Felix Centric One Shots

Their Half-Angel Mate (OT8)

"Fate gave them the light they didn't know they needed."

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

A thin mist curled around the trees as seven shadows moved with unnatural grace, their eyes glinting in the moonlight. Blood stained their lips, drying at the corners of their mouths. Tonight had been a successful hunt—fast, clean, minimal mess.

"I swear, if I get one more drop of blood on this shirt, I'm setting the whole wardrobe on fire," Minho muttered, brushing at a red smear on his sleeve with a grimace.

Jisung snorted. "You say that every time, and then cry when the new collection drops."

"Because the last one had no black," Minho shot back.

"Okay, okay," Chan cut in, rolling his eyes. "Let's focus. We're almost home."

But then... they all stopped.

The air shifted. Sharp. Coppery. Sweet... and wrong.

"What the hell is that?" Hyunjin murmured, lifting his nose. "That's... blood, but it's not human."

"Half human," Changbin said darkly. "But there's something else."

"Angel," Jeongin breathed. "It smells like... angel."

Jisung took a step back. "That's impossible. Angels don't bleed. They don't even exist anymore."

"They do," Seungmin said softly. His voice was strained, trembling with something none of them had ever heard before.

Desperation.

Possession.

"Seungmin—" Chan started, but it was too late.

With a gust of wind, Seungmin was gone, a blur through the trees, racing toward the scent like he couldn't breathe without it.

The others followed as fast as they could, but by the time they caught up, Seungmin was already crouched low in a patch of disturbed earth, hands trembling.

"Oh my god..." Jeongin whispered.

There, barely breathing, barely alive, was a boy—no, a being—curled in on himself, wings hanging like torn silk from his back, his body covered in bruises and blood.

His hair was matted. His face, though bruised, was heartbreakingly beautiful.

And every one of them felt it at the same time.

A pull.

A bond.

Not thirst.

Not hunger.

Something far more dangerous.

Need.

"He's our mate," Hyunjin said, stunned. "All of us. Again?"

"I thought we were complete," Minho whispered, eyes wide. "We were done. Seven."

"I guess the universe disagrees," Chan muttered, stepping forward.

As he reached down to pick the boy up, a low, guttural hiss split the air.

"Mine," Seungmin snarled, fangs bared, eyes glowing crimson.

Chan froze, hands up. "Okay, okay—easy."

"Let him carry him," Changbin said quietly. "Let him have this."

Seungmin didn't wait for approval. He lifted the boy into his arms like he was something sacred, something delicate. And the boy—unconscious as he was—curled slightly closer, like he knew.