Just Appreciating Works

No, you don’t. In fact you look content, leaning against the railing like that, overlooking the distant forests surrounding the city. Vash moves without thinking, opening the doors and coming to your side. Wolfwood nods and takes up post at the doors. No need for someone to interrupt.

You startle at his appearance, but settle just as quickly. “Am I intruding?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Not at all.” One of your shy smiles peaks out. He’s been getting more of those lately. Much better than the blank stare he used to get. Very pretty. “I was just thinking it would be nice if someone was here.”

Bolstered by your invitation, your husband leans against the railing as well. The trees along the horizon have orange and red mixed with their yellowing leaves now. Outside the castle walls is a hammering—probably a blacksmith starting their day. A crisp breeze blows by.

Vash tries to look at you through the corner of his eye. You’re dressed for the day, of course, your hair pulled up and out of your face. It’s a nice face. Very pretty. Need to think of something else to describe her, he scolds himself. Nai would bite his ear off if he knew how dull his speech is getting.

“I used to,” he starts, clears his throat when you look at him, then looks back at the trees, “I used to ride my horse out there. Especially around this time of year. It’s very nice to hear the leaves, very…crunchy.” Vash feels himself flush. You’re talking about dead leaves, of all things?

That shy smile comes back. “My siblings and I would do the same in our forests. I love the crunch of leaves underfoot. Though, my brother would find worms and other bugs in them to terrorize the little ones.”

He feels his blush lessening, perhaps because of the air. “It didn’t bother you?”

You shrug, “Someone had to be the barrier between them when he tried putting the bugs in their dresses. I got used to it.” Though, you do scratch the back of your neck as if feeling a critter crawl there.

Vash hums. "Perhaps we could go riding today?" You look at him again, and he tries to not hunch his shoulders. "It's a nice day, after all."

Your lips press together. "Don't you have meetings throughout the day? I certainly do."

He smiles. "What's the use of our titles if we can't do what we want every now and then?"

The stare you give has his blush creeping up his neck and ears again. Just as he's about to retract his statement, you laugh. It's a wonderful sound; he doesn't think he's heard it before, but it is...nice. Very pretty.

"I suppose," you say, allowing another chuckle out, "we could cancel a meeting or two."

Victory: he both made you laugh and got you to agree to his shenanigans.

Just as he's about to turn back and cause the havoc promised, you do the strangest thing: you take his hand in yours, and squeeze. "Thank you," you murmur. Your hand is cold. He wonders then why he hadn't thought of fetching you a coat. But then he focuses on your grip. Soft. Small compared to his own. The barest of ink stains under your nails. The smile you give is a warm fire on a dark night.

He realizes, distantly, he's never truly felt your hands before; always focused on pulling you through the crowds when out and about, or dancing for everyone to see. There was never any time to consider...well, you.

He decides he likes the feeling of your hand in his. Very much so.

"For...what?" he finally asks.

You shrug. "For being kind. And dashing." You look away shyly at your statement.

His heart does a little lurch dance. His blush is full-force now. But, he does not pull away. Vash's own lips give a shaky smile back. "'Dashing,' huh?"

"Don't get a big head about it," you snip back.

He laughs and settles back on the railing, your side brushing his now, and thinks, maybe I could stay here just a little longer before I ruin Nai's day.

You heard the familiar 'snap' of the old polaroid from across the couch, and a smile tugged your mouth upwards, eyes never leaving the page of your book. Leon seemed to have found his new favorite hobby since he'd found the old thing in a dusty box in your neighbor's garage sale over a month ago.

"That's the 3rd one today." You muttered in amusement, hearing the thing's quiet mechanical whir as it prints the photo. "And you keep getting my bad side."

From your peripherals, you see Leon lounging comfortably on the opposite cushion, shaking it gently back and forth to help the development along.

"You don't have a bad side." You could practically feel the grin attached to his statement and finally gave him a look after finishing the paragraph mid-way through the page.

"Is this for some scrapbook of me doing very boring things around the house?"

He huffed a little laugh. "Not quite."

"You're being oh so mysterious about them..." You'd understand if the pictures he took were in places when you were all dolled up and dressed to the nines, out on a date or with the stars as a backdrop behind you. But everything he'd captured as a moment in time had been during incredibly mundane and uninteresting things.

You'd been asking all day but hadn't gotten a straight answer out of him yet. You waited a beat, but when he only continued gazing at you with that soft admiration, the look he often directed at you in the quiet moments at home, you figured he wasn't about to offer anything else up as explanation.

Instead, he looked at the image once it was fully developed and stuck it onto the little side table slightly behind him where all the rest were also waiting in a small stack.

"Are you ever going to tell me what they're for?" You finally asked, tilting your head to look at him fully with a smile that widened by the second. And the sight must have been to his liking, because he lifted the camera again, and the lens activated with another 'snap.'

"I'll think about it..."

He was already holding the camera up out of your reach when you half-heartedly grabbed for the thing in a mock lunge. Your book forgotten, you climbed towards him to try snatching it from his hands, laughing to yourself for his silliness, but he set the thing on the side table behind him and grabbed hold of your waist with barely any effort.

"Hey, now...stealing's a crime, you know." He chuckled, pulling you into him and stopping your pretend protests with a kiss. "Next one's gonna be your booking photo."

You complied willingly, happy to melt into his arms and lay atop his chest as he continued to kiss you. First chaste and sweet. Eventually blending into something a little more heated. The cozy evening was quick to shift into an atmosphere much less innocent.

"Oh dear...Whatever will you do with me, Mr. Federal Agent?" You whispered against his lips, and he rewarded the sin in your voice with a gentle bite to your bottom lip and a darkening of his gaze.

"Keep talking like that, Mrs. Kennedy," he muttered in that way he knows sends a shiver down your spine, moving to press you back into the couch cushion, "and you'll find out."

The best word to describe the care center, now pulling up to the main drive in this dismal and dreary rain, was looming. It looked built to impose, to intimidate, to scare. The gothic architecture and lingering fog didn't lend any reassurance that this was, indeed, your typical facility for healing.

Leon doesn't believe the daytime would have painted it in any better a light.

Slowing to a stop and shifting to park, Leon unbuckled and turned off the car, before taking just a moment to look up at the place. He already had a bad feeling that he'd be walking into more than he bargained for. Usually, his instincts were right. No reason it would be any different now.

Another pause. Reaching up, he flipped down the sun visor and stared at the small stack of pictures tucked behind the mirror. Only the front-most facing picture was visible, the rest hidden beneath.

You, pinning him with that exasperated little look you gave as he'd taken the picture of you brushing your teeth in the bathroom mirror. Hair unbrushed and pulled back half-heartedly into a hairband, and not an ounce of makeup on your face. He could distinctly remember the way you'd mumbled with your mouth still full of toothpaste, asking why on earth he'd taken such a silly picture.

A little piece of beauty in a place like this.

His gloved hand traced the edge of the polaroid, only for a second, before flipping the visor back up and heaving himself out of the car.

Get it done and go home, he told himself. Home to you.

Dread settled like a blanket of snow underneath his skin. Cold and still.

He'd made this drive, thirty years ago. Could vaguely remember the route. And while he couldn't remember every gentle turn in the highway or every small turnout point along the way, the way he'd felt as a naive and unaware 21-year-old came to him in brief flashes.

The place where it all started. The place where he'd first failed those who'd relied on him to protect them. And once more, a place where he may yet still fail again if he didn't hurry.

You would have scolded him, hearing his thoughts.

His brow felt tight. Tension in the blood vessels of his face. With a long sigh he rubbed at the corners of his eyes, knowing it would be ineffective at relieving the pressure but doing it anyway.

The corpse of Raccoon City was jagged and dusty, and the further he drove into its outskirts, the more haunting and desolate it became. Old, dry bones of the thriving populace that had once lived there. Time hadn't been kind.

He continued on. More signs of those who'd tried to survive fleeing the city. Crashed and stalled cars, some burned out from a fire long ago. Boarded up windows and doors everywhere he looked. And beneath it all, ground into the very dust of the earth, the souls of thousands who hadn't asked for any of this.

Eventually, he couldn't drive any further and came to a reluctant stop. The rest of the way would have to be on foot. His eyes flicked upwards to the visor, and without really thinking about it, he flipped it down and plucked the small stack of pictures from behind the clip keeping them in place.

Behind the first polaroid was another, this one of you standing in front of the sink, washing the dishes. The part of your shirt closest to the counter was wet, and between this one and the last you'd found the time to brush your hair somewhat. But your eyes were closed and your mouth was open in a candid shot of you singing. He couldn't remember what song. Something catchy and modern.

You'd whined his name in complaint right afterwards, rolling your eyes and flicking water at him with your fingers.

The barest hint of a laugh came out with Leon's breath, and he brought the picture up to his lips to press a brief kiss to your photo before tucking the rest of the polaroids into his pants pocket.

"Soon, baby. I'll be back soon."

He stepped out onto the ruined streets of Raccoon City, feeling the ghosts of the past press closer the further he walked.

Leon grunted, fighting to stay on his feet after hoisting Grace up through the maintenance shaft halfway up the wall. Thankfully she was able to make it all the way up, promising to find a way for him to come after.

She disappeared into the unknown above a moment later, and the sound of her passage grew more distant, until it was silent once again.

Head swimming with fatigue and the occasional wave of vertigo, Leon meandered over to a relatively flat spot in the heaps of trash and muck that he found himself trapped in. Through the pain of his wounds and what he felt was the slow liquification of his insides, he lowered himself down to sit, pressing his back against the sturdiest metal debris available with harder force than he'd intended to.

A coughing fit wracked him, sounding even more painful in his own ears that it ever had. The black blotches on his skin had spread significantly, and he could feel the edges of the dead tissue where it had numbed just slightly.

Fuck. This wasn't good.

The act of just sitting down and waiting went against everything in Leon's instinct, and the sense of danger around every corner was still triggering despite the silence. There was never a moment of respite in places like this. Always one more BOW waiting in the wings for the second he let his guard down. Now was no different.

But this time, he had so little left to give...the reserves of his strength and unwavering endurance to continue on were running dangerously low. It had been a long time since he'd felt this despairing on assignment, and even longer since he'd faced such harrowing odds.

Gravity dragged his eyes closed, but he cursed under his breath, forcing them open again. He couldn't sleep. Not yet. Not when Grace was still in danger and he hadn't completed the mission.

Not yet.

"No sleepin' on the job, asshole." He muttered to himself, deciding to take stock of his ammo as a means to keep himself awake.

One and a half magazines of handgun ammo. Three bullets in the Requiem. Low. Concerningly so. Nothing for the rifle or shotgun after dealing with that mutated plant. And now here he was. Sitting there, forced to wait for Grace to do her part. He knew she would. He could trust her, he felt. Smart. Adaptive. That was good enough for him.

But the silence was stifling, and in that silence his mind wandered. To Raccoon City. To Kendo and his daughter, all those years ago. To this whole mystery of Elpis. To Grace.

To you.

He groaned, leaning to the side to reach for the polaroids in his back pocket of his pants. His thick gloves made it difficult, however, and he eventually stripped them off to be able to grasp at the thin papers easier.

The one of you brushing your teeth was gone. If he had to guess, probably eaten by flames in his fight in the chapel. Fuck.

From where he sat it was a little too dark to make out all the details he knew were there, and the little polaroids had been crumpled and partially torn on one corner. But he could still see you, in the faint light of the living room, face serene and content as you read your newest book.

He'd asked you what this one was about earlier that week, despite not being that interested in the topic. But the way you'd smiled and read aloud the back of the book's synopsis had been worth it enough to ask. You'd had your nose in that thing for days, eating up the words like your favorite meal.

And when he got back, he'd ask you to tell him all about it. You were bound to be done with it by then.

The thought made his chest ache, worse even then the cuts and bruises and punctures that littered his body after all that he'd endured so far. He brought the polaroid up to his forehead, letting his eyes close, as if keeping it close could somehow give him even a fraction of the warmth that having you next to him could provide.

It couldn't. It still helped, somehow.

"I'll be there. I promise." He rasped quietly to himself, finally managing to heave himself up with the little bit of strength that resting for a while had regained him.

A low rumble, followed by the mechanical whine of moving machinery drew his attention upwards, to the massive crane arm slowly dragging itself upwards out of the trash. A path forward presented itself. A door, further on.

Steeling his will, he trudged forward, tucking your photo back with the others that were still there.

He was dying.

There really was no getting around it.

Beyond the door lay the last of Umbrella's twisted experiments. Elpis, whatever it was, had been the reason for all of this. The cause of so much pain and suffering. One last door, and perhaps a well-placed shot to the computer terminal would set it all right.

His strength failed him before he even reached it.

The stairs had been too much, and he fell to his knees with wrenching, heaving coughs. Blood came up with each violent compression of his chest, spilling out onto the glass-like floor in terrifying splatters.

"Fuck..." He ground out, spitting out the last of the mouthful of blood that had come out of him.

He felt like death, or at least like it was hovering just behind him, breathing down his neck with that foul stench of blood and bile. Forcing more strength to his legs, he propelled himself further another few steps. But he had already far surpassed his limits, and he toppled forward almost face-first into the door. His hand coming up to catch himself was the only thing that saved him, but it threatened to give out just as quickly.

He'd come so far. It was right there. And yet his body wouldn't obey his will to keep going.

"This can't...be fucking it." He growled, furious, terrified, desperate that he could draw on just a little more to get him to the finish line waiting just beyond the door.

He coughed. More blood. His legs felt numb, and with no strength to support him, he fell forward into the door, sliding down until his back pressed up to it with nothing left in him.

Breathing was difficult, labored and painful. Each inhale brought with it the scent of copper and a deep, aching hurt that he couldn't and didn't want to identify properly. The yellow lighting made everything look like a strange fever dream, and for a moment, he wasn't sure he hadn't already died and gone someplace where everything had much softer edges.

His eyes closed, and no matter how much he fought them, they wouldn't open back up. The effort was too much.

Not like this.

This couldn't be it.

He was supposed to go home, back to you, back to the domestic bliss of your life together.

Time had slowed, the seconds dragged on longer than they should have. And it took more than he liked to pull the half-ruined photos from his back pocket out where he could look at them.

Blood--he couldn't tell whose--had stained one side of this polaroid. Try as he might to wipe it away, it had already saturated into the paper, partially tarnishing the image beneath.

Your wide and playful smile, however, was still on full display. Untarnished and dazzling. Amused at his antics, and so full of love for him.

It was all he had, alone in this too-bright, empty corridor. And if it would be his last sight alive, at least it was beautiful.

He muttered your name, savoring the shape it took on his lips, crushing the photo in his fist and holding it to his chest. His vision swam with more pain to accompany it, and nausea roiled deep in his gut. "I'm sorry..."

The effort of staying conscious finally proved too much. Everything went black after that.

Leon couldn't quite wrap his head around the way he was feeling, fingers flexing back and forth, only faint white lines where the black blotches had marred his skin. No ache in his lungs, no cough that wouldn't go away.

For the first time in... perhaps years, the tension and burden deep in his skin and bones was just...gone. This liberation, this stay of execution via Raccoon City syndrome, was more freeing than he knew how to describe. And with the antiviral now in the hands of the right authorities, it could be researched and reproduced for many more.

Grace had been right. Elpis had been Spencer's last act of atonement. He she done as he originally made her promise, he'd certainly be dead at the bottom of the Raccoon City crater, buried deep within the remains of a lab where no one would ever find him.

He owed her more than he knew how to repay. Maybe just being alive was enough, but he'd still try. She'd promised to keep in touch.

And now, here he was, walking through the disarray of emergency vehicles with his life and a newfound reason to hope. The only downside to all this? The polaroids that had been in his pocket were all missing. Lost within the debris of the city, no doubt. It was disappointing. He'd liked those photos.

Guess he'd just need to take some more.

Nowhere else to go now but home. It was the middle of the night, and that meant several hours of driving to get there. He might not arrive until the wee hours of the morning. Leon was determined to get back to you as soon as possible.

He stopped mid-stride, realizing one crucial detail he had forgotten. Then, a laugh came out as an exasperated huff, and he reconnected his call with Sherry.

"Leon?"

"Need a favor."

"What's up?"

"Don't think I'm getting the Porsche back." He admitted, peering back into the night in the general direction he thought he'd last parked it, all the way on the other side of the city's outskirts. "Think you can arrange a ride for me?"

"Another one?" He could hear the laughter in her tone.

"Wasn't my fault this time, I swear." He defended with a shake of his head, watching the emergency response personnel go about their business at the scene.

"Mhmm... I'll let you be the one to explain that to your wife, then."

A grin marked his face, knowing exactly how that conversation would go. "Sherry, am I getting that ride or should I start walking?"

Not one of his best lines, but you huff anyway. He looks younger like this - he has since you returned from Raccoon City. Twenty-eight years of troubles, not gone, but eased; and now he has a moment to just . . . be. To lean against you, his lips wearing a gentle curve, and let you run your fingers through his hair. His body, still scarred and beaten, fully relaxes against yours, and you would give anything for this to be everything for him. But since you couldn’t give him everything, you would give him today. 

And as many days after as he wanted. 

“Come here,” you command gently, “sit up a little.” 

“Mm . . . pretty comfy right here, though.” 

“Baby.”

He laughs and then shifts to obey. “Alright, alright.” His body disconnects from yours for just a moment, but it’s quickly remedied as you lean forward, your hands moving instead to his shoulders. Your thumbs dig into the tense muscles, the knots that will never fully go away, but that you know you can help to alleviate. He groans his approval, and a smile curls your lips. 

“Glad you moved?” you tease, and he chuckles again, the sweetest sound you’ve heard in your life. 

“Getting there.” 

You work diligently, soothing where you know he aches, pressing into the muscles along his spine, his shoulder blades, and the back of his neck. You punctuate your work with kisses, lips brushing his back, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. 

“Think you missed your calling, baby,” Leon says as you press into a particularly nasty knot, his noises just short of something sinful. 

It makes you smile as it always does. “Maybe I’ll hand in my resignation, then. See if Massage Envy is hiring.” 

Leon laughs, soft and easy. “Would that mean I’d have to pay for this treatment?” 

You hum, making a show of pondering nothing at all. “I guess you could have the occasional one for free.” You press the heels of your palms into the muscles he’s worked so hard for over the years, feeling them loosen just a bit under your touch. “Just don’t go telling everyone, it’d be bad business.” All the while, your fingertips run over scars, all of them long-since familiar to you. You’ve watched more and more be added to him over the years, a patchwork masterpiece that lets you see all that he’s survived. All that he’s managed to endure in order to keep fighting. To come back to you. 

There’s no mark left from his latest brush with death - nothing remaining of the black marks that had decorated his skin only days ago. Still, as you reach that spot on his neck, that place you’d watched for weeks, wondering if it meant you would lose the man you loved, you lean forward. 

Leon stills as he feels the kiss you lay there, his head turning a little towards you, eyes opening at last. Your eyes catch his, and you don’t need words to understand the gratitude in his eyes. The relief and love. 

“Sometimes I don’t know how I got so lucky,” he admits after a moment, and you know he’s not just talking about the fortune of Grace Ashcroft finding the answers to his sickness. You know that, as far as he’s concerned, he’s been on a lucky streak since the day he met you, because you feel exactly the same way. 

So, there was really no choice but to kiss his lips, a hand on his stubbled jaw and your chest full of a familiar ache. “I’m the lucky one,” you tell him when you pull away, because it’s true. Your life was all the brighter because Leon Kennedy was in it, and you’d be damned if he didn’t know it. 

“How ‘bout we split the difference and say we’ve both got it good?” He smiles, and you give him that smile right back. 

“We’ve got it terrible,” you point out. “But it’s okay, long as we’ve got each other.” 

The kiss that follows is slower. Deeper. One that you’ve shared a thousand times before, after a hard mission or when you’ve had a rare and nonviolent day or for no reason at all. It’s his beard, now showing a little grey, brushing against your face, the hand that bears the ring you gave him coming up to cup your cheek, and all the years of shared burdens you’ve had together. 

It’s home.  

The light fades as you go on, exchanging more and more of those kisses, each one lasting a little longer than the last. Your hands move from his back, exploring what you’ve touched a hundred times before, knowing that you could be struck blind and still know the shape of him. Still love each and every imperfection. Still want him in your arms, even after both of your strength has faded and your youth long-since spent. 

You pull him back against you, arms wrapping around him to hold him close against you. He fits perfectly there, as he always does. The blankets that he’d pulled up over him begin to slip, and you feel the brush of his tongue against your lips. 

He says your name like he just can’t help but enjoy the sound of it, and as he starts to turn in your arms to face you, you hold him fast. “I didn’t say I was done,” you murmur against his lips, and he relents with another chuckle. 

“Still so bossy.” 

Your hand slides from his shoulder to his jaw, guiding him to lean his head on your shoulder. To expose his throat to you once more. “You say that like you’re complaining,” you tease, lips against his neck while your free hand presses against his chest. 

Leon melts into your touch, into your warm breath on his neck as you kiss that spot again, like you can pull the last vestiges of rot from him. Like you’re sealing a promise that it will never, ever touch him again. Not so long as you’re at his side. And Leon . . . he sighs, and smiles, and you know that he believes that silent promise. That you are his safety as much as he is yours. As he leans into you, a hand on one of the thighs he sits between, it’s trust that he gives you. 

That trust is worth more than anything in the world, to you. And you will spend it well. 

“God, baby,” he sighs as you nibble on his earlobe, your fingers at his nipple like you know he enjoys. Your other hand remains at his jaw, keeping him right where you want him. Right where he wants to be, as your touch eventually drifts lower. Past the scars and muscles on his belly, under the sheets that you picked out together years ago. Even after all this time, even after all you two have done today alone, you’re rewarded with a little groan as you touch him. 

Your mouth is against his ear, tongue tracing the shell of it. “Just relax,” you coo. “Lemme take care of you.” 

You stop only to lick at your hand, giving yourself more to work with, before you reach back down and take hold of him again. Leon plays along like he is so often content to, letting his eyes fall closed again in the fading golden light. It brings out the blond undertones in his hair, still clinging to life after so many times dyed. Your golden boy, no matter how dark the world gets. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell him, a word that he might have blushed at years ago, might have insisted didn’t fit. Now, he only chuckles. 

“Look who’s- ngh . . . talking.”

As your hand moves against him, around him, you can only savor the feeling of him against your body, his warmth and presence a blessing you’ve learned to treasure. His breathing grows a little heavier as you mouth at his neck, his shoulder, his hips beginning to twitch up into your hand. 

“That’s it,” you praise as you move faster. “That’s my man.” 

“Baby-” he manages, the tendons in his neck straining, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Fuck. You gonna let me have a turn?” 

He was asking for your sake, you know that well enough by now. Because he wants you to feel good too. Because he’s always, always concerned about that to some degree. You want to tell him that you don’t need a damn thing except him being here right now . . . but god, feeling him hard against your hand again, his body so warm against your own . . . 

“Oh, I suppose I can.” The words don’t have quite the play of reluctance that you’d aimed for. Alas. Still, you let go of his jaw, your fingertips brushing down his throat as you do. All too quickly, he’s turning in your arms, facing you, the blankets fully sliding off of him to let you see all of him. 

You’re still not sure how the hell he can manage to look more beautiful with each year, but then, you might be biased. You know you are. And you have every right to be as he kisses you hard, pressing you against the headboard. 

Tongues don’t so much wrestle each other as they dance, sliding against one another as Leon’s hands trail up your legs, your sides - every inch of you that he can manage. With no infection left, he hasn’t been able to keep away from you, nor you from him. He touches you now like he never wants to let go, one hand quickly slipping between your legs to stoke the fires in you again. To give just as good as he’s been given. 

“Look at you,” he smiles, kissing down your neck as he starts to work you over. 

“Looking isn’t really what I want you to be doing,” you raise a brow, and he scoffs. 

“Can’t blame a man for admiring the view.” Even so, he doesn’t waste much time as he kisses down your body. His head is between your legs before too long, lips and tongue working in tandem with his fingers. After years, he knows exactly what you like. Ever the quick study, he puts it to use as he laps at you, taking his time even at the expense of his own pleasure. But the way his hips grind into the bed . . . you know this isn’t self-sacrifice, because he enjoys this just as much as anything else. 

So, you’re sure to let your approval be known, low groans slipping from your lips as your head tips back. “That’s it . . . fuck, Leon, that’s good-” you tug gently at his hair, just like you know he likes, gripping it tighter as he pushes a second finger into you, as he sucks on sensitive flesh. It makes your hips jump, a whine escaping from your lips. 

“God . . .” you hear Leon groan, his body adjusting as he redoubles his efforts, tongue moving fast against you. It’s everything you’ve come to treasure over the years, everything you desperately need . . . 

But it’s the way he looks up at you in the midst of it all - the way those eyes that have become your sky meet yours - that you treasure above all else. Because he looks at you like you are his stars and moon and the earth keeping him up all at once. 

Even if he punctuates that look with one of his stupid smiles. 

It’s not long before you’re pulling him upwards towards you, kissing him again. Tasting yourself on his tongue. You both tangle in the sheets, bodies pressing up against each other, seeking friction. Wanting to be wrapped up in one another again and again and again. Until, at last, you end up on your sides, one of his hands hooking beneath your knee, holding you open. You guide him, and before long you are both moving together, teeth clacking and hips pressing against each other. Your names are whispered to each other as he pushes in deeper, your foreheads press against one another when you have to come up for air. 

Your nails dig into him, trying to pull him closer, where you know you will never lose him again, and he holds onto you like he might drift away if he doesn’t. He grunts more than he once did, exertion making you both change where you hold on each other, but neither of you stop. Not when you feel that warmth building more and more in your core. 

His hand moves down between your bodies as you both pant, hearts pounding and skin growing hotter. He touches you as you move together, making you moan loud into his mouth, and then-

And then you lock a leg around his hip, pulling him deep as you feel it, your body tensing as pleasure rolls over you. “Leon-” 

“I’ve got you,” he tells you between grunts, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he carries you through it. As he prioritizes you - which you don’t allow for long. 

He lets out a surprised little noise as you roll him onto his back, the motion drawing your pleasure out all the more as you sink down onto him. Your hips moved fast, up and down, taking him like you knew he loved, letting him see your body moving atop him. “Come on, Leon,” you urged, trying to prolong what you felt, to share your bliss. “Come for me.” In an effort to heed your command, strong hands grip your hips, guiding you with a desperate strength as you lean down, kissing at his neck. His chest. His lips. And before long, you watch as Leon tips over his own edge. Warmth flooded you again, his hips stuttering up into yours, his fingers digging into your hips. A groan in the shape of your name falls from his lips, his head falling back against the pillows, and at last, Leon stills. 

“Mm . . . goddamn . . .” he murmurs. His chest rises and falls, just as yours does. You pull back from where your face had been pressed into his neck, kissing him deep and slow. His hands hold your waist, for a moment, but before too long those arms were around you completely, holding you flush against his chest, his lips at the crown of your head. “Still got it, baby.”

“Damn right we do.” 

You remain like that for a while longer, before eventually climbing off of him and settling into the crook of his arm. Like ivy you tangled with him, legs intertwined, an arm draped over his chest. His hand rested atop yours, his thumb brushing the ring you wore that matched his own. Simple. Quiet. Loving. 

And you had almost lost this. 

If anything had happened differently, if you or him had been a moment slower, or if Grace hadn’t been as brilliant as she had been . . . 

“You’re thinking pretty loud over there.” Leon’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. The sky had darkened, so when you opened your eyes, the candle still burning on your dresser was what allowed you to see your husband looking down at you. He wore a soft smile, the one that you’d seen too little of these last few weeks. 

You’d been so close to losing him. You hated that you thought of it now, after a day that had been so full of bliss. It was hard not to, though, when you were overwhelmed with the feeling of him. Even the possibility of it makes your throat constrict now. 

But he was here. 

He was here and with you, and you would fight for the two of you to be like this forever, if you had to. So, as Leon looked at you, as he silently conveyed that he was here if you needed, you just held him a little tighter. “I’m just glad you’re here.” 

As much as you’d tried to soothe his brow earlier, to help him relax after weeks of stress, you can see now that it’s that admission that does more than even your touches. 

Leon leans down, then, his smile as light and gentle as it’s ever been. “Me too, baby,” he nods, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes full of something more valuable than gold: hope. “Me too.”

leon doesn’t feel the need to deny what he said. he can't even think when his eyes finally meet yours. not who she is to him. just that she’s his.

“oh, leon.” you sigh when you see him, your eyebrows furrowed into a frown of their own and your hands raising up to cup his face before he’s even within reach. as you take in his state—dirty, bloody—you realize that it stopped surprising you years after you got married, but it’s his expression that hurts you the most. every single time.

“ma'am, you need to stay behind the tape please.”

leon puts a hand up, practically shooing them away.

“sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft despite the rasp.

“hi.” you exhale as you finally reach each other and leon scoops you under your arms into a warm hug. his arms are exhausted, worn out, but his muscles start running off of pure excitement when he sees you. and somehow, even though your legs are the ones that are dangling, leon feels small in your arms.

the other officers witness your reunion, half of them dismissing the random lady in the sweatpants, the other half confused as to who exactly this lady is and how she manages to make mister DSO, mister used-to-it, mister unshakeable, look like a lost puppy who’s just found his mom.

they’re only slightly off—he’s more of a kennel puppy who just found his permanent home.

the two of you hold each other for the longest minute in the world, a slight synchronized sway in your hold. when leon finally lets your feet touch the ground and you pull away, it’s only far enough for him to get a good look at your face. his eyes trace your features one by one, taking them in one by one. your eyebrows, their fervour; your cheeks, their redness; your lips, like dewy quivering petals.

everytime he thinks he couldn’t be happier to see you, he proves himself wrong the next mission.

“did you get more beautiful since i left?” he smiles crookedly.

by now, many tears have slipped from your eyes, and another one drips down your cheek at his question.

“oh please,” you breathe out, reaching your hand to push his hair back. “you on the other hand, need another haircut.”

“what, you don’t like it?” he swishes his bangs to the side, reminiscent of a certain 2010s pop star boy crush. they land on his forehead messily, sweaty strands sticking to his skin. for a second, you catch a glimpse of the leon you met years ago.

“you look ridiculous.” you laugh, the worry slowly exiting your system. you don’t know how he’s able to put on a silly face for you even when he looks like he just escaped death twenty times.

the two of you keep chatting while maintaining a close embrace, leon’s hand never leaving the globe of your head.

[you go home and this part occurs]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you feel like days have passed since you fell asleep. you can never sleep very well when leon's away. it's natural, given he might as well be going off to war. every night, the minutes feel like hours as you force your eyes to stay shut—otherwise, you'd stay up all night, guarding the door, awaiting his return. that changed last night.

you wake up to the sun beaming on your face. no alarm, no birds chirping (because this isn't hallmark), but you're warm, and not just from the light. as you grow conscious, you feel leon's arm heavily weighing down on your waist, a lazy hold, but one that would tighten if you moved.

you inhale and exhale softly, stretching your legs in the slightest, trying not to move too much. leon, being as instinctive as he is, notices right away.

“mmm...”

'shit.' you think.

“don' move..” he mumbles, nearly unintelligible.

you squint and smile, shifting your head to cover your eyes, using leon's body as shade.

“good morning sleepy.” you whisper quietly, now stretching in full comfort.

“mmmmmm.” he groans again. still knee deep in rest, his arm snakes its way from your waist to your lower back, his fingertips lightly grazing your bottom.

“shmhms, stay…” he says.

“i am, i am,” you tease, “we can stay here all day if you want.”

he groans, again, this time with a slightly more enthusiastic tone.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

a bit later, after another two hours spent in bed, “making up for lost time”, leon’s taking his usual morning rinse.

you’re standing in front of the counter, massaging moisturizer into your skin. you hear him cough a few times, or heave, really. you let it happen maybe three times before you decide to speak up.

“you okay baby?” you call out, but leon doesn’t reply right away, just clears his throat.

“[cough] yeah,” he sighs, “i’m good.”

you stay silent. the water turns off and the quiet starts to grow between you two. leon reaches an arm out of the shower to grab his towel, and you see what’s essentially a sleeve-bruise on his forearm, red, purple, and more red.

when he steps out, towel wrapped around his hips, he glances at you and smiles. you smile back unconvincingly.

leon starts doing his own routine—combing gel through his hair and going through with his two-step skincare routine (that you cultivated), all while you watch him from behind. he sees you of course, but lets you, assuming that you missed him. and while he wasn't far off, you were staring because you felt like you were missing out on his life.

truthfully, leon hadn't told you much about what happened since he go home. he never really does, but you never pry because you know how hard it can be; you also know he would much rather keep you out of his job as much as possible.

the bathroom mirror is still fogged when leon finally finishes with the sink.

he's traded the towel for sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, the bruise on his arm is still there, loud and ugly, but even you can admit it looks quite badass on him.

you’re leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, still watching him the way you do. it's fond, suspicious, but mostly just relieved.

leon continues to pretend not to notice for a minute, stretching to crack his shoulders and back with a groan.

“you need something, doll?” he asks eventually, glancing at you through the mirror.

you shrug.

“nothing.”

“that's not a ‘nothing’ look.”

“i was just thinking...”

“uh oh, dangerous thing to hear from your wife.”

“hey,” that makes you snort a little. “no i was thinking... you look weird standing in one place for this long.”

he turns around then, leaning back against the counter.

“weird?”

“yeah. you usually do your skincare at warp speed.”

“warp speed,” he repeats in amused disbelief.

“like you’re about to miss a flight.”

“i usually have places to be,” he exhales through his nose, a quiet laugh escaping. then the room settles again. for a second you two simply make eye contact through the mirror.

he takes in your outfit: his oversized (on you) hoodie and the sleepy crease still pressed into your cheek from the pillow. he takes in that he's finally in the same room as you again. safe. home. something in his chest twists.

“…you know,” he says.

you look up.

“yeah?”

leon scratches lightly at his jaw like he’s deciding how to phrase something.

“i was actually thinking of calling in this morning.”

your brows knit slightly, your first thoughts going to 'another mission?'.

“calling in?”

“yeah.”

“…you mean, volunteering?” you straighten a little.

“not exactly.”

“calling in sick?”

“no.”

“leon?” you ask, confused on what on earth he could mean.

“i’m gonna call in and tell them i’m taking some time off.” he says casually.

that catches you way off guard.

“time off?”

leon only nods once, a self satisfied smile on his face.

“a break.”

you stare at him.

“a break,” you repeat slowly, and the words taste weird in your mouth. leon kennedy, your husband, is taking a break?

leon pushes himself off the counter and walks a step closer.

you blink, “how long?”

he thinks for a second and shrugs, “maybe a couple months.”

your jaw almost drops. “months?”

“maybe years, i dunno.”

“hold on, years?”

“well, it depends.”

“leon—on what?”

he tilts his head slightly. “how annoying you get.”

you stare at him, mouth slightly agape in shock as you slightly smacks lightly against his chest. “i’m serious.” you say sternly.

leon lets out a hearty laugh, his hands finding their way to your hips as his feet step apart so he can be closer to eye level with you.

“so am i, sweetheart.”

he sniffles, then gently pushes your chin up to shut your mouth, followed by a smug smile. your expression is somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“…you don’t ever take breaks.”

“i do.”

“you take days, if you’re lucky.”

“i’ve evolved.”

“into what?” you laugh amusedly. you can’t believe your husband.

“a man with a vacation.”

you squint at him.

“leon kennedy taking vacations…”

“well this time’s different.”

“why?”

he looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

“because, this time it's all for you.”

the words come out simple.

he's not even trying to be flirty, he doesn’t have to. it's true.

your mouth opens slightly.

“what?” you ask with a slight whine, almost in denial of the sweet thing your husband just said.

“yeah.” you study his face for signs of teasing. there aren’t any.

“did something happen last time?” you ask carefully.

leon thinks about that for a second. about grace, his near death experience(s), every moment he spent weak and withering away, thinking about you because he was afraid he might not make it back. then he exhales.

“just figured i’ve been gone a lot... and if i know one thing,” he says, finally reconnecting eye contact, “i don't wanna miss anymore of this.” of you, he means.

you can hardly think of what to say.

“you don’t have to stop working… for me.”

“of course i do.”

you pout, but wait for him to continue. he picks himself up, returning to being taller than you, and looks at you with the most tender gaze his blue eyes can give.

“and… it’s never been more clear to me than now,” he says slowly, cupping your face and looking at you through his eyebrows, running his thumb over your bottom lip, “i should’ve given you more time years ago.”

you look down at his thumb, then you glance back up.

he continues, seeing your speechlessness. “every time i come home,” he continues quietly, nearly whispering, “and you’re standing behind police tape in sweatpants at three in the morning.”

you swallow, feeling tears well up in your eyes but holding back for leon’s sake.

“leon…”

“and i realized i’ve been taking you for granted. i know that.”

you raise your eyebrows worriedly, but you know you can’t disagree—leon is always, always busy. always in touch with somebody, always occupied with something that’s not you. hearing him say it out loud? it hurts way more than you thought it would.

“and seeing you yesterday, i don’t know what changed. but i know i have to change things too.”

you exhale, not even realizing you’d been holding your breath. you lose control over your tears and one by one, they start to spill. you inhale and exhale quickly, overwhelmed by the moment. leon wipes your tears as best as he can.

“i know you know you deserve better. i’m going to give you better.”

his thumb brushes absentmindedly across your cheeks.

you collect yourself, wiping your own tears away.

“god, i feel like i’m being proposed to all over again.” you joke, looking up at leon with admiration.

“i’d get on my knee but it really hurts right now.” he replies, which gets a small giggle out of you.

“do you mean it?” you ask honestly, almost in denial of the capability of your husband to stop working.

“do you want me to?” he teases. you reply quickly with a stream of yeses, nodding frantically in hopes he doesn’t take it all back.

“then i mean it. i’m all yours.”

you huff a small sigh, your eyes starting to twinkle with hope, joy, a selfish kind of pleasure that you don’t feel guilty about.

You'd been watching his battle, along with some of the other medical personnel on standby at the base, ready to receive the influx of wounded officers who'd borne the rudiments of field treatment.

Your eyes had never wavered from him.

There he was, the Vice Captain with the steady hands and easy smile, the man who'd made this place a home from the first time you'd reported for duty.

On the screen, blood gleaming in dark, neglected trails across his face, pooling between his teeth, hair disshevelled and clinging to his damp, corpse-pale brow.

Hoshina was already slight in build, lean and honed as one of his blades, but against the towering form of Number 10, he seemed as brittle as a leaf about to be torn apart in a gale, each sweep of the glowing swords a risk, one that brought him closer to the crushing grip of his opponent.

Your nails were leaving harsh imprints in the flesh of your thigh, lip worried to raw edges between your teeth.

The moment Captain Ashiro had returned had been your cue.

With synchronised, unspoken understanding, the medical crew had risen as a single mass, heading with purpose to the med bay.

The battle would be over soon, one way or another.

As part of the specialized med tech team, you'd handled your fair share of injuries that should have been life-threatening.

Soldiers with crushed torsos, pulverized legs, debilitating spinal injuries and joints bent out of any form of recognition, all rendered treatable with Izumo Tech's new line of of med pods. They'd harnessed the power and efficiency of kaiju regeneration in order to 'prompt' the cells of the patient into such recognizable patterns.

Your team had last handled the treatment of Ichikawa Reno, his body riddled with near-fatal puncture wounds.

Seeing Hoshina in the same pod, limbs slack in the slumber of deep recovery, the steady electronic hum of the monitors and the muted click of measured vitals loud in the silence, had been surreal indeed.

When he'd been stabilized, the team's attention moving on to the next patient, you'd found yourself standing beside him, fingers hovering above his exposed wrist.

Flesh and bone, sinew and skin, inhabited by him, the man who made the mundanity of such things so irreversibly precious.

In that second of preternatural awareness, as if your presence had called him back from some other plane of consciousness, his eyes snapped open, fingers flexing, heart rate spiking on the ECG. 

Without thought, you took his fingers between your own, clasping them gently, but firmly, thumb drawing soothing circles on the skin still bearing traces of dried blood.

His gaze moved over to you, piercing for all its hazy uncertainty, a great beast rendered momentarily immobile, trapped within its own form.

The sight of you seemed to do the trick. The furrows between his brows eased, the tension drawn taut in his neck and shoulders ebbing away once again.

He lay motionless for a while, fixing his eyes on you before the slow drag of their lids revealed his exhaustion.

Even in sleep, his fingers remained curled around yours.

You thought he might not remember.

It wasn't that you needed, or particularly wanted him to.

There were already too many aborted conversations, too many times when his duty had called him away from the quiet sharing of morning coffee in the break room, too many times the back of your hand had brushed his in the darkened hush of the observation room, the momentary halting of breath as stark for him as it was for you.

There was something that both of you were aware of, but neither of you would acknowledge, for reasons too complex to be listed.

After that day in the med bay, however, a change exerted itself, stealing into the space between you both like threads that laced together the promise of something breathless and urgent.

Hoshina remembered.

You could tell from the way he looked up from the report and spotted you in the corridor across from where he sat in the courtyard below, that singular motionless state signifying the ceasing of conscious muscle function.

Slowing your stride, you nodded to him courteously, as you always did in passing.

He rose from his seat, a little more gingerly than usual, considering the bandages and braces adorning his body. You stopped in your tracks, uncertain, moving to meet him halfway.

"Vice Captain? I hope you're not exerting yourself."

You couldn't help the instinctual scold in your voice and the corner of his mouth rose in response.

Ah, this part was easy.

"Always a worrier, huh? Nah, nothing like that. Although ... "

He squinted and eyed the administrative building behind him with suspicion.

"I feel like some people are mighty glad I took a few hits."

"What? Why would anyone want that?"

He leaned towards you conspiratorially.

"So they can stick me with all the paperwork!"

"A most devious plan, sir."

"That Number 10 ... I knew he sounded like Tanaka from Auditing."

You shook your head, stifling the snort that had emerged, but Hoshina tutted, tugging at your sleeve.

"Listen, I'm gonna head to the training room for a bit ..."

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm not going to be bought off with jokes."

For the second in command of a prestigious military base, Hoshina could pout as effectively as any kindergartner.

"Cover for me? I promise I won't do more than stretches."

Fingers tapping along your arms where you'd folded them, you considered his proposal.

"Only if I - "

It was at that moment that his glance dropped to your hand.

Not an action that would arouse much attention from anyone else, but the significance of it was not lost on you.

He was watching the dance of your fingers, intent and focused, as if their movement had brought to mind some other occasion where they'd touched more than the fabric of your sleeve.

It was over in an instant, but it had been enough.

The air between you had changed, charged with something humid, a low roll of distant thunder.

Hoshina raised a querying eyebrow.

"Only if you ...?" he prompted.

"If I get to observe you train. To make sure you aren't doing anything ... strenuous."

He regarded you in impassive silence before nodding amiably.

"Well, sure. If you've got time to spare. Don't wanna pull you away from your duties."

"I'm on break."

He could have made a jest about spending your break holed up in a training room, but he was strangely silent, as if he knew one more stray utterance would reveal too much.

You fell into step beside him, wondering why on earth you'd volunteered for this.

Had your brain lashed out with a kind of primal response, your desire for him leaping from your fingers, a mocking laugh trailing in its wake?

Regardless, you were here now, in the situation you'd placed yourself in, and it felt strangely inevitable.

Confronted by your folly, you couldn't help but wonder at the disembodied thought that had resulted in this situation.

Stretches, he'd said.

As if that innocuous word encompassed anything he'd done for the past ten minutes.

These were Hoshina's versions of stretches, apparently, and you'd never known the human form could look quite like that, even when injured.

He'd wandered into the room, jaunty in spite of his stiff stride, already taking off his jacket as he'd probably done many times before.

Underneath, he wore a loose fitting black t-shirt for a change, one that accomodated the bandages and padded dressings.

The injuries to his ribs didn't prevent him from limbering up slowly, a gentle side to side motion.

You settled onto a yoga mat in the corner, his slow movements lulling you into a false sense of complacency.

It would probably be half an hour, maximum, and he'd be done with -

Hoshina tucked his fingers beneath the hem of the shirt and drew it up over his head with one swift movement.

He turned to you, nonchalant.

"I can't move with this rubbing against the bandages. Can you hold it for me?"

You nodded wordlessly, trying to maintain a medic's professionalism as he strolled towards you, abdomen rippling above the rather low set of his belt.

The shirt deposited into your hands was still warm from his body, and you folded it hurriedly, smoothing the material over your knee.

It smelt of him too, the faint woody aroma of his soap, the underlying clean scent of his skin, the sharp note of antiseptic.

Your gaze flicked up to the roll of his shoulders as he walked away, before you fixated on the view of the sky visible outside.

You'd seen your fair share of soldiers in the course of your duty, so musculature and its definition wasn't new to you, but there was something about Hoshina that differed in the extreme.

Perhaps it was your knowledge of what he could do on the battlefield, pushing his body well beyond any known limits, that made him such a spectacle when he moved.

Lean-flanked, rigid as a stone carving when still, a swordsman's discipline on full display, and then the fluid break into motion, water spilling from the lip of a dam into an unstoppable rush.

Such was the way he geared into his stretches, even now, when he'd been robbed of full mobility.

As much as you wanted to keep your eyes on the swathes of airy cloud that drifted past, or perhaps the tops of trees, nothing quite exceeded the call of nature like its most stark and powerful form, the cleanest lines of elegance and martial beauty, clothed in skin and sweat.

Most daunting of all was the fact that nothing he did was for show, each movement contained, graceful and strong.

While Hoshina probably knew full well the effect he had on you (and wasn't above testing it), he seemed relaxed and at ease in a way he hadn't been in the courtyard below, that hyper-awareness leaping like lightning from your body to his.

Equally dangerous was this tranquility, a whispered promise of a different kind of intimacy, one reserved for after every drop of passion had been spent and a hush fell over a space that had once been inhabited by the vital heat of two entwined bodies.

This was the quiet of knees brushing beneath a table, of eyes that met first thing each morning. It was the easy, perilous familiarity that stole in with the heat of the day, ready to snatch away something precious and leave a beautiful bruise in its place.

What if you could -

And what about him? If he -

A dozen possibilities, never acknowledged, but so easily slipped into, like a silk dress you could never afford.

So what was this, so reminiscent of the time you'd held his hand as he'd drifted out of consciousness?

What was this invitation, so warm and sweet, couched in the language of silence and body heat, and the soft material of his shirt in your lap?

Hoshina had completed his stretches, taking a moment to wipe off his brow before he straightened and approached you once again.

He collected his shirt from you with a simple nod, and yet, the brush of his fingers was a forest fire that drove you headlong from a place of safety.

The first time it happened was a week after that.

It had settled between you like alluvial silt, hardening to solid weight under rushing currents of day to day life, this unspoken understanding.

You couldn't put words to it, not just yet, but if you had to, it would be a subtle claim of one on another, a torch that burned brightly just for you, even when nobody else was aware.

He'd find you in the med bay, the operations room, the mess hall, his presence pricking awareness all across your body.

Most times, you wouldn't even get a chance to speak to him, but the exchange of glances was enough.

There he is.

Yours.

How bold of you to say so, even in your mind.

This worldess claim begged to be converted to some other form, stacked coal, waiting for a bonfire that sent it up in glorious blaze.

It sent you to his office, one evening, when you knew the flow of paperwork had somewhat slowed down, when you knew he must have been rounding up his tasks for the evening.

You knocked, low and polite, and waited for him to  look up.

When he did, his stylus paused, hovering over the data pad on his desk.

He straightened.

His hair was slightly disshevelled where he'd pushed his fingers through it a few times. The collar of his formal uniform was undone, exposing a sliver of throat, the rumpled fabric revealing the shift of his shoulders beneath.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

His voice was unexpectedly low, slightly husky with fatigue, striking a spark against living flesh.

You leaned on the doorframe, and his eyes followed the curve of your waist and hip, undisguised, unabashed.

"I bought a new brand of coffee. Thought you might like to try it."

He quirked a small smile.

"Now, you know full well I'm a one brand kinda guy."

You shrugged, glancing across to the cupboard where he stored his usual brew, then back at him, crossing your legs at the ankle.

"So you won't try anything new?"

Now that caught his attention.

His smile disappeared, and you tilted your head, your hair sliding to one side.

"I'm heading to the break room. Come join me if you like."

As you turned, you heard the sound of his chair being pushed back. Standing with your back to him, you felt, more than heard, his approach.

He passed close behind you, as your position in the doorway demanded, brushing lightly against the material of your knee-length skirt.

"Break room? I think it might be crowded at this time. All your colleagues will probably be there."

His tone was even, controlled, leaving you rife with anticipation.

"Hmm. You're right. What do you suggest, Vice Captain?"

He turned slightly towards you, before gesturing forward with one hand, a polite request for you to walk with him.

You did, through the quiet corridors, an unremarkable pair, your officious presence beside him never raising any questions amongst those you passed.

The new coffee you'd purchased was picked up on the way past the break room.

There were only a few operators in there, hardly paying attention to your presence, and yet, he was still waiting in the corridor outside, ready to move on.

You followed him all the way up to the higher floors, where the senior officers had their quarters.

He punched a code into the keypad beside his door, stepping aside to let you pass.

The apartment was fairly spacious, neat and elegant, a certain minimalism in the furnishings, reminiscent of traditional Japanese homes.

His papers and books, manuals and reports were stacked high on the coffee table, a row of bookshelves all along one wall testament to his reading habits.

The kitchen was clean and organised, not much used by the look of it, and a small corridor led off to the side, to what appeared to be a home office and a separate bedroom.

You slipped out of your shoes, aware of him doing the same to your left, donning one of the few pairs of house slippers in the entryway. They felt well-cushioned under your soles, barely used.

He obviously didn't entertain much in the way of visitors.

He slid the package of coffee from between your fingers, heading for the kitchen, shooting you a smile over one shoulder.

"Make yourself at home."

Wandering over to his bookshelf, you felt his eyes on your back as he opened up cupboards, the clink of mugs heavy in the soft hush of his quarters.

"This is quite the collection."

You turned to catch him wrinkling his nose slightly.

"More a habit than anything else. Helps to ease the mind."

"Then you enjoy some part of it."

The kettle was on, bubbling merrily.

You traced a finger along the spines, pausing on  titles that were familiar to you.

He had removed his coat, now standing with both palms braced on the counter. The sleeves of the dark shirt he wore beneath had been folded to his elbows, the overhead light highlighting the corded sinew drawn taut beneath the skin of his forearms.

He caught you looking, and you found that you didn't care.

"I've read some of these."

"Which ones?"

He was emerging from the kitchen, coming to a stop at your side.

"This one, and this one here. Oh, this one too."

"Ah. That one was pretty boring."

You huffed out a laugh.

"And you finished it?"

"Because of my profound sense of duty."

"Bravo, Vice Captain."

You'd spoken his rank almost playfully, but he turned to you with a serious look.

"Call me Soshiro. Please."

His earnest appeal caught you slightly off guard, and your shoulders dropped, a warmth building in your chest.

"Of course. Sorry. I'm just - "

An interruption came in the form of his fingers curling around your wrist, not tightly, a gentle pressure.

"I know. But here ... please don't."

He didn't have to explain. Here, it was you and him, and the world waiting outside for when you'd emerge, dressed in the trappings of professionalism once again.

Falling silent, you felt him release you, catching hold of him on the descent.

He didn't protest as you laced your grasp through his.

"Want to try that coffee?"

"I've already tried it."

Confused, you cocked your head.

"What?"

"I've tried it before. Nice enough, but doesn't beat my tried and tested Green Label."

You blew out an amused breath.

"So I came all this way for nothing?"

"I wouldn't say that."

There it was again, that shift from mischievous to weighted warmth, words that settled inside you like bales of downy feathers, ready to burst free of their bonds.

You wouldn't let it stop there, not when he was all but asking permission with his hands, his voice, the way his gaze fell across your hair, your lips, your throat.

"Soshiro ... "

It was more a test than anything else, his name new on your tongue, and yet not unfamiliar.

In answer he brought your hand up, fingers still linked with his, heat breathed out along the length of your wrist before he raised it to his lips.

It was a simple gesture, almost old-fashioned in its execution, but it knocked the breath out of you as effectively as if he'd pushed you backwards onto his bed.

He lingered there, mouth indescribably soft, and you realised that he was as disarmed as you were by the effect of this simple contact.

Then, he turned your hand over, and he was moving up the inside of your wrist, careful, gentle, ravenous, each soft placement a burning brand.

Lower lip caught between your teeth, you kept tight control over your silence, unwilling to break it over this, but now he was looking up at you from beneath those dark lashes, as if all you had to say was the word.

Which you did, hushed and unsteady.

"Yes."

He took both your hands this time, drawing you into him, allowing the press of his body to yours to speak of all the ways he wanted you, all the ways he'd been patient, and would continue to be.

He was incredibly warm, as comforting as it would be to stand naked before a cosy hearth, flickering flame dancing across every shadowed surface.

In that moment, you'd never been more aware of who he was, the strength in the arms that encircled you, the dexterous grip that eased up along your sides, the wash of his breath against your neck, as it would fog the inside of his gas mask when he commanded from the forefront of battle.

As eager for him as he was for you, you traced the line of his shoulders, dragging your palms down over the solid planes of his chest, his breathing growing heavier, less controlled, as you slid your arms around him in turn, hands mapping out his waist and back.

It took a few more breathless moments of standing there, barely able to hold yourself up, touching each other as if you'd never be able to again, before his lips found yours.

He was as gentle as when he'd first claimed your hand, angling his head to gain more purchase, the soft sounds of where your mouths joined as loud as your breath in your ears.

He released you, hand cupping under your chin, the harsher press of his thumb into your lower lip like a tug on delicate lace before it rips under a lover's ardour.

There was no going back after that.

That first time, Soshiro made love to you on top of his eiderdown.

There was no finesse, or technique, no art to the way he lifted you by the thighs and tossed you gently down.

Your clothes came off in a tangle that snagged on limbs, stubborn buttons that seemed to have no concept of urgency, zippers and straps that suddenly transformed from functional to erotic.

Soon it was all gone, the meaningless wrapping torn from the gift of naked skin, ready to be unleashed on yours. You were both running on pure instinct.

Foreplay was a mass of myriad sensation, the warm slide of his grasp parting your thighs, his soft hair trailing over your neck, lips closing, hot and wet, over your nipple, the powerful shift of his shoulders beneath your touch, knees sliding against yours, anchoring your legs apart.

He was a breathtaking juxtaposition of genteel and primal, the swipe of his thumb across your cheek a direct contrast to the way his teeth grazed your inner thigh.

Soshiro seemed to be feeling his way through this as well, watching you intently, his natural grace disguising the lack of practice when he moved against you.

You supposed, that as someone in his role, he wouldn't have had many opportunities to engage in discreet encounters like this, less so any that were charged with the deeper feelings that neither of you could put a name to.

Soshiro didn't strike you as someone who was free-handed with intimacy, and the thought lit you up further in ways you hadn't ever anticipated.

He'd let you in, into his home, his bed.

Here he was, looking down at you, panting, chest gleaming with the evidence of your exertions, honeyed gaze drinking in your own misted, pleasure-soaked surrender.

Here he was, holding your attention, commanding you silently to keep your eyes on him as he reached down between your bodies.

Here he was, uttering soft praise as you cried out at the touch of his fingers, petal-soft, caressing and parting you, circling and dipping with tantalizing intention as you arched beneath him.

Your whole body thrummed with heightened awareness as he groaned, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against your sternum, nearly drowning out your soft gasp as he rocked himself along you, lengthwise.

His erection was burning hot, hard enough to bob against his abdomen, and you pushed on his chest in impatient need as he took his time, letting you feel the full length of him pass again, catching on your clitoris.

Soshiro wasn't too concerned with positions at the time, simply doing what seemed to feel good for you both.

His movements were almost languid, belied by the sinew standing out in his neck, the corded strain of his arms and thighs, giving a clear indication of how much self-control he was capable of exerting.

In that moment, he wasn't testing any boundaries, or measuring what you were able to take, simply guiding both your bodies through a sensuous, torturous dance that sensitized every nerve in your body to breaking point.

When he finally gripped you firmly, keeping your spread, guiding himself in, your breathless keening had his eyes snapping up to yours, watching your mouth fall open as you took him.

The stretch was exquisite, a faint burn of protest at the edges. He wasn't overly long, but his width eased you open in ways that had you clawing at his back.

You felt the slightly coarse brush of hair at his base as he connected with you fully, pelvis pressing tight into the yield of yours.

He began to rock against you, starting up a slow, inching rhythm that had your head falling back, one hand slippjng to the side as you slapped and clutched at the bedding beside you.

It wasn't so much what he was doing to you, as the knowledge of who he was, how long you'd both wanted this, how you'd let him have you like this for hours on end, and never grow tired of having his body against yours.

Even with the overwhelming feel of him inside you, you were slowly growing conscious of certain little tells.

There were sounds that escaped him, involuntary, when your nails raked gently across his scalp, the way his lower back had stiffened and coiled when your mouth had wandered close to a nipple, the way he'd bucked into you, hard, when you'd grazed over his buttocks. You'd felt the breath that had hissed between his teeth when his tip had first spread your glistening folds.

Soshiro's hips dipped, lifted and rolled between your quivering thighs, near effortless for someone of his strength and agility.

It was something else entirely that sang droplets of moisture into existence on his brow, some siren of soft, supple flesh, of tight, wet heat, of moans and sighs freely given as reward to he who pleasured so deeply, and so well.

Your neck was all but arched in ecstasy, damp with perspiration, hair cast over the bedding as he lost himself in the sweet, urgent call of your body.

Distantly, you realised that it wouldn't be long, not with how he was snapping down into you, one solid arm easing under your lower back to allow him to slip deeper inside.

The noise of your joining was loud, animal, obscene, in contrast to the way he brushed damp hair back from your brow, pressed his lips, butterfly soft, across your jaw, caressed your waist, even as your breasts swayed with the force of his thrusts.

He was everything you'd ever wanted, all while soaring beyond the limits of an over-taxed imagination.

When he brought you to the edge, it was unexpected, a molten, lava-burst of brilliance behind the eyelids, white-hot, sinfully drawn out, your whole body rendered taut as a tripwire before a detonation of blinding ecstasy.

By the time you returned to your senses, he had buried his face in your neck, body weight pressing into you, that rarest of simultaneous orgasms achieved.

You whispered his name into the quiet of the listening night, half-halting, laced with the  exhaustion and wonder of what he'd done to you, of what you'd done to each other, in this secret sliver of stolen time before the dawn.

Of course, there was significantly more to this than sex.

With you, Soshiro seems to be fighting off his instincts to make light of heavier emotion, actively attempting to stave off the mask that fell so naturally into the shape of an enigmatic smile.

You both had busy schedules that left little time for leisure, he even less so, and yet he always found some way to maintain contact with you.

Whether it was a picture of something he'd noted on base, a new dessert he'd tried out, a series he wanted you to watch together, or perhaps a book he wanted your opinion on, he made a concerted effort to enmesh your lives in some fashion.

It wasn't as if his mischievous streak had disappeared.

There was the time a book with the dubious title "How to make your co-workers think you're normal" had been delivered to your desk with no wrapping paper.

You had also been approached by a shady-looking group of people with bowl cuts identical to Soshiro's, who'd offered you secret membership to his fan club on base.

You'd politely declined.

One time, he'd 'accidentally' cc'd you on an email competition for coming up with the most romantic haiku for your Valentine.

You'd retaliated by replacing his mug with one that declared him "Captain Narumi's No. 1 fan".

He'd sulked for a while after that.

Of course, there was sex, but you'd come to realise something telling about all of your encounters with him.

There was never an occasion that felt like some half-hearted attempt at maintaining intimacy, nor was there a tendency to fall into bed with you whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Each time you were together was thoughtful, carefully considered. It was as if you were catching more and more glimpses of his internal workings, of greater complexity than he let on, each time you learned of him physically.

It was a gentle unraveling, the fabric of his shield coming apart under your touch, all the threads that had once been beyond your comprehension now spooling around the slow turn of your wrist as you drew him closer.

Soshiro learned of you as well as you did him.

He'd always been a remarkably quick study.

You'd picked up that he liked it when you wore stockings he could peel off from mid-thigh, pressing kisses to the places only he could touch, the highest point of your inner thigh, the back of your knee, the curve of your calf and the dip of your ankle.

He liked watching the way you walked, the way you held your data pad across your forearm, the way your hair looked when you were fresh from a shower.

You'd caught him examining the way you'd organised you desk with a fond look, and sometimes you'd find the stock of the mint sweets you liked to keep in your handbag mysteriously replenished.

It had, however, taken you a while before you were comfortable enough to act on your own observations.

When Soshiro wanted to remain unreadable, he was almost impossible to guage.

And so, you decided on the next best, and obvious solution.

To ask him outright.

He was lying between your legs, the back of his head resting against your chest.

You both preferred evenings in like this, in the sanctity of his apartment, or yours.

The weight of him was substantial, warm, his arms draped in proprietary comfort across your knees.

Turning your attention away from the book in your hand, you smiled at the top of his head, the silly strands stark against the pale fabric of your sweater.

He was reading through reviews of a new coffee shop on his personal data pad, probably somewhere he'd suggest going with you when your time off coincided.

It occurred to you, in that moment, that you were in an ideal position to conduct as investigation.

Placing your book aside, you started to card your fingers lightly through his hair, noting the instant slackening of the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

"Do your officers know that you like a good scratch behind the ears?"

He stretched lazily, temporarily abandoning the data pad.

"'Course not. That would make 'em too powerful."

"I'm feeling quite powerful myself right now."

Grinning, he shot you a look upward from his rather comfortable spot between your breasts.

"Got the Vice Captain wrapped around your finger, huh?"

"You said it, not me."

"Consider it an admission."

"Hmm."

You pretended to think about this for a minute, the circles drawn on his scalp growing wider, the press of your digits slightly more forceful.

Soshiro sighed, leaning back against you fully.

"Got 'em magic fingers, sweetheart."

"Oh?"

Your thumbs moved down to the back of his neck, eliciting another slow exhale.

"Ah, that's good."

"What about here?"

You gently pinched the lobes of his ears, giving a light tug, curving the palm of your hand along the shell before repeating the process.

"Mhmm."

He shifted against you, and you glanced down at him, noting the slight flush creeping along the sides of his neck.

An interesting development.

You lulled him into drowsy complacency, alternating between stroking his scalp, neck and ears.

Soshiro's grasp had now shifted to the backs of your knees, so taken was he with the sensations you were giving.

Pausing, you placed a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Soshiro ... will you take off your shirt?"

His eyes flew open, and he stared up at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh? I thought I was the one gettin' in the mood."

You stifled a laugh against his hair, raising your head once again to offer him a direct look.

"I want to try something. But only if you want to."

He was silent and still for a moment before attempting to sit up.

You stopped him with a palm against his shoulder.

"Stay there. Just let me unbutton the front."

Bemused, he complied, seeming a trifle smug as you traced down his front, slipping the buttons from their receptacles.

"What're you up to?"

"You'll see."

The two halves of the shirt were folded aside, exposing the hard planes of his chest, so familiar to you now.

The clean cut lines of abdomen and pelvis, the ripple of power beneath supple skin, scars that tracked, bisected and drew small puckers and dents, and the slight scattering of dark hair between the pectorals, all laid out before your eyes.

Pushing the edges of his shirt further apart, you identified your target.

Not that you'd give the game away so soon.

This time, you started lower, at the soft violet trail running down to where his belt buckle heralded the boundaries of a new kingdom.

You felt him tense under your touch, his grip on your knees tightening, head falling further back against you.

His body was inherently divine as always, the flex of his abdomen tangible as he reacted to the slow, upward stroke.

Lingering right above the zipper of his jeans, you let him believe that this was your final destination.

Not that it wasn't.

You just had a few ... stops along the way.

Before he had a chance to register the change in trajectory, you slid your fingers up, circling both nipples.

He let out a small sound of surprise, pressing involuntarily into your touch, and you squeezed, pinching down on them lightly.

The moan that escaped him was positively delightful, his eyes opening wide once again at the knowledge of what you'd drawn from him.

You paused, giving him a chance to collect himself, whispering against his ear, even though it was just you and him, as always.

"Is this fine?"

He was still and tense between your legs, a slight shudder running through him as you circled again, once, twice.

When he nodded, the gesture sharp and tight, triumph fluttered upward in your chest.

He was trusting you with this, yet another part of himelf revealed.

There was no chance that you'd let him down.

You took to tracing those languid spirals once again, watching as his lips sealed in a tight line of restraint, the rosiness that danced down from his neck, the sensitive peaking of his nipples under your gentle attention.

Taking things up a notch, you pinched them lightly again, drawing them between your nails, and he uttered a low grunt of pleasure, fingers digging into your thighs.

Nudging him to sit up, you slipped out from behind him, the beautiful curve of his throat baring itself to you as he eyed you with eyes darkened and hungry with expectation.

Slipping off your own sweater, which had turned a little confining, you leaned forward and pressing soft kisses to his sternum.

His hand was now in your hair, an echo of the attention you'd given him earlier.

Your mouth now took over the duty of your fingers, lapping, tracing, exerting gentle pressure, then firmer.

Soshiro was breathing hard, never taking his eyes from you, the rise and fall of his chest palpable beneath you.

You registered the smoothness of his skin, the slight coarseness of the hair in contrast, the firm yielding flesh of his pectorals edged by harder lines where they sloped down towards the top of his ribcage.

He was delicious, a banquet laid out for your private feasting, vital and ever-shifting, soft gasps escaping him when you took him between your teeth and worried at him.

It was a wonder that you'd never truly focused on him here before, considering the eroticism of his reactions right now.

You had set up a rhythm of a kind, three quick laps, followed by the close of your lips around one nipple, exerting a prolonged suction before releasing his sensitized flesh with a sound reminiscent of a cork being drawn from a champagne bottle.

Soshiro had choked back a laugh the first time he'd heard it, spurred on by your cheeky grin, but by the third or fourth, he'd all but lost himself to the sensations you were giving him.

His fingers had wound tighter through your hair, not guiding you, but squeezing appreciatively whenever you sent those small spikes of white hot pleasure riccocheting through his body.

His nipples were now slightly swollen from your attentions, standing stiff and pliant to the toying of your tongue.

Sweat had started to build in the places you'd grown so accustomed to seeing it form, a sheen across his forehead and pectorals.

Noting how he had begun to squirm beneath you, a quick unzip of his fly, a slide of your hand past the waistband of his boxers, revealed him in all his heated, hard, silky glory.

The moment you took him in your palm, his hips bucked helplessly, mouth falling open, lashes fluttering as he uttered a low, broken moan.

There was an answering throb between your legs, a sudden desire to stop short and indulge yourself too, but you tamped down your urges.

Today was about unraveling him, and you wouldn't do it by halves.

With that in mind, you gave his length a single, long stroke, as if making clear your intention, before adding this to the repertoire you'd been building.

"Oh fuck, sweet thing, if you keep - "

He cut off, low and guttural, the kind of voice he made when you'd truly managed to bring him to the edge.

Glancing down, you noted the engorged veins, the flushed tip, pearly fluid leaking down to coat your hand.

Soshiro's cock was as heart-stopping as the rest of him.

Throwing yourself into your current pursuit with renewed vigour, you pressed him back against the sofa, finally relinquishing his chest for other territory.

He glanced down hazily, hair mussed and pushed back from his forehead, the glow of arousal stealing across his cheeks, ears and the tilted tip of his nose.

It would never fail to amaze you, how he could manage looking this endearing even when in the deepest throes of sexual ecstasy.

You grip around him grew firmer, more intentional, the angle between his thighs widening to give you better access.

Your lips were trailing softly down his front, hands reaching down to cup him before resuming your steady strokes.

He was so incredibly responsive tonight, his voice hoarse with tenderness as he praised you, encouraged you, hissed filthy endearments at you.

Contrary to how chatty he was in the course of his duties, Soshiro was never overly vocal in bed, from what you believed to stem more from restraint than the natural way of things.

Here he was, proving you right once again, a stream of barely coherent sentences pouring from him, laced together with the heady intoxication of falling into pleasure beyond any form of control.

"Come on ... there ... ah! Come on, sweetheart, put your mouth on me. Want you so bad ... to ...to ... yes, like that -"

Complying with his wishes, you kissed the insides of his upper thighs, close, but not quite there yet, listening to his small sound of impatient protest.

Smiling, you gave him what he wanted.

As you palmed him, pushing against the curve of his erection, your tongue licked a tentative stripe up the underside of him, firming as you reached the tip, pushing back his foreskin lightly for better access.

He yelped slightly, followed by a breathy laugh that switched to a groan as you took him into your mouth.

You gave him a minute to adjust to the sensation, squeezing gently before you started up a rhythm similar to the one you'd established earlier.

Two quick, shallow bobs of your head, followed by a longer pull sideways into the flesh of your cheek, distending it, followed by suction and a release.

The technique was rather messy, but Soshiro certainly wasn't complaining, the hand tangled in your hair tugging harder in unconscious approval.

You chanced a look up at him, catching the way he threw back his head once again, overwhelmed, and oh, what a sight he was.

His shirt was now hanging loosely from his shoulders, all but discarded, jeans pushed all the way down to his ankles to make the spread of his legs easier.

Lower back arching, his body was drawn into a taut, tense curve, the muscles of his abdomen, arms and thighs clenching tight. The vibrant flush of his nipples formed a stark contrast to his skin, still peaked and damp from your earlier exploration. The clean, carved line of his jaw was exposed, throat bobbing as he fought to maintain control over his reactions.

His cock was now soaked with the evidence of your attention, each new pulse of pre-cum steadily suckled from him, spread over his burning length.

Through all of this, he never lost sight of the true nature of the act, the vulnerability you gifted him.

He was cradling your chin, damp as it was from sucking on him, tracing the distended corner of your mouth, pushing back your hair.

At one point, his hand came down along your neck, fingers curving around it briefly, as if to further experience the completion of each drop and tilt of your head, and you uttered a soft whimper of desire, loving the feel of him there.

You weren't sure if he'd taken due note of that, because you could tell from the increased upward lift of his hips, the ragged breathing, the way his mouth had fallen open again, that it wouldn't be long for him.

He looked briefly down at you, urgency in his expression, as if signaling you to get off, but you shook your head slightly, letting him slip deeper into your mouth as answer.

You released him for a moment, long enough to whisper to him.

"Come in my mouth. I want you to."

"Fuck, I'm gonna ... put that pretty mouth back on my ... uh, yeah, that's -"

He was now writhing and bucking beneath you, drawn to the limits of his ability to endure, thighs quivering, chest gleaming with perspiration.

Holding him in place was what you'd imagine restraining a kaiju felt like. The sheer strength of the man you had in your power right now was nothing to be sniffed at.

Soshiro came with a muffled roar, tendons standing out as his neck strained with effort, the slick, salty heat of him suddenly coating your tongue. Holding your head firmly in place, you swallowed with fervor, slowly tilting your head back as he slipped from your mouth.

You crawled up beside him, stroking back the sweat-soaked strands of hair that clung to his brow, a hot, heavy sensation growing in your chest as you beheld him.

He was turned towards you, eyelids flickering in a half-delirious, post-climatic haze, the smile that broke across his face radiant, free of all contrivance and studied charm.

There was no need for speech of any kind, no declarations of mutual satisfaction. Neither of you had any requirement for that, not when the magnitude of what you'd done together, what he'd allowed to happen between you, was still circling you both like some great bird of prey, ready to rip out readily surrendered hearts.

You pulled him lightly into you, his damp forehead cradled against your breasts, a return to the familiar intimacy of earlier that evening.

He gave a small sigh of complete content, happily nuzzling against the side of your neck, silky hair folding upward against your cheek.

The air around you seemed to contract, driven inward by a different kind of gravity, one that bound you closer than any words ever could.

He paid you back in kind, of course.

Later, when you'd both returned to his bedroom, when the awareness of each other's bodies past the thin shield of the comforter roused you from deeper sleep, he was there, one arm slung over your waist.

Innocuous, and then not.

The heat of him had filtered through to you, so much so that you'd bared your shoulder to the night air.

This was where you felt the light touch of his lips, following the planes and curves of your reclining form.

It was early morning, distant floodlights still visible beyond the curtain, but in the shadowed arena of his bedroom, you were awarded a most pleasant ambush.

Muffled laughter, soft gasps, the rustle of sheets and he had you on your stomach, sliding into position behind and on top of you.

You knew what he was after when he traced lightly over your neck, renewed vigour pulsing hard and hot against your buttocks.

"Soshiro ... "

Your playful, drowsy half protest ended in a sharp gasp as he rocked against you. You'd forgone any underwear beneath the t-shirt you'd borrowed, and he was taking full advantage of that.

Leaning forward, he held you in place with the weight of his body, breath stirring the hair near your ear. When he spoke, the crimson-lit richness of his tone, still husky with sleep, elicited a prickling all along the skin of your shoulders.

"Want you like this, angel."

As if to emphasize his need, his hips angled, sliding his erection right against your already-slick entrance.

You almost jerked away from him, ready response dying in your throat.

Until now, you hadn't realised how aroused your earlier activities with him had made you, even if you hadn't been on the receiving end. His grinding had unleashed a near-unquenchable desire to have him as deep inside you as you could take him.

This was how he took you apart, snapping the seams of your reserve, the outer professionalism you always displayed in his presence when you were on base.

Here, you were not an official.

Here, you could play as wanton as you liked, without fear of judgement. For every new raging fire he started in you, Soshiro would always find a unique way to quench it.

Such it was that you found yourself clutching the bedspread, knees held firmly in place by his, breasts and face pressed to the pillow before you as he took you, slow, controlled and high impact, from behind.

Oh, did he know your body well.

Devastating precision, each slapping thrust designed to make your breath hitch, no quarter given.

You were helpless in this position, entirely at his mercy, and he let you know it with every harsh, whispered reminder of how good you were, how sweet and tight, his beautiful one, and how wet she was too, asking him to go deeper? There? Yes, and harder, perhaps? Yes, he could do that too.

One palm slid along the length of your spine, resting at your shoulder before lightly squeezing your throat once more.

He'd definitely taken note of your reaction back then.

It wasn't overt, the light pressure he exerted, not intended to cut off your air, but to highlight some buried instinct, to brand a message into your skin, that in this moment you were his, that he could do exactly as he pleased, and what he chose to do was pleasure you senseless.

Every breath you took scalded your lungs, exhalation borne on one shuddering cry after another, muffled by the downy softness of the pillow.

Raising yourself slightly, you half turned to him, letting him see exactly what he was doing to you; the tears tracking down your cheeks, the mess his hand had made of your hair when he'd wound it through his fingers and tugged your head back, your swollen lips where he'd kissed you, messily, roughly, before flipping you over.

There were these marks, and others, more indelible, that he'd left where no one had ventured before, and seeing you like this was confirmation enough.

Instead of picking up the pace, he grunted with effort, starting to move his hips in grinding, intentional circles.

You reached back, clawing at him, hoarse cries escaping as he stretched you, filled you, pressing into that place that had you fighting every instinct to scream to high heaven.

Your voice was not your own, giving up its reigns to something ancient and primeval, one you didn't recognise, begging him to fuck you, yes, like that, please, please, to make you come -

The bed seems to give way beneath your hands and knees, swallowing you up like the gaping throat of a sea beast, every nerve set ablaze as he slowed, his own deep shudder and the sudden drop of his weight on your back pushing you further into that shining abyss.

You're vaguely aware of the beat of his heart against your back, damp skin on skin, the drawing of shaky breath as one organism, shattered into a thousand pieces and rebuilt into some new form.

Such crushing intimacy, the complete weave of his being with yours, even after all of this, when you must don your uniform and be apart from him again (but not really).

He slides off you, your answering, blissful smile a secret, one only he will know.

When he pushes away your hair, eases you closer, holds you until your breathing evens again, until he traces over all the places he's grasped with a gentler reminder of what you are to him, this is when you sink fully into him.

Soshiro.

Your Vice Captain, your confidant, your lover.

A blade honed for a single purpose can also turn inward, and you'll be there to clasp it between your hands, to receive him, to sheathe him inside a wound that bleeds gold, as the horizon does at dawn.

The house was silent—too silent. Not the kind of peaceful quiet that made a place feel safe, but the kind that made every sound feel sharp. Fragile. Like it might shatter the moment you dared to breathe too loudly.

Rumi crept along the edges of the hallway, her body low, steps light, heart hammering in her chest like it was trying to claw out. Her boots barely brushed the old wooden floorboards, each movement calculated, silent. The moonlight from the window behind her painted silver streaks along the walls—but they felt more like spotlights. Vulnerable. Exposing.

Celine isn’t home. She shouldn’t be here. But Rumi didn’t trust that. Not anymore.

She moved with the quiet grace of a trained hunter, each shadow a friend, every sound a threat. Her fingers were already curling instinctively, ready to summon her sword if needed—but tonight, stealth was her only weapon.

She slipped past the narrow hallway and ducked into the far guest room, breath held. The door clicked shut behind her.

The scent hit her first.

Wintergreen. Faint sandalwood. The dry scent of old wood and the barest echo of incense long extinguished. The smell wrapped around her like a memory, curling at the edges of her lungs. Her father’s scent. Her mother’s.

Her childhood.

For a second, it made her stomach twist. The room hadn’t changed. Not even a little. Dust still lined the corners of the shelves. The faded tapestry still hung uneven on the wall. It was like time had stopped the moment her parents left it behind.

How many times had Celine scolded her for entering this room as a child? It was almost forbidden, being here. But she let the familiar smells of nostalgia engulf her tonight. Too many times she’d been caught sneaking in here. That wouldn’t be the case this time. 

She crouched down beside the bed, reaching beneath it with trembling hands. Her fingers skimmed over the wooden floorboards until they hit cloth. She tugged gently—and there it was.

The chest.

Small, cedar-lined, wrapped in a woven fabric so old the edges had begun to fray. It looked ordinary. Harmless. But her heart kicked against her ribs. Please be here. Please let this be real. 

With shaking fingers, she pulled the brass key from the small leather pouch at her side. She'd stolen it from Celine years ago, on a night she couldn’t even fully remember. The urge had been instinctual. Desperate. Now, it glinted in the moonlight like a secret waiting to be told.

Her hand trembled as she brought the key to the lock. The metal clicked into place with a soft, final sound.

Then— Click.

Her entire body froze. A second later, the latch shifted. The lock turned. The chest creaked open. Dust stirred in the air like breath. She hesitated, hands hovering over the contents, not yet ready to look—afraid of what she might not find.

Please be here.

Her initial discovery of the letter had been an accident. It had been years ago when she was just a little girl as high as the table, and the chest had not been locked yet. She didn’t have the knowledge required to grasp the weight of what it meant. Only that she remembered vague words being mentioned in it. This time, she thought. I’ll get a better look. 

Then slowly, she reached in. A worn red ribbon. A wooden carving of a bird, the beak chipped, clearly made by hand. A smooth stone shaped like a heart—her mother’s.

And then— Her breath hitched. An envelope, yellowed with time. Her name was scrawled on the front in slanted script she hadn’t seen in over a decade.

To Rumi, if you ever find this.

Her fingers touched it like it might dissolve. She held it carefully like it might break. A single inhale, and she lifted it to her face. The faintest trace of something warm. A memory. Sandalwood and cedar.

Her throat tightened. Her fingers ached. Her vision blurred. But she mustered all her courage to do what she came here for. 

She opened the envelope. 

‘My little star,

If you're reading this… then maybe the ritual didn’t work. Maybe I failed you. Or maybe fate intervened, and you’re standing in a future I never got to see.

If that’s true… I hope you're safe. I hope your mother kept you warm, and fierce, and loved. And I hope you forgive me for everything I didn’t get to explain.

I loved her, Rumi. So deeply it became my reason for existing. Your mother—your brilliant, brave mother—refused to bow to destiny. And I... I only ever wanted a life where I could hold both of you. Not as a demon. Not as a memory. But as a man. A father. A partner.

But the Honmoon was never built for souls like mine.

So I searched. Studied. Risked everything to find another way. Something older than the contracts. Something not fueled by blood, or voices, but by love.

The soulbond. A link forged by choice. By devotion. By heart.

I believed in it. In you. And in a path that could hold all three of us together—across lifetimes, realms, and rules. But there’s more we have to do to forge that path. 

There’s another path, Rumi. Not one the gods built, or hunters—but one the heart can open. It’s not easy. It asks for more than sacrifice. It asks for belief.

If I couldn’t make it work… maybe you will.

You were always the best part of us. The light at the center of it all.

And no matter where I am when you read this—I love you.

— Your father,

Daehyun’

The letter slipped from her hands like a flame extinguished in water. Rumi sat frozen, staring at it—chest caved, trembling—like it had physically struck her. Her throat closed up, and her heart thudded against her ribs like a wild creature trying to escape. A cry built up in her lungs, but she bit down on it hard, biting her lip until she tasted blood.

She couldn’t break here. Not now. Not in this house. Not where Celine might hear.

So she folded over herself, curled tight around the letter as if it might shield her. Her father’s words still echoed in her head, looping, unraveling her from the inside.

“There’s another path. Not one the gods built, or hunters—but one the heart can open.”

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. They struck her arms, the floor, the chest. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until the drops began to pool on the old, creased paper.

Her father. Daehyun.

He’d loved her. Not just her mother—her. And he hadn’t left them. He hadn’t been the monster Celine made him out to be. He had tried. He had fought for a future they could all share. He had loved so hard it bled across time.

And Celine… Celine had kept this from her. How could she? What right did she have?

She’d pretended to protect her. Fed her lies her whole life. Told her demons didn’t love, didn’t feel, didn’t care. That her father was an accident. A weakness. A shame.

But that letter… it had shattered all of that.

He hadn’t been a weakness. He’d been a flame. A man who tried to make the impossible possible, who dreamed of staying by the woman he loved. Who risked everything for it. And Celine had buried it. Hidden this truth like a sin. She’d let Rumi believe she was a mistake—an accident of war and poor judgment.

But now… Now she knew better. Rumi’s fingers clenched the letter. Her nails dug into her palm as grief turned slowly, painfully, into fury.

You were her friend, she thought bitterly. My mother’s best friend. How could you erase her like this? How could you erase him?

Her breath shook. She closed her eyes. They loved each other.

It wasn’t some coercion or mistake. It wasn’t some demon seducing a poor human woman. Her mother had chosen him. And Daehyun… Daehyun had adored her so much, he tried to create something new. Not the Honmoon. Not just the soulbinding. Something else entirely.

Her gaze snapped to the chest again—and caught sight of something half-buried beneath the velvet cloth. A book.

Her heart jumped.

Hands trembling, she pulled it free. The leather cover was scuffed, old. A broken clasp hung loosely, and an unfamiliar rune marked the front—one she’d never been able to read before. But now, something inside her stirred. Her marks—those faint lines on her back and arms—throbbed lightly, and the rune shimmered. She reached out, breath caught. The moment her fingers brushed the cover, the mark pulsed—slow and alive.

She opened the journal.

The scent of ink and ash drifted up. The handwriting inside was sharp, hurried, looping in the old tongue. Most of it still looked like gibberish, like waves of symbols crashing across the pages—but then…

A glow. Soft. Subtle. And certain phrases began to emerge like stars in fog:

“The tether… not just a seal, but a gate. A guardian. A chance for love to rewrite the laws.”

Her breath hitched. A tether?

She flipped further. More faded entries. One caught her eye—desperate and raw, ink smeared as if written in a rush:

“The ritual failed. She wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe I asked too much. There must have been something I failed to see. A reason why it didn’t work.”

Another page. A jagged diagram scrawled across it—symbols for soul, sacrifice, choice. Her pulse quickened as she studied it.

In the margins, scrawled in deep ink: “Three voices. One heart. A bond strong enough to breach fate.”

Her hands shook and her mind wandered to an obvious connection. The soulbond. The boys. You.

Everything she was reading—it all pointed toward something more. A way. Not one forced by the Honmoon or the heavens… but something anchored in love. In soul-deep connection. Just like what you had.

He wasn’t trying to bind my mother, she realized. He wasn’t trying to turn her into something less.

He was trying to make her more. A protector born of love.

And it hadn’t worked. But maybe… Maybe now it could. Maybe it was never meant to work alone. Maybe it needed more than one soul. Three voices. One heart. 

Rumi stared at the glowing ink, her own breath sounding foreign to her. The soulbond. You and them… Jinu.

This… this could be the answer. The key. A way to break the cycle without losing each other. A path that didn’t demand a sacrifice. One that used the soulbond as a bridge—not a weapon.

She shut the journal slowly and slid it into her satchel along with the letter. The chest she closed gently, wiping her fingerprints from the lock. With a glance over her shoulder, she slipped out of the room like a shadow reborn.

Down the hallway. Past Celine’s door. Every creak of the floorboard felt like it could end her—but she moved with the precision of a born hunter. A whisper of a girl who had once believed she came from nothing.

She reached the window and scaled the trellis vines again—silent, aching. Her palms stung, her body trembled, but she didn’t stop until she was back in the Huntrix tower, back in her room.

Only then did she collapse to the floor, the journal pressed to her chest. The tears came again, free now. Raw. But this time they weren’t just grief. They were hope.

She had something.

Her father had built something from love. A ritual too fragile to succeed alone. But what if it didn’t have to be done alone? What if it wasn’t just her parents’ story?

What if… it could be yours too?

Her fingers ran along the glowing lines of the journal. Her eyes turned to the window, moonlight washing her in silver.

“I have to see Jinu,” she whispered.

Not just to show him. Not just to beg. But to understand. To ask if he could read the rest. If he could help her figure out what her father left behind. If there was still something to save.

A future not ruled by death. A bond that didn’t end in loss. And maybe, just maybe… To finish what Daehyun started. Not just for herself. But for you.

For all of you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You woke to aching thighs, faint bruises kissed across your skin like phantom fingerprints — reminders of everything they’d done to you the night before.

You didn’t mind.

The soreness made you feel claimed. Loved in the strangest, most overwhelming way. As if your body had finally learned its language — and it was them. Their touches had been relentless… but careful. Their mouths everywhere. Their voices tangled in your ears like silk and fire and want.

And this morning? They were sweetness incarnate. Jinu had drawn the blackout curtains just a little to let in the morning light, sitting at the foot of your bed as you stirred. He brushed your hair back gently, whispering a soft “You need water, sweetheart,” before helping you sit up against the pillows and pressing a glass to your lips.

Hwimori brought a tray of food and made sure your favorite snacks were stacked beside it — the ones he’d quietly memorized weeks ago. He let you lean against him afterward, his headphones lazily looped around his neck after working on the track early in the morning. Your fingers tracing idle circles on his forearm while he purred faintly at your touch.

Seoha had insisted on rubbing balm into your shoulders, murmuring against your ear, “Can’t let our darling get stiff, now can we?” His hands had been too skilled, too focused. You swore he was doing it for his own sanity more than yours, like your pain was his.

And Haneul — gods, Haneul — had sat you on his lap in the kitchen, feeding you bites of soft bread and humming into your temple every time you winced. You could still feel his arms around you, big and solid, grounding you in that way only he could. Every touch of his had been protective and hungry at once. He looked at you like he still hadn’t gotten enough.

They’d made you feel… precious. Not fragile. Not pitied. Claimed.

And it didn’t scare you. If anything, it felt right. Like some part of you — deeper than memory, deeper than thought — had always known you belonged to them. Like you were a key slipping into a lock that had waited lifetimes.

You didn't understand everything. You couldn’t. Their demon forms, the way the soulbond shimmered in your veins, the way time bent in their presence — it was still a mystery. But you told yourself it would come with time. And in the meantime… you were falling. Maybe not all at once. Maybe not with reckless abandon. But with every night they curled around you… with every whispered confession, every shiver-inducing kiss, every moment they made you feel seen.

You were falling in love with each of them. Each in a different way. But falling all the same. And yet—

Your thoughts drifted to Seungho. He’d been… quiet. Watching. Waiting. He hadn’t touched you — not yet. Not like the others had. But you could feel him. The way his eyes trailed after you when you weren’t looking. The way he never left your side for long. The way he lingered in the shadows of the apartment, as if biding his time. You knew it was only a matter of when.

A shiver slipped down your spine. He was patient. Too patient. And something told you… when Seungho finally decided to move, there would be no going back.

The afternoon light filtered softly through the apartment windows, brushing golden over the couch where you sat curled up with Derpy the tiger, his massive blue-furred head resting in your lap. You absently scratched between his ears, staring out toward the cityscape beyond the glass. The three-eyed magpie perched silently on the windowsill, its tiny hat slightly tilted, blinking every so often with eerie intelligence.

You sighed quietly, just basking in the quiet and stillness of the morning. The boys had gone off to do work for the upcoming Idol Awards. You couldn’t complain at how busy they must be. Afterall, everything they were doing they claimed to be for you. For a comfortable life by their sides. And yet, it was in moments like these where you slightly missed having that job. Despite it not being the best… it had still kept you busy. 

Jinu watched you from the hallway.

His arms were crossed, expression unreadable at first, but his eyes softened the longer he looked. You hadn’t stepped out in days—not since the soulbond had deepened. The boys kept you close, and you didn’t fight it… but still, he could sense it. That quiet restlessness. The tilt of your head toward the window. The faint pinch in your brows like you were missing something simple: air. space. normalcy.

You looked… like a bird waiting for the wind.

He stepped forward gently, his voice warm and low. “You want to go out, don’t you?”

You blinked out of your daze, turning to see him. “What?”

“The way you’re staring out there like the world owes you a stroll.” He smiled faintly. “You’ve been cooped up, little dove.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I mean… maybe a little.”

Derpy huffed against your thigh. Jinu came closer, crouching beside you. He glanced out the window with you, shoulder brushing yours. “We need to pick up some things for Hwimori’s birthday,” he murmured. “Cupcake ingredients. Decorations. Whatever weird cereal he likes.”

You turned to him slowly, hope blooming like a sunrise. “Wait… are you saying…?”

His gaze flicked to you, amused. “Come with me,” he said. “We can sneak out before the others notice. You need some air.”

You bounced slightly in your seat. “Seriously?! You’re free?”

Truthfully, there was a lot going on in his mind. Their plans for the Idol Awards, the threat of Huntrix, Gwi Ma’s demands, Rumi’s desperate plea to have him let them win on that night. He had been carrying all this and the weight of keeping all these things from you. 

To protect you. He justified.

But looking at you now — like a caged bird, made his heart want to focus today on his number one priority. And that would always be you. He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll always make time for you.”

The words made your stomach flutter. You grinned, eyes sparkling. “Okay! Okay give me ten minutes! I’m gonna dress up so cute—”

“You already look cute,” he called after you as you scampered to your room.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Jinu pushed the cart with one hand, the other tucked casually in his pocket. He wore a black bucket hat pulled low, a light jacket over a hoodie, and round tinted glasses that hid most of his face. Still, he was striking. Even in disguise, people glanced twice. It was something about how he moved—controlled, elegant, like someone used to being watched. You walked beside him, chattering about cake flavors and what Hwimori might secretly want.

“He always says he doesn’t want anything, but I know for a fact he likes strawberry whipped cream cake,” you said, grabbing a container of fresh strawberries with a grin.

Jinu glanced at them, amused. “The kind with sponge so soft it deflates if you blink too hard?”

You giggled. “Exactly. I want to make it from scratch this time.”

His brow quirked. “You want to make it?”

You gave him a look. “Yes, me. I can bake, you know. Sweets are kind of my thing.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “It’s just… usually we do the cooking. Haneul gets territorial about the stove.”

You rolled your eyes. “I worked at a café, remember? And I lived alone for years! You think I can’t handle some sugar and eggs? I want to do this for Hwi.”

Jinu turned his head toward you, curiosity giving way to something softer.

“I just…” you continued, a little quieter now, “…I want to give something. You guys take care of everything — meals, laundry, protection, my mental health apparently — and I love it, but... I want to do something for you too. Something that shows I belong here. That I’m not just being taken care of.”

There was a pause. Jinu looked at you — really looked — like you were something fragile. He reached into the shelf and gently set down a box of matcha powder. “Cupcakes too, then?”

You blinked. “Wait… you like matcha?”

“I don’t,” he said. “But you do.”

Your heart lurched. You stared up at him, cheeks warm. “You’re such a sap when no one’s looking.”

He smirked, brushing a knuckle under your chin. “Only for you.”

You laughed under your breath and tossed in a pack of cupcake liners. “Well, get ready. You’re about to witness greatness in the kitchen.”

“Oh?” Jinu leaned close, a teasing note in his voice. “Should I be nervous?”

You grinned. “Maybe. But I expect full praise when I deliver.”

“I’ll write you a ballad,” he deadpanned, reaching for a tub of frosting. “But if you burn anything, I’m snitching to Haneul.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You shoved him gently with your hip. He nudged you right back, laughing quietly. The banter was easy, warm — like you’d done this a thousand times before. Like grocery shopping together was the most natural thing in the world. You paused in front of a display of fresh fruit. Jinu came up beside you, watching as you picked up a container of strawberries again.

He took it from you gently, brushing your fingers. “Hwimori’s going to love this,” he murmured. “But I’m getting them for you too.”

Your breath caught. He held your gaze, voice dropping lower. “Because I like seeing you like this. Out here. Talking about frosting and birthdays. Smiling at strawberries.”

You swallowed, your throat tight with something warm and tender. “Jinu…”

He reached over and brushed the hair from your eyes. “You deserve days like this. Not just ones where you're surviving us.”

Your lips trembled into a soft smile. “So do you.”

Shoppers kept their distance. Maybe instinctively. Maybe because some part of them sensed that the two of you didn’t quite belong to this world. You and Jinu. Soulbonded. Cloaked in secrets and sugar.

You were halfway down the baking aisle when you gasped softly. “Oh no, I forgot the condensed milk!”

Jinu raised an eyebrow from beside the cart. “I’ll get it.”

“No, no—it’s all the way near the dairy section. You stay here and guard the cart,” you said quickly, already stepping back with a grin. “I know what brand I want. You’ll just bring back the weird vegan one.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You're really going to abandon me to fight this frosting wall alone?”

You pointed dramatically. “May the piping tips guide you.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Hurry back. Five minutes. I’m timing you.”

“Got it!” you called, already weaving through the shelves.

You pulled out your phone absently while walking, intending to check the recipe again—when you saw the notification on Instagram. Your heart skipped. It was a message from Zoey.

‘Hey, I get if you didn’t want to hang out. :( But really, I just want to make sure you’re okay and safe.’

Your thumb hovered over the message. Her name made your stomach twist, but not in the way it once did. You didn’t feel fear — not exactly. Concern, maybe.

Then another surprise: two new followers. Rumi and Mira. Your brows lifted. They knew about you?

They’d talked. Of course they had. You stared at their names on your screen. Rumi. Refined, composed. Mira. Fiery, cold. They knew.

You swallowed hard. Zoey's message sat like a weight on your chest. She didn’t sound malicious. Not like someone trying to drag you away out of spite. Maybe… she was just scared. Scared of what she thought the boys were. Scared for you. 

You knew better now. Your boys weren’t monsters. They were demons, yes — but not the kind that hurt people. Not anymore. But the hunters didn’t see it that way. Maybe Zoey was just doing what she thought was right. What she’d been trained to do. Would it really be so wrong to just… tell her you’re okay?

You bit your lip, hesitating in the aisle. So lost in thought that you didn’t see the edge of the stocked floor display in your path until—crack.

“Ah—!”

You stumbled forward, your shin colliding hard with the metal frame. The corner of the cart display jabbed straight into the bone. Pain flaring up your leg. You winced and grabbed at the shelf for balance, phone slipping back into your hoodie pocket.

“Ow…”

“Excuse me.”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. A tall man stood just feet away, his dark hair fell over his forehead, black leather jacket zipped halfway, hands in his pockets. He wore sneakers way too clean to be real and a smug expression that instantly made you wary.

“Are you… alright?” he asked, dragging the last word like he found it funny.

You straightened, still wincing. “Yeah. Just a bruise—"

He stepped closer. You shifted slightly. Uncomfortable. “What’s your name? You look very… open-minded.” he said, eyes trailing down your frame in a way that made your skin crawl. 

You blinked. “Um—what?”

“You look very… open-minded.” He grinned wider, repeating it like it was supposed to be a pickup line.

You frowned, backing a step. He took one forward. “Why don’t you put your number in my iPhone 16 Pro M—”

A hand shot out and grabbed his wrist mid-gesture. Hard. The stranger flinched. You both turned. Jinu stood between you and him now. Calm. Controlled. But his eyes— His eyes were burning.

“I must’ve misheard,” Jinu said coolly, tightening his grip. “Because it sounded like you were trying to touch something that belongs to me.”

The man swallowed, chuckling nervously. “W-whoa, hostile man. I didn’t know she was—”

“She’s not yours to know,” Jinu interrupted, voice like a silk-covered blade. “You don’t get to speak to her. You don’t get to look at her.”

The man tugged at his wrist, but Jinu’s hand didn’t budge. “You think I won’t break your hand in the middle of aisle nine?” Jinu’s voice dropped to a whisper, deadly and low. “Keep pushing, and I’ll gift-wrap your spine for customer service.”

That did it. The man yanked his hand back and backed off quickly. “Okay, okay. My bad. Jesus.”

He practically speed-walked away, glancing back once. You blinked, still processing. Jinu turned to you in a flash, eyes scanning your face. “Are you okay?” he asked, hands already cupping your cheeks. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”

“N-no,” you said quickly, reassuring. “I just—tripped into a display.”

His hands roamed gently down your arms, then to your waist. “Show me.”

“Jinu—”

“Let me see.”

You lifted your pant leg slightly to reveal the growing bruise on your shin. His face darkened. He crouched, took your leg carefully in his hands, and leaned in. He pressed a warm kiss to the bruised skin. Slow. Tender. Protective.

“I leave you for four minutes,” he muttered against your skin, “and the creeps start circling like moths to a flame.”

You gave a nervous little laugh. “Guess I’m just very open-minded.”

He scowled. “Don’t joke.”

You reached down and brushed your fingers through his hair. “You scared him off. That’s more than enough for me.”

He rose, still scowling, but the tension in his shoulders eased.

“No more solo missions,” he said, guiding you back toward the cart. “You stick with me. Always.”

“Got it, boss.”

He paused, then looked over at you sideways. “You’re lucky I’m letting you walk again after last night,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with possessiveness.

You flushed. “Jinu—!”

He smirked, pushing the cart again. “Come on. Let’s get your condensed milk before someone else tries to steal you.”

You followed beside him, heart pounding — not from fear. From something far more dangerous. You were starting to realize there might not be a single moment in this life you’d feel truly alone again.

And maybe… just maybe… you didn’t want to be.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hummed above them as they moved like shadows, careful not to draw attention. Rumi lingered near a magazine rack, flipping through a tabloid she wasn’t really reading. Mira leaned against the edge of a snack display, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Zoey peeked around the bread aisle, heart thudding. Then—

“There,” Rumi said softly. They all stilled. You were walking beside a man. Black bucket hat, glasses, hoodie. Nothing out of place at first glance… except everything about him was. The way he moved. Controlled. Regal. A little too graceful for someone just buying frosting.

Jinu.

Zoey’s heart sank. “It’s him.”

You said something that made him laugh — not a smirk, not a sneer. An actual laugh. You bounced a little on your feet, gesturing toward a box of something in your hand, and he leaned closer, brushing your shoulder with his.

Mira clicked her tongue. “Message her. Now.”

Zoey hesitated. “She’s smiling. She looks… okay.”

“She thinks she’s okay,” Mira snapped. Rumi didn’t speak, only watched. The weight of her stare was heavier than either of theirs. Analytical. Distant. Her mind wasn’t fully in the present. Seeing you and Jinu brought back her thoughts on her recent discovery. She needed to talk to him, and even possibly, to you.

Zoey opened Instagram, fingers trembling, and typed:

Hey, I get if you didn’t want to hang out. :( But really, I just want to make sure you’re okay and safe.

She hit send. The other two girls, without a word, followed your account. Mira raised her phone. “She’s checking it.”

Sure enough, they watched you pause in the aisle, thumb tapping on your screen. You stared down at it for a few moments too long. Then bam — your shin slammed into a floor display. You stumbled back.

All three girls winced. “Ow,” Mira muttered. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“Sorry, Y/N…” Zoey murmured, watching you rub your leg. “Didn’t mean to distract you.”

Rumi’s expression didn’t change. But her eyes followed your every movement like a hawk. A stranger approached. Tall, smug, and immediately suspect. His posture, his aura — it made Mira’s skin crawl.

The moment he leaned in, all three tensed. Zoey was already moving. “I’m going in.”

“No, wait—” Mira grabbed her arm. Her voice was sharp. “He’s coming.”

The three of them froze as Jinu turned the corner, soundless and lethal, gliding behind the man. His hand snapped forward, grabbing the guy’s wrist mid-gesture.

“Here we go,” Mira muttered, already reaching into her coat. She pulled out her weapon, holding it behind her leg as her eyes narrowed in anticipation. Zoey’s hand hovered to summon her blades. Rumi just looked at them with a dash of worry in her eyes.

But… Jinu didn’t strike. He didn’t snap the man’s arm. Didn’t vaporize him. He didn’t even use power. He spoke. 

The guy’s face drained of blood. He stumbled back like a scolded child. The girls watched in stunned silence as Jinu turned to you instead—kneeling, cradling your leg like something precious, brushing your skin and kissing the bruise like the world had no one else in it but you.

Even Mira faltered. “...He kissed it,” she said blankly.

“Yeah,” Zoey whispered. “He did.”

The three of them stood, stunned, hidden behind a stack of sale items as you walked back to the cart together. Jinu placed a hand protectively on your lower back. You smiled at him like he was your favorite secret.

Mira exhaled. “It’s an act.” But the words lacked conviction.

Zoey frowned. “Then why did he let that guy live?”

“Maybe she asked him not to.”

“She didn’t say anything.”

They walked toward the exit slowly, still watching. You and Jinu were laughing again, this time about pudding or condensed milk or something completely ordinary.

“That wasn’t an act,” Zoey whispered. “He looked… scared for her.”

“Demons don’t get scared,” Mira replied. But her eyes weren’t hard anymore. They were unsure. Quiet hung between them until Rumi finally spoke.

“I think… they’re soulbonded.”

Mira turned. “What?”

Rumi didn’t flinch. “I’ve read about it before. In one of the forbidden texts. Not something we were taught in training. It’s something that crossed my mind after seeing her with them. It would explain why they’re acting this way.”

Zoey blinked. “What does it mean?”

Rumi hesitated. She couldn’t say what she really knew. About her parents. About the ritual. About the patterns etched into her skin. So she gave a half-truth. “It means their souls… recognize each other. It’s not like a spell. It’s older than that. The bond makes them connected. In every way.”

Zoey paled. “So she feels everything they feel?”

Rumi nodded. “More or less.”

“Even if they’re demons?” Mira pressed, skeptical.

“Especially if they’re demons.”

Mira scoffed and looked away, but her voice cracked slightly. “Demons don’t even have souls. So what… she’s possessed now?”

“Maybe,” Rumi said. “Or maybe she chose it.”

That silenced them. They stepped out into the evening air. The city lights buzzed overhead as cars passed. Then—

“Wait,” Zoey breathed, staring at her phone. “She replied.”

Both Rumi and Mira immediately stepped in closer. Zoey turned the screen toward them. There it was.

‘Hey Zoey! Things have been a bit busy of late, I'm sorry. But I'm okay and safe. Thanks for checking up on me!’

Three pairs of eyes locked on the words. Not vague. Not panicked. Not coded or manipulated. Just… you.

Rumi tilted her head. “She sounds like herself.”

Mira frowned. “That could be scripted.”

“She followed you guys back too,” Zoey whispered, still staring at your profile. “That has to mean something.”

A beat passed. The sounds of the city blurred behind the thrum of uncertainty building between them. Zoey looked at Rumi. “Do you think she knows? That they’re… what they are?”

Rumi’s mouth pressed into a line. “I think she knows more than we think she does.”

Mira’s eyes hardened again. “Then she’s brainwashed.”

Zoey hesitated, then frowned. “But… if she was, why would she follow you guys back? Doesn’t that mean she’s in her right mind?”

That stopped Mira cold. Rumi glanced over.

“She didn’t have to reply either,” Zoey added. “But she did. And it didn’t sound… fake. Just honest. Like she wanted to say something.”

“She could’ve been told to reply,” Mira said, but her voice was tighter now. “Or controlled.”

“Maybe,” Zoey allowed. “But when I met her… I don’t know. She didn’t seem like someone under a spell.”

“You met her once.”

“I know,” Zoey said quickly. “I’m not saying I understand her. But… she looked scared and so sick that night. And now she’s not. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Silence followed. Rumi exhaled. “Maybe she is herself. Just… making choices we weren’t prepared for.”

Mira crossed her arms, tense. “Or maybe we’re seeing what they want us to see.”

They didn’t have an answer for that. But doubt had already slipped in — a hairline fracture in everything they’d trained to believe. Still, uncertainty lingered. And so did fear.

Because if the bond was real—if what they saw in Jinu’s eyes was real— Then that would shake the foundation of everything they had been taught. 

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The apartment smelled like garlic and butter by the time you and Jinu stepped through the door, arms full of groceries and cheeks still warm from earlier.

“There she is!” Seoha declared dramatically, leaping over the back of the couch with a pout that would’ve made a drama star jealous. “Snatched from under our noses. You kidnapped her, didn’t you, hyung?”

Jinu raised a brow. “You mean took her out for air like a normal person?”

Seoha clutched his chest. “She belongs to the collective. You can’t just hog her.”

You giggled, caught in the flurry of arms wrapping around you. Haneul was the next to hug you from behind, warm and sturdy, mumbling a gruff, “We missed you.” Hwimori popped his head out from the kitchen, gave you a soft smile, and disappeared again with a purring sound.

And then— There was Seungho.

Silent. Seated in the armchair like a king on a cold throne, long legs spread, one arm slung over the side. He hadn’t moved an inch since you walked in. But his eyes— Hot. Molten. Locked on you.

You swallowed hard.

Dinner passed in a comfortable haze of food, inside jokes, and everyone taking turns feeding you bites off their plates. Jinu scolded Seoha for using whipped cream as a dipping sauce. Haneul made you laugh so hard water came out of your nose. Hwimori brought out a special drink he’d brewed “just for your energy,” as he called it.

But Seungho… stayed quiet. Not disinterested. Not absent. Just watching. Waiting. You felt him before you even looked at him. That hum in the air, that itch under your skin — like being watched by something not quite human.

You didn’t tell the guys about Zoey’s message, or about Rumi and Mira following your account either. You knew they would scold you– disapprove. But something in your gut compelled you to reply. There was nothing wrong with just letting them know I’m safe at least, right? Maybe this way, they’ll ease off the guys too.

After dinner, you all gathered on the couch. Haneul pulled you into his side. Seoha laid across the rug with his feet on the coffee table. Jinu typed away on his phone responding to emails, only half-watching the screen. Hwimori sat at the kitchen bar, headphones on, humming while adjusting the mix on their new track. Seungho stayed in his armchair. Unmoving. Wordless. Still.

But his gaze hadn't left you once.

You knew tonight was supposed to be his.

He was the only one who hadn’t taken you yet. The others had already crossed that line, given in to the bond with hungry lips and whispered confessions. And Seungho had watched each time with the expression of a man chained to the edge of the world.

But tonight, he hadn’t made a move. No comment. No touch. Only his eyes—burning into you with every breath. What was he waiting for?

You bit your lip, heart hammering. Nervous, yes… but more than that— You were excited.

So you decided to push. Just a little.

You unwrapped a popsicle from the freezer, cool and glossy in your hand. You returned to the couch with a teasing little bounce, sitting cross-legged right across from Seungho. You licked it slowly. Then again.

And let out a soft moan. Just enough to be heard. You peeked at him from under your lashes and saw the way his jaw twitched.

One point for you.

“Hey,” Haneul murmured from beside you, nudging your arm. “What’d you even get at the store, hmm? You haven’t shown us.”

“Oh!” You perked up. “I got stuff for Hwimori’s birthday—real strawberries, whipped cream, the softest sponge cake mix I could find. I’m gonna make him that strawberry cake he secretly loves, even though he says he doesn’t want anything. And I grabbed matcha too— for cupcakes for all of you!”

Seoha rolled over with a delighted gasp. “You’re baking?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said proudly. “No stealing my frosting, though.”

Haneul gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “You’re too sweet.”

Jinu looked up from his phone, smiling faintly. “He’s going to love it.”

Across the room, Seungho’s stare grew darker. You caught the shift—and smiled wider.

Later, you shifted on the couch, stretching your arms above your head in a faux yawn. Seoha couldn’t make up his mind on what to watch after the show you had been watching ended, so he was browsing through channels. Your oversized hoodie lifted just enough to reveal the soft skin of your inner thighs, devious at your plan to tease Seungho. 

You saw his gaze flicker down. Then back up. Still no reaction. No words. But his grip on the chair tightened—knuckles white on the armrest.

We’re getting somewhere. You didn’t know what the goal was, only that it was fun to push and tease him like this. You turned slightly, reaching forward for the remote with an arch in your back that had to be obvious.

“God,” Seoha muttered lazily from the rug, “are you trying to kill us, princess?”

You grinned innocently. “Hmm?”

From your periphery, Seungho tilted his head. That’s when you locked eyes with him.

“What?” you said sweetly. “You’re staring.”

Still, he said nothing. But a slow, devilish smirk curled across his lips.

Shit.

Just then, the news channel flicked on.

“…The rise in missing person reports has tripled over the past few days,” the anchor reported, voice grim. “Many victims were last seen walking home alone…”

You frowned, tension creeping into your chest. “That’s horrible. Why are people going missing like that?”

The room tensed. Hwimori pulled his headphones off slightly. Seoha looked down. Jinu didn’t look up from his phone.

“No idea,” Haneul said after a moment, tone casual—but too casual.

“Some weird gang thing perhaps,” Seoha added quickly. “I believe it’s being handled.”

“Handled by who?”

“The cops most likely,” Jinu said flatly.

You glanced around, finding their reactions a tad bit iffy. “Why do you all look like I asked who I kissed last summer?”

Haneul’s hand brushed your thigh. “Because you don’t have to worry about it. That’s our job.”

Seoha leaned up, eyes unusually serious. “That’s why we don’t want you going off alone. Ever.”

Haneul nodded. “You stick with us, yeah? You’re safe when you’re with us.”

The words had a heat behind them—not just protective. Possessive. Certain. But then— You looked back at Seungho.

Same chair. Same stillness. Same heat burning in his stare like he’d been plotting this moment for centuries.

You smiled. And bit down on the popsicle just a little harder than necessary.

Finally, He moved.

In a flash, Seungho rose to his feet, the chair creaking beneath him. He crossed the room in five strides, and you didn’t even flinch. Just kept smiling, even when his hand curled firmly around your jaw and tilted your face up to his. The other boys were smirking now, as if they had been in on your plan and knew what you had been doing.

His grip wasn’t rough—but it was unyielding. His fingers, calloused and cool, dragged along your chin as he bent over the back of the couch to meet your gaze. His voice was low. Deadly quiet.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

You smirked up at him, defiant and teasing. “I don’t know what you mean?”

He growled. Growled. An actual, guttural sound deep from his chest. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “Don’t test me, princess,” he said, breath hot against your cheek. “Not tonight.”

You licked your lips, slowly. Eyes dragging up and down his face. “Or what?”

You fucked around.

And now you were about to find out.

Seungho moved with brutal grace—releasing your jaw only to hook an arm under your thighs and another behind your back. In one sudden motion, he lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.

“Wha—hey!”

You squealed, laughter and adrenaline bubbling up as your arms flailed for balance.  He had you slung over his shoulder like a caveman. “Seungho—!”

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Didn’t even look at you. He just moved—stalking down the hallway like a man possessed, grip iron-tight around your body like he thought you might disappear if he let go.

Your heart thudded. Hard. The boys’ voices echoed behind you, still lounging casually like this was all a game. “Save me!!” you called back, hoping for some backup.

Seoha grinned, waving lazily. “Afraid we can’t help you this time, sweet girl.”

Haneul chuckled, crossing his arms. “Hope you stretched.”

Hwimori didn’t even look up. “Should’ve known better.”

You scowled looking up at them. “Traitors!”

Jinu just smirked into his phone. “You’ll be begging to walk tomorrow.”

Their teasing felt distant now—like the world was narrowing to just the two of you. Because suddenly, you weren’t laughing anymore. You weren’t just teasing. You weren’t sure anymore if you should’ve teased.

Seungho kicked open his bedroom door. The sound cracked against the walls like a warning shot. Your breath caught. He didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Just walked straight in and threw you down onto the bed like you were the offering he’d waited lifetimes for.

You bounced once—landing on your back with a soft gasp—and looked up. And that’s when it hit you. The look in his eyes.

His chest was rising and falling. His shirt untucked, hair tousled like he’d finally stopped trying to be the cold, composed one. And his eyes— Molten. Golden. Demon. A predator finally off the leash.

Oh shit.

Your pulse raced. You knew he was intense. You’d seen the glint of hunger in his stare before. But this—this was something else. You thought you knew what you were doing when you teased him. You thought you were in control.

But now, lying there with your hoodie hitched up and your breath shallow, you weren’t so sure. Because the look in Seungho’s eyes?

It wasn’t just lust. It was hunger. Obsession. A silent promise that whatever was about to happen—it wasn’t going to be gentle.

And the worst part?

You wanted it.

Even as nervous chills danced down your spine, even as fear and thrill tangled in your gut— You wanted to know what happened when Baby finally snapped.

Your chest heaved as you stared up at him. The air in Seungho’s room was colder than the rest of the apartment — or maybe it just felt that way because you’d been stripped down to your nerves. He stood above you, silent, looming. His eyes— Not warm. Not soft. Not teasing.

They were starved. Molten gold flickering like firelight in a storm. His stare traveled over your body like it was something holy. Something his. He tilted his head slowly, predator in no rush. He licked his lips and let out a quiet, amused scoff.

“You think you’re cute, teasing me like that?”

Your lips parted.

“You think licking that popsicle was funny?” he asked, voice low and gravel-rich. “Flashing your thighs. Stretching on the couch like you didn’t know I was watching.”

You swallowed hard.

“You pulled the trigger, baby,” he said, stepping closer. “I was waiting for you to.”

“Seungho—”

───────── SMUT ─────────

You didn’t get another word out. His hands gripped your hoodie and ripped it up over your head. Your back arched as the fabric scraped over your arms, leaving you in nothing but your little shorts and a bra that suddenly felt far too thin.

He growled. Actually growled. His gaze devoured the exposed skin of your torso like he didn’t know where to start. Then he turned, opening his bedside drawer. You pushed up on your elbows to peek—then froze.

Silk ties. Long. Black. Smooth.

You didn’t even have time to react before he was on you again. He dragged you effortlessly to the top of the bed, shoved a pillow beneath your hips to tilt your body up, and straddled your legs to keep you still as he bound your wrists—tight—to the carved headboard.

Your breath hitched. “Wh-what are you doing—?”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. “Showing you what happens when you play games with the wrong demon.”

Then he moved again—off the bed, walking like a panther circling his prey. Your eyes followed him in alarm, and that’s when you saw it. The mirror. Full-length. Mounted directly across from the bed. You tugged lightly at the ties as he stepped in front of it and tilted the angle just right.

Now you were fully visible—your flushed skin, your bound wrists, your parted thighs. Every inch of you. Right there in the glass.

And then came his voice: “You wanted attention?” he said, eyes flickering to your reflection. “I’ll give you something to look at.”

He climbed into bed with fluid grace, spreading your thighs apart with firm, unrelenting hands. You whimpered, squirming slightly, feeling the cotton of your shorts cling to your core. He knelt between your legs, and with deliberate slowness, peeled your shorts down and off. His gaze turned ravenous when he saw your soaked panties.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking with restraint. “Look at you.”

You tried to look away, but he gripped your chin and turned your head sharply toward the mirror. “Eyes. Up.”

You whimpered.

“I said, look.”

You obeyed.

“There,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek. “See her? That helpless little thing? That’s the result of your teasing. That’s you, baby. That’s what you did.” His hand slid between your legs, cupping you firmly over the fabric. “See the consequences of your actions.”

Then he kissed the inside of your thigh. His hands slowly peeling your undergarments off one by one until you were completely bare for him. “They got to have you first,” he muttered, voice low and trembling with something dangerous. “But I’m the last.”

“And I’m gonna make you remember me.”

Then his mouth met your heat. You cried out, hips bucking instantly against the soft, wet pressure of his tongue. He groaned like your taste had just saved him. Your wrists tugged against the silk restraints, desperate to ground yourself, to grab something—anything—as he lapped at you like a man starved.

His mouth was unrelenting. Not gentle. Not teasing. Desperate. His lips wrapped around your clit with aching precision. His tongue flicked mercilessly, dragging out wet, keening moans you couldn’t contain. You tried to lift your head again, and his palm pressed against your stomach to keep you down.

“No,” he hissed. “Watch. Keep your eyes on yourself.”

You whimpered, teary-eyed, as you looked into the mirror. Saw the way your thighs trembled. The way your mouth hung open in a silent moan. The way his head moved between your legs like he was starving for you. Your breath came in ragged gasps. “Seungho—”

Then— Two fingers plunged into you, deep and thick. Your back arched violently, thighs trying to close around his head, but he pinned you open with a snarl.

“Too fast—ah—Seungho—slow—”

He looked up, mouth wet, jaw tight. “You wanted to tease me, baby?” Another thrust. Rougher. Meaner. “Take responsibility.”

You were trembling, gasping, completely powerless as the orgasm crashed over you like white fire. Your cries bounced off the walls, off the glass, off the bones of your own ribs. Your arms strained against the bindings, useless. You came—a high, keening scream ripped from your throat, hips convulsing as he didn’t slow down for a second.

He groaned, burying his face back into your cunt and licking you through it all, dragging his tongue through your slick as if it was the first drop of water in a thousand years. “Mmm… taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he growled. “You made me wait. Watch them fuck you first. Thought I’d sit still like I wasn’t dying for this.”

You whimpered, still catching your breath, chest heaving. “I—Seungho—I just came—”

“I don’t care.”

You froze. 

“You’ll come as many times as I tell you.”

You yelped as his mouth returned to your clit and his fingers thrust back in without pause. The overstimulation hit you like a tidal wave. Your legs kicked, trembling violently. “I—I can’t—please—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarled, sucking hard, pushing deeper. “You’re gonna take everything I give you. That’s what happens when you play with monsters.”

Your second orgasm hit even harder. Your body jerked against the restraints, sobbing now with the intensity of it. Tears leaked from your eyes, your thighs shaking, lips babbling something between a plea and a moan.

But he didn’t stop. Even after you shattered a second time, he kept going. His fingers fucked you harder, mouth gliding over your swollen clit like it was his purpose.

You sobbed, truly cried out, nearly shaking apart under him. “Please—please—I can’t—”

“You’re mine,” he rasped into your heat. “You can. You will. Look how pretty you cry when I ruin you.”

You almost couldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. Tear-stained cheeks, flushed skin, the look of someone at the edge once again. It was all too much, and before you knew it, you climaxed on Seungho’s fingers for a third time, utterly spent. 

He finally slowed—finally—and pulled back, breathing hard, lips slick. You were trembling, sweat cooling on your skin, thighs twitching uncontrollably. You barely had the strength to lift your head when you saw him sit back on his knees… and start to undress.

Your eyes widened in fear and awe. Because when his shirt came off, and his hand moved to his pants— You saw it. His cock. Thick. Long. Hard. Aching to be inside you. You choked on a breath.

And then his voice, low and cruel: “You’re gonna take it all, sweetheart.”

“You teased me. You earned this.”

You were trembling, body slack against the pillows, skin dewy with sweat and your own slick. Tears clung to your lashes. Your breath came in ragged, uneven pulls. Your lips were parted, swollen from gasping. Every part of you ached — your legs, your wrists, your cunt — and still, Seungho didn’t look done.

He was looming above you, shirtless, golden demon eyes locked on your ruined body like it was something sacred and filthy all at once. You couldn’t stop staring at his chest. The faint, glowing patterns on his torso pulsed like veins of lava beneath his skin, curling up his arms like a brand claiming him for something darker. His toned frame was slick with sweat, abs flexing each time he shifted his stance, and below his navel—

You swallowed hard.

His cock was thick and flushed, veins along the shaft pronounced, head glossy and angry and twitching for you. He gripped the base with one large hand, jaw tight as he looked down between your legs. You whimpered when he slid the tip along your slit — up and down, slow, teasing, gathering the wetness that soaked your thighs and dripped onto the sheets.

Even now, after everything, your body responded. Your pussy clenched on air like it knew.

“Still needy?” he murmured, voice rasped and rough with restraint. “Even after I made you cum three times?” He chuckled low in his chest, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned over you, letting the head of his cock rest right at your entrance, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You wanted to play?” he growled, lips brushing your jaw. “Well, sweetheart—this is what happens when you play with me.”

Then he sank in. All at once. You screamed. It was too much.

The stretch was unreal, painful and perfect, your walls struggling to accommodate him as your back arched, wrists jerking against the ties. Your entire body clenched down on him like a vice.

Seungho groaned deeply, head falling forward, strands of hair clinging to his damp forehead. His hand braced beside your head as he shoved in deeper—inch after inch—until he was buried to the hilt, so deep you could feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck—fuck—” he hissed, hips twitching as your body spasmed around him. “So fucking tight. You feel like heaven.”

He stayed there for a moment, completely inside you, like he was savoring every pulse of your cunt squeezing around him. “This what I’ve been missing?” he growled, voice guttural. “All this time? Watching them touch you? Thinking I could wait?”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to thrust again—slow and deliberate. The sound of your wetness echoed with every roll of his hips. You cried out, barely able to hold onto your breath, your body already trembling.

Then he looked down between your legs. Watched his cock disappear inside you again, coated in your slick. He moaned under his breath. “Look at how good you take me. Like you were made for me.”

“Seungho…” You moaned. Your head lolled back, eyes unfocused. He leaned down and grabbed your jaw.

“Eyes up.” He turned your face toward the mirror again. You whimpered. You didn’t want to look—couldn’t. But his voice made you obey.

“There she is,” he said softly, watching your reflection tremble. “There’s my greedy little thing. Crying, drooling, dripping for it. You proud of yourself?”

He delivered a hard thrust of his hips, making your body jolt and you cry out, “You should be.”

Then he reached down, grabbed your thighs, and pushed them up to your chest, folding you completely beneath him. The angle made you gasp—his cock hit so deep, it felt like your soul jumped.

“You asked for this, baby,” he grunted, snapping his hips forward again. “You wanted to be ruined? I’m giving you everything.”

Your legs trembled violently in his grip, head thrown back as the pleasure slammed into you again and again. The mirror reflected your shaking body, your tits bouncing from every thrust, your wrists bound and straining, tears streaking your cheeks—and Seungho, towering over you, hips pistoning, eyes locked on your face like he was devouring every second.

“I—Seungho—close—I’m close—!”

He didn’t slow. “Then give it to me,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

You shattered. You came with a scream, spine bowing off the bed, vision whiting out as your pussy clenched around him like a vice. He groaned low, guttural, but didn’t stop. You were still spasming when he let you breathe—just for a second.

Then— Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach. You yelped, the silk tie twisting above you as he forced your knees under you, ass in the air.

Your body ached, wrists pulled taut. You couldn’t see him—until he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head up.

The mirror. There you were. Bent over, tied, trembling, sweat glistening on your back. And behind you—Seungho. Eyes glowing, torso lined with markings, cock throbbing as he lined up again.

“You think we’re done?” he rasped, voice right at your ear. “I’m just getting started.”

“Wait—wait, Seungho, I can’t—!”

He slammed into you from behind, forcing a scream from your throat. He fucked you mercilessly—hands gripping your ass tight, hips slapping into yours so hard the bed creaked. You sobbed, overwhelmed, every nerve raw, overstimulated and broken. His mouth kissed down your spine, tongue dragging along your skin.

Then he pushed your back down with one hand and lifted your ass even higher. “Watch,” he whispered, voice sinful.

You raised your eyes—barely able to look. And what you saw— Your demon behind you, markings glowing faintly, sweat glistening down his sculpted chest as he ravaged you. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin filled the room. You were crying. Shaking. Fucked out and broken open. 

This wasn’t the Baby everyone else knew and saw. This beast– Seungho, was yours. And only you would ever get to experience this side of him. The thought made your insides hot. The way this monster only came out, only lost control with you. Then— 

Another orgasm ripped through you. It hit like a wave crashing through your spine, your body jerking violently as your juices spilled down your thighs, dripping onto the sheets.

Seungho snarled above you. “Only I can do this to you,” he hissed. “Only I get to ruin you like this.”

He flipped you again. You landed on your back, whimpering, legs too weak to hold up. So he did it for you.

He grabbed your thighs and raised them high on his shoulders, climbing between them, cock still hard, flushed, demanding. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. 

He didn’t wait. He slid back in and fucked you harder than ever, weight pressing down on you. You could barely breathe.

“Please—Seungho—please—come—!”

His hand slid to your throat, tightening just enough to make you whimper. His other hand gripped your jaw.

“Eyes on me,” he growled. “You wanted to play?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips. “Then take it.”

You sobbed, tears spilling again, mouth falling open. “I— I can’t— !”

“You’ve got one more in you, princess,” he said, voice low, almost tender. “I know you do.”

“Give it to me.”

Then he grabbed your face, forced your head to the side— And made you watch the mirror. You saw him pounding into you, biting your neck, owning you. You saw the tears on your cheeks, the wild look in your eyes, the way your tits bounced with every thrust. You saw his face—sharp, flushed, glowing, utterly consumed by you.

“Seungho—please—! I can’t—!”

“Yes. You can.”

He thrust deeper.

“You will.”

You screamed, a broken, helpless sound as your final orgasm tore through you like lightning. Your whole body convulsed, cunt fluttering wildly around his cock as the bond between you flared— It pulsed, shook, burned. You could feel him in your soul.

And then— He roared. Seungho finally lost control, slamming into you one last time as he came hard, cock twitching inside you as he spilled deep into your womb.

He didn’t speak right away—just panted, breath shaky, forehead resting against yours, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then, soft and raw: “They had you first.”

“But I’m the one who’ll leave you wrecked.”

“You’ll never forget this. Not a single fucking second of it.”

Your body was trembling. Your soul was thrumming. You had nothing left to give.

And Seungho? He looked at you like he just claimed the only thing in the world that ever mattered.

He didn’t move. Not right away. He stayed inside you, buried deep, arms braced on either side of your head, golden eyes locked on your tear-streaked face. His hips trembled against yours, still pulsing with aftershocks from the orgasm that wrecked him.

You were crying. Still. But not from pain. Just overwhelmed. Shaking. Floating. And he… he looked at you like you were the only thing in the universe that existed.

──────── SMUT ENDS ────────

His hand reached up, cupped your jaw, thumb smearing your tears as he kissed you. Over and over—softly, messily. Your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. “You did so good for me,” he whispered, voice frayed with emotion. “So fucking good.”

You whimpered as his lips brushed your temple again. He nuzzled you gently, still catching his breath. “You took all of me like you were made for it,” he murmured. “Perfect, perfect girl.”

His palm moved over your ribcage like he was checking if you were real. And still—he stayed inside. Still wrapped in you like he couldn’t bear the loss of warmth. “Breathe for me,” he whispered, rubbing your hips. “You’re okay. You’re okay, baby.”

You gasped softly, blinking up at him, still floating.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again. “I’ll always have you.”

His lips found your jaw again, then your shoulder. His fingers gently threaded through the messy strands of your hair. Then—carefully, tenderly—he reached up to untie the silk from your wrists. Your arms trembled as they fell around his shoulders, and he held you instantly, pulling you against his chest. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, sobbing softly, and he wrapped around you like armor.

He kissed the top of your head. Again. And again. “You’re mine,” he whispered against your hair, voice trembling now. “No one touches you like this but us. No one ever gets to have you like this.”

You felt his heart racing through his chest, the heat of his body caging you in. Only when your breathing started to slow, only when your tears finally ebbed, did he whisper, “I’m gonna pull out now, alright?”

You nodded weakly. He kissed your forehead once more, and then—slowly, reluctantly—he slipped out of you. You both hissed. You whimpered at the loss, your body clenching around nothing, fluttering, twitching. Seungho exhaled shakily and ran his hands down your thighs, cupping your hips with tenderness. “Okay?” he asked, voice lower now. “Are you okay, baby?”

Your lashes fluttered, and you looked up at him with a small, exhausted smile. “I’ll take anything you give me.”

He froze. Then his arms were around you again, pulling you to his bare chest with a shaky, desperate groan. He buried his face in your neck and held you like you might disappear if he didn’t anchor you to him. “Don’t say things like that,” he whispered harshly. “Don’t—don’t tell me that like it doesn’t mean everything.”

You felt his voice crack against your skin. “I don’t know what to do with that kind of love.”

You clung to him tighter. He let out a shaking breath. “Ever since I told you… what I was… who I was before all this—I thought you'd leave. Or run. Or look at me like I was the monster I am.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. And there they were. Tears in his eyes. He was trying not to blink. Like if he did, they’d fall and expose him fully. But you saw it. The tremble in his bottom lip. The way his hands flexed on your back like he was holding in a lifetime’s worth of fear.

You reached up, cupped his face, and kissed them away. One tear. Then another. He closed his eyes as you kissed each one. Gently. Delicately. Like he was fragile glass. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “I see you. All of you. And I still want you.”

His breath hitched.

“And by the way…” You sniffled, voice turning soft and cheeky. “I’ve never had sex that intense before,” you said with a tired little grin. “But I loved it. Every bit of it.” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You’ve all waited for me for so long. I get it now.”

He blinked slowly, lips parted. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he murmured, voice thick. “I wanted to hold out… make it mean something.”

You cupped his face again. “It did mean something.”

Then, softly, dangerously, he leaned in and whispered: “You’re mine.” His breath hit your lips. “Forever. Mine.”

Your heart skipped. He pressed his lips to yours again, then broke it just to chuckle low in his chest. “You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

You groaned, collapsing into his chest with a tired giggle. “I already can’t feel my legs.”

He grinned against your hair. “At least it’s the good kind of pain,” you teased.

He huffed a warm laugh, brushing your hair from your forehead. “The only kind you’ll ever get from me,” he said softly.

Then, more serious: “I’ll never hurt you. Not like before. Not like… then.”

You kissed the side of his throat and whispered, “You never have.”

He held you tighter. And for once, Seungho—the coldest one—finally let himself melt.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Baby / Seungho finally gets his turn after waiting for you! And boy, did he show us a good time. I wanted to make his scene play into his character as much as possible, and it was just the only way I could see him snapping. He's always been the most... unhinged out of the five. So I hope the wait was worth it! Also, given the plot and characterizations of the fic, the boys are naturally more dominant than the reader, so that's kinda just always been how I imagined them being in the bedroom. Though who knows for future smut chapters things could get a bit interesting. Next chapter won't have smut as the plot will get rolling now. Also, I hope you all enjoyed my little guest appearance of Hongdae guy haha. Just felt like a good laugh to insert in that scene.

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this chapter! Comment, Reblog, Like- I see it all and it always means so much to me! Till the next chapter!

Willa x.

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You dream. Again. But this time, it’s not someone else’s memory. It’s yours.

You stand at the center of nothing and everything—void and light coiling like mist around your feet. Your skin glows, soft and pulsing, like something not entirely human anymore. Something caught between. Your hands are raised. Open. Trembling.

And from your chest—Crimson threads unravel. Smoke-like. Luminous. Alive. Each one stretches into the dark, winding through the void like veins, tugging toward five distant shapes.

Jinu. Haneul. Seoha. Hwimori. Baby.

You can’t see their faces, but you know them—by feeling, by pull, by pain. The threads sink into them, into their chests, hearts, cores. And when they twitch—so do you. You try to breathe. But it’s like those threads are lungs. And they are breath.

One thread pulses. Another burns. Another coils tighter. You try to step back but you can’t.

Because you’re not holding them. They’re holding you. And every line that connects you is both a leash and a lifeline. They glow brighter. You flicker.

And then—

You wake.

Gasping, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw its way out of your ribs. The room is dark. Cool. Quiet. But you aren’t. You press a hand to your chest. It’s still there—that echo. The phantom pull. Like invisible strings wound through your bones.

You sit up slowly, vision swimming, thoughts tangled. It wasn’t just a dream. You felt it. The connection. The weight. The heat of them inside you, wrapped in something more than memory.

Something deeper than even the soulbond. You don’t know the word. But you feel its shape. Not a passenger in their curse—but the anchor. The thing that lets them stay.

You swallow hard. Because that means…  If the threads fray— You all fall.

Theres a faint knock at the door. Then a pause. Not tentative. Not polite. Just… waiting. Like a predator letting you catch your breath. You don’t answer. But the door opens anyway.

He walks in like he owns the air. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. Just stands in your doorway with that quiet, unsettling stillness that’s somehow louder than shouting.

Baby.

His eyes find you instantly—tucked in bed, arms clutching the sheets, skin damp with sweat. Your breath’s still erratic, your chest still rising too fast. And his jaw tightens. Hard.

“Another dream?” he asks, voice low, flat. Not emotionless. Controlled but barely. You nod slowly. He walks closer. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just that quiet, unshakeable pull.

He crouches beside the bed, one hand reaching for your wrist—checking your pulse without asking. His fingers are cold. Gentle. But the moment he feels how fast you’re beating, his face darkens. “I’ll destroy whatever’s haunting you,” he murmurs. Not a threat. Not bravado. A fact. A vow. You try to sit up, but he presses you back down with a firm palm on your shoulder. “No,” he says. “Rest. You’re not leaving this bed until your heart stops trying to escape your chest.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snaps, finally looking you in the eye. And there it is. The storm. Quiet. Fierce. Controlled only by the thinnest thread.

“You think I don’t feel it?” he hisses, voice shaking now. “Every time you wake up like that. Every time you cry in silence. Every dream you don’t tell us about.” He leans closer, his lips almost at your temple. “I’d burn the world if it meant you slept peacefully.”

Your breath catches. The bond hums—taut, aching. He presses a kiss to your damp hair. Then another. His hand strokes down your arm, fingers splayed possessively over your pulse point like he’s branding you with touch alone.

“Next time,” he says softly, “call for me.” A pause. Then his lips ghost your ear: “I want to be the only thing in your dreams.”

He stands up slowly. Reluctantly. Like every inch he puts between you costs him something real. And before he leaves— He turns at the door, voice a whisper of steel: “If anything ever tries to take you again... it won’t live long enough to try twice.”

The door shuts. But you don’t feel alone. Not with how your pulse still trembles in your throat. Not with how your body still remembers his touch. Not with how, under your skin, every demon who loves you is starting to hum.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The sky bleeds into dusk, soft violet bruising the clouds above. Crickets stir in the tall grass below. The city glows in the distance. Jinu leans against a stone wall, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the gravel slope.

He checks his phone. Then checks the shadows. “She wants to meet and she’s late?” he tsked under his breath, scoffing. “Unbelievable.”

He shifts his weight again, jaw tightening. He hated this. Not the waiting. Not the secret meeting. But the distance. After everything that happened—after the old one, after the way you clung to Haneul like you’d die without him—Jinu didn’t want to be this far from you. Not for a second. Not while the taste of your fear still clung to his tongue like blood.

You should be in his arms. He should’ve been home. “Rumi,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “You better be worth this.”

A figure appeared beside him, utterly silent. He shrieked. “Shit—” Jinu staggered back, hand over his heart. “You made me come all the way out here just so you could jump-scare me?!”

Rumi didn’t even blink. “Follow me.” She turned on her heel and started walking. He rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall. “Well, I’m thrilled you’re finally ready to talk. Although, I just want to clarify—this is not a date.”

She froze. “Date? No! Ew! What are you talking about?” she snapped.

Jinu held up the invitation she sent him. ‘Save the Date’.

Rumi groaned. “You’re so old. This is strictly a business meeting.”

Jinu sighed in relief. “Okay. Good.”

They walked side-by-side up the gentle slope, wind tugging at Rumi’s hair as the city lights flickered beneath them like stars. Then, finally, she spoke. “What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?”

Jinu’s brow raised. “Go on.”

Rumi stopped at the edge of the overlook, gaze on the skyline. “Help us win the idol awards. If Huntrix wins… the Honmoon will be sealed. Permanently. If we do this, Gwi Ma loses. The demons will vanish from this world. I’ll finally be free of these patterns. You’ll be free from him. No more debts. No more whispers in your head. You can stay—on this side, when the Honmoon is sealed.”

She looked at him now. “You could be free, Jinu.”

Jinu stared at her.

And then—he laughed. Short. Bitter. “You really don’t get it,” he said softly. He turned his back to the skyline, folding his arms again. “That’s not going to work. I’m not sealing us away.”

Rumi frowned. “Why not? You’ve always hated serving Gwi Ma—” Realization dawned in her eyes. “It’s her,” she whispered suddenly. “Isn’t it?”

Jinu’s expression hardened. And then—he nodded once. “Yes. It’s her.” His voice dropped into something deeper, darker, reverent and sharp all at once. “Our souls are tied to her. We’re soulbonded. Each of us. A bond deeper than blood or magic or fate.”

“She’s the reason we’re even here—you think we’d risk her? Gwi Ma made it clear: if we betray him, if we interfere with the destruction of the Honmoon, he’ll tear her from the cycle completely. No reincarnation. No afterlife. Just… gone.”

He met Rumi’s eyes now, fierce. “I’m not risking that. I’m not risking her.”

Rumi’s throat bobbed. Her fingers curled, face struck with realization. It made so much sense now. Why she’d seen you around them so often. That look in his eyes… So full of you. So absolute. So—

Familiar.

Is this how my father looked at my mother? she thought. Is this what he felt?

She shook her head. “But what if you didn’t have to lose her? What if—if the bond is strong enough—if she’s still on this side, you could stay too?”

“No,” Jinu snapped. “You don’t get it. Gwi Ma said that she’d be free of the cycle and become eternal. With us. If we allow the Honmoon to seal the way your side wants—she’ll die again. And this time, we won’t know if she’ll ever come back. We won’t know anything.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do!” His voice cracked. “Because I’ve lost her before. Over and over. And this world doesn’t deserve her. Every time she’s here, it chews her up. Breaks her. And you’re asking me to stand there and let it happen again?”

Rumi flinched. “It’s for the world,” she whispered.

Jinu stepped forward, eyes burning. “She’s my world.” He stated with finality. “She’s ours,” he hissed. “And this world—this cruel, ugly, unworthy place—was never kind to her. Why should we be kind to it?”

Rumi’s breath caught. He turned. “You want your freedom. I get it. I do. But don’t ask me to lose her again just to buy yours.” And then—softer, barely a breath: “I won’t help you seal her away. I won’t let her suffer. Not for your plan. Not for anyone’s.”

He walked off into the dark.

Rumi stood frozen, chest rising too fast. His words echoed in her mind, louder than anything. She’s our world.

‘We’re soulbonded.’

Her hands trembled. Because… she’d read that before. In a letter. A letter she was never supposed to read. A letter written in a desperate, crooked hand. From a demon who once loved a human so much… he tried to build a bridge just to stay.

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The day off begins slow, sun pouring through gauzy curtains, the scent of coffee and toasted rice wafting from the kitchen. You blink sleep from your lashes, stretched beneath a blanket you don’t remember pulling over yourself. You’re not alone—Haneul is lounging on the floor near the couch, shirtless (of course he is) and barefoot, flipping through a magazine upside down like he’s been waiting for you to stir.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he drawls, not looking up. “Dream of me?”

You blink. “Who brought me out here? And No.”

“Baby did an hour ago. And you’re a liar,” he says immediately, grinning. “I felt your bond spike around 3 a.m. That was definitely me.”

You toss a pillow at him, suddenly reminded of your dream last night and Baby’s appearance by your bedside. Haneul catches it easily and stands, walking over and leaning down until his nose brushes your temple.

“If you were anyone else,” he murmurs, “I’d be mad you threw something at me. But you?” His lips graze your jaw. “I’d let you stab me if it meant you looked at me that way again.”

A shiver erupts down your spine at the close proximity. His bare chest and sculpted torso almost too much to handle. You gulp lightly as your eyes shift down. Haneul smirks at the heat in your eyes. “Flustered? Cat got your tongue?”

Your cheeks tinge pink. “Shut up.” You mumble and shove him playfully. He laughs and watches as you shuffle into the kitchen—only to find Hwimori perched on the counter, already eating your cereal. “You’re up,” he says around a mouthful. Then, more softly, “Smell better today.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

He nuzzles his head under your chin anyway. “I didn’t like yesterday. Your scent was wrong. Empty.”

“Glad to be back to normal?”

His grip tightens around your waist. “This is normal. You. Me. Us. Don’t forget it.” Before you can respond, your phone buzzes. 

It's a DM from Zoey: "Where’ve you been hiding? Let’s hang out!”

You hesitate and freeze for a second. This was so random. Why is she messaging you now when you met weeks ago? It was very out of nowhere. Was this a plan to use you to get to the boys?

The boys notice immediately. Jinu walks in, towel drying his hair, shirt loose over his abs. Yum. 

You blink, almost forgetting about the text for a second as you eye his form. Why did he look so good with his hair damp? 

“Problem?”

You shake your head to snap out of it. Bad, Y/N, Bad! You show him the screen without a word. He reads it, jaw ticking. Haneul peers over his shoulder.

“No.”

That’s all he says. Just no. Your lips quirk up in a smirk. You were starting to enjoy their possessive behavior a little too much nowadays. You raise a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not seeing her,” Seoha calls from the hallway as he buttons his cuffs. “Too risky.”

“I can’t even go out with a friend?” You tease, fully knowing they would protest to that.

“She is NOT your friend.” Seoha interjects, eyes in disbelief. “Did you forget what we told you?”

Hwimori growls softly beside you. “No. You stay here. Where we can feel you.”

You cross your arms and fake pout. Seoha narrows his eyes at that. “Fine. If I can’t go out with her… who’s taking me out today?”

That gets their attention.

Seoha grins slyly. “Tricky girl… I volunteer!”

Haneul steps forward. “Absolutely not. She’s mine today.”

“I’m already holding her,” Hwi mumbles.

Jinu sighs like a disappointed king. “You children are embarrassing yourselves.”

You smirk. “Then are you going to take me, your majesty?”

He raises a brow. “You’re lucky I’m weak for you.”

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You end up in the apartment garden, curled up under Jinu’s arm as he introduces you to his demon spirit pets. The first is a massive blue tiger with unsettlingly large eyes and too many teeth.

You squeak. “Why does he look like that?”

“He’s sensitive,” Jinu deadpans.

The tiger blinks slowly… and lays its head in your lap. You freeze. “Oh my god.”

“He likes you,” Jinu murmurs, strangely proud. You release a slow smile as you feel the tiger purr while you scratch behind its ear. “It’s cute.”

Jinu releases a fond smile. The spirits have been impatient as of late, wondering when they’d finally get to meet you. He was worried you’d be scared at first. But as always, you tend to surpass his expectations. 

“You had this big guy as your companion for years and you never show him to me?!” 

“I was afraid you’d be too scared-”

“Scared? Look at him! He’s a little derpy guy- wait, I think I’ll call him that. Derpy.”

“Actually its name is-”

“Derpy! You like that huh?” You coo at the tiger, booping its nose. The tiger rubs his head on your shoulder. Jinu sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. He can’t win. Of all the names… “Haaaa well… I guess your name is Derpy now…” 

Before you, a bird in a hat lands on Derpy’s head. You stare. Its one eye narrows at you, and you almost squeal as two more appear underneath it. You look to Jinu, unsure, and he smiles in encouragement. 

“Does he… sing?”

“No, but he judges.”

The bird tilts its head and lets out a croaky caw. Then it hops onto your shoulder.

“She’s more affectionate with your freaks than she is with us,” Seoha grumbles nearby, arms crossed.

“She warmed up fast,” Haneul mutters. “If only she kissed me that easily.” he says, watching you kiss Derpy’s head multiple times in a row.

“I’ll kiss you never,” you shoot back.

He smirks. “So, later, then?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. The day continues like that—soft bickering, stolen glances, hands brushing against yours when they pass you a drink, touches that linger just a little too long. Derpy and the bird roam free in the apartment now. Perching on shelves and sleeping in the living room. 

Seoha pulls you aside after lunch, guiding your hand to his chest. “Feel that?” His heart races. “You do that to me.”

You roll your eyes. “You always act like you’re one heartbeat away from writing a death poem.” He grins, teeth sharp, eyes soft. “And you always act like you don’t love it.”

You open your mouth to sass him again, but he leans in, voice brushing your ear. “If I’m dramatic, it’s because loving you feels like a scandal.” His breath fans your skin. “Loud, forbidden… and everyone wants to watch.”

You scoff. “Please. The only scandal here is your ego.”

He smirks—and then swoops in, arms curling around your waist as he litters kisses down your neck, making you squeal and squirm in his hold.

The boys shuffle into the living room, smirking like a pack of troublemakers. Seoha yanks you onto the couch and drapes himself over your lap like a spoiled cat, while Baby flicks through movie titles with deadly focus.

“Seoha, move,” Hwi grumbles. “She’s not a chair.”

“She’s mine,” Seoha mutters, refusing to budge. “And I happen to like being supported emotionally and physically.”

“I’ll support you with my foot,” Baby snaps, flinging a pillow at his head.

Just then, Haneul walks in from the kitchen, balancing three massive bowls of popcorn in his arms like a seasoned soldier. He hands one to you with a kiss to your cheek. “Some popcorn for my little soda pop.”

You wince. “You just shattered the dreams of millions of fans.”

He grins. “Good. Let ‘em cry.”

You’re silent for a moment as the boys get comfortable. A sudden thought enters your head and your hands fidget in your lap, eyes lowered like you’ve just committed a capital crime.

“I…” you whisper, biting your lip dramatically.

Five heads snap in your direction. Seoha straightens so fast, his legs retracting from your lap as he nearly falls off the armrest. “Whats wrong, baby?” 

Hwi perks up by your feet like a cat who heard a thunderclap. “Are you hurt?”

Haneul’s already beside you, crouched low, scanning your body for wounds. “Why are you acting like that? What happened? Tell me.”

Jinu bursts out of the kitchen with a drink in hand like he sprinted an Olympic lap. “Drink this. What’s going on?”

Baby’s the last to speak, voice tight with dread. “If someone made you scared, give me a name. Now.”

You press your lips together and swallow, glancing away. “It’s… pretty serious.”

The room freezes. Seoha’s jaw clenches. “You’re scaring me.”

“She’s scaring me,” Hwi whispers, eyes wide.

“I can fix it,” Haneul says, kneeling beside you. “Whatever it is. Just say the word.”

“I…” You inhale slowly, dramatically. 

“I… don’t drink soda pop.”

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Silence.

Jinu blinks. “What?”

Seoha releases a breath of relief. Hwi stares at you in disbelief. Haneul’s shoulders sag, a weight off his shoulders. And Baby… is glaring at you.

You look at them sheepishly. “I… I don’t drink soda…”

Seoha releases a breathy laugh. “I was ready to curse an entire bloodline,” 

“I already drafted a revenge plan for your tears,” Baby says flatly. “Color-coded.”

“What?!” You giggle at their reactions and the expressions on their faces. “Sorry- I-”

Jinu exhales, setting the untouched drink down with eerie calm. “You think this is funny?”

“I mean… yes?” you grin. “A little?”

He smiles. Too gently. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Before you can react, a hand grabs your wrist—Seoha pulling you onto his lap with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Time for consequences.”

Oh shit. “I was just—!”

Haneul’s breath brushes your ear. “That lip bite earlier? You wanna play nervous, sweetheart? I’ll give you a reason to tremble.”

Hwi climbs behind you like a shadow, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Make the scared face again. I liked that.”

“Hey, hold on—”

“You like teasing us?” Baby’s voice is low, sharp. “Then take responsibility.”

Jinu sinks to his knees before you, pulling your legs apart slightly to settle between them. “You want attention? You’ve got all of it now.”

Your breath hitches. Seoha kisses the side of your neck, whispering like sin, “Say sorry.”

“I…”

Hwi’s teeth graze your shoulder. “Louder, pretty girl.”

You shudder. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” Baby smirks. “Not sorry enough.”

Your teasing grin is long gone. Your flushed face? Still very much here. Your breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. Their hands aren’t even really touching you—just fingertips, just breath, just barely brushing your skin—but your body is screaming for more. Heat pools low in your belly as they surround you like wolves, like they can taste the way you ache.

Seoha whispers against your jaw, “You like being toyed with, don’t you?”

Jinu hums against your inner thigh— infuriatingly untouched. “All that fuss for a little joke? You wanted our attention. This is what it feels like, love.”

“Now she’s quiet,” Baby murmurs, fingers tilting your chin up. “Where’d all that teasing go, little pop?”

You can’t answer. Your mouth opens. Closes. Nothing but a whimper. But just when you think you’ll snap, just when your legs tremble and the coil inside you threatens to unravel—

They all pull back. Hands gone. Heat vanished.

Seoha grins and stretches like he just got up from a nap. “Ah. Perfect. Let’s watch that movie.”

You blink. “What?”

Jinu flops onto the couch, remote already in hand. “You wanted popcorn and a film, didn’t you?”

“I—wait—what?”

“Shh.” Baby’s finger presses to your lips with a wicked smile. “Movie’s starting, sweetheart.”

Hwi pulls you closer onto the couch between them like nothing happened, wrapping you up in his arms while your heart still pounds like thunder. Seoha kisses your forehead like a reward, lips lingering just enough to remind you of everything you didn’t get. 

And then slowly, he whispers. “No soda pop for you then.”

Your thighs squeeze together. Your eyes burn holes into the screen. None of them say a word. But all of them know. And they’re smiling.

The movie plays. You try to focus. You really do. But your skin still tingles—memory replaying on a loop like a glitching reel. The way their hands barely touched you. The way they didn’t kiss you, or pull your clothes off, or devour you whole—but could have. And you would’ve let them. 

That realization sits warm and sharp in your chest. If they hadn’t stopped… if they’d kept going… You would’ve gone with it. You wanted to.

Your thighs press together as heat surges again, traitorous and low. You shift slightly on the couch, only for Baby to pull you back against him without a word—tucked between his legs, your back to his chest, his arms coiled possessively around your waist like a seatbelt you didn’t ask for.

You sigh softly. Maybe you did ask for it. In your own way. His breath brushes your ear. You pretend not to shiver. The screen flashes with explosions, dramatic music rising.

You don’t notice the glances. Not at first. The soothing lull of Baby’s warmth and breathing relaxes you through the movie, causing you to briefly close your eyes for a little rest. The plot wasn’t all that interesting…

Jinu. Hwi. Haneul. Even Seoha over his shoulder from the kitchen (where he’d gone to start preparing dinner)—stealing peeks at you between scenes.

Because somewhere during the movie, your skirt inched higher. And your panties—lace-trimmed and sinfully soft—peek just under the hem. You’re oblivious, shifting sleepily, too flustered by your own thoughts. But the boys? They’re practically feral.

Hwi’s whisper is half-growl: “So… we’ve been staring at her bum for 30 minutes now…”

“Thirty-five,” Haneul mutters darkly.

“Perverts!” Seoha calls from the kitchen, though his voice is far too amused.

“I’m not looking,” Jinu says without turning away. “I’m studying.”

“You’re the worst one,” Hwi replies.

Eventually, the credits roll. Jinu and Seoha disappear into the kitchen with the clatter of pots and sizzling pans. The smell of spice and garlic fills the air. But Baby doesn’t move. Neither do you. You’ve fallen asleep like that—warm, safe, curled up in his arms.

Hwi leans down and pokes your calf. “Dinner.”

Baby growls. Not even looking at him.

“She has to eat,” Haneul tries.

Baby just tightens his grip.

“She’s hibernating in your lap, not dying,” Seoha calls over his shoulder.

Still—no dice. You finally blink awake, lips parted, dazed. And Baby’s face is the first thing you see. Eyes dark. Expression unreadable. 

He utters, voice low, but eyes solely trained on your face. Piercing. “Dinner’s ready.”

You nod slowly, but something in his gaze pins you down harder than his arms. There’s heat there. You swallow hard. “Okay.”

But you don’t move right away. And neither does he. Because even now—after all their teasing, all your games—he looks at you like he’s still starving. And this time?

You’re not sure you want him to stop.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Dinner is loud, as usual. They’re all gathered at the table—Haneul loading your plate without asking, Hwi curled at your side again like a cat waiting for scraps, Seoha arguing with Jinu about spice levels, and Baby quietly stealing bites from your plate like it belongs to him.

You’re halfway through chewing a piece of tteok-bokki when Jinu sets his chopsticks down. “We should move you to your room tonight.”

You blink. “My room?”

He nods. “The one we made for you. Next to ours.”

“We thought you’d want space,” Seoha says, brushing a thumb along your wrist. “But... it’s yours. It always was.”

Hwi’s voice is soft. “It’s closer. Safer.”

“More comfortable,” Haneul adds quickly, gaze unreadable.

“More ours,” Baby finishes, not looking away from you.

You chew slowly, the bite suddenly hard to swallow. Your heart thuds in your chest, soft and fast. They want you near. Not just sleeping in a guest room anymore. Not just a visitor in their apartment. This isn’t about logistics. It’s about belonging.

You glance at each of them—their expectant eyes, the way they lean in slightly like they’re scared you’ll say no.

And for a second, you wonder: Am I ready? To sleep so close to them? To share space. Trust. Intimacy. To accept what you already feel growing between you and these demons who have haunted your soul across centuries? The answer comes quietly.

Yes.

Because they love you. They love you like fire, like gravity, like fate. And you—you're starting to love them too.

“Okay,” you say.

The reaction is immediate. Hwi perks up like a puppy. Haneul grins, wild and bright. Jinu exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the war. Seoha smirks like he already knew. And Baby—Baby’s hand finds yours under the table and squeezes so tight it almost hurts.

They don’t wait. Dinner finishes in a blur, and before you know it, Baby is tugging you gently by the hand, leading you down the hallway. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks over his shoulder at you like he’s afraid this is a dream.

He opens the door. And you gasp. The room is… yours. But also, theirs.

The walls are a soft, warm gray with rich jewel-toned accents. There’s a massive window with gauzy curtains that let in moonlight, and on the far wall: a mural. A hand-painted scene of a mountaintop at dusk, a crescent moon hanging low over a silver lake.

Bookshelves line one wall—half empty, half filled with things they know you love. Notebooks. Art supplies. A sketch of you in a previous life curled up with a tiger. A pressed flower under glass. A faded drawing in childlike lines of a fox with wide, soft eyes.

The bed is huge. Obscenely so. More like a nest than a piece of furniture—draped in plush throws and layered blankets in varying textures. You spot a velvet pillow shaped like a moon, and a silky scarf you once lost… here now, tucked neatly on the edge like it never left.

A soft woven tapestry hangs above the headboard: the symbol of the Saja. Your fingers hover over it.

“They helped,” Baby murmurs. “All of us.” He points. The desk—minimal and clean, with a small crystal inlaid in the center. A moonstone. That was Jinu’s.

The warm-toned blanket with rough stitching? That’s from Haneul. It looks handmade. Because it is.

The incense burner shaped like a curled fox? Hwimori’s, of course. It smells faintly like the pine forests of a memory you can’t quite place.

And the mirror beside the wardrobe—an antique, silver-framed piece that glows softly under the light—was picked by Seoha. He left a note stuck in the corner:

So you can admire the most dangerous creature in this house.

You touch the edge of the bed. It feels like home. “I… don’t know what to say,” you whisper. 

Baby leans against the wall, watching you. His voice is low. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay.”

A soft smile ghosts your lips and the five demons look at you with so much love, awe, and wonder. You loved your room. It had little pieces of them and everything you were to them through all your lives. It felt like you had finally come home. 

“Okay.” You breathe, looking up at their hopeful gazes. “I’ll move in tonight.”

Jinu smiled bright. “You- you like it?”  His eyes widen when your arms drape around his shoulders, like he doesn’t believe you're real.

“I love it,” you say again, softer this time. “It’s got bits and pieces of all of you.”

His breath hitches. For a moment, he doesn't move. Then—slowly, carefully—he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you like you’re fragile silk. His forehead presses to yours. “We waited,” he whispers. “Through everything. Every life. Every mistake. Every death.”

You smile, close, so close. And then you kiss his cheek. It’s light. Soft. Barely a brush of your lips. But Jinu goes still like he’s been struck by lightning. “Oh,” he exhales, voice wrecked.

The next second, he’s not the only one holding you. Hwimori curls against your side, hands wrapped tight around your waist, burying his nose in your neck. “She kissed him,” he breathes. “I want one too.”

Haneul’s hand lifts your wrist and he kisses your palm, then each fingertip with slow, deliberate presses of his mouth. “You like pieces of us, angel?” he murmurs. “I want you to have every piece. Every part.”

Seoha appears at your other side, tilting your chin gently with two fingers. “You shouldn’t say things like that, my love,” he purrs. “We might get addicted to hearing them.” He kisses your temple. Then your jaw. Then your nose, with a grin. “Let’s call it a blessing.”

“Or a curse,” Baby mutters—but he’s already pressing a kiss to the top of your head, arms locking around you from behind. “Don’t care. She’s home now.”

The air shifts. Warmer. Tighter. You’re cradled between them all—arms, hands, mouths pressing into every inch of bare skin they can reach without overwhelming you. Their touches aren’t frantic or rushed. It’s worshipful. Steady. Like this is something sacred.

Because it is. Because you said yes. You said home. You whisper, “I didn’t know I could feel like this.”

Seoha hums. “Safe?”

“No,” you say. “Wanted.”

That stops them. Jinu is the first to speak, voice low and hoarse. “You’re not wanted, sweetheart.”

You blink. He smiles against your cheek. “You’re everything.”

That warms your heart in more ways than one. You smile brightly. “Well, I’ll need a bit of help moving my stuff-”

“Say no more, baby. We’ll grab your things now.” Haneul beams. They shuffle out of the room, eager to get you settled as fast as they can. 

Baby stays, arms wrapped around you from behind with his eyes closed. Like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You look at him and smile slightly. “Your room’s near, right?”

He nods. “Across the hall.”

“Can I see it?”

He pauses then pushes off you and gestures for you to follow. You walk into the darkened hallway, still holding his hand. And when he opens the door to his room— The air changes.

Baby's room is a hush of shadow and memory. The air hangs thick with sandalwood and something older, bitter, like scorched ink. No clutter. No warmth. Just walls steeped in silence. The kind of silence that feels alive.

The bed is enormous, like yours, but colder somehow. Sheets the color of bruises. Pillows perfectly in place. No folds. No softness. Not even a book by the bedside. It feels like a tomb. But it has pieces of you in it.

You step inside and the temperature shifts. This isn’t a bedroom. It’s a reliquary. A war memorial. A shrine.

Your gaze falls to a drawing mounted in a blackwood frame. You.

Rendered in harsh, reverent strokes. Hair pinned in the style of old court, gaze lowered in modesty. Regal. Fragile. Distant. You walk toward it. "Did you draw this?"

"Etched it," Baby replies from behind you. "With a blade."

You turn slowly. He’s still by the door, like coming in too far would break something. "After you died," he adds, voice flat.

There’s a long pause. Your eyes catch on something else—a lacquered box beneath the portrait. A ceremonial sword cracked down the middle. A ribbon, blood-stiffened and sealed in glass. And half-tucked under silk: a golden hairpin.

You reach for it.

"Don’t touch that." The words are quiet. But sharp enough to slice bone. He’s in front of you before you blink. His hand wraps around your wrist, not hurting, not tight. But trembling. He lets go like your skin scalded him.

"She wore that," he murmurs. "You wore that. The day you were taken from me."

You don’t speak. The air feels thick. Sacred. Your trembling hands brush his cheek and he leans into it like a flower to the sun.

"Tell me," you say.

He exhales and hesitates. Eyes pained. 

“Tell me. Please."

He looks at you like you’re a ghost. A sharp inhale, and then he begins. 

"I was the Emperor’s blade," he says, each word carefully unsheathed. "Born to a house that trained ghosts into men. I was a child when they first made me kneel in blood. By thirteen, they called me the Ash Blade."

He looks up. Eyes distant. "I executed ministers before I knew how to write my own name. I watched heads roll and learned silence was safety."

You sit down on the bed, legs tucked beneath you. He stays standing, hands clenched at his sides. "And then you came."

You lift your head. "The concubine from the South. Sent to seal a war with a smile. Everyone called you fragile. An ornament. A prize. But you weren’t. You had teeth. You saw everything." His voice cracks. "You saw me."

The silence between you is deafening. "You bowed to him," he whispers. "...The Emperor,” He spits the words out like poison in his mouth. “But you smiled at me. A smile you never gave him. Not once." 

His hand hovers near his chest, like the memory of it still hurts. "I never knew how to want. They trained it out of me. But then I needed you. And I didn’t even know what to call it."

You stand. "You called it love." His head tilts toward you like the word itself is too heavy to hold.

"They whispered we touched," he murmurs. "That you were carrying a traitor’s child. The Emperor grew distant. Then cold. Then...”

His voice drops. "He asked me to prove my loyalty."

You already know. But you need to hear it. "How?"

He looks you in the eye. "He ordered me to kill you."

Your stomach lurches.

"I told him no."

A breath. The world trembles.

"The first time I disobeyed... was for you."

You press your hand to your mouth.

"He called you defiled. He pulled the sword himself. I didn’t have time to react. You were reaching for me—"

He falls to his knees. "I held you. I pressed on the wound. I begged you to stay. You... you said my name. Not his."

Tears sting your eyes. Baby, the Ash Blade. The demon who was always first to ruin anything that dared to speak or touch you, was kneeling before you like a blade shattered. Broken. He choked on his next words: "I was soaked in your blood. The guards came. They thought I was trying to finish you. I killed them all. Every last one."

He looks up at you, hollow. "I carried you to the inner sanctum. The palace was burning. I laid you down and waited for the flames to take me. But they didn’t."

You kneel in front of him. "I made a deal that night," he whispers. "To never forget your voice. To find you again, no matter the cost." His breath shakes. "They told me I was cursed. Born to follow. Born to obey. And for years I did. I killed for kings. Slept in blood. Wore silence like a second skin. But the moment you smiled at me… I knew." His voice cracks. "I knew I would burn it all. And I did. For you."

Your lip trembles as he continues, eyes never leaving yours. "You were meant to be a pawn. A gift to the king. But you looked at me like I was more than a sword. You called me… human. That was my undoing." He clenches his fist. "You died calling my name. And I—" he swallows the words like poison. "I couldn’t save you."

His shoulders quake. "They said you were spoiled. That a shadow like me defiled something meant to be pure. The Emperor… he was the last one I killed. Not for revenge. But for taking you from me."

The silence pulses between you. Then— His hand moves. Slowly. His fingers graze the side of your neck… and wrap around your throat. Not tight. But firm. Possessive. He pulls you in until your lips are just a breath apart. His eyes shine crimson—wet with grief, wild with hunger.

"You’re mine," he breathes, voice shaking. "Do you hear me? You were always mine. From the moment I first saw you. You are not fate’s. You are not the king’s. You’re mine." A tear slips from his cheek and lands on yours. "I don’t trust this world. I don’t trust time. I don’t trust anything that isn’t my hands on your skin."

You gasp, body trembling as his other arm snakes around your waist, crushing you to him. "I won’t lose you again. I’d kill every god who tries to take you. I’ll tear this world to ash. I’ll carve out a future with your name on it and slit the throat of anything that threatens it."

"Baby…"

His breath catches.

“I’m not… that,” he murmurs. “My name… the one you called out before you left me… it was Seungho.”

It hits like thunder in your chest. Something sacred. Ancient. Yours. “Seungho,” you whisper.

The name tears through centuries. And he breaks. His breath catches—like he’s been punched in the lungs by time itself. His hand tightens around your throat—not to hurt, but to hold, to claim, to anchor himself in the moment he never believed he'd get. The moment the past bends, and fate surrenders. You grip his wrist, your pulse thudding beneath his fingers.

“Say it again,” he breathes. It’s not a plea. It’s a command stitched in agony. His voice trembles like he’s shaking loose from death itself.

“Seungho,” you whisper again, softer this time.

And that’s all it takes. A guttural sound rips from his throat—half-sob, half-snarl. His forehead falls against yours, breath shaking, teeth bared like a starving animal who’s finally found what he lost. He doesn’t ask if you’re his. You are. You always were.

He growls, low and dangerous, voice coiling like smoke against your ear. “You said my name. And now the world can burn. I don’t care. I don’t care about gods or rules or whatever fucking fate tried to take you from me. Say it again, and I swear I’ll never let you go. Not even in death.”

Your breath hitches. Your chest heaves. “I remember you,” you whisper. “And I’m not letting go either.”

Then he kisses you. Not soft. Not slow. Not careful. It’s carnage. It’s ruin wrapped in silk, obsession carved into the shape of a mouth. He devours you like you’re a secret he’s kept for centuries. Like every kiss is a scream of defiance against the world that took you from him. His lips bruise, worship, burn.

His hand cradles your throat like it’s his only possession. His other wrapped around your back, dragging you into him, into the storm, into the part of him that never stopped bleeding. “You said my name,” he murmurs again between kisses, like he can’t stop saying it now that it’s real. “You saw me. You chose me. You’re here.”

You nod, lips trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’ve always been yours.”

He groans—like that vow split something inside him wide open. He bites your ear. Kisses down your jaw. “You are mine. You belong in my arms. In my bed. In my eternity. Mine to worship. Mine to break. Mine to protect until the stars die.”

He presses you to his chest, heart pounding so violently you feel it against your ribs. You don’t fall. Not this time. Because he never let go. And he never will. Not again.

Not Seungho. Not the boy raised to kill— But the demon who was reborn just to love you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You and Seungho stay there, folded into each other like the aftermath of a storm. The quiet between you is thick with heat and memory. His fingers never leave your skin—tracing your spine, your throat, your face, like he’s memorizing you all over again. His lips press to your temple, your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. Again and again.

Like prayer. Like penance. Like addiction. You whisper his name once more. "Seungho."

His breath catches. His lashes flutter against your skin. And though his hands still tremble, his heart begins to steady. You kiss once more—slower this time, but no less desperate. Then another. And another. Until finally… he exhales, forehead resting against yours. “I’m okay now,” he murmurs. “Let’s go back.”

You nod. He intertwines your fingers with his and leads you back to your room. But the moment the door opens—You freeze.

They’re waiting. The others.

Jinu. Seoha. Haneul. Hwimori.

All four of them—spread across your bed, your window ledge, the curve of your couch. Shadows drape their forms like cloaks, but there’s no hiding the glow of their eyes. Amber. Gold. Molten. Unholy. Their gazes hit you like fire. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… hungry.

No words are spoken. Because they felt it. The shift. The moment your bond with Seungho deepened. That sacred pull, tugging taut through the thread that links you all. The soulbond—fuller now. Almost complete. You’re radiant. Alive. Glowing like something divine.

And they are starving.

Their gazes trail your body like it’s wrapped in silk and sin. Like they could tear it open just to drink what’s inside. Jinu’s jaw tightens. Seoha’s smile is too sharp. Haneul’s fingers twitch like they’re resisting the urge to grab. Hwimori tilts his head, his pupils blown wide, mouth parted in a soft, animalistic sound that borders on a purr.

Seungho releases your hand. He steps back like offering you up. Or daring them. “She’s here,” he says softly. And it’s the end of restraint.

Jinu rises first, slow and deliberate, like a beast uncoiling from a throne. He walks toward you with a look that makes your knees weak—like he’s waited too long, suffered too much. His voice, when he speaks, is low and reverent.

“Our girl.”

The room seems to pulse around you. The bond sings. A note of desire so thick you could drown in it. Seoha grins lazily, eyes burning. “Don’t run now. You won’t make it far.”

“Wouldn’t want to,” you whisper.

Hwimori is beside you in seconds, arms circling your waist from behind, his breath hot on your neck. “You feel it too, don’t you? It’s almost done. Almost whole. We’re almost one.”

You nod, dazed, body humming with the truth of it. Haneul’s knuckles brush your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. His voice is a promise—and a threat. “We’ve been patient.”

Jinu leans in, lips grazing your ear. “No more waiting.”

They crowd closer. No touches yet. Just heat. Just intention. But it’s enough to set you ablaze. You don’t know who moans first—you or one of them. But it echoes. And you realize—

You’re surrounded by five demons. And all of them are about to lose control.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Mwahahahaha!! I think you all know what comes next. ;) I wanted to make Baby's backstory tragic. It fits best with how his character is with you and why he is the way he is. For his name, I decided on Seungho. Seung- “to bear, to inherit” + Ho -“vast, grand, overwhelming” I think it fits best because it reflects someone who carries deep burdens (like obedience, guilt, love). "Seungho" also sounds noble, quiet, and heavy with legacy—just like him, and I think it's perfect for a man who inherited centuries of silence and finally broke for love.

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this chapter! Next one is going to be spicy but it might take a bit more time to write as I don't usually write a lot of smut. I need time to etch the line between love and filth (lol). But thank you for reading as always! Comment, Reblog, and Like if you enjoyed it - I love seeing what you guys think!

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"...it's me you want," you catch Caitlyn say as Vi, as if on cue, finally steps into view. Leaning against the door frame with the same shit-eating grin as before.

"My hero~" Vi swoons playfully.

Caitlyn stutters and stammers, flustered and exasperated but relieved all the same. You would have found the banter between them funny, adorable even, except for the fact that your brain couldn't wrap around the fact that your sister...Vi!...had fallen in with a Piltie. And, to add salt to the wound, said blue-haired Piltie, also happened to be an enforcer! It left a funky aftertaste on your tongue just thinking about it.

"Vi says we can trust you," Ekko interjects, eyes hard and icy as he glares at the woman still seated on the floor.

"You get a pass back topside, that's it. Let's go,"

Ekko stands up from his spot on the door's edge and nods at you, then at Vi, before maneuvering between you and moving back towards the tree. You look towards Caitlyn, letting your eyes roam over her features. You study how her shoulders tensed, her breathing slowed, her eyes twitched, and even how her brows knitted in the middle of her forehead. No blatant deception...at least, not yet. With a huff, you turn to hobble after Ekko.

"Who are you!? " Caitlyn asks, her voice bouncing off the steel wall of the makeshift prison, vibrating and echoing.

You stop, slowly turning slightly. The sun shining against you, casting a shadow of your side profile on the floor, you say, almost in a whisper, "Ironic, isn't it? The same group your people have been hunting for for years now welcomes you into their hideout. You'd be black and blue if the other Firelights had their way. But you got to my sister first. Our leader trusts her more than you..."

Slowly, you shuffle your way toward Ekko, who waits with his hand outstretched, ready to catch you should your knee buckle and you stumble. You smile at him, gently...lovingly, sliding your own into his, letting him guide you to stand beside him. The two other girls moved slowly towards you. Vi kept pace with Caitlyn as she took in her surroundings with awe and wonder. It's not an unusual reaction, but one that is more than welcomed. Everyone who ever stepped foot in the hideout for the first time always had the same look of amazement plastered on their faces. And every time, it never failed to make you proud. Knowing that seven long years of pain, effort, and hard work had paid off with each "woah" that would leave their jaw-dropped mouths.

"It's beautiful..."

"If your people had their way, it'd be a pile of rubble and ash..." Ekko says bitterly.

Your hand gently squeezes his, trying to keep him calm, as the words falling from Caitlyn's lips fuel his anger. Tension begins to rise as he squares his shoulders in rage. But your touch does little to stifle Ekko's furry at Caitlyn's next words.

"That's not possible...you're wrong."

Ekko pulls away from you, marching towards the taller blue-haired woman before him. Ready to butt heads and let fists fly at the sheer bullshit of her words. You try to call his name, but it falls on deaf ears.

"You say that one more time..."

Heat builds as both sides stand their ground. Each glaring at the other before Vi finally steps in between them. Pushing the two a few spaces away from one another. Quickly, you take hold of Ekko by his elbow, pulling him closer towards you. Increasing the distance between the two hot heads. You'd rather avoid a full-on brawl if you can. Being on the ground doesn't allow easy access to a med kit from the infirmary on the third floor of the tree. Looking towards you, Vi sighs your name before turning to Ekko and doing the same. Calling his attention

"Guys...she believes in what she's saying, okay? She's not your enemy," Vi says defensively.

"Oh, yeah?" Ekko scoffs, "Then what's this?"

From the glass canister hanging on his waist by the sling over his shoulder, he pulled out a beautiful blue orb no bigger than the average marble. It was strange-looking, yet it felt ethereal. It glowed this beautiful hue of blue as streaks of glittering lights swirled within like a galaxy of stars. You've never seen the likes of it before, never even heard of it. And, judging by the expression on Ekko's face, neither has he. Shuffling closer, you press against his back as you peer over his shoulder with curious eyes. Watching, mesmerized as the orb shimmered where the sun's rays would refract from its smooth, round surface as Ekko rolled it between his gloved fingertips. However, you were roughly jostled out of your reverie as Ekko recoiled, almost accidentally elbowing you in the process, from something Caitly said that you failed to catch.

"What is it?" you and your sister ask in unison, albeit with varying tones and intentions. While yours was asked more out of curiosity, Vi was her usual aggressive self. Almost angrily demanding an explanation.

"It's a gemstone...it was stolen during the attack...by your sister," Caitlyn explains delicately. Quite hesitantly. An understandable approach, considering Vi's very pissed-off rebuke.

"You just forgot to mention that?!"

Jinx...

That was twice now that you've heard of her in one day. And from two separate people from two opposing ends. Something big had to be happening. You hadn't the slightest idea what, but with her, it could be anything. And anything with Jinx was always spelled with trouble...the messy kind of trouble.

"With this, someone with the right knowledge could build any hextech device," Caitlyn continues, "If the enforcers are becoming more aggressive...that's why,"

...hextech...

If this small stone is the key to building hextech, it may be your ticket to saving lives. Saving the hideout, the Lanes, Zaun! If Ekko could find a way to manipulate it, use it...

...we could beat Silco with this...

You thought to yourself...or at least...you thought that you did. Apparently not, though, as all faces turn to you. Ekko, especially, nodded in agreement. Apparently, you said that out loud and maybe a bit too loud.

"That won't solve things," Caitlyn replies to you somberly.

"That's easy for you to say..." You grumble, "You aren't the one with blood on your hands...watching it drip down your fingers as people you promised you'd save die all around you!"

"Look, it's wrong what's been done to you..." Caitlyn says, "You'd be within your rights to keep it. I couldn't blame you. But...if you do, this cycle of violence will never stop."

She speaks of "setting the record straight", Zaun needing "healing", and how she just so happens to have a friend on the council who would "listen". The same sob stories you'd heard before. The same exact words that people would throw around like a ball in a game of catch. Toying with you, who worked hard to make these words a reality. The only difference now was the leverage Ekko held in his fingertips. The gemstone...hextech...maybe...just maybe...they'll finally listen. They'll finally see reason, the truth, and put a stop to all the shit that Zaun and its people were left to deal with on their own. Beside you, you catch Ekko giving you a sideways glance. A familiar expression, one that you have come to know very well. He's made up his mind.

"One condition. I'm the one who gives it to them," He says resolutely.

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed chapter 2!!

"Where have you been all these years?" you ask, voice still trembling with emotion as your thumb traces over the tattoo on her cheekbone.

"I was... I was in Stillwater... But that doesn't matter! All that matters is that I'm here now." Vi says, head tilting lovingly into your touch.

"You were in Stillwater? All this time? Why?! H-how did you get out?"

"... someone... got me out,"

"It's the enforcer, isn't it?" Ekko says suddenly.

Having stood quietly from the side and letting you two sisters have your moment, a reunion long since overdue. Having watched with a soft chuckle as you bawled your eyes out and wet snot dripped down your chin. But now he stood with his stance firm and stiff. Arms crossed against his chest as the steel mask of a leader clicked into place on his handsome face.

"...an enforcer?" You gasp, involuntarily stepping away from your sister's embrace.

Your body physically recoiled from Vi, like her touch shimmered itself. Vi whispers your name, hurt flashing across her face at your visceral reaction.

But she didn't understand. She didn't know. The blood that painted your hands red and the disgusting sticky feeling that came with it from all the people who bled at your doorstep. People whose lives you so desperately tried to save as they lay dying. Beaten half to death by fucking enforcers. Some of them were sanctioned by Piltover, while others were greedy fuckers with pockets heavy with Silco's coin. And they said fissure folk were the shitty ones.

She doesn't know...

You tried to reason with yourself. But feelings of disgust and betrayal filled you faster than you could stop them. You take another step back, moving in line with Ekko. Gone was the love, replaced by suspicion and mistrust. The man beside you bumps his shoulder against yours, pulling your attention. You look at each other in silent conversation. He tilts his head in a gesture to somewhere, yet nowhere in particular. The movement you follow with a flick of your eyes, immediately knowing the message behind it. An understanding passed between you two confirmed with a nod.

"There's something we gotta show you," Ekko says to Vi before moving to lead the way.

You hobble after him silently, your cane thumping against the wooden floor, ignoring the confusion splayed on Vi's face. Seeing that none of you two were planning to explain anything further, she rushes to follow after. Opting to lag a bit ways behind. Taking in the view around her. A view so different than what you'd usually expect from Zaun. The sun bathed the base with a beautiful, bright glow. Its warmth touching the skin of her cheek as it peaked through the leaves. Children laughed and played, chasing after one another beneath the shade of firelight leaves. People walked and talked about, free from worry and strife. It was beautiful. Amazing what the group has accomplished in seven years. A small hidden reprieve from the chaos of the Lanes.

At the last set of stairs down the tree, steeper and more uneven than the rest, Ekko offers his elbow to you like clockwork. Carefully, you clamber down the steep stairs. Hand gripping tightly onto Ekko's forearm as your weak knee wobbled with every step. Vi rushes to hold onto you, hand about to reach for your other arm, when Ekko stops her with a chuckle.

"She'll smack you if you do that. And besides," he says, eyes looking towards you. Lovingly... longingly. A gaze much unbeknownst to you as you grunted at the feel of uncomfortable pressure straining against your knee at each step.

"She's doing great,"

"Damn right. My knee won't get stronger being babied," you hiss, taking another shaky step down onto the floor.

Finally...

You breathe a sigh of relief at the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet that doesn't quake or buckle at the slightest tremble of your knee.

Ekko really needs to fix these last few steps...

They wobbled too much for your liking. And they creaked in weird places that always made you antsy. Yep, he definitely needs to fix these. The man in question has stopped beside you, arm still outstretched, waiting as you find your bearings.

"You alright?" He whispers.

"Yeah, thank you for being such an excellent handrail." You whisper teasingly, giving his arm a playful pinch before letting go.

Ekko chuckles, shaking his head as he trudges forward a few paces before stopping. You follow, hobbling to a stop beside him. Eyes forward, looking at the slab of wall that makes up a part of the tree. A mural. A place of homage. A reminder of what you've all had to sacrifice.

"This is everyone that we've lost..." Ekko says, his voice somber as he looks at the colorful, familiar faces on the wall. Faces of loved ones, faces of lost ones... lost... but never forgotten.

"The price of our freedom..." you sigh.

"Some of it was enforcers... most was Silco."

Ekko wraps a pinky around yours. For comfort, you reckoned. But you weren't sure if he meant for you or for himself.

"Your sister works for him not because she has to but because she wants to."

Vi looks away. Expression torn, hurt. And your heart ached for her.

"I see you've found Jinx,"

"Her name is Powder... You're her sister! How can you call her that?"

"She hasn't been Powder in a long time, Vi,"

"So? Are you gonna ask me to leave her?! Is that what you did?!”

In a rush of fury, she lunges at you, hands grabbing onto the lapels of your coat, pulling you roughly towards her. Knuckles holding tight as you watched them turn white. Vi locked eyes with yours. A fire blazing hot behind those baby blues. But they did not burn you. Tone, cold as ice, you spit your next words, sharp like a knife. Meant to cut, meant to bleed.

"I... wasn't the one who left."

Vi breathes a heavy sigh like a fire doused with a bucket of cold water. Gently releasing you before stepping away, hiding her face behind the length of her hair. Ekko steps behind you as you stumble, steadying you. Eyes roaming over yours in worry, only calming once you gave him a nod.

You were alright...

"Look, Vi, I don't blame you for being gone. But you were gone for so long... things have changed. We, have changed,"

You step towards her, hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing it.

"Besides, we still have that... enforcer... friend of yours."

"Seems like I just keep making you mad today,"

"I remember it being... a unique talent of yours,"

Vi breathes an airy chuckle, turning to face you. Looking at you, like seeing you for the first time. You used to be so small, so frail. Someone she needed to protect. Like Powder... But now, look at you... You still limped, yes, but you stood tall. Eyes sharp, hands strong and steady. And you didn't take shit from anyone. You really grew up without her.

Turning towards Ekko, Vi says, "Her name is Caitlyn. She's after Silco. It's why she got me out in the first place. You can trust her. I promise."

You and Ekko give each other a look. Another silent conversation ensues. He nods, and you nod back.

"Alright, come on," he says before moving forward. You trailing behind him.

You both lead Vi through a tunnel-like vent in the wall, an exhaust pipe opening large enough for people to pass through. There, you find two boys, Mach and Tun, playing around. Pulling at their cheeks, making funny faces, and challenging the other to hold their laugh the longest. The same two boys who were supposed to be watching over the makeshift prison cell.

"Hey! How's our guest?" Ekko says, greeting the boys who squealed in excitement at the sight of him.

They scream his name happily as they run around him in excited circles before jumping towards you, pulling at the hem of your shirt, almost making you stumble.

"She's loud,"

"She shouts a lot,"

The two boys giggle in unison.

"Alright, you two, let's get her outta there," Ekko says, chuckling as the boys give a resounding "Yessir!".

Pulling down their masks, they race for the keys hanging on a hook beside the door. Pushing and shoving each other for it before Tun finally gets a hold of them with a triumphant "Yes!". Slotting the key into the lock, the gears turn and unlock with a click as the door swings open with a loud squeak. Inside, handcuffed to a statue in the center of the room, was a girl with a sack still tied around her head. Her identity may be hidden, but her role is betrayed by the golden edges of her uniform. Hidden by whatever she wore on top, it glinted where the light would hit. Shining despite the darkness of the room.

She grunted as she fought against her restraints, wiggling about and head snapping to the sound of something swinging open somewhere she couldn't see. To Tun's annoyance, Mach successfully grabs the keys from his hands and runs into the room, undoing the cuffs before pulling the sack off her head. Eyes blinking at the sudden glare, her hazy vision lands on the hand in front of her. A hand fully intending to help her up. The moment her eyes cleared, she slaps the offending appendage away. Mach gasps at the impact, moving away towards you and Ekko by the door. The woman's eyes follow the movement. Her sharp eyebrows pinched as her deep blue eyes narrowed, she glared at the two of you with all the anger she could muster.

"What have you done with Vi?"

... this is Caitlyn?

Also, thank you to those who thought chapter 1 was worth reading!!

@silas-222

Mona ignores her sister's annoyance, “didn't you hear what I said? Santa's ‘ere! At our house!” She whisper yells again, this time loud enough for whoever's downstairs to pause their movements. Her eyes widened, hands covering her mouth to tamp down her excitement. “We should stay quiet—”

“Santa's ‘ere!” Billie is quieted once again by Mona's hands.

After waiting for a minute, the girls slowly and silently go outside of their room, matching holiday socks softly walking across the polished floorboards. Their pajamas are also on theme, with Mona opting for a pink sugar plum fairy matching set, and Billie wearing the classic Santa Clause set. Both that you've lovingly made for them. They're clearly excited, especially when it comes to the big bearded man in red. Billie more especially, after you and Hobie brought them to a local mall to see Santa and for them to give them their wishlist, she's been raving about wanting to stay up to catch him in the act. But after watching home alone and having a belly full of warm milk, she went out like a light. Mona on the other hand wants to see him eat the cookies you two prepared for Santa. It's her favourite, chocolate chips with marshmallows. She's hoping that the big man would like it, especially that she gave him the batch from her personal stash.

As they walk out of the hallway and into the floors of the second floor landing, they start to crawl once they see shadows dance along the walls of the living room. The tree that the four of you lovingly put up and decorated are twinkling with the holiday lights, reds, greens and yellows blinking in and out of the room.

“Do you think they'll like it?” They hear your familiar voice, whispering downstairs.

The girls make it to the stairs that overlook the living room, they make themselves smaller by lying prone on the cold floor, tiny hands grasping at the bannisters. Their eyes widen at the sight of who you are talking to.

Right next to you is the man of the hour himself, dressed in red with a giant sack of presents right next to him. He's taller than they've expected, and slimmer. Maybe Santa's cutting back on the cookies.

Billie grabs Mona's shoulder, shaking her excitedly. They wordlessly communicate through looks, based on their happy expressions, they feel like the luckiest kids in the world. They continue to watch Santa work his magic as he places wrapped presents underneath the tree with their names written on them.

“I know they'll love ‘em. ‘sides, Mona's been askin’ for it since July.” Santa replies to you, brown eyes shining in the string lights. His eyes seem to smile at you sitting in the corner of the room, hand occupied with a warm cup of eggnog. The bottom half of Santa's face is obscured by his big white beard, but he's clearly smiling softly at you. “And Bee always wanted that moon lamp ever since she saw Gwen's.”

Beaming at jolly Nick, you leave your cup on the coffee table to walk over to him. “I know, but what if they suddenly don't want those anymore.”

Santa stretches his hand out to you, beckoning you closer as he abandons the sack of presents on the floor. “Love,” love? The girls look at eachother with furrowed brows. Only their dad calls you that, and maybe occasionally that one shop owner downtown that you always buy fabrics from. “Y’know the girls would still be happy even if we gave them a potato each.”

You come to his side without saying anything about the close proximity to the actual Santa. The girls narrow their eyes at Santa's glove hand splayed across the small of your back, thumb rubbing gently across your soft pajama shirt. Only their dad gets to hold you like that.

Chuckling, you move to half hug him, arm wrapped around his back while you place your chin atop the soft red jacket. “Why a potato?”

“Because they go wild for chips.” He looks at you through gentle eyes, nudging his forehead on top of your own, the faux fur of his hat is soft against your skin.

“That's true, maybe we should've gotten them a whole sack of potatoes instead.” Your grin has the girls worried, especially when you move closer to him that the girls would know that it would have their dad burst into tears if they ever saw the scene in front of him.

“That's why ‘m santa, lovie.”

“Mm-hmm,” now you fully embrace him. The girls share a heavy look. “Why are you in full get up again? They won't be able to see you in this, not while they're snoring away all the cookies they had.”

“I know,” he shrugs, “what if they wake up, it'll be a nice memory for ‘em.” His arm squeezes you, hand dangerously close to your behind. The twins are both pissed, standing up from their place atop the stairs. “Or, ‘m all dressed up for you, love.” Santa winks at you, and you giggle in his arms. “Give big red a kiss, yeah?” As he leans in, the twins run downstairs swiftly, yelling and screaming at him to let their mum go.

“What— girls!” You move away, arms trying to block their attacks from hitting Santa.

“Not our mum!” Billie makes it to him first, clinging herself on his leg, trying to bite him through his red pants.

“We trusted you, Santa!” Mona leaps to punch at his stomach, earning a pained groan from the bearded man.

“Mona, no!” You grab her by the armpits as she continues to flail around, trying to get another hit. Good thing you’ve gotten to her before she aimed at his crotch. “Baby, no, that's—!” You contemplate telling them the truth, but Hobie's subtle head shake has you clamping down and embracing Mona.

“Ow, fuc–fudge!” Hobie hops around the room, trying to wiggle free of Billie, who's still clutching at his leg. “Billie, stop!” The one time that his spidey senses failed him.

“I don't care if ‘m on the naughty list! You tried to kiss our mum!” She chomps down on his leg, and he yelps when her baby teeth sink into the fabric and into his leg.

Hobie has no choice but to grab Billie the same way you did with Mona. He holds her in front of him, an arm's length away, still trying to take a chunk out of him. He feels like he ruined the magic of Santa for them. Not to mention the song.

“Stop–!” Hobie holds out his hand to her to tell her that he means no harm, but she tries to bite at his finger. “Billie—!”

“Daddy!” Ramona screams out, voice echoing and rumbling the house. “Daddy, there's an– an impruder!”

You would've chuckled at her fumbled pronunciation of intruder and told her the right way to say it, but when she's on the verge of tears; the both of them are, you have to think of a solution.

“Daddy!” Billie joins in, now fully sobbing. “H–He kissed mummy!”

“I haven't! Not yet!” Hobie tries to defend himself, or Santa for that matter. But it makes the whole thing so much worse when Billie wiggles herself out of his grasp to run towards yours and Hobie's bedroom while crying for him. “Shi—!”

You meet with his eyes while embracing a crying Mona. Mouthing a ‘Go!’ He immediately knows what you're up to. Your synergy levels with him are off the charts.

He leaves through the window, snow crunching underneath him and almost freezing him in the spot. He slowly rips off the Santa outfit one by one whilst he makes his way towards the back of the house. Shedding the beard and tossing it haphazardly in the backyard, he crawls on the wall, finally making it to the bedroom window just as when Billie opens the door with a loud creak.

Feigning naiveté, he acts shocked at her weeping as he opens his arms to her. “What happened?” She sobs on his sleep shirt, drenching it with tears. As Hobie pats her back, he realises that he's still wearing the gloves which he promptly throws away and under the bed before she could see it. “C’mon, mac, tell dad.” He cups her wet cheeks, trying to calm his little girl down.

“I saw mummy kissing Santa Claus!”

Hearing Mona's cry in the doorway with you carrying her, he knows that you two have a long night ahead of you.

—

“Are you sure you want to change pajamas, Billie? You said it's your favourite. The red suits you—” You try to placate her with a plate of chocolate pancakes.

“Yes.” She says so surely with her arms crossed over her chest, still fuming. “I hate Santa.”

Hobie's sitting right next to Mona, hand rubbing along her back whilst she stares angrily at the empty plate of cookies she left for Santa sitting on the counter. “Me too.” She huffs, stabbing her pancakes with a fork.

You share a look with Hobie, hoping that he has any idea how to calm them down. Hugging Billie seems to tamp down her anger, but she still looks at you with furrowed brows after you've apologized profusely.

“Why did you kiss, Santa?” She asked a few hours ago, stomping her little foot down on your bedroom floor, while her sister followed her lead.

“I didn't!” You stared at Hobie right next to you on the bed, looking like he's about to burst into laughter but is keeping it in. “And I wasn't gonna!”

After that whole ordeal, they seem to simmer down to a silent anger that still reverberates through the house. Maybe opening the presents earlier would make them forget it and make them smile.

“We should make signs, Bee! Like what dad makes so Santa knows not to come back ‘ere!” Mona lights up, you finally got a smile out of her.

“That's brilliant!” Hobie plays along, and Billie agrees with rapid nodding that you had to stop with your hand on her forehead before she breaks something. “I'll get my supplies, you two go finish your pancakes, yeah?” Just as he says it, they scarf down the pancakes, prompting Hobie to grab your hand and speed walk away from the kitchen.

Once the two of you are out of earshot and their sights, he corners you against a wall, hands cradling your cheeks, and sighing as he relaxes atop you.

You laugh against his hair, pressing lazy kisses on his hairline. “Don't forget to grab the outfit outside, Hobie. I made that to tailor you and you only.”

He lifts his head up from your chest, cheeks puffed out from sleepiness. Blowing out air, you giggle at him as he flutters your lashes. “I know, love.” His eyes roam all over your face, looking at every curve and dip until he stops at your lips. “I still haven't gotten my answer.”

“Or what? You'll put me on the naughty list?”

Hobie leans closer, lips brushing along your waiting lips. “Lovie, you're on my list every year.”

“I hope I'm the only one on it.” You say, wordlessly inviting him for a kiss by pecking his jaw softly.

“You and you only.” With a chuckle atop your lips, he kisses you under the mistletoe he subtly put up with the sole purpose of kissing you underneath it.

Nothing really kept you from just going to bed. It was late - much later than you were used to staying up, anyway - and you had finished your studying for the day. Usually, you’d put on your fluffy pajamas right about now and pass out in your comfy bed, dreaming of future goals and some stupid things that’d sneak their way into your slumber. However, today was not a usual day, in the sense of you having one last thing to do: annoy Viktor. Well, at least that’s what you would probably end up doing, even though that absolutely was not your goal. You wanted the complete opposite, actually. 

You had gotten to know the scientist a few weeks back after both of you had visited a seminar - well, you had been forced by a friend because they hadn’t wanted to go alone, while Viktor had been there on his own accord. It had been a little silly really, you had kept whispering questions to your friend so you could understand whatever the professor was yapping on about and Viktor had gotten visibly annoyed. He had passed you a note after a while, telling you to be quiet or leave. You had wanted to sink into your seat and perish, sending the note back with a long message about how sorry you were. Apparently, that had caught his attention, because he approached you after the seminar, asking about your reason to come if you couldn’t understand the simple basics of it. For a moment you had thought he was making fun of you, but when he asked if you had at least found it interesting, you realised that was just the way he was. 

Somehow, a friendship had formed from that small conversation. Funnily enough, you kept running into Viktor in the halls, striking small conversations with him every now and then, before going about your day. You had started wondering about him at some point, always something along the lines of what he actually did at the academy. He certainly didn’t act like any of the other students, and you had never seen him at another seminar since then. The only facts you knew was that his name was Viktor, that he needed a cane and that he could absolutely destroy anyone with words alone - you had noticed when someone made fun of him for talking to you. 

It’d be an understatement to say that you simply liked Viktor. He was nice to you, different from the other students, like he was actually being serious and not just putting up an appearance. You quite liked his accent too, it somehow lulled you to be calm whenever he spoke - even when he was a little annoyed at you (which happened surprisingly often nowadays, though you knew it was all good on Viktors part). You couldn’t even get started on his appearance, he just looked too ethereal to even be real. 

In short, you were absolutely whipped for Viktor.  

Who could really blame you, with all those reasons to love him? And in your defence, Viktor seemed to quite like your company as well. He had invited you to the lab, after all - which is why you were in this situation in the first place. You could’ve denied the offer, but the thought of meeting Viktor in his lab late at night, all alone, made your brain go haywire and your heart immediately said yes without a second thought. In the end though, you stood right here, in front of his lab, too nervous to go in. What if you said something stupid? What if he secretly hated you and only asked you to come because he wanted to ridicule you? 

You were definitely lost deep in thought for a while, hand raised to knock at the tall doors to the lab, until someone emerged from them, running right into you. “Oh! I'm so sorry, are you alright?” The man asked after having taken a step back. You had seen him before, in the academy, though the two of you had never spoken to each other. You knew his name from your friend - they apparently had had some classes together a few times. “I'm fine. I should be the one who's sorry..” you chuckled awkwardly as you averted your gaze. “I was in your way, sorry.” You then add, smiling up at the other apologetically. “Oh, don't worry about it. I'm Jayce, Jayce Talis. Don't think I've seen you around before?” He chuckles, extending his hand towards you. You shake it, telling him your name in return. “I've just… Well, Viktor invited me, actually..” You speak, unsure if Viktor wanted to let Jayce know that. Maybe this was supposed to be secret? Maybe he'd be ashamed of meeting with you? You quickly shake the thought from your head as Jayce grins down at you. “Well, I'll leave you two to it, then. Have a Good night!” There's something in his eyes that makes you question if you should actually stay, but he holds the lab door open for you, so you just slip past him quickly. 

The inside of the lab was surprisingly dark, only a few lights flickering here and there. One prominent one shone onto Viktor, who was evidently engaged in his work. You stepped over silently, not wanting to disturb him, looking over his shoulder to watch. You understood little of his notes and the small device he was tinkering with, but you liked to see the way his fingers carefully worked, cradling the device with such care that you wished you were in its place instead. “Are you going to say hello or just stand there?” Viktor suddenly hums, and you almost yelp at being caught off guard. “I… I hadn't thought that you noticed me.” You mumble, once again feeling awkward. “I heard your conversation with Jayce.” The other responds, glancing over at you for a moment. “There's chairs over there, if you'd like to sit.” the brown haired then added, quickly pointing towards a small stack of chairs before continuing his work. You trot over there, feeling out of place as you pick one up and carry it beside Viktor. Not too close - as much as you wanted that, you'd probably die of embarrassment. Or worse, Viktor would tell you to back off. You sat down silently, hands in your lap because you didn't know where else to put them. “.. What're you working on?” You question, hoping it wouldn't pull Viktor out of the clear state of focus he was in. “Just some small thing… It'll be part of a bigger project.” He answers. “It's..  a personal project so I don't work on it when Jayce is in the lab.” He adds, looking over at you for a moment.

Your heart jumps a little - he's working on a personal project that he doesn't even show Jayce while you're there. You tell yourself to get your shit together immediately, though. Viktor probably just thinks that you won't snitch on him. “It's actually why I asked you to come here… I'm not good with.. aesthetics, as you'd say, so I was wondering if you could.. make this look more friendly.” He mutters, pushing his notebook towards you. A simple sketch of what seemed to be a robot was lazily thrown onto the page, all kinds of little bits of information written around it. “Blitzcrank..?” You read, looking up at Viktor in question. “The name is uh.. work in progress.” He answers, actually seeming kind of bashful about it. “It's cute. I like it.” You hum, looking closer at the sketch. “Make them look more friendly, huh?” You sigh before looking for a pencil, mumbling a soft thanks when Viktor hands you one. “They're supposed to be for Zaun. Help out and such.” Viktor explains. “I do not want kids to be scared of them.” You find it kind of endearing, really. You’ve known that Viktor is from Zaun himself, it's never made a difference to you, but that he actually wants to help his people in his own way was… cute. “Well, I don't know much about functionality, but going off of your sketch..” you hum, grabbing a piece of blank paper (you prayed that there wasn't any useful stuff on the other side) and made your own little sketch, tweaking Viktors design here and there. “I think this could work. Give them some light colours and they should be fine. Like yellow or something.” You speak, sliding your sketch back over to Viktor alongside his notebook. The other nods, taking a look at your design. “.. yes, this should be fine.” He smiles softly, quickly noting ‘Blitzcrank Design 2’ over your sketch, alongside your name. “You like it?” You ask, feeling a little insecure.

You've never been really proud of any of your work - art has always been more of a silly hobby than something you could be great in.

Viktor hums, nodding slightly as he stashes the paper among the rest of his notes. “I do. Besides, your art is above my potential, I could have never done something like this.” He answers, running a hand through his already messy hair. You get the sudden urge to fix it up, already raising your hand before catching yourself again. You shouldn’t act on a whim with Viktor, he was always so calm and collected, surely he would appreciate it if you were as well. “Is there something on my face?” Viktor sighs, glancing over at you with the softest hint of a grin. “Ah- No. Sorry.” You laugh awkwardly as you quickly rest your hand back in your lap. “I just.. your.. Well, your hair is messy.” You add, pointing at the soft strands - at least you thought they’d be soft, his hair always looked like he took particular care of it. “Fix it up, then. That’s what you wanted, yes?” Viktor chuckles, leaning his head towards you slightly. His words alone make you freeze up, completely caught in shock. It takes you a moment or two before you slowly raise your hand again, carefully carding your fingers through the scientist's hair - it was soft, you noted while fixing up each and every strand. You took your time, wanting to cherish the simple moment while it lasted. God knows Viktor probably would never offer physical closeness like this again. For a while you even considered just not pulling away, especially when Viktor sighed as you softly dragged your fingers over his scalp. Viktor actually leans into your touch, humming softly as you gently massage him, your face flushes at the intimacy of the moment. You have to awkwardly clear your throat so you can get yourself together and pull away, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Viktors cheeks had gotten a bit of colour as well. You brush it off, figuring that it was just the lighting. 

The rest of the evening goes by easily, a little small talk as you watch Viktor work, plus he tells you more about his ‘Blitzcrank’ project. It’s nice, really, getting to spend time with him so easily. You liked it, the atmosphere of the lab was surprisingly calming, even though small beeps and cracks from other experiments still startled you from time to time. Viktor didn’t seem to notice, too focused on whatever he was doing - honestly, his focused face was kind of cute… You had to keep yourself from staring multiple times, which definitely made you glad that Viktor was in his own little zone. 

Still, the night had to come to an end - at least for you. Viktor said he’d stay up a little longer, wishing you a good night as you left the lab, a giddy feeling in your stomach as you did. You hoped Viktor had liked it as much as you did, nothing would make you feel worse than if you had completely annoyed him the whole time. 

Luckily, your hopes came real when Viktor asked you to join him in the lab once again a few days later. Jayce would be there, but you seriously didn't care. Nothing mattered when you could spend more of your time with the most interesting person on the planet - you were seriously gone, you actually found yourself daydreaming about Viktor during your classes. It had become awful, you had actually been caught by your Professors multiple times and had been ridiculed for not being mentally present. It was hard to care, though, when the small Viktor in your mind was holding onto your hand and telling you how he'd like to spend the evening with you. 

You found yourself making your way to Viktor's lab once more, a little jump in your step as you hum a soft tune. Nothing could stop you from being absolutely delighted at the premise of getting to watch Viktor work once again. His skilled fingers carefully tending to small devices, his eyes completely focused… Oh you absolutely would go to hell for your thoughts. This time, you didn't wait before slowly pushing the door open, though you did stop in your tracks when Jayce, once again, stood directly in front of you. “Ah! There you are. I thought you'd be too scared to get inside again.” The man grins, though the tease is half hearted. You stumble around your words awkwardly for a second, before Viktors huff saves you. “Leave it, Jayce, we both know you're a lost puppy whenever you get to a new place.” Your saviour hums, and you can't help but chuckle slightly, cheeks already the softest hint of red as you ignore Jayce - who actually pouts as you don't answer his next question - and step towards Viktor. “Hi.” You grin, looking down at what the other was scribbling down. “Hello.” Viktor answers, giving you a small smile. You sit down beside him again - surprisingly, your chair from last time is still there. You wonder if it's just by chance or if Viktor actually left it there for you. “Lovebirds.” Jayce chuckles, earning a soft glare from Viktor. For a second it looks like he's also contemplating throwing a pencil after the other, he decides against it, though. “You are just mad that you cannot land a date, Jayce.” He scowls instead, and it genuinely makes your heart burst. Was this a date? Is this what is Viktors definition of a date is? Was the last meeting a date? Your brain rushed with thoughts and feelings at Viktors simple words, and the lab filled with silence. You noticed that none of the sounds you had perceived the first time were there now - those experiments were probably finished. “...you two don't have to keep back for my sake-” Jayce suddenly says, which now actually earns him a lazily thrown pencil. “Jayce, how about you take a little walk?” Viktor grumbles, his accent a little heavier than usually. “You're no fun.” Jayce sighs, but he actually gathers his stuff and leaves the lab. “... is this a date?” You can't help but ask as soon as the door falls closed. Viktor freezes for a moment, setting his work aside to properly look at you. “I… Well… Yes. I figured you knew that?” He admitted, he actually looked bashful about it. “Was that… not clear?” He then asked, running a hand through his hair. “Viktor, you asked me to spend time with you in your lab.” You answered matter of factly. “Yes, I indeed did that.” “Do you not see the issue?” Viktor thinks for a moment at your question. “Should I have asked you to go out with me? I never quite allow anyone in here - well, Jayce has a mind of his own with visitors…” He mutters. You chuckle slightly at the look on his face - for someone so smart he wasn't being much of a genius right now. “Well, anything would've been better if you had wanted to bring across that this was a date.” You sigh, rubbing your temple slightly as your cheeks flush a heavy red. “I mean, I didn't… I didn't know you thought of it this way…” You add, looking up at Viktor nervously. “... I thought you would know. I had been quite open about my interest in you-” He starts, clearing his throat slightly. “... have I not been?” You shake your head softly. “Not open enough that I noticed. But, for the record, I.. really like that this is a date. And I like that the last one was a date.” You admit, sheepishly resting your hand on his. You almost burst into a fit of nervous laughter when he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Then, am I right to assume that you would like to.. spend more time in the lab with me?” He questions, a small smile on his lips as he looks at you. “Gladly.” You respond, smiling back at him happily. 

Silent tears seemed to flow endlessly down your cheeks as you wandered through the hallways of the Academy, and yet you felt numb, cold like you were already long dead and didn’t know it just yet as even your fingers felt cold to the touch, but you didn’t know whether that was from the biting cold wind or something else entirely. You didn’t care either as your reason for caring and for loving every aspect of life was taken away from you, taking your beating heart with him as he did and you didn’t know whether to hate him or love him even harder for giving you the best moments of your life, memories that seemed to all play out before you as you entered the now empty laboratory.

You could still hear the laughter and the scolding echo as though the walls with complex equations scrawled upon them had harboured the essence of the people who once worked diligently to the point of physical exhaustion. Your throat clenched again you delved deeper into the lab with one place in mind like you were being pulled towards it by an unseen force; Viktor’s workbench that had now upon closer inspection had a fine layer of dust settling over it, something he would’ve never let happen despite the tendency to leave his things scattered everywhere he pleased but still become cutely annoyed when he couldn’t find them.

However there seemed to be one thing that the dust refused to touch, a broach. Your brows furrowed as you looked at it confused, what was a broach doing in a place like this? It looked like it was made a while back but yet had a polish to it that made it seemed like it was made only recently. You knew Viktor didn’t wear broaches so seeing such an item on his workbench specifically was leaving you more questions then answers, questions that were soon answered when you noticed a small note underneath it, scrawled with Viktor’s usual chicken scratch writing;

‘For my dearest muse, for I will always be with you, always - Viktor.’

You clutched the cane tighter now as the pain within your chest almost made you collapse on the floor. This broach was for you. Viktor made it for you and never had the chance to give it to you, or perhaps he was waiting for the right moment to do so, but fate decided to be cruel and change the trajectory of your life for the worst; the common con when you happened to fall in love with a scientist determined to make a change. You sighed unevenly as you reach for the broach, your fingers closing over the cold metal of it while gingerly lifting it off the workbench, holding it up to your face so that you could take in the details of Viktor’s most beautiful creation.

The broach had a decent weight to it, not too light where you could easily crush it within your hand, but not too hard where it was proven difficult in your hand for prolonged periods of time. It was beautifully done as on the front of the broach was a an intricate design of a mechanical Blue Jay bird. You ran your thumb across the bird to feel the engravings that made it beneath your finger tips. The bird began to glow a vibrant blue, making you jolt a little, and the broach opened up to show it’s insides to you as a soft melody began to play from some hidden component within the broach.

The moment the first notes of the soft melody hits your ears the tears that had stilled in you moment of curiosity began to fall once more, this was the song that you had told Viktor once upon a time ago was your favourite, and so for him to make you this broach with your favourite bird on the front and your beloved song on the inside, you’ve never felt more loved by a man such as him. Yet you couldn’t run to him and kiss him senseless, not anymore, which made the broach itself a reminder that even if he was long gone you were the last thing on his mind.

‘Oh Viktor.’ Your voice came out weak as a sob broke from your lips as memories resurfaced as the melody continued its tune just for you.

…

‘Viktor!’ You burst in the lab, making him jolt as he looked over at you with what he wanted to be conveyed as annoyance but came across as a cute pout in your eyes.

‘My dear how often must I tell you not to burst in here so abruptly and without warning, what if something went wrong and you had gotten hurt.’ Viktor scolds as you merely shrug and moved over to his side to look over his shoulder, trying to see what he was working on, only for him to move it slightly away from your line of sight.

‘We’re both alive aren’t we?’ You said sarcastically and Viktor sighs as a small smile graced his lips as his amber eyes looked back at you with the warmth you always use to being greeted with. ‘You truly fear nothing my love but the next time you pull sometime like that you’re banned from entering the lab for the rest of the week.’ He says warningly as he points his wielding tool at you to emphasise his point.

You leaned over to kiss his forehead. ‘Duly noted my love but can I see what you’re working on? Or is it a secret for me to find later?’ You then ask as you once again tried to see what he was making, and once again Viktor move it away from your curious eyes, making you pout once more as you looked at him pleadingly.

Viktor sighs, your curiosity was never ending and while he would indulge you on his creations, he couldn’t do so for this one. This broach was his most ambitious project thus far and it was a project he has dedicated to you a long time ago the moment you both sat at the docks, hearing a harmonious melody within the wind as you admitted that it was your favourite.

It was that moment where Viktor decided to make something that you could keep on your being forever and thus project blue jay broach was underway. He was halfway done with it, all he had to do was finished wielding some components on the inside that would play the melody the moment the broach was opened, then he would move onto engraving the blue jay on the front as a final touch to a months long work in progress. ‘Practice your patience and you shall find out what it is soon enough my muse.’ He says softly as he kisses the back of your hand.

‘Alright keeps your secrets, I’ll find out sooner or later.’ You said as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Viktor raised a playful brow. ‘Is that a threat or a promise my muse?’ He asks.

You shrugged your shoulders. ‘Why not both.’ You said and Viktor laughs which makes you smile in response, feeling your chest warm as you looked at him, vowing to treasure this beautiful man for the rest of your life.

…

‘I know it’s not much but I wanted to make you something…I know it’s not the best but-‘

‘I love it my muse.’ Viktor starts as he takes the gift off of your hand, cradling it within his own as he looked over the amateur wielding and more so at the love and effort you’ve put into making this just for him.

You looked between him and the bird that you’ve made for him on a whim one day, wanting to repay him for loving you as he did in a way he’d recognise, even if you weren’t familiar with it you’d give it a try just to see him smile that gorgeous smile of his that made his amber eyes seem to brighten.

‘Really? You mean that?’ You asked and Viktor brushed his hand against your arm softly, stopping to hold your hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

‘Unequivocally my love. It possess a uniqueness that is undoubtedly yours and yours alone.’ He replies while pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

‘That’s a poetic way of saying that it’s made by an amateur who can barely wield shit without almost hurting themselves.’ You muttered under your breath as you rested your head against his shoulder. Viktor chuckles as he puts aside the mechanical bird on his workbench in order to hold you against him as he rests his head atop of yours.

‘If it’s any consolation it’s a well made creation for an amateur wielder.’ He says, smiling to himself when he hears you muffled groan. He wishes to stay like this forever if he could, just have you in his arms for all of eternity until that eternity fades to nothing, and it was just you two locked in the moment in the blanket of never ending darkness.

‘I hate you.’ You say.

‘I love you too my muse.’ Viktor replies as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

…

‘Viktor?’ You asked.

‘Yes my love?’ He replies, looking at you.

‘Do you think we’re together in every universe?’ You then looked at him, finding him more beautiful than any star that hung in the sky before you.

Viktor makes a face full of thought before letting his hand find yours, squeezing it as he presses a kiss to the back of it. ‘Of course my love, for what would I be without you to be my muse, my confidant and my anchor.’ His face then becomes one of seriousness as he leans so that his forehead touches yours. ‘Do you believe that we’re together in every universe?’

‘Without a doubt.’ You answered back, kissing his lips. ‘I don’t think I could live in a reality where you don’t exist my beautiful Viktor.’ You add as you started deeply into his amber eyes, watching them soften in relief as Viktor reciprocated your kiss with one of his own.

‘What a coincidence I was thinking the exact same thing my muse.’ Viktor whispers softly to you as he kisses you once more. You held the back of his head to keep him close as the stars watched you both display your love for one another in the most innocent way possible.

…

Mel wondered down the hallway but as she was about to pass the lab, she heard the soft melody coming from it and stopped to peek through the open doorway. Sat fast asleep on Viktor’s chair, body splayed uncomfortably across his dust covered workbench, was you and she couldn’t help but smile sympathetically for you, after all you had just lost the love of your life before your very eyes and with no plausible way of getting him back.

What was making the melody Mel did find as her eyes landed on the open broach within your hand, Viktor’s final gift to you as it hummed the melody for the fifth time. It was a beautiful song Mel thought to herself as she moved next to you, resting her hand over your shoulder as she heard you softly mutter in your sleep. ‘I’m sorry Viktor. I love you.’

‘I know he loves you too.’ Mel replied as she reached over and closed the broach in your hand, seeing the mechanical engraving on the cover as she did so before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wanting nothing more then let you sleep and be with Viktor in the land of dreams as she moved to walk back out the door. Mel looks back at you once more and in a moment of nostalgia overcame her she saw Viktor sleeping in that very chair instead of you. He was clutching his cane the same way you did and in that moment it looked as though your hands were touching; together intertwined in the smallest of things.