#and i’m maybe a bit overwhelmed by it all

[junelovesaz]

Shadows and Whispers. Part 2

Note: Hello loves! I’m back… I think. Honestly, I promised I’d be more active, but I didn’t make it. I finished my first year of university and got a summer job. Still, I take full responsibility—you can crucify me, I’ll accept it 😌😌 I had the second part of Shadows and Whispers in my drafts, but I hadn’t published it yet because I wanted to edit it a bit. I’m sorry if this is a mess—I’m pretty rusty, and English isn’t my first language and it´s late. If there are any mistakes, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’ve been inactive for so long that I’m not even sure if I should take the liberty of using the tag list. But still, if you’re reading this, thank you so much for your time—I love you 💙💙💙

I’ll leave the song I was listening to while writing this. Take care.

P.S. Someone asked me a while ago if there would be more of Shadows and Whispers, so this second part is for you. I’m sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it.

Warnings: None, only if you squint, something suggestive.

Summary: At the ball, Azriel and the reader pretend to be a couple to gather information about the Autumn Court. However, the situation becomes overwhelming for the reader, leaving her confused, and Azriel’s touches only make it harder for her to clear her mind.

Many times, I stayed awake at night, questioning what I was doing with my life until the early hours of the morning. However, I had never tormented myself as much as I did in this situation.

I had the feeling that I would remain awake for many more dawns, and I was sure that my poor heart would not survive.

In front of me stood the man I was in love with, looking ridiculously handsome. His two large wings surrounded me, while his arms remained wrapped around my waist, as if that were the place where they should have always stayed, where they should remain until I turned to dust and stars.

I was intoxicated by his touch. Az had been quite careful, though deep down, I knew he was worried about making me feel uncomfortable with his chest pressed against mine, his occasional touches on my lower back, and the way his hands left soft caresses on my arms, waist, and even my neck.

He was trying hard to make this ridiculous act believable. When had anyone ever seen the Shadowsinger being so openly affectionate in a room full of nobles?

Not in my wildest dreams—or in those of the vipers surrounding us.

"Are you okay?" Azriel’s deep voice murmured softly, catching my attention.

I turned to look at him and was met with his kind hazel eyes, mixed with a hint of caution.

I nodded, trying to control my pulse. "All good, Az."

I saw doubt cross his face, but I didn’t want him to dig any deeper, so I quickly changed the subject.

"Are you sure this is working?" I asked with a genuinely teasing smile.

Az raised an eyebrow.

"I don’t understand why you’re so surprised. I’m good at my job."

The music changed, and this time, the melody became faster, more intense. Exactly how I felt—restless, euphoric.

Az’s hands were gentle, soft but firm, moving me to the rhythm of the music with ease. He was a skilled dancer, and he was the one doing all the hard work. Unfortunately, I had not been born with the grace and delicacy of a great dancer. Cassian and I used to whisper about which of us would look more ridiculous when we had to dance with someone else.

"Pretending to be madly in love?" A pang hit my chest, but I ignored it and simply raised an eyebrow. "Or gathering information?"

Even so, my heart was pounding wildly, and I could feel my pulse in my head, but I would blame the dance. That would be my great excuse. I knew Az could hear it too, but he was probably too polite to mention it.

"I’d say both," he replied smugly.

I rolled my eyes.

"Of course you would."

He smiled, and his expression was enough to soften me. We stood in silence for a moment until his shadows brushed against my shoulders, and I smiled fondly at them.

"Maybe you should teach him some humility," I told them, referring to their master.

They caressed me again, and their cold touch didn’t seem strange to me at all. On the contrary, it was even… comforting.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize one of my dress straps had slipped from my shoulder until I felt one of Az’s hands gently brushing my skin to put it back in place.

The gesture was so… tender, and his touch was so full of devotion that my head started spinning, and my thoughts became a blur.

It was just a mission, I reminded myself.

Then why did this—whatever it was—not feel that way?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was about to make a comment, but the words caught in my throat because, at that moment, Az and I overheard an interesting conversation between two nobles, and our attention shifted to them.

"…Beron is still High Lord."

We exchanged a brief glance before subtly moving closer to listen. Their voices were little more than whispers, but with a Shadowsinger as my partner… anything was possible.

"That doesn’t mean one of his sons won’t become High Lord at some point."

I frowned.

Eris wanted the throne, of course. His brothers also craved power, but what would this damned court do? Bet on which one of them would stay alive to take the role?

“Eris could become High Lord,” one of them remarked.

“Or… not,” the other took a moment to reply.

Az’s back stiffened, and I assumed my reaction was a reflection of his. We exchanged another glance, and I leaned my body against his chest, syncing with the melody’s shift to a softer tune.

“What do you mean?” one of the voices sounded again.

The other fell silent for a moment, and I held my breath.

“You know what I mean.”

So Eris’s brothers were beginning to form alliances? Were they planning to kill each other?

Not a single part of me was surprised. At least not enough to show a look of disgust.

Az wrapped his arms around me again and lifted my hands to his neck, tangling them there and forcing me onto my tiptoes. It was the signal that he was going to whisper something to me, so I tilted my head to make it seem, from an outsider’s perspective, as though he was kissing my neck.

“They’re planning to kill him,” he murmured so softly that I barely heard him.

“I got that too,” I replied, shifting my position again, moving my head in a way that made it look like I was seeking refuge in his neck.

Probably not my best move, as the scent of cedar filled my nostrils, invading my senses and thoughts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Still, we spent the next hour like this—dancing between whispers, eavesdropping on conversations, trying to piece together the alliances and the cursed situation surrounding the Autumn heir.

Some nobles had already left, while Az and I remained in a corner, pretending to sip wine. In reality, I had placed a shield around us to prevent anyone from overhearing our conversation.

“We have to tell Rhys. Now,” I emphasized when he didn’t move.

“Not yet,” Az denied. “We convinced some of them,” he gestured toward the last few people lingering at the ball, “but not all. Beron will likely send someone to follow us once we leave this cursed place.”

I sighed.

“So what do we do?” I asked, my patience wearing thin. This night had been long—filled with half-touches, lies and not-lies that had left my mind more confused than ever.

“We continue the act,” he answered simply. And when he didn’t say anything for a few seconds, I lowered the shield, fairly certain he already had a plan in mind.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so, half an hour later, Az and I found ourselves outside the Autumn Court’s castle, surrounded by a breathtaking forest of orange, green, and brown hues.

On another occasion, I might have found it a marvelous sight. Right now, I just wanted to leave, curl up under layers of blankets, and forget this night had ever happened.

Az’s arm rested over my shoulders as we walked, shielding me from the cold but also ensuring that those following us—because he had been right about that—could see us.

They were close, but not close enough to hear what we were saying.

"You don’t need to do that, Az," I said, referring to his wing wrapping around me.

Truthfully, I did want him to stay close, but I had already messed up before—back in Velaris when I had accidentally ended up touching his wing.

"It’s cold," he replied calmly, taking my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Az’s body was like a furnace, providing enough warmth to keep me from freezing. But if I wanted to make it through this night, I needed to put some distance between us.

"Az," I swallowed. "Listen, I need to..." I turned slightly toward him before continuing. His deep gaze met mine, and I swallowed hard.

By the Cauldron, what was I supposed to say? Please stop touching me because you’re confusing my heart? Of course not.

Still, I opened my mouth to speak just as he lowered his head, pressing his lips to mine in a slow, sensual kiss. I didn’t hold back the surprised sound that escaped me—but I also didn’t pull away. Az backed us up, touching me with such intensity that it stole my breath. We didn’t stop kissing as he placed both hands behind my head, making sure I wouldn’t hit the bark of the tree we had landed against. That was how it worked with him—my resolve disappeared as if it had never existed. That was why, in the first place, I hadn’t wanted to come here with Az.

I shivered as his arms lifted me, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist, aligning me exactly where I needed him.

What the hell was happening?

"Az..." I whispered between kisses, trying to clear my thoughts.

The shadowsinger didn’t respond. He lifted his head for just a second, and what I saw made my knees weak. Desire and intensity. I recognized it because I had seen that look countless times—on myself, whenever I was with him.

It was fleeting, because the next moment, he trailed kisses down my jaw, tilting my head back to expose my neck to him.

Surprisingly, he found a spot that made my toes curl, and one of the hands gripping his shoulders tugged gently at his hair, while the other, unconsciously, slid to the edge of his right wing—the one that had never stopped wrapping around me.

I knew Illyrians were sensitive to that kind of touch, but I also knew it was an intimacy I wasn’t sure Az wanted from me.

And yet, drunk on him, I didn’t even think about it—about the consequences of my actions—as I traced my fingertips along the membrane.

The guttural sound that escaped him set my insides on fire, and I knew—I wouldn’t survive the night when he trembled, pressing his face against my neck as his weight sank into me.

Around us, the forest had fallen into absolute silence. Not even the wind rustled through the trees, and that snapped me back to reality.

We were doing this because someone had likely come too close. But now? Now, there was no one else but us.

Regaining a bit of clarity, I noticed how his shadows shifted restlessly—some curling around my calves, others weaving over his shoulders. His silence unsettled me, so I slowly pulled both hands away from his body, feeling somewhat out of my own.

"Az…" I called after a moment, my voice unsteady, unsure where to even begin apologizing.

"Just a moment… I just need a moment, sweetheart," he responded heavily against my neck.

My brain might as well have short-circuited. Without thinking, I placed my hand back in his hair, gently stroking whatever I could reach.

Exactly one minute later, Az let me go, setting me down with his hands on my waist.

I cleared my throat and avoided his gaze. "Are they gone?" I asked stupidly, not sure what else to say.

Az took my chin between his fingers and guided my attention back to him.

"They’re gone," he confirmed.

I nodded and bit the inside of my cheek. This meant nothing.

A mission, I reminded myself.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly.

Of course not. I was a mess of nerves, words clogging my throat. I needed to let go—let go of what I felt for him, or this love would continue pouring out of me.

"I think we need to talk."

Az nodded, wrapping me in his warmth once more.

"At home, sweetheart."

He squeezed my hand gently, and I felt his shadows swirl around us, whisking us directly to Velaris—home.

It took me a second to recognize the path to the River House, and I braced myself for the conversation we were about to have.

Az didn’t let go of me, and we walked in silence until we reached the door.

I took a deep breath and turned to face him.

I had known from the very beginning that this entire plan was going to fall apart.

[z3nwr1t3sf1cs]

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐜!𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⋆˚࿔ One shot, Hurt/comfort, Early relationship (romantic)

⋆˚࿔ Fem!reader, Reader is daughter of Polities, And it’s a couple months before Ody is back

⋆˚࿔ Description of anxiety, description of character death

⋆˚࿔ Written in second person

• ═ ━⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹━ ═ •

“They’ve been gone for what? 19 years now? 20?” A man scoffs, walking through the bustling town of Ithaca “About time the Queen does pick a suitor, eh?” The first man strikes a chuckle “It’s not like any of those men are coming back,” he rolls his eyes “Let’s face it, They’re all dead.”

You gulp after overhearing the conversation, quickly gathering what you need from the outdoor shops and heading back to the Palace. You walk back— “They’re all dead.” It echoed in your head dreadfully. Lost in thought, you run into Telemachus, holding scrolls in his arms. He looked like he was in a rush, “Hey Y/N! I was looking for you all over and I—“ He looks at her for another second, “What’s wrong?” You knew he could read you like a book, but he looked busy right now. “Oh, Telemachus—! I’m just— tired. I’m sorry, babe” You quickly spat and nodded as you helped gather a paper he’d dropped. Telemachus sucks his teeth, he shouldn’t push her. “Well— okay. Let me know if you need anything, anything at all!” He plants a soft kiss on your forehead and strides off again. You head in the opposite direction, after setting down the basket of groceries, walking to your room in the Palace.

As you sit on the bed, the realization hits you once again like a truck— You might never see your father, and everyone’s accepted that. The townspeople, suitors in the palace, your aunts— Gods, your mother! You rock softly, as hot tears roll down your face. “They’re all dead.” They’re all— dead. You’re just stuck with stories, Empty words— and… Well, It’s not like you knew him… But it still hurt. You sniffle and sob, curling up on the bed. Your thoughts swirled, and everything felt blurry and loud, you rocked softly, rubbing your eyes and that’s when— Click!

“Y/N, Are —“ Telemachus looked at your tear-stained face and red eyes, your panic was thick in the air. He rushes over to your side, keeping a bit of a distance. “C—Can I touch you?” You nod softly and his arms wrap around you from the side, gently rubbing your back. “Can you explain to me what happened?”

You sniffled and inhaled shakily, get— a word out! J—just talk to him! As much as you tried it felt like you would choke on the words, barely able to muster anything out. “Hey, hey… You don’t have to talk. I’m here, it’s okay” He reassures you, seeing you upset and sad is something he hates, but he understands how difficult it can be to handle emotions when overwhelmed. “I’ll be here.. Whenever you’re ready” He rubs your back softly, not minding the stain of your tears on his tunic. After a bit of time, his comfort helped calm you down. He turns you softly, sure to be gentle, You face him, eyes still watery, and your body trembles softly. Your boyfriend grabs your hands, shushing you comfortingly while thinking of.. what to say.

He remembers when he’d be upset after not being able to fight, or when he couldn’t write letters facing the right direction— His mom, Queen Penelope, would do an exercise with him. Maybe it could help Y/N, “Can we try something?” You look towards him intrigued, nodding softly “I—If you’re ready to talk. Can you tell me um— five things you can see?” You sniffled and looked at him puzzled “T—this is stupid,” you let out “Just try? For me, okay?” You sigh and look around, things aren’t as blurred now, “T—there’s a vase,” He nods towards you “Mhm, keep going!” He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “You, I can see you, the—window? A— um..the bed and the closet.” He smiles softly “Yeah, that’s good! Now what about four things you can… feel?” Your breathing has calmed now, and just Telemachus’ presence made you feel a bit better, “The... bedsheets, your hands, m-my clothes?” You sniffle again and then turn back to him “I-that’s all..” While it wasn’t four, Telemachus was content anyway, you seemed more calm and relaxed, which is all that mattered right now “Three things you can hear?” “Your voice—“ You fidget softly, trying to focus on listening to something “Wind… and footsteps.” You nod.

“Only a few more okay, love?” Telemachus holds your face softly, he can tell something is still in your eyes, there’s a cloudiness of thoughts and heavy emotions, “Now, two things you can smell?” he strokes your cheek softly, gentle words. You inhale “Fresh.. sheets and— the ocean.” You exhale. Telemachus’ expression remained calm.

His voice drops softly and he leans closer “And now, one thing you can taste..?” He leans closer, inches away from your lips, and with a playful smirk, he leans— And you swipe backward, dodging the kiss. “I—Um! A—Apples!” You exclaim, flushed a violet red “From lunch.” He purses his lips, mocking annoyance. “Don’t pout,” You say innocently. Telemachus scoffs and plops down backwards on the bed, holding your hands still, so you go down with him. His hand returns to your cheek softly, “Wanna talk now?” You nod slowly and sigh “I was thinking of the crew. Our father’s I mean. What if—“ They words can’t even flow out from between your lips now “They’re all dead” You shake the thought softly and inhale “I just— It’s hard to… Not have a dad.” He sighs in return, a feeling he also knew too well.

Telemachus nods in understanding. “Y/N, they’re comi—“ You turn to him quickly, “How do you know they’ll be back?!” You exclaim with a short gasp. Telemachus looks at you with a wavering expression, for his playful demeanor turned serious, “I—“ The man was speechless- “I don’t.” Not very reassuring. “We don’t know. If there’ll come a day we’ll see them. We…We just don’t.” He squeezes your hand once more, “All we can do is hope, pray.. and.. in the end” He lifts your chin, looking you directly in the eyes, “In the end— all we have is each other. I’ll be here, always. I’ll never leave you, I swear by it, Y/N.”

• ═ ━⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹━ ═ •

Descriptions are based on my own experience with anxiety and going non-verbal<33 Also— sorry this was a bit rushed! Been in art and writing block for a good while now, so I’m grateful I get even this out lmao 🦋🤍

Have an amazing day~

Req are open <33

[koenig-my-beloved]

~Soft spot~

Nam-gyu x f/reader (fluff)

You came home from work one day completely exhausted seeking comfort in your boyfriend. Maybe he had one of his softer days today.

Warning: mentioning of sex, drug use (on nam-gyu’s side)

Word count: 840

Authors note: NOT proofread, wrote this on the bus ride home after a long exhausting day myself

It was a long, exhausting day, and you were just happy to finally get home. When you opened the door, the smell of weed instantly hit your nostrils. You used your hand to try and fan it away, but to no use. You slowly entered, kicking off your shoes and throwing your jacket over the hangers.

As you moved on into the living room, you saw your boyfriend on the couch, his legs spread far apart almost claiming the whole couch, arms lazily draped over the headrest. His head leaning back looking at the ceiling and between his fingers a joint that he brought to his lips. He didn’t seem to notice you, so you quietly called out to him, hoping he had one of his softer days today. “Huh?” he lifted his head off the headrest lips slightly apart, eyes red and pupils blown out. “I’m back from work” you said quietly with a weak smile. “Uh huh” he hummed his head falling back again. You stood there for a while, waiting for any reaction besides that, but all he did was take another drag from the joint.

You let out a shaky breath before walking into your bedroom to get changed. Eventually, you took out one of his shirts and a comfy pair of sweatpants before walking back to him. He was still laid out like a half dead body. “Nam?” You called again, walking towards him.

“What do you want” he asked, his voice slurred, not really expecting an answer.

You stood in front of him, quiet at first, before softly saying “Some hugs maybe?” It sounded more like a question than anything else. The day was so overwhelming you weren’t quite sure what you wanted anymore.

He lifted his hand bringing it up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You stood there quietly fidgeting with your hands.

“Sure” he said, finally looking at you.

You made your way around the coffee table and sat down next to him. He gently placed his arm around your waist and that was all it took for all the tension to leave your body, for your composure to falter. Your eyes started stinging and you felt warm tears rolling down your cheeks.

Nam-gyu sensed that something was off and took one last drag from his joint before crushing it in the ashtray on the coffee table. He then went on to gently pull you onto his lap and wrap both of his arms around you. He didn’t like it when you cried, except it was him making you cry when the two of you had sex.

How he enjoyed seeing your tears, one hand around your neck the other on your waist as he pushed deeper in your warmth. You squirming underneath, gripping at his arms, his name falling off your lips like a mantra.

But now you were crying because of… what exactly? He didn’t know too high to even think straight, let alone figure out why you were crying.

“Hmm why are you crying” he asked feeling your hot breath on his neck as you sobbed into his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He added rubbing his thumb over your back gently.

You quiet down a bit “E… Every… thing” you stammered, not daring to look at him.

“You want a joint or… ?” He asked probably not knowing what else to say, to which you quickly shook your head.

You both stayed silent for a while, his thumb continuing to gently rub soothing circles on your back.

He let out a deep sigh before gently grabbing your cheeks with both of his hands looking into your eyes. Your gaze kept wandering everywhere, the wall to your left seemingly far more interesting than your boyfriend.

“Look at me” he said abruptly, as if he was getting annoyed, but the gentleness of his thumbs wiping away your tears showed otherwise. Your eyes slowly turned towards his and there was something so calming about those wide pupils of his. You wrapped your arms slowly around his neck your hands tightly gripping onto his shirt, so tight your knuckles were turning white.

“Shhh” he tried to sooth you as he pressed his forehead against yours, his hand gently tangling in your hair. You pulled away slightly to get another glance of those lulling eyes, hoping it would calm your nerves a bit more.

Cries turned into sobs and then eased into quiet sniffles. He gently nudged your face up to press his dry lips onto yours. It was a soft, fleeting kiss before he leaned back, exhaling loudly, his hands dropping to your waist. Despite that you could swear you still felt his lips against yours, lingering there for a moment longer than they actually did. You then leaned into him your head on his shoulder before shutting your now puffy eyes.

“I love you Nam” it trailed off your lips so gently and lovingly. Nam-gyu let out a huff before humming shortly in response. His hand finding its way back into your hair running it softly through the strands.

[sylusonychinus]

Day 4: Daytime Star (≧ヮ≦) 💕

Pairings: Zayne x Actress!Reader

warning: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

a/n: i bet yall know where i got the title from :3

Summary: WHAT IF zayne is with actress reader :3

Before They Got Together

Zayne and Reader first met during a chance encounter—maybe at a charity gala or an exclusive event where their worlds collided.

At first, Reader thought Zayne was a bit reserved, always carrying himself with a composed, professional demeanor.

Meanwhile, Zayne admired Reader’s confidence and presence, though he never let it show.

Their conversations were brief but meaningful—Zayne always had this way of making Reader feel truly heard.

Reader found excuses to visit the hospital where he worked, either for charity work or research for a medical role.

Slowly, their connection deepened—Reader would bring him coffee on late shifts, and Zayne would secretly watch their movies between breaks.

Despite the growing attraction, neither made a move. Zayne, ever the rational one, convinced himself that Reader's world was too different from his.

That changed when Reader got injured on set, and Zayne was the one who treated them—his worry cracked through his usual calm, revealing just how much he cared.

That moment of vulnerability was all it took for Reader to realize their feelings were mutual.

After that, Zayne asked them out in his own way—something straightforward yet sincere, like "I’d rather not wait for another accident to see you. Let’s have dinner instead."

While They Were Secretly Dating

The relationship started off private, both wanting to keep their professional lives separate from their personal happiness.

Zayne wasn’t one for grand romantic gestures in public, but behind closed doors, he was incredibly attentive—always making sure Reader ate properly, got enough rest, and took care of themselves.

Their dates were discreet: quiet rooftop dinners, late-night walks, or slow mornings in Zayne’s apartment, away from prying eyes.

Whenever Reader had a tough day on set, Zayne would send them messages like "Don’t push yourself too hard. I’ll make sure you have something warm to eat later."

Likewise, Reader would leave little notes in his lab coat pocket—sometimes motivational, sometimes teasing, just to make him smile.

Fans started speculating about Zayne after they noticed Reader wearing his signature-colored scarf in an interview.

Reader would tease him about being a “celebrity boyfriend in hiding,” to which he’d smirk and say, "I don’t mind staying in the shadows, as long as you know I’m there."

When They Finally Went Public

The reveal wasn’t dramatic—just a simple, candid photo of them together, posted without any captions.

The internet went into chaos, with fans both celebrating and freaking out over the unexpected pairing.

Some people doubted Zayne’s ability to handle a relationship with an A-list actress, but those close to him knew he was more than capable.

Despite the sudden spotlight, Zayne remained unbothered—he had faced far greater pressures in the medical field than public scrutiny.

Reader was the one slightly overwhelmed by the attention, but Zayne always reassured them: "Let them talk. It doesn’t change what we have."

Eventually, they started attending events together, with Zayne looking effortlessly handsome in suits, making fans swoon.

Interviews would occasionally bring up their relationship, and while Reader would gush a little, Zayne would keep his answers simple yet meaningful. ("She’s brilliant. I’m proud of her.")

Whenever Reader won an award, Zayne would be in the audience, clapping with the smallest yet fondest smile.

Their relationship became known as a perfect balance—Reader, the dazzling star, and Zayne, the steady force grounding them.

Even after all the attention, their love remained the same—quiet, steadfast, and deeply unwavering.

Cute and Memorable Moments

💉 “Doctor Mode Activated”

Reader gets sick after an exhausting shoot in harsh weather conditions, and Zayne immediately switches into doctor mode.

He checks their temperature, makes them drink warm tea, and even insists on monitoring their vitals.

“I deal with patients every day, but I’d rather not see you as one,” he murmurs, pressing a cool cloth to their forehead.

Reader tries to protest, but Zayne gives them a pointed look, shutting down any argument.

Later, they wake up to find him dozing off beside them, his head resting on the bed, one hand still holding theirs.

🎬 On-Set Surprise

Zayne isn’t one for grand public displays, but one day, he unexpectedly visits Reader on set.

Everyone is surprised, as he’s not one to leave the hospital for just anything.

Reader is in the middle of an emotional scene, but when they spot Zayne watching from behind the cameras, their heart flutters.

After the shoot, he hands them a small box of their favorite pastries and says, “I figured you’d be too focused to eat.”

The director jokes, “I think we found our next leading man.” Zayne just smirks and shakes his head, replying, “I think I’ll stick to fixing real hearts.”

📸 Red Carpet + Protective Zayne

Their first big event as a couple has fans screaming because Zayne looks effortlessly handsome in a tailored suit, standing beside Reader.

He’s naturally reserved, but when the cameras get too close, or if an interviewer gets too pushy, Zayne subtly moves closer to Reader.

A video goes viral of him gently guiding them away from the crowd, his hand resting protectively on their lower back.

When asked how he feels about being the center of attention, he simply replies, “She’s the star. I’m just here to support her.”

❤️ Arguments + Sweet Apologies

Reader and Zayne don’t argue often, but when they do, it’s usually because Zayne overworks himself and doesn’t let Reader take care of him.

“You take care of everyone but yourself!” Reader huffs after catching him skipping meals.

Zayne is quiet for a moment before finally saying, “I’m used to it. But… I suppose I should listen when the person I love is the one telling me to rest.”

Later that night, he leaves a note on the bedside table: “You win this time. I promise to take better care of myself—for you.”

💬 Fans’ Favorite Moments

Live Q&A moment: A fan asks, “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

Reader grins and says, “Me, obviously.”

Zayne smirks and corrects, “Actually, I said it first. You just didn’t hear me.”

Reader’s eyes widen, and fans go wild in the comments.

Candid video leak: A behind-the-scenes clip of them at a café goes viral—Reader is laughing while Zayne, ever the composed one, just watches them with the softest expression.

Fans caption it: “He looks at them like they’re his entire world.”

the comments arent any better :3

"HEY GOD ITS ME AGAIN"

"WHEN WILL IT BE ME!!!!"

Zayne may be a doctor with a logical, calm demeanor, but when it comes to Reader, he’s got a quiet but deeply devoted love.

[mongoosingisme]

Title: Game Day

Rating: Explicit (MDNI)

Relationship: Shane/fem!Reader

Word Count: 3913

Summary: Gridball wasn't usually your thing, but maybe just for this once you'll make an exception.

Read on AO3 or below

There was a reason you left the city to go live in the middle of nowhere. Crowds? Noise? Confusion? Fucking people? Absolutely not your thing.

Yet there you were, in the middle of a crowd, dodging sloshed drinks and bits of popcorn, trying not to cover your ears as the mass of bodies around you roared. Something had happened out on the field, you surmised, but what that thing was you hadn’t the foggiest.

Here’s what you did know, though: you’d never seen Shane look so happy.

He was why you were there, of course. You wouldn’t hop on a bus to a gridball game on your own. But he’d been so excited when he asked you, and to be honest you were thrilled to be spending time with him, so all in all it was an easy yes.

“What just happened?” You had to yell for Shane to hear you over the crowd. 

“The Tunnelers just dominated that maul! They’ve got possession and-“ he broke off his explanation in a roar of delight, surging with the crowd as something happened out on the field. 

You assumed it was something good.

You didn’t know the first thing about gridball, but that was alright - you’d rather spectate Shane. You knew he played when he was younger, was quite good, even, and you wondered if this was how he looked on the field: eyes bright, body loose and moving, quick and alert and reactive and so, so different from the man he was just a month ago.

It was dizzying, sometimes, the change in him. Overwhelming to consider what could have been, if things had gone differently. If you hadn’t been there that day on the cliff. If you’d kept buying him beers. If Jas hadn’t burst into tears. You knew that version of Shane was still there, just under the surface. You don’t shake off years (a lifetime?) of depression and self-loathing after one good month. But Yoba, watching him do the work, watching him change, grow, embrace the terrifying uncertainty of life?

Well. It didn’t help the crush that’d been stewing since the moment he’d first slouched by you on the street.

No slouching now, though. You could see the athlete coming out: feet wide, knees bent, chin up, grinning as he bounced from foot to foot. He looked so happy.

The crowd roared again. “What? What?” you asked, flapping your hand against Shane’s side in excitement.

“They’re getting aggressive, watch, watch!” Shane didn’t seem to notice that he’d grabbed your hand, but you sure did. He was warm, his palm slightly rough, fingers thick and strong as he used your hand to gesture out to the field.

You were about to interlace your fingers with his when he dropped away. He was jumping now, jumping with the crowd, hands on either side of his mouth, yelling something in time with the people around him. A chant, growing in volume and losing intelligibility as one of the teams (you thought it was the one you were cheering for, but you weren’t entirely sure) made a run towards one end of the pitch.

Seconds later, you wished you’d brought ear protection.

The Tunnelers had scored. You didn’t know much, but that you could tell. The crowd was erupting, and you found yourself caught up in the energy, laughing and shouting along with them, jumping, bumping into Shane as he lept beside you. You stumbled, but he caught you, a hand under your elbow, the other around your back, and then suddenly his lips were on yours.

The kiss was brief, rough, full of jubilant energy and the scrape of stubble. It was over before you could register it, before you could respond, and Shane was backing away looking horrified.

“Sorry, sorry, shit, I’m sorry. I got carried away there.” His hands were up in front of him, he was cringing back into himself a bit, and that was absolutely not what you wanted. 

“I like when you get carried away,” you shouted, then you grabbed him by the collar of his jersey, yanked him over, and kissed him back.

He froze for a second, but then he was returning the kiss with all the intensity of the stadium around you. Hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in towards his mouth, open, tongue working in, hot and wet and with just a hint of desperation. You could taste the cola he’d been drinking, sweet, and feel the rumble of his groan as he drew you closer. You imagined, for a moment, that the crowd was responding to the two of you, their cheers and chants an unstoppable reaction to the outpouring of joy and desire and tension and relief cascading between your mouths.

It was a very good kiss.

“Fuck,” Shane said as you both gasped and broke apart. Your hand was still clenched around his collar. “Really? Are you… really?”

“Really,” you said. “How long does the game have left?”

“Dunno, maybe an hour?” Shane looked confused for a moment, but then he grinned. “Why, you wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” You were grinning too, standing close to him there in the crowd, bumping up against his chest, his hand spread on your back, keeping you there.

“Fuck,” he said again. “Okay. Okay. If you mean it, come with me.”

You absolutely meant it, so it was easy to let him grab your hand, pull you through the crowd, down into the stadium. Shane picked up his pace as the press of bodies thinned, and soon you both were almost running past the bathrooms, past the concession stands, past the merch shop, down the stairs, through a set of double doors. It was even quieter there, the roar of the crowd muted, and as his pace slowed you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Where are we?” you said.

Shane grinned back at you and raised his eyebrows. “Below the stadium. Come on.”

You imagined he’d spent time here, at one point. He seemed familiar with the turns of the hallway, knew which door to push through to reach an even quieter hall, and then there was an innocuous brown door that opened to a storage room. Racks of gridballs, training equipment that seemed ragged and well-used, a pile of mats, and Shane, backing you up against the wall, smiling in disbelief as his hands found your hips.

“You sure knew where to go,” you said, a little breathless. “Do you bring all your girls here?”

Shane snorted. “You know me, drowning in pussy.”

“Is that a request?” 

Shane groaned, pressed his hips up against yours. You felt something twitch there, start to grow. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I can’t… are you sure you want…”

You could sense a spiral starting. Better nip that in the bud. “Kiss me,” you said, and he did. Soft and breathy at first, not insisting. You figured he was giving you a chance to change your mind, to align yourself to the part of his brain that made him feel unworthy of anything good in his life. You were going to smother that voice in him, deprive it of oxygen with your mouth and your body and your words, and so you kissed him back hard, opened your mouth, let your tongue brush against his lips.

Bingo.

The wall was flush against your back now, Shane’s hands cupping either side of your head as his tongue delved. You whimpered as it stroked in, felt him shudder, loved the way you could feel him hardening against your pelvis. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulled him in as close as you could, felt him leaning against you, pressing you back, until you were caught between the warmth of his heavy body and the cold concrete behind you.

You let your hands wander as you kissed, pressed them up under the back of his shirt, felt the soft skin of his lower back. He groaned as you very, very gently scratched your nails up his spine. His hands were moving now too, gripping at your hips as he kissed you, then running up your sides, thumbs spread out. He shuddered as they pressed into the sides of your breasts, shifted, and then he was cupping them fully. You didn’t even try to hold back the mewl the contact caused, broke the kiss to arch your back into him, letting your posture communicate “yes,” communicate “more.”

And it worked because Shane was squeezing you harder now, exhilaratingly rough, pressing your breasts together and up, dropping his face to where they mounded above your neckline, kissing and sucking and groaning as he squeezed. His stubble scratched at your skin, one of his hands shifted to roll a nipple between two fingers. You were caught up in it, an onslaught of sensation that had you gasping out his name.

“You are so fucking hot,” Shane gasped, drawing back and looking at the press of his hands on your chest. “How the fuck is this happening?”

“I know what you mean.” And you did. You’d always been drawn to his physique, soft around the middle, thighs thick and sturdy, an inch or two taller than you but so, so much stronger. You had no doubt he could hold you up against the wall if he had a mind to, couldn’t help but clench at the thought of how heavy and good his body would feel on top of you.

“Liar,” Shane murmured, one hand dropping to rest on your stomach, the other bracing above your head.

“No I’m not. I can prove it.”

“Yeah?” His forehead was pressing against yours, his inhales short and noisy. The hand on your stomach pressed into you, just a little.

“Yeah,” you said, and grabbed his wrist. You locked your gaze with his as you pushed his hand down. His eyes were even darker than usual, contrasting with his flushed skin. He kept them open as you guided him beneath your waistband, below your underwear, but they fell closed as the tip of his finger brushed against your folds.

“Yoba, you’re so wet,” he breathed. You gasped as his finger slid down, parting you gently, the skimming touch sending sparks flying through your core. “For me? Really?”

“Yes for you, you goose.” you said. 

“You’re the goose,” he replied, and then he was kissing you again, rough and bruising as he pressed his finger inside of you.

You groaned into his mouth at the feeling, the stretch of his thick finger. His mouth was moving fast and hot on you, but his finger was slow, pushing in inch by inch, filling you up until you were moaning and shaking and grasping at his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” he whispered as you squeezed around him. “This cannot be real.”

“Shane,” you said, as his finger stayed maddeningly still inside of you. “This is real. And I really, really need you to move.”

He smiled. “Like this?” he said, slowly drawing his finger out of you. 

You whined at the loss. “More,” you said. “I need more.”

Shane groaned, pressed his mouth into the side of your neck. “I’ve got more for you.” His voice was a little lower, a little raspier than you were used to hearing. He pressed back in, two fingers this time, broad and solid and moving, thank Yoba, they were moving, pressing up and down, gentle but filling, working against your walls with growing speed as you clung to his neck.

The room was quiet, the roar of the stadium muted enough that you could hear each other breathe, gasp. You could even hear the wet sound of Shane’s fingers in you, growing louder the faster he moved. He pressed kisses to you as he worked, to your neck, your shoulder, your jaw, your ear. He held the lobe gently between his teeth, breath loud, augmenting the cacophony of sensations running through you, drawing you up. He was getting even faster now, rougher, pressing the pads of his fingers into you perfectly. The sound of the stadium swelled as you did - they must have scored, you thought dimly. Shane’s fingers changed their angle, just a little, just enough to push you over the edge. You gasped his name as you came, the sound ragged and broken in the quiet room, and Shane groaned as he worked you through it.

“Yoba, you’re good at that,” you managed as your soul settled back into your body.

“Nice to know I’m good for something,” Shane said into your neck. You were about to chastise him for the self-deprecation, but his fingers were moving, finding your clit. “Got another one for me?”

For him? Always. And you would have told him that, but he wasn’t waiting for an answer. His fingertips moved on you, three together, rubbing soft and steady on the side of your nub, and all you could get out was a squeak. He made a satisfied sound as his lips found your neck again.

He shifted as his fingers worked, pressed his pelvis into the side of your hips. You could feel his cock against you, stiff, hot, and he groaned as you reached down to grasp it. The proof of his arousal, that he wanted this every bit as much as you wanted him, tightened something in your core, made you cry out as a second climax ripped through you.

You sagged. Shane caught you, pulling your side against his chest. His cock was still in your hand. You squeezed it gently. He made a choked little sound.

You wondered if he’d make the same sound if you squeezed when he was inside of you.

“I have a condom in my bag,” you said.

He made the sound again. “You’re not saying…”

And he was kissing you again, hand on the side of your face, pushing you back up against the wall with one of those big thighs between your legs. You rubbed against it, could feel his cock even harder now. His hands were frenetic, moving over you fast and random, each squeeze and stroke and touch a conduit for the anxious energy that seemed to be bottling up inside of him. 

“I am absolutely saying,” you gasped as you pulled back. Or at least tried to. His mouth wouldn’t leave yours, pressing, demanding, tongue stroking as he shuddered, and you worried he might fall apart completely. “Unless you don’t want to,” you added into his mouth.

“Of course I fucking want to.” He was pulling on the collar of your shirt now, baring your shoulder, leaving kisses and just a hint of teeth behind. “I’ve wanted to from the moment I first saw you.”

Now that was an interesting fact, but one that would have to be mulled over later, because he was still talking. “There’s just no way you could possibly be asking me to fuck you next to a pile of moldy tackle bags.”

”Shane, you could fuck me on top of the moldy tackle bags and I would still have the time of my life. Now stop stalling and let me grab my bag.”

You enjoyed the broken way he said “Yoba,” extricated yourself from atop his thigh, and bent to rummage in your bag. You’d grabbed it as Shane had hauled you from the stands, dropped it unceremoniously as he’d pushed you against the wall, and now its contents were somewhat strewn over the floor.

It took you a second to scoop everything back in, to find the square of foil. You made a triumphant sound, held it up to show Shane.

He was watching you with a stricken expression.

Well shit.

“Uh-uh,” you said. “Stay with me.”

“I am with you,” he said, letting you put your arms around him, “and it makes no fucking sense.” 

“Does it need to?” You heard him sigh, press his face into your shoulder. You pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Maybe it doesn’t.” His voice was quiet. You heard the soft, distant roar of the crowd somewhere above you. “Every time you’re around I feel like I’m in a dream. I keep expecting to wake up.”

“Want me to pinch you?” 

He snorted. “Depends on where.” 

That felt like a good sign. You cupped a hand over his ass, then gave him a playful pinch. ”Awake now?”

“I guess.” His voice was low. He kept his face to your shoulder. “You sure you want this?”

You knew what he meant. Did you want him, and all the baggage that came with it? He was giving you an out, still seemed to think you were looking for an excuse to leave gracefully. 

The only way you were going to leave him was kicking and screaming.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You hugged him around the middle, staggered just a little as he leaned into you. 

“You have terrible taste,” he said.

“Yet you continue to put up with me.” 

You could feel him smile. “It’s okay, I’m used to slumming it.” He dropped a kiss onto your shoulder, then turned the both of you so your back was against the wall again. His hands stayed on your waist as he kissed you, gentler this time, slow and soft. You let him set the pace, let him work himself back up, growing bolder as you responded with gasps and moans and nails digging though his shirt.

He seemed a little lost in it, caught up in the kiss, the contact, and you would have been just peachy with letting it go on as long as he wanted it to, but you had to be pragmatic. Shane was in fact not dreaming. The two of you were in a storage room in a very well-attended stadium, and if you wanted to achieve your goals here without being discovered you’d need to get moving.

“Shane,” you gasped, breaking away, “if we want to fulfil my lifelong dream of getting fucked next to a pile of moldy tackle bags, we should probably get a move-on.”

His response was one last slow, deep, shuddering kiss, then his hands were on the waistband of your leggings, pulling down, and you were pulling at his belt, his zipper, and you’d kicked off a shoe somewhere, one leg bare, one with a pile of fabric around the ankle, and then Shane’s cock was out. You made a note to take some time with it later, get to know it with your hands and your mouth, but for now Shane was too quick with getting the condom on to give you much of an impression outside of “deliciously thick.”

He still didn’t say anything as he hitched one of your legs up over his hip, braced it with a thigh, let his fingers dig into the side of your ass. You pressed yourself up on the ball of your other foot, and it was just the right height to rub yourself over his cock. 

That, finally, got him to say something, a long, gasping “fuck.” He hauled you up closer, and you put your arms around his neck, letting him support you as you ground against him. 

“Fuck,” he said again as you moved. He felt incredible against you, the base of his cock providing the perfect spot to rub your clit. You wondered if with a little more time you could make yourself come like this, all slick and heat and his body beneath you and the sounds he was making as you moved.

But no, time was short and you had a goal now. You slowed, grasped his shaft (Yoba, he was thick), and circled his tip around your entrance. You both gasped at that, Shane’s hips stuttering. He pressed his face back against your shoulder.

“All good?” you asked him. 

“It’s been a minute since I’ve done this, so don’t expect much of a performance. Keep your expectations low.” He was using that voice, the one he used to use when he’d ask you if you had work to do. The one that made you think of a porcupine bristling, sharp and spiked to protect the softness underneath.

“Says the man who already made me come twice,” you said, pleased with how coherent you sounded despite how distractingly incredible his cock was feeling all pressed up against your core. “You don’t have a damn thing to worry about.” 

“You’re… fuck, okay. Okay. Yoba. Okay.” He was shifting, and you were too, aligning him with your entrance, sighing as his hips pressed forward, as he slid inside you, slow and steady, just like his fingers but so, so much thicker, so much more overwhelming, stretching you and filling you in a way that had you groaning, clutching at his back, whispering his name.

“Fuck, baby,” he said in that low, wrecked voice. “You feel so fucking perfect.” You didn’t know if it was the tone, the praise, or the endearment, but you were starting to lose it a little. It was your turn to press your face into his shoulder, to whimper, to let your body shudder and squeeze around the delectable fullness in your core. “You good?” he asked. “Need me to stop?”

“I’m good,” you whispered. “Just needed a second. Go ahead and move.”

And move he did, pressing you back against the wall, bracing with his thigh, hips thrusting. He could only move an inch or two in this position, but that was all you needed. All you could take, most likely, with how full you felt and how fast he was moving, pistoning into you now, hands grasping hard at your ass, grunting soft near your ear with each thrust. 

The concrete wall was cold against your back, a little rough where your shirt had ridden up a bit, but the sensation was inconsequential compared to the feeling of Shane in you. Finally was the word that came to mind. Finally there, finally with you, finally touching you, finally letting his guard down, finally letting you reach him, finally inside of you, closer than close, quills plucked, sharp edges smoothed, armor gone, just pliant and moving and perfect and real. Just the person you knew he was, just the person you could see in him from the moment you’d first passed on the street. Just Shane. 

“You’re doing so good,” you whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

Shane groaned, his thrusts losing rhythm. You wanted to keep talking, shower him with praise, keep feeding the part of his mind that let him enjoy the world as he should, but his mouth was over yours, the kiss wild and unrefined, and he was moaning into you, moaning as he moved, as he tensed up, hips making little jerks, until he froze, climaxing, making that choked sound again. He fell forward, plastering you to the wall, limbs heavy and relaxed. He still held your leg over his thigh.

“So is that how gridball games usually go?” you asked after a moment.

Shane let out a long, deep breath. And then he laughed. “Only the good ones.”  

You couldn’t fix him. You knew that. But as you rode home on the bus later that evening, Shane’s head resting on your shoulder, his fingers interlaced with yours, you wondered if that was besides the point. Whatever the days ahead brought, you knew who he could be.  

For now, that was more than enough.

[reinanova]

hmm i wonder if the fact that i’m in a really bad reading slump and can only read fanfics or reread favorite books (where i’m consuming media with familiar and comforting characters and worlds) says something about my mental state

[corpus-incorporated]

i want to get rid of so many things but every thought in my head is screaming about the labours of disposal the correct way, or a voice that isn’t mine telling me one day i’ll need it, somehow. i don’t want to see my trash in plain view like loose ends on an unfinished sweater. i swore i’d finish it later, when i put it on, but it’s been years and i haven’t gotten to them as things unravel more and more. i need to abandon the sweater. i don’t need to stitch back where it’s falling apart and then give it away, i need to throw it off unfinished and let it die

[minminambus]

Bites drywall. Socializing is SO complicated, my goodness.

[malikson]

.

[supremestrangeness]

OOC

aaah I wanna write but I’m not feeling what’s left in my drafts. Feel free to send Supreme any random asks/questions/whatever!

[pepprs]

ok i took a nap sorry for miseryposting

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Okay so all I need is a solid pair of headphones and to figure out how to convert my mp4 files to mp3 ones and I will be all good to actually record my first episode.

[exopelagic]

yeah I have more to say

[korovamlecznybar]

maybe the psych ward thing wasn’t a bad idea

[mollyrolls]

highlights from my notes app. 30/79 and i couldn’t even finish the last chapter

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ AKAASHI KEIJI

undone ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

she would do anything for her best friend. including, but not limited to, pretending to be his girlfriend, so he can get the attention of the girl of his dreams, as much as it hurts

PAIRING: akaashi x fem reader

STATUS: complete

TAGS/WARNING: unrequited love, fake dating, angst, pining, friends to lovers, university au, language, alcohol use, warnings may change

MDNI: will contain adult content (marked in chapter)

TAGLIST: complete this form to be added

PREVIEW: real

CHAPTER ONE: evidence

CHAPTER TWO: complications

CHAPTER THREE: close

CHAPTER FOUR: truths

CHAPTER FIVE: plans

CHAPTER SIX: act

-> SEQUEL

[mzcain27]

I need wow to like. Let me turn expansions on