#i hope the stars align this time as well

[biblicallyaccurateangel03]

I had to learn by heart a lot of Sapho poems and their greek transation, for my exams, and, hooooolly shit, that bitch was a true looser lesbian

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot

synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more.

notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she pushes the armrest up and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[bontentrio]

ATEEZ GETTING OUT OF THE FRIENDZONE

san x gn reader + mingi x gn reader (separated)

part 2 to ateez stuck in the friendzone! read that part so this makes sense

tw: slow burn + veeery dramatic + angst + fluff

a/n: both have the slowestttt slow burns in history of friends to lovers omg my heart did kinda break a little while writing them lol so keep in mind that both are VERY dramatic. maybe even cliche but honestly i just wrote what i, personally, enjoy reading. i’m just a girl in love with love 🥹

masterlist

SAN

san found himself attempting to hide his smile while you told him about your awful date from a few days ago. you were laying down with your head on his lap as san casually untangled strands of your hair, while you rambled on and on about the misfortunes he secretly thought were fortunes in disguise.

“who talks about their mother on the first date? like the whole time i mean, of course it’s okay to mention one or two things following the context of the conversation” you said, moving your hands dramatically to prove your point “but the whole time? i tried to switch the topic of the conversation towards work and can you believe he told me about what his mother does for a living before telling me what HE does for HIS?”

san couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh. you were so cute and he was so happy and relieved that the date had failed.

“he should go to therapy” he said, in between giggles. “right?! sigmund freud would have been thrilled to have him as a patient” you exclaimed, laughing too.

after a few moments of cracking jokes and laughing about the situation, you turned your head to face san. “so what about you?” you asked. he looked down at you, smile on his face still. “what about me?”

“have you gone on dates lately?” you asked. he threw his head back, shaking it slightly “with what time? i’m too busy with schedules” he answered, half lying. it’s true that he’s very busy with his idol duties, but he always managed to make time for you. he knows he could easily use up that time to go on dates, but for obvious reasons that you still were ignorant to, he didn’t. to you, he was just an introvert.

“but are you not interested in anyone?” you pushed, lifting your head and sitting up to face him properly. san chose to avoid your eyes, not trusting himself to keep his own secret. instead, he looked to the city on his right, suddenly finding the building architectures more interesting. he noticed that the air in the terrace got warmer too, and the concrete platform you were sitting on got harder. or was he the one that got warmer and stiffer? “no, i don’t think so” he lied, but you knew him enough to see through it. “liar, you’re blushing”

“well it is an intimate question” he answered, attempting to smile in order to play it off. you shook your head no “you blushed and your left eye twitched a bit. that was definitely a lie and as your best friend i want to know!” you exclaimed, grabbing his hands. if only you knew the effect you had on him.

when he came back from tour, he was determined to confess. but now that the perfect opportunity arose, he couldn’t open his mouth. questions and different negative scenarios plagued his mind, convincing him that maybe it was a bad idea. he much rather work on moving on than lose you as a friend.

“are they that special to you?” you asked, in a much quieter tone of voice, noticing his silence. he nodded, staring at your eyes, hoping you could notice the love they held whenever he looked at you. but despite his desperation, you didn’t. “they are very lucky then, you genuinely are amazing in every aspect sannie”. you continued, going back to your original place with your head on his lap, but still holding his hands. he kept staring at you, if only you knew.

“thank you” san managed to say.

———

“how fast can you come over to help me with something?” you asked san on the phone, as he exited the practice room. it was like the stars aligned, because he had just finished for the day. “i can come over right now, are you okay?” he asked, worried something may be wrong despite you sounding relatively okay. “i can’t pick an outfit and- shit my aunt his calling me, invite yourself in when you arrive, i’m in my room and you already know the lock number of the door” you said, before hanging up.

outfit for what?

———

so that’s how san found himself sitting on your bed on a friday night, numerous pieces of clothing scattered all over without care. he scrolled through some unread messages while he waited for you to try on a different outfit for your new date. yes, new date. as if his heart haven’t just healed from last time.

“i matched with someone on this app and they immediately invited me on a date so now i’m having a fashion crisis” you had explained to him as soon as he entered your room. why was it so hard for you to realize that your dates have been failing for a reason?

you appeared once again, now wearing an outfit that honestly took san’s breath away as soon as his eyes landed on your figure. it was nothing too extravagant, actually, it was rather simple, but it was enough to make san’s head spiral. specially when you twirled around to show the outfit from the back, since your shirt had an open back.

“so? what do we think?” you asked, eyes filled with hope.

san was conflicted: he was 100% sure he has never seen anyone look more beautiful, more dashing, more perfect. but, it wasn’t for him. he didn’t want anyone else to look at you like that, they would never come remotely close to the way he feels about you.

“san-?” you started to ask after a few seconds of silence, but got interrupted by him: “don’t go on that date”

you looked at him confused, as he stared back with the same surprised face. that really had slipped from his lips before he realized what he was saying. you fucked up big time san, he thought to himself.

“why? do i really look that bad?” you asked, turning around to face the mirror in order to examine your body and face. he noticed the way your eyes dimmed, as you carefully traced your eyes over your figure, finding little imperfections that made your face turn into a sad frown. san felt his own heart shatter at the sight, and before he knew, he stood up and quickly hugged you from behind, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“sannie?” you asked, startled by his sudden action and making you momentarily forget about the insecurities that started flooding your mind. you looked at him through the mirror: even if he was leaning down on you, he was still much wider, making you feel very small in his arms. unconsciously, you lifted your hand and patted his hair. san lifted his head, looking at you through the mirror as well, and your eyes interlocked.

“you’re perfect y/n” he whispered. “i’m sorry if i gave you the wrong idea, you look beautiful and your date is very lucky”. he was trying to be supportive, but traces of sadness and desperation were evident in his face. enough for you to notice. you turned around, and the same hand that was patting his head went down to his cheek, holding him in place to look at you.

“what’s wrong san?” you asked, softly. your thumb traced comforting circles on his cheek, and you could feel his arms tighten around you as he closed his eyes.

“go on that date” he whispered in a shaky voice, before adding “you look beautiful”.

you stared at him confused for a few moments, not really knowing what to say. then, he kissed your forehead and, with the little bit of strenght he had left in him, unwrapped his arms, stepping back. he grabbed his jacket and went to the door, but not before shooting you another sad look and saying “like i said, your date is very lucky”.

he left, heart in his hands, slowly breaking with each step.

you cancelled the date.

———

san couldn’t sleep that night, he kept tossing and turning as his mind wandered about what you were doing with your date. were you still having dinner? no, probably not since it’s like 2 am. maybe it went so well that you invited them over for coffee at your place, something that will probably lead to something else. something he didn’t even want to imagine, since it wasn’t him committing those sins.

maybe it was time to move on, after all. he wants you to be happy, truly, so if your happiness doesn’t include him, then he should at least be supportive. and in order to do that from the bottom of his heart, he should move-

*knock knock knock* he heard, coming from the door. he decided to ignore it, thinking that it was probably mingi, so he turned around and closed his eyes, pretending he was asleep.

“maybe he’s asleep, i should come back tomorrow but thank you soenghwa” he heard you say from behind the door. he never got out of bed faster, as he sprinted to the door and opened it widely.

there you stood, now dressed in a familiar oversized shirt and baggy pants. completely different from the outfit he last saw you on, but to him you still looked beautiful. you looked at him with wide eyes, as seonghwa smirked next to you.

“i’ll leave you alone” he said, before he made his way to his room and shut the door behind him.

you stood there awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. you came here with a question, but now that you had san right in front of you, thoughts were scattered all over your mind and you couldn’t say a word.

“come in” he said, sensing your internal dilemma. you nodded in response, as you entered and made your way to his unmade bed.

“did i wake you up?” you asked. san shut the door and shook his head “actually i couldn’t sleep”

“me neither” you said in a low voice.

“how was your date?” he asked, unsure of what to say. he sat next to you on the bed, looking at you while trying to decipher your expression. you turned your head to san’s bedside table, finding the small plushie you once gifted him randomly. you smiled. “i cancelled it”

“what? why?!” he asked, with surprised wide eyes. you turned back to him. “i suddenly didn’t want to go, that’s it really. so while i was tidying up my room i found this shirt” you said, fiddling with the ends of the shirt that looked a little too big on you “the one you once lent me after we got stuck in the rain that one time. i told you i would wash it and give it back, but i didn’t. why didn’t i give it back to you?”

san stared at you in silence.

“so i realized it still had your perfume, and before i knew it, i had put it on. then i started thinking about you, about us. you’re my best friend, you know? but as i was laying down on my bed, i was thinking: what if you were not? what if my dates always failed for a reason?” you continued, as your fingers reached for his. “what if the reason they always failed was because i always searched you in them? so again, before i realized i was standing in front of your apartment, but with one question in my mind”

san could feel his heart beat increase and his breath shorten.

“what will happen to us and our friendship if i told you how i feel? how i think i always felt even if i didn’t know it?” you asked, looking at him scared.

“you’re dumb” he said, loud enough for only you to hear. that didn’t surprise you, what did was the way he immediately let go of your hand in order to hug you close, bringing you closer to his body. “what will happen? how would i feel? y/n you’re dumb because that’s how i’ve been feeling for a long time now” he said, hands leaving your waist and craddling your face. san stared at you, and now you realized that his eyes looked different: they held love in them. something you always searched on random people in dating apps, yet were never able to find. instead, it has been right in front of you this whole time.

“i love you” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. finally, he thought. he finally said the words he has been keeping locked deeply inside him for years. you smiled, as your nose touched his. “i love you too, i’m sorry i just realized”

maybe it was time to give you the silver necklace he bought you on tour, since now the timing was right.

MINGI

mingi missed you, a lot. he hadn’t heard from you since you stormed out of his house a week and a half ago. he had left you a couple of texts apologizing, and even attempted calling you, but to no avail. you had disappeared, and he didn’t blame you, he was stupid enough to let you go. in fact, that’s the thing he regretted the most about the fight: not chasing after you.

so he did what he knew best: he took his misery and transformed it into work, to be precise, he wrote three songs, all about his feelings, the situation in itself and you.

three different scenarios that made him hear yunho’s voice calling him dramatic in his mind. to be honest, he knew he was being a little dramatic about the situation. he knew that you probably just needed time to cool down, and that if his apology was good enough you would forgive him in a heart beat, because, in the end, he knew you loved him. maybe not in the way he wished for, but you loved him nonetheless.

mingi stared at the ceiling in silence, wondering what were you doing while he layed on his bed feeling miserable. did you miss him too? were you also thinking about him? he was certain of one thing only: he wanted to see you. it didn’t matter to him if you opened the door or not, he needed to at least hear your voice through the door.

he checked the time: 11:47 pm, almost midnight. fuck it, he thought. he stood up and quickly got dressed in a speed record time, tied up his shoes and grabbed his keys and song notebook in the process. by 11:55 pm he was already closing the door of his car.

as mingi started driving, questions also started flooding his mind: will you hate him if he suddenly showed up? what if you had invited someone over? shouldn’t he have discussed this with one of his friends first just in case?

questions, questions, questions.

no answers.

soon enough, he found himself standing in front of your apartment door. he could easily ring the door bell, knock on the door or simply use the spare key you gave him once for emergencies. yet, he was unable to do any, frozen in place as he mentally debated on what to do.

mingi decided to do something odd, something he would have probably laughed at if he saw it in one of the movies you usually forced him to watch with you: he took out his pen and notebook, ripped off one of the pages and wrote on it. then, he slid it under the door and left.

“i’ll tell you everything -m”

———

you have always been a hopeless romantic, mingi knew that perfectly well. you believed in happy endings, and that love and friendship can win over everything. so why hasn’t he heard from you still? did you not get the note? should he leave another one? no, that would be too pushy, it was only two days ago.

questions, questions, questions.

still no answers.

mingi was sulking again, and honestly it started to worry seonghwa and san, who watched as he walked back to his room right after dinner, without saying a word during the whole night. honestly, he was just too lost in his thoughts. their pair exchanged a look, before following him.

“mingi, hold up, everything okay? you’re more… distracted than usual” seonghwa said, carefully choosing his words. mingi hummed in response, nodding as he stopped in his tracks. “yeah, there’s just a lot in my head” he answered, not looking at his friends. “let us hear it then” san said, patting his back and leading them towards the living room.

the trio sat down on the sofa they had bought a few months ago, the one you had scolded them about because it seemed very expensive and too hard to clean. they had all laughed, but soon enough realized you were right when mingi spilled a bit of sauce on it. the stain was still there.

“so? what’s wrong?” seonghwa asked once they all got comfortable. mingi sighed, looking down before he started spilling everything that had happened, from two weeks ago until now. he noticed the eldest nodding along the story, but neither of them said anything until he finished.

“when exactly did you leave this note?” san asked, fidgeting with his bracelet. “two days ago” mingi answered. san’s eyes went wide, as he muttered a small fuck before he sprinted towards the kitchen. seonghwa and mingi exchanged a look, both equally confused at their friend’s actions. after a few moments and very weird sounds that came from the kitchen, san appeared again, with a crumbled up yellow post it in his hand. he handed it to mingi.

“the hell is this? it has food stains san, gross” mingi said with a disgusted face as he barely touched the paper. “open it, i found it this morning” san said, sitting down next to him again. mingi gave his friends a strange look, before carefully opening the crumbled up piece of paper. as he read, his eyes widened in surprise.

“what time is it?!” he exclaimed. “9 pm” seonghwa answered, checking the time in his phone. mingi muttered a small fuck, before putting his shoes on, and grabbing his bag.

“i’ll be back in a while” he said, before shutting the door behind him.

seonghwa looked at san, confused. “what the hell did the paper say?” he asked. san picked it up from the floor and showed it to him:

“8 pm, our special place”.

the hand writing was yours.

———

mingi was almost sure he broke one or two speeding laws on his way to the park where he hoped you were still waiting at. he cursed san for not telling him sooner, even if he knew it wasn’t really his fault to begin with. the park wasn’t far from his apartment though, just a short 10 minute drive. as cliche as it sounds, it was the park were you both met.

at that time, around 6 years ago or so, his mind revolved around perfection, hard work, pressure, debut. so he would succumb to overwhelming feelings pretty often, that forced him to need some time alone. that’s how he found a park nearby, and specifically, one peculiar tree that caught his attention for some reason. he used to sit down under it, notebook on his lap and pen between his fingers, as he scribbled down some random thoughts that plagued his mind during hard moments. he didn’t really plan to turn his words into songs yet, it was just his way to deal with stress. he used to find these little moments very special: it was like he was reconnecting with his inner, truer self, and not the mean facade he wore in front of his soon to be members. yeah, some of them irked him, like that wooyoung guy, but he didn’t mean to be that rude all the time. so, to escape the constant pressure kq fellaz was facing in between the company walls, he found solace in a park, but specifically, he found solace under that tree.

he could remember the day he met you like it was yesterday. he remembers all the stress he was feeling, debut date coming closer and closer. everyone was on edge, from the members to the staff. he had also recently come back from morocco after successfully shooting his first music video! but he couldn’t deny it: as much as he was excited, he was already feeling a little tired. he needed some alone time, just himself with his thoughts. so he found himself walking towards his favorite spot in the park.

only to find you there, sitting down under the tree. his tree to be precise. and you were writing on a pink notebook with a fluffy pen. mingi felt like he was looking at a reflection of himself, but instead of being comforted by it, he felt annoyed. it was HIS tree after all!

“excuse me, this is my spot” he said, coming into your field of vision. you looked up to him, pausing your hand and taking an earphone off. “excuse me?”

“this is my spot” he reiterated, making you chuckle slightly. “the tree you mean? does it have your name or something?” you asked, finding the situation hilarious. he rolled his eyes in annoyance, why did nothing go his way?! “listen, i had a shitty day and i need to sit there for a while, so can you leave?”

“no, i got here first. plus there are tons of other trees here, it’s a park after all” you said, putting your earphone back on and turning your gaze to your notebook. he stayed still in his place in front of you, making you huff in annoyance at his persistence. “look dude, i am not going to move. you can either sit on the opposite side or leave, i don’t care but stop bothering me” you continued.

mingi really really reaaaally needed to be at his safe place, too overwhelmed to funcion rationally, so he rolled his eyes and sat on the opposite side of the tree.

that’s how the story started: at opposite sides of the tree. soon enough it got replaced by sitting nearby, and eventually next to each other. some times you would even bring snacks to share in silence, as you both wrote down your thoughts on your respective notebooks. once he debuted, he broke the silence for the first time, urging you to listen to his song. after that, you started talking more, about music, shows, your respective jobs and life in itself. the safe place you both found under the tree, was also found in each other, quickly realizing you often shared the same thoughts and views about the world.

the story started under a tree, and he hoped it wouldn’t end there too. he needed you to be there, because he wasn’t ready to lose not only his best friend, but also his safe place. even the tree would become stained from the pain. and he would have nothing left, just questions, questions, and more questions about different what ifs.

you weren’t there.

but mingi wasn’t about to give up anytime soon. he started running towards the direction of your apartment, forgetting that he had parked the car on the opposite direction. his legs were aching, and he felt like he was a bit out of breath, despite all the idol training he has been enduring for six years. but he kept running.

until he spot you in the distance.

“y/n!” he yelled. he saw you stop in your tracks and turn around to his direction, confused at the sudden call of your name. once you spotted him running towards you, you sprinted to him.

his body collapsed against yours, as he hugged you tightly, like you would disappear if he let you go. mingi hid his face in the crook of your neck as you wrapped your arms around his back. you could hear his quick heart beat from how close he held you, and you were sure he could hear yours too.

after a while, mingi lifted his head from your neck, and looked at you. “why are you crying?” he asked, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “i thought you wouldn’t come, why are you crying mingi?” you asked, repeating his own actions, but on his cheeks. he giggled, he didn’t even realize he was crying. “i thought i lost you” he said, truthfully.

the park was dark, the only lights came from street lights. so, for outsiders, you probably looked like a random couple having a dramatic moment. definitely not mingi from idol group ateez and his best friend y/n reconciliating.

“i’m sorry” he whispered, locking his eyes with yours. they still held tears, that threatened to spill depending on your answer. you shook your head “no, i’m sorry mings, i shouldn’t have walked away like that. plus i didn't even give you a chance to explain”.

“i’m sorry for not showing you the songs, for not chasing you, and for being too much of a coward to not face you directly” he apologized. you hugged him again, shushing him. “i shouldn’t have pressured you to show me, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do”

mingi looked at you again, and bit his lip. “can i still show you though?”

“it’s not necessary, mingi, it’s fine real-“ you started saying before he interrupted you, taking your hand and leading you towards the same old place from before. “i want to” he said, determined.

you let him whisk you away.

———

back at the peculiar tree that was iluminated enough by a street lamp a few meters away, he sat you down at your usual spot. he sat down beside you, as he pulled out his notebook from his bag. mingi gave it to you.

“mingi, this really isn’t necessary-“ you started saying once again. “please” he interrupted, with pleading eyes. so you took his notebook and opened it on the first page. you already read that song, it was the first one he ever wrote a long while back. “read the last ones”

you turned the pages, until you found them. mingi looked at you nervously, starting to feel fidgety at the thought of you realizing his deepest secret, the only one he hid from you. he just hoped you wouldn’t hate him. he scanned your face, puffy eyes filling with tears once again as realization hit you. you turned your gaze back to him with wide, surprised eyes.

“mingi- what? wait, hold on” you stammered, as tears fell from your eyes. you quickly set his notebook aside to grab your own bag, taking out your new pink notebook, your diary. you handed it to him, saying: “open it on august 5th”

he stared at you confused, and slightly unsure too, since you’ve always been pretty secretive about what you wrote there. he found the page and read:

“august 5th.

so i realized something, that i’m almost too afraid to write even here. i’m scared that if i admit it, i’ll have to face a sad reality. i think i’m in love with my best friend, isn’t that stupid? that’s how i feel, at least. i haven’t seen him in a while because of his work, and i feel like i’m slowly losing my mind. why do i only feel complete when he’s with me? scratch that, why am i even writing this?

anyways, i’ll probably die with the secret”

“now turn to september 16th” you said, avoiding his eyes.

“september 16th.

i’m in love with my best friend. i love mingi. how insane is that? and how stupid? he is my best friend, for god’s sake. but i can’t help the way i feel, specially when he’s so annoyingly observant. like for example, the other day he noticed my pen was dying, so today he surprised me with a new fluffy pink pen. i hate him for making my heart swell at such gestures. specially because i know I KNOW that’s what best friends do.

anyways i’m not gonna use his pen because i decided i’m going to preserve it forever”

“and now, tun to november 10th” you muttered. mingi realized it was yesterday’s date.

“november 10th.

i still love him. and i fucked up. but i’m still in love with him”

he closed your notebook, turning towards you. he found you with your face on your knees, as you hugged your legs, too embarrassed to face him, despite now knowing his feelings. he loves you too, with the same devotion, with the same desperation and intensity. mingi loves you, his best friend.

“look at me, y/n” he whispered. you slowly lifted your head, hesitantly looking at him. the way you both looked at each other held more intimacy than ever. mingi slowly reached for you, bringing your face closer to his. his hold was shaky, almost unsure, this was a whole new territory. he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“i love you” he admitted.

too many questions, that finally got an answer.

“i love you too” you whispered.

taglist: @yoongles2025 @reallychaoticwoo

(to be added please let me know)

[nikitallymessy]

who will you end up with?

→ liked the reading? support me on ko-fi!

ᯓ𖤐.ᐟ introduction: this reading will cover who you'll end up with, and who your end game is. This is a follower request yippie!!

ᯓ𖤐.ᐟ reminder: this is a general reading made for entertainment purposes, so please take what resonates and leave what doesn't ^_^

ᯓ𖤐.ᐟ how to pick a pile: close your eyes, take a deep breath, and choose the picture to which your eyes are drawn to.

from left to right: pile 1 | pile 2 | pile 3 | pile 4 | pile 5

PILE 1:

their physical appearance - page of swords

The physical appearance of the person you’ll end up with is someone who looks youthful for their age like they’re eternally 20 years old. They have brown wavy hair and eyes with warm medium tan skin, (I don’t know if you guys are familiar with this brand but I keep seeing the shade “Lazi” from Colourette’s first base skin tint.) They are also tall with a lean or naturally slim build. I’m getting very “boyish” vibes from this card. 

their aura - the star

With the star card, their aura is very dream-like, like a breath of fresh air of hope. Their favorite color could be blue as well, with the water and the background on the star card as well as on the page of swords. They could enjoy wearing the color blue or incorporate it often in their daily lives. Anyway, I see they could be a spiritual person as well, with a strong connection to water. Their favorite hobbies may include stargazing, swimming, and walking. 

their main traits - saturn in scorpio and mercury in virgo

What I'm getting at with the saturn in scorpio is that they are a very intense person, especially when it comes to work. This includes being a perfectionist and a hard worker as well. The meaning of this card is inheritance, so this could hint that they deal with family matters often, such as managing an inheritance. I'm getting hints that the person you end up with could be a businessman or someone whose career requires maximum effort and an excellent, analytical mind. Your person does not rush into things or do things impulsively, rather, they take the time to think clearly about their options with a level-headed mind.

━━���❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━

PILE 2:

their physical appearance - temperance

Your person is someone who is very angelic in their appearance. They have this white aura-like glow about them, and they’re conventionally attractive as well. I see that they have the perfect balance of feminine and masculine features, so they are androgynous in appearance. To be more specific, they may have light brown to blonde hair, have dewy, healthy skin, and are average to tall in height. 

their aura - the tower

This is someone who has very intense energy. They could have experienced great losses in their life that makes them closed off to people. I’m getting that they’re the type of person to leave a long-lasting impression on people due to how intense and powerful their aura is. 

their main traits - saturn in capricorn and saturn in scorpio

A lot of saturn energy here! Aligned with the tower card, your person is someone who experienced great lessons in life, thus transforming them into someone who practices self-discipline and structure in their lives. While they’re young, they’re a very “all work no play” type of person, but once they get older and cement themselves in life as a successful person, they start to let loose. I see that for now, they could be very stuck-up and stick to the rules a lot, but that is for their own benefit in life. They feel as though they have to leave their mark in the world. 

━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━

PILE 3:

their physical appearance - nine of cups

For this pile, your person is someone who you’ll take note of first and who dresses with comfort in mind over everything else. They could have round faces and body shapes, as well as wavy dark-colored hair. They are of medium to short height (shorter than you or around your height). 

their aura eight of pentacles

This is someone who at first glance, you know is passionate and creative about their craft. This craft could be anything, like hobbies such as woodworking, or even writing. They have a very grounded, they know themselves, hardworking energy about them. This is someone who is a very dependable person due to their consistency. 

their main traits - jupiter in libra and mars in leo

I see that they have a talent for making people love them, it's their comforting, reliable energy. They have the respect and admiration of others in their life, and this is for good reason. Although with this respect comes egotism, they could also be someone with a high ego because they know that they are great at what they do. I see that they enjoy playing games as well, it could be one of their hobbies!

━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━

PILE 4:

their physical appearance - the empress

First of all, I have to say that this entire pile is giving me feminine energy. So this person who you'll end up with is definitely someone who embodies the feminine energy and the divine feminine. This is someone who is undeniably beautiful, and they know it. They take care of themselves well and carry themselves with elegance and grace.

their aura - queen of wands

For their aura, they are intensely confident, independent, and vivacious. They know what they want and they know how to get it. They are also incredibly independent - like pure "girl boss" energy is just screaming from this pile. For the people they're close with, they see this person as a mother figure at best, someone who is dependable and exudes warmth.

their main traits - venus in aries and moon in aquarius

Your person has a lust for life, they're wild, eccentric, and affectionate. You could enter this relationship with them impulsively or it's a relationship that moves fast. Whoever they choose to be their partner, they get them. This is someone who does not hide behind any facades, they show their true selves to others and they have to decide whether to appreciate them or move on.

━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━

PILE 5:

their physical appearance - knight of pentacles

I see that with the knight of pentacles, your person has an earthy look about them, like dark hair and olive-to-dark skin. They are muscular and strong, very sturdy. This build makes them someone who at first glance, you already know is a great shoulder to lean on. I see that they could have thoughtful and expressive eyes as well, like they can't hide how they feel no matter what once you look into their eyes.

their aura - knight of cups

This is a very romantic person, lucky you! They care about you a lot and chivalry is not dead when you're with them. I see that they're very sweet and charming, but not to the point where it's flashy. This charm and sweetness come straight from their heart. They love connecting with you and knowing every thought that comes from your mind, they find those thoughts beautiful.

their main traits - mercury in aquarius and sun in leo

This is someone who is revolutionary, they're immensely intelligent, an innovative thinker, and cares about humanity in general. They could take a social science or a humanities course in college. This is someone who has a grand vision for people and wants to execute it. They could be a CEO later in their life, such as owning a start-up company. This is someone who is a hard worker and reaps what they sow. I see that they often take leadership roles, not because they want the recognition of being a leader, but because it is in their soul to lead.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My Cup of Tea

Fandom: Marvel (Celebrity AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve spent 2 years trying to get Bucky Barnes on your interview show Coffee Shop Date and the chemistry is undeniable between you two.

You watch as Bucky takes a seat across from you. The small cafe in Brooklyn was empty besides you two. The smell of coffee beans brewing and pastries baking fill the air.

“So…it’s happened,” You state plainly.

Bucky chuckles as he settles into his seat more, “It has.”

“Did you finally get tired of rejecting me?” you ask with a teasing tilt of your head and a smirk on your lips. This has always been how you and Bucky behaved around each other at events.

It all started one fateful night at the Emmy's. His show, Echoes of the Crown, being nominated for Best Drama Series. He came up to you on the red carpet and he exclaimed excitement because he's watched your show. You then invited him to come on and he said he'd have to get back to you since his schedule is packed at the moment.

For the past two year, you've been keeping in contact with him and his publicist to see if your schedules would align. In-between that, you'd constantly tease him at events and award shows about how he keeps ghosting you. People of the internet have commented on the clear chemistry between you two, hoping that some day the stars would align and he'd be on your show.

After all this time, he's finally found the time to come onto your show Coffee Shop Date.

He laughs, “I wasn’t rejecting you! I’ve been busy!”

You roll your eyes, seemingly unconvinced, “That’s basically a nice way of rejecting someone, James.”

He playfully winces, “Oh boy. My government name. I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

You take a sip from your mug. The cafe uses an array of mismatched dish and drinkware, giving the overall vibes of the place very fun and homey.

You change the subject, “Is this your go to place?”

He looks around and nods, “Yeah. One of my favorite places to go to when I’m home. They’ve been around for over fifty years.”

“It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.” Bucky says with a grin.

You bite back a smirk, “What’s your go to coffee order?”

“Black coffee or cold brew.”

You raise a brow at him, “No sugar? Do you hate sweet things?”

He smirks at you, “If I hated sweet things, I wouldn’t be on this date with you, would I?”

"Alright then, Casanova."

"You're not fond of black coffee?"

"Not my cup of tea," you say jokingly as you lift your mug to your lips for a sip.

"Well you're my cup of tea."

“…you’re laying it on thick, Barnes. You usually like this on dates?”

“Only when I really like the person.” You hide your smile in your mug and he asks, "What about you? You usually this snarky with your dates?"

You shrug, "Only with the ones who keep cancelling on me."

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, "How long you gonna hold that over my head, sweetheart?"

"For as long as I want or until I find something else I can hold over you."

He takes a sip from his own cup and then gestures to yours, "You always drink tea?"

You glance down at the cup of hot black tea with milk and sugar and shake your head, "Not always. Depends how I'm feeling. Sometimes I like tea, other days coffee, or even a matcha."

He scrunches his face up in distaste, "I tried matcha and I don't really like it. Tastes like grass and dirt to me."

You scoff, "Maybe because you haven't tried good matcha. Some places have good matcha, others not so much."

"Maybe you can take me to a place with good matcha after all this," he gestures to the cameras and crew.

You look at him in surprise, "Are you asking me on a real date, Barnes?"

"Second date."

"So confident I'd want another date with you?"

He leans back in his chair with a smirk, "Sweetheart, for two years, you've been trying to get me to go on a coffee date with you. I'm pretty sure you'd like to go on a second date with me."

"So cocky."

This playful, flirtatious banter gave you a bit of a thrill. It was fun to flirt with Bucky and tease him. He was obviously a handsome man, but he was also charming and funny. There was just something about him that made you feel a little more daring and comfortable.

"So tell me, what's something that scares you?" he asks, as he rests his elbows on the table, leaning closer to you. His eyes completely focused on you.

"Birds."

He laughs, "Birds?! Specific kinds or all kinds?"

"All. They freak me out with how they fly around, can swoop at you any moment. The talking ones freak me out the most. Animals should not be able to talk back!"

Bucky looks at you in amusement, covering his mouth to muffle his laughter, "That wasn't an answer I was expecting."

"What kind of answer were you expecting then?"

"I don't know! Maybe spiders or heights?"

"Okay, what about you?"

"Reptiles."

"Like snakes?"

"Not just snakes, but also lizards. I don't like how they move. It freaks me out." He answers with seriousness.

You continue to converse with each other until your director yelled cut for time. You and Bucky visibly relax.

"Thank you again for coming on," you say with a genuine smile.

Bucky's eyes twinkle as he nods, "Of course, I mean, you were very persistent for this to happen."

"Well, not just me. The entire internet too. Are you ready for the storm that's about to hit once this airs?"

"I am. I mean, they're all right, we have great chemistry."

"I suppose we do."

"So...how about a real date?"

You can't help but widen your eyes in shock, "Oh, you were serious about that?"

He nods, "Absolutely. I really would like to get to know you better without all the cameras and crew."

"Yes, of course. I can take you to a cafe I know that actually does serve amazing matcha!"

He laughs, "Alright. It's a date!"

______________________________

Bucky Barnes Spotted With Interviewer, Y/N L/N

buckysnumber1fan: SHUT THE FUCK UP. HES FINALLY GOING ON COFFEE SHOP DATE

buckysluvr: FINALLYYYYYY. i love the chemistry they have!

thatoneguyonhere: miss girl is living my dream and im mad but also happy for her. ;__;

jbbhoe: wait, is this a real date or just for coffee shop date????

______________________________

"Well, well, well, look who we have here!" your friend and fellow interviewer, Carol.

You wave at her as you and Bucky approach, "Hi, Carol!" you give her a hug.

"How does it feel to be on the other side of this?" she asks, holding out her mic to you.

You snort, "So weird, but this guy finally convinced me to accompany him," you point to Bucky and he smiles at Carol.

"I told her she had to experience this at least once in her life. And much like her, I'm very persistent when it comes to something I want."

"This must be surreal for both of you considering that a few years ago at this very event, you two met and instantly clicked. Now look at you two!"

Bucky sighs, "Yeah, it's...it's a little funny how we've come to a weird kind of circle moment. We're both back here together, but our relationship with each other has completely changed. But I wouldn't have it any other way." He looks at you with fondness in his eyes and kisses your head.

Carol beams at the affection shared between you two, "Well alright, you two, I'll let you two go. Enjoy the rest of your night and, Bucky, congrats again on another nomination."

"Thanks so much!"

"See you around, Carol!" you wave to your friend as Bucky directs you further down the red carpet.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 14

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

“I want to go home,” Zahra said softly, Azalea slumbering safely between them. His mate, his wife… she was subtly golden glowing that morning, looking like the sun incarnate.

It was more obvious now…or maybe he just saw it more than he had before. Or maybe it was because Zahra was happy. Content. 

“Are you sure, sunshine?” He asked her softly, his thumb tracing her cheek. “There is no need to rush.” 

There wasn’t. 

He was willing to take all the time in the world right here in Rosehall with the two of them. And maybe a part of him…a part of him was hoping for some more time before the insanity of their family was going to descend on them. 

Azriel didn’t believe for one moment that that was over already. 

“I want her to come home to the cottage,” Zahra said softly. “Though we’ll need to figure out some way to…extend it maybe?“ 

They had talked about it before in passing, comments about adding an office… but now they would be adding a nursery. And maybe other rooms as well when they were already at it.

Azriel could feel the warmth of his mate’s body against his, their daughter sleeping peacefully between them. He was acutely aware of her golden glow, of her scent, of the press of her hand against his chest. The knowledge that this female, this beautiful, strong, incredible person, was bound to him for eternity was a heady joy. A light in the darkness.

He pressed a soft kiss to Zahra’s forehead, his wings curling around them again.

"Of course, Sunshine," he murmured against her skin. "We’ll return home."

Whatever she wanted. 

Her request was so simple, and yet he understood the importance of it entirely. The cottage was home, yes, but more importantly it was part of their story. Their story together. Their lives with their daughter. 

“Your sisters won’t be patient forever,” he  warned Zahra nontheless.

It wouldn’t be pretty. He knew that. She knew that too. 

Zahra looked at him, fierce green eyes meeting his.

“I don’t care,” she murmured, her gaze steady and unwavering. “I am not going to hide. I am not going to wait because they don’t like me or the choices I made. I don’t care, Azriel,” she told him flatly. 

Her fingers brushed against his cheek, her touch gentle yet firm. “Azalea is my priority. You are my priority. I’ll deal with my sisters if I must,” she told him, her voice soft yet filled wth conviction. 

Azriel had thought it was impossible to love her more than he already did, but with every look, every word, she proved him wrong.

He couldn't imagine a life without her, without their daughter. He couldn't imagine living without Zahra by his side.

He had found his mate, his love, his everything.

"We belong together," he whispered, his voice full of love and promise.

"Always."

His lips found hers, his hands gently cupping her face as he kissed her.

Her lips were warm and soft against his, and he could feel the love radiating from her.

He wanted to stay in this moment forever. With the beautiful woman he loved more than anything, their daughter nestled between them.

The rest of the world could wait.

All that mattered was this. This moment.

His fingers trailed over her face, tracing the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw.

She was his. And he was hers.

Nothing could ever take that away. Nothing could ever come between them.

Azriel would fight for her, and for their daughter, until the end of time.

She pulled back, resting her forehead against his. 

"Besides, I can't ignore them forever," Zahra said quietly.

Azriel chuckled softly against her lips, his hand moving to cup her face gently.

"You could try," he replied softly, a teasing edge to his voice.

He traced her lower lip with his thumb, his gaze locked on hers.

"You should be able to. They owe you at least all the time you want," he told her softly.

Zahra sighed.

"They don't owe me anything," she disagreed quietly.

Azriel frowned at that, his brows furrowing slightly.

He had hoped that she wouldn't say something like that.

He knew that she felt like she didn't deserve anything, that she wasn't owed anything. But it was so untrue.

She deserved everything.

"Zahra…" he began softly, but she cut him off before he could say anything else.

"Stop," she said firmly, her hands gripping his shirt tightly.

She was too gentle. Too kind.

But he knew he couldn't force her to see it the way he did.

He would do anything to protect her, their daughter. Even if it meant accepting her forgiveness of the people who had done her so wrong.

It didn't mean he had to like it though. 

He pressed another kiss to Zahra's lips, his hand moving to trace down her spine.

He wanted to protect her, to keep her close and shield her from all that was wrong in the world.

But he also knew that Zahra was strong, that she had the strength to make her own decisions.

Even if he didn't necessarily agree with them. 

"You're too damn forgiving," he murmured softly against her lips, his voice husky with emotion.

His hands curled around her body, pulling her close, his lips never leaving hers.

He held her tightly, his body enveloped her in a tight embrace.

“I am not,” Zahra disagreed. “But quite frankly, I would rather not spent my energy on them when I could spent it on Azalea.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, his body still wrapped around her.

He understood her reasoning. It was better to focus on what truly mattered. Their daughter.

"You're right," he murmured against her hair, his wings twitching in agreement. "She is our priority," he said, his voice firm. "Nothing else matters."

Not even his own anger at his family. All that mattered was his wife and daughter. 

He leaned back slightly to look at her, his hands running over her back in soft circles.

"I love you," he said softly.

It was a plain truth. Something he felt was worth repeating as often as possible. He knew she was aware of his love for her, but it would never hurt to remind her. 

Azalea let out a little noise then, her small hand fisting in Azriel's shirt.

Both of their gazes went to their daughter, their eyes filled with affection. She looked small and so innocent, wrapped up in their embrace.

"There you are, sweetheart," Azriel murmured, a soft smile on his lips.

He let his hand brush over their daughter's head, a feeling of warmth spreading through his chest.

"Just like her mother."

Zahra chuckled softly at the compliment, her eyes twinkling.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Shadowsinger," she teased, her voice low. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Azriel's cheek. "You're lucky you're so good at it."

She winked at him slyly, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

There wasn’t much to pack up. The things Zahra had brought, the chest that houses the few pieces of clothing Esmeray had made for Azalea… Which prompted the shadows curling themselves around his wings, May we go shopping, Master?

Azriel paused at the question, his brows rising in surprise. He should have expected it. 

They were an extension of him. The desire to shop for their daughter was simply reflection of his own desire to spoil the little girl. Of course, the shadows would want to buy things for their daughter, he thought. It was quite natural for them to want to provide anything and everything to his child.

"They want to go shopping?" Zahra asked him with some amusement and he realised that they must have spoken loud enough for her to hear. He just shrugged. "Let them," she said easily. "And if you want to buy some furniture, be my guest."

He leaned down to press a kiss to Zahra's cheek, his hand coming up to her chin to tilt her face to him. "Thank you for understanding," he murmured softly.

"Maybe they'll find a crib for her," Zahra said drily. "I feel like a horrible mother already."

Azriel frowned at that, his brows knotting together. He didn't like her saying that.

She should never feel that way. Ever.

"You're not a horrible mother, sunshine," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You're a wonderful mother. Our daughter is happy and healthy. That's what matters."

He reached up to cup her face, his thumb tracing over her cheek. "You're doing everything you can for her. And that's all anyone could ever ask for."

Zahra gave him a hesitant smile. "I never want her to feel as alone as I did," she said softly.

Azriel's expression softened at Zahra's words, his heart aching at the thought of her feeling so alone. He'd do everything in his power to make sure she never felt that way again.

"Of course not," he said, his voice soft and full of love. "Our daughter is never going to feel alone. She's going to be surrounded by so much love. From us, from our family. She's going to grow up knowing that she is loved. That we would fight to the ends of the world for her.” He pulled her closer in his arms, his wings wrapping around them. "I promise you," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. "Our daughter will never feel the way you did. She will be safe and loved. We'll make sure of it. "

The sound of Azalea's soft whimper interrupted any further conversation between them.

"I think she wants something too," Azriel observed with a chuckle, looking at their daughter.

The little girl looked up at them with clear demand in her eyes, her tiny hands reaching out to them.

"Seems like she wants us to pay attention to her," Zahra said with a smile, her expression filled with adoration as she looked down at their daughter.

"Always so demanding, it seems," he quipped with a warm smile.

He reached down to pick up Azalea, holding her gently in his arms.

“Let’s go home,” he said softly.

They promised his mother that they would come to visit soon, and then it was simply a question of him wrapping his wife and daughter into his shadows and winnowing them home to their little cottage.

The world around them shifted and blurred, a surge of darkness and weightlessness as the shadows swirled around them.

And then they were there, standing in the middle of the living room in their cottage.

The shadows had been busy already, Azriel reflected drily. They must have started before even asking for permission. 

Zahra gave a shocked laugh, as she saw the bookcases lining one wall of the living room.

The cottage, which had once contained little more than the basics, was now filled with furniture and decorations. A new sofa, that somehow managed to compliment the horrible ugly armchair, and new curtains adorned the main room, along with several of Azalea's new toys and baby supplies.

"This is…a lot," Zahra muttered, looking around their home with wide eyes.

Azriel couldn't help a small, proud smile from forming on his lips. "Did you expect anything less?" he drawled, his voice laced with amusement.

He hadn’t. There was a touch of pride in his gaze at the sight of his mate and daughter in their home.

He shifted their daughter in his arms, the baby's weight a comforting presence against him.

"Are you complaining about how our daughter's needs are being met?" Azriel teased, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of Zahra's hair from her face.

Zahra huffed in response to Azriel's teasing, but there was a smile on her face. 

"Of course not," she said with feigned indignation. Zahra wrapped her arms around him and their daughter, her eyes twinkling with humor. "I'm simply astounded by your ability to spoil me and our daughter so thoroughly."

Azriel chuckled, pulling her closer to him, his wings enveloping them both.

"It's not spoiling if it's deserved," he replied, his voice low and husky as his lips brushed against her neck.

A proper bed was in the bedroom now, big enough for them to share, even if Azalea slept with them, which Azriel thought was quite likely.

Zahra stole Azalea who looked around wide eyed and showed her the kitchen her soft voice carrying through the room.

Azriel just watched.

He was filled with a sense of contentment as he watched them together, his chest filing with warmth

The sight of his wife and daughter exploring their new home…he couldn't imagine a life better than this, a family more perfect than what he had.

Rhys? he reached out carefully. We are home.

As Azriel reached out through their link, Rhys’ voice filtered into his mind.

You're home? Everything alright?

The concern in his voice was plain, his tone laced with worry, his surprise palpable.

Everything's fine, Azriel reassured him quickly, his answer swift. The last thing he wanted was for Rhys to be concerned or worried. We're alright. No need to panic. Zahra wanted to bring Azalea home.

Zahra wants to bring her home? Rhys echoed through their mental connection, bewilderment evident in his voice.

Yes, she wanted her home, Azriel affirmed, his voice calm and steady.

He could sense Rhys’ trepidation though, the question in his mind before he even asked it.

A question that they both knew the answer to.

I doubt we'll be able to keep her sisters away for much longer, Rhys warned him quietly.

Azriel's lips pressed into a thin line at Rhys's words, a wave of irritation rising in him.

He knew that. But that didn't meant that Azriel was a fan of it.

If they upset my wife or my daughter, I won't stand for it, he growled.

He knew Rhys could sense his anger through their mental connection, the protectiveness he felt for Zahra and Azalea.

For a moment it was quiet. Then...Your wife? Rhys demanded. Azriel?!

Azriel sighed, realizing that Rhys had picked up on his unintentional slip. He hadn't meant to reveal the truth just yet, but it seemed that he had inadvertently done just that.

Yes, my wife, he admitted softly.

You got married and didn't tell me?! Rhys's voice thundered across their minds in clear surprise and shock.

His reaction was predictable, but Azriel could hear the hint of offence in his voice.

You should shut up, we didn't know about you and feyre either, he shot back.

That's different, was Rhys's only response through the link, his voice almost whining.

Azriel rolled his eyes; Rhys was the High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful being in their world, and yet he was sulking like a child.

We just wanted something small, just for us, Azriel answered with a mental shrug.

I probably shouldn't even be surprised, Rhys said with a sigh.

We didn't want Azalea to be a bastard, Azriel offered with some amusement.

Rhys’ sigh sounded through the link again before his brother replied through the mental connection.

So you are just being responsible. That’s a first, Rhys teased though his mind, Cassian will insist on throwing you a party, he warned. 

Azriel rolled his eyes again; he could already imagine the glee in Cassian's eyes when he found out.

His brother would be relentless.

Let him try, he shot back. He won't get past the shadows.

Rhys laughed aloud at that, the sound echoing through their mental connection.

You underestimate his determination. You know there will be a party, whether you like it or not, Rhys insisted, his tone laced with amusement.

***

Zahra looked around the cottage as she held their daughter in her arms, her eyes taking in the sight of the new furniture and decorations.

There was a new bed, a rocking chair, and toys and supplies for their baby all over the cottage.

“You really went all out,” she said aloud.

But she loved it. She loved all of it.

The cottage had been hers since she won it in that stupid card game...but now...now it was a proper home. Their home. Home for Zahra and her family, for her mate and her daughter. Nothing that she thought she would ever have.

Nothing that she would ever want to lose.

She watched as Azriel settled onto the horrible armchair, his large form taking up the space. He spread his wings out behind him, the sight of them making the space look even smaller. He patted his lap, a clear invitation.

She understood the silent gesture and moved over to him, taking a seat on his lap, their baby on her lap.

Azriel's arms encircled them both, holding them close as he wrapped his wings around them, enveloping them in his warmth.

He dropped a kiss on top of her head, his breathing slow and steady, his heartbeat calm and comforting.

She let her head rest against his chest as his hand moved to stroke Azalea's head. 

"I told Rhys about the wedding," he said softly.

Zahra chuckled at that, leaning her head back to look at him.

“How did he take it?” her eyes were filled with curiosity.

Azriel chuckled as well, his fingers gently stroking along her leg, his touch warm and comforting.

“As well as you could expect,” he replied, his voice filled with amusement. “He was shocked and offended that we didn’t tell him or invite him to the wedding. His ego may never recover.”

Zahra just snorted. "It was perfect," she disagreed. "Just us." Just the way she liked it.

The shadows swarmed around them at that, playing with her hair and Azalea squealed as she reached out for one swirling tendril. It held still for her, letting pudgy baby hands grip at it and wove through her fingers excitedly.

Azriel chuckled at the sight their daughter's interaction with his shadows.

"She likes them, huh?" Azriel observed, his voice filled with humour.

Zahra watched as Azalea's pudgy baby hands gripped at the tendril, her wide eyes watching it intently. She couldn’t help but giggle at the look of intense concentration on Azalea’s face. 

Another tendril unceremoniously dumped a velvet jewellery box on Zahra's lap at that moment. Like a silent We need to do everything around here!

Zahra's eyebrows rose as the box appeared in her lap, her gaze moving from the box to Azriel.

"And what is this?" she asked, the corner of her lips twitching as she tried not to laugh.

"Open it and find out," Azriel said drily.

Zahra chuckled and rolled her eyes, but her fingers lifted the lid off the box anyway.

She couldn't help her curiosity. As she looked inside, her eyebrows lifted again. "Oh," she breathed, her eyes widening as she took in the contents.

Two matching gold wedding bands laid there in the velvet. Simple. Unassuming.

She had never loved any piece of jewellery more, as she lifted the bigger one to slide it over Azriel's ring finger.

Azriel watched silently as she put the ring on his finger, his expression tender and soft.

And as she moved to put her own ring on, his hand stopped her.

"No," he said firmly, his voice low and demanding. She looked at him, surprised by his denial. "Why?" she protested, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Azriel gave her a sly smile as he took the smaller ring from her hands, his fingers gently caressing her skin.

"Because that’s my job,” he said simply.

Zahra's breath caught in her throat at his words, the intensity in his voice making her heart race. She swallowed, her eyes darting between the ring and his face. "Is that so?" she replied, the words coming out huskier than she’d intended.

Azriel's lips curled into a smirk as he heard the change in her voice. His grip on her hand tightened as he brought her fingers up to his lips, his eyes darkened further as he kissed them softly.

He took the ring then in his free hand, holding it between them. "It is," he answered firmly. "I am your husband."

Her lips parted in surprise at his demand, a flutter of anticipation in her chest. Azriel's eyes remained focused on hers, his gaze burning with a possessiveness that should have scared her.

Instead, all it did was make her want him more.

Her mind went blank as he gently picked up her ring finger and, with a single fluid movement, eased the gold wedding band over it.

Zahra’s heart skipped a beat when he slid the ring onto her finger, his touch lingering on her hand for a moment longer than necessary.

He held up her hand and turned it gently, studying the ring on her finger with an expression of satisfaction.

"It looks good on you," he said, his voice low and rough. His gaze flicked up to hers, his eyes almost glittering.

Azalea took that moment to yawn. Zahra couldn’t help but coo slightly. Azalea's little yawn caught Azriel's attention, and his gaze immediately moved to the baby in her lap. His lips curled into a soft smile at the sight of her.

"Someone's sleepy," he said, his voice filled with affection.

He reached out his hand to run it over her soft hair, watching as the baby's eyes fluttered closed.

“Let’s lay her down for a nap and I’ll tell Violet that we are back home,” Zahra said softly. And probably ask her for…well. They needed to figure out the childcare situation after all. No more 10 hours days hunched over her kitchen table..but then she had made quite the dent in the accounts of a few decades already. 

Azriel nodded, his eyes still fixed on their sleeping daughter.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," he agreed, his voice soft. "I'll take her."

He stood up, carefully picking up Azalea in his arms. The baby shifted slightly, but then settled back into a deep, peaceful sleep against his chest.

Zahra had not expected for Violet to show up at her front door 3 hours later, out of breath and shoving a gift bag into Zahra’s arms. “The next time you get a baby, I need a forewarning!” Violet declared. Zahra couldn’t help laughing heartily, her eyes glittering in amusement.

Violet’s declaration and the breathlessness in her voice were priceless. She took the gift from her friend’s hands. “You want to meet her?” Zahra teased, her voice filled with affection.

Violet, still huffing and catching her breath, gave her a mock glare. "You really are not funny," she said in an irritated tone.

But despite her irritation, there was a small hint of a smile on her lips. Zahra could see the affection in her eyes.

“Of course I do!” Violet said brightly.

Zahra opened the door wide.

As Violet entered the cottage, her eyes immediately went to Azalea and Azriel, who were sitting on the floor, engrossed in their game.

She watched as Azriel carefully played with their daughter, his big hands surprisingly gentle and tender.

The sight was nothing less than heart melting.

“Oh, she’s adorable,” Violet cooed. Zahra chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement.

She had never expected her friend to swoon like an enamored girl.

“She is, isn’t she?” Zahra agreed with a smile, her heart swelling with maternal pride.

Violet moved further into the room, her eyes still fixed on Azalea as she stepped closer to them.

Zahra watched as the baby giggled happily, her tiny hand reaching out to grab Azriel's fingers.

Zahra could see the tender look in Azriel's eyes as he played with their daughter, his expression filled with love and adoration. And then Azalea spied Violet and started at her wide eyed, dark eyes fixed on the purple wings sprouting from Violet’s back.

She stared at them intently, her expression filled with fascination and awe.

Azriel chuckled at his daughter's reaction, his hand gently stroking her head.

"Seems like she’s quite interested in your wings," he commented, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

He watched as Azalea reached out a small hand toward Violet, her tiny fingers grasping for the shimmering wings.

Violet couldn't help but smile at the baby's interest.

She bent down slightly, bringing her wings closer to Azalea, giving her a better view.

Zahra chuckled at the scene before her.

"Yeah, she’s like a moth drawn to a flame," she joked.

Azalea’s small hand grabbed onto Violet’s wing, her grasp surprisingly firm for such a small baby.

She tugged at the wing gently, clearly curious about the strange appendage.

Violet winced slightly at the unexpected grip but laughed, not seeming bothered by it.

Azriel shook his head, amused by the scene unfolding before him.

"Careful, she's surprisingly strong for being so small," he warned, a fond smile on his face.

Violet just laughed. “Gods, she’s adorable,” she gushes. “Yes, you are!” She cooed at Azalea.

Azalea beamed at the attention, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her tiny hand released its grip on Violet's wing and she clapped her hands together, as if applauding the compliment.

Zahra chuckled at her daughter's reaction. "She likes you," she observed.

“Clearly,” Violet agreed, her smile growing wider. “She has impeccable taste.” 

She reached out a finger, gently tickling Azalea's stomach, prompting the baby to giggle and squirm.

Zahra watched the exchange between her baby and her best friend, her heart swelling with happiness.

"I think she has a talent for endearing herself to everyone," Azriel added, his voice filled with pride.

He watched as Violet continued to interact with their daughter, her hand moving from Azalea's stomach to her tiny hands, which clutched at Violet's finger.

"Must get that from her mother," Violet teased, giving Zahra a playful wink.

Zahra snorted in response, rolling her eyes but unable to contain the smile on her face.

"Oh, please. I don’t see you being immune to her either," she shot back.

Violet laughed out loud at that, admitting defeat with a shrug. "Touché. Your baby’s too cute for her own good."

She turned her attention back to Azalea, her eyes sparkling with playfulness.

Azalea responded gleefully to the attention, her wide eyes fixed on Violet, her attention unwavering as if she couldn’t get enough of her. She cooed and babbled, her hands continuing to grasp at Violet’s finger.

Azriel chuckled at the interaction, enjoying the way his daughter was so enthralled by his mate's friend.

He exchanged a glance with Zahra, his smile mirroring hers.

Zahra couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. Seeing her daughter enjoying herself and being showered by adoration was a sight she could get used to.

[cherryblossom-heart]

Hi besties, weekly update!

So, this upcoming week we have some new material coming! DILF!Toji x GoGoDancer!Reader SMAU in Dancing in the Dark (this is for you lovely 🌙) , we also have Model!Satoru x MakeupArtist!Reader SMAU in Stealing the Spotlight. That's coming at the end of the week as I would like to leave some chapters ready before posting them.

Back to our regular schedule... between Monday and Wednesday we'll have part 7.5 of I hate you as well as part 8 which is already ready, I just need to finish the written part. And for what most of you are waiting for... The distance between us pt 3!!! That's probably coming between Friday and Saturday but if the stars align and I don't have a lot of work this week I'll post in on Wednesday or something.

(Ik you guys don't need an update like this but it just helps me schedule my times and motivate me to write it since I already promised you guys haha)

Hope you guys have a lovely day and I hope to see you around ❤️

[trashmouth-richie]

⁂ 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 + 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 || a mini series || eddie x you

“soul ties” based but with a spin — 1.2k PART 2

[reader and her lover are souls bound to one another for eons and eons, they always find their way back to one another no matter how long it takes or what bodies they might be in, but when reader feels the magnetic pull of her other half and wills the girl’s body she is in to find her lover— the body her lover belongs to is a boy— none other than the meanest boy in hawkins, eddie munson] 

trigger warnings: 18+ smut, bisexual! eddie, mean! eddie, shy! girl, smut. etc eddie and the body reader lives in are mostly referred to as “the girl” and “the boy”, they are both 18 in this story. 

reader (you) is a “soul” in this story, meaning you are only bound to the body you are inhabiting during this lifetime. The girl will have features mentioned— but again— you (the reader) are a soul, which i imagine to be a flame of all colors. 

Her soul knew his. 

Knew him before she’d even met him in this body. Knew him before her eyes caught his. A magnetic pull sought him out and there he was, and the two souls buzzed, destined to be together. 

As if every star had aligned, he found you, again.. 

You look different this time. His soul spoke. The body is shapely, but those eyes still burn through me like fire. 

My eyes only burn for you my love. You purred back, in this body, and the next and the one after that. 

Eons had come and gone and in each one you found each other. Sometimes it took longer than the last, having only minutes together instead of years. Other times you were reborn in the same city. But this time, your bodies were not friendly to one another. 

Your lover's body was tall, pale, human male species. A mop of wavy hair that he rarely seemed to comb. The body you lived in belonged to a human female species. But was more reserved than the boy, quieter… except when her conscience talked for her in her head, then she was funny. 

Judging by the years you had been here, you thought that possibly she was eighteen, and in those years you waited for him. 

A similar soul had reached out to you, pretending to be him. The body was handsome, fit, skin kissed by the sun. A wriggly mustache that tickled the girls lips.

This boy went by the name Billy, and he was kind to the girl at first. He bought her many gifts, and told her that he loved her. 

But where your lover smelled of soap and cedar, this soul smelled of rich smoke and his eyes were hurt and angry, unlike the kind ones you’d spent centuries finding in every different body imaginable. The soul was shielded behind a mask, pretending to be something he should be, not something he needed. 

The girl cried when he left, but you were proud of her, and you showed her in her dreams the happiness she would one day have, once she found him, your love. 

— 

He looked for you for years. But this body was not like any others he had been attached to before. This boy went by many names:

Edward

Eddie

Dungeon Master

Eddie the Banished

Mr. Munson

and The Freak.

Mostly just Eddie though. His elders did not care for him, and in his younger years he spent nights writing about his sadness, tears leaking onto his scrawled handwriting. 

A man of some relation to the boy came to care for him, and the boy became happy once again, slowly, he gained trust. 

The boy had many hobbies that were new and interesting to him. He plucked a warlock and screamed into a microphone. He threw dice and moved figurines into position he had carefully planned out months in advance. Music and fantasy seemed to be a large part of the boy’s life. But where oh where, were you?

It wouldn’t be the first time he found you in a body similar to his, the same species with the same anatomy. When another boy who played basketball, and was well liked started noticing the boy, his heart raced. 

Steve was his name. His soul was sweet, smelling of roses and perfume. But it was not you, and the boy couldn’t love Steve the way he had hoped he could. 

It was mutual. No stars aligned for this engagement, it was merely physical, no soul bonds to tie together. 

One day, something pulsed and hummed. And he knew, he knew you were close, even if the boy was still asleep at noon, he could feel it. The pull, the stroke of his lover's touch. 

It was the magnet. 

—

The girl volunteered to tutor a smaller child somewhere in a Forest. You were excited for the adventure, excited to see the old trees and smell the pines, feel the humidity on her skin. But sadly there wasn’t a forest, only a lot made of brown earth. Houses scattered about that all looked similar in one way or another. Animals ran around freely, residing in trash cans and front steps, and it made you giggle. 

Would your lover remember the time he was a cat and you were a very small human child? The elders did not understand why the child adored the orange animal so much, or how the cat kept finding its way into their home. A few good years your lover and you had… until a fire consumed the home and you were both left spinning in darkness before landing home in new bodies, millions of miles apart.

Something about this place sent you buzzing the minute she opened her car door. You nearly screamed when that familiar tug pulled and buzzed. 

It was him! 

He was so very close, you could practically sniff him out. 

You did as you had always done when your lover was near, you sent star fire up to the girl’s brain, redirecting her to where she needed to go, where she would be happiest, where your lover had been staying. 

The home was painted in shades of light blue, and the stubborn girl questioned whether or not this was the correct house. 

I’m here! I’ve found you!

The boy suddenly woke, an irritating ache in his head as he rubbed sleep sand from his eyes. Your lover pushed and pushed the boy but he could not be hurried even if a hot poker was pressed into his rear. 

The girl felt dumb, a pickling sour of fear rose in her throat and she coughed to rid herself of the ache in her belly. You were swimming, dancing in her chest, warming her heart that you knew held so much love and was capable of destiny. 

Her knuckles raised to the door but the girl wasn’t given a chance to knock. The boy pinched his eyebrows together at the sight of this girl on his doorstep. Your lover shined in his eyes, waving back and blowing kisses. 

But the boy was annoyed. 

“What do you want?”

The girl felt warmth in her cheeks as she looked at her sneakers, “I— Sorry.. I was looking for Max Mayfield, I’m—.” 

“When I took a piss this morning I was standing up.”

The girl stared back in confusion but the boy only rolled his eyes before he looked down and pulled his waistband out enough so only he could see. 

“Yep, not a chick. Mayfield’s live across the road, brown trailer.” The door snapped shut before the girl could thank the boy. He stumbled back to bed, his headache felt like fire, as if his mind was being sawed in half. 

You were devastated, crestfallen! He was right there! In your grasp! Why was the boy being so difficult? Couldn’t he feel it in his chest? Couldn’t he feel the pull? 

The girl wiped a tear from her face as her feet hit the gravel, she muttered about how much she hated him, how awful he had always been to her. 

This would probably be the most difficult reunion you’d ever had with your lover, but in the eons you’d been together you had never failed, and you wouldn’t allow this year of 1985 be the first. 

[taylorman2274]

Today Is Where Your Book Begins (Chapter I)

With the final chapter having concluded, the entirety of Teyvat has come to realize that everything in their life has been one massive storybook. Now they have broken free from their predetermined endings and wish to write their own story. While some remain content with their lives, others recall the reader of their story offering them many a helping hand in the past, and wish for them to witness their future.

Content Warning(s): An Attempt was Made to Guess Genshin Impact's Ending as of Version 5.3.

Notes: SAGAU, GN!Reader, Aether!Traveler, Lumine!Sibling

Word Count: 1k

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

Genshin Impact's story is over.

...Well to be more precise, the Teyvat arc of Genshin Impact's story is over.

The Traveler, Aether, was finally able to reunite with their sibling, Lumine; and after a long heart-to-heart conversation, they were able to hug it out in the end. To be honest, it left you a bit teary-eyed.

Now, nearly all of the playable (and yet-to-be-released) characters were gathered in an undisclosed location with Aether, Lumine, and Paimon taking center stage.

The crowd was cheering, whooping, and hollering. They praised the Traveler for all of his deeds, for he had become their hero from another world. He had spared them all from their predetermined fate.

Soon enough, a 'Speech! Speech! Speech!' chant began to grow from the crowd. You couldn't help yourself but join along with the chant as well. Aether could only chuckle and scratch the back of his head, a subtle blush forming on his cheeks. Eventually, he urged the crowd to quiet down and began to give an endearing speech.

The speech was truly one of the best things that the Genshin writing team had ever conjured up, and that was saying something! It involved a lot of heart-touching tributes, nostalgic memories, and kindhearted thanks to many of their friends.

Aether thanked the people from the eight nations for accepting them into their capital city. He thanked the Archons for helping them learn more about Teyvat as a whole. He thanked Paimon for being the best guide in the whole world. He thanked Lumine for finally coming back to him.

"...And thank you, Benefactor from Beyond the Stars, for bestowing upon me the strength needed to complete my journey. I hope that fate allows us to meet in the future."

...

...?

'Benefactor from Beyond the Stars?' you questioned yourself. 'Are they talking about me? I don't know anyone else who would fit that description.'

As the game let you gain control of your character and gave you the rewards for completing the Archon Quest, more thoughts continued to rummage in your mind. This chaotic mess that was your brain continued to clutter your mind until only a single thought was left more prominent than the rest.

...

'Holy shit Genshin just made me canon.'

...

...

...

'Probably one of my greatest achievements to be honest.'

Looking at the time, you see that it's approaching midnight. Given that your day tomorrow is packed to the brim with various tasks and activities, you decide to log off and get some sleep.

"Alright, Genshin," you spoke to your computer with a fond gaze. "It was fun while it lasted. Y'all have fun without me."

You exited the game, closed the launcher, and shut off your computer.

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

"You don't know what you have until it's gone."

Aether has heard this quote many times before, but he's never liked it that much. He's always known what he's had:

Lumine.

Lumine is everything to Aether just as Aether is to Lumine. That's how it has always been throughout their lives. They were inseparable up until their encounter with the Unknown God. How can you not know something inseparable from you?

It wasn't until recently that Aether heard another version of this quote that seemed to align with his perspective better.

"Appreciate what you have before time makes you appreciate what you had."

500 years had come and gone before the two siblings were able to reunite again. They are always constantly worried for each other, that something fatal might happen to them, permanently separating the two forever.

But they don't need to worry about that anymore. They are finally back together.

All thanks to Paimon. All thanks to the seven Archons. All thanks to their many friends across Teyvat.

...

All thanks to their one friend not from Teyvat.

The Benefactor from Beyond the Stars.

Although Aether was aware of them since that fated day on the beach underneath Stormbearer Point, he was powerless to push them away without his former strength.

At first, he was afraid. He could not control any part of his body. Not when he was only a puppet in the eyes of this being.

He hated not being in control. It reminded him of what it felt like to be weak.

Next, he became curious, the being didn't seem to wish him harm. Instead, it appeared as if the being was wishing him to succeed. Slowly but steadily, the being helped him regain his former strength. All the while not asking for anything in return.

'What could they possibly want from me?' Aether pondered.

Then, he became content. Eventually, he began to learn the being's tendencies when fighting and what they wanted to expect out of him. They became two minds in one body, flawlessly traversing the environment and slaying any opponents that stood in their path.

This feeling of always knowing somebody's got your back. Somebody who is on your power level and can match your fighting prowess.

...They haven't had this feeling since they lost Lumine.

Then, he understood. Teyvat is a storybook. The ley lines are the words on the page. The people are characters. Their destinies are just endings written down by the Primordial One, the author. They have never had a choice in their lifetime. Everything has followed according to the words on the pages time and time again.

This being, the one who has been with them since the beginning of their journey, is a reader.

A reader who wishes to change the storybook so that its ending is incomplete. That way, the people within the book will be able to write as many pages of their own destiny as they want until they sign off on their own ending.

When Alice first told them this, he and Paimon were more shocked than they had ever been before. This was the secret that the Hexenzirkel had been secretly guarding throughout their entire existence?

It was honestly hard to believe.

Nevertheless, he is extremely thankful to the reader for helping him throughout his journey. Just as he is towards Paimon and their friends across Teyvat.

In all honesty, words may not be enough to describe how thankful he is. Paimon and all of his friends can probably see that.

So when he decided to thank the Benefactor from Beyond the Stars during his speech, knowing that they were present.

"I hope that fate allows us to meet in the future."

He absolutely meant it when he said that.

They deserve to be rewarded for their hard work; And by the Archons is he going to find a way meet them.

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

Author's Notes: Ta-da! A new series has arrived!

I hope that the way I've portrayed Teyvat was easy to understand, it's unlike anything that's been written in the SAGAU fandom to my knowledge.

I'll be going back through this over the next couple of days for any errors or misspellings I may have written. Probably gonna be a bunch of POV mistakes. But otherwise, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this new series!

[thatlittlered]

would've, could've, should've | aaron hotchner

warning(s): one whole curse word, smoking, stunning amount of fluff and a little bit of action

GIF by @littlecarmine

part one

part two

author's note: Sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it! I also want to thank the sweet anon for the ask with the Robert Siken poem, which I included here. Next part will be straight-up filthy smut, so stay tuned, fellow sluts.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

You don’t see much of each other for the next couple of days. Aaron is on autopilot, avoiding any chance to be alone with you. The rest of the team unknowingly act as a buffer and all he has to do is not look at you during work hours, keep the door to his office shut to not hear your laughter.

It’s a relief when you and Morgan are called to testify in court for a case. You’re somewhere far away for the day, where he knows you’re safe and he can go back to pretending nothing has changed.

The problems start when he’s not being kept busy.

 How much paperwork can one person do?

The stars align oddly in his favor and he’s into calls or meetings until long after everyone else has gone home. When ten pm rolls around, he finally calls it quits but sees no point in leaving in a hurry. It’s past Jack’s bed time, it’d be cruel to wake him up now and carry him back home when tomorrow’s Sunday. If all goes well, he can pick him in the morning and they’ll get to spend the day together.

His finger is hovering over Jessica’s number when he spots your name in his call logs. It’s silly and childish, but he hasn’t thought of you in a couple of hours and God.

Deep down, he knows he’s been incredibly unfair to you. He had to. Had to tell himself it was something outside of him causing him torment. An obstacle to overcome, a distraction to ignore. He had to act as if you were forcing your way into his life in order to be able to put up walls, but what have you really done except exist near him? He is the one to blame for allowing it to grow beneath his skin; succumbing to his need for some sort of intimacy when he could have -should have- nipped this at the bud a very long time ago. He recognized it within himself the other day, when he realized he could have -should have- kissed you.

But nothing is healed with a kiss. Only new grievances arise.

It’s where you go from there that matters and he finds himself unable to guide or be guided.

Where do you go from here?

When he decides to feed his insomnia with a cup of late-night coffee, he is yet again reminded of you. So, he calls, but you don’t answer and he pours another, completely indifferent to the idea of sleep.

It’s getting too late to be here, even by his standards. He tries calling again, but, no answer. He gathers his stuff to leave and there is a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach when he settles inside the car. It’s only eleven and you always say you never sleep this early.

Another call, this time to Emily, who miraculously, picks up.

“Hello? Hotch?”

There is a deafening buzz in the background; loud voices and music blasting.

Aaron apologizes for the late hour and tries to be discreet when he asks about you. Says he needs to go over something about a case file but you won’t answer his calls and he got worried.

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’s right here with me, but it’s a little hard to get her right now. Is it urgent?”

“Uh, no, don’t bother her. Is everyone else there too?”

“Not everyone, just the two of us, Garcia and Morgan. Do you need them as well?”

You didn’t invite him, why would you? He would have never said yes.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t make out much with all this noise. We’re at the ‘Matter’ if you need us. I’ll tell the guys to call you as soon as they can, okay? Have a good night.”

So, he drives two miles a little before midnight to come sit outside ‘Matter’, which is apparently a very busy nightclub downtown, half a mile away from the nearest parking spot he could find.

He doesn’t really know why he came.

He can’t come in and join you. Can’t ask for you.

They probably wouldn’t even let him in while dressed like this.

It’s very unclear what the next step is.

He knows it’s pointless to call you again when you’re probably too busy dancing and drinking with a great many people who are not him. Morgan has some trouble keeping his hands to himself when he drinks.

He sits on the curb of the street, cracks open the pack of cigarettes he snack out of the car’s glove compartment, always hidden below the insurance papers. Astoundingly loud music plays every time the doors to the club open and people come out stumbling, kissing sloppily and dragging each other away.

He just wants to see you and put this horrible feeling inside him to rest.

“No fucking way.”

He jolts at the sound of your voice and throws away the cigarette, putting it out with his shoe before he turns to see you standing outside the club. You approach timidly until you can be sure it’s him and when you step closer to the streetlight, he can really see you. The clothes you could never wear to work, the shoes you apparently spend all your money on. You’re beautiful.

He can’t possibly move until you’re sat beside him. For the first time in what seems like forever, now that he’s grown so used to it, you keep a very respectable distance between your bodies.

“You didn’t have to throw it away; I already saw you and,” you pick up the abandoned carton from the sidewalk and almost laugh at how immaculate it looks just having been opened, “I have so many questions. Since when do you smoke?”

His voice is quiet, unamused.

“Almost never.”

You look at him curiously and he thinks you would make a great interrogator simply by the way you make everyone around you spill their souls out if it will satisfy you.

“Sometimes when I’m very stressed.”

You hum, “I never would have guessed that.”

He laughs to himself and looks at his hands.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of things that are not typical of me lately.”

You help yourself to a cigarette and he cups his hand over yours when the breeze makes it too hard to light up.

“Is that because of me? Am I a bad influence?”

“No. It’s me, I’m the common denominator.”

You hum again and smile at him teasingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Breakthrough.”

“So, this is what therapy is like?”

He wants to thank you, for always trying to make things as easy as possible for him. You open the door and difficult as it may seem, all he really has to do is walk through it.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t smoke in session.”

“Oh good.”

You’re sitting closer again and Aaron doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think either of you moved. He keeps his eyes on the road in front of him, glances at you only from the corner of his eye. Your perfume mingles with the smoke of the cigarette and it’s all a haze to him.

“Why are you not inside?”

“I needed a breath; it was very loud and packed in there… and I finally saw your calls.”

He hums, unable to find anything else to say.

“Why are you here?

“I don’t know.”

He knows that is not a good enough of an answer.

“I always have this terrible feeling that something is going to happen to you.”

Your shoulder touches his and he can admire the smoothness of it, focus on each mark there to avoid the dreaded eye contact.

“Do you think that fear is reasonable, or is it rooted in something else?’

His eyes shut tightly, “Don’t do that, please. Don’t talk to me like I’m a subject.”

“You use your ‘agent tone’ all the time outside of work.”

His voice deepens, “I am aware.”

Heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry I did all that and then backed out at the last minute.”

“It’s alright. I think I knew you would.”

“See, that’s even worse.”

You look at his suit, the wrinkles that have formed in the shirt underneath from the hours of wear.

“Did you come here straight from the office?”

A sigh, “Yeah.”

You nod your head in understanding and move to put out what’s left of the cigarette.

“I’m alright. I’ve got the others too; they’ll take me home. You can relax now.”

“I don’t think I ever can.”

You don’t know what to say really. If what he needs is time, you can give it, but he seems undecided as well when he picks up your hand.

“I think I’m scared of what will happen once the line is crossed.”

A confession.

That, you did not expect.

“Aside from the complications at work, I just,” his hand rubs gently on the spot your watch has left its mark, “I have proved time and time again that I can’t handle any relationship beyond professionalism and once we stop being just colleagues, I will lose you completely from my life.”

“Do you think that line has not been crossed already?”

He laughs quietly.

You can both feel the bouncer looking at you and Aaron is suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now.

“I guess it has.”

You’re both quiet for a little while.

“I have to go back inside now, or they’ll start getting worried.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you were here.”

That hurt. You know it, but what else was there to say?

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll know.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze before you leave and he’s left staring while you go back inside.

-.-.-

A little past two, the girls drop you off in a shared cub before going their separate ways and you rush to your apartment building, only to find Aaron waiting there.

“Well, you certainly have a thing for sitting on curbs.”

He looks tired, so tired, and alone in the empty street. It’s very hard to maintain your position when he always looks this beaten down in his most tender moments. You wish to care for him, love him back into happiness but that wouldn’t be fair.

Still, you can’t help but go to him and he is relieved that you sit closer this time.

“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

You softly take his right hand to look at his watch. His body relaxes at the touch.

“Huh.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little more drunk than the last time you saw me.”

Your skin glows under the soft moonlight and he notices.

It is technically tomorrow now.

“How drunk?”

His face moves closer and you can’t help but shiver at the sudden change. His breath is warm on your face. The words come out in a whisper.

“Not that much.”

That’s all it takes.

His lips press against yours once… then twice and then… he doesn’t stop.

You always thought he’d be one to kiss carefully and with absolute purpose, just like he does everything else, but he kisses like a man on fire. He seeks to quench something deep inside of him and you provide happily. The remnants of your lip gloss tingle on his mouth, as if kissing you alone is not enough of an awakening.

It’s becoming increasingly hard to keep up with breathing when he envelops you so, and cages you in the pleasant whirl of his scent. When you break away for breath, he’s quick to capture you once more. His hands come to your face to keep you there until he’s had enough, but how he can he ever have enough of you?

He only lets you go because he has to. You’re both practically panting and he can’t decide what to do. He wants to kiss you, look at you, touch you, but it cannot all be done at once. When your own hand comes to his face just below his jawline, he melts under the touch. His eyes are sunken, his body is begging for rest, but it would not come without you.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

His voice is low and breathy when he nods.

“Yeah…”

-.-.-

You walk upstairs, hand in hand, and Aaron can see your own exhaustion is taking over. Something started with that first touch. Your bodies wish only to find comfort near each other.

His breath is warm on your neck while you open the door, his hands softly placed on your waist with the excuse of keeping you steady. When you move to take off your shoes, he is behind you again, as if tied to you with invisible thread, and holds you gently by the elbow when he sees you struggling.

You’re suddenly very aware he is in your house again. Touching you.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head no, but you’re too focused on the way his hand moves languidly up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

He is so caring. So soft below the austere guise.

“I just need to take a shower,” you almost stumble backward and he thinks it’s the alcohol, but it might just be the feeling of his hands on your face, “I must have fifty different people’s sweat on me right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

His voice is soft – tired.

You turn on the lights for him in the living room and he gives a half-smile when you check on him again.

“I won’t be long.”

Once left alone, he gets to look around your house. He sees your carefully assorted nick-knacks and smiles at the framed pictures all over your bookshelves. He can’t help but notice you’ve chosen one, if not the only, photo of the team that he’s also part of.

He is important to you too.

He can see you in every corner of the room, in the books you buy and the realistic-looking-but-admittedly-fake plants sprinkled here and there for a lack of time to take care of any real ones. He can even see you in the soft material of the couch when he sits and lets his cheek touch the fabric. He has been here before in a dream, with your head in his lap.

The room is awfully quiet save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of running water in the background. For a man that’s usually so good at sitting alone with his thoughts, he suddenly can’t stand it.

He knocks gently on the bathroom door and opens it slowly, only to be hit with the dizzying cloud of warm steam. Your head peeks behind the shower curtain and he can tell you got tired of standing and sat in the tub instead.

“Is it okay if I sit in here with you?”

You thought he’d sit on the toilet seat, but he crawls to the edge of the tub and sits on the bathmat with his back to you.

How close is close enough?

Now that he’s ventured, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be satisfied.

So, he closes his eyes and rests his head back on the, now warm, porcelain.

“Aaron.”

He doesn’t know if he actually fell asleep, but the water is now turned off and you’re looking at him. He realizes now, for the first time, that you’re naked behind him. Your hair and eyelashes are angelically wet, the sheen of water on your flushed skin is divine. He knows that you’d be warm if he touched you now.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

You smile at him -siren- and your hand grabs a handful of his shirt, staining it with water that reaches his body underneath and makes him shiver. You kiss him with plump wet lips and he reaches for you. His hand entangles in your hair until you’re both practically pulling at each other.

A less enamored man would have broken away just to sneak a peek at your bare skin, but he won’t. He is respectful even now, even like this.

“I should have kissed you the other day. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

It’s a whisper when his mouth leaves yours, but you catch it.

You hum, eyes glossy, “Would've, could've, should’ve.”

What matters is now.

He kisses you again – just one more time. You both feel like giddy, lovesick children.

“Can you hand me my bathrobe?”

The bathrobe is also impossibly soft to the touch and when you emerge clad in it, he thinks he’d like to hold you. The spell of the warm steam is broken outside, however, and being so close to your naked body suddenly becomes very serious.

You let him sit in your bed, still fully clothed, save for his suit jacket, and he closes his eyes again. The comforter underneath is lovely.

Is everything in this house soft?

Is this what it feels like to be loved by you?

You disappear inside the walk-in closet and reappear, now properly dressed in your pajamas. The bed dips when you sit next to him and he turns to you completely.

“I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, don’t know about pants though.”

Please. Just be here, with him.

He watches you leave, but it’s not long before you return with the aforementioned shirt. You laugh when he finally realizes he’ll have to sleep in his boxers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you.”

He throws a teasing look, but can’t possibly come up with a clever answer right now.

“I’ll go dry my hair and you can get dressed, alright?”

You are so gentle with your guidance that it makes him feel like a helpless child, but there’s a hidden relief at that. It’s nice; being cared for like this and there is something to be said about parallels, with you going now to do as you had done a week and a half ago in a Florida hotel and him waiting for you – on your bed.

It’s the same, but it’s different.

He hangs his work clothes carefully on the chair in the corner of your room and goes to sit on the bed, but feels too uncomfortable to climb under the covers. He knows you’d find his duality funny; how he goes from hungrily kissing you to being too embarrassed to join you in bed, even if it’s only for sleep.

You notice his stiffness when you come back in the room, but don’t say anything. It’s not exactly easy for you either, you’re just better at hiding it than he is. You choose to lead by example instead and turn off the lights before reaching for the one on your nightstand and climbing inside your bedding.

He only speaks to deflect attention from him again, “You have a TV in your room.”

“Jealous?”

He turns to look at you and you’re perched up on the plump pillows, smiling at him. Your hand reaches for his own over the comforter and you gently pull him to you.

He comes, of course.

“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“Of course you don’t.”

He joins you with his back on the pillows and his shoulder touching yours, but he’s still too stiff.

“What do you watch?”

“Mostly reruns of sitcoms-,” he laughs at that, “-Seinfeld.”

“Isn’t that show a thousand years old?

“You would know.”

He laughs again and you can almost make out a wounded pout on his face, but a kiss is enough of a cure. His shoulders relax and he gives in to the warmth and softness; be it the bed or you next to him. You can tell he’s barely managing to stay awake, but he still can’t let go completely. His head slumps backward again.

“Can we turn it on?”

You find the courage to caress his hair, admiring the softness of it and the discreet sprinkle of grey that you can only see up close.

“If you want.”

The quiet humming of the television and your breath in his ear, putting his mind to ease, are enough for him to finally sleep and you’re not long behind. His head is turned to the side where you are, hand tightly holding yours.

Later in the night, when you stir in your sleep, he pulls you further into him – wraps his arm around you completely and doesn’t let go.

next part

[anonity]

across the hall - chapter 2

you all have anon to thank for this LMFAO i must have written the first part in a fever dream because i genuinely had no recollection of making this

anyways sorry for the wait + i hope this lives up to your expectations! 

WC: 1500ish

you jiggled your door handle again with the hope that it would open by sheer force of will. evidently, your telekinesis skills needed work, because it didn’t even seem to consider unlocking. 

with a huff, your forehead came to land against the wood of your door with a soft thud. after contemplating the helplessness of your situation, you fish your phone out of your pocket and stare holes into the delivered sitting under your text to alyssa. 

she was supposed to be home by the time you got back, so originally it was “no problem” if you left your key in the room. 20 minutes prior, though, she’d texted to inform you that she would not in fact be home because her tinder date had decided to move the time up.

you hope he's a catfisher. 

it wouldn’t have been such an inconvenience if you hadn't already spent your entire day at the library. now you were exhausted, and had no clue when you would finally get to sink into your shitty mattress.

the floor was looking more enticing by the minute, and you were about to resign to sleeping on it when a voice rang out behind you. 

“locked out?” 

your heart stopped. this could not be a more humbling experience. every star in the sky has aligned just to screw you over at 9:45pm on this friday night, and paige bueckers is an active participant in your downfall. 

she’s going to think you’re an idiot, but what are you going to do, lie? oh, no, i just thought the wall looked comfy.

“yeah,”  you answer, turning to face the woman you’ve been avoiding for the last week. the instant eye contact has you fumbling for words a little. “i, uhhh.. well my roommate – well i left my key.. my key is in the room and my roommate is not,” you finally finish.

you’re waiting for the floor to swallow you.

paige tilts her head, nose wrinkling a little as she smiles at you. she looks amused. “so, whats your plan? teleport?”

you hum, glancing sideways at the door. “it crossed my mind.”

she’s still smiling when she gestures towards her own door. “well, if you don’t wanna sit out here all night, my roommates out. no superpowers required.”

your eyes widen – you think you’ve misheard her. “your room?”

paige laughs this time, opening her door. “well one of us has a key, and it’s not you.”

you hesitate. is paige morally obligated to let you into her room now that you’ve dragged her into your disarrayed state? are you morally obligated to decline?

she must be a mindreader, because she steps to the side and nods her head at the door. “i promise i’m literally just gonna watch game reruns tonight. you can hang out as long as you want.”

you finally nod appreciatively. “yeah, okay, thanks paige.”

you slip past her, politely taking your shoes off at the door when she shuts it behind the two of you, a glint in her eye. “you a fan?”

you eye her suspiciously. “i’ve seen some games.”

“i just find it interesting you know my name–”

“oh my god,” you roll your eyes, the smile pulling at your lips betraying you. “maybe i should’ve just stayed in the hallway.”

“oh, because the vending machine is so much better than me.”

“it’s got food,” you mumble, moreso trying to get on her nerves than make a suggestion. she takes the bait anyways, looking mock-offended.

“i have food!” she immediately reaches for her mini fridge. if you weren’t already in such an unbelievable situation, your jaw would’ve dropped at the contents.

“paige, this hardly counts as food.” the “food” in question is reminiscent of a teenage boy's “gym fuel”.  “everything in there has to taste like cardboard.”

“i play D1 basketball!” she scoffs, like she can’t believe you would suggest her chocolate chip cookie dough quest bar might be unappetizing. “you have a lot of attitude for somebody who locked herself out of her room a week into moving in.”

you sit down on someone's bed, (you can’t really tell, because both walls are lined with basketball posters) and grin, leaning forward onto your knees. “okay, you’re right, i’m sorry. but i’m still going to pass on,” you wrinkle your nose in distaste, squinting at the fridge. “legendary foods cake?”

“for legendary players,” she shoots back. you must’ve sat in the wrong spot, because paige throws herself down opposite of you and pats the space next to her. “KK’s kinda weird about people bein’ on her stuff, so..” “are all basketball players this high maintenance?” 

paige hums. “just us, i think.” “thank god.”

you move despite paige’s scowl, pressing yourself close to the edge of the bed. silence apparently never lasts long with paige, because she immediately drawls out, “sooo,” and then continues, “what are you doing alone on a friday night?”

you roll your eyes. “waiting for my roommate to get home, apparently.”

“you guys together or sum?”

you laugh. “uh, no, she’s on a date tonight. hence the locking out.” paige hums, eyes trained on the TV. “just haven’t been invited to any good parties recently.”

“i don’t think there are any – ion’ even know where KK went tonight.”

“it’s still early in the year.”

your mind drifts. you hate small talk. paige gestures towards the TV, a celtics v. bulls game from years ago rolling. “can you play 2k?”

much better.

you argue for a minute over who gets to play as the lynxes (paige finally relents, saying something about being drafted somewhere cooler and then choosing the wings of all teams) and then the first match starts.

right off the bat, she was bragging over a 2-pointer. “this games over already, y/n, you can put the controller down.”

“yeah okay, keep that energy when i drop 20 on you.”

after a flashy dunk you were particularly proud of in the second quarter, you grinned at paige. “you want me to clip that for you? you can start a highlight reel for me.”

she rolled her eyes, leaning closer to the TV. “doesn’t matter how good you look doin’ it if it’s still only two points.” 

you falter only slightly at her how good you look. 

by the fourth quarter, you were embarrassingly down 8 points. the last 6 minutes had been rough – not because you were bad at the game (because you weren’t) but because in the excitement of one of her riskiest plays following through, paige had shoved your shoulder and shouted “boom!”. unfortunately, she hadn’t moved away after that, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from her body. 

it didn’t take long for her to call you out. “bro, why is your defense so bad? do i needa show you where the buttons are?” she reaches over, mockingly gesturing at your controller. you stiffen a little at the contact. jesus, pull it together.

“touching the player in real life is totally a technical foul in 2k.” you laugh out instead, tilting the controller away.   

thankfully oblivious to your hesitation, paige laughs incredulously. “okay, now you’re just making shit up.”

at 12:00am, your phone buzzes between the two of you. paige glances down first.

“is that your roommate?”

your heart sank. after two rounds of bickering over 2k, you were beginning to hope alyssa would be out late. she wasn’t, though, and her contact photo was now bright on your screen. 

you’d abandoned her playstation after paiges second win (you’d stubbornly pointed out that it was her job to be good at basketball) and paige had turned on love and basketball instead, calling it tragic that you hadn’t seen it. the end credits had been playing for a hot minute now though, and you were really out of excuses to not go back to your dorm.

“yeah, it is. apparently her date was super hot.”

paige smiles. “good.”

theres a beat of silence (something you’ve discovered is rare with paige), before you finally shift in the bed. “thanks for letting me crash.”

she jolts a little, watching you get up. “oh, yeah, no problem, anytime.”

before you reach the door, though, paige is up with you. “hol’ on,” she starts, thrusting her phone towards you. “well, actually,” she doubles back, bringing it back to herself. “um,” she starts again, eloquently, and you raise an eyebrow at her fumbling. “give me your number – in case you get locked out again.”

“i gotta get locked out for you to play 2k with me?”

“no!” paiges eyes widen and you decide to have a little mercy on her.

“relax, i’m just messing with you.”

she gives you a bone-dry laugh in response. “ha, ha. give me your number, f’real.”

thank god for hot tinder dates.

[gotta-winwin]

Wahhhh so excited for vernon x reader!!!!!!

Can i request something like idol!jun x reader, i really miss jun 🥹🥹🥹 maybe reader is on another hybe group and him surprising him, or anything HAHAHAHAH

actor!jun x idol!reader headcannons

a/n: wasn't exactly like the prompt you gave, anon, but i hope you still enjoy! we're all in our missing jun hours sadly :(( but it feels nice knowing he's thriving in the element he loves.

your shared google calendar is a hot mess.

The two of you have busy work schedules, as you juggle upcoming comebacks, award shows, reality and variety filming, meetings with the higher-ups - the day literally never ends. Jun is the same, always trying to balance his filming gigs and promotional side quests. It’s rare for the two of you to have a day off - let alone ALIGN your days together. Trust that your shared google calendar is a battlefield filled with colorful agendas and very minimal white space. 

bad wifi is your everyday lifestyle. 

Curse Jun and his gift of choosing acting gigs where their filming locations are always in the ass-crack of nowhere. You’re both well accustomed to facetime with spotty service, delayed speech and glitchy faces. It’s turned into quite the game, as you both attempt to screenshot the worst photo of each other possible, while still maintaining your own image and reputation. It’s a pain to communicate, constantly having Jun reply to something you had said minutes ago, but you two make it work. 

dating rumors are a joke. 

With both of you being well into the social media spotlight, you’re prone to many, many dating rumors throughout your career. It’s Ateez’s Mingi one day, then TBZ’s Haknyeon the next, Jun doesn’t even bat an eye at this point. He knows who he is at the end of the day - your boyfriend. On the other hand, it’s not the first time he’s gotten an earful from you about dating rumors with his pretty costars, although he knows it’s all in good fun. All it takes is one sweet sentence to get you to fold: “it’s you I’m coming home to lao po, besides, can’t you see how forced that kiss is? I kiss you with much, much more fervor than that.” 

you see his friends more than you see him.

His friends run in the same circles as you do, all talented idols that often share your stage in performances. It’s funny to think you see them more often than you see him, although they’re always ready to tell you just how much Jun complains about your distance in their group chat, exposing you boyfriend to be the clingy lover he really is. They’ve aided you many times in sneaking away from your job to visit Jun, covering your ass so you can spend even just a couple hours with your boyfriend in China. 

planes and airports are the ideal date spot.

It’s not rare to have the two of you go on a “date” at airports, using the special time your schedules cross over to spend time with each other. The airport buffets become your picnics, the lobby fountains hear all your well kept wishes and the seating area has seen…one too many things. 

your jokes are the world’s jokes

Jun loves slipping little tidbits of your shared life into his work, nudging the writer of whatever project he’s starring in to add a couple lines referencing something only the two of you would know. He loves your shocked expression when the project finally airs to the world, his phone blowing up with loving texts as you swallow the idea that your lover has included you in his work. It’s just his talent - Jun somehow finds a way to bring you everywhere with him. 

your love is the world’s love

You would never admit it on camera, but most of your lyrics and songs are either written with or written about Jun. While everyone else is scrambling to figure out just how you do it, you and Jun can rest easy knowing it’s your shared secret, along with your secret romance. 

[goldsainz]

# DREW STARKEY — BEHIND THE SCENES !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ a recollection of moments from when you and drew filmed your first movie together.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ probably inaccurate acting scenes, slight angst.

003. NOTE !

✯ guys i’ve spent more time conjuring up ideas about the fictional movie (knowing greek mythology paid off) than actually writing this. again, zendaya is just a face claim for the social media parts but the reader can be imagined as anything or anyone you want! this is also the longest piece of writing i’ve ever done so i really hope it was worth the wait 🫶

word count : 6,6k

There was something undeniably thrilling about starting a new movie project. It wasn’t just the act of filming that exhilarated you, no, it was the entire experience: stepping into a fresh role, meeting new colleagues, and immersing yourself in the intricacies of a new story. Each character brought a unique set of challenges and emotions, making acting as intoxicating as it was fulfilling.

When your agent first mentioned Damien Chazelle’s latest project, it felt like the stars had aligned. A psychological thriller, a role so complex and sought after—it was the kind of opportunity actors dream about. After various auditions and callbacks, you finally got the call: you’d landed the part. But nothing could have prepared you for the shock of learning that Drew Starkey would also be starring in the film.

You’d first met Drew during Variety’s Actors on Actors interview series. The chemistry between you two had been immediate, magnetic, and brimming with potential. The interview itself was lighthearted, but fans couldn’t stop buzzing about the dynamic between you afterward. Social media was flooded with calls for you both to star in a film together. Little did they know that dream would soon become reality.

Your first day on set felt surreal. Despite all your preparation, a flicker of nervous energy pulsed in your chest. It wasn’t just about embodying Isabella, a role that demanded every ounce of emotional depth you had; it was about reuniting with Drew after the whirlwind of speculation and excitement that followed your previous encounter.

Then, as if on cue, you spotted him. He stood across the bustling set, deep in conversation with Damien Chazelle. Already in costume—tailored slacks, an impeccably pressed shirt, and a hint of disheveled hair that somehow enhanced his charm—he looked every bit the enigmatic and manipulative art dealer, Theo. It was almost unsettling how effortlessly he slipped into character.

A pang of nervous energy tightened in your chest, but you masked it quickly. You were no stranger to working alongside talented actors, but something about Drew made you want to push yourself even harder—to impress him, match his intensity, or simply hold your own against the charisma that seemed to radiate from him.

As Drew turned and caught sight of you, his expression shifted. A flicker of recognition passed over his face, followed by a grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He excused himself from his conversation with Damien and strode toward you, his step casual yet deliberate.

“Well, look who’s here,” he said, his tone teasing but undeniably warm. “The artist herself.”

“Drew,” you replied, matching his energy with a smirk. “Or should I say, Theo?”

“Touché,” he shot back, his grin widening as he stopped in front of you. “Guess we’re both stepping into some big shoes this time.”

The air between you hummed with unspoken energy, the hum of the crew around you fading into the background.

“So,” he began, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. “How are you feeling about all this? Ready to dive into the chaos?”

You chuckled softly, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “As ready as I’ll ever be. And you?”

His gaze softened, the playful edge giving way to something earnest. “Same. But if there’s anyone who can bring Isabella to life, it’s you. You’ve got this.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, bolstering your confidence. “Thanks, Drew,” you said, your voice touched with gratitude. “That means a lot.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Just don’t forget to save some of that intensity for the scenes. I hear Theo and Isabella have… interesting dynamics.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curving your lips. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. Just try to keep up, Starkey.”

His laughter was genuine, the kind that made your chest feel lighter. “Challenge accepted.”

The set had an almost electric feel today. The tension in the air mirrored the intensity of the scene you were about to film, a confrontation that pushed Isabella to her limits. Drew had just finished his scenes as Theo, but instead of retreating to his trailer for a break, he chose to stay behind the cameras, watching you as you prepared for your big moment.

He leaned against a quiet corner of the set, his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. You were already in character, your body language shifting as you transformed into Isabella. Drew had seen it all; the way you could disappear into your role, the way you made every moment feel alive, even the smallest of gestures. It was magnetic, captivating, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

You were standing across from a male crew member, discussing the next scene. Drew noticed how naturally you interacted with him, the ease with which you joked around, the warm laughter that escaped you as you shared a quiet moment between takes. There was nothing flirtatious about it, nothing intentional. It was just your charm, your ability to connect with anyone, to make them feel like they were the only person in the room.

But as Drew watched, a pang of something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. The crew member—an assistant director, he knew—was praising you. “You’ve really outdone yourself today,” the man said with a grin, clapping you on the back. “Isabella’s depth? Incredible. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone pull that off quite like you.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing with the kind of humility that made Drew’s heart ache. “Thank you, that’s all I wanted,” you said, clearly grateful for the acknowledgment but never one to boast.

Drew’s grip on the railing tightened, a strange feeling settling in his gut as he watched you laugh and engage so effortlessly. He had always admired your talent—hell, he had always been in awe of it—but today, for some reason, it felt different. The warmth in the crew member’s praise, the way he seemed to linger a little longer, a little too long, sent a sharp twinge of jealousy through Drew. He hated the way it felt, hated how quickly it consumed him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to be appreciated—he did. You deserved all the recognition in the world. But the knowledge that someone else was seeing the very qualities he had admired in you from the start, that someone else could see what made you so unique... it made something inside him stir.

And it wasn’t just admiration he felt for you—it was something deeper, something he had tried to ignore ever since that first interview. He could remember the spark between you both, the effortless connection that had only grown stronger since then. Every moment with you, every conversation, had somehow led him here. To this feeling, this painful realization that he wasn’t just drawn to you as a friend or a co-star—he was falling for you.

But he wasn’t sure if you saw him the same way. Or if you ever would.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingered, gnawing at him as the scene began. Drew watched from the shadows as you took your position, your posture shifting with the weight of Isabella’s inner turmoil. The camera rolled, and the world seemed to disappear. He wasn’t thinking about the crew member anymore, or the way you had smiled at him.

No, Drew was too focused on the way you delivered your lines. Every word you spoke seemed to come from a place of real pain, real desperation. It was like watching a storm roll in, one that consumed everything in its path.

When Damien called cut, the set fell silent for a beat. Drew’s breath caught in his throat. You were brilliant. He’d known it for a long time, but watching you right here, right now, brought it all to the forefront—how far you had come, how much of yourself you put into every scene.

He watched you stand tall, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes still distant from the intensity of the scene you’d just played. And as you looked around, Drew’s gaze softened. You were remarkable.

The crew member who had been praising you earlier walked up to you again, and Drew couldn’t help but feel that same uncomfortable stir in his chest. He had to admit, it wasn’t just the praise that bothered him—it was the way this guy kept looking at you. Drew quickly averted his eyes, his jaw tightening as he turned his attention back to the crew.

But as you turned toward Drew, your eyes meeting his for just a second, something passed between you, something unspoken. You offered him a small, genuine smile, the kind that only he seemed to get. And in that brief moment, everything else faded away.

He took a breath, forcing the jealousy back down. The weight of it, the sting, wasn’t going to cloud this moment. He knew what he felt. It was real, it was undeniable, and maybe, just maybe, there was still time to figure it all out. But for now, all he could do was admire you from afar, watch as you brought your character to life, and hope that one day, you’d see him the way he saw you.

And with that thought, Drew finally stepped forward, his resolve firming, ready to give you the space and respect you deserved while also knowing that there was so much more he wanted to say.

The scene you were filming was a culmination of everything Isabella had been building toward—raw, vulnerable, and utterly shattering. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a reckoning, the moment when all her carefully buried pain and longing erupted to the surface. Every word you spoke felt like tearing open a wound, every gesture a desperate plea for salvation. The air was thick with tension, and you could feel the weight of every eye on set, holding their breath, waiting to see if you could pull it off.

Drew, as Theo, stood before you, towering in every sense of the word. His presence wasn’t just physical; it consumed the space, dominating the scene like a storm about to break. His voice, low and cutting, delivered lines that felt like knives slicing through the air, leaving no room to hide. When his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity was unbearable, like he could see right into you—not just Isabella, but you.

The camera captured the moment your composure shattered, tears spilling as your voice cracked under the weight of the scene. You weren’t sure where Isabella ended and you began anymore. The pain felt too real, too sharp, and when Damien finally called “cut,” the word sliced through the tension like a knife. The silence that followed was deafening, a stark contrast to the storm you’d just weathered.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the rawness of the moment clinging to you like a second skin. Your chest heaved as you struggled to come back to yourself, but the emotions wouldn’t let go. Your hands trembled at your sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought you might break apart completely.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the haze, soft but insistent. His hand was on your arm before you even realized he’d crossed the room. His touch was grounding, his presence a lifeline. “Look at me,” he said, his tone low, coaxing.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes, and the concern there undid you. Your breath hitched, and a tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it. “I… I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” you whispered, the words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. “It’s too much. I feel like I’m drowning.”

Drew didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, his hand sliding from your arm to your shoulder, then to the small of your back, pulling you gently but firmly into his embrace. You froze for a moment, caught between the instinct to hold it together and the overwhelming need to let go. His arms wrapped around you, warm and steady, and the dam broke.

“I can’t,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest. “I feel like I left everything out there, and there’s nothing left of me. Nothing.”

His grip tightened, his hand cradling the back of your head as his fingers threaded gently through your hair. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not empty. You’re just wide open right now, and that’s what makes this real. That’s what makes you extraordinary.”

You clung to him, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as sobs wracked your body. He didn’t rush you, didn’t try to fix it or make it better. He just held you, his own breathing steady and calm, like he was anchoring you to the world.

“I saw you out there,” he whispered after a moment, his lips brushing against your temple. “You weren’t just acting. You were her. Every ounce of pain, every flicker of hope—you brought it to life. You made them feel it. You made me feel it.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-streaked face tilted up to meet his gaze. His eyes were glassy, his own emotions barely restrained, and the vulnerability between you was electric. “But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice breaking.

“It is,” he said firmly, his hand cupping your face now, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “It’s more than enough. You’re enough.” His voice cracked on the last word, the raw sincerity in it making your chest tighten.

The world around you seemed to blur, the sounds of the crew preparing for the next take fading into the background. All you could see, all you could feel, was Drew. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his hand steadying your shoulder.“You’ve got this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with unwavering conviction. “And I’ve got you. Always.”

The day had been long—endless takes, precision, and the kind of emotional exhaustion that made every muscle in your body ache. Filming had wrapped for the day, but the atmosphere on set hadn’t fully shifted. The quiet hum of equipment and the occasional voices from the crew still echoed around you, but you felt the weight of the day lift as you retreated to the solitude of your trailer.

You were halfway through removing your costume when a soft knock at the door caught your attention. It was a gentle knock, familiar in its rhythm, and you immediately recognized it.

“Come in,” you called, already knowing who it was.

The door creaked open, and there stood Drew, leaning against the frame with a lazy smile that instantly made the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, and there was a glint of playfulness in his eyes, but it was tempered with something warmer, something more tender.

“Understatement,” you replied, rolling your eyes, though your smile betrayed the exhaustion you were trying to hide.

He nodded and pushed the door open a little more, stepping inside. The space felt smaller with him in it, but somehow it didn’t feel crowded. It felt… comfortable. Safe.

Drew’s gaze drifted over to the small sofa beside the window, and without a word, he took a seat, kicking his shoes off and stretching his legs out. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he seemed to move, like he was made to fit into this small space as if he belonged here, with you.

You finished removing the last of the costume and dropped it into the nearby hamper, but instead of diving into your usual post-filming routine of unwinding, you found yourself walking over to him, drawn to the quiet energy between you. He looked up at you, his gaze softening as you neared.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, as if the very sound of it could pull you closer.

You didn’t hesitat to sit down beside him. There was a comfortable silence between you two, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. You leaned back against the cushions, the heat from his body radiating beside you.

Drew turned his head slightly, catching your eye. His expression was different from how he’d been on set—this wasn’t the charismatic, calculated Theo. This was Drew, the man you had come to know off-camera. His gaze was tender, almost searching, as if he was asking permission for something more.

Without a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours before lacing them together. The small contact sent a flutter through you, the simple act of his touch carrying an intimacy that felt far more profound than it had any right to be.

“Can I just…” he began, his voice trailing off for a moment before he squeezed your hand gently. “Can I just be here with you for a while? No cameras, no lines, just us?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’d like that.”

His thumb began to trace soft circles over the back of your hand, and you leaned into him, the quiet between you two settling into something even deeper than physical proximity. His body was warm, and his scent—fresh and slightly woody—wrapped around you like a blanket, comforting in its familiarity.

“You were incredible today,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words held no pretense, just raw sincerity. “Every time I see you step into a scene, it’s like you bring something new to the table. I don’t know how you do it.”

You could feel your heart flutter at his praise, but instead of letting it sink in fully, you shifted your focus back to him, tilting your head slightly to catch his eyes. “What about you? You’re kind of a force to be reckoned with, Starkey.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine, and you felt him shift closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I’m just trying to keep up with you,” he teased, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his voice. He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he moved his hand from yours, slowly resting it on your cheek, his touch soft but possessive. The weight of his gaze locked onto yours, and you could feel the air shift between you—charged, magnetic, undeniable.

“I’ve wanted this moment for a while,” he admitted quietly, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

Your pulse quickened, your breath hitching as his hand slid around to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You didn’t fight it; you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with the kind of quiet longing that had built between you for weeks now.

The kiss deepened, and everything outside of the small trailer seemed to fade away. There was no set, no crew, no expectations—just the two of you, wrapped up in the space you had created together. It wasn’t hurried or urgent. It was soft, a tender promise without words, like something neither of you had realized you needed until it was happening.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you found yourself leaning your forehead against his, sharing the same air between you. He smiled, his eyes glimmering with something that went beyond attraction.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection.

You closed your eyes, savoring the quiet after the storm of emotions on set, the gentle sound of his heartbeat in your ear, and the warmth of his embrace. “Me too,” you whispered back, letting the moment stretch on, knowing it was one you’d carry with you long after the lights went down and the cameras stopped rolling.

The morning after your quiet, intimate moment in the trailer felt different. There was a strange kind of weight in the air between you and Drew that neither of you could ignore. The atmosphere on set was charged with an unspoken energy, the kind that hung between two people who had shared something personal but weren’t quite sure how to navigate it in the daylight.

As the crew began setting up for the first scene of the day, you found yourself standing off to the side, absentmindedly checking your script, but every now and then, your eyes would flicker toward Drew. He was standing with Damien, talking animatedly about something, but there was a tightness in his posture that wasn’t there before. He had always exuded confidence, but now, there was a subtle hesitance to his movements—like he was still figuring out where you stood with each other after the kiss.

You could feel it too. The usual camaraderie between you two was laced with something different now. The chemistry was still there, but it felt like a live wire; dangerous and unpredictable. The playful banter that had flowed so easily between you the day before seemed distant, replaced by awkward silences whenever you found yourselves in the same vicinity.

You tried to shake it off. This was your job. You were here to work, to give your best performance, and that had to come first. But no matter how much you told yourself to focus, the tension was inescapable.

The first scene you were filming together was a pivotal one—Isabella’s first real confrontation with Theo, a moment where everything changes between them. Your character was supposed to be cool and collected, but deep down, she was unraveling at the seams. You had to bring all that turmoil, all that internal chaos to the surface in a matter of moments.

When Damien called “Action,” the professional masks slipped on almost instinctively, and you both fell into character.

Drew’s performance was colder today, more distant, his usual charm replaced by a simmering, quiet intensity. His eyes, once warm and full of teasing, now held a cold calculation as they met yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze, and though it was just acting, the memory of the night before lingered, making the scene feel even more charged than it should have been.

“You think you have control of this, Isabella?” Theo’s voice was sharp, the words cutting through the air like a blade.

You shot back, the defiance in Isabella’s eyes glaring through your own. “Your entire scheme depends on me, Theo. Without me, it crumbles to dust. If that’s not control, I don’t know what is.”

The words came easily, but every time you locked eyes with Drew, there was a brief flicker of something behind his gaze—a flicker of the intimacy you’d shared, a memory that was suddenly alive in the space between you. It was hard to shake, and you could tell it was affecting his performance too. His lines weren’t as crisp as usual, his timing slightly off, as though he was distracted.

The tension was palpable, hanging over the scene like a cloud, and the moment you wrapped the scene, the silence that followed felt deafening.

Damien looked between the two of you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Let’s take a break,” he said after a moment, clearly sensing the shift in energy. “Maybe a few minutes to reset?”

You nodded quickly, eager for the space, for the chance to breathe outside of the tight bubble of tension. Drew, on the other hand, didn’t say anything. He simply nodded curtly, giving you a quick glance that made your stomach flip before turning away to walk toward the corner of the set.

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Should you approach him? Pretend nothing had changed? Or should you give him space, let the awkwardness settle, and let the scene breathe?

You didn’t get the chance to think too long. A hand gently touched your shoulder, and you turned to find Cailee Spaney, your co-star, standing beside you, a concerned look on her face.

“You two okay?” she asked, her tone light, but there was a genuine curiosity behind it. She knew you both well enough to sense the shift.

You hesitated. “I think so. Just… a weird energy today, you know?”

Cailee’s eyes flickered over to where Drew stood, chatting with the crew but still glancing in your direction. “It’s pretty obvious to everyone. You’ve got to clear the air, or it’s going to keep hanging over both of you.”

You knew she was right. The unspoken tension between you and Drew wasn’t just something that could be ignored—it would affect the work, the connection between your characters, and maybe even the rest of the team’s comfort. But you weren’t sure how to fix it. How do you go from that intimate moment behind closed doors to this, to being back in the public eye with cameras rolling, no room for vulnerability?

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, Drew’s voice broke through, calling your name.

“Hey,” he said, walking toward you, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes uncertain but earnest. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, stepping a little closer to him. There was an intensity in his gaze now, but it wasn’t the cold, calculating Theo you’d seen on set. This was Drew, the one you knew—the one who had kissed you, the one who was just as affected by everything as you were.

“Look,” he started, his voice lower than usual. “I’m not… I don’t want this to be weird. I don’t want it to mess with the work, with the scenes. I just—”

“Yeah,” you interrupted softly, “me neither. It’s just… it’s hard to go back to pretending nothing happened.”

He smiled weakly, and you could see the tension in his face ease a little. “You’re right. But we’ve got this. We’ll figure it out. Just need to get through today, right?”

You took a deep breath, nodding. “Right.”

And for the first time since you’d kissed him, you both shared a moment of quiet understanding—no more words needed. You still didn’t know how this would all play out, but for now, you had a scene to finish, a role to play, and a bond that had quietly shifted in ways neither of you could ignore.

The last day on set arrived like a blur—one moment, you were just starting the project, and now, you were standing in the middle of the set for the final scene, everything winding down. It felt surreal, almost like you were moving through a dream. The camaraderie you’d built with the cast and crew, the long hours, the inside jokes, and the late-night rehearsals were all coming to a close. And yet, there was a weight in the air—one that had little to do with the wrap-up of the film.

You and Drew had navigated the tension between you both for weeks now, silently acknowledging it but never fully addressing it. Both of you had poured your energy into the project, the work taking center stage, but there had always been that quiet pull between you. Now, as you watched the final scene being set up, there was no denying it: this wasn’t just about wrapping the film. There was something unspoken that you knew needed to be said.

Drew was already on set, his costume as Theo impeccably sharp, his eyes distracted as he ran through lines under his breath. He looked different today—softer, like the walls he’d built around himself throughout the project were crumbling.

The last scene between Isabella and Theo was intense, charged with everything they’d been through together. It was a pivotal moment, where they both stood at a crossroads, neither sure of where the future would take them. The connection between you two felt more real than ever, and you knew this was the moment where it all had to come to a head—both on screen and off.

As the crew prepared for the final take, you caught Drew’s eye from across the set. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of hesitation, like he wanted to say something, but the moment wasn’t quite right. You couldn’t let it go.

You moved toward him, your footsteps echoing in the quiet before the chaos of the scene began. As you approached, Drew straightened up, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

"Hey," you said, offering him a small smile. “Ready to wrap this up?”

He returned the smile, but there was an unreadable look in his eyes. “Yeah, but... I’ve been thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, a sense of curiosity stirring in your chest. “About?”

He shifted slightly, the weight of his words hanging between you two. “About us. About... everything.” He swallowed, his usual confident demeanor faltering. “You know, the way things have been between us. We’ve never really talked about it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The air between you felt thick, charged. It was as if the words had been waiting to spill out for weeks, and now, in the stillness of the final day, they couldn’t be contained any longer.

“Drew…” you started, your voice barely a whisper, unsure of what to say.

He stepped closer, the space between you narrowing until it felt like no one else existed. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now,” he continued, his voice a little rougher than usual, the weight of his feelings making every word feel like it carried more meaning than it ever had before. “I can’t pretend anymore. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after how I feel about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade into the background. The noise of the set, the crew bustling about, even the upcoming scene—it all vanished as Drew’s words sank in.

“I care about you,” he said, his voice softer now, the intensity of his confession undeniable. “More than I’ve let on. More than I probably should. But I can’t ignore it anymore, and I don’t want to walk away from this without telling you.”

You stood there, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. It felt like a moment frozen in time—one that had been building for weeks, but now that it was finally here, you didn’t know how to respond.

For a beat, you didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, trying to process the rush of emotions his words had triggered. But then, a smile began to tug at the corners of your lips. You took a step closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m glad you said that,” you whispered, your voice steady, but your emotions running wild beneath the surface. “I’ve been feeling the same way, Drew. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

He gave a small, relieved laugh, his eyes brightening with that familiar warmth. “I’ve been trying to convince myself to wait until the film wrapped, until everything calmed down. But every time I looked at you... it just felt like I was lying to myself.”

You laughed softly, the tension between you easing, replaced by something deeper, something real. “I think we’ve both been lying to ourselves,” you said, your hand unconsciously reaching out for his.

Drew’s fingers curled around yours, and for the first time in weeks, there was no awkwardness, no uncertainty—just the simple connection between you both, like a thread that had always been there, waiting to be pulled.

As the crew called for the final take, you both stood there for a moment longer, simply taking in the quiet of the moment before the storm of filming began again.

“Let’s finish this,” Drew said with a grin, his fingers still tightly holding yours.

You nodded, the anticipation in your chest matching the excitement in his eyes. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

The scene was about to begin, but for once, you weren’t worried about the cameras, the crew, or the pressure. For the first time in a long while, you were just here—with him. And that was enough.

As you both walked back onto set, side by side, you knew this moment, this day, was one that would stay with you long after the credits rolled. Drew had confessed his feelings, and the truth between you was no longer hidden. You had one more scene to film, but in that moment, it felt like the beginning of something entirely new.

The post-wrap party was everything you’d imagined it would be—laughter, music, and the celebratory sound ofclinking of glasses. The set was a distant memory now, the whirlwind of the past few months slowly fading into the background as you found yourself in the midst of the crew and cast, celebrating the end of a long, intense journey. The atmosphere was warm, filled with a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie.

Lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over the gathering. The chatter was a mix of congratulatory remarks and funny anecdotes from behind the scenes. You could hear snippets of conversations as people relived the chaos of filming, the challenges, and the triumphs, but amidst it all, your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to Drew.

He was leaning against the bar, chatting with a few of the crew members. Even from across the room, you could feel the pull between you—the magnetic energy that had only intensified since that first kiss. The way he’d laughed with you on set, the way he’d confessed his feelings on that last day—it all felt like a beautiful dream, yet it was real. You couldn’t shake the quiet contentment that had settled in your chest, a feeling that only seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute.

Your heart warmed as you watched him, the soft light from the party highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the playfulness in his eyes. Drew looked at home here, yet he had a way of making everything feel more meaningful just by being present. He was grounded and alive in a way that made you feel safe, as if you’d found a place in this world where you truly belonged.

Finally, your legs moved on their own, carrying you through the crowd. Each step brought you closer to him, closer to something that felt inevitable. And when he turned toward you, as if he’d sensed your approach, his eyes lit up with the warmth that had become familiar. There was no awkwardness now, no uncertainty—only the comfort of knowing that you and Drew were no longer tiptoeing around each other. What had started as something tentative had grown into something real, something undeniable.

“Hey,” Drew said with that soft smile of his, his voice like home. “I was wondering when you’d come over.”

You smiled back, moving closer to him, feeling the way his presence filled the space between you. “Couldn’t resist. The party’s fun, but... I’d rather be here with you,” you replied, your voice low and sincere.

Drew’s smile deepened, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his eyes full of something that went beyond simple affection. He raised his glass in a mock toast. “To the film, to the work, and to... us, I guess,” he said, a little shy but so genuine that it made your chest ache.

You lifted your own glass to meet his, the soft clink of the glasses an almost imperceptible note in the music that surrounded you. “To us,” you echoed, the words settling deep within you, filling the empty spaces you didn’t even realize existed. It was real now, the connection, the undeniable bond that had been growing between you since the moment you first locked eyes on set.

The music played softly in the background, but in that moment, it felt like everything was quieter—more intimate. You were standing there together, both of you caught in the soft embrace of a night that felt endless, where time stood still. Drew’s presence was a comfort you hadn’t known you needed, and as you stood beside him, a peace settled over you that you hadn’t expected.

“Are you happy with how everything turned out?” Drew asked, his voice sincere, his eyes searching yours for something only you could give him.

You thought for a moment, your heart beating steadily in your chest. The long hours, the late-night rehearsals, the emotional scenes—it had all been a whirlwind. But standing there with Drew, feeling the warmth of his hand resting just above your waist, everything felt clearer. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “I’m proud of everything we did. Proud of how far we’ve come.”

Drew nodded, his gaze softening, and his lips curved into a smile that made your heart flutter. “Same here. You were incredible. You brought Isabella to life in a way I never thought possible.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, you weren’t so bad yourself, Starkey. Theo was... captivating, to say the least.” The words were teasing, but your smile spoke of something deeper—a sense of admiration and respect for everything he’d brought to the character.

His laugh was soft, a sound that sent warmth through your veins, and he moved a little closer, the space between you disappearing. “Thanks. But I think you’re the one who made everything come together. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.” His words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made your chest tighten in the most wonderful way.

The connection between you deepened in that moment, like two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. Drew’s gaze softened, and his voice dropped to a quiet whisper. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, taking a step closer, his hand slipping into yours. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I know it’s crazy, but... I don’t want this to be just a set thing. What we have, I mean. I don’t want it to end when the film does.”

Your heart raced, and without a second thought, you took a small step toward him, the space between you now nonexistent. “Me neither,” you whispered, your hand gently cupping his face as you looked into his eyes. “I think this is just the beginning, Drew.”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and his hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. Without another word, Drew leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss—a kiss that held everything unspoken. It was slow, a gentle exploration, as though both of you were savoring the moment, the sweetness of everything that had led you here.

When you pulled away, the world around you seemed to fade. The music, the laughter, the chatter—it all felt distant, as if the only thing that mattered was Drew, and the feeling of his arms around you, his lips on yours. “Then let’s see where it goes,” he said softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

You smiled, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. The world felt right in a way it hadn’t before. The film was over, but the connection you shared with Drew was just beginning to blossom, and you were content, certain that whatever happened next, you’d face it together.

The night continued around you, but for the two of you, it was just the beginning.

[busybeewriting]

And so the stars aligned. Pt 3

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader.

Summary: After a few weeks of Azriel teaching you to read, your sisters confront you about how much time you’re spending with him.

Warnings: Some slight suggestive stuff? Nothing explicit.

Ageless and MDNI

a/n: I know that I should probably- not upload so often. However, this has been knawing at my brain all day and I really just needed to post it so I can write the next part.

Part One, Part two, Part Four Requests are open!! Masterlist

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You and Azriel walked up toward the exit of the Library after yet another reading lesson. Your arms linked, as you let your hand rest on his forearm. He always offered you a hand, an arm, something to keep you close to him. Not that you minded being closer to him. The Illyrian was tall, warm, and very easy to hold onto. His scarred hands never purposely reached for yours, but sometimes you’d brush hands as you exchanged books or he delicately took the pencil from you to help you spell. You’d have to think pure thoughts for the next few hours. Keeping your mind off of what you wanted to feel them doing.

For about two weeks you’d meet here for a few hours each day and practice your writing, spelling, reading, and anything else Azriel deemed important for you to know. Clotho had stopped him apparently from bringing in a punching bag to train you. You couldn’t help but laugh so hard tears gathered and your stomach hurt after, when you walked down to the fifth floor only to see him pouting about it. "You big Illyrian baby." You coo'd after your laughs died down. And you rubbed his shoulders a little. He hadn't looked you in the eyes that day. But the lessons were working, you could now confidently read through the stack of books he brought to every meeting.

“I think we can upgrade to chapter books soon.” He speaks up, pulling your attention away from your thoughts. His warm, honey gaze finds yours as he lets a soft smile break through that normally stoic face of his.

“You think so?” You hum, with a slight tinge of hope. Maybe you could actually read the book you toted around thanks to him.

Azriel nods, closing his eyes as he does so. “Mmh. You’ve got the foundation down. Now we expand it.” His voice is smooth and calm. He spoke with ease, and somewhere deep within you it made you feel safe, calm. You’d wondered if that’s why you learned so quickly, because the words you didn’t know- they sounded like rich, warm melty chocolate in his voice. And you’d repeat it in your head all night long as you laid there in bed recounting your day. You didn't want to admit to yourself how late you stayed up thinking about him.

Your reply to Az gets cut short however as you hear your oldest sister's voice cut through the library. “Ah! If it isn’t our one and only, y/n.” Her voice drips in condescension, and normally you could handle Nesta. She didn’t scare you, not like the others at least. You knew her and knew that tone, you knew that tone of voice all too well. She was like a lion ready to pounce. Relentless teasing awaited you as you gazed at your sister. And she knew it too, watching you with a feline smirk as her hands rested on her hips in a power pose.

“Nesta.” You nod at her, removing your arm from where it had safely rested in the crook of Azriel’s arm. Immediately feeling colder, less protected. Vulnerable in front of your sister now. You felt the cool swirling sensation of Azriel’s shadows rising to attention, aware and ready to pull you back if needed. Nesta raised an eyebrow at the two of you, a slight smirk she tried to will into nothing. “How can I help you?” It was then you noticed your other two sisters, and now your brow furrowed. Elain stood smiling dumbly, like a love sick little puppy at Azriel. Her eyes raking over him. Something in her gaze made the hair on your arms stand, and you wanted her to stop looking at him like a piece of meat. Feyre stood watching you with a quirked eyebrow and a little grin. Her blue grey eyes shinning in amusement, like she too couldn’t wait to tease you. But it wasn’t everyday your sisters came together. Had something happened? Was everything okay?

Nesta looks Azriel up and down, not in the same way Elain had been. No she was sizing him up, in a fight you’re not sure the shadowsinger would win. Squinting at him before using her chin to motion him out. “We can assist her home. Thank you.” Nesta’s tone leaves no room for argument. Azriel for the briefest moment locks eyes with you. Asking you silently if you’d be okay with that, so you give a subtle nod. His shadows swirl around him again, something that was less common when it was just you too. They always pooled around your feet like a dog. You wondered if you could pet them. Unable to help the smile that spreads, you give a small wave to see him off. Watching him hesitate as he looked at you and your sisters, but his eyes glossed over and he chuckled lowly under his breath. And gods what you wouldn’t do to hear that sound again. Feyre must have said something to him with her daemanti powers.

So with that, Azriel left your side. Albeit a little unwillingly as he pressed a kiss to your temple before glaring at Nesta as she coo'd at you. He disappeared into the shadows. Leaving you now with your sisters who were all staring at you expectantly. Suddenly you felt like you were nothing but a child in front of them. Caught with your hand in the cookie jar and chocolate smeared on your face. Subconsciously you wiped your lips. "…hello." You greeted.

Nesta continued to smirk as she watched you. Knowing what her gaze did to her youngest sister. She uses her head to motion them out, not waiting for anyone to argue with her. And the rest of the Archerons followed suit, finally, Feyre speaks up, as if she didn’t just bombard you and demand you go with her. "So, will you join us for lunch?"

"I don't think I had a choice." You jest, elbowing her playfully. Feyre looks over at you with slightly wide eyes, as if feigning hurt, before her smile breaks through. Her laughter becoming instantly contagious. “Whose idea was this?" You look over at Nesta and Elain.

"Why must there be a reason for sisters to hang out?" Elain shrugs, looking at you with an amused smile and shooting you a wink. Squinting at your sister she can’t help but just smile more. Nesta just winks at you as she leads you to Rita's, it didn't surprise you that it was Nesta's favorite restaurant. With the vibrant music that always played, sometimes accompanied with bad karaoke singers; those were your favorite nights. Rita’s was a busy place- easy for conversations to get lost amongst others. Oh, and of course, the food was delicious. You truly didn't mind going out to lunch with your sisters, it was nice to have an actual familial bond with them.

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Conversation came easy as you all discussed everything and anything. Catching up with each other like old friends, part of it made you long for this in your girlhood. It would have made those years of poverty just a little brighter. Feyre told everyone how Rhys was trying to teach Nyx to fly, except for the fact that Nyx's wings were still too floppy to work. You admired the way that she lit up talking about her family. Seeing her happy meant that maybe you’d be that happy one day too. Nesta tells everyone about Gywn and Emerie's recent book recommendations. And her words made you long for friends that could talk back, unlike the flowers in the gardens. Elain discusses her garden plans- and even asks what they think about her opening a flower shop. You wondered if she’d let you work there, it be so nice to get out of the house. To have a purpose.

And then- like the vultures that your sisters were, their eyes landed on you. Blinking owlishly at them, you noted Feyres smirk. Nesta had a raised eyebrow as she rested her head on her intertwined fingers. Elain had her hands folded neatly in front of her. This just became an interrogation. "…what?" You ask, looking around to see if there is a reason why they're looking at you like this. Your heart beating a mile a minute, and you tried to subtly wipe your now sweaty palms on your dress. “Did I do something?”

"Let's get to the real tea." Feyre grins, setting her drink down and putting a hand on yours. She knew physical touch was one way to help you calm down. She’d offended used it to help comfort you as a child. "What is going on with you and Azriel."

You blink again and suddenly- you can't help the laughter that erupts from you. They had truly thought something was going on with you and Azriel! As if it wasn't obvious that Azriel was hopelessly in love with Elain! You wave away the ridiculously thoughts coming out of your sisters mouths. “You guys are ridiculous" You laugh, sighing heavily as you continue to grin. "Nothing is going on between us."

"He meets with you every Friday for hours," Elain says sharply. Her tone catching you and your other sisters off guard. And for a second, your hurt. Hurt that she could ever use that tone with you, not believe the words you were saying. "Something is going on."

Your eyes lock onto Elain's and there's anger in hers. She's upset about it, upset that you made a friend. She had friends! She had Cerridwen, and Nuala! The was two more than you had. Ever. Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you watch how she tries to intimidate you into answering her. Was this how you looked that first night in the Library? Is that why Azriel laughed at you? Elain looked as harmless as a kitten. "Nothing like your thinking." You reply cooly, trying not to start a fight with your sister. That was the last thing you wanted to do, and Cauldron. It would ruin the friendship you and Azriel had just started to form. That hot headed, stubborn Archeron temper didn’t need to come out now. Not when there was another hardheaded and stubborn Archeron in front of you.

"So then it shouldn't be a big deal to tell us." Elain snaps back. Nesta and Feyre exchange a look at the two of you. You can feel your blood boiling at her tone. But you knew you had to stay cool, calm and level headed. So as gingerly as you can, you reply.

"It's none of your business." And you would have thought you just insulted Elain by the way her face twisted with rage. She puts her hands on the table and stands with a swift, graceful movement. The chair loudly scooting out from behind her, dragging attention to the table. But Elain didn’t seem to care. Staring at you with fire in her eyes, like logs on a campfire.

"As your sister, it is. And as someone who is in lov-"

Knowing exactly what was about to come out of her mouth, you feel the ugly green monster boiling up inside you. You couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. She had a mate. Someone who wasn't Azriel. What happened when Azriel found his mate? What then? Would she demand that he stay away? It was ridiculous. An absolute ridiculous thing to say and expect of someone else. In a less graceful, more forceful way. Your chair shoots out the same way, and you thank the mother Feyre grabbing it before it could fall. You match Elain's actions as you glower at her. Surprised by how low your voice had gotten, "You have a mate. That you claim you don't love because you simply refuse to get to know him. Lucien is a kind man, he gets you a Winter Solstice present every year and tries to make it as thoughtful as he can while knowing so little about you. He is allowing-"

"Allowing?" Elain laughs shortly, "I should be grateful for him allowing me to reject him?" Her eyes bare into yours as if she is trying to find any little thread to unravel you with.

"Have you even told him you rejected him!?" You shout back at her. You hadn’t meant to raise your voice, people were usually quiet, and gentle with Elain. And here you were screaming at her in a bar…

Elain's face drops but it doesn't stop you from going in again, despite knowing you had made your point. This was about more than just her rejection of Lucien. It was about the lack of care and compassion your sister showed a man who tried to help her. "He is allowing you space- which you asked for, mind you! He could be all over you; there are horror stories of mates, Elain! But instead of trying to get to know him you instead clung onto someone else. And what? You're in love with someone else's mate? Lucien is a good, kind man. And it’s also not his fault that you were mated from the moment you stepped out of the cauldron. But he tried to be there for you. Badgered us about getting you food and sunlight. Even now! He writes you letters, but do you ever answer? Do you give him the time of day? I’m not saying you owe him your affection, but I am saying he deserves a mate who is willing to try.”

The table is silent for a moment. Letting your words hang in the air before Elain holds her head higher. "Mates do not have to be accepted."

"Elain." Nesta snaps, "Y/n has a point. You are in love with someone else's mate. You see how happy Cassian had made me, helped pick up my broken pieces! Showed me love while I healed. How happy Rhys makes Feyre! Giving her a life she could have never dreamt of. You can't so easily dismiss Lucien without at least trying."

"Oh, and you were one to so easily accept your mate?" Elain lashed out. Her eyes turning slightly misty. You quickly exchange a glance with Feyre who looks just as concerned as you. And the hurt on Nesta's face was there for just a split second before she steeled herself and opened her mouth-

"He's been teaching me how to read." You answer the first question quickly, looking down at your glass. Your reflection reminded you of your younger years again. Your sisters arguing at the table as you ate a meal you prepared. Trying to keep from your cheeks redding as your sisters turned to you. You could just imagine their expressions, shocked, disappointed and maybe a little upset you hadn’t asked one of them. Not being able to read was the last thing you wanted to admit, but you'd rather embarrass yourself than have them at each other's throats. There had been so much fighting in this world recently. There didn't need to be more. The fighting didn’t need to be between sisters. You dared to look up at them, Feyre was smiling gently as she reached out and took your hand. Giving a gentle squeeze. She understood you the most, both of you didn’t have the education that the other two did. Nesta looked at her water, frowning and contemplative. It was almost as if she looked guilty. Elain found a spot on the table interesting. The silence was too heavy, so you continued, "He realized the book I always carried around…he realized I wasn't reading it. And so he tricked me, got me down into the library, and made me try to read…ever since then he's been teaching me…"

"You know, Rhys also taught me how to read." Feyre supplies to help ease the tension. “By making me write about how handsome and charming he was.” Nesta and you snort, rolling your eyes affectionately at your brother in law. Feyre takes your hand better, giving another squeeze. “And now I can read and write just fine. And I would bet good money that Azriel is a better teacher than him." She winks. You gave her a thankful smile.

"He says we can move onto chapter books soon…" A small smile spreads across your face as you recount what had happened just a few hours earlier. "Maybe I can join your book club then, Nes." You look at your oldest sister in hopes of pulling her out of her thoughts. The last thing you wanted was for her to feel guilty about it, your father should have picked up the slack. Not her. Nesta looks up at you, smiling back at you with a softness rarely seen.

"If you can handle it." She shrugs with a half committed grin. After another beat of silence she sighs, reaching across the table to take your other hand. "I'm sorry. Like Feyre, I had no idea where your lessons started and how much you knew…"

Shaking your head, you squeeze her hand. "It wasn't your job. You were a child just like me. If anyone should have stepped up it was Dad. And besides, reading wasn't going to help us get out of poverty. We did what we could. And now, we have a life of comfort…" You give another thankful smile to Feyre. "Thanks for mating the most powerful High Lord in Prythian." You tease, your sisters laugh unexpectedly at the comment. It was a strange thing to thank Feyre for. There was so many things you could have thanked her for- and yet you chose her mate. But Feyre didn’t seem to mind, she welcomed it with open arms. Bowing her head as if to say ‘you’re welcome.’

Then, when the laughter died down, you look over at Elain, "And if you want me to stop the lessons with Azriel then I will. I'm sure we can get me a tutor now that I know the basics."

Elain raises her head to look at you and then sighs. Shaking her head, "No. You're right. I haven't been fair in demanding attention from Azriel, giving him my heart so easily when…when I haven't given my own mate the chance. Truthfully, I'm just scared. To lose someone like I lost Greyson. I thought… I thought for sure Greyson would love me no matter what. I thought our love was stronger than just some pointy ears. And,” She pauses as she purses her lips. Nesta gently rubs her back, Feyre takes her hand as you take the other. Gathering around her in support. “And i’m scared that something with happen to Lucien as well. I see how much you love your mates and I just- I just couldn’t bear to loose anyone like that again.” Elain lets out a shaky breath at her confession, squeezing you and Feyre’s hands. “Azriel would be a good partner. I know to expect him to leave at times…" She leans back into the chair and lets out a whistful sigh, "Plus he's hot."

That gets the table to erupt into laughter again, "As if Lucien isn't?" You ask playfully.

"Oh please, Illyrian men are the way to go." Nesta winks, "They don't talk about the wing spans for no reason."

"Gross!" You giggle as the conversation starts up again, becoming easier between you and your sisters. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As you arrived back at the River house, laughter still surrounded you and your sisters. The four of you make your way into the living room to continue your fun night, but find it already occupied with the Inner Circle. Spread across the rooms with various wine bottles, and a few snacks scattered about.. "Hello, Feyre Darling." Rhys greets and gets up, taking her in his arms, "We couldn't let you have all the fun. Now could we?" He smirks, looking over at you and your sisters. “Did you girls have a goodnight?”

“Not as good as the one here.” You muse, crossing the room to grab some of the charcuterie board they had left. “Rita’s doesn’t have fancy meat.”

“At least not when you’re not there.” Cassian ribs, elbowing Rhys as he passes by. Rhys’s quip back gets lost in the laughter the ensues from your joke. And as Cassian always does, presses a kiss to Feyre's cheek. He ruffles your hair, causing you to make a small noise of disapproval before quickly smoothing out your hair. He kisses Elain's hand before he pulls Nesta into his arms. Kissing her swiftly, causing you to avert your eyes.

You hear some shuffling and look up to find Azriel coming closer, something you noted he only did when he wasn’t trying to sneak up on people. His footsteps so light that he want to accidentally spook anyone. You smile at him as you notice for once he wasn't in his leathers. But that didn't mean that he wasn't still insanely attractive. It was unfair how effortless it seemed to be for him. A pair of black jeans that were a bit looser than his normal pants but still hugged his thighs, a long-sleeved blue knit shirt that had the sleeves pushed up to show off his forearms. Showing off more scars, His siphon-topped hands shoved into his pockets. Even his casual dress made you feel under and over-dressed at the same time. Your sisters and you usually wore dresses- Nesta and Feyre opted for Illyrian leathers while training. But you had done none of it, so here you stood in front of him in a plain purple sundress. Smoothing out the fabric you looked up at him with a gentle smile. "Did you have a good night?"

Azriel nods, a faint smile from him almost had you trying to catch your breath. His attention focused so innately on you, that nothing else seemed to matter. "Better now that you're here. Rhys and Cass wouldn't stop complaining about how much they missed their mates." He sighs heavily, not revealing the smirk that graces his features to anyone but you. You couldn’t help but let out a quiet giggle, shaking your head at him. His beautiful hazel eyes glimmering with amusement.

"We did not!" Cassian interrupts, pulling you and Azriel from your moment. Nesta still pressed into his arms as she held onto him. "Don't let him fool you, y/n." He pouts, “We weren’t the only ones complaining!”

You raise your eyebrow and look at Elain. She shares the amusement. "Cassian, with all due respect. You are annoying about Nesta even when she's in the next room over." Elain teases and you cover your mouth to stop the bark of laughter. But it’s too late, the room is filled with it.

"Do you hear them, Nessie?" Cassian pouts and barries his face into her neck. "They're being mean to me." Nesta laughs and pats his back. Looking at the rest of you with playful exhaustion.

"You big baby, you can take it." She offers no sympathy to her mate, who only whines in her arms. Causing Nesta to roll her eyes and look over at you and Elain again. "Drama king." She mouths.

And something about the normalcy in your sister's affection, loving her mate so openly. Being held with no reservations, bantering and kissing, and….being loved. Both of them…it causes that ache in your heart again. The crippling loneliness. Even Elain had found a spot next to Mor and Amren, letting them pour her a drink. You can't bear to watch it, it hurts too much. To feel so outside, like a stranger peering through a window. You step away from Azriel, unaware of his his eyes quickly follow you, ensure you aren’t going too far. He’s about to offer an arm when you yawn and stretch. "I think it's time to head up to bed." You give a tight-mouth smile to everyone else and bid them goodnight. Ignoring the boo’s from a tipsy Mor.

Azriel follows you up though. He’d seen the sudden change in your demeanor, almost like you closed yourself off from the family. He didn’t know what was said to you tonight, but he’d assure you til dawn if anything he deemed wrong.

You hadn't noticed him until he cleared his throat, just outside your bedroom door. Causing you to startle as you looked back. "Azriel!" You hiss as you put a hand over your heart with a little laugh. Azriel looked like a kicked puppy, his beautiful hazel eyes wide, eyebrows raised in surprise. You hadn't ever expected to see that look on his face, biting your lip to stop a laugh.

"I'm sorry!" He rushes, "I thought you knew!”

You let out the laugh that you were holding back and shake your head. "Oh, Azriel." You giggle and shake your head as you pat his bicep, the sheer size of it made your hand look downright childish. So small in comparison to all that muscle. "It's alright, don't worry. Did you need something?"

He cleared his throat, in the dim faelighting you could have sworn that you saw a blush creeping up on his cheeks. You pushed away the thoughts of how adorable he was. "I, wanted to make sure that you were okay." He whispers as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, refusing to meet your gaze. Watching how it darts around like he is growing more and more anxious by the second. You had never seen the Spy Master like this- so flustered and awkward. It made you wonder what he and the rest of the Inner Circle talked about while you were gone today. Cassian mentioned someone else complaining… was it him? Was he complaining about your lessons?

You blink at his words, finally registering them, before tilting your head. "…yes? Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your sisters all but kidnapped you." He says simply. His eyes finds yours again as he raises an eyebrow at you. Slightly worried that you might have forgotten. His eyes also shine with amusement as he recalls the way they'd shown up. Only for himself to be bombarded when he returned to the River House as well. No doubt Feyre, Rhys, Nesta and Cassian’s doing. Nosy fuckers. "Nesta was…" Azriel shivers as he recalls her glance. Shaking his head you laugh again at his reaction, patting his arm again. He couldn’t help but also notice the size difference between you two and it drives him up a wall.

"They just wanted to know my intentions with you Azzy." You wink, and on the Shadowsingers face was definitely a blush. "Don't worry I assured them it was nothing but evil, evil plots of learning how to read to start a coup." You continue to tease him.

Azriel glares lightly at you, but any harshness in his eyes soften the minute you giggle so hard you snort and lean into him. Resting your forehead on his chest- the closer you’d ever been to him. The way you did so in such a simple, effortless way…touching him and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world. His heart races out of his chest as he looks down at you, shocked as he doesn’t quite know what to do, his shadows curling around your ankles and his hands on your hips to keep you from falling back as you laugh- still dazed by the pure beauty of…you and it snaps. The mating bond. You were his mate.

His.

From now until the end of time. You were his, and he was yours. And it suddenly felt like everything in this world made sense. Holding you in his arms would feel like home, never again would it feel like he didn’t have a place in this world again. Because his place was next you. Starting from this day on. Now and forever. It feels as if his entire life had been an endless storm, constantly searching for salvation only to find it in your smile. The darkness that enveloped him washed away by your laugh. The self deprecating thoughts eased by a touch of your hand…there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. The snapping of the bond felt as if though part of him had truly become complete. There was no greater honor than being yours. So holy dedicated to you.

If he were a lesser man, he would have surged forward and pressed his lips to yours. Needing to feel the touch of your skin against his. Giving in to his primal instincts. Tugging you closer as you both accept the bond and two- became one. Over, and over, and over again until you couldn’t move anymore.

But Azriel looks at you as you smile up at him. So innocent in the way only someone who had no idea what dirty thoughts were coming through his mind. Completely unaware of what you had just done to him. How you now had him wrapped around your finger forever and always. And then, like a freight train crashing he realized.

It hadn't snapped for you…

"Goodnight Az." You whisper as you lean up, one hand delicately on his chest, the other squeezing his forearm to help keep you steady, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you in the morning." With that, you stepped into your room closing the door. Leaving Azriel in the hallway alone, again. ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── a/n: This one was really fun to write! Also, if you guys wanna know the dress I was picturing for the reader, its this one here. If yall have anything you wanna see, or wanna be added to the taglist let me know! tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92 @lana08 @stained-glass-eyes0708 @oucereeng @persephonesalvatore @fightmedraco @juniperberriesaries @whatdoyxumean @harrystyke21

[cherryclitgirl]

The Gods II

Pairings : Maegor x reader

Warnings : abortions, child loss, young pregnancy

Notes: brief mention of y/n

The days following the Death of king Maegor’s oldest son and heir where filled with sorrow. The two men responsible for the cold murder were caught fleeing Kingslanding with Aegon’s head on a sack. Maegor’s wrath was inevitable, putting multiple members of the faith to the blade, torturing the head of the kings guard for failing to protect his son. He tortured the two men to death, but it was still not enough. No one dared to step in his way. Adding fuel to the fire, the queen mother Visenya died of a sudden illness. Allowing dowager queen Alyssa and her two young children Jaehaerys and Alysanne to flee from Dragonstone, in return Maegor tortured Viserys to death.

He did everything but comfort his wife. The young girl was consumed with grief, she refused to eat or sleep since the death of her son. She grew paranoid of the shadows, believing the gods would come for her remaining children. When they slept, she didn’t. She would sit in bed clutching Aegon’s toy dragon, when she closed her eyes she could still hear the sound of her son’s muffled cries. The sound of the flesh cutting under the blade, her poor babe. Ripped off her arms so easily. The death of her brother Viserys only made her grieving worse. She began to neglect her motherly duties, as well as her children.

Baelon being the second oldest did not understand why he could not find Aegon. Rhaenor would cry for hours for no apparent reason in the arms of his wet nurse. The new born Rhaella having grown accustomed of being breast fed by her mother would not accept the milk from her wet nurse.

Queen Ceryse having be shut off by Maegor and the young girl, tried multiple times to speak with her. But the young girl refused to speak with anyone. That was until she managed to sneak into her room with the wet nurse who begged the young girl to feed Rhaella.

She saw the young girl standing by the large window holding Aegon’s funeral shroud. The burning of the body had yet to be done, as no one dared to intervene the grieving of the young queen and the cruel king.

Queen Ceryse did not know what to say, how to start. She stood watching the young girl for a moment. She didn’t have the courage to tell the poor girl that it was she who went to Maegor. Despite trying her best to deny it. It pained her when Maegor married his niece. It pained her even more when girl fell pregnant quickly. Seeing the girl bear four healthy children was a stab in the heart for Ceryse. Sending her away with Visenya was the least she could do. It gave her time to be with Maegor and pray that she would fall pregnant. But now her actions, her greed, her jealousy had consequences. “ The gods punished us, they punish me” she thought as she snuffled and wiped her tears away.

She didn’t have the heart to tell the poor girl she had completely forgotten to tell the guards to stand by the door. “It was never my intention to cause harm to you or your children “ Ceryse sniffed softly. The young girl had been condemned to punishment far beyond her understanding. Ceryse gulped and continued talking “I had every intention on telling the guards, protecting the sanctity of you and your children was my first priority”. Not matter what what Ceryse said, she knew it would never be enough. The girl was not at fault. She was innocent.

The young queen slowly looked back, “What they did-“ she said wanting to hold the poor young girl. “It doesn’t align with my personal beliefs of the faith “ she spoke hoping to sooth the girl. The young girls eyes fell on Ceryse’s necklace.

Ceryse clutched her necklace, she regretted wearing seven pointed star necklace, after all was the faith militant that killed Aegon. The young queen said nothing, but beneath those hurt and red eyes, was just a girl, who lost both of her of her brother, her son, and whose mother and sister were nowhere to be found.

Ceryse slowly walked to the girl “What you saw that night” she sighed softly trying to reach and hold the girl “when you came into Maegor’s room-“ The young girl gently shoved Aegon’s funeral shroud into her arms. “This is for my boy” she said walking past Ceryse.

Meagor insisted that both his son Aegon, and his mother Visenya were burned at Dragonstone at the same time. Many lords of minors and great houses traveled to the Dragonstone, although very few were present during the burning of the bodies.

Baelon stood by his mother watching the body of his brother burn away into ashes. His mother held his hand tightly. Baelon felt his mother’s grief, his heart clenched watching her cry. He’s only response, was too cry was as well. Baelon the bitter the history books would call him.

- - - - - - -

Alyssa had fled to Storms end with Jaehaerys and Alyssane.They were promised to be housed and welcomed by Lord Rogar shortly after fleeing . Rhaena had fled with her daughters shortly after the death of her husband Aegon. Alyssa had yet to receive word from her and her whereabouts. Her second daughter was but a walking corpse of sorrow and grief trapped in the hands of Maegor. Viserys had been tortured to death by Maegor. Her grandchild murdered in cold blood.

It was what they did to her sweet girl that pained Alyssa. Her poor daughter a victim of a crime she did not commit. She watched when Maegor took her to marry. She was there when her girl of ten and five gave birth to her first child, only to return months later pregnant again and again. She watched and could not save her.

She could only pray that Jaehaerys would take the throne. Save his sister and her children. Allow them to be free from Maegor’s grasp.

Alyssa exited the wheelhouse she had managed to pay for. The guards of house Baratheon stood with their Lord Rogar. She looked up as the rain began to fall on her face. A sight of freedom, a bitter sweet freedom. Unfortunately her daughter could not experience it. Oh her precious y/n, how much she adored the rain. She would’ve enjoyed dragging Aegon and Rhaena into the courtyard to play in the falling rain.

Before Alyssa could take step another step towards Rogar she fell to her knees. The hard rain fell on her;mixing with the salty tears that rolled down her cold cheeks. She could only remember times where her six children were together. Sitting at the long table together as Aenys wished for it to be. They were contented. A happy family, a good family. Maegor took that from her.

She cursed his name, desperate and angry she cried, her nails clenching into her palms. She wished for nothing more than to run, get her daughter and grandchildren and give them the freedom they deserved.

- - - - - - - - - -

In 45 AC shortly after the construction of the red keep and a year after the death of three year old of Aegon. Baelon Targaryen at just four summers old was officially named heir of the iron throne and prince of Dragonstone. A large tittle for a small boy who did not understand the it’s great significance. Soon after the announcement Maegor took his wife to her chambers. Her arm wrapped around his they walked past Ceryse. Her relationship with the girl had become strained and unpleasant.

“Baelon will marry Rhaella” Maegor firmly told as he left his wife’s bed. Y/n sat up from the bed lifting the sheets up to her bare chest. Her long silver hair covered her shoulders, weakly guarding her naked body “She’s barely one ” she muttered.

Maegor looked back at her “Let her be promised to him from a young age” he replied coldly. “I have let you name our children, let you pampered them with love, so they grow weak and feeble. He spat moving closer to the bed. He sat down close to her “You have no say on the matters “ he said firmly.

“Why keep me here then” she asked him. Slowly she was regaining the strength that was once taken from her. Although she still mourned the death of her son, the constant overlooking of those who surrounded her made her regain what she once lost. Her desire to fight. Not for Maegor, not for the crown. But the her children.

Maegor looked at the girl for a moment, his hand twitching to reach over and tighten itself around her neck. He liked her better when she did not question him. But something had changed in her, he knew it , he felt it. It had taken him off guard when she first rode him. He still remembered her hands on his large bare chest. The way she looked when she moaned. She was not just riding him to please him, she was doing it to please herself. Something in their marriage that had never happened. She was no longer callow and afraid , she took him for her own pleasure. For every night that he spend with Tyanna or Ceryse he would spend ten nights with y/n. Ultimately, he stopped visiting them. Solely focusing on his young wife. She would take him good. facing him , on her back, on her knees, his cock down her throat, the things that made him proud.

He didn’t answer her question. The silence between them felt long and unease. He pulled the silky sheets further up her bare chest.

He stood up and began butting up his breeches “You have been faithful, despite the circumstances you remain at my side, that’s why I keep you here”. He reached for Blackfyre and held up to her, the sharp end pointed at her. “I assume even when I’m gone you will carry me in your thoughts”. Unfortunately he was right. Despite her being deathly afraid of him and after years in his cruel grasp.She developed fidelity and compassion for him. Strongly believing he would protect her. Maegor knew this, he used to his advantages. Fueling his wife with lies and deceptions. Believing she had no one else to turned to , knowing she would do anything for her children. Maegor believed she will do anything to have Baelon on the throne. He offered her a seat in the small council to serve as his advisor. This did not go over lightly with Tyanna, but to her misfortune, Maegor did not care. He wanted her close, manipulate her as he always wished. Maegor left her chambers leaving her covered with the sheets of their aftermath, alone in the large empty room. Despite her enjoying their intimate moments the constant act of enjoying his company felt foreign to her. But it was necessary for her survival. Although the developed feelings of safety and compassion for him were strong. Something inside her opposed them.

The morning shortly after he left her trusted maid drew her a bath, and carefully cleaned and washed her. The warm water kissed her skin as the sponge glided down her arms and on her back. Her maids soft fingers caressed her scalp with gentleness, soothing away her turbulence. Kiara was her most trusted maid.She was gentle and attentive, appointed by grand maester Benifer himself. Kiara was fiercely loyal to her queen .

“Does my queen wish for a moment alone?” Kiara asked her as she brushed the last of her hair. The queen looked at her maid through the mirror and nodded “please “ she said softly. Kiara nodded, she made sure her queen had everything she needed before bowing and leaving.

She was to await someone, who always came after a night with Maegor. Moments late the door of the chamber opened, y/n looked to see Grand Maester Benifer standing by the door holding a something covered with a small cloth. He looked back the door as it shut and made sure no one was looking as he unveiled a small round cup with a lid. “Good morrow your grace”. He bowed his head at her and slowly walked to where she was. His wary expression was noticevale as he placed the cup on the table. “Good morrow grand maester” she said watching him place the cup on the table. The tea’s vapor dancing on top of the cup. “As requested “. He watched her slowly take the cup and smell it before she drank it slowly. She never enjoyed the taste of the sour taste, it burned her throat as she drank it, pausing here and there.

“If I may your grace” he spoke solemnly “ This happens to be the third one you’ve taken” he said in a hush voiced. “If the king find outs.. this is treason, killing potential heirs-“ Maester Benifer was cut off by the y/n who placed down the cup. “I’m aware…grand maester, but the king has three healthy heirs” despite her justification, the act was still immoral and distasteful to some. “ But his desires are not mine…this is my choice, my right “ she said firmly.

Grand maester Benifer nodded and looked down “What you do for your children your grace… it’s admirable…your labour will not unheeded go ” he promised her. He covered the cup with the cloth again. He had brewed the tea for her, and advised her when to take it. He was well aware of the risk that came with aiding the queen, but he would take that risk and more.

Unfortunately for him, and for the young queen it was not Maegor’s wrath they ought to be afraid of. For the gods tend to not be satisfied with only one son.

[levisolace]

am i making you feel sick? (zayne x f!reader)

WC: 15,691 Pairing: zayne x reader, subtle sylus x reader Warnings: graphic depictions of illness Genre: Angst, (Possibly) Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease AU Summary: You escape Linkon to heal from the deadly Hanahaki Disease, your unspoken love for Dr. Zayne threatening to consume you from within. Note: Hi! I had this in my drafts for a while since Sylus came out. Figured to finally post it. Here's my first LaDs fic. Hope you all like it. This is only a one-shot btw.

ao3 link

You don’t know when it started. Maybe it was over the meals you’ve shared, or when you began to know much more about him, how he loved sweets, how he graduated half the time it should’ve, or maybe it’s just how truly and deeply kind and caring he is. In the stolen glances you gave him whenever he was in your presence, you admired how beautiful he was. His raven black hair, hazel green eyes, and broad shoulders. Oh, his beautiful shoulders. It was your dream to have your hands running through them. 

It was perfect. You two shared a history from your childhood and more than a decade later, you were brought back once again in your adult years. Like it was fated. Like stars have aligned for the two of you. Maybe it was the knowledge of the “you meet people twice theory” that made your delusion worse. Maybe it was when you began to think of scenarios of you and him before you went to sleep at night. 

To make it short, you don’t know when you started falling in love with your primary care physician, Dr. Zayne. 

It was fun at first, the idea of falling in love. He is your friend, no matter how busy he is, if he can, he gives his free time to you. In the midst of all of that, you began to question yourself if the way you see him was more than a friend. 

Before you knew it, you found yourself blushing at every interaction, every text, every post and comment he made, and every doctor appointment whenever he would even slightly touch you. Your heart rate sped up and he probably noticed that too. You were practically transparent with how easy you are to read.

He was the total opposite.

He’s stoic and unreadable. Half of the time, you don’t know if he’s serious or joking. Most of the time, it’s the former. He would always find ways to scold you on how you take care of yourself. 

Still, you hoped. You made yourself believe that underneath all that caring was an underlying emotion that comes as more than a physician and a friend. And so you let yourself fall into that deep abyss of longing. Love. It’s such a common word, one that is used lightly but holds the weight of the world and humanity. 

But you couldn’t be more wrong.

You stepped out of the cab and onto the rain-slicked pavement of Linkon, the familiar hum of the city wrapping around you like an old friend. The night was young, but the streets were already alive with their own rhythm—flashes of neon lights, distant sirens, and the ever-present murmur of conversations blending into a cacophony that was both chaotic and comforting.

You tugged your leather jacket tighter against the cool evening breeze, your thoughts racing faster than your heartbeat. After weeks in the field—tracking elusive prey through shadowed forests and braving the bite of unforgiving weather—returning to the city was like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots. But tonight, the excitement in your step had nothing to do with the urban landscape you missed. It was all about the man waiting for you at the clinic.

Dr. Zayne had been a constant in your thoughts even while you were miles away, slinking through the underbrush and facing dangers of wanderers. Your encounters were always memorable, punctuated by shared glances and conversations that left you with a giddy sense of longing.

Your boots clacked against the pavement as you hurried down the street, the soft patter of rain masking her footsteps. You reached the glass door of the clinic, pausing for a moment to smooth your hair and then pushed inside. 

The lobby was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights and the soft hum of a vending machine in the corner. You approached the reception desk, where a young woman was looking up with a smile. 

“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Zayne,” you tell her. 

“Ah, Miss (L/N), right?” the receptionist asked. You’ve probably been here too many times to not be known. Is that a bad thing? Probably. But you don’t mind.

You nod. “Ah, I think Dr. Zayne stepped out for   dinner,” she informs you. “You can wait here. He should be coming back soon.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” you replied, giving her a smile. 

You cursed to yourself. You probably shouldn’t have tried to surprise him with your unprecedented visit and just texted him beforehand. It’s still pretty early for his usual dinner time despite it being dark already. With how busy and needed he is in the hospital, it resulted in him having inconsistent meal times, very much similar to your line of work. You hoped to catch him before he ate and ask him out for a meal like you always do. But that’s not happening tonight. 

As you wait patiently in the lobby while looking through social media posts on your phone, a nurse you know well approached you and called you by your name. You look up to see Yvonne smiling at you. You gave her a genuine smile back, happy to see an acquaintance. 

“Hey Ms. Hunter, you here for Dr. Zayne?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I heard he’s out for dinner. I just got back from a mission and wanted to see him because I had to skip an appointment during the week,” you inform her.

She places her hand in the pockets of her scrub as she thinks, her eyes widening for a moment when she remembers. “Yeah, I think he ate dinner with Dr. Emma.” 

“Dr. Emma?” The unfamiliar name rolls off your tongue in a bad way. This is the first time you’ve heard of her. 

“Yeah, she’s a new doctor who transferred here a while ago. A genius doctor too, maybe that’s why she quickly hit it off with Dr. Zayne,” she pouts. 

That’s when your heart sank. A dinner date. The words echoed in your mind, crushing the small spark of hope you had been nurturing. You forced a smile as Yvonne excused herself out of the quick conversation, dropping it as quickly as she fades from your view. 

Just like that, your excitement bubbled down into an unknown pain. It was like humiliation but something else completely. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you even if no one was watching you—like they knew you were here for Zayne but he was already with another woman. But they don’t know that. You’re just another patient here. Thinking of that truth should’ve comforted you. But somehow, it felt worse. 

With a heavy heart, you went back to your apartment without seeing the doctor you were waiting for.

One sad dinner by yourself later, you found yourself lying on your bed, the exhaustion of the preceding mission finally dawned on you. The adrenaline of excitement has worn out, leaving you with a heavy feeling of disappointment and body ache. 

Your phone dinged with a notification and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to move a limb. It’s a wonder how you never felt this way after a mission before even if you were injured. It’s like something was weighing you down but you couldn’t pinpoint where. 

The phone dinged a few times more and you ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. You guess it was just the group chat from work. Tomorrow and the weekend are your days off anyway. They can forgive you for not responding for a few hours. 

It was then that your phone started to ring, indicating a phone call. Groaning in annoyance, you will yourself to reach for your phone by the bedside table, picking it up hastily while your eyes are closed.

“Hello?” you answer groggily. 

“Are you alright?” The familiar deep voice asked without missing a beat, tone laced with concern. Your eyes widen, looking at the caller ID. It was Zayne. The messages were also from him.

“Oh, it’s you.” Everything felt lighter than it was, your tone involuntarily chipper than it was a second ago. It was like your body is uncontrollable when it comes to him. You sit up on your bed to speak to him more clearly. 

“What happened?” He asked again, eager to get the point.

“What do you mean?” 

“Why did you leave the hospital? The nurse told me you were here to see me and then left,” he asked further. You don’t answer for a moment, unsure on what to lie about. You can’t exactly tell him the truth. 

“Oh… yeah. I just got back from a mission but you weren’t there so I left,” you explained. 

There was silence from a moment like he was thinking and you wish that you knew what it was about. Like most of the time, you wished to enter his mind and see him wholly. 

“...Are you hurt?” The eagerness dropped from his tone, replaced by the softness that you adored partnered with the deep concern that he showed you multiple times. It’s a softness that you found yourself used to, something that pertains to a relationship more than a doctor and his patient. 

“I’m alright, Dr. Zayne,” you answer truthfully but your voice betrays you and you curse yourself in your mind, knowing that the attentive doctor would notice. 

“You don’t sound alright,” he states the obvious, the subtle sarcasm noted in his answer. 

“I really am, Zayne. I just felt bad about missing the appointment because of the mission,” you say as you pull and fold your legs closer to yourself, hugging them to your chest. You hear his soft sigh on the other line and you let out an involuntary chuckle, picturing his disappointed and crunched forehead while he sat on his office desk. 

“Do you want to come in tomorrow?” He asked and your heart jumped at the question. The thought of seeing him tomorrow giving you a boost of serotonin. 

“Do I need to? I really am fine,” you answer truthfully, pertaining to your physical health.

“Nevermind. You’re coming in tomorrow. That’s an order from your doctor,” he commands and you chuckle again and roll your eyes but enjoy his nagging nonetheless. 

“Fine, Dr. Zayne. I’ll come in tomorrow.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” and he hangs up.

That night, you sleep with a heavy heart no longer but the thought of another woman still lingers at the back of your mind. You push the thoughts away, focusing on the thought that you will see him tomorrow. 

Just for tonight, you’ll dream of those green eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

You sit in front of him, legs crossed, your frilly skirt brushing against your knees as you try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Zayne flips through your chart, his brow furrowed in concentration, like every detail of your health is a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Everything looks fine,” he says at last, his voice calm and steady.

You smile, forcing a lightness to your tone that doesn’t quite match how you feel inside. “Told you. I’m a good Hunter.”

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you should throw yourself at any wanderer that crosses your path.”

You pout, sticking out your bottom lip in mock protest. “I wasn’t throwing myself at anyone. You make it sound like I’m reckless.”

Zayne chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not reckless—just a bit too fearless sometimes.”

The playful back-and-forth between you has become so natural, but today it feels different. You’d dressed up a little for this checkup, abandoning your usual jeans for something more delicate, more thoughtful, hoping he might notice. Maybe today would be the day you’d muster up the courage to say something—anything—to let him know how you feel. But before you can respond, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

Zayne glances up, his face softening instantly. “Come in.”

The door opens, and a woman steps inside, holding a small container in her hands. She’s striking, with short auburn hair that falls just past her ears and eyes that shine with quiet warmth. She’s dressed in a simple but elegant medical uniform, her steps confident and unhurried as she approaches the desk.

“Hey,” she says, smiling at Zayne. “I brought you something.” She sets the candy container down in front of him, a fond look passing between them.

Zayne’s face lights up—genuinely lights up—in a way you’ve rarely seen. He glances over at you, as if only just realizing you’re still in the room. “Y/N, this is Dr. Emma Lin. She’s—uh—one of the new doctors here at Akso Hospital.”

Emma gives you a polite nod, her smile warm but distant, like she’s already figured out who you are and where you stand. You manage to smile back, but your throat tightens painfully. You can feel the familiar weight of something blooming deep inside, a pressure building that you’ve worked so hard to suppress.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma says lightly, looking back at Zayne. “I just thought you could use a snack.”

“No, it’s fine,” Zayne replies, his tone softening even more. “Thanks for this.”

Emma lingers for a moment, her hand lightly brushing Zayne’s shoulder before she finally turns and heads out, leaving the room in an awkward, heavy silence.

You stare at the closed door, a pit forming in your stomach. So this is her.

“She’s nice,” you say, forcing the words out even though they taste bitter on your tongue. “Seems like she cares a lot.”

Zayne clears his throat, his gaze dropping back to the chart, though he’s clearly not reading it anymore. “Yeah. She’s great. We’ve been, uh… seeing each other.”

There it is. The confirmation you didn’t want but were already expecting.

“Oh,” you say softly, keeping your tone as casual as you can manage. “That’s… that’s nice, Zayne.”

He glances up at you, his brows knitting together as if he can sense the sudden shift in your mood, the hurt you’re trying so hard to hide. “It’s still pretty new,” he adds, almost as if he’s apologizing. “We’re just trying it out.” 

You swallow, the familiar burn in your throat intensifying. You can feel the petals—sharp and brittle—pressing against your chest, but you can’t let him see. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m happy for you,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels like it’s cracking at the edges. “You deserve someone great.”

Zayne watches you closely, his gaze searching, but you don’t let anything slip. Not a single hint of the pain coursing through you.

“I should probably go,” you say abruptly, standing up a little too quickly. “Thanks for the checkup, Zayne.”

He stands as well, concern flickering in his eyes, but you’re already heading for the door before he can ask any more questions.

“Y/N,” he calls after you, his voice hesitant, but you wave it off, turning with a bright, practiced smile.

“I’m fine, really. Just… have a lot on my mind. See you next time.”

And with that, you’re out the door, your chest tightening with every step as you leave the clinic. The air outside feels cold against your skin, the pressure building inside you unbearable. You let out a shaky breath, but little did you know, it’s too late to stop it.

The days dragged on like you were on autopilot. Your feelings weren’t new. They’ve always been there. Since you had a tiny crush on him in your childhood, you actually believed that you had a chance. 

The memory of Zayne's words, spoken only a few weeks ago, echoed in your mind. His voice, usually so warm and reassuring, had been hesitant, almost apologetic, as he shared the news. He'd told you about the new doctor he was seeing, her name a blur in your memory, her face a hazy silhouette in your imagination.

You hadn't meant to linger, to let the silence stretch into an uncomfortable void. You'd forced a smile, a laugh, even though your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. You’d congratulated him, your voice a shaky whisper, but inside, you felt as though the world had been flipped on its side.

The world you’d been building in your head, a world where perhaps, just maybe, your unspoken feelings for Zayne could blossom into something more, had crumbled in an instant. You had been so careful, so cautious, not wanting to jeopardize the easy familiarity that had always existed between you. But now, the fragile hope you had clung to was gone, shattered into a million pieces.

The image of Zayne’s smile, reserved only for you, the way he’d always look at you with a warmth that seemed to encompass you entirely, now felt like a cruel mirage. The way his hand had lingered on yours, just a moment longer than necessary, had felt like a shared secret, a silent promise. Now, the memory of that touch sent a pang of longing through you, a sharp, unfamiliar ache.

You couldn't explain the sudden urge to avoid the clinic, the way even the faintest scent of disinfectant made you feel dizzy. You’d found yourself choosing the more dangerous missions, seeking solace in the adrenaline rush of battle, a temporary distraction from the growing unease in your heart.

You tried to push the thoughts away, to bury the hurt beneath layers of duty and responsibility. But it was a losing battle. The emptiness you felt, the ache in your chest, it was a constant companion now, a gnawing emptiness that refused to be ignored.

You couldn't ignore the growing fatigue, the way you seemed to be catching every bug that went around, the way your lungs felt tight, as though they were constantly filled with a suffocating weight. But you pushed it all aside, attributing it to the stress of your job, the relentless pressure of protecting the city. You were a Hunter, one with duties to protect the people from Wanderers. You couldn’t afford to be sick. Not when their threats are more rampant than before.

You need more distraction. You need to forget about Zayne. 

The world felt muted, the colors drained. 

The harsh fluorescent lights of the Hunter HQ buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the cluttered desk where you sat, sifting through reports. A wave of nausea, unexpected and sharp, rolled over you. You clutched your stomach, a bead of sweat forming on your brow. This wasn't the usual post-mission exhaustion. This felt… different.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Tara asks in concern as she sees you practically about to hurl. 

You excused yourself, hurrying to the nearest restroom. The familiar scent of disinfectant did little to ease the churning in your gut. As you leaned over the sink, a wave of violent coughing seized you, racking your body. Something lodged in your throat, a burning sensation rising with each heave.

At first, it just worried you. Your protocore syndrome must’ve worsened. But that can’t be. You’ve gotten stronger since you’ve been in the N109 zone and you’ve been fine even before that.

Finally, you coughed up a small, crimson-tinged object – a delicate, blood-red rose petal.

Panic tightened your chest. Hanahaki. The whispered fear that had always lurked at the edges of your mind, now a stark reality. The illness that bloomed in your lungs, a physical manifestation of unrequited love, a slow, agonizing death. It was a rare disease, so rare that people even begin to question if they still exist. But they do. And now, you are an example.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis. Zayne. His warm smile, his kind eyes, the way he always seemed to know just what to say, the way he’d gently patch you up after each mission, his hands tracing the scars on your arms with an unspoken tenderness that had always made your heart skip a beat.

You remembered the day he'd told you, his voice softer than usual, about the new doctor he was dating. The way his hand had lingered on the door handle, a touch of hesitancy in his eyes. The way he’d looked away as he mentioned the woman’s name. The woman he’d spent months, maybe even years, telling you stories about.

But this couldn’t be. You weren’t supposed to be sick. You were a Hunter, a soldier, a protector. You weren’t supposed to be felled by something as fragile and fleeting as love. You weren’t supposed to be… heartbroken.

The fear gnawed at you, a cold, sharp blade against your insides. Your vision blurred, the bright lights of the HQ fading to an almost unbearable white. You clung to the sink, your mind reeling, knowing that with each cough, each petal you coughed up, your life was slowly fading away.

The days dragged on, each one blending into the next, a constant reminder of your hidden struggle. Tara’s worried glances were becoming harder to ignore. She’d been your best friend since you started hunting together, and her concern was palpable, hovering like a cloud over your head.

“You need to take a break,” she pressed one evening after a long mission, her voice low as you both cleaned your gear in the dim light of the supply room. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not invincible, Y/N.”

You waved her off, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. The last mission was tough, that’s all.” But deep down, you knew you were lying, and Tara could see right through it.

Your nights were plagued with coughing fits, sharp and painful, like a bitter reminder of the flowers blooming within you. Each cough felt like a warning, a desperate call for attention, yet you buried it beneath a layer of denial. You pushed through the pain, stubbornly refusing to let it slow you down.

But then Captain Jenna called you into her office, and you felt the weight of her piercing gaze as soon as you stepped inside. She was a force of nature—stern but compassionate, always demanding the best from her team. The moment she closed the door, you could sense the shift in atmosphere.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not yourself. I’ve noticed the way you falter during missions, how pale you’ve become. It’s like you’re a shadow of who you used to be. What’s going on?”

You met her gaze, your heart racing as you weighed your options. You could tell her the truth about your condition, about the Hanahaki disease that was slowly consuming you. But could you bear to reveal your secret? The love you held for Zayne, the pain of watching him with another woman—it felt too heavy, too raw to lay bare.

“It’s nothing, Captain. Just a bit worn out,” you said, your voice stronger than you felt.

“Worn out?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “This isn’t just exhaustion, Y/N. You’re struggling. I need you at your best. The team needs you at your best. If you can’t do this, I need to know.”

The pressure built inside you, and you fought the urge to scream, to let it all out. “I can handle it. I promise. Just give me a bit more time.”

Jenna studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

You nodded, though her words felt like a lifeline you were too proud to grasp. As you left her office, the walls felt like they were closing in. The facade you’d built was crumbling, and you were running out of places to hide.

The next few days were a blur of missions, each one feeling heavier than the last. Tara’s worried looks became more frequent, and you could see the doubt creeping into her expression. You tried to put on a brave face, but the more you pushed yourself, the worse you felt. Your coughs grew worse, punctuated by a metallic taste that clung to your throat.

One evening, you finally reached your breaking point. You collapsed onto your bed after another grueling mission, your body trembling with exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you brushed your fingers across the petals that had begun to manifest along your throat. Each one was a reminder of your unspoken feelings, a testament to the love you couldn’t bear to confess.

As you lay there, Tara knocked on your door before entering without waiting for a response. She took one look at you and rushed to your side, her eyes wide with concern. “Y/N! You look awful! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

You turned your head away, biting your lip to keep from crying. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Stop lying to me!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with frustration. “You’re clearly not okay. You need to see a doctor. If you won’t talk to Jenna, then you’ll at least talk to someone else.”

At that moment, the walls you've built around yourself finally crumbled, and the truth began to pour out. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tara! I’m just… I’m just trying to keep it together.”

Her gaze softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you.”

You felt the warmth of her support, and for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “There’s something wrong with me, and I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“You’re my best friend. You’re never a burden to me,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

With a shaky breath, you finally relented, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like an anchor. “I think I have Hanahaki disease. It’s… it’s because of Zayne.”

Tara’s eyes widened in shock. “What? How long have you known?”

“Since the checkup,” you admitted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I can’t tell him. I can’t let him know how I feel. And if I don’t have the surgery, the flowers will keep growing. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Y/N…” Tara began, her voice a soothing balm against your anxiety. “You need to take care of yourself first. If Zayne cares about you like you think he does, he’ll understand.”

The idea felt foreign, a small glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. But would he really care? Would it matter to him?

You shook your head, the thoughts swirling like a tempest in your mind. “I can’t go back to him. Not like this.”

Tara leaned closer, determination shining in her eyes. “Then let’s go to the hospital and get you the help you need. You don’t have to face this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

For the first time in days, the thought of facing your illness didn’t feel as daunting. Maybe there was still a chance to reclaim a piece of yourself. Taking what Tara said by heart, you stood up, ready to fight the battle you’d been avoiding for too long.

You need to come up with a plan without involving Zayne. He doesn’t need to know and carry the guilt of you being sick. He’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. How could he bear to treat you when he learns that he’s the reason for it? Or worse, will he have to be the one to  surgically remove the plant growing inside you to completely remove him for life?

After a long period of silence, you turn to Tara with dried tears in your eyes, determined and decided.

“Tara, I need you to listen to me about what I’m about to do.”

Filing a leave of absence from the Hunters Association felt like the hardest thing you’d done in a while, but it was the first necessary step. You expected resistance—Jenna rarely let anyone take time off easily, especially not with everything happening in Linkon City. But to your surprise, she granted your request immediately, no questions asked. Maybe she’d seen more of your exhaustion than you realized. Or maybe she knew this was something you needed to do alone.

Once the leave was secured, you contacted Sylus, the only one you know who could help you get into the N109 zone safely, a place few dared to go unless they had business on the other side of the law. He was your last hope for hiding away from everything: Zayne, your disease, and the life you couldn’t bear to face anymore. You expected him to hesitate, maybe even refuse to help, but Sylus responded almost immediately, granting you safe passage to his home without a second thought.

“You look rough, sweetie,” Sylus said the moment you stepped through the door. His nickname for you, one you used to find annoying and mocking, now felt oddly comforting. But today, there was no mockery in his tone. Only concern.

You glanced up at him, feeling the weight of his crimson eyes studying you. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was seeing you, seeing how much you’d changed since the last time you stayed in N109. Your skin had lost its color, your lips were dry and cracked, and your once sharp, determined eyes had dulled with fatigue and the weight of secrets.

Sylus sighed, stepping aside to let you pass. “You know where your room is.”

You nodded weakly, mumbling a soft “thank you” as you dragged yourself through the dimly lit hallway. Luke and Keiran, Sylus’s trusted associates, were already by your side, taking the backpack from your shoulder and exchanging worried glances as they guided you to your room.

The room was exactly as you remembered it—small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Sylus’s house. It had been your safe haven once before, back when the pressures of the outside world had gotten too heavy. But this time, it felt different. You were running from more than just stress. You were running from yourself.

Luke placed your bag on the chair while Keiran hovered near the door, his usual mischievous demeanor replaced by concern. “Are you hungry?” Keiran asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You shook your head, barely able to muster the energy to respond. The truth was, you hadn’t felt hunger in days, the constant nausea from the flowers growing inside you making food seem like an afterthought.

Keiran exchanged a glance with Luke before stepping closer. “You need to eat something, Y/N. You’re looking… worse than usual.”

You couldn’t help but give a weak smile at his bluntness. “I’ll eat later,” you promised, though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

Luke stayed silent and didn’t press the issue. Instead, he handed you a glass of water, and you took it gratefully, sipping slowly as the two of them busied themselves tidying the room. You could feel their unspoken worry, the way they moved more carefully around you, like you might break at any moment.

“Anything else you need, just let us know,” Luke said quietly before they both left, closing the door behind them.

Alone at last, you collapsed onto the bed, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your thoughts began to spiral. You’d made it to N109. You were away from Zayne, away from the Association, from everything. But the weight in your chest—the flowers—remained. You could feel them growing, their roots twisting deeper with every unspoken word, every feeling you couldn’t voice.

You lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long you could keep running. How long until the disease consumed you completely?

There was a soft knock at the door, and you turned your head to see Sylus leaning against the frame, holding a tray of what looked like a warm bowl of noodles. 

“Not eating, huh?” he said, his voice low. “I figured. Got you something anyway.” He walked in and placed the tray on the side table. You were right. It was one of your favorites when you stayed here before.

You smiled weakly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sylus shrugged, his crimson eyes still locked on you, sharper now, as if he could see the weight you were carrying. He goes back to lean against the door frame, watching you like you were going to break at any second. “I do when you come back looking like death warmed over. What’s going on, Y/N?”

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything—the disease, your love for Zayne, the way it was slowly killing you. But the words stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was a tired, “It’s complicated.”

Sylus’s gaze didn’t waver. “Everything’s complicated. Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it.”

For a moment, you considered it, but then the thought of Zayne flashed through your mind. The image of him with Emma, happy, unburdened by your love, and the flowers in your chest tightened.

“I’ll be fine,” you said instead, though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.

Sylus stared at you for another long moment before sighing. “Well, you’re here now. Rest up. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

He pushed off the doorframe and left you alone again, but his words lingered in the air. We’ll figure it out.

But what if there was nothing left to figure out? What if the only solution was letting the flowers take you?

The silence of the room settled over you like a heavy blanket, pressing down on your chest until it was almost unbearable. Every breath felt strained, like the air itself was growing thicker. It has been a few days. You hadn’t told Sylus, or anyone for that matter, the full truth of your condition. But you could feel it—the flowers—growing stronger, more vicious by the day. Sylus has ordered a doctor to come to your room, just to check up on you. Just as you predicted, doctors are a bit hard to come by in this area. The doctor knows little about Hanahaki disease, so you told him it was your Protocore Disease accompanied by accumulated stress from work. He gave you suppressants and asked Sylus to monitor you for now.

Hours passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, until a sharp pain in your chest jolted you awake. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as a violent cough wracked your body, more intense than any you’d had before. Panic surged through you as the pressure built in your throat, forcing you out of bed.

You stumbled into the bathroom, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the sink. Another cough ripped through you, harder this time, and you doubled over, gasping. You felt something sharp and foreign rise in your throat—something too large, too wrong.

With a shuddering breath, you coughed again, and this time, something solid came up. You coughed repeatedly but it would just not come out. Tears stream down your face from the pain and frustration. You began to help it by pulling it out with your fingers. And finally, it came out.

You leaned over the sink, spitting out the mass into the basin, your heart pounding in your chest. When you looked down, you froze.

A stem of thorns, slick with blood, curled like a dark vine in the sink. Each thorn gleamed under the dim light, jagged and cruel. The petals had been bad enough, but this—this was something else. Something worse. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The disease was advancing, and it was doing so faster than you’d anticipated.

Panic surged through you as you backed away from the sink, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. You hear that damn bird cawing outside the door. 

The door creaked open, and Sylus stepped into the bathroom, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw you. He was still dressed fully like he just came back from outside. He must’ve had a meeting late at night, a normal occurrence in this place. Mephisto, sits by his shoulder, cawing like he was the one who led Sylus to you. 

“Y/N?” His voice was low but urgent, the edge of concern sharpening his usually calm demeanor.

You turned, eyes wide, your hand still pressed to your mouth as if you could hide the evidence. But it was no use. His gaze flickered from you to the sink, where the thorny stem still lay, stark against the white porcelain. There was blood all over your mouth, dripping on your hands and neck.

“Sweetie…” His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with something darker. “What the hell is going on?”

You couldn’t speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with fear and shame. Sylus crossed the room in a few quick strides, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached the sink. He stared at the thorns for a moment before looking back at you, his face hardening with realization.

“You’ve got Hanahaki, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a truth you could no longer deny.

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, your hands shaking as you gripped the edge of the sink for support. “I… I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought I could handle it,” your voice was hoarse, throat swollen as you tried so hard to speak.

“Handle it?” Sylus’s voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “You’re coughing up thorns, Y/N, rose thorns. You do know that rose is one of the deadliest strains of Hanahaki, don’t you? This isn’t something you can just ‘handle.’ Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed hard, the taste of blood still lingering red in your mouth. “Because… because it’s because of Zayne.”

Sylus froze, his eyes widening in shock. “Zayne? You mean—”

You nodded, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking. “I’ve loved him for so long, Sylus, and I can’t stop. But he’s with someone else now. And I… I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t put that on him, not when he’s happy.”

Sylus’s expression darkened, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, you’re killing yourself over him. You should have told me sooner.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, the pain in your chest growing sharper. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought… I thought I could live with it, but it’s getting worse. The flowers, they’re… they’re spreading.”

Sylus stepped closer, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll figure something out. But first, we need to get you to a doctor. A real one, not some back-alley medic.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I get the surgery, it’ll remove the feelings entirely. I won’t feel anything for Zayne anymore. And… and I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of that.”

Sylus’s expression softened, the anger fading as he saw the pain in your eyes. “I get it. But you have to take care of yourself first. This disease—it’s going to kill you if you don’t do something. I’m not letting you waste away like this.”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. But the thought of losing your feelings for Zayne, of letting go of the love that had been a part of you for so long—it felt like a different kind of death.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Sylus nodded, his hands still steady on your shoulders. “I know. But I’ve got you, sweetie. We’ll get through this.”

You nodded, feeling the tears fall freely now. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else. To let Sylus’s strength carry you, if only for a little while.

“We’ll get you to a doctor in the N109 zone,” he said quietly. “Someone who can help, someone who won’t ask too many questions. But after that… you need to make a decision, Y/N. Whether you want the surgery or not, you need to choose. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

You nodded, knowing that the time for running was over. You couldn’t keep pretending this wasn’t happening. The flowers had taken root, and now it was up to you to decide how to survive.

Zayne sat at his desk, staring down at the empty appointment slot on his tablet. It had been weeks since you missed your first check-up, and at first, he didn’t think much of it—Hunters had unpredictable schedules, after all. But then you missed the next one. And the one after that. Now, weeks had passed without so much as a text from you, and an uneasy feeling had settled deep in his gut. You were never this irresponsible about your health.

He tried reaching out—texts, calls—but all had gone unanswered. That was when real concern started to gnaw at him. The you he knew wouldn’t just vanish like that, especially not from something as crucial as your medical check-ups. Something was wrong.

He didn’t like the feeling. In fact, it twisted in his chest, growing heavier by the day. He’d dealt with plenty of patients who disappeared on him, but you were different. You always kept in touch, always made an effort to keep things light even when you were battered from a mission. But now? Silence.

Sighing, Zayne grabbed his coat and decided to take matters into his own hands. He needed to check on you in person. He knew where your apartment was—he’d dropped off medicine there more times than he could count after your particularly rough assignments. His job required him to keep an eye on his patients, but with you, it was more than that. He hated the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

The streets leading to your apartment were quiet as he made his way over, the familiar hum of the city blending into the background. His mind raced as he walked up the stairs to your door, running over all the possibilities: maybe you were hurt, maybe you were sick, maybe you were avoiding him. That last one gnawed at him harder than the others.

When he finally reached your apartment, Zayne rang the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. He knocked this time, but there was no movement, no sound coming from within. His heart sank a little, and he tried the handle. Locked.

“Y/N?” he called out, pressing his ear to the door. Nothing.

He felt his pulse quicken. He checked the windows, walked around the perimeter, hoping for some sign that you were there. But the place was eerily still. It was clear you hadn’t been home for a while. The anxiety that had been simmering in the back of his mind began to boil over.

Zayne pulled out his phone and scrolled to Tara’s number. If anyone knew where you were, it would be her. You were inseparable as fellow Hunters, practically glued to each other on and off the field. If something was wrong, Tara would have noticed.

The phone rang, each buzz tightening the knot in his stomach, until finally, Tara’s voice came through.

“Zayne? What’s up?”

“Hey, Tara,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Have you seen Y/N lately? She’s missed a couple of appointments, and I just went by her apartment. She’s not there, and she hasn’t been answering my calls.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Zayne’s chest tightened at the silence. Tara wasn’t usually one to hesitate.

“Zayne…” Her voice softened. “She’s on leave.”

“Leave?” His brow furrowed. “Since when? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She filed for leave about a week and a half ago,” Tara explained, her tone tinged with worry. “She hasn’t been herself lately. I mean, she’s not feeling well and went on sick leave… I figured she needed some time to recover, but I don’t know where she went.”

Zayne’s grip on his phone tightened. “Wait, she’s been sick?”

“I don’t know how bad, but it’s been getting worse. I tried to get her to rest, but you know Y/N. She’s stubborn. Always pushing herself too hard.” Tara sighed on the other end. “I haven’t been able to reach her since she left either. I thought maybe she just needed space, but… I don’t know, Zayne. She told me she’ll come back when she feels better.”

Zayne’s mind raced. Sick? That explained your recent absence from your appointments, but why hadn’t you come to him? Why hadn’t you said anything? And where the hell were you now? The idea of you out there, alone, battling something serious without any support—it made his stomach turn. He was supposed to be your physician. Who else could you trust more in this situation? 

“Thanks, Tara,” he said quickly. “If you hear from her, let me know immediately.”

“You too,” Tara said, her voice growing softer with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”

Zayne hung up, his thoughts swirling in a storm of worry and frustration. This wasn’t just a case of missing appointments. You were sick, and you hadn’t told anyone what it is that you’re feeling. Not Tara, not the Association, and not him. The thought of you out there somewhere, getting worse by the day, hit him hard.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn’t going to let this slide. He needed to find you, and fast. And if you were too stubborn to ask for help, well, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it to you anyway. You didn’t get to disappear on him. Not like this. Not when it felt like something was so deeply, dangerously wrong.

The underground clinic in the N109 Zone was dimly lit, the scent of antiseptic and metal lingering in the air. Sylus sat beside you, his crimson eyes fixed on the makeshift doctor as she examined your condition. The doctor, a woman with worn hands and tired eyes, shook her head slightly, pulling back from the dim glow of her equipment. Sylus told you she’s the only one in the area who specializes in Hanahaki disease.

“It’s as I suspected,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of old machines. “The remedies I’ve given her will alleviate some of the symptoms—the coughing, the pain—but they won’t stop the disease. Hanahaki can only be cured one way.”

You knew what she was going to say before she even spoke the words. You felt it every time you coughed, every time a petal slipped from your lips, every time the thorny vines twisted deeper into your lungs. Hanahaki Disease was a cruel sickness. Only unrequited love could birth it, and only love returned could stop it.

Sylus stood, pacing the small clinic room, his fists clenched tight. “So what’s the point of this?” he growled. “You’re telling me she’s just going to keep getting worse?”

The doctor nodded grimly. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Without reciprocation, the flowers will continue to bloom. The disease will spread. It will choke her from the inside out.” Her eyes shifted to you, softening with pity. “She’ll have to make a choice soon. Either have the flowers removed surgically and forget her feelings entirely, or…”

“Or die,” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor didn’t respond, but the silence was enough.

Sylus slammed his fist into the nearest counter, rattling the tools scattered across its surface. “There has to be another way.”

The doctor said nothing. She’d already given her answer.

You shifted uncomfortably in the worn cot, feeling the sharp sting of another thorn scratching at your throat. You pressed a hand to your mouth, and when you pulled it away, you saw more petals—vibrant, soft, and hauntingly beautiful. The irony wasn’t lost on you: love, something meant to be pure and life-giving, was slowly killing you.

Sylus knelt beside you, his frustration giving way to concern. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You need real help.”

You met his gaze, seeing the worry etched deep into his features. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that you could push through this. But the truth was, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going. Each day, the flowers bloomed more aggressively. Each day, you felt your strength slipping away. And the one person who could save you—Zayne—was unreachable, tangled in a new relationship, unaware of the feelings you’d been hiding.

“I don’t want to forget him,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Sylus’s expression darkened. “You’re dying for a man who doesn’t even know you’re dying because of him.”

You knew he was right. You’d seen Zayne’s smile when Emma came to his office. Zayne wasn’t yours to love, not anymore. Maybe he never was. But the thought of forgetting him entirely—of erasing every moment, every memory, every flicker of what could have been—was unbearable.

“I can’t,” you murmured. “Not yet.”

Sylus let out a slow breath, his frustration palpable, but he didn’t push further. He simply stayed by your side, silent but steadfast, offering the only comfort he could in this grim situation.

Days passed in a haze of pain and exhaustion. The makeshift remedies from the underground doctors kept the worst of the symptoms at bay, but they couldn’t stop the inevitable. The flowers continued to bloom, their roots digging deeper into your chest. You could feel them, a constant presence now, weighing down your lungs, stealing your breath little by little.

One night, as you lay in bed at Sylus’s place, you woke to another coughing fit. This time, it wasn’t just petals that came up—there were stems, long and twisted, covered in thorns. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling the flowers pressing against your ribs, desperate to grow, desperate to take over. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus found you sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching your chest, petals and stems scattered across the tiles. He didn’t say anything at first. He just knelt beside you, his expression a mix of anger and helplessness.

“You don’t have much time left, do you?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how weak you’d become until that moment, how much the disease had taken from you. The once-strong Hunter now sat in a heap, broken by love that was never meant to be.

Sylus grabbed his phone, his voice tense as he called another doctor. “She needs real help. Now.”

But deep down, you both knew the truth. There was no real cure for Hanahaki—not unless Zayne’s love was returned. And that hope was slipping further out of reach with each passing day.

The dim lighting of Sylus’s home did little to soothe your nerves. After another coughing fit that left you weakened and breathless, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bouquet of petals in your hand—pale, soft, and soaked in blood. The weight of your condition felt more unbearable with every passing day, the flowers pushing closer to your heart, the thorns digging deeper into your lungs. Yet, even after everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to the surgery that would rip not only the flowers from you but also your feelings for Zayne.

There was a knock on the door. Sylus entered, followed closely by the underground doctor from the N109 zone. She carried a bag of supplies, her face etched with the same quiet concern you’d come to expect from her.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Sylus began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He took a seat beside you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “The remedies we’ve been giving you… they’re not enough. You’re getting worse.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “But I’m not ready for the surgery. I can’t just… forget.”

The doctor stepped forward, glancing at Sylus before speaking. “Y/N, I understand your hesitation. But we’ve been talking, and there might be another option.”

You looked up, confused. “Another option?”

“It’s not a cure,” she clarified, her tone careful, “but there’s a treatment we could try. It won’t stop the disease entirely, but it could slow it down—buy you more time, at least. It would alleviate some of the more aggressive symptoms, like the coughing and the thorn growth.”

Your hope flickered. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Sylus, then spoke again. “The treatment is experimental, and the resources here in the N109 zone are… limited. We don’t have the proper equipment to administer it safely. You’d have to go back to Linkon City, to Akso Hospital.”

Linkon City. The name sent a jolt of fear and longing through you. It meant facing everything you were trying to run from—Zayne, his new relationship with Emma, the memories you were desperate to hold onto. But it also meant the possibility of relief, of not feeling like you were drowning every time you took a breath.

“How does it work?” you asked warily, your eyes darting between the doctor and Sylus.

“The treatment will slow the growth of the flowers,” she explained. “It won’t cure the disease, but it’ll suppress the symptoms long enough for us to manage them. It’ll give you more time to decide what you want to do.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his gaze heavy on you. “It’s the best option right now, Y/N. Better than sitting here, wasting away.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Going back to Linkon meant stepping right back into Zayne’s world. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing him again, knowing that you still loved him and that he had moved on. But the alternative—letting the disease run its course, with no other options left—was becoming harder to endure.

“What if it doesn’t work?” you asked quietly, fear creeping into your voice.

The doctor’s face softened. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie. But right now, doing nothing is a bigger risk.”

You clenched the sheets in your hands, the conflicting emotions inside you swirling like a storm. You wanted to believe that this new treatment would help, that it would give you enough time to figure things out. But deep down, a part of you knew this was a gamble.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Zayne… he…”

Sylus placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression firm but kind. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. But you can’t die like this, Y/N. Not when there’s still a chance, even if it’s a small one.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll arrange everything with Akso Hospital. They have the facilities and the staff to administer the treatment safely. You can be in and out, no one needs to know you’re there.”

You swallowed hard, the idea of returning to Linkon gnawing at you. But the weight of the disease was becoming too much to bear. If this treatment really could slow it down, even for a little while, maybe it was worth the risk. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not without trying something.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “I’ll go.”

Sylus’s hand tightened on your shoulder briefly, a silent show of support. The doctor nodded, already pulling out her comms to make the necessary arrangements.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll get you to Linkon, get the treatment started, and bring you back here before anyone even knows you’re gone.”

You nodded, but deep down, a part of you wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t feel right. But you were too exhausted, too weak to argue. For now, you would hold on to the hope that this “treatment” would give you the time you desperately needed. Time to figure out what came next—whether you could keep running from the love that was slowly killing you, or whether you had no choice but to let it go.

As the doctor left to make the arrangements, you lay back against the pillow, the weight of the decision settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had no idea what awaited you in Linkon. All you knew was that whatever happened, it would bring you closer to the inevitable.

Zayne sat in his office at Akso Hospital, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks—Y/N’s sudden disappearance from her regular checkups, the silence she’d maintained despite his attempts to reach out. She had always been stubborn, always tough, but this felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

A message buzzed on his comm, interrupting his thoughts. It was from Greyson. Zayne opened the message, his eyes skimming over the text quickly:

“Heard a rumor. A Hunter suffering from Hanahaki Disease is being admitted to Akso. Thought you’d want to know.”

His heart stopped. Hanahaki Disease. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Hunter circle suffering from it—no one except… No. It couldn’t be.

Zayne read the message again, his mind spinning. The only Hunter who had been coming to him regularly, the only one who had left without explanation, was Y/N. His mind raced, replaying every moment from their last appointment—the slight cough she tried to hide, the way she seemed distant, and the sudden leave she took from the Hunters Association. The pieces began to fit together like a cruel puzzle, one that painted a picture of her suffering in silence. 

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Y/N had been in love with someone, and the disease had taken root because the other hadn’t returned those feelings. And now, because of that, she was dying. Why didn’t she tell him? There could only be one reason why she didn’t ask for his help, her only physician. 

Zayne stood abruptly, knocking a few files off his desk as he scrambled to process what this meant. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him—he had been blind to her feelings, caught up in his new relationship with Emma, while Y/N had been silently withering away. He was so in sync with Emma, so alike, that when she asked if they could try being more than colleagues and friends, he didn’t know why he actually agreed to date. He must tell you that. He must tell you that he…

Oh. He does. For so long. 

He couldn’t waste another second. Grabbing his coat, Zayne rushed out of his office, his mind focused on one thing: finding Y/N before it was too late.

He tapped his phone, dialing a doctor from the network who was set to oversee the patient’s treatment. The voice on the other end answered quickly.

“Zayne? What’s going on?”

“I need to know about the patient coming in with Hanahaki Disease. The Hunter,” Zayne said, his voice tense, barely controlled. “When are they being admitted?”

There was a pause, then the voice responded, hesitant. “That’s confidential information, Zayne. I can’t just—”

“It’s Y/N,” Zayne interrupted, his tone sharp. “She’s the one with Hanahaki Disease, isn’t she?”

Another pause, this one longer, more telling. “Zayne… I don’t know all the details, but… yes. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.”

His heart dropped. Surgery. Hanahaki Disease could only be cured in two ways—either by having her love returned or by undergoing surgery to remove the flowers. But the surgery came with a cruel price: it would erase her feelings completely. Y/N wouldn’t just lose the disease; she would lose her love for him, and all the memories tied to it.

Zayne’s grip tightened on the comm. “Cancel the surgery. I’m coming.”

“Zayne, you can’t—”

“Cancel it,” Zayne said firmly. “I’m not going to let her go through with this without knowing the truth.”

He disconnected the call, his heart racing as he stormed down the hallways of the hospital. His thoughts were a whirlwind of panic and guilt. He should’ve noticed sooner. He should’ve been there for her. But there was still time—he had to believe that. He could fix this, he had to.

Zayne made his way to his car, his mind already racing ahead to what he would say to her. He had no idea how she would react, or if she even wanted to see him after everything, but he couldn’t let her go through with the surgery. He had to tell her how he felt. Because the truth was, somewhere along the way, his feelings for her had grown too.

As he drove through the city, his thoughts lingered on Y/N—on her strength, her stubbornness, and the way she had always kept her distance, even when he tried to get close. He had been blind, wrapped up in his own life, too focused on the surface of things. But now, he understood. And he wasn’t going to let her suffer in silence any longer.

Zayne’s mind was racing as the car sped towards Akso Hospital, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He didn’t know if she would even listen to him. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t let her go through that surgery without knowing that he was ready to fight for her—for them.

For the first time, Zayne realized just how much he cared for Y/N. How much she meant to him, and how blind he had been to the quiet way she had always been there. He couldn’t let her lose that, not when he could still save her.

Tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Linkon and you couldn’t sleep. Your mind is everywhere until you found yourself once again in the bathroom. The dim, suffocating air of the room wrapped around you like a cold embrace. Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as you hunched over the sink, your hands trembling as you help yourself hurl the white rose. The familiar metallic taste filled your mouth, but this time, it was worse—far worse than it had ever been.

When you finally dared to glance down, your heart nearly stopped. There, lying in the sink, was the largest bloom yet: a full white rose, its petals soft and fragile, but tangled in sharp, vicious thorns. Blood stained the delicate petals, your blood, and the sight of it sent a shudder down your spine. You clutched the edge of the sink for support, your vision swimming as pain tore through your chest.

This was it. The disease had progressed further than you had imagined. No makeshift remedy could stop it now. There was no time to experiment.

The thorns, tangled and sharp, had felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out. The flowers—the symbol of love that you couldn’t escape—had bloomed in full force, reminding you of the feelings you had tried so desperately to bury. Every cough felt like a knife in your lungs, but it was more than just physical pain. It was the heartbreak of loving someone who would never love you back.

You stumbled back from the sink, collapsing onto the floor, clutching your chest as you struggled to breathe. The decision you had been avoiding for so long now weighed heavily on you, inescapable. You couldn’t survive this. The love that had rooted itself deep within you was slowly killing you, and there was no way to keep running.

Sylus found you moments later, rushing into the bathroom when he heard your weak cries for help. His crimson eyes widened when he saw you, his usual stoic expression breaking with a mix of shock and concern. He knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his voice low.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “This… you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Your throat felt raw as you coughed again, tasting blood on your lips. You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue, your body finally betraying you in the worst way possible. Sylus helped you sit up, his eyes briefly glancing at the bloodied rose in the sink. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told you he understood.

“I can’t… I can’t fight it anymore,” you rasped, your voice barely audible. “I need the surgery.”

Sylus’s eyes flickered with something that almost looked like relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge of what the surgery meant. He knew the cost—the erasure of your feelings for Zayne, the love that had been such a painful part of you for so long. But he also knew there was no other choice now.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded weakly, wiping at your mouth with a shaking hand. “It’s the only way. I… I don’t want to die like this.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, standing up and helping you to your feet. “Then I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll leave for Linkon as soon as you’re ready.”

Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you managed to steady yourself with Sylus’s support. The weight of your decision settled over you like a heavy blanket—stifling, but somehow also freeing. You would lose your love for Zayne, that much was certain. But at least you would survive. At least the pain would stop. And you could get back to work. You could see him again and act like nothing happened. It would be better for everyone if you just didn’t feel. 

As you packed your things for the journey back to Linkon City, your heart felt strangely hollow. There was no going back now. You were going to let the surgery take away everything—the flowers, the thorns, and the love that had nearly consumed you. You would lose the part of yourself that had been tied to Zayne, but maybe that was for the best.

Maybe, in the end, forgetting him and his memories would be the only way to move forward.

With a final, shaky breath, you looked out the window, knowing this was your last chance to feel the weight of your love before it was ripped away forever.

The familiar, sterile scent of Akso Hospital greeted you the moment you arrived in your room. The journey back to Linkon had been long and exhausting, and your body felt more fragile than ever. Every breath seemed to rattle within your chest, the flowers pressing harder against your lungs as the disease worsened.

Sylus had helped you settle into the bed, his usual stoic demeanor faltering slightly as he glanced at you with concern. “I’ll check in on you later,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with an underlying care. “I can’t be seen much around here, you know that. If you need anything, let me know.”

You nodded weakly, barely managing to muster a response. All you could think about was the surgery—the thought of the flowers, and your feelings for Zayne, being torn out of you for good. The relief of that thought was tinged with sadness, a weight that settled heavily in your heart.

Just as you closed your eyes to try to find some rest, the door creaked open.

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“Y/N.”

His voice—steady, but holding the edge of something raw—cut through the quiet room like a blade. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your head to see Zayne standing in the doorway, his expression torn between worry and something deeper, something more desperate.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting the movement as pain flared in your chest. “Zayne… how did you—”

“I found out,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room. “I found out about your condition, about the Hanahaki. I—” He faltered, as if the words were too heavy to form. His eyes were wide with something you hadn’t seen before—panic.

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Zayne, it’s too late. I’m getting the surgery.”

He froze, standing still as his eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t have to do this.”

Your heart clenched painfully at the words, but you forced yourself to keep your expression steady. “Yes, I do,” you replied softly. “I can’t keep living like this. These flowers, this pain… it’s killing me.”

Zayne’s eyes darkened, his hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t have to lose your feelings for me. You can survive this without giving that up.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your voice trembling with the effort. “How, Zayne? You don’t return my feelings, and this disease… it only stops when the love is mutual.” You met his gaze, trying to convey the finality of your decision. “I don’t have a choice.”

He took another step closer, his face tight with emotion. “But you do have a choice. You don’t need to do this surgery. We can figure something out—together.”

You shook your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’ve already decided. This is the only way.”

Zayne’s eyes were stormy with conflict. You could see the guilt eating away at him, the pain of realizing what his absence had cost you. But you also knew he wasn’t here to confess his love. He was here because he cared, because he felt responsible. And as much as that hurt, you couldn’t let that be the reason to hold onto hope.

“Zayne, please…” Your voice cracked as you looked at him, your body trembling with exhaustion. “Just go. Let me do this.”

He moved toward you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. The contact was warm, his touch familiar and comforting, but you could feel the hesitation in him, the uncertainty that hung in the air.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you pulled away from his touch, shaking your head. “You won’t lose me, Zayne. You’ll still have me as a friend, as someone you care about. But I can’t… I can’t keep loving you like this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. This was it. This was the moment you had to let go, no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bear to love him any longer, not when it was destroying you from the inside.

Zayne’s expression faltered, his hand falling back to his side. “Y/N…”

“Zayne, just go,” you whispered. 

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Zayne, please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

But he wasn’t listening. His hand gripped yours as if it was the only thing keeping him steady, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice strained.

You frowned, your heart sinking. “What is it?”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw more than just concern. There was something deeper, something conflicted.

“About Emma—the other doctor,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think. We’re not… It’s not as serious as you believe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly shook your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Zayne, it doesn’t matter. You’re with her, and that’s fine. I’ve already accepted that.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said sharply, stepping closer. His eyes flashed with frustration. “And I haven’t either. I ended things with her.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?”

Zayne hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as if he was gathering the courage to say something he’d been holding back for too long. “I’ve been avoiding my feelings, Y/N. For a long time. I thought keeping things professional between us was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do.” He paused, searching your eyes. “But seeing you like this… seeing you suffering because of me…”

His voice trailed off, thick with emotion, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. This was a side of him you had never seen, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t want to face it,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I thought that by staying focused on my work, on our roles, I could keep things simple. But I can’t anymore. Not when I know what’s happening to you. Not when I realize I’m the reason you’ve been hurting.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in, and you felt the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. “Zayne… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been scared, Y/N. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself feel more for you. But I can’t hide from it anymore. I care about you—more than I should have ever let myself admit.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, his words sinking in deeper with every breath you took. Your heart was racing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions you had thought were on the verge of being erased forever.

“Zayne…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you never said anything.”

He shook his head, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you, with myself. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that I don’t want you to go through with the surgery.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Don’t erase your feelings, Y/N. Don’t erase us.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with the weight of his words. For so long, you had believed that he would never return your feelings, that your love for him would remain unrequited. But now, here he was, asking you to give him a chance. Asking you to believe that it wasn’t too late.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your throat tight with emotion. “I was ready to move on, to forget…”

Zayne leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to forget. We can figure this out—together. Please, Y/N… give us a chance.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your chest. The flowers had bloomed so fully within you, so painfully, but for the first time, you felt a spark of hope.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“I am too,” Zayne replied softly, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. “But I’d rather face that fear with you than lose you because of it.”

The silence between you was thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you had both been too afraid to confront. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, with the flowers inside you on the verge of consuming you, there was a new possibility blooming—a chance for something real.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Zayne smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Then don’t.”

The decision still weighed heavily on you—the surgery, the flowers, the uncertainty of what the future would bring. But in this moment, with Zayne by your side, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late after all.

The tension in the room hung thick as you gazed at Zayne, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his hand holding yours like an anchor. You could feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you, the reality of your situation still swirling in your mind.

The surgery—the removal of your feelings and the flowers that had ravaged your body—was supposed to be your salvation. It was supposed to be your way out of the pain, the only option you had left to survive. But now, with Zayne in front of you, admitting the feelings you had thought would forever go unspoken, the certainty of that choice began to crack.

Could you really walk away from this now? From him?

With a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled back slightly to look into Zayne’s eyes, your hand still tightly clasped in his. The fear and confusion swirling in your chest didn’t vanish, but something else—a glimmer of hope—was beginning to take root.

“I can’t promise that this will work,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you spoke the truth that trembled within you. “I don’t know if my feelings will ever go away, or if the flowers will stop growing…”

Zayne shook his head, his eyes softening. “I’m not asking for guarantees,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet intensity. “I’m just asking for a chance. A chance for us. I… I like you, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened as emotion swelled inside you. For so long, you had been ready to let go, to numb yourself to the possibility of anything more. But now, with him sitting by your side, his touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t thought possible, the idea of walking away felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to let go—not of him, not of what could be.

With a slow exhale, you made the decision that had been forming in your heart ever since Zayne walked through the door. “I’ll… I’ll delay the surgery,” you said softly, your voice wavering but resolute. “Just for now.”

Zayne’s grip on your hand tightened, relief flooding his expression as his shoulders sagged slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving this a chance.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but the dread you’d carried for so long felt a little lighter, like a weight that was finally beginning to lift.

As the hours passed, Zayne stayed by your side, refusing to leave. He sat close, his presence warm and steady as he talked quietly with you about anything and everything—his work, your missions as a Hunter, the lives you both led before this moment. It was as if the space between you, once filled with unspoken tension, was slowly being bridged by the quiet understanding that had always been there but never fully acknowledged.

And as the evening settled over Linkon City, something unexpected began to happen.

The pressure in your chest, once unbearable, began to ease. The sharp, suffocating pain of the flowers pressing against your lungs softened. You coughed lightly, out of habit more than necessity, but there were no thorns, no petals. You touched your chest, almost disbelieving, feeling the absence of the usual tightness.

Zayne noticed immediately, his eyes widening as he watched you. “Y/N?” he asked, concern still lacing his voice.

You took a deep breath—a real, full breath—and felt the difference. “The pain,” you said slowly, your voice filled with disbelief. “It’s… it’s not as bad.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as he leaned closer. “The flowers,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “They’re withering, aren’t they?”

You nodded, still too stunned to speak. The flowers that had been blooming within you for so long, the painful manifestation of your unreturned love, were beginning to wilt. The thorns were loosening their grip, the petals curling inward, no longer feeding off the relentless ache in your heart.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of relief, of hope. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t a cure—but it was a start. A small sign that maybe, just maybe, your heart was beginning to heal.

Zayne squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He closes the distance between you, lips meeting the skin of your forehead.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you let out a small, shaky laugh, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events. “I missed you so bad,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Zayne smiled, the warmth in his expression lighting up the room. “So did I.”

And with that, a fragile but beautiful sense of hope bloomed between you, far more powerful than any of the flowers that had once threatened to destroy you. 

As the night deepened, you knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, that your journey with Zayne was only just beginning. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid. You were ready to face whatever came next, together.

The flowers within you may have started to wither, but something far more enduring was taking their place—a glimmer of love, of possibility, of the future you could now dare to hope for. 

Zayne sat on the side of your bed, looking at you. You’ve just now realized the bag under his eyes and how much his hair wasn’t as kept as it always was. He looks tired. 

He holds your face again, looming close. You close your eyes and wait for him to close the distance. You can feel his breath on yours, slow and calming, until his lips softly land on yours. 

Back in the dimly lit underground of the N109 Zone, Sylus lounged in his usual chair, legs crossed casually as he flicked through his papers of work. Mephisto, his sleek, mechanical crow, perched on the edge of his desk. Its dark metal feathers glinted under the low light as its red eyes glowed with an eerie pulse. The crow had just returned from its latest mission, flying back from Linkon City with an update Sylus had been waiting on. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as Mephisto clicked softly, a sign it had recorded new information.

With a tap on the crow’s head, Sylus activated the playback, listening intently as a holographic projection materialized in the air between them. It showed clips of Y/N, her once-pale face now regaining a hint of color, the dark shadows under her eyes starting to fade. She was walking through the corridors of Akso Hospital, slower than her usual stride, but there was an unmistakable strength returning to her movements.

Sylus smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She’s getting better,” he murmured, satisfied. His crimson eyes flicked over the scenes of Y/N interacting with Zayne, watching as she spoke with him, her body language more relaxed than it had been in weeks. He noted the way Zayne hovered protectively, never too far, a subtle guardian by her side.

Mephisto clicked again, relaying more footage from its surveillance of the city. Sylus took it all in, his mind piecing together what had unfolded. Y/N had made her choice—not to go through with the surgery just yet. Instead, she was taking her chances with Zayne, exploring what could be between them.

Sylus’ fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his chair as he considered it. He’d always respected Y/N’s strength, admired her resilience even when she was at her weakest. That she had survived the Hanahaki long enough to make it back to Linkon—and now, was seemingly thriving—was a testament to her will.

“You made the right call, sweetie,” he said to no one in particular, his voice low but approving.

Mephisto fluttered its wings, a sound like the shifting of gears, and Sylus gave the crow a nod of approval. He was satisfied with what he saw. Y/N had her path now, and though Sylus knew better than to interfere too much in her affairs, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride at her recovery.

“Keep an eye on her, Mephisto,” he muttered, his voice turning sharp again. “But let her be. She’s strong enough to handle things from here.”

The mechanical crow clicked in acknowledgment before it took off into the air, disappearing through one of the many grates in the ceiling, off to continue its watch from the shadows. Sylus watched it go, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips.

Y/N would be fine. She had her own battles to fight now, and with Zayne by her side, she had a chance. That was all Sylus could have hoped for.

With a quiet sigh, he stood up and headed toward the doorway, his boots echoing against the metal floor. There were other things to handle in N109, but for now, knowing that Y/N was on her way to healing—both from the flowers and from the tangled feelings that had plagued her—was enough to put his mind at ease.

As Sylus watched Mephisto disappear through the grate, the flicker of satisfaction from Y/N’s recovery still lingering, a sudden tightness gripped his chest. It wasn’t the usual tension from a long day in the shadows of N109—it was sharper, more visceral. His brows furrowed, and before he could fully process the sensation, a sharp cough escaped his throat.

He doubled over slightly, hand instinctively rising to his mouth. For a moment, the metallic taste of blood made him grimace, but as he pulled his hand away, what caught his attention was the small, delicate object that had landed on his palm.

A petal.

The sight of it made Sylus freeze. He stared at the soft, pastel pink petal—a contrast to the dim, metallic world around him. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing. The Hanahaki Disease. He’d seen its ravages before, watched Y/N suffer under its grasp. But this? His own symptoms? He couldn’t quite believe it.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the petal onto his desk. The sharp throb in his chest hadn’t fully subsided, but it wasn’t the same as what he had witnessed in Y/N. There was no choking on thorns or overwhelming floral invasion. This was... different. A strain less aggressive, yet unmistakable in its cause.

Hanahaki. Unrequited love.

Sylus let out a low, humorless chuckle, his crimson eyes darkening as the realization hit him. He was no stranger to matters of the heart, but he’d always kept those feelings locked away, never giving them enough room to grow—or so he thought. This was proof that something had taken root, something he couldn’t deny anymore.

And there was only one person who came to mind.

Y/N.

He didn’t need to ask himself why. Seeing her leave, watching her struggle to fight the same disease, knowing he couldn’t do more than offer her shelter and assistance—it had stirred something in him. A feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He had helped her out of concern, out of duty, out of their connection—but there had been something more.

The petal on his desk was proof of that.

Sylus stared at the petal on his desk, its delicate form unmistakably belonging to a lily. The pristine white hue stood out starkly against the gritty backdrop of his desk, a contrast that was almost mocking. Of course, it had to be lilies—symbolic of purity and renewal, the very antithesis of his hardened existence in N109. He couldn’t help but scoff at the irony.

Lilies.

He picked up the petal between his fingers, turning it over as he examined it closer. Unlike the thorn-covered roses Y/N had been coughing up, these petals were smooth, soft, and almost harmless in comparison. But he knew better. They were far from benign.

The fact that he was coughing up lilies of all things wasn’t lost on him. They represented something gentle, something almost... fragile. But Sylus was anything but fragile, and yet, here he was, entangled in the same affliction that had nearly destroyed Y/N. He sighed, tossing the petal back on the desk, watching it flutter down like a weightless reminder of what had been growing inside him.

And now, there was no denying the truth—he had feelings for her. Feelings that he had buried so deep they’d only surfaced now, in this frustrating, blooming form. Unlike Y/N’s roses, his strain wasn’t lethal, but that didn’t make it any less concerning. He wouldn’t let it get worse. He refused to be bound by something as foolish as unspoken love.

He glanced at his comm device again, fingers hovering over the screen before he pressed down, confirming the appointment with Dr. Maren for the next day. He wouldn’t let this linger, not like Y/N had. Sylus didn’t like loose ends, and this, now that he knew, was a loose end he intended to tie up.

But the thought of Y/N remained in his mind as he sat there, the image of her recovery still fresh. She was doing better. The flowers inside her were beginning to wither, a hopeful sign that her heart was healing. That gave him some measure of relief, knowing she was on a path that might lead to happiness—whether it involved him or not.

As for him... Sylus wasn’t sure where this would end. He wasn’t the type to dwell on love or let emotions cloud his judgment. But the lilies said otherwise. They were there, quietly blooming inside him, pushing him toward feelings he hadn’t intended to face.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, standing up from his desk, “I guess we’ll see how this plays out.”

The mechanical whir of Mephisto’s wings echoed faintly in the background as the crow returned from its surveillance, landing quietly on its perch. Sylus spared it a glance, giving the bird a small nod. There was always work to do, but for now, he had to focus on his next move.

Tomorrow, he'll see the doctor. And then, maybe—just maybe—he’d figure out what to do about the lilies. 

Sylus exhaled deeply, the weight of this new revelation pressing down on him. He couldn’t afford to let this disease grow. It wasn’t as severe as Y/N’s strain—he was lucky in that sense—but the fact that he had symptoms at all meant it could worsen if left unchecked.

He reached for his comm device, his fingers moving with purpose as he scrolled through his contacts. He needed answers, and he knew exactly who to call.

“Dr. Maren,” Sylus said as soon as the connection clicked. “I need to schedule a check-up. Something’s come up.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Maren responded, the voice calm but attentive. “Sylus? I thought your plan to draw Y/N to Linkon worked. What’s the issue?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, glancing at the petal again before he spoke. “It’s me. But it’s a mild strain.”

Another silence, this one longer, before Maren’s voice returned, more serious this time. “That’s not something to take lightly, even if it’s a mild case. How long have you had symptoms?”

Sylus closed his eyes, recalling the subtle tightness that had been plaguing him over the past few weeks. It hadn’t been enough to alarm him, but now it all made sense. “Not long. It’s manageable for now. But I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll fit you in tomorrow,” Maren replied swiftly. “Come to the clinic. We’ll run some tests.”

Sylus nodded to himself, feeling the weight of his situation sink in. “I’ll be there.”

He ended the call and leaned forward, hands steepling under his chin as he stared at the petal once more. It was a strange irony, being caught by the same disease that had nearly claimed Y/N. But there was no time for self-pity. He was pragmatic by nature—he would handle it like everything else in his life: methodically, without hesitation. 

Still, the realization that his feelings for Y/N had manifested into something so tangible made him pause. He had always kept his emotions buried, hidden under layers of cynicism and practicality. Now, those feelings were blooming—literally—whether he liked it or not.

A slow, grim smile crept onto his lips as he muttered to himself, “How funny.”

The next day would bring answers. But for now, Sylus remained where he was, staring at the petal on his desk, caught between amusement and resignation. His finger runs on his temple, looming over his crimson eye. 

At least he wasn’t dying. And if he would have to take the surgery, it didn’t matter. He would always remember you. Because your connection knows no physical bounds. You’re always connected. The string of fate connecting the two of you cannot be cut that easily.

© levisolace. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only on my ao3 account. reblogs and comments are also greatly appreciated. thank you.