped space, a cruel determination in their movements. With a swift motion, they shoved Kaia into a small, tight cage tucked beneath a desk—a cage so small that Kaia had to curl up tightly just to fit inside. The metal bars pressed against her tiny body, cold and unwelcoming, and the darkness of the cage enveloped her like a heavy blanket. She whimpered as she squirmed, trying to find comfort, but the tight space only made her feel more trapped.

Her breath quickened as she pressed her face against the cold bars, her little wings fluttering helplessly behind her. She wanted to get out, wanted to run to her mama, her dada—but the bars held her prisoner.

“Wanna go home…” she whimpered, her voice small and shaky, the toddler speech slipping from her lips as she curled up in the cramped cage. “Mama… Dada… pwease, pwease come… find me…” Her voice cracked with each sob, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

Kaia’s tiny hands reached through the bars, but there was nothing to hold onto. There was no comfort, no safety. The cold of the cage seeped into her bones, making her feel even smaller, even more alone. She tugged at the bars, her little body growing more frantic, but there was nothing she could do. The figure stood over her, watching as she cried, and Kaia’s heart broke with each tear that fell from her eyes.

“Dada, pwease…” she whispered, the words so quiet they barely left her lips. “Pwease…” She wanted nothing more than to be back in her mama's arms, to feel the warmth of her father's presence again. But all she could do was cry and hope, hope that somehow, someone would come and take her away from this horrible place.

-----

The wind howled through the trees as Rhys, Cassian, Morrigan, and Emery trudged back into the cabin, their faces pale with exhaustion and worry. Their clothes were soaked from the snow, their boots heavy with layers of ice, but it was the sinking feeling in their hearts that weighed them down the most.

They had spent the past five hours scouring the woods, calling Kaia’s name, listening to the howling wind for any sign of her, but it was as if she had vanished into thin air. Despite their best efforts, they had found nothing—no trace, no footprints, nothing. The hours had slipped by unnoticed as the blizzard intensified, the temperature plummeting further with each passing minute.

Rhys, his jaw clenched tight, had been the first to speak when they had been forced to call off the search, his voice hoarse from the cold. "We can’t keep going. The temperatures are dropping too fast, and the snow’s only getting worse. Kaia’s small… She wouldn’t survive out there in this storm."

Cassian had been the one to argue first, his eyes wild with panic. “We can’t just stop looking! She’s out there—she has to be! She can’t be gone, Rhys!”

Morrigan had put a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, her usual strength faltering. “We know, Cass. But it’s not safe out there. The snow’s too thick, and the wind’s turning into a full blizzard. We need to get back inside, or we’ll all be caught in it.”

Emery, normally calm and collected, had remained silent, her face hard as stone, the worry in her eyes betraying her outward composure. She had done everything she could, but even she had been forced to admit defeat when the weather had become too violent.

“Let's go back,” Morrigan had finally said, her voice soft, but firm. “We’ll regroup, and maybe we’ll have better luck when the weather clears.”

Now, back in the cabin, their clothes dripping with snowmelt, the weight of their failure hung heavy in the air. The fire was burning low in the hearth, its warm glow offering only a faint comfort against the cold that had crept into their bones.

Rhys walked over to the window, staring out at the swirling white chaos outside. The storm was relentless, the blizzard more violent now than it had been when they first set out. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of Kaia, so small and vulnerable out there, and the guilt that gnawed at his insides threatened to tear him apart.

“They’re staying at the camp overnight,” Morrigan said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. “The boys. We couldn’t risk bringing them back in these conditions.”

Cassian, who had been pacing restlessly in the centre of the room, paused at her words. “I hate this. I hate not being able to protect them. All of them.”

“None of us could have predicted this,” Emery said softly, her tone gentle as she put a hand on his arm. “You did everything you could.”

But Cassian just shook his head, his eyes distant. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

The cabin felt colder somehow, the weight of their silence filling the room as they all struggled with the same harsh truth—they hadn’t found Kaia. And with the storm raging outside, the odds of finding her now were slim to none.

As Rhys continued to stare out at the snow, his thoughts turned to you. He knew how much you had trusted him with Kaia’s safety, and now, in this moment, he felt like he had failed you too. The thought of returning to you empty-handed, with nothing but bad news, weighed heavily on his heart.

Morrigan, noticing the shift in the atmosphere, spoke up again. “We’ll go out again once the storm passes. We won’t stop looking until we bring her back.”

Rhys nodded, though the hopelessness in his eyes was hard to hide. “We better.”

Rhys stood at the window, his back turned to the others as he watched the snow and wind whip violently outside, the blizzard’s fury matching the storm raging inside him. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from retreating to the window, away from the others, the weight of the moment bearing down on him with unbearable force. The silence of the room was deafening as the fire crackled softly in the corner, but all he could hear was the thudding of his own heart in his ears.

He had failed.

Kaia was out there, alone and scared, and he couldn’t protect her. His own flesh and blood, his niece, and he hadn’t been able to keep her safe. The guilt clawed at him, like an animal tearing at his insides, eating him alive from the inside out. His hand gripped the edge of the window frame so tightly that his knuckles turned white, but it didn’t stop the shaking.

A choked breath escaped him before he could stop it.

He failed Azriel, failed you. He had sworn to protect you both, to keep you and your family safe, and now his niece was out there in the blizzard, helpless. He had failed her too. He promised your dad he'd keep you safe and he promised his mom he'd take care of everything you cherish.

And then the dam inside him broke.

“Damn it,” Rhys muttered under his breath, his voice shaking with emotion. He turned away from the window, his expression raw, vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been in years. His shoulders were slumped, as if the weight of his failure was too much for him to carry. He dragged a hand over his face, his fingers trembling, trying to push down the overwhelming guilt.

“Rhys…” Cassian’s voice was cautious, but Rhys was too far gone now. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. His walls—his usual strength—had cracked, and the torrent of emotion came rushing out all at once.

“I’ve failed,” he whispered harshly, almost to himself, as his voice broke. He could feel the sting of tears threatening, but he refused to let them fall. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who held everything together, but it felt like the very foundation of his soul was crumbling.

Cassian stepped forward, his hand reaching out, but Rhys pulled away before he could touch him. “I’m supposed to protect them,” Rhys continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Kaia, Azriel, you, Feyre... all of you. And now... now I’ve failed. I couldn’t keep her safe, Cassian. I couldn’t keep her out of danger. I promised Azriel I’d look after her and... and now...”

His voice faltered as he trailed off, swallowing hard, as if trying to hold back the full weight of the realization. The guilt gnawed at him, a gnawing, relentless force that wouldn’t let go. He felt as if his entire world was falling apart, and the pieces were slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

“I promised Azriel... I promised YN I’d protect them. And now, what? She’s out there in the cold... alone. I can’t... I can’t be the one who failed her.” Rhys’ chest hitched with emotion as the words spilled out, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to keep it together. He didn’t care about being the High Lord in that moment. He was just a broken man who couldn’t save the ones he loved.

Cassian stood there, unsure of what to say, his heart aching for his brother. Morrigan and Emery both watched, their expressions filled with sympathy, but they knew better than to say anything. Sometimes, there were no words. Sometimes, a person just needed to break.

Rhys shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “How can I face YN? How can I tell her I failed her daughter... that I couldn’t protect her? YN named her after our sister and I've already lost her, I can't lose another.”

There was a pause. Then Cassian, with a quiet understanding, stepped forward, his hand landing on Rhys’ shoulder, a silent show of support. "You haven’t failed her yet. We’re still looking, Rhys. We won’t stop until she’s back in your arms."

But Rhys could only shake his head, his eyes hollow. “It’s not enough, Cassian. It’ll never be enough. I let this happen.”

The guilt suffocated him, the cold weight of it pressing on his chest until it became almost too much to bear. For once, Rhys didn’t know what to do. He had always been the one with the answers, the one who could pull everyone together in times of crisis. But now, there was nothing left inside him but the crushing realization that the one thing he had been so sure of—his ability to protect the ones he loved—had failed.

“I failed them,” Rhys whispered again, his voice barely audible. And for the first time in a long time, Rhys felt utterly, completely lost.

The sound of Azriel's wings echoed through the cabin as he entered, brushing snow off his shoulders and shaking out the cold. His hair was damp, his face red from the icy wind that had been biting at him during the flight. He stomped his boots on the mat near the door, grumbling.

“I couldn’t even fly properly in that weather,” he muttered, his voice tinged with irritation. “I nearly froze my damn ass off trying to get back here. Who in their right mind would want to live in a place like that—”

Azriel trailed off mid-sentence, his sharp eyes immediately picking up on the unusual tension in the room. Morrigan and Emerie were there, sitting stiffly on the couch, their faces solemn. Cassian was slumped in a chair, his elbows on his knees, looking wrecked in a way Azriel hadn’t seen in decades. Rhysand leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly, his face pale and drawn as though he’d aged years in the span of a single day.

Azriel frowned, his hazel eyes darting between them all. “What’s going on? Why are Morrigan and Emerie here?”

No one answered right away. Morrigan glanced at Rhysand, who didn’t lift his head, and then at Cassian, whose jaw tightened as he avoided Azriel’s gaze. The silence in the room was deafening, oppressive, and a knot of unease started forming in Azriel’s chest.

“What happened?” Azriel demanded, his tone sharper now, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

Morrigan stood, her eyes glassy, and she whispered, “Azriel, I’m so sorry.”

Those words hit him like a physical blow. His breath caught in his throat, and he froze, the blood draining from his face.

“What do you mean?” His voice cracked, trembling as he stepped forward, his gaze darting between all of them. “What are you sorry for?”

When no one responded, Azriel’s shadows began swirling around him anxiously, mirroring the rising panic in his chest. His mind raced, and he tried to piece together what could possibly have gone so wrong. And then the realization struck him like a thunderclap.

“Kaia.”

The name barely left his lips before his legs gave out beneath him. Azriel collapsed to his knees, his wings sagging, his body trembling violently. Cassian and Rhysand were at his side in an instant, steadying him before he could crumple further.

“No... no, no, no,” Azriel choked out, his voice breaking as he tried to push himself up, only to falter. His hands clawed at the floor as his chest heaved, his breaths coming fast and shallow.

Cassian tightened his grip on Azriel’s shoulder, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “Az, we’re going to find her. We’ll get her back. She's out somewhere in the forest...”

But Azriel couldn’t seem to hear him. His hands were shaking, his usually composed demeanour completely shattered as the words tumbled out of him in a desperate, frantic stream.

“She was here—she was safe—I left her safe! How could this happen?” His voice cracked with anguish, his entire body trembling as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear.

“Azriel,” Morrigan whispered, crouching down in front of him, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch his arm. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Azriel shook his head, his throat working furiously as he tried to suppress the sob that threatened to escape. His shadows swirled more violently now, reflecting the storm raging inside him.

“She’s just a baby,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice so broken it barely resembled his own. “She’s so small... so helpless. She must be so scared.”

His head dropped, his forehead pressing against the floor as he gasped for breath, his shoulders shaking. Rhysand knelt beside him, his own expression filled with guilt and sorrow as he placed a hand on Azriel’s back.

“We’ll find her,” Rhysand said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, Azriel, we’ll find her.”

But Azriel didn’t respond. All he could see was Kaia’s tiny face, her bright, curious eyes, and the way she always reached for him when she was scared. The thought of her out there, alone and terrified, was more than he could bear.

For the first time in centuries, Azriel felt completely and utterly powerless.

Azriel remained on the floor for a long moment, his breathing ragged and uneven as he tried to process what had happened. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his body trembling with the sheer force of his anguish.

Cassian, still crouched beside him, kept a hand on his shoulder, his own expression tight with guilt and pain. “Az, listen to me. We’ve been out there searching nonstop. Morrigan and Emerie combed every inch of the surrounding area. We’ll go back out as soon as the blizzard lets up.”

Azriel’s head shot up, his hazel eyes blazing with desperation. “She’s out there right now!” he snapped, his voice rising. “She’s out there, scared and cold, and we’re in here— waiting!”

“Azriel,” Rhysand said firmly, though his voice trembled ever so slightly. “If we go back out now, we risk losing more than just her. We won’t be any good to her if we can’t see, can’t move through the snow.”

Azriel surged to his feet, his wings flaring despite the confines of the room. “Then I’ll go alone.”

“No, you won’t,” Morrigan said sharply, stepping into his path. “You’re not thinking clearly, Az. You’ll freeze out there, and Kaia—she needs her father alive to save her.”

Those words stopped him, if only for a moment. Azriel stared at Morrigan, his chest heaving as he fought to regain control of himself. His shadows writhed around him, a chaotic swirl of despair and anger, as if they too were mourning Kaia’s absence.

Rhysand rose to his feet, standing tall as he addressed Azriel, his voice softer now. “We’ll leave at first light. The storm will break by then, and we’ll be able to cover more ground. I swear to you, Az, we won’t stop until we find her.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. He staggered back a step, leaning heavily against the wall, his hands gripping the edge of a nearby table for support.

“She’s just a baby,” he whispered again, his voice breaking. “She shouldn’t have to go through this. Fuck.”

Cassian exchanged a look with Rhysand, both of them understanding the depth of Azriel’s pain. Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel’s arm, squeezing it reassuringly.

“We’ll get her back,” he said firmly. “We’ll get her back, Azriel.”

Azriel nodded weakly, though his expression was far from convinced. He dropped his head into his hands, his body trembling as he tried to keep himself together.

Azriel’s breathing came in sharp, erratic gasps, his chest rising and falling so quickly it seemed he might lose consciousness. His trembling hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly that it splintered beneath his grasp, cracks spidering through the wood. His wings, normally so steady, trembled and hung low, dragging slightly on the floor as though they too were weighed down by his anguish.

“Az, breathe,” Cassian urged, stepping closer, his voice steady but laced with concern. “You need to slow down, brother. You’re going to make yourself pass out.”

But Azriel didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes, wide and unfocused, darted around the room, as though searching for an answer no one could provide. His shadows writhed frantically around him, almost out of control, their dark tendrils stretching toward every corner of the room as if trying to escape the suffocating despair emanating from their master.

“Azriel,” Morrigan said softly, stepping closer but careful not to touch him. “Look at me. Focus on my voice.”

It was as though her words didn’t even register. Azriel’s knees buckled slightly, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the table harder, fighting to stay upright. His breathing turned to wheezing, the sound of it raw and strained.

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a worried glance, their minds flashing back to the last time they had seen him like this—when you were in labor with Kaia. It had been a terrifying and harrowing ordeal, your body too fragile to endure the complications that had arisen. The healers had worked tirelessly, and yet there had been a moment when Rhysand had feared they would lose you both.

Azriel had been nearly inconsolable then, pacing the hall outside the birthing room like a caged beast, his shadows snapping at anyone who dared approach. When they had carried you out, pale and unconscious, with Kaia far too small in the healer’s arms, Azriel had fallen to his knees, utterly wrecked.

Now, he was back in that place. Lost. Broken.

“Azriel,” Rhysand said firmly, moving closer despite the swirl of shadows surrounding him. “Breathe. Kaia needs you. We all need you. You can’t help her like this.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I failed her,” he choked out, his voice raw and trembling. “I failed her—just like I almost failed Y/N. I—”

“You didn’t fail anyone,” Cassian interrupted, his voice stern but filled with empathy. “This isn’t your fault, Az. None of this is.”

But Azriel’s shoulders shook as he tried and failed to draw in a deep breath, his body threatening to collapse under the weight of his emotions. It was Rhysand who stepped forward, grabbing his arms and holding him steady.

“Enough,” Rhysand said, his voice cutting through the storm of Azriel’s despair. “You are not alone in this, Azriel. You have us. We will find her. We will bring her back. But you need to pull yourself together right now because Kaia needs her father. She needs you strong.”

Azriel stared at him, his breathing still ragged, but Rhysand’s words seemed to pierce through the haze of panic. Slowly, shakily, Azriel nodded, though his hands still trembled, and his wings quivered with the effort of holding himself upright.

“She’s just a baby,” Azriel whispered, his voice cracking with anguish. “She’s all alone.”

“And we will get her back,” Rhysand repeated, his grip firm. “You will hold her in your arms again. I swear it.”

Azriel closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep, uneven breaths. The room was heavy with tension, but no one spoke, giving him the space he needed to steady himself.

It took several long moments, but eventually, Azriel straightened, his trembling subsiding slightly, though the anguish in his eyes remained. He looked at Cassian and Morrigan, then at Rhysand, his jaw tight with determination.

“First light,” Azriel said, his voice quiet but resolute. “We leave at first light.”

Rhysand and Cassian each took one of Azriel’s arms, steadying him as he tried to rise from the floor. His legs felt like lead, and his body trembled as though it might give out again, but their grip kept him upright. Azriel’s shadows were still frantically swirling around him, darting into every corner of the room, as if desperate to find Kaia themselves.

As soon as Azriel was on his feet, he turned toward Rhysand, his face tight with a mixture of anguish and barely-contained anger. “How did this happen?” he asked, his voice low and trembling. “How did she even—how did you lose her?”

Rhysand flinched as if the words physically struck him, his violet eyes closing briefly. He let out a deep breath, his face crumpling with guilt. “It’s my fault,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret.

Azriel’s gaze sharpened, his hazel eyes narrowing as the weight of Rhysand’s words sank in. “What do you mean, your fault?” he demanded, his tone rising. “She’s a toddler, Rhys. My daughter. She can barely fucking run without landing flat on her ass. How could you—”

“We turned away for a moment,” Rhysand interrupted, his voice strained. “We were talking to a messenger from the camp. The weather was turning, and I thought—” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the words. “I told her not to go far, but she slipped away. I didn’t see her. I didn’t—”

Azriel stepped closer, his wings flaring slightly, though not in aggression—only pain. “You didn’t see her?” he repeated, his voice breaking. “You were supposed to be watching her, Rhys. You promised you’d keep her safe.”

Rhysand’s shoulders sagged under the weight of Azriel’s accusations. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I failed. I failed you. I failed her. I—” His voice cracked, and he turned away, his hand gripping the back of a chair as if to steady himself. “I’ve never felt more ashamed in my life.”

Azriel stared at him for a long moment, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his composure. Cassian stepped between them, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “Az,” he said carefully, his voice low and soothing. “Rhys is tearing himself apart over this. We all are. But fighting each other right now isn’t going to bring Kaia back.”

Azriel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his shadows lashing wildly around the room. But after a moment, he exhaled sharply, some of the fire in his eyes dimming as Cassian’s words registered. He turned back to Rhysand, his jaw tight.

“You should have been more careful,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “But I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. I know you love her, too.”

Rhysand looked up, his eyes glistening. “More than anything,” he whispered. “Azriel, I swear on everything I have, I will not rest until she’s back in your arms.”

Azriel nodded stiffly, though his shoulders remained tense. “We leave at dawn,” he said, his voice low and determined. “Every moment we waste, she gets further away. I don’t care about the weather. I don’t care about the risk. We find her.”

“And we will,” Cassian said firmly, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “We’re not stopping until we do.”

Azriel took a shuddering breath, his voice quieter now but no less resolute. “Someone has to go to the Day Court tomorrow. Y/N needs to know.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a thick fog. Azriel’s shadows swirled tighter, curling around his shoulders as though trying to shield him from the unbearable thought of you finding out this way.

Cassian straightened from where he leaned against the table, his expression grim but determined. “I’ll go,” he said without hesitation. “You shouldn’t have to leave Kaia’s search, and... I’ll explain everything to her.”

Azriel nodded slowly, though his jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll tell her everything,” Cassian promised. “But Az... you know what this is going to do to her. To both of you.”

Azriel’s eyes closed briefly, and when they reopened, they were blazing with a mixture of fear and determination. “I know,” he said. “But she deserves to know. If it were me in her place—” His voice broke, and he turned away, his wings drooping as though the weight of his emotions was too much to bear.

Cassian looked over at Rhysand, who gave a faint nod, though his expression was carved from stone. “Be careful with how you tell her,” Rhys said, his voice low and heavy. “This will break her, but she has to know we’re doing everything we can.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, and he let out a slow breath. “I’ll leave at first light,” he said. “She’ll want to come back with me, though.”

Azriel’s head snapped up at that, his hazel eyes wide and pleading. “Cass, please. Don’t bring her back here yet. Not until we’ve found her. She’s been through too much already... if she comes back and Kaia’s still missing—”

“I know,” Cassian interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “I’ll do my best to keep her there. But you know Y/N. If she wants to come, nothing I say will stop her.”

Azriel dropped his head into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair as though trying to keep himself together. “Just try,” he murmured. “For her sake.”

“I will,” Cassian promised.

The three of them exchanged heavy looks, the silence between them filled with unspoken fears. They would face whatever came next together—no matter how painful.

-----

The golden hues of dawn painted the sky in strokes of orange and pink, spilling soft light over the Day Court balcony. You stretched as you stepped out, clutching a warm mug of tea in your hands. Nesta was already seated in a plush chair, her book open on her lap, her eyes scanning the pages with quiet focus. Feyre sat nearby, her sketchpad balanced against her knees, her pencil moving rhythmically across the paper.

The air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of citrus and blooming flowers. You settled into a chair beside Nesta, exhaling a soft sigh as you cracked open your own book. “It’s so peaceful here,” you murmured, taking a sip of tea.

Nesta hummed in agreement, not looking up from her book. “I could get used to this,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

Feyre glanced up from her sketchpad, a faint smile on her face. “I think we all could,” she said. “The colours here are so vivid. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of sketching them.”

You glanced at her sketch, admiring the delicate lines she was using to capture the sunrise. “That’s beautiful,” you said. “You’ve really captured the light.”

Feyre blushed lightly but kept working, her pencil shading the edges of a cloud. “It’s easy when the view is this stunning.”

Nesta turned a page in her book, her brow furrowing slightly as she got engrossed in her reading. You noticed the title and arched a brow. “More smut, Nesta?” you teased lightly, earning a sharp glance from her.

“It’s not smut,” she shot back, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “It’s well-written romance. There’s a difference.”

Feyre snorted, her pencil stilling for a moment. “Is there, though?”

Nesta ignored her and went back to reading, though you caught the faintest hint of a smile.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the rustle of pages, the scratch of Feyre’s pencil, and the occasional bird song in the distance. It was a rare moment of tranquility, a sliver of time where the world felt calm and safe.

You glanced at the horizon, watching as the sun climbed higher, bathing the balcony in warmth. “I wish mornings could always be like this,” you said softly.

Nesta nodded absently, her eyes still glued to her book. Feyre gave a small smile but didn’t look up, her focus entirely on her sketch.

You turned a page in your book, glancing at Nesta and Feyre as the sunlight bathed the balcony in a warm glow. A thought crossed your mind, and you couldn't help but smirk as you broke the peaceful silence.

“Do you two ever just...tug on your bond with your husbands when they’re away? You know, for fun?”

Nesta’s book lowered slightly, her eyes narrowing at you, though there was a flicker of amusement behind them. Feyre paused mid-shade, her pencil hovering over the sketchpad as a sly smile crept onto her face.

“I do,” Feyre admitted, her tone casual. “Sometimes it’s just to check on him. Other times…” She trailed off, her cheeks tinting pink.

Nesta raised an eyebrow but didn’t deny it. “Occasionally,” she said, flipping a page as if the conversation was nothing out of the ordinary. “It’s not like I need to, but if I want to make sure Cassian isn’t being a complete idiot, I might give it a tug.”

You chuckled at her response. “So you’re using it as a leash?”

“More like a tether,” Nesta said dryly, though a small smirk tugged at her lips.

Feyre laughed softly before turning her curious gaze to you. “What about you? Do you and Azriel tug on your bond?”

Your smile faded slightly, and you shook your head. “No, we don’t. We keep it closed most of the time.”

That seemed to catch both of their attention. Nesta set her book down, and Feyre rested her pencil on the edge of the sketchpad, their gazes now focused entirely on you.

“Why?” Feyre asked, her voice soft with curiosity.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and staring out at the horizon. “Azriel’s work… it’s dangerous. It’s complicated. He doesn’t want his emotions to bleed through the bond when he’s out doing what he does. And I… I don’t want to distract him. The last thing he needs is to feel my panic if something goes wrong.”

Nesta tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “But doesn’t that make it harder? Keeping it closed?”

“It does sometimes,” you admitted, tracing a finger along the edge of your book. “But we’ve always been like that. He’s so private, so controlled. Keeping the bond closed is his way of protecting me, even if I don’t always agree with it.”

Feyre frowned slightly. “Does he ever let it open? Even for a moment?”

“Rarely,” you said, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “But when he does… it’s like the world shifts. Everything feels lighter, stronger. I know how deeply he cares, even if he doesn’t say it outright.”

Nesta hummed, picking up her book again. “Sounds like Azriel.”

Feyre nodded, her expression softening. “He loves you, though. That much is obvious.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “I know. And I love him, too. Even if he keeps his walls up, I’ve always found a way through them.”

"Good morning, my darlings," he greeted, his rich, melodic voice carrying a teasing lilt. His sun-kissed skin practically gleamed under the warm light, his golden robes flowing elegantly as he approached.

On the tray were platters of fresh fruit, honey-drenched pastries, thick slices of golden bread, and a teapot that steamed with a fragrant brew. "I thought I’d join my favourite troublemakers for breakfast. You looked like you needed something to recover from last night."

Nesta quirked an eyebrow, lowering her book slightly. “You mean, you’re here to eavesdrop on our morning conversation.”

Helion placed the tray on the small table in front of you, flashing her a dazzling smile. “Can’t I do both? I’m a master of multitasking.”

Feyre let out a soft laugh, setting her sketchpad aside. “You were just jealous we didn’t invite you to drink with us last night, weren’t you?”

Helion placed a hand over his chest as if wounded. “My dearest Feyre, I would have elevated the night to new heights. But alas, you kept me away.” He winked at you. “Likely to protect your darkest secrets from slipping out under the influence.”

You rolled your eyes but smirked. “As if you don’t already know half of them, Helion.”

He grinned, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. “And that is precisely why I make such excellent company. Who else would be able to handle the three of you at once?”

Nesta snorted. “I doubt you could keep up with us.”

Helion sat down gracefully on one of the chairs, leaning back as though he owned the place. He gestured toward the food. “Eat, eat! I insist. I’d hate for my efforts to go unappreciated.”

As you reached for a flaky pastry, you raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t make this, Helion.”

“Semantics, my dear,” he replied smoothly. “It arrived because of me. That’s what counts.”

Feyre poured herself a cup of tea, smiling softly. “Thank you, Helion. Truly.”

He waved a hand, his tone suddenly gentler. “You’re my guests. My family. It’s the least I can do.”

The four of you ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the gentle breeze ruffling the pages of your book and Feyre’s sketchpad. Then, Helion broke the quiet with a dramatic sigh.

“So,” he said, leaning forward with a sly grin, “what scandalous gossip are we indulging in this morning? I do hope it involves someone’s husband.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Of course you’d hope for that.”

Feyre smirked, shooting you a glance. “Actually, we were just discussing bonds and whether or not we tug on them when the guys are away.”

Helion’s eyes gleamed with interest as he turned to you. “And what did you say, my lovely enigma?”

You gave him a dry look. “I said Azriel and I keep our bond closed most of the time.”

Helion leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course. The shadowsinger. Always so mysterious. Though I must admit, I didn’t expect him to lock himself away even from you.”

“It’s complicated,” you replied, sipping your tea.

Helion tilted his head, studying you. “Is it? Or does he simply underestimate how much strength you already have?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow at that, and Feyre tilted her head in agreement, but you didn’t reply, instead focusing on the beautiful view of the Day Court stretching out before you.

Helion smiled knowingly. “Ah, silence. The loudest answer of all.” He reached for a piece of fruit, his golden eyes flicking between the three of you. “Well, I, for one, am honoured to bask in your company this morning. Even if I have to endure the heavy presence of shadows in the conversation.”

Feyre chuckled. “You’re insufferable, Helion.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied with a wink.

The peaceful hum of your morning on the Day Court balcony was abruptly interrupted by the heavy thud of wings beating against the warm air. All of you looked up in surprise as Cassian landed on the edge of the balcony, his armour glinting faintly in the sunlight. His hair was windswept, his face drawn with tension, and his usual boisterous grin was absent.

“Cassian?” Nesta said, rising to her feet as he stepped forward.

Without a word, he cupped her face, pulling her in for a quick, fierce kiss. Nesta stiffened in shock before relaxing slightly, her hand brushing his chest in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling back to search his face.

Cassian didn’t answer immediately, his hazel eyes darting to you. His expression softened with something you couldn’t quite place—remorse, fear, maybe both. He turned to you, taking a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and unsteady.

You frowned, setting your book down. “Sorry for what?”

Feyre, seated beside you, blinked in confusion. “Cassian, what’s going on?”

Helion leaned back in his chair, his golden gaze narrowing as he studied the Illyrian general. “This feels suspiciously like the beginning of bad news,” he drawled, though his tone lacked its usual levity.

Cassian ignored him, his eyes locking with yours. “I—I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

Your stomach twisted uneasily. “Cassian, just say it. What’s wrong?”

Nesta’s hand tightened on his arm. “Cassian, you’re scaring us.”

He ran a hand through his windswept hair, his wings twitching behind him. “There’s been... an incident. Kaia—”

Your breath hitched, your heart slamming against your ribs. “What about Kaia? Where is she?”

Cassian’s face crumpled slightly as he struggled to find the words. “She’s... she’s missing.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you, the weight of his words crashing into you like a tidal wave. Feyre gasped beside you, her hand flying to her mouth, while Nesta froze, her eyes wide with shock.

“What do you mean she’s missing?” you demanded, your voice sharp and trembling.

Cassian reached out, his hands shaking as he gestured toward you. “Rhys, Azriel, and I—we’ve been looking for hours. She wandered off during a trip outside, and we couldn’t—” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as your mind raced. “She’s out there in mountain weather?” Your voice rose, panic thickening every syllable.

Feyre grabbed your arm, trying to steady you as Nesta stepped closer to Cassian, her face pale with fury. “How could this happen?” she hissed.

Cassian didn’t flinch under her anger, his guilt evident in every line of his face. “We didn’t mean for it to. One second she was there, and the next—”

You didn’t wait to hear more. Your bond with Azriel, always kept tightly shut, pulsed faintly at the edges of your mind, and you reached for it instinctively, your panic bleeding into the connection.

Helion stood as well, his usual calm demeanour replaced by a grave expression. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly, though his words did little to calm the storm brewing inside you.

“She’s out there,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears blurred your vision. “My baby is out there.”

The world spun around you, and a sharp, nauseating wave of panic swept over you like a tidal wave. Your breath caught in your chest, and your stomach churned violently. The last few minutes felt like they were moving in slow motion—Cassian’s words, the overwhelming realization of what had happened, the shock that froze you in place.

“I—I’m going to throw up,” you muttered, barely able to form the words, your hand clutching at your stomach. The feeling was suffocating, and before anyone could react, your body lurched forward.

You barely had time to brace yourself as your stomach emptied, the contents spilling out onto the floor in front of you. The gagging sound seemed to echo in the room, your vision blurred with tears of frustration, fear, and helplessness.

Nesta cursed under her breath, rushing to your side. “Y/N, breathe,” she urged, kneeling beside you. She gently rubbed your back as Feyre stood frozen, her own face pale, her hands clenched at her sides.

You gasped for air, still fighting the urge to be sick, but the panic was unbearable. “Kaia,” you whispered, your voice broken and weak. “She’s out there. She’s all alone.”

Cassian’s face was stricken with guilt, his hand reaching out but stopping short. He didn’t know how to fix this. None of them did.

“Y/N, you have to stay calm,” Nesta said, her tone firm but caring. She didn’t pull away as she continued to soothe you, though you could hear the tightness in her voice, the same fear you felt.

But it was too much. The weight of it all—the danger Kaia was in, the impossibility of the situation, the sheer overwhelming terror of losing her—was crushing you from every side. You could feel it suffocating you.

“I can’t… I can’t lose her,” you choked out between ragged breaths. “I can’t.”

Your body trembled, still caught in the aftermath of the sickness, but your mind was clearer now, focused entirely on one thing: getting to Kaia.

“Cassian…” Your voice was low, almost desperate as you looked up at him, your hands reaching out toward him. “Please. I need to go to her. Bring me to her.”

Cassian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the others in the room, but he remained firm in his response. “Azriel said you need to stay here, Y/N. You’re in no condition to travel. You’re still… you’re still not yourself.” His voice was gentle, but the firmness in it was unyielding.

You clenched your fists, frustration and worry bubbling to the surface. “I don’t care what Azriel said. I need to go, Cassian. She’s my daughter, and I—” You cut yourself off, choking on your words, your breath ragged as the weight of helplessness settled on you once again.

Cassian’s jaw tightened, clearly torn between your pain and his loyalty to Azriel’s wishes. “I know you want to be there for her, but we need you to stay calm. We’ll find her, I promise.” His voice softened, though the unsaid words hung in the air between you both. He couldn’t bear to see you suffer like this, but he was equally unwilling to go against Azriel’s wishes, especially given the state you were in.

“You can’t promise that, Cassian,” you whispered, your eyes filling with tears. “I have to go. I need to see her.”

The words hung heavy in the room, and for a moment, the only sound was the thrum of your pulse, the pain in your chest. Cassian stood still, staring at you with sympathy, but his resolve remained.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But for now, Azriel’s decision stands.”

You felt the frustration and helplessness bubbling inside you, finally boiling over in a burst of raw emotion. Without thinking, you screamed at Cassian, the force of your voice nearly knocking you back.

“How dare you?!” Your words were sharp and full of pain, your body trembling as you stood, your fists clenched at your sides. “How dare you keep me from my daughter? I’m her mother! You don’t get to tell me I can’t go to her, Cassian!”

The words sliced through the air, filled with all the worry and fear that had been tormenting you since the moment Kaia went missing.

You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling with the intensity of your emotions, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that you were yelling, that your voice was breaking. All that mattered was that you needed to see Kaia.

“I need to go to her!” you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of your own helplessness. "I don't care what Azriel said! I am her mother, and I will not stay here while she's out there alone!"

Cassian’s face paled, and for a moment, you could see the weight of your words hit him. He flinched at the force of your anger, but his expression was filled with the same sorrow he had when he tried to hold you back.

“Y/N, I know you're hurting—” he began, but you cut him off, the pain driving you to keep pushing, keep screaming.

“No! You don’t know!” you yelled, voice rising again. “You don’t know what this feels like! You have no idea what it’s like to be so close, but still feel like you're losing everything, again. FOR THE SECOND TIME IN MY LIFE! You don’t get to make this decision for me!”

You didn’t know where the strength to scream came from, but you felt like you might collapse after releasing it all.

Cassian’s face softened, and he took a step toward you, his own frustration and sorrow evident. “I’m trying to protect you, Y/N. Azriel’s trying to protect you. We’re all trying to make sure you’re okay.”

But you were done listening to him. You shook your head, wiping at the tears that had fallen without your consent, and you stepped back.

“I’ll find her myself if I have to,” you spat, your voice low and dangerous now, the anger still buzzing in your veins. You knew you couldn’t—knew you’d never leave without their help—but the desperation in your words was undeniable.

Cassian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Y/N. But I can’t let you go right now.” His voice was quiet, filled with the weight of his own guilt.

You glared at Cassian, your body still trembling from the intensity of the emotions you’d just unleashed. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was an edge of frustration too. How could they forget? How could they forget who you were, who your family was?

You stepped closer to him, your voice low but seething with sharpness. “You and Azriel are so stupid,” you bit out, your words slicing through the air. “Did you really forget that I’m royalty? That I can winnow wherever I want?”

Cassian’s eyes widened in surprise, the realization dawning on him, but it didn’t stop the irritation that continued to rise in you.

“I don’t need permission from anyone,” you continued, your voice growing louder, filled with the weight of your frustration. “I’ve been through more than you’ll ever understand, and you both are sitting here acting like I’m helpless. I’m not.”

Your heart raced, the anger and panic swirling together as you took another step closer. “I’ve lived for centuries. I’ve faced things that you can’t even imagine, and you still forget who I am.”

Cassian stood frozen, and for a brief moment, you saw the guilt in his eyes. But you couldn’t hold back anymore. The emotions, the stress, the overwhelming need to find Kaia—they all surged to the surface.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you hissed, each word filled with a raw power. “I’ll find my daughter myself.”

With that, you focused, your power thrumming beneath your skin. In a heartbeat, you winnowed out of the room, leaving Cassian standing there, his face stricken with shock.

You were done waiting. You were going to find Kaia. And nothing was going to stop you.

-----

You landed on the icy ground outside the cabin, your power swirling around you like a storm. Snow whipped through the air, the biting cold doing nothing to quell the fury blazing in your chest. You didn’t wait for an invitation. You pushed the door open, the warmth of the cabin contrasting violently with the icy wrath in your veins.

Rhysand was in the middle of the room, his hands braced on the edge of the dining table, his shoulders slumped in a way you rarely ever saw. At the sound of your arrival, his head snapped up, and his face paled as he saw the fire in your eyes.

“YN—” he started, his voice soft and broken.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. “Don’t you dare try to explain this away, Rhysand.” You stalked toward him, each step heavy with the weight of your fury.

He held up his hands, his expression pained. “I know, I—”

“You let this happen!” you shouted, cutting him off. “How could you, Rhys? She’s my daughter!”

Rhys’s shoulders sagged further, his violet eyes shining with guilt. “It’s my fault,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I should’ve been watching her more closely. I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight.”

The admission only fuelled your anger further. “You’re damn right it’s your fault!” you yelled, your voice echoing off the wooden walls of the cabin. “You, of all people, Rhys! You were supposed to protect her! And instead, you let her out of your sight? You let her disappear?”

Rhys flinched as though you’d struck him, but you didn’t stop. The pain and anger pouring out of you were unstoppable.

“And then,” you continued, your voice shaking with emotion, “you let Azriel tell me to stay behind? You let him keep this from me, let me sit there while my daughter—” Your voice broke, tears blurring your vision as you struggled to find the words.

“I thought I was doing what was best,” Rhys said, his own voice raw. “I thought if you came back, it would only make things worse. I didn’t want you to—”

“To what?” you cut in sharply. “To do exactly what I’m doing now? To fight for my daughter?”

“I didn’t want you to break,” he whispered, his voice so soft you almost missed it.

Your chest heaved, the pain in his words digging into your heart, but you couldn’t let go of your anger. “You think I haven’t already broken?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “You think I could sit there and not know? Not fight for her? She’s my daughter, Rhys. My world. And you—”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook your head, taking a step back from him. “You failed her, and you failed me.”

Rhys looked devastated, his usually calm demeanour completely shattered. He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his dark hair. “I know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I know I failed you. I failed Kaia. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right.”

But his words weren’t enough. They couldn’t undo the hours Kaia had been missing, the fear clawing at your chest, or the image of your baby girl out there in the cold.

You turned away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tears came harder now, the anger giving way to despair. “I’m her mother,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve been the one to protect her.”

“You will,” he said softly. “We will. I swear to you, Y/N, we will bring her home.”

Rhys gently reached out, his hand brushing your shoulder as he tried to draw you closer, but you resisted. The sobs wracking your body were almost too much, your anger still boiling over despite the tears streaming down your face.

“Don’t—don’t touch me!” you choked out, but he ignored your words, pulling you into his chest.

“Let it out, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice soft and pained. “Just let it out.”

The dam broke as soon as you felt his arms wrap around you. Your fists came up, weak and sloppy, as you hit his chest over and over again. “How—could—you—let—this—happen?” you cried, punctuating each word with another hit.

Rhys didn’t flinch, didn’t move to stop you. He just stood there, holding you close, letting you take out every ounce of anger and heartbreak on him.

“I trusted you,” you sobbed, your punches losing strength as you buried your face against him. “She’s—she’s my baby, Rhys. She’s my baby…”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his hand smoothing over your hair as he held you tightly. “I know, YN. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You clung to him now, your fists balled in his shirt as you sobbed uncontrollably. The room felt smaller, heavier, as the weight of your anguish filled the space.

Rhys just held you, his own tears slipping down his cheeks as he whispered apologies, his heart breaking alongside yours. “We’ll find her,” he said again, though his voice was hoarse and strained. “I swear to you, we’ll find her.”

But his promises felt hollow, the fear and pain overwhelming every other thought in your mind. You could only cry, clinging to your brother, desperate for the nightmare to end.

The door swung open with a gust of icy air as Azriel stepped inside, brushing snow from his shoulders. His hair was damp from the storm, his face etched with exhaustion and anguish. But the second his eyes landed on you standing there, dishevelled and tear-streaked in the middle of the room, his expression froze in shock.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice rasping with disbelief. "What are you doing here? I told Cassian to—"

"Don’t even start fucking with me right now," you cut him off, your voice trembling with fury as you pulled away from Rhys. Your fists were clenched at your sides, your body taut with barely restrained emotion. “You told Cassian? You told Cassian? Azriel, my daughter is missing, and you thought you could order me to stay put like I’m some helpless bystander?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting between you and Rhysand in the room. “I didn’t want you in danger,” he said, his tone low but defensive. “The storm—”

“The storm?” you snapped, stepping closer, your voice rising with every word. “I am her mother, Azriel! Do you think for one second that I would let a little snow stop me from trying to find her? You had no right to keep this from me!”

“I was trying to protect you!” he countered, his own voice rising now. His shadows curled around him, restless and agitated. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is, YN! You didn’t see what we found out there—”

“And whose fault is that?” you shouted, your hands trembling. “You left me in the dark, Azriel! You left me behind when I should’ve been here, with her, with you!”

Azriel took a step closer, his face contorted with pain. “I didn’t want you to go through this. Not again.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, the weight of them sinking into your chest. “Do you think I’m not already going through it?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Every second she’s out there, I’m dying inside. You should’ve trusted me, Azriel. You should’ve told me.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant howl of the wind outside. Azriel looked at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I didn’t want to lose you too,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your fury wavered for a moment, replaced by the raw ache in his words. But the pain of Kaia’s absence burned brighter, and you shook your head, stepping back. “This isn’t about me, Azriel. This is about her. And we are wasting time.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged, his shadows wrapping tightly around him as if to shield him from the weight of your words. “You’re right,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “You’re right.”

Azriel flinched as if you had physically struck him, his shadows recoiling and tightening around him. His eyes, which usually held warmth and steadiness, now mirrored the brokenness in his soul. You stood in the middle of the room, trembling with fury and heartbreak, your voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

“After everything we’ve been through, Azriel,” you began, your tone low but seething, “after all these centuries, I never thought I could look at you and feel this... this rage. This disappointment.”

“Y/N, please,” he started, his voice cracking as he stepped toward you, his hand half-reaching. But you took a step back, holding your ground.

“No!” you shouted, your voice shaking the room as much as your hands were. “You don’t get to plead with me. Not after what you’ve done. You made a decision for me, for us, without even giving me the chance to fight for her. Do you know how that feels, Azriel? Do you know what it’s like to feel useless when your child—our child—is out there, scared and alone?”

“I was trying to protect you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roaring fire in the hearth. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through this—”

“You didn’t protect me, Azriel,” you hissed, tears streaking down your face. “You betrayed me. You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I couldn’t handle the weight of this, when all I wanted was to be by your side. And now? Now I don’t even know if I can look at you without—”

You choked on the words, your throat tightening. But you forced them out, every syllable laced with venom and heartbreak. “I’ve never been so disappointed in my mate before. I didn’t even think it was possible, but you’ve proven me wrong. You’ve hurt me in a way I didn’t think you ever could, and I—”

You paused, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I think I hate you for it.”

Azriel froze, his entire body stiffening as your words sank in. His shadows stilled, no longer flickering with life but curling around his boots as if in mourning. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The silence was deafening, the air between you thick with pain and regret. Finally, he whispered, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You let out a hollow laugh, wiping angrily at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “You can start by finding our daughter, Azriel. Because if you don’t…” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence.

Without another word, you turned away from him, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces as you left him standing there, broken and alone.

You stormed toward the door, grabbing the first coat you saw on the rack. Your movements were quick and fuelled by pure adrenaline, your mind racing with thoughts of Kaia out there somewhere—scared, cold, and alone. As your fingers fumbled with the buttons, a shadow darted in front of you, blocking the doorway.

“YN, stop,” Rhysand said, his voice steady but laced with desperation. His hand was outstretched, palm up, as if he were trying to calm a feral beast. “You can’t go out there. Not in this storm. It’s too dangerous.”

You turned on him, your eyes blazing with fury. “Move, Rhys. I’m not asking.”

Before he could respond, Azriel appeared beside him, his shadows curling protectively around his frame. His face was pale, and his golden eyes were glassy with guilt and pain. “Please, don’t do this,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “It’s too dangerous out there. I can’t lose you too.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” you snapped, your voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Neither of you do. My daughter is out there, Azriel. Our daughter. And I won’t sit here another second while she’s alone in the cold.”

“I understand how you feel—” Rhys began, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, bitter and raw.

“You understand?” you spat, stepping closer to him. “Your son is safe, warm, and alive, Rhys. Don’t you dare tell me you understand what this feels like. Don’t you dare.”

Rhysand flinched, his mouth pressing into a thin line. Azriel stepped forward, his voice breaking as he said, “YN, please. I’ll go back out. I’ll search all night if I have to. But you can’t do this. I need you to be safe.”

“You need me to be safe?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Where was that concern when you decided to keep me in the dark? Where was that when you made me stay behind like I’m some fragile porcelain doll? You don’t get to need me now, Azriel. Not after everything.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn’t move out of your way. Neither of them did.

“Move,” you demanded, your voice shaking.

“No,” Azriel said, his voice firm but trembling at the edges. “I won’t let you.”

The room seemed to shrink around you as you stared at him, your chest heaving with anger and despair. “Then you’ll have to stop me,” you said coldly, stepping forward.

Rhysand’s magic flickered in the air, subtle but ready, and Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. But neither of them moved.

“You can try to stop me,” you said, your voice low and dangerous, “but you won’t win. Not this time.”

For a moment, all three of you were frozen in a tense standoff, the howling wind outside the only sound. Finally, Rhysand stepped aside, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Azriel hesitated, his hand twitching at his side, but he eventually followed suit, his shadows retreating as his eyes filled with anguish.

Without another glance, you threw the coat over your shoulders, opened the door, and stepped out into the icy storm.

Part 4

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