#i really had no idea it was a full moon last night

[zillychu]

designs for a zine piece! enjoy some background story my illustration never needed under the read more (fair warning I did NOT edit this at all):

newbie mage apprentices Sam and Tucker who became friends bc they're kinda… the ones at the bottom of their class and struggle the most, for different reasons. they become besties over time and practice together!

except one night, something goes terribly wrong. they spent the last few nights preparing for a project, a bigger spell that needs an intricate circle with precise measurements to work. but when they try to activate it, well… 

oops. they summoned a demon.

which is, for one, extremely illegal. only certified demonologists are allowed to summon demons because they're so dangerous. anything less than a perfect binding circle and thoroughly researched info on the demon, including their true name, is even remotely safe.

but, weirdly enough… the demon seems just as surprised as they are. as Sam and Tuck frantically try to figure out how to dispel the demon, they realize–oh god, did their circle actually sufficiently bind the demon? it can't leave. they watch the demon tentatively poke it's claws into the air around the boundary, and watch it fizzle, retreating back with a strained hiss.

okay. okay, they can do this. without death looming over their heads, they can figure out how to send the demon back. it's cool, it's fine. except while they leaf through their books, they notice the demon watching them. it looks kind of… curious. timid. interested in what they're doing. it catches them noticing his staring, and it. apologizes? it seems flustered?

weird, okay. they keep looking, and the demon starts talking. at first, little comments to itself. mumbles that soon get just loud enough to hear. little “ooh, is that a telescope?" and “is that what fire looks like up here?" and “that must be for making charcoal…”

Sam is the one brave enough to be like "are all demons as chatty as you??” and the demon gets flustered again, apologizing. says he's just never been topside before, he's only read about humans in tomes. oh wow is that the moon outside? it really IS blue up here! is it always blue? what are you doing up? I thought humans slept at night?

Sam and Tuck can't help getting pulled in with the demon's genuine curiosity. they're wary though, since they know demons can be clever, conniving. there's a number of ways a demon can get the upper hand on a summoner who has them bound. if he gets their full names, gets them to smudge and break the circle… there could also be ways they aren't aware of. so they consider their words carefully, but engage in some chatter while they research.

it's almost morning by the time they find a way to send the demon back–but as they prepare the spell, the demon says WAIT WAIT and they stop, uncertain. the demon starts stammering out how this is weird but like… he really had fun tonight. he doesn't get to just hang out much, especially with anyone his age.

Tuck is like “how do you know our ages??" and the demon points out "oh, you said something about Paulie’s 18th birthday party, so I thought…” and they're both like oh shit we didn't even notice we did that?

“Paulina" Sam corrects in her dumbfounded stupor. 

“Right, Paulina!" the demon snaps his fingers, but quickly loses his confidence when Sam and Tuck continue to stare at him like they're not sure what's going on. he coughs and fidgets and says “um, well, I was just wondering, I guess… if you wanted to summon me another time, I wouldn't mind. you see those circles there? yeah, that's what summoned me. the candles helped too I think. oh, it doesn't need all those runes though, probably don't want to redraw all those.”

Sam and Tuck are practically gawking, but… for some reason, this demon looks so sincere. so much like them, awkward and lonely and genuinely curious.

it's a bad idea. a terrible one, even. the demon probably noticed they're newbies and not demonologists. it could be hoping they make an error in their circle, or mess up a candle, or reveal their names on accident. 

But, well. They're stupid. they're also eager for anything to help them in school, and too empathetic for their own good. they send the demon off with a yeah, no. they then think about it for a week, and end up summoning the demon against their better judgment.

the demon is shocked and so happy, they can't help but be a little endeared. they lay down some ground rules, take care to be as safe as possible… and soon, this demon that introduces himself as “Phantom" becomes a nightly visitor. they talk about their worlds, find out they share a lot of common interests, and help each other in their studies. which, hello, demons also study? bro are you serious??

they play games, laugh till their ribs hurt, and open up to each other on a far deeper level than anyone expected. over time, Phantom becomes a true friend.

Sam and Tuck quietly begin to lament the fact Phantom is stuck in that damn circle. they want to take him places, let him see the human world he seems so interested in. they want to paint his stupid claws and noogie him between his dumb horns and hug him.

but it's an astronomical risk. it's legal for a demonologist with a proper permit, but it's still considered a grave taboo to grant access to a demon outside a circle. there's just too much at risk. demons can be dangerous enough to lay waste to entire towns, take multiple teams of military-rank mages to take down.

they wouldn't risk it… if they hadn't snuck into the library’s restricted section and copy a page from a demonologist book that gives them good framework for a contract. they make some edits to it though, giving Phantom at least a little wiggle room to protect himself if need be. and allow him use of transformation magic so he can hide somehow. but they spend weeks making sure they have airtight wording to ensure Phantom can't cause anyone or anything any substantial harm. 

when they finally bring the contract to Phantom, he's stunned. he cries. nothing needs to be said, they all know the gravity of their proposal. even if they ask for proof of Phantom's trust in turn, first. they ask for his full name, so they can bind him. just temporarily. but in that moment, they'll have full control over him. they could instead tell Phantom to serve them, force him to obey their every order. even if it's just for a moment, giving them his full name with the proper circle and incantation, is putting his life in their hands. 

Phantom, with tears still in his eyes, smiles warmly and nods. with only a breath to steel himself, he gives them his full name. Daniel James Fenton.

magic sparks in the circle, and Sam and Tuck finish the incantation. ethereal chains sprout up to wrap around Phantom's arms and legs, which makes him jump–but the unwavering trust in his eyes makes the two humans choke up.

they release the binding. all that's left is to break the containment barrier in the circle, so Phantom can walk free.

“Uh, about that…” Phantom laughs sheepishly… then proceeds to step outside of the circle, merely wincing when the barrier zaps around him.

Sam and Tucker gawk. Phantom scratches his neck. “Y-yeah, so… your barrier circle was already broken that first night. It's, uh… right over there. You missed a spot.”

abject horror overcomes them because this entire time Phantom's been visiting, he could have broken out? EASILY?? THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD.

Tucker falls to his knees, but soon starts to laugh. it's kind of hysterical at first but slowly, he and Sam are genuinely laughing. they're so STUPID, and Phantom is the most un-demonlike demon they've ever HEARD of. Phantom is still flustered, stammering out apologies because he wasn't trying to deceive them or anything! he just didn't want to scare them! without a proper containment circle they technically couldn't send him back either, so he just… went back using his own magic each time they “dispelled" him. 

once they've calmed down, Phantom morphs his body into a human form–which shock Sam and Tuck, because uh, only elite demons are capable of that. they were expecting an animal, or straight up going invisible. Phantom laughs it off, says he just, spent a lot of time practicing bc he's so interested in the human world (not a lie, but). he proceeds to adopt the nickname Danny, and they all have FUN WONDERFUL SHENANIGANS

(and sometime in the near future, when faced with something truly threatening he needs to protect them from, Danny reveals that. well. their contract also had some holes in it. and he's had access to his full demon power this whole time. whoopsie! it's a good thing he genuinely loves them and doesn't want to hurt anyone, or their asses would be SO dead lol)

they're about as normal about his full demon form as you'd expect from me btw:

[inkdrinkerworld]

same bday anon- i have a yelling req !!!

remus yelling at reader pre or post full moon and the other marauders don't say anything bc they're shocked, but reader thinks it's bc they agree? and then after a while they all make up and just cuddle<3 ofc if u don't wanna it's all good !!! ilysm baby !

I did it more along the lines of Remus having chronic pain than a werewolf thing :/ I hope that’s okay

You’re kneeling before Remus’ slouched body on the sofa, hand in his hair as you try to coax him to move.

“Remus, c’mon. You can’t lay like that, your bones will ache.”

You’re trying to get your ailing boyfriend to find a much more comfortable spot, his body sore and tired and the chill moving through the air wasn’t helping so much.

Sirius and James are in the kitchen- a bad idea but you’d wanted to try to coax Remus into some stretches and maybe a massage before they finished the potato and leek soup for supper.

“I can lay like this all I want, dove. It feels good.” There’s a snark in his tone, but you don’t let it get under your skin. You know how much pain he’s in when he has a flare up like this, so you brush his tone aside.

You run your hand down his cheeks, “Please Rem. I don’t want your knees to lock or your back to twinge.”

You’re as gentle as you can be, patient and understanding but you can see in your mind’s eye that way Remus wobbled and fell to the floor the last time his knees had locked.

“I’m a grown man damnit!” You flinch back from him as his tone shifts, your hand dropping from his face as you sit back on your heels on the floor. “If I want to fucking lay like this for the rest of the night I can.”

Remus’ outburst has gathered the attention of your other boyfriends, and you want terribly to respond to his words, but you can’t.

He sounds so upset and he’s so loud and you feel your chest constrict as you stare at him.

“I don’t need you hovering for gods sake! Go be a nuisance somewhere else.”

Remus speaks with such venom and he looks at you with just heat and anger in his eyes that it’s impossible not to believe this is how he really feed about you.

James and Sirius stay silent, shocked by Remus’ words just as you are- but their silence makes the shame burn hotter in your chest.

This is how they all feel about you.

“You don’t get to be mean just cause you’re hurting, Remus.” Is all you say as you stand, walking towards the front door when Sirius springs into action first.

“Poppet, where’re you headed?” He’s almost beaten you to the front door but your hand touches the handle first.

“I’m going for a walk. I want to stack stones by the river.” Sirius knows what it’s code for. You don’t want to say something mean back to Remus, you want to be kind even if he’s being an ass.

Sirius makes to grab your jumpers. “I’ll come with, you shouldn’t be alone.” You shake your head.

“You don’t have to pretend you care, Siri. It’s okay if you and Jamie agree with him. I just want to be alone.”

“Agree with him? Poppet we,” but you’re already out the door.

James glares at Remus who simply sinks into the sofa.

“You can be a real piece of work, Moony.” James says, hoisting his boyfriend out of the position he’d been in and stretching his legs long on the sofa instead of over its back.

Sirius moves to the living room again, ��She was trying to help. Now she’s gone off to stack her stones when she should be tearing you a new one.”

Remus scrubs at his face, heat colouring his cheeks red. Sirius doesn’t let him off the hook. He can’t believe how callous Remus has been.

“Thinks me and James share your fuck off stupid sentiments when you don’t even believe what you said.”

James stops him from saying any more. “I’ll go look for her while you stay with him.”

Remus shakes his head, hissing as he stands; his knees shaky and weak. “I’ll go.” Sirius wants to stop him, but James knows if Remus doesn’t go do it now he’ll spend the entire time he’s home worrying himself sick and then won’t be able to face for days.

Sirius slaps his hands to his thighs, “Fuck off, we’ll all go. I’ll turn off the hob.”

They find you after you’ve already made four stacks of rocks, some with tiny rocks, some with huge slabs of stone.

Remus’ chest tightens as he spots you, your knees to your chest, toes wet from where you’re sat.

“Dove,” Remus starts to say as he stops right beside you. “I was an ass. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You just hum, looking at your stacks and trying to find more rocks for another pile.

“I hate when I can’t do the things I want because it’ll make me hurt and it was wrong of me to shout at you for just trying to look after me.”

You look at him when he crouched down, his knees cracking so loudly you’re worried he’ll topple over.

James steadies a hand on Remus’ back while Sirius procures a couple stones for you. His palm flat as he shows them to you, a little smile on his face when you take them.

“You said I was a nuisance.” Remus cringes as he heads the words back. He really can’t believe he’d been so mean to you.

“I didn’t mean it, dovey. The pain is no excuse.”

“Do you all think that?” You ask nervously, “You didn’t say anything when he said it.” You gnaw on your bottom lip, worrying it to all hell as you look between James and Sirius.

“You’re not a nuisance baby,” James says first, hurt that you’d even thought it was how they felt about you. “I know us not saying anything made things worse, but it was just shock; not how we feel.”

Sirius turns your face up to his, pinching your chin to keep your eyes on him. “You walked out before I could finish. None of us think you’re a nuisance, you’re the best damn thing that happened to us. Come home.”

Sirius is hard to have a stare off with, he doesn’t back down. But it isn’t that that does you in.

“Please dove. You can boss me around till the end of time, just come home and out of the cold.”

Remus sounds so chock full of remorse and when you look at him you find his eyes glassy. “Okay,” Sirius helps you stand, and you receive kisses from all three of them before you the river bed.

[lynaferns]

Redraw (well, third attempt) of an old drawing from 2022.

Alright, this is a big one, so, PC users: left click the image, right click the image, open in another tab, zoom and see all the details you want.

Phone users: press down on the image, download, find image in your phone gallery, it will download at full quality so you can zoom and see all the details.

The fancy stars and the inside of the piano were a pain in the ass, everything else went pretty smoothly, or at least the average complications. I'm proud of how I mixed the colors in the piano. I was convinced I'd end up making a mess but it turned out nice.

Once again, this is finished because I decided so. I have no energy to make the final look I had in mind.

The piano alone, close ups (cuz the jpeg won't let you zoom at the very max and that sucks, so I screenshot from my art program) and an idea for an AU + youtube playlist I made that I relate too much to the AU under the cut. vvv

SO!

This was never supposed to be an AU, and I probably won't do anything regardless, but I got the idea while I was working on it last month. And since I have a liiiiiiittle basic knowledge of music and experience, specially in piano... well...

I had bad experiences learning music as a child so probably the story would reflect on that lol.

An old astral auditorium that's abandoned and in ruins during the day and gets all shiny and nice at night when it's illuminated by the light of the stars.

Sun, Moon and Eclipse are in charge of the place, they do their best at keeping the place standing… and are the main musicians that play for the stars every month, once or twice. The day and night transformation affects them too.

Violet (y/n that's not really a y/n at this point) is a young altruist and selftaugth violinist (yeah yeah, I'm very original with the names, hush) that came across this old auditorium. She starts visiting the brothers to play music during the day and decides to join them in the auditions to play for the stars, and help them modernize a little bit to attract human audience too.

The brothers play several instruments to be able to acompany each other if necesary buuut they each have a "favourite". Sun mainly Piano, Moon mainly Harp (can also play piano and viola to accompany Sun) and Eclipse can play any instrument Sun and Moon can and more, but likes accordion :)

Sun is the most strict one when it's about playing music even though he likes to mess around with songs and improvise during day hours when no body is around, but will feel guilty afterwards... Moon is a gremlin that likes messing up and playing with the instruments in ways you are not supposed to (like using the viola bow as a sword). Eclipse is easy going and will match the energy of their brothers while keeping them out of trouble. Clip doesn't really like playing for the auditorium and prefers improvising silly songs alone or with Sun and Moon.

You can ask me about this AU if it got you curious, I'll be glad to answer!

I still want to make the MC design at least. And maybe some sketch comics if I have the energy for it.

[maroonpascal]

It was enchanting to meet you

Pairing: Harry Castillo x reader

Summary: you’ve never imagined that meeting Harry Castillo could change your life forever

Word count: 773

Notes: this is literally just for the vibes and nothing else, wrote it on my way back home from uni just for fun. Based on the moodboard I posted yesterday (og post)

Date nights with him were always a dream and always more than you could ever expect; you were used to easy nights, nothing too special but with him everything was different. You didn’t even imagine how life would have changed when that night he sat next you at that event, offering you a drink, his charm immediately captivating you, an aura that it is hard to find. His brown eyes were the thing that made you forget everything else in an instant, and then the way he talked and his voice, words falling from his lips softly, like the most expensive velvet. And how could you ever say no to all of that, to a man that was taking all your breath away, your heart beating so fast at the way he was looking at you.

That night you kept looking at him as you sipped on your drink, and with every second passing you would notice a new detail, the cute patches in his beard that would resemble to little hearts, his perfume now becoming also yours, given how close you two were, and that green emerald on his right hand; soon you understood that not only he was handsome as hell, but he could also make you laugh and he was smart, having a way of speaking that would make you hang from his lips, and the night took a completely different turn. Would you have ever imagined to end up in his expensive apartment? Surely not, but the universe has its ways, and that is how you ended up there, after a night of talking and smiling with him, hands in your hair as he pushed you against the wall, kissing you like nobody had ever done, a passion igniting you and making you feel more alive than ever. His touch was firm but gentle at the same time, handling you like you were most precious thing in that apartment, more expensive than his own emerald ring.

When you woke up the following morning you had those pristine bedsheets around you, and you turned to him just to see him blissfully sleeping by your side, an arm around your waist, exactly how he had fallen asleep last night. This could be a one nightstand only, you thought, soon I’m gonna leave and everything will go back to normal, I will go back to my normal life and this will remain just a feral dream.

Little did you know.

You had no idea that once you had left that apartment he would have called you, checking on you and simply wanting to hear your voice, and life really wasn’t the same anymore.

What you had thought was one single event, bloomed into something more, as you were attracted by him like a magnet, an invisible force dragging you to him, soon enough having to give a name to whatever was happening between you two.

Soon you also understood that it was a very different relationship from the ones you’ve had in the past, as he would always surprise you in the most incredible ways. Sometimes it would be a huge bouquet of red roses, so many roses that you couldn’t even count them, sometimes he would rent an immense villa only for you two, to spend a little getaway weekend; you could never guess what he had in store for you, because every date could be even wilder than the previous one.

One night he had taken you to the airport, car full of luggage, and only when you arrived there you discovered he was taking you to Paris with his private jet for a romantic week.

So he would surely cover you in gifts, romantic trips, take you to the most expensive restaurants and you were sure you could also ask him to bring you the moon too and he would find a way to do that, but what truly made you fall in love with him wasn’t that. It was the way he would care for you, the way he would hold you at night, and the passion that he had for you, but especially the talking you would do with him at late night, when both of you were tired and you would look at each other with sleepy eyes, stolen soft kisses in the kitchen with dim lights over you, the taste of red wine over your lips and his warm kisses on your neck, hands intertwined. And the truth is, that you could have forgotten all the expensive stuff, scrapped all of that, because what you only needed was him and his infinite love for you.

[scentofhydrangea]

for @vershautece, based off of this and a little of this 🩷 enjoy!

warnings luigi is a baby making machine! sahm themes, let’s just assume he never had back problems shhh, all italian is translated at the bottom, breeding, oral (both receiving), missionary + doggy, orgasm denial (?), rough sex, ass slapping (i don’t like the other word), reflection ;), half-assed proofread

a/n i am actually so sorry this is so late, i’ve been stacked today and then i scheduled this to post and it never did… ALSO THIS IS WAY LONGER THAN I ORIGINALLY INTENDED!!! and i’m sorry the smut is kinda vague i haven’t written actual smut in SOOOO long it’s embarrassing… i’m gonna be a hornball on your dash!

getting accepted to upenn was definitely in your top three most exhilarating moments of your life. with plans of majoring in art, you were over the moon to start your independent life at an ivy league school! you rarely let boys get in your way — enjoying life in the moment was a top quality of yours as an artist.

that was, until you met luigi. oh god, he’s so beautiful. you only picked up one digital class that you really didn’t even know the name of because you’d wanted to get into digital art and you thought it’d be fun to learn the functions. as soon as you saw him about two weeks into the course, you were swooning. unbeknownst to you, most other girls were also swooning.

you only had a few tight friends, but your kind personality was a trait everyone noticed about you as soon as you would approach. also how good you smelled. and your beautiful smile. and your full, happy cheeks when you laugh. really just everything — and you’d had no idea that boys in your courses would pine after you, too.

a few trusty years later, you and luigi were to be wed! babies came shortly after, and you had the most beautiful twin toddlers. after you’d been granted maternity leave from your job as a high school art teacher, you’d gotten a little too used to staying home and tending to the house, rather than scrambling every weekend to get everything done as well as take care of your husband and children.

you had a talk with luigi and determined that the money from his job would be enough to keep the family steady going as well as a few pieces you’d make and sell on ebay every now and again. almost as quickly as you could, you sent an email to the superintendent and principal of your school saying that you would unfortunately not be returning due to personal issues.

luigi had never asked you to be a sweet little tradwife for him, but he damn sure enjoyed it. today in particular, your three year olds’ daycare was closed so you were fortunate enough to leave them with their godparents. this was good for you, they’d likely ask to spend the night with their padrini*, so you can have tonight and tomorrow morning without a ‘bedtime’ for you and your children!

in the morning after dropping them off, you went back home to get cute and dolled up — you usually made breakfast wearing a silk pajama set that luigi bought for you last christmas. then you went to the grocery store and to the bank to deposit a check from a painting you sold for a little under $500. then back home to make a small lunch — you were planning to cook a big dinner — and then onto housework. you played music while you worked, and once beds were made you retreated back to your bedroom to tweak your hair and makeup for dinner.

you also made sure luigi knew not to come home before 5:45 because you wouldn’t be done with your dishes, and checked in on your kids to confirm they’d stay the night at their padrini’s house.

when luigi came home, just like out of a scene of a movie, he shouted from the front door: “tesoro, sono a casa!*” followed by the door closing and locking mechanically behind him. he strutted into the kitchen to see you putting plates together — exactly 6:00. he must have waited in the driveway to give you some extra time!

with a gentle hold of your waist and long kiss on your cheek, you suddenly felt much more comfortable; almost feeling safe that he was home. anxiety was sometimes a struggle when you’re home alone all day and your husband working half an hour away.

as you plated the food and brought the bread out of the oven, luigi went upstairs to change into something more casual. when he opened the bedroom door, he noticed you had left a precious little lingerie set laying on the bed, likely accidentally. his interest was certainly piqued! quirking an eyebrow and grinning a little to himself, he took a few minutes to change and mess with his hair a bit in the mirror.

luigi came down the stairs with happy haste.

“thank you for making this meal, babydoll, smells so good,” he compliments, kissing your cheek again.

your face burns excitedly. “thank you,” you kiss his lips a few short times.

over dinner, you chat about each other’s day and the children. he seems to be deep in thought for a moment, and when he notices you staring he speaks again.

“you think we should have another baby?” he asks cheekily.

you nearly choke and your heart rate runs rampant, looking as if you hadn’t had sex before. “do you want to?”

“would i ask if i didn’t want to?”

there’s a rush between your thighs almost immediately. you place your fork down onto your plate and stand up, but before you can walk off he’s up and scooping you into his strong arms. he cascades up the steps with you bridal style.

as soon as he steps into the bedroom, he places you down on the fuzzy chair in front of your vanity. a finger points to the lacy set laying on the neat bed.

“you wanna tell me what you got this out for?” he presses, kneeling down on the ground in front of you. luigi’s pretty lips pepper kisses on your ankles, lifting each one up slowly to remove your kitten heels. once each shoe is off, he places the now bare calf on his shoulder.

“please, lu…” you plead pathetically.

his eyebrows furrow upwards, looking at you with big eyes full of faux empathy. “please what? use your words, mio amore. dimmi cosa vuoi*.”

words are quick to fail you. your brain is blank, almost static. most times you have sex it’s quick and hushed because the twins are in the house.

he’s kissing up your legs again, attempting to get a rise out of you. once he gets to your thighs, you’re getting a little restless.

“taking too long,” you mumble, and he lifts his head to look you in the eye again — this time much more stern.

“what was that?”

“said you’re taking too long,” you repeat yourself louder, locking your gaze with his.

within a second, he’s snatched you up and thrown you onto the neat bed.

“you and your goddamn bed decorations. i never know why you put all these pillows on here when we’re just gonna throw them all off later,” he grumbles, clearly angry and clearing the throw pillows from the bed, tossing them to the floor.

luigi pushes your maxi skirt up and nearly tears your little cotton underwear off of you. his tongue darts between your warmth and his nose harshly rubs against your clit, catching you off guard and sending your spine into electric shock. your hands fly to grip his hair in one hand and the tightly made bedsheets in the other.

“y’taste so sweet, tesoro,” he groans against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your thighs before going back to devouring your sex.

he’s already working an easy orgasm or two from you. he pulls you from your stupor and unzips your dress, gingerly pulling it off of you — he knows how upset you got last time he accidentally ripped the hem of your dress.

his shirt is gone, his chin and parts of his cheeks are still wet, and removing his belt as quickly as he can. as soon as his pants drop, you grab the hem of his boxers and pull them down. every time you see his cock, it never fails to surprise you that the tip touches his fucking belly button.

you pop his throbbing pink tip into your mouth, giving it little kitten licks and short kisses. you work your way down, or as much as you can, using your hand to pump what you can’t fit in your mouth. you’re moaning and slobbering around his cock, vibrations from your voice sending chills up his spine and down into his arms. his hands find their way to the back of your head, carefully urging you to take more.

your throat is constricting and you retract from his cock, looking into his eyes for validation.

“you’re taking too long,” he mocks in a faux whiny voice. luigi pushes you back onto the bed by his shoulders and holds his heavy cock. he teases your folds, rubbing his hot tip through to spread your own spit and cum from him eating you out. slowly, he pushes in. he always waits a little for you to adjust to how big he is.

“fuck, m’so full…”

“you’re so tight, mio amore.”

his eyes are boring into yours and his hands press down onto your womb to see his own cock buried into you.

“gonna cum if you don’t breathe for a second and relax, holy fuck baby,” he reminds you with a deep, raspy tone.

you take a deep breath and mid-exhale he starts to pound into you with a feverish and eager alacrity, causing you to almost scream.

“mmmmy fucking god!” your voice shakes with each impactful thrust against your hips. one of his hands grips your waist and the other attaches to your boob, his head following shortly. his tongue laps around your peaked nipple rapidly.

then both hands are on your waist and he briefly pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and prop your ass up to his liking. he’s shoving his cock back into your soaked cunt and returns back to his relentless pace.

“gonna fuck a baby into you, bella ragazza, gonna get you nice and swollen with a pretty baby, hm? isn’t that right?” he pushes his hand down onto your lower back, arching you up higher for him. both of his big hands find your frizzed up curly bun and he snatches your head back.

“feels so fucking good, m’gonna cum, lu!”

“aht,” he slows down exponentially, “you’ll cum when i tell you to.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head with adoration and you swear your ovaries start jumping at the demand. he’s back to slamming into you and a hard hand comes down onto each ass cheek three or four times. he adds to the torture by holding your hair in one hand and moving his other arm around your hip to grind his palm on your clit.

“oh my god, i’m gonna fucking cum luigi…” you breathe out between a moan, a scream and a whisper.

“what’d i tell you?”

“to wait ‘til you tell me to cum!”

“do what i tell you, be a good girl and listen to me.”

your brain is numb and your head falls limp, his grip in your hair is the only thing holding your body close to his.

“you’re so fucking pretty, mio amore, can i take a picture?”

you just nod obediently, not really caring too much at this point. he reaches over to the bedside table where he put his phone before dinner and opens the camera, showing your mascara dripping down your face from tears you didn’t know were flowing and an agape mouth, moans slipping through with every motion.

“you see why i love fucking you s’much? hm? look at yourself while i fuck you, baby,” he’s shoving the phone into your hand to palm your clit again. you’re bucking your hips against each form of stimulation with your jaw wide open, breathing shakily.

“there you go, tesoro, y’wanna cum?” he taunts, to which you nod your head and moan a hearty ‘yes!’

his index and middle finger focus on your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as tightly as he can. your eyes go crossed, no longer paying any attention to the reflection in the camera. luigi’s hand drops from your hair, pushes your head down and arches your back up one more time. he pressed record on the camera and kept up with his cock bullying into your cervix over and over.

“go ahead and cum with me baby, take it like the good girl you are.”

when he gives you permission, almost like a stage cue, you totally let go. your cunt squeezes around him entirely and traps him in. his cock twitches rampantly inside you as he meets his release, watching your face through the camera that you’re gripping onto with your life.

it takes a few minutes to cool off after he lays down beside you, stopping the recording and kissing all over your face. “you did so good for me, baby. sei una brava ragazza*.”

you don’t even have it in you to respond, your chest heaving.

“you think that one will take? should we go for another round?”

this gets a breathless chortle from you. “can i catch my breath first? also, you messed my hair up.”

“so that’s a yes?” he asks, already burying his face into your chest and carefully pressing kisses to your hot skin.

🌺🩷💋

italian words and phrases:

padrini: godparents

tesoro: sweetheart

sono a casa: i’m home!

dimmi cosa vuoi: tell me what you want

sei una brava ragazza: you’re (such) a good girl

[mayanneaa]

sparkling - ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ.

PAIRING : enemy!rafe cameron x kook!reader

SUMMARY : the country club announces a carnival ball, and your parents make you go there with the last person you’d want to be around — rafe cameron.

WARNING(S) : drinking, minor violence, swearing, not proofread

A/N : we're going full kook baby (divider by @roseraris)

WC : 4.6k (bear with me. BEAR WITH ME)

first part, "nights like this" is here!

masterlist.

You clench your teeth as you walk around the room, waiting for the dress to arrive.

To your surprise, it’s white outside the window, the soft snow covering most of your garden. You sit down on your bed with a sigh.

In two hours you’re supposed to be walking through the door of the country club, your dress flowing on the floor as you move plastered to Rafe’s side.

The last part still makes you fuming.

Obviously, it wasn’t your idea— your parents decided you’d look perfect with the oldest of the Cameron siblings. They seemed to forget that you literally despise him. And you’re pretty sure he feels the same about you.

If this ball was happening a year ago, you wouldn't mind. You'd probably be already all giddy, waiting for your prince on his white horse to come pick you up.

All because of a stupid party. Your birthday party.

It still replays in your head, as if there wasn't anything better to remember.

Rafe kissed you on the rooftop of Tanney Hill. Rafe, the guy you've been obsessed with since, well, fifth grade, kissed you to fulfill your birthday wish. Little did he know he actually fulfilled two of them that night.

But, nothing that's tied to Rafe is easy. Just as you were supposed to leave with him, you caught him with a girl all over him.

Is that enough of a reason not to be happy about being there, showing off by his side at the ball?

“Sweetie, your dress is here!”

Soon after that, your door creaks, and your mother comes in with a long dress in her hands.

It’s beautiful, that’s for sure-- silver, sparkling with tiny glitter pieces. The straps are thin, almost nonexistent.

"Isn't carnival all about being, I don't know, fun?" you say skeptically. "This is going to be so tense. Apart from the fact that I have to be there with Rafe."

Your mother glances at you, her eyes softening. "Ward asked us a long time ago, and you know how your father is about his 'promises'..."

You huff, resting your chin on your hand.

"Plus, you still didn't tell us what happened between you two that made you dislike him so much." You feel a similar sting in your heart. "And you don’t have to, just so you know.”

You give her a defeated look and get up. You trace your fingers down the fabric before you speak up. "I should probably try it on..."

Your mom gives you an excited nod. "Go on!"

She gently hands you the piece of clothing before disappearing behind the door. Do you have any other choice than to get ready? Not really.

You slip into the dress, your figure sparkling in the mirror with every minor movement. It flows over your body most beautifully— a little tighter in all the right places, but not tight enough to feel uncomfortable while sitting, eating, or dancing.

You spin around on your tiptoes, checking yourself out, and a small smile creeps up your lips.

The night before, you used all your most expensive skincare and had a very everything shower. If you have to suffer, at least you’ll look pretty.

You match your makeup to the theme—a whiteish sparkly eyeshadow and lots of highlighter, making you look like a mirrorball—in the best way possible.

With the last run of fingers through your hair you realize it’s almost the time to go.

It’s already dark outside, the moon radiating from the snowy beach in the distance. You grab your heels and bag, hearing your mother calling you from downstairs.

You take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay. It has to be.

The Camerons have just pulled up, their car’s engine dying soundly as you jump off the last step. You look down at your hands and can’t help but notice them slightly shaking.

The doors open, and Ward comes in first, with Rose close by him. Then, Wheezie runs in, dragging Sarah by her hand.

Rafe follows them like a ghost, all quiet when he closes the door behind him.

“Well, look who’s there!”

Your father directs these words to the oldest of the Cameron siblings. You glance at Rafe and see his eyes slightly widen as your dad comes up to him. Almost as if he’s thrown off by it.

He quickly regains his typical confidence and shakes the man’s hand, steady and sure.

“Hi!” Sarah comes up to you, a cheeky smile spread on her face. She looks as gorgeous as ever— her blonde hair pinned up in a half-updo, some strands hanging out and curling around her face.

You hug her, lingering for a bit before pulling away and noticing Wheezie looking at you.

“Well! There goes the princess,” you say, bowing in front of her, so low you’d fold in half. The young girl giggles, and you feel your heart warm up.

"Come on, girls! We're going to be late!"

Rose is already waiting by the door, tapping her heeled foot on the wooden floor.

You glance at the Cameron sisters, rolling your eyes.

"I saw that, young girl."

Sarah snorts behind your back, and you send Rose a sheepish smile. When you run your eyes around the room, you notice Rafe staring at you.

He has a total poker face. Not a single muscle moves when you examine his features, but his eyes speak, or rather scream a million words. There's a hint of anger, making you grimace.

You just have to show off for a little while by his side, and it will be over before you even notice.

You tell this to yourself as you walk out the door, still feeling his gaze on your back.

It's going to be a long night.

The parking lot outside of the country club is already filled with expensive cars when your family and Camerons arrive.

You get out and the cold air quickly hits you, a sharp breath sneaks out of your lungs.

“Okay…” You whisper to yourself, watching Rafe slam the car’s door as he and his family come out. “Remember, just a few hours.”

“Are you ready?”

You turn around and see your father already standing there with Rafe. How the hell did this boy get here so quickly?

“Do we really have to?” You try, eyeing Rafe and noticing his jaw clenching.

“Y/n…” Your father tilts his head and gives you one of his looks, and you know there’s no point in arguing any further.

You turn to Rafe, feeling a lump in your throat appear.

“You’re cold.” He says, looking you up and down. You grimace.

“Excuse me?”

Rafe gestures at your body, “You’re literally shaking.”

You look down, and he’s right— in all these emotions, you didn’t really see it. “Whatever.”

Now it’s him who twists his lips, as if he wants to say something, but changes his mind at the last moment.

“Why do we even have to show off together like some monkeys in a—”

“Are you two coming?” Your mother interrupts you by exclaiming, already waiting at the door.

You glance at Rafe once again and let out a muffled huff. “Let’s just get this done.”

The silent treatment is nice, you have to admit. He follows you without a word, and soon enough you are on the last step.

You take a shaky breath. Most of the people are already there. All the thoughts hit you at once— what if you accidentally slip? Or spill your wine? What if—

Rafe doesn’t let you finish that sentence in your head, because he opens up the door and clears his throat, giving you a signal to finally move.

You startle and quickly get in, immediately getting hit by the wave of warm air and the heavy smell of candles mixed into it.

Rafe’s presence by your side is radiating. You feel it, almost as if he was burning, just inches away from your arm.

You can’t help but remember the memorable night it all went down. It felt the same, yet so different.

Suddenly, Rafe puts his hand on your waist, making a shiver run down your spine. His touch is soft and barely even there as if he’s disgusted to even touch you. Despite yourself, you feel a sting in your heart, and can’t help but wonder how many times it will happen again tonight.

An older man comes up to you two. You know him from the golf field, or at least that’s what you think. He sends you both a smile, before reaching out for your hand and shaking it with such a power you’re almost sure your arm popped out of its place.

“Hello there, Ms. Y/L,” he says, then directs a nod towards Rafe, “Young Cameron. Tell me, what do you think about this?”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, looking around properly for the first time.

The whole place is decorated with such elegance— silver elements mixed with black and white. The glasses on the tables are already filled with champagne, waiting for the guests to come and try it. And, Lord, is that a live band performing on the stage?

The lights reflecting from the crystal accents gleam in your eyes, and you don’t even notice when the corners of your mouth have risen.

They must’ve spent a fortune on this.

“I’m glad you like it,” Mr. Cohen, if you remember his name correctly, says, his eyes trailing off to the dance floor, slowly being filled up with pairs ready for the opening dance. “Oh! Perfect timing. You’ll still get to join. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Your face falls. You discretely steal a glance at Rafe but aren’t able to see anything past his stupid neutral face. You look down, and he takes his hand off your hip in a second, stretching it out as if he got burned.

“Come on!” Mr Cohen hurries you, and you look at him while clenching your jaw. You send him the most polite smile you can make up on your face at the moment, and, defeated, slowly make your way to the crowd.

“You don’t have to do this.”

This is the second time Rafe has spoken up this night. Did he vow to only speak in single sentences for the whole ball?

You look at him skeptically, “As if you don’t know my parents. And Ward. Let’s just— get it done. After that, you can go to your friends, and I can go my separate way.”

He raises his eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. A few women smile at you when you and Rafe squeeze through the other pairs, finally finding a decent place.

The musicians start to play a soft and slow melody. The violin goes first, the sweet notes sounding through the whole room, accompanying the moving pairs.

Rafe’s hands find their way to your body. He holds you close, so close you can feel the tension in his muscles.

You try not to look at his face, because every time you do, your mind wanders. To the moments before that stupid kiss, to when it was just you and Rage against the world. If only you didn’t kiss, maybe everything would’ve been different.

You’d eventually move on, and seeing Rafe switch out his girls after less than a week would hurt less.

But, what matters is present. And right now, want it or not, you stand on the dance floor, so close to the boy you once swore you’d marry you can feel his irregular breath on the top of your head.

Rafe spins you around, and you realize you have dissociated for a while. He stares down at you, a shadow of a grimace sneaking up on his face. The heat rises to your cheeks, and you’re not really sure if it’s from anger, or maybe something else.

You swear you feel his touch on your waist tighten, the place where he’s resting his hand burning through the material. You clench your teeth. You’re almost sure your heart racing can be heard by the pairs near you.

It’s almost done.

You look around, trying to focus on anything else. The piano joined the melody, making it heavier. It builds up the rhythm, nearing the end. There are, what, two spins left before you’re finally free.

Yours, as well as Rafe’s movement, loosened up, his broad shoulders less tense than before, your body moving smoother as well.

When your eyes return to his face, he’s already looking at you, at every feature. For the first time, you see something else in his eyes.

Regret.

He notices he’s been caught, and doesn’t seem to care. His eyes lazily move across your face, but the emotions change as quickly as they appear. You furrow your eyebrows as he spins you around for the last time as if you are the only ones on the dance floor.

Someone accidentally bumps into you, pushing you even closer to Rafe. Does this have to happen to you?

He grips you a little harder. The last chord plays out, essentially ending the dance, and you pull away as fast as you can. His breath hitches, almost unnoticeably. His hand lingers in the air for what feels like an eternity to you. You look in his eyes you’re unable to decode for the last time before giving him a stiff nod and getting off the parquet, your heels’ clicking lost between the steps of others.

The crowd thins out slowly, and Rafe’s gone from your eyesight before the next song starts.

You sit down at the long table. Dinner is about to start, and the waiters are smoothly spinning around, either getting all the food ready or adding champagne to the crystal glasses.

You lean back on the chair, take a long, deep breath, and explore the table with your eyes. Many people are still dancing, so not all the seats are taken. Each of them is already assigned. You’re reading the cursive letters on the note left by the seat next to you when someone’s voice appears behind you.

“I fear that we don’t know each other.”

You jump up in your place and turn around. A tall, dark-haired boy your age, or a little older, is standing there. He smiles and sits down on the chair beside you before he introduces himself, “Callum Brown.”

“Y/N Y/L,” you answer, resting your chin on your palm. “I haven’t seen you around.”

Callum laughs, and you hold back from furrowing your brows. “I’ve been gone for my studies, but, finally, I’m back.”

You open your mouth to say something but get interrupted by the clinks of some utensils. Both you and the boy look up.

Rafe’s sitting down right there in front of you. His jaw tightens when he glances at you.

“Cameron? Is that you?” Callum says, and you raise your eyebrow. “Man, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Rafe looks him up and down, forcing a smile that doesn’t even reach halfway to his eyes. “Yeah, and I wish it could stay this way.”

Your eyes widen while Rafe doesn’t look bothered. Callum grimaces and opens his mouth, so you quickly interrupt him by getting his attention back on you, “So, what are these studies about?”

The boy regains his confidence and starts rambling a seemingly learned-by-heart speech about some law studies in LA. You can’t help but sneak glances at Rafe between nodding and humming.

He sits still at the table, his broad shoulders straight as he looks around, obviously avoiding the sight of you.

Soon enough, the seats are full, and the president of the country club starts his speech. His monotonous voice makes it hard for you to keep your eyes open, forcing you to constantly blink in order not to fall asleep.

When he ends, you automatically join the applause, softly clapping your hands with a taught, polite smile.

Everyone gets to eating and chatting, and you immediately curse the person who set up the seating arrangements.

“So, Miss Y/L, how’s it going at school?” Ms. Thornton asks as you pour some juice into your glass.

You look up, your fingers intuitively tightening the grip, only to see everyone sitting close by looking at you with a curious expression— including Rafe, although his fave is more of a typical Cameron poker face.

“Well,” you start, and you feel your cheeks warm up from the attention. “It’s… fine. I started volunteering at the hospital, and—”

“Ooh, how ambitious!” Some older man exclaims, cutting his steak in half. “Isn’t it the same place our Rafe volunteered in his sophomore year?”

You lock eyes with him and watch as he takes a breath. But, instead of saying anything, he just nods.

“Speaking of Rafe,” An elegant, adult woman says, “Do you have anyone? You know, my cousin is already engaged with his fiancée. I’m sure someone has caught your eye!”

You almost choke on your drink, covering it with a small cough. Callum looks at you with wide eyes, but you dismissively wave your hand at him.

Rafe’s eyes are burning holes in you as he speaks up, his voice steady and calm, “I don’t think so. Not lately, at least.”

The woman gives him a hum and starts talking about her cousin’s upcoming wedding, and Rafe falls silent.

You can’t help but knit your eyebrows. You’ve never seen Rafe this quiet at an event like this— usually, he’d be chatting with some golf buddy or his father’s friend, or at least Topper or Kelce.

Tonight, they sit a few seats away, exchanging worried and suspicious looks.

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t bother you. His well-being is not your business or your misery.

And yet, that’s all you can think about for the rest of the dinner.

After everyone has eaten, the time for the dessert is very relaxing. Some people stayed at the table, and many returned to the dancefloor.

You now sit with Sarah and Wheezie, drinking one of the drinks offered to you by a waiter.

"And so, you know, I told her what I think about her, and she—" You don't get to finish because Ward comes up to the three of you.

He kisses his daughters on their heads and smiles at you.

“How are you all doing?” he asks, leaning on the chairs.

“All good, dad!” Sarah answers before she takes another sip from her glass.

“What about you?” he turns his head in your direction, a sly expression slowly creeping up on his face. “I must say, you and Rafe made a beautiful pair at the opening dance.”

Your breath hitches, unnoticed by the others. “I’m glad you liked it.” That’s all that escapes your lips.

“You know, I’m very grateful you agreed upon this. I’ve heard Rafe talking about you a lot, so I figured out I could ask your parents…”

He goes on, but you don’t catch any more words. It feels as if the world stopped— the music suddenly much quieter, overflowed by the racing pulse of your heart.

Rafe was talking about you.

All you’ve experienced from him for the past months were grimaces, snarky comments, or looks that could kill you.

And now Ward is telling you his son was fucking talking about you?

You open up your mouth, about to form a respond, when you hear gasps cutting through the air, followed by a loud bang.

You exchange a look with Sarah and both dart up to your feet.

“What the fuck is—” you say in between panting, going through the hall after your best friend.

You two have to squeeze through the people surrounding the scene. Sarah makes it out first.

“Rafe!” she calls out, and you practically feel your heart go all the way to your throat.

When you finally push the last person and manage to take a big breath, you can’t help but curse loudly at what’s happening in front of you.

Callum is on the ground, holding his hand to his nose, all covered in blood. Rafe is standing above him, irregular pants coming out of his lungs as he stares at the boy. He’s fuming.

Your eyes and Rafe’s lock together, and you see his expression change for a second before he shakes his head and storms out the room, going straight outside in the cold.

You come closer to Callum laying on the ground, quietly throwing cuss words under his breath. You’re frozen to the spot you are standing in.

The only thing you can hear in your head is your heartbeat. All the talking melts together. People pass by, accidentally bumping into your shoulders, but you can’t care less.

You should help Callum.

It’s the right thing to do. He was polite for the whole night, making small talk and passing you every juice you wanted, unlike Rafe who constantly shot glares at you and acted as if even the thought of touching you disgusts him.

But when you look out the big windows, and see Rafe’s tall figure making its way through the snow, you know. You just know.

Isn’t that a reoccurring thing? Whatever you’d do, you always end up near him. No matter how hard you’d try to stop it.

It’s like the gravity pushed you into his arms. Like the universe made it clear.

You and Rafe.

The little voice in your head calls you. You’re not sure if it’s real, or if maybe it’s just the illusion from the drinks you’ve had, but the word rings in your head.

Go.

Go.

And so you listen.

The freezing air hits you like a slap across the face. Your shoulders are fully exposed and you start to regret not grabbing your fur bolero on the way out.

“Rafe!”

He slows down and turns his head to you. His eyebrows are arched and knit, and you notice he clenches up his fists— the knuckles still painted red.

“Go inside,” he grumbles in a voice soaked with anger. “You’ll get sick. Leave me alone.”

You huff. “No. No, no, we’re not doing that,” you say as you almost catch up to him. He doesn’t stop, so you pull his arm. “Rafe!”

Rafe stops in his tracks, and you feel his hand shaking under yours. “Wha- What the fuck are you doing?! Now you’re just punching people? Talking about me so much that Ward himself asked my parents to make me—”

His face goes paler than the snow surrounding you.

“How do you know that?”

Your lips twist in a grimace. “Ugh, fuck that right now. Why did you punch Callum?”

Rafe looks down at his knuckles, and his voice comes out confidently, “He deserved that.”

“But why?” Your voice raises, and you feel the anger that’s bubbling up inside you going dangerously close to the edge. “Do you just hate the idea of me even talking with someone else? You can’t bear seeing me enjoying something or—”

“I did it because I care about you!” he shouts out, his voice trembling. Your eyes widen.

“You care about me, so you decide punching the first guy I’m just talking with?”

“He was talking shit about you!” he finally spits out, now animating with his hands. “Talking about how you’re just a dumb bitch who knows nothing about life because she lives off of daddy’s money. Was I supposed to just- just let him say that?”

You hold your breath, your brows furrowed, and Rafe continues. “Well, I couldn’t. Because, for fuck’s sake, I love you, Y/N!”

The bubble bursts with the last words. You push him away, your vision blurry by the tears hanging of your eyelids. “Yeah? You love me? Well, I think you presented that perfectly at the birthday party. When you decided it was a perfect timing to make out with some bitch while I was literally standing outside the door—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Rafe stops you mid-sentence. You wipe your tears, and when you can see clearer, you see the frightened look on his face.

“Don’t act stupid, Rafe. If you wanted to just kiss me and check it off your list, you could’ve just said that instead of acting like you felt what I did too.”

He grimaces. “I have no idea what do you mean—”

You let out a frustrated laugh, still speaking loudly through the night. “Oh? You don’t remember? Taking some touron to your room when you were supposed to drive me home?”

You see the moment it clicks in his head. His face falls, and he turns around from you, letting out a shaky breath. “I have never kissed her.”

“Wow. You can’t even say that to my face—”

Rafe looks at you again. “I have never kissed her. I don’t know what the fuck did you see, but nothing happened. If you stayed there for longer you’d know that I pushed her away in a second and went to look for you, but you were already leaving with Topper.”

Your heart misses a beat. Or maybe two. He must be lying, right?

“No. Nononono, but- but if that’s what happened, why didn’t you…”

He snorts. “What? Talk to you after you admitted it was a mistake?”

You throw your hands in the air. “I freaked out! I thought I was just a new notch in your belt, so this was the only way I could protect myself from being hurt even more!”

“Do you know how I felt? I’ve liked you—fuck it, I’ve loved you—for two years and I finally got to kiss you, and then you just tell me to forget it?” Rafe says, his voice much quieter now.

You feel your cheeks grow red when he gets closer, his lips inches from yours. “I thought it was for the better-”

He doesn’t let you finish. He cups your face and pulls you closer, connecting your lips together.

Someone has to pinch you, because this does not feel real.

You cautiously wrap your arms around his neck, letting all the emotions spill.

If the kiss on the rooftop wasn’t like in all your bedtime scenarios, this one definitely gets closer.

It’s passionate, fierce— just like Rafe. It’s out of the world. He’s burning, the warmth going everywhere: from your lips to your cheeks, to your heart. You are almost sure his is beating louder than yours.

He sighs into your lips, breaking the kiss to get some air, and you feel your mind spiral. Rafe’s eyes meet yours, and there’s not a glimpse of the emotions from earlier.

“Do you believe me now?” he whispers, softly brushing his lips on the corner of your mouth.

You hum, “Maybe.”

“Good.” He pulls you to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. You try your best to remain calm, although, if you were alone, you’d probably be jumping all over the ground. “By the way. Ho told you I was talking about you?”

“Ward... Didn’t know you were so devoted, Cameron.” You say with a giggle. He snorts and rolls his eyes.

“That old…” he mumbles, “Well. I can’t imagine otherwise.”

The corners of your mouth rise. You turn your head to the country club. “Don’t you think we should—”

You step back, or rather try to, but Rafe quickly pulls you back to him. “They’ll be fine.”

You let out a hitched breath.You don’t know what this exactly is. Or how it’ll go.

But you trust the universe with this one.

okay well !!! since you’ve reached this moment of the post i’d like to thank every single one of you for being as excited as i am for this one shot to come out, and sharing your energy with me through the comments asks etc. while i didn’t answer every single one of them, i want you to know that i see them, and i’m so so grateful.

this was super fun for me to write and for the first time i’ve felt such a motivation!!!

i know it’s kinda weird to get this dramatic about it but seriously, it means the world to me, especially considering that i started what, a month ago??

there’s not a SINGLE nonchalant bone in my body

i’m rambling now so as the ending note i hope you all enjoyed it ;)) tysm for waiting and sticking around, love youuu

| ۶ৎ taglist (thank you for liking it sm!! love you) :

@maybankslover @hypnotizedstarkey @akobx @f4irywor1d @binforfeelings @belle101200 @jkrafe @enjoymyloves @eloiavicki @thescooponsof @drewwhor @fallingwallsh @pillowprincess4him @mima116 @lex1031 @stayjellasbitches @dedpoetess @teenwolfbitches28 @drewrry @wellwellhereiam @tequilawithissues @houisfuck28 @midsoulz @whydoineedastupiduser @ltristessedureratoujours @eloiavicki @emeloyy @rafecameronsbitch @perfectmenarefictional @sunflower-hood @buckyssbestgirl @faithywaithy2006 @angvl3tears @lmg-stilinski24 @crybabyreads @enjoymyloves @lvrsvfx @drewstarkeytruelove @otheliesstuff @watersquirtpewpewboomm @drewstarkeyslover

if i missed anyone i'm SO sorry i tried to keep up

[nerdygirlramblings]

It has been three weeks since the gods departed, and a full moon rises over the village. There had never been any conversation about what occurred the night you made your first sacrifice. All your people knew was you secluded yourself in your home and two days later the rains came. The gods' intercession was tangible. Now you need to convince the Elders you've received some kind of message they will have to take on faith. You aren't sure if it will work, but you know you must try.

The morning after the full moon, you dress in the most elaborate garments you own, looking every bit the seer you've been dubbed, and walk calmly in to the main building. The Elders meet each morning, though there is usually little to discuss. Your people are welcome to bring any grievance or concern to the Elders any day, but since your sacrifice, few have felt the need to approach the Elders, most of their burdens eased when the rains came and the fighting stopped.

It is know how you spend your mornings, so your appearance at the Elder's meeting, dressed in much more finery than is typical, is impossible to ignore. Elder Stigr banks his glare but only because there are others present. Elder Hrafn looks you over and says, "Seer, what a surprise. This is a change from your morning routine. Has something happened?"

Before you can respond, Elder Agnar, who has been watching you carefully, asks, "Have you heard from them?" There is no need to ask which them he speaks of. There really should be only one reason why you are dressed ritualistically and encroaching on their space as though you are the one in charge. You smirk to yourself knowing where you stand with the gods, knowing who they would say is the leader here.

Instead of voicing this, you dip into a small curtsy and smile as you rise. "I dreamed of our gods last night." It wasn't a lie at all; you see them every night, and last night Gaz told you what to say to make the Elders believe new altars are their idea. "They are pleased with how well we honor them." You let the words settle, allow the Elders to bask in their own pride at making the gods happy.

"Their pleasure cannot be the only reason you came," Elder Agnar says. "Do they need something from us to continue blessing our people?" The others' gazes sharpen, concerned.

"Perhaps," you answer slowly. "They mentioned another god, Fra, whose worship has been forgotten."

Elder Stigr leans forward, accusations in his gaze. "Would Fra also bless our people?" he asks.

You look down and bite back another smile. If Elder Stigr believes, when he is now so suspicious of you, the others will fall in line. "It seemed so from what the others said: Fra was a protector of home and hearth."

You let them make whatever assumptions about blessings they want. All you care about is their permission to build Fra's altar with the others. After a few moments of fiercely whispered conversations, you are given permission to build whatever Fra needs.

You leave the main building and find Gunnarr and Njall working their craft. You tell them what you need - wood made stronger for being burned - and why. Unlike the Elders, most of your people take the gods' blessings on faith. The men promise to have you the wood you need in two days' time.

Two days later you are in the space with the other altars when Gunnarr and Njall come over carrying bundles of blackened wood in various sizes. Gunnarr must see your unease as he points out how parts of the branches are more flexible, thus less likely to crack and break. The men help you build Fra's altar, and when you finish, Njall's wife Astridr comes over with a small loaf of freshly baked bread, perfectly sized for the new altar. She looks to you for permission, and you nod. Astridr reverently places the bread down and thanks Fra for protecting her son, Bui.

That night you do not dream of your men gods at all. Instead, you dream of a woman built as you are but covered almost entirely in cloth. All that is visible is her piercing gaze. She tells you to have Bui search in the forest just beyond the river's bend. When morning comes, you set off for Njall's home before your usual visits. Luckily you catch Bui before he sets off for the day's work and pass on the message Fra gave you in your dream. The boy's eyes widen in fear and awe, but he takes off for the section of forest Fra indicated.

That evening, Bui comes triumphantly into the village, carrying a plant whose medicinal properties are known but which hasn't been seen in over a generation. Its uses will help many in the village with a variety of ailments. When Bui attributes his miracle to Fra, your people's esteem for you and the ancient gods is solidified. You know they will help restore the others to glory regardless of what the Elders may say in the future.

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[p0orbaby]

Parental Guidance

summary: you’re on the brink of a baby induced nervous breakdown and you need your wife to pull her finger out a little

warnings: just some postnatal tension, but it all works out

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 1.2k

-

You’re pretty sure you haven’t slept in three days. Or is it four? The baby’s a demon. This tiny, adorable, 8-pound entity that seems to thrive on your misery. His cries have melded into a never-ending soundtrack of despair, punctuated by your own hollow attempts at soothing him with a song that you made up on the spot about 48 hours ago and now can’t stop singing. It’s called “Please, for the Love of All That is Good and Holy, Sleep.”

You used to be a person. You had interests, hobbies. You read books that didn’t have the words “Goodnight” and “Moon” in the title. You once watched entire movies from start to finish without interruptions. You’re pretty sure you used to smile, and not the deranged, Joker-esque grin you’ve developed from trying to maintain your sanity while walking a screaming infant around the house at 2 a.m.

And where is your darling wife, Alexia, in all this? Nowhere to be found. Well, she’s at work, technically. Which, fine. Someone has to pay the bills, but wasn’t there some kind of brochure about shared responsibility? Maybe she’s left it in her locker, along with her soul. You barely remember what she looks like at this point. You could pass her in the hallway and just nod politely, like she’s the postman.

You’re doing your best. Really, you are. But the situation is like trying to fill a bath with a teaspoon. And maybe you’re filling the bath wrong. Maybe the bath is cursed. You’ve tried everything—rocking, singing, automatic bouncers, and some baby yoga thing that some well-meaning Instagram mum swore by but mostly just made you realise how tight your hamstrings are.

Last night, you were so desperate, you found yourself Googling “Can babies drink Nyquil?” You didn’t actually give it to him, of course, but the fact that you even considered it is telling. Your maternal instincts have been reduced to the level of a sleep-deprived zombie.

You call Alexia. She picks up after the third ring. You can hear the echo of her voice, so you know she’s in one of those soundproof meeting rooms, which would be useful for something other than work right now, like, say, your mental breakdown.

“How’s it going?” she asks, with a tone that implies she has absolutely no idea how it’s going.

“Oh, fine,” you say, with the kind of deadpan delivery that would get a standing ovation on a late-night comedy show. “The baby’s great. He’s taken up wailing as a full-time job. He’s really passionate about it, you know? Very dedicated. I think he’s trying to set a record”

You hear her exhale softly. “I’m sorry, bebè. It’s just i'm in the middle of some media stuff—”

“No, no,” you cut her off. “By all means, finish giving your opinions on that new stadium or whatever. I’m sure our baby will appreciate it when he’s, I don’t know, 18 and actually sleeping. Maybe he’ll get a job there. Or just stand outside and scream, since that seems to be his true calling”

There’s a pause on the other end. Not a comfortable pause. The kind of pause that suggests she’s realising you might not be entirely okay. The baby shrieks louder, and you realise you’re bouncing him up and down like he’s a basketball and you’re trying to make a buzzer-beater shot.

“I’ll be home soon,” Alexia says finally, her voice softer.

“Define ‘soon,’” you counter, adjusting your grip on the baby before he launches himself out of your arms and catapults into a new dimension where babies don’t need sleep. “Is it ‘soon’ like in 20 minutes, or ‘soon’ like in three hours when I’ve lost the will to live?”

Another pause, this one even worse. You’re pretty sure you can hear her wincing through the phone.

“An hour?” she offers weakly, and you let out a laugh that’s halfway between genuine and maniacal.

“Perfect,” you say. “I’ll just go cry in the airing cupboard until then. The baby and I have matching dark circles under our eyes now, so that’s fun. Maybe we’ll start a band”

You hang up before she can respond, not trusting yourself to say anything else. You’re exhausted, stretched thin, and the fact that your wife isn’t here to witness the madness is only making things worse. You know she’s working hard, that she’s doing her best, but in this moment, it feels like you’re on a sinking ship and she’s on shore, waving at you from a distance.

An hour later, when she finally walks through the door, you’re sitting in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of baby toys, burp cloths, and what you think might be some sort of baby vomit, though at this point, who really knows?

You look up at her, and she looks back at you, and there’s a brief moment where you’re pretty sure she’s about to turn around and walk right back out the door.

Instead, she says, “I brought wine”

You blink at her, then at the bottle of wine in her hand. It’s a good bottle, too. The kind you used to drink before you had a baby and your definition of “good wine” became “whatever has the highest alcohol content and is closest to the till”

“Great,” you say, pushing yourself up off the floor with a grunt. “Let’s get the baby drunk”

She gives you a tired smile, but you can see the worry behind it. “Cariño…”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, holding up a hand. “It’s totally fine. I’m just saying, if we give him some wine, maybe he’ll sleep. Or at least pass out for a little bit. We can all get some rest. Or die. Either one sounds good at this point”

She sighs, setting the bottle down on the coffee table and coming over to you. She takes the baby from your arms, and you’re almost tempted to just collapse on the spot. Instead, you let yourself lean against her, just for a moment, just long enough to remember what it feels like to be supported by another human being.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and you can hear the guilt in her voice. “I know this is hard. I’ll try to be here more”

You nod, but you’re too tired to respond with words. Instead, you just rest your head on her shoulder and close your eyes, savouring the brief reprieve from the bedlam.

“Do you think he’s broken?” you mumble after a while. “Like, did we get a defective baby?”

Alexia chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “No, he’s not broken. He’s just…expressive”

“Expressive,” you repeat, nodding slowly. “Right. So we got the model with all the extra emotions. Great”

“Extra emotions,” Alexia echoes, her tone lightening. “Maybe that means he’ll be a really good artist someday”

“Or he’ll just be really good at screaming,” you say, lifting your head to look at her. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be on a team, you’ve been doing a lot of solo missions lately”

“I know,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better”

You let out a long breath, feeling the tension between you, and your shoulder, start to ease. “Okay. But if he screams one more time tonight, we’re selling him to the circus”

“Got it,” Alexia says with a smile, and for the first time in days, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not going through this alone.

[lieslab]

Call your mom

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Felix X gn reader

Summary: Your best friend finds you teetering on the edge of suicide in the middle of the night.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.2K

Suicide and depression resources

Trigger warning: Suicide, depression, self-hatred, brief mentions of pills, guns, self-harm, hanging, fear of life after death, and fear of being alone.

A/N: It's the first day of 2025 and if you're struggling with thoughts like these, please stay alive. I had a weird urge to drop this which means, at least, one of you is struggling right now. Please pick up the phone and call someone. Stay alive. I know it seems so hard when you're drowning, but you really have no idea what good things are waiting for you. They will find you, I promise <3

_ _ _

At midnight, Felix’s eyes shot wide open without a reason or why. He had just been asleep and yet, as he laid with his cheek pressed against the warmth of his pillow, there wasn’t the usual sleepy haze. It was almost as if he just opened his eyes and hadn’t been sleeping for the past few hours. 

He laid there trying to figure out the reason for it, but none came. The steady sound of his breathing filled the room and he glanced over. The full moon was out tonight and she was watching over everyone, at least, that’s what he thought. 

He didn’t know why your face appeared in his head. Somewhere deep in the subconscious realm and far from his understanding, something tugged on him. It ushered him to go and it forced him out of bed. In the darkness, almost like a shadow savior, he slipped on his slippers and rushed out of his room. 

It was the one thing he actually liked about your shared apartment building. Your apartment was just down the hall. All he had to do was leave his unit, turn left, walk straight, and turn left again. The path was so familiar that he could do it in his sleep. 

He tugged the wooden door shut behind him and didn’t bother locking it. He jerked on the oversized hoodie and rounded the corner, that’s when he saw you. The look on your face, it was one he’d never seen before. 

The length of the hallway was barren at this time of night. Lights were secured above your head and dimmed down for the evening. The dimness couldn’t hide the tears pouring down your cheeks. 

You couldn’t breathe with your thoughts piling up again. You’d been here before, but this time was different. This time, you were sure if you stepped foot in your apartment building, you wouldn’t come back out alive. 

So you paced over and over and over again. Stuck between the urge in giving it all up and trying to find the strength to continue. Living was hard and it was even worse when your own brain hated you. 

How much longer could you last? Too stuck in your head, you stamped yourself as a burden. You cut holes in your own heart and let yourself drown in your own hurt. Blood stained your hands and it was always all your fault. 

A lump sat in your throat and the tears wouldn’t stop dripping. You wanted to keep going. You wanted to try again. You wanted to bite down on that small sliver of hope and cling to it, but you were also tired. This self-destructive cycle led to nowhere. You were tearing your mental sanity to shreds and your muscles were quivering from trying to keep your head held up one more day. 

Just one more day. Just one more try. Just a little more. Another step. Another meal. Another memory creeping back from the depths of your mind and rerunning. Your brain was on fire and screaming. 

Torn between letting go and staying here, you were breaking down. The oil in your machine ran out months ago. Every step weighed a thousand pounds. Your bones creaked and your soul ached. You longed for inner peace, but it never showed up. 

Your dreams were dead. Your brain stamped them out weeks ago. You deemed yourself the family failure. The unlovable one. The kind of person that people steered themselves clear from because you were just too much. 

The weight of your thoughts was breaking your back. Your brain screamed at you to stay, but you couldn’t find peace in sleep anymore. Where people found joy in the rainbows and sunshine, you couldn’t find that anymore either. You ran out of love to give a long time ago. 

Wouldn’t it just be better to give up? To finally rest. To go to sleep. Swallow pills. Pull a trigger. Slice the vein. Step off the stool and let your windpipe close forever. The hurt was temporary and god, it’d hurt, but the peace afterwards… 

You didn’t know what came after this. Maybe it really was heaven or hell. Maybe the rumors were true and you’d burn for eternity for killing yourself. Maybe you’d wake up in another life and in the arms of a new mother. Shiny eyes of another father would be cast upon you. 

Or maybe it’d just be nothing. An eternal darkness and no matter what happened or where you went, it’d just be black. You’d cease to exist. You’d have all this and then nothing ever again. 

You didn’t hear Felix the first time that he called your name, but you felt him. You smelled the familiar scent of minty toothpaste and eucalyptus. Your teary eyes reached up to find his and his heart shattered. 

He cupped your cheeks and his heart squeezed with terror. “What’s wrong?” He whispered as he wiped away your tears. 

You tried to speak, but your words turned into a whimper that got stuck in the back of your throat. How were you supposed to tell your best friend that you wanted to end everything? How were you supposed to tell them that you were so tired, you wanted to go? It was time for you to go. 

Maybe it was selfish to not think about the hurt you’d cause him, or maybe it was selfish for him not to see the hurt that harbored in your heart. Would he ask you to stay if he knew you were drowning inside yourself? The darkness swallowed you whole and no matter how much you tried to swim to the surface, you never made it. 

Did he know this was the last time he’d see your defeated face? Would he remember the bags smeared beneath your eyes? Would he know that your eyes would close soon and they’d never reopen? The next time he’d see you, if he was lucky, you’d be clutching your own cold corpse in the cramped casket. 

His freckles were like constellations and if you were lucky, maybe you’d land upon the stars. Maybe the weight of everything would cease to exist and the lack of gravity, from wherever you landed, would make you float. The warmth of those brown eyes was home. Wherever you ended up, you wanted to feel that similar warmth. 

“Talk to me,” he pleaded softly. “What’s wrong?” 

Your bottom lip quivered. Why did he have to find you at this time? You tried to keep him out of the convoluted mess of your head and heart and yet, here he was. He stood in front of you like the savior you’d been praying for, but now it was too late. 

The flip in your head was made. It was time for you to go. This world wasn’t meant for someone like you. You opted to roll the dice, spin the wheel, and pull the slots. You’d take your chances in the next life. 

“Nothing,” you hoarsely uttered. “I’m just having one of those nights, you know?” 

You were way too calm about this. He watched how frantic you were when he first rounded the corner. Your eyes looked around desperately, like you were searching for something that wasn’t there. 

“Why are you lying to me?” 

His voice was a sweet honey and you desperately wanted to free fall. You wanted to melt into the floor and never exist again. You couldn’t stay near Felix for too long. He’d give you another reason to stay. 

“I-I should go to bed. You’re in your pajamas, you should go get some sleep.” 

His head shook and his messy blonde hair shook with his head. “No way. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what’s going on with you.” 

Your mouth opened, but words didn’t come out. How were you to truly explain this weight in your heart? How could you bare the shell of this body? If you admitted it all, would he call you selfish? Would he break off this friendship and leave you alone forever? 

“Felix,” you weakly got out. Fresh tears blurred your vision. You reached out to his stomach and gripped the front of his hoodie. 

“What is it?” 

“I-” 

“You can tell me and I promise, I won’t judge you.” 

You didn’t deserve his goodness or his grace. You didn’t deserve this warmth and this sunshine. This savior should have stayed in bed and let your plans unravel, but here he was. You’d been praying for a miracle, for some reason to stay, and here it was, but it made your heart hurt. You were just so tired. 

“I want to kill myself.” 

His eyes locked onto yours and for a brief moment, silence buzzed between the two of you. You held your breath waiting for a response and he couldn’t breathe. You didn’t have time to react as he jerked you into his arms. 

He pressed your head against his shoulder and you gasped. His arms squeezed around you and created a cage of love. “You’re not leaving my sight.” 

“Felix,” you whispered. 

“You don’t have to speak right now. We’ll go back to my apartment and I think I have your mom’s phone number. I’ll call your mom and I-” 

“You can’t!” You jerked away in a panic. Your eyes were wide as you stared at him. “I don’t want to make this a big deal. She’s sleeping right now and-” 

“I have to.” 

Your head jerked and you tried to shove him away. He caught your hand and squeezed it tight. “Let go of me!” Your voice raised as you pulled away. 

“No!” 

“I’ll never forgive you!” 

“I don’t care!” 

“Felix, let go! I’ll stop being your friend! Don’t call her!” More tears filled your eyes. “Please, don’t call her.” 

“I’ll call your mom. I’ll call your dad. I’ll call your siblings and I’ll call the cops.” 

“You’ll lose me,” you weakly threatened. “I’ll never forgive you and I’ll hate you forever.” 

His own tears fell from his cheeks. “Then lose me. Never talk to me again, I don’t care. As long as it means you’re still alive, I don’t care. I’ll lose you either way, just don’t give up on life.” “I’d rather deal with the weight of losing you that way than the weight of writing your obituary. The world doesn’t need me to describe how good you are when it flows from you naturally. Please. Think this through for me.” 

You hated him so deeply right then and there. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to swing and shake him. Didn’t he understand what he was doing? He was purposefully making you a burden now. Your internalized hatred of yourself would become everyone’s reality. You truly would be a problem now. 

“I know you’re struggling and it’s true, I don’t know how much you’re struggling. The future must seem fickle now, but I won’t give up on you. You deserve the future that you talked about months ago and I won’t stand by and let you rip that chance from your own hands.” 

“I will call whoever and I will scream at the top of my lungs to grab the attention of our neighbors. Not because I want to embarrass you, but because I love you. I won’t stop loving you, even if I have to stand here holding you and repeat the words for the rest of the night.” 

“Please,” he pleaded, “just give it one more day and trust me. I will find a way to help you. Don’t let whatever demons you’re fighting win.” 

It didn’t matter that your neighbors were sleeping. It didn’t matter that you were out in the open. The sobs you had been hellbent on suppressing finally slipped out. Your knees buckled and he slung you against his body. 

Your head curled into his body and your shoulders shook. His arms squeezed you and he pressed your head against his chest. The heavy thump of his heartbeat made you cry harder. 

Every organ inside of you was alive and every day, they fought to keep you alive. Memories were created from the people around you. Even when things got tough for others, how many times had you dropped your issues and been there when you were needed? 

You hadn’t met all the people you were destined to meet yet. Still so young, you had so much time left. So many seasons to enjoy and so many new hobbies to try. Unreleased songs and new movies that you’d love. 

Things don’t always last forever and neither would this discouragement and hopelessness. One day, you might be teetering on the edge of ending it all, but the future version of yourself sits on a couch at ease. They’re staring outside, drinking their favorite drink, and contentedly watching the bright yellows, blinding oranges, and soft pinks disappear as the sun goes down. 

The night will not unveil the horrors in your head and it will not be feared. It will bring new adventures and the reminder that the sun will shine again. The people you love will be by your side. You’ll find new reasons to fall in love with the world around you. A bad day will just be a bad day and not stain your life worthless forever. 

As Felix gripped you, he uttered a silent prayer. Whatever was out there, whether it was merely his own subconscious or a god, it helped him save you. He’d call your family and he’d find you help. 

For one more day, you’d continue living, but this time, you wouldn’t be carrying the weight of your sadness and hurt alone. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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[albondiguilla007]

Pregnant Draco Fics

My guilty pleasure, ngl. Tell me what other ships/tropes you’d like to see.

✨ The Guest / 59k / In consequence of an accidental spell, Harry and Draco's five-year-old daughter is sent ten years into the past, where she meets her teenaged parents. Awkwardness ensues.

Draco’s inner monologue is hilarious, I had so much fun reading his pov. Plus, Molly is adorable.

✨ Essence / 87k / In his sixth year, Draco reaches for the only shard of sanity he can find, and puts his desperate faith into magic, the thing that has always set him apart as a pureblood wizard. The magic he unleashes though, is old, powerful, and maybe even more desperate than Draco himself, to leave an essence of life behind.

The little bump isn't what he needs to carry out his mission, but it might be the thing that saves him.

The pregnancy part is a bit confusing ngl, but later it really pays off. I enjoyed the domesticity of this fic immensely, even if Harry is a bit of an asshole at times. (He gets over it.)

✨ Can’t Fight the Moonlight / 16k / "How is it possible that neither of you thought to pay attention to the moon cycle?"

"It was cloudy," Harry said. "And we were drunk. We were very, very drunk."

"This just gets better," Hermione said.

"How could you have been so stupid?"

"In my defence," Harry said, "I had no idea that I should have been paying attention to the moon cycle. I'm not going to lie, I didn't even know men could get pregnant. It's been like, one long life lesson all round."

Or: the one where Harry accidentally gets Draco pregnant, both of them fail to talk about their feelings, and in the end, there's a baby.

✨ Expectant / 62k / After he accidentally gets Malfoy pregnant on a drunken fuck at a club, Harry doesn't anticipate that it'd be just as easy to fall in love with him.

✨ In Our Blood / 37k / Draco is an accomplished pure-blood curse breaker, and Harry is tasked with accompanying him on his latest job-cleaning up the Van Boer mansion, which has been under a devastating fertility curse for seven generations.

✨ What If When He Sees Me (I Like Him And He Knows It?) / 23k / In the post-war haze, Draco and Harry spent a drunken night together. Two months later, Draco learned that he was pregnant. Harry, though, doesn't remember their night together. And so, Draco decided to keep quiet.

He didn't expect to room with Harry at Hogwarts or to grow close to him, but fate had always had a cruel sense of humour when it came to them, hadn't it?

✨ The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune / 19k / If Astoria refuses to carry their child, Draco will-which is how he finds himself alone, pregnant, and a patient of Healer Potter's.

✨ The Man Who Forgot / 250k / After ten years of marriage, Harry forgets. The more things change, the more Draco Malfoy is still up to something.

You’re gonna SOB with this fic, but it will be worth it, I promise.

✨ A Star Danced / 65k / Draco Malfoy has the world as his feet.

He's twenty-three, first pick Seeker for Puddlemere United, has brilliant friends and a life he adores.

The very last thing Draco wants is an unplanned pregnancy, especially one where the other father just so happens to be Harry Potter.

Life, however, has other plans for him.

✨ If Wishes Were Children / 14k / Harry Potter has tried to move on with his life after Draco Malfoy walked away from him months before with little or no explanation, but it's been hard. Then, on a joyous day at the Burrow, Narcissa

Malfoy makes an unexpected appearance...

✨ Remember When I Loved You / 112k / When Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts for eighth year pregnant, vile rumours start spreading like wildfire. The Daily Prophet is full of wild speculations and outrageous assertions. Professor McGonagall seems to know something, and Malfoy's firm refusal to reveal the other father simply adds more fuel to the flames.

Harry Potter is desperately curious about the identity of the father of Malfoy's child. He feels utterly dumbfounded when an ancient paternal bond activates in the Great Hall, proclaiming him as the father. And what's worse, Draco Malfoy looks just as shocked as he feels.

✨ No One Ever Told Me / 25k / Harry marries Draco to get him out of Azkaban.

Things get weird. And confusing. And then weird some more.

✨ Learn to Fly / 25k / January 2004: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are two of the finest Seekers in England, deadly rivals and secret lovers.

As far as Draco is concerned, that's how it'll stay forever. He is betrothed to beautiful heiress Astoria Greengrass, and they are due to have a big summer wedding.

Everything changes during a hotly fought Arrows versus Wimbourne game when Draco falls from his broom. To his huge shock, when Draco awakes in St Mungo's, he discovers he is pregnant.

What will Draco do, now everything in his tidily compartmentalised life has to change?

✨ Hexed! / 34k / Harry uses the wrong hex, and Draco suffers the consequences.

✨ Luckiest Baby In The World / / "You're staring," Malfoy says.

"I'm not." Harry is. He just - he can't see it.

"You can't see it yet, Potter." Malfoy sounds miffed.

"I'm not trying to," Harry lies, finally tearing his eyes away; he looks out the window in a desperate attempt to get a single thought into his head that isn't what the fuck.

"Look," Malfoy says. "It's not like I'm telling you that you have to be a part of its life. I only-"

"How do you know it's mine?" The question is out of his mouth before

Harry can think better of it, and he immediately regrets it because of the way Malfoy's face shutters, turns cold.

✨ Once and Never Again / 40k / One morning after with his sworn enemy should be enough to warn Draco that he's going down a dangerous path.

But does he learn? Of course not. Month after month, he finds himself returning to Potter's embrace. What is wrong with him?

[captain-huggy-bear]

"yawning while trying to convince me you're not tired, tends to have the opposite effect." + Kess plz🥺👉👈

It's ya boy, he's back Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

The two of you are curled up in a far too small deck chair, you in Michael's lap, the light from the firepit reflecting off of you, giving shadows new angles. A team barbeque at Michael's that was supposed to only last to the early evening, but had turned into a late night, firepit aglow as the team and their partners sprawled out around it. Most of the team had already started to leave. It left you and Michael in the garden, the fire starting to burn down to mere embers, your eyes blinking sleepily as you rest your head against his chest.

Michael presses a kiss to the top of your head, holding there for a moment to smell the wood smoke mixed with your shampoo. His grip on you tightens pulling you firmer against him.

"You wanna go to bed, baby?" His voice is a low rumble, not wanting to be too loud when you look so tired, when the night feels so cosy and calm.

"Mm? No, i'm not tired." You're mumbling, voice rumbly and sweet, so clearly tired as you yawn into his shoulder that it's actually silly for you to even try to pretend you're not.

"Baby."

"I'm fin-" You cut yourself off with a yawn, the truth is you want to stay outside. The night is that nice sort of cool but not cold weather that summer evenings get. The air is filled with crackle of firewood and the chirp of crickets. Michael is warm and solid underneath you and the idea of moving is abhorrent. You want to stay right where you are in his arms.

"Yawning while trying to convince me you're not tired, tends to have the opposite effect." His goofy grin is loving, big brown eyes soft and crinkled as he looks down at you, long fingers curving around the back of your neck to support your head as it lolls tiredly.

"I'm not-" Your yawn is so loud it breaks the peace and quiet abruptly, a slight stutter at the end as it keeps going, "yawning" The only thing keeping your head up so you can actually look at him is his hand on the back of your neck, trusting him to support your head because you're too tired to lift it.

"Oh? What was that then? A growl? Are you turning into a werewolf?" He pretends to check the moon, to cheek your fingers for claws and you can't help but smile up at him all silly even when he's making fun of you.

"Michaellllllll!"

"Or was that you singing, baby? Don't quit your day job because you sound like you're yawning when you sing..." He's laughing at you, big belly laughs which are jogging you has his abdomen contracts and expands. You should be annoyed by it, by him, but you can't be. Not when he looks so handsome grinning all goofy, not when he still holds you close and nuzzles his face into your hair.

"Okay, okay! I'm tired...but I just want to cuddle outside with you..." You don't want to go in yet, the idea is horrible, you're enjoying this moment. You, Michael, the summer evening warmth, the sounds of the world outside, the low light from the firepit.

"You wanna stay out here?"

"Yes, please." You snuggle against him further, almost like one his cats the way you curl your body as close as possible and Michael can't help the way he pulls you tight, fingers gripping your hip and sliding to your thigh. If he could play hockey with you attached to him he would.

"Well, when you ask so nicely, baby, I can't really say no. We can stay, you can fall asleep if you want." You're already closing your eyes against him the moment he concedes. Breathing relaxing, chest rising and falling against him in a way that is calming for him too.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm, I'll carry you in." You blink up at him briefly, brow furrowing.

"What if I'm too heavy?"

There's a pause before he answers, a pause in which Michael smirks down at you like he's up to no good. A smirk that is unfairly attractive especially with the way his curls fall into his face and the warm light of the fire bounces off his cheekbones.

"I'll drag you like a sack of potatoes."

"Michael!" You gasp at him, hitting him in the chest lightly, so light it barely feels like anything at all, his hand comes out to grasp yours and hold it over his heart.

"Sorry, sorry...love you."

"Love you too."

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Runaan's Last Secret

*smokes bubble pipe* I suppose you're wondering why I've gathered you all here today. It is simple, mes amis. We've waited six years to find out what really happened inside King Harrow's chamber the night the assassins attacked. And with the release of S7, all these long years later, I finally have the last pieces of information I need to find the full truth.

We all thought there was a murder to solve in the king's chamber. But I'm here to tell you now, that is not the case.

Let us begin at the beginning and assemble our evidence:

The night Harrow died, Runaan tried to convince Rayla to give up the egg, tried to scare her off from returning it.

He couldn't sway her from her journey of redemption, though. They came to blows.

But he chose his mission over killing her. He wasn't even out of breath when they stopped fighting - if he'd truly wanted her dead, she'd be dead.

He left her behind and led four assassins up the front steps of the tower. There, he executed a frontal assault on the king's chamber, when they're built and trained for stealth.

The fight dragged on loudly. It drew extra soldiers from around the entire castle, who left their posts unguarded. But it had a purpose.

Delaying his own victory would cost lives on both sides, but clearing a path for Rayla to escape with two soft human princes in tow would ensure her survival. Runaan had already committed himself to this course when he refused to force her to complete the mission. He couldn't back out now.

Alright, that's the catch-up. For years, we had no idea what actually happened inside Harrow's chamber. But in S7, we finally got a peek. And I'm afraid it's told me everything I need to know. *more bubble pipe noises*

Let's consider these newer clues from S7:

When Runaan finally breached Harrow's door, two other assassins rushed in with him: Andromeda and Skor. Only Callisto, it seems, had fallen alongside Ram out in the hall.

Runaan drew his bow and killed Harrow - or so his binding ribbon believed -

- but the next we see -only moments later as the reinforcements have not yet arrived from below - only one assassin staggered out of that chamber and onto the balcony.

The other four members of the squad died in this battle, and their bodies were recovered by Viren, along with their weapons.

Which means, no one else survived that room. Only Runaan.

The assassins weren't attacked by human troops, either. Runaan had time to stagger out to the balcony at his hobbled pace. No guards caught up to him until he'd already shot the shadowhawk arrow.

When he burst into Harrow's chamber, this is what he was wearing.

When he left it, this was all he had.

Moonshadow assassins are some of the deadliest fighters in all of greater Xadia. No one survives them. No one.

No one... except Runaan of the Silvergrove.

Remember when I said we were not here to solve a murder in the king's chamber? That is because we are here to solve several murders in the king's chamber.

He turned on them.

Runaan turned on what remained of his own squad - Skor and Andromeda. He killed them. For Rayla.

They wanted Rayla dead. In the show, they believed she should die alongside them. In the novelization Book One: Moon, they specifically wanted Runaan to kill her for failing to do her duty. Either way, if any one of Runaan's squad survived and returned to the Silvergrove to report what Runaan had done - and had not done - when his mission went pear-shaped, he would've had to kill Rayla then and there. Right in front of Ethari.

And that, mes amis, he could not abide. He could not bear to be the monster he feared he had always been, right where his husband could see him.

And so, his only remaining option was for his surviving assassins to perish in battle, with their own honor intact and his in tatters. But they went down hard.

They broke Runaan's horn. They stripped off his tunic. They nearly cut his throat. They messed up his hair. Oui, the most unforgivable.

They wanted to live. Runaan did not allow them to.

He trained them all. He loved them.

And he killed them, to save Rayla's life.

For love of Rayla, his precious daughter, Runaan of the Silvergrove killed his own assassins.

It is no wonder he could not look Keeper Lyrennus in the eye when the man asked Runaan about his son.

He's drowning in guilt. He knows what he did. Even though Ram died from another's strike, Runaan knows he would have killed him himself if he'd had to.

This image of Runaan's fear at the sight of the red spirit Lyrennus cast, it lands differently now, no?

He hasn't told them. Perhaps he never will. But he has committed this sin nonetheless, and he must carry it with him for the rest of his life.

Runaan's last and darkest secret. No wonder he accepted Callum the moment he turned against Ezran and fought his own soldiers for Rayla's sake. He knows exactly what that feels like.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #11 死

† embers in the night †

"Camping trips are not your favorite thing in the world, but if Moon made it a thing, then you might as well swallow it up. Just like you swallow up Jeon's glances across the fire during the truth or dare game, or the way the flame of his cigarette glows amber in the distance and you somehow manage to know it's him.

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6.5k

rating: mature

content: camping trip stuff, grab the flag game, jessi and V bantering, jessi being a queen, friendship, truth or dare, sexual tension, hidden cig encounters, lowkey innuedo

☠ author's note ☠

You bitches. You unhinged little chaos goblins. DID YOU miss you trees, tension, and team-building trauma? Well, here's more of that.

Who would've thought? Not Moon. He just wanted to force the criminal girlies into the woods like it was a corporate retreat gone feral.

This chapter was so much fun to write. Like. The sheer range. One second we’re all sunburnt and pissed, and the next we’re watching Jessi roundhouse-kick a flagpole while V monologues like he’s in Phantom of the Opera (Violent Remix).

I really loved exploring the absolute clownery of this “team bonding” mission while sneaking in all these little character moments. Jessi and V’s rivalry? I LOVE THEM. SIBLING VIBES BUT MAKE IT DEADLY. ALSOOOO JM’s cardigan diplomacy? Flawless. Takama being a soft deadly kiwi?? I weep.

And then there’s Jeon.

Brooding. Smoking. Being allergic to feelings like it’s his job. (Which, to be fair, it kind of is.)

That last scene?? Baby girl. Baby DARLING. If you didn’t feel that in your knees, go reread.

Also. Also. Can we take a moment to appreciate the absolute tomfoolery of “Never Have I Ever” in a group full of criminals?? Like—everyone’s drinking. Everyone’s unwell. AD’s collecting blackmail. JM’s watching V with that “I’m not touching you but I’m thinking about it” gaze.

And Y/N?? Dropping that bomb about attraction like the menace she is. Girlie took a sip of that chaos juice and said “bet.” Queen behavior.

Anyway. All I’m saying is... get ready for next chapter. Hihihi.

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The sun is being a real bitch today.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead for what feels like the millionth time, cursing whoever decided winter should feel like summer.

Moon, that conniving bastard.

His brilliant idea of "team bonding" in the mountains somehow got RM's stamp of approval, and now here you are, hiking up this godforsaken trail with the rest of Kkangpae's finest.

The gravel crunches under your boots as you trudge along. Something about seeing each other's "true colors" and "building trust," Moon had said. You snort. Leave it to him to turn a camping trip into some deep psychological experiment.

Up ahead, Jeon's leading the pack like the brooding commander he is. You watch him navigate the path with that focused intensity of his, all broad shoulders and purposeful strides. Everyone else keeps their distance—smart of them, really. His storm-cloud aura is doing that thing again, the one that makes the air feel electric and h̶o̶t̶ dangerous.

V bounces around near him like some deranged mountain sprite, which would be funny if it wasn't so unnerving. One second he's scaling rocks like some kind of professional climber, the next he's pelting people with pine cones, cackling like a kid on a sugar rush.

The contrast between him and Jeon is almost comical—darkness and chaos, wrapped up in two very different packages.

"Watch your step here," Flower calls out from behind you, her voice steady and sure.

You glance back to see her expertly maneuvering around a particularly treacherous patch of loose rocks. She makes everything look effortless, even hiking in this heat.

God, teach you her ways.

Jessi's voice cuts through suddenly: "Keep up the pace, we're not here for sightseeing!"

You can't help but grin as you watch her march ahead, red ponytail swinging like a battle flag. Even in hiking gear, she manages to look fierce as hell. Her division members trail behind her like ducklings, trying (and failing) to match her energy.

Something about seeing everyone out here, away from the castle's shadows and politics, feels weirdly raw. Real. You're all still the same dangerous people, just... dustier. Sweatier.

Maybe that was Moon's point all along.

Sneaky bastard.

The late afternoon sun bathes everything in gold, and you can't help but snort at the sight before you. It's absurdly funny seeing Kkangpae's finest trudging through nature like some twisted corporate retreat.

AD looks particularly out of place, blonde hair catching the light like a beacon as he leads his team of tech nerds through the wilderness. They're all following him like lost puppies, probably experiencing their first dose of vitamin D in months. You notice how his casual slouch doesn't quite mask the way his eyes keep scanning the treeline. Old habits die hard, huh?

"For fuck's sake, watch where you're stepping!" J-Hope's voice cuts through the air, his usual crankiness making a brief appearance as one of his medics nearly trips over a root.

Still, there's something different about him out here.

Less Dr. Jekyll, more... well, still Dr. Jekyll, but maybe after a cup of chamomile tea.

His team's got enough medical supplies to handle a small apocalypse, which is probably smart given this crowd.

And then there's JM, floating through it all like some ethereal woodland creature in his oversized cardigan. His financial team looks hilariously out of their element, but they're managing to keep up, probably because JM's presence is as calming as ever.

Though you'd bet good money those designer shoes aren't going to survive this trip.

The path finally opens up to a view that actually makes you pause.

Damn.

The valley stretches out below, all misty blues and greens, and for a moment, you forget you're part of a criminal organization of sorts. Everyone else seems to feel it too—this weird, peaceful vibe that has no business existing among a bunch of gang members.

"Alright, let's set up camp here." Moon's voice breaks the spell, all business as usual. But even his sunglasses can't hide the fact that he's actually enjoying this ridiculous situation.

You watch as everyone scrambles to follow his orders, divisions mixing like some bizarre summer camp activity—and it's kinda funny, seeing assassins and hackers arguing over how to pitch a tent.

Moon clears his voice like a professor about to announce a pop quiz. "Alright, everyone!"

You fight back an eye roll. Of course. The camping trip is not but some structured learning experience.

"Before we set up for the night, we have an activity." There's something almost gleeful in his tone that makes you nervous. "It's a team-building exercise, but with a Kkangpae twist."

Oh great. You watch as everyone exchanges looks, probably sharing your thought that nothing good ever comes from the words "team-building" and "twist" in the same sentence.

"We're going to split into mixed teams," Moon explains, pushing his round glasses up his nose. "Your task is to find and retrieve a flag hidden somewhere in this area. First team back wins."

You catch Jeon's subtle shift in posture—that slight straightening of his shoulders that means his competitive side just woke up. Meanwhile, V's grinning like someone told him there's cookies, which is honestly terrifying given his track record with "games."

"You'll need to use your skills cooperatively," Moon adds, like he's reading from some corporate manual. "This exercise is about strategy, teamwork, and understanding each other's strengths."

"Sounds like fun," Jessi cuts in, hands on her hips. "But what's the catch, Moon?"

Moon's lips curl into what might actually be a grin—holy shit, someone document this rare occurrence—before he drops the bomb: "You must stick together at all times, no one can be left behind. And remember, the forest can be deceptive. Stay alert." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Whoever wins gets to choose sleeping tent and partner."

Well, fuck.

The clearing erupts into motion as people start grouping up, and suddenly you're caught in the middle of what feels like the world's most dangerous game of musical chairs.

Your team's a weird mix, but maybe that's the point.

There's Jessi, JM, and Takama—the powerhouse trio you actually know—plus a handful of faces you usually just pass in the castle hallways.

There's Hyun from Medical, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but manages to radiate competence anyway. Seojoon from Cyber's got that twitchy energy all AD's people seem to share, like he's searching for a WiFi signal in this godforsaken forest. And then there's Minji from Stealth, who moves like she's made of smoke—seriously, how does she make hiking look graceful?

"Okay, team." Jessi's already taking charge, because of course she is. Her ponytail swings as she surveys your group like a general reviewing troops. "We've got a diverse set of skills here, and we're going to use them to win this."

JM hums in agreement, somehow making his oversized cardigan look appropriate for a hike. "Let's keep communication open and clear."

"The flag's probably hidden somewhere difficult," Takama cuts in. You've seen him around Jeon enough to recognize that tactical mind at work. "We should start in the denser areas."

The others chime in with their two cents—Hyun promising to play medic (thanks, but let's not need that), Seojoon muttering about search grids like this is some kind of programming problem, and Minji suggesting stealth like she's on an actual mission.

You nod along, trying not to roll your eyes at how seriously everyone's taking this glorified scavenger hunt. "Alright, we've got a plan. Let's just... not die in the process?"

Your ragtag team heads into the forest, and wow, Moon really picked the worst terrain possible. The ground's basically trying to trip you with every step, and these bushes are definitely winning the war against your clothes. But between Seojoon's weirdly effective grid system and Minji's silent-assassin routine, you're actually making decent progress.

Maybe this won't be a total disaster after all.

You can't help but grin as you listen to Jessi and JM's back-and-forth.

"You know," Jessi starts, that trademark smirk of hers making an appearance, "I'm not one for all this sneaking around. If it were up to me, I'd charge through these woods, make a beeline for that flag, and dare anyone to try and stop me."

JM chuckles, and you swear you can feel the calming effect it has on everyone. "That's exactly why we're here, Jessi. To learn different approaches. Besides, subtlety can be just as powerful as brute force, don't you think?"

"Maybe there's some strength in silence," Jessi admits, nodding at Minji. "But come on, it's hard to deny the rush of a good brawl."

"I get that," JM says, his eyes scanning the trees like he's trying to find a hidden Excel spreadsheet or something. "But we're a team. This is about more than just strength. It's about using our heads, too."

Jessi lets out a laugh that probably scares off half the wildlife in a five-mile radius. She claps JM on the back, and you wince, half-expecting him to topple over. But nope, he doesn't even flinch.

Guess that cardigan's hiding some muscle.

"That's why you're here, Jimin," Jessi grins. "You keep us grounded and thinking. But if we do come across another team, I'm not holding back!"

"You wouldn't be Jessi if you did," JM responds with a smile that's way too sweet for a guy who probably knows twenty-five ways to launder money through a lemonade stand. "Just make sure to keep that energy until we find the flag. We'll need it."

You watch as they fall into step together, and it's kind of... nice? In a weird, 'we're-all-criminals-but-hey-found-family' kind of way.

"You're the calm to my storm, Chimchim," Jessi says, and oh, this is the first time you're seeing her softer side. "But let's not forget, we've got Chaewon in another team and there's no way I'm letting her beat us."

JM grins, and you swear you can see the gears turning in that big brain of his. "Not a chance. We've got this." His eyes flick to Jessi's feet. "Just watch your step, though. Can't have you charging off and spraining an ankle. We need you in top form, Jessi."

You bite back a snort. Leave it to JM to be all caring while also low-key telling Jessi to chill the fuck out.

As you trudge along behind them, you can't help but wonder what the other teams are up to. E̶s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶'s.

Not that you care. Nope. Not at all.

Your throat feels like sandpaper, and you realize with growing irritation that your water bottle is probably sitting pretty back at camp, completely useless to you right now. Great going, genius.

You're in the middle of cursing your own stupidity when Takama falls into step beside you. For Jeon's second-in-command, he's surprisingly... not terrifying?

"You look like you could use this," he says, offering his canteen with a smile that actually reaches his eyes. It's weird seeing such a genuine expression on someone from the Assassination Division.

"Thanks, Takama." You accept the water, trying not to look as desperately thirsty as you feel. "I can't believe I left mine back at camp."

The water hits different when you're this thirsty. You try not to chug it like some dehydrated gremlin, but it's a close call.

"It happens to the best of us," he says, and there's something almost kind in his voice. "Just remember to stay hydrated. We've got a long day ahead of us."

You hand back his canteen, feeling weirdly touched by the gesture. "I owe you one."

"No worries. We're all here to look out for each other, right?"

He says it so easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like we're not all part of a criminal organization where trust usually comes with a price tag.

It hits you then—Takama's actually nice. Not in that fake, calculated way some gang members are, but genuinely considerate. The kind of person who notices when someone's struggling and helps without making a big deal out of it.

You watch him scan the forest ahead, radiating both competence and awareness at the same time. You can't help but think it's almost funny how he ended up as Jeon's right hand—they're like night and day. Where Jeon's all storm clouds and sharp edges, Takama's more like... well, a really deadly teddy bear with a shaved head?

A soft kiwi, maybe?

What even is this gang anymore?

Hyun's voice interrupts your inner chatter. "Eyes peeled, everyone. We're approaching a likely area."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. No shit, Sherlock.

And then the trees loom overhead, casting weird shadows that make every bush look like a potential hiding spot. You're starting to think Moon's got a sadistic streak, making you play hide and seek in this green maze.

Minji glides forward like some forest nymph, graceful and silent. It's almost annoying how effortlessly she moves. You, on the other hand, feel about as stealthy as a drunk elephant.

"We're making good progress," Seojoon mutters, probably to his imaginary friend.

The guy's been muttering to himself this whole time. You're half convinced he's got a spreadsheet running in his head.

The sun's starting to dip, painting everything in that Instagram-worthy golden hour light. It'd be pretty if it didn't also mean you're running out of time, because where the fuck is the goddamn flag?

You all keep moving together until Jessi throws up her hand like she's hailing a taxi in the middle of the woods.

"You hear that?" she whispers, and there's this glint in her eye that screams 'trouble'.

You strain your ears and—oh. Oh shit. That's definitely the sound of people nearby. Your heart does this weird little skip, part 'fuck yeah' and part 'oh fuck'.

"We move quiet, we move fast," Jessi hisses. "Remember, they're not expecting us. We've got the element of surprise. Let's use it."

You all nod like a bunch of bobbleheads and spread out. You try your best to channel your inner Minji, but you're pretty sure you look more like a constipated ninja.

Jessi peeks over some bushes, and bam—there it is.

The flag.

Your golden ticket to a decent night's sleep and maybe, just maybe, a chance to stick it to Jeon.

Your heart's pounding so hard you're surprised it hasn't alerted the other team.

This is it.

You watch as Jessi's eyes narrow, and you know that look. She's not just seeing what's there—she's looking for all the ways this could go wrong.

Then it happens. A rustle in the trees that's definitely not the wind, and before you can process it, you spot him. V, looking like some demented forest creature, perched in a tree like he's auditioning for a horror movie.

The moment Jessi and V lock eyes, the whole atmosphere shifts. Because fuck. You've seen enough of the chiefs' competitive bullshit to know this is about to get wild.

They both move at once, like someone fired a starting gun. V launches himself from the tree with that unnatural grace of his—so that's where Minji's gotten it from huh?—while Jessi... well, Jessi does what Jessi does best: something absolutely batshit crazy.

Instead of going for the flag like a normal person, she fucking roundhouse kicks the pole. The flag goes flying through the air like some patriotic frisbee, and you have to bite back a laugh because of course she'd pull something like this.

The look V and Jessi share is almost funny—like two cats who just realized they're both after the same mouse. Although it seems to be accompanied by this weird respect, probably buried under layers of competitive spite.

They both land, and V's got that smile on his face. You know the one—that 'I'm about to be an absolute shit' smile that you're really starting to associate with him.

"Well, well," he drawls, brushing off his hands like he didn't just parkour through the forest. "I must say, Jessi, you still know how to make a man's heart race."

Jessi straightens up, and you can practically feel the eye roll coming. "Please, V. The day you can outmaneuver me is the day the Council of Nine turns into a knitting circle."

V's chuckle is low and lazy, like he has all the time in the world. His grin stretches wide, equal parts mischief and provocation.

"But isn't that what makes it so fun?" He gestures between himself and Jessi with a flourish. "You, all brute force and chaos. Me, dripping with finesse. A perfect match, don't you think?"

Jessi crosses her arms, utterly unimpressed. Her gaze could cut steel, but V? He's eating it up.

"Finesse? Is that what we're calling your sneaky little stunts now? Sounds like bullshit with extra steps to me."

The air suddenly turns... weird. Like it's cracking with adrenaline and... whatever the hell their dynamic is. Though it's clear neither is willing to flinch, and the rest of you might as well not exist.

"Ah, but—" V bows theatrically, one arm sweeping out like he's on a stage instead of about to throw hands. "Subtlety is an art form. And me? I'm nothing short of a masterpiece. You know, not everyone gets the honor of sparring with the Stealth Chief."

Jessi barks out a laugh so sharp it echoes through the trees, momentarily silencing the usual rustle of leaves.

"Stealth Chief? Is that what you call scurrying around like some feral house cat? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but sneaking isn't exactly fighting. It's just running away in slow motion."

Her stance shifts slightly, weight rolling to the balls of her feet. It's the kind of posture that makes you take a cautious step back, because you've heard of Jessi when she's motivated, and it's not pretty—for the idiot on the receiving end.

V doesn't even blink. Instead, his smirk deepens, resilient as ever.

"Coward, hmm? That's what sore losers say when they can't keep up." He tuts softly, shaking his head as if she's the one being unreasonable.

Oh, boy.

You can almost feel Jessi's hackles rise. Her eyes narrow into slits, a dangerous glint stealing across her face.

"The only finesse you're gonna have is figuring out how to pick your teeth out of the dirt, pretty boy."

It's like the temperature drops a few degrees—or maybe it's just the shadow of their looming chaos. Everyone else stays frozen, like one wrong move will get them caught in the crossfire, and honestly? You wouldn't blame them.

V circles her slowly, scornful expression still intact, obviously. But there's an edge to it now, playful but keen, like the blade of a knife.

"Oh, Jess," his voice turns mocking, "I'd consider you competition... if we were in the same league."

And that's it. That's the match to her gasoline fire.

Jessi lunges first—of course she does. She's all instinct, fast and explosive, and it's honestly terrifying how much energy she has left even after the trek through the forest. Her feint is quick, purposeful, a snap to the left designed to bait him.

But V's not a rookie. He doesn't take the bait. Instead, he stays planted, watching her with that maddening patience of his, tracking her every move like she's easy to figure out.

"Come on, V," Jessi taunts, her voice bright. "What's the matter? Scared I'll knock that smirk off your face?"

V leans back slightly, just enough to dodge her next swipe. He looks far too calm, that smirk of his like a permanent fixture.

"Oh, Jessi, Jessi, Jessi." His voice is mockingly soothing, like he's trying to calm a rabid dog. "I'd actually have to notice you to be scared."

You don't know whether to laugh or take cover. Probably both.

V springs into action like some unholy mixture of a cat and a ninja. This is the first time you've seen him fight, and honestly you're not entirely sure he's actually trying.

Maybe it's just the pure glee radiating off him as he dances around Jessi's attacks.

Jessi's not making it easy for him. She's fierce, determined—and girl's got stamina for days. But V? The bastard's treating this like his own personal performance art, ducking and weaving like he does this while eating a bagel for breakfast.

"Come on, Joo," V taunts, narrowly avoiding Jessi's grab. "Getting slow in your old age?"

"I'll show you slow, you little shit!"

Suddenly V feints left and Jessi takes the bait, lunging forward with enough force to probably knock out a bear. But V's already spinning away, cackling as he dives for the flag.

His fingers brush the fabric, and for a second, you think he's got it. But Jessi? She's not Logistics Chief for nothing. She hooks her foot around his ankle—dirty move, you love it—sending him slightly off balance. It's not much, but it's enough.

They both grab the flag at almost the same moment, and suddenly it's a weird game of tug-of-war mixed with what looks like interpretive dance. V's got the advantage of height, but Jessi's got pure stubborn determination on her side.

"Let go, you overgrown weed!" Jessi grunts, yanking hard.

"Ladies first," V purrs, and you see the exact moment Jessi's eye twitches.

She does something then—some crazy mix of a twist and a roll that makes you dizzy just watching—and suddenly V's grip slips. The flag comes free, and Jessi stumbles back, barely keeping her balance but clutching her prize like it's made of gold.

V's jaw falls, and it's like he's about to curse her out.

But then, he simply straightens up, brushing dirt from his clothes with exaggerated care. His hair's a mess and there's a leaf stuck to his shoulder, but he's still grinning.

"Well played, Jessi." The words come out warm, genuine. "You've still got the moves."

Jessi's victory dance consists mainly of waving the flag in V's face. "Not too shabby yourself, pretty boy. But let's not forget who the winner is here."

You watch them, these two ridiculous powerhouses of Kkangpae, playfully shoving each other like actual siblings.

Maybe this is exactly what Moon wanted you to see.

The walk back to camp feels like a victory parade.

If... victory parades involved a bunch of criminals trampling through the woods.

Jessi's leading the charge, waving that flag like she just conquered a small country.

The clearing comes into view, and suddenly you're all celebrities. The other teams are gathered around, some actually cheering, others looking like they just bit into a lemon. You catch a few eye rolls—sore losers much?

"And then—" Jessi's voice booms across as she launches into her dramatic retelling. She demonstrates her kick, nearly taking out a poor sapling in the process. "—the flag was mine!"

"Ours." JM corrects.

You bite back a laugh. Trust Jessi to turn a game of capture the flag into an epic saga.

"That's my girl!" Chaewon hollers from the sidelines, looking like a proud mom at a soccer game. She bounces over to Jessi, and they fall into their usual rhythm of playful jabs and inside jokes.

The attention shifts to JM, who's scanning the crowd intently—but before he can even open his mouth, V materializes next to him like some kind of demented jack-in-the-box.

"Come on, JM," V purrs, draping himself over JM's shoulders. "You know you want to bunk with me. I'll keep the monsters away."

JM sighs, but you catch that little smile he's trying to hide.

"I suppose someone needs to make sure you don't terrorize the entire camp." He shakes his head, fond exasperation written all over his face. "Fine, you win."

Now it's your turn. You glance around the clearing, weighing your options. Your eyes land on Yunjin, and something in your chest settles.

After all this chaos, her gentle presence feels like finding a quiet corner in a noisy room.

"I choose Yunjin," you say, and watch her face light up like a sunrise. "We'll take a two-person tent."

"I'd like that," she replies softly, and you know you made the right choice.

At least someone in this camp won't try to murder you in your sleep.

Hopefully.

The sun finally gives up its assault as evening rolls in.

Everyone's hustling around, pitching tents like they actually know what they're doing (spoiler: most don't), while someone gets a bonfire going. You find yourself plopped down next to Yunjin, watching the flames dance.

The clearing's alive with chatter and laughter—gang members discussing random stuff like normal citizens.

You notice from your periphery that Chaewon and Jessi are cackling about something, probably roasting someone (metaphorically, for once).

Their friendship hits different when you see them like this, all guard down and genuine.

Not far from them, V's got JM trapped in what looks like the world's most animated conversation. He's all dramatic hand gestures and shit-eating grins while JM just sits there, dropping these little zingers that have V practically bouncing.

The fire crackles, bottles clink, and for a moment it's like... you're at some normal camping trip.

If normal meant with your dysfunctional criminal found family thing.

"Alright, folks!" V slaps his thigh like some demented camp counselor, grinning like he just thought of the best worst idea ever. "How about we spice things up a bit? Never Have I Ever—you drink if you've done it."

The response is a mix of "hell yeah" and "oh god no," but you know everyone's going to play anyway. That's just how V's chaos works—it's like a black hole, sucking everyone into its orbit.

AD shifts against his log, looking way too comfortable for someone sitting on literal dirt.

"This should be good," he drawls, and you can practically see the blackmail material forming in his brain.

"Just remember," J-Hope cuts in, trying (and failing) to sound responsible, "I'm not drinking tonight."

You notice how AD's eyes flick to him for just a second, unspoken words being thrown into the space between them.

You don't have enough time to decipher it though, because soon enough everyone is grabbing their drink (or in J-Hope's case, what looks suspiciously like apple juice).

This is either going to be the best team-building exercise ever or the start of World War III.

"Never have I ever..." V drawls, and you just know he's about to say something stupid. "Gotten a tattoo I regretted the next day."

A few drinks go up, and AD mutters something about a phoenix that sounds suspiciously like a drunk decision gone wrong. You catch J-Hope trying not to laugh at that—probably because he's the one who had to deal with the infection afterward.

The game picks up speed, stories getting bolder with each round. Your brain's starting to feel fuzzy around the edges when it's your turn.

"Never have I ever..." You tap your bottle against your chin, grinning. "Bailed someone out of jail before sunrise."

The response is instant—bottles going up everywhere like some weird criminal toast. Jeon takes a particularly long drink, and you can't help but wonder how many times he's had to rescue his disaster squad from lockup.

"Never have I ever," AD announces, shooting J-Hope that shit-eating grin of his, "been caught in a ridiculous, bright yellow suit that could be seen from space.

J-Hope doesn't miss a beat. "Never have I ever walked into a glass door because I was too busy admiring my own reflection."

The clearing erupts with laughter, and AD shoves him like he wants to murder him. You swear these two are one bickering session away from either killing each other or adopting each other.

Then it's your leader's turn, and she confesses to some wild midnight adventure that has Jessi cackling, and then Jessi drops the bomb about her secret karaoke obsession—which weirdly, surprises nobody.

The alcohol's doing its job, making everything feel warm and loose, when V suddenly turns to you. His eyes are glinting with mischief in the firelight, and you know you're about to be targeted.

"Your turn," he purrs, and everyone's eyes swing your way. "Let's hear something juicy."

Oh, it's on.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the fire's dancing in your vision, making faces blur like some abstract painting—but suddenly you've got what might be either the best or worst idea ever.

You lean forward, propping your elbows on your knees, and oh—maybe sitting up so fast wasn't the smartest move. Still, you've committed now.

"Never have I ever," you drawl, feeling particularly bold (or stupid), "found someone in this circle attractive."

The silence that follows is delicious.

Then, the clearing erupts in laughter and the telling clink of bottles.

Your eyes scan the circle, catching all those little tells—the shifted gazes, the not-so-subtle glances. And then—

Oh.

Across the fire, Jeon moves. It's subtle—barely anything at all. But you see it. The way his dark eyes find yours, steady and unwavering, even as he lifts his bottle to his lips.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Your breath catches, just for a moment, before you collect yourself. The fire crackles as if mocking the heat suddenly pooling in your chest. Goddamn him.

Yunjin's trying (and failing) to be subtle about her giggles, taking the tiniest sip from her bottle. Next to her, Eunchae's practically glowing, her laugh carrying across the fire as she drinks.

Kazuha makes drinking look like some fancy tea ceremony, all grace and poise, while Sakura's grinning like she's got secrets to spare. They share this look that makes you wonder if there's a story there.

And then; there's Takama. His face does this thing where it's completely blank before he drinks, but there's this little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth that says he's in on some joke the rest of you aren't.

V, though? He doesn't even hesitate. "Looks like we've got a crowd full of admirers," he says dramatically, raising his bottle like he's toasting to a room full of fans.

Your eyes catch how they flick toward JM for just a split second, and well—that's interesting.

Laughter ripples through the group again, and the tension eases, though your heart hasn't quite caught up yet.

It's still hammering in your chest, louder than it has any right to be, especially with Jeon sitting there, calm as a fucking statue.

You dare another glance at him, only to find his eyes still on you, half-lidded but watching.

Always watching.

The firelight dances across his face, catching on the silver of his lip ring, the sharp line of his jaw. You can't read him, and that pisses you off more than it probably should.

"Think you're clever, huh?" V says, pulling you back to the moment. His voice is teasing, but there's that signature chaos behind it, something wild and unapologetic. "Careful, sweetheart. Questions like that just set the wolves loose."

You smirk, forcing your gaze away from Jeon. "Good thing I don't mind wolves."

V laughs, throwing his head back dramatically as if you've just made his entire night. Meanwhile, Jeon hasn't moved, hasn't said a word. But you swear you can feel the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Like the goddamn hurricane he is.

You don't miss how JM takes a slow, deliberate sip from his bottle, and that little smirk playing on his lips. His eyes flick briefly toward V before darting away.

Huh.

"Guess we're all a bit fucked up, huh?" Jessi announces with 0 subtlety, taking a long drink and throwing a wink across the fire.

J-Hope leans back against his log, grinning despite his apple juice. "What can we say? We're a good-looking bunch."

Coming from anyone else, it might sound conceited. But J-Hope manages to make it sound like he's sharing some universal truth.

AD just sits there with that infuriating eyebrow raised, looking like he's cataloging every reaction for future reference—and the way his lips curve up at the corners... Yeah, he's probably acquiring blackmail material.

The game keeps going, and you all keep drinking. Everyone redoubles on the alcohol, guards slip a little bit and then the fire's dying down, but the energy around the circle is still very much present.

You blame the booze for the way your skin prickles every time you feel Jeon's gaze slide over to you.

Not that you're keeping track.

The crowd around the fire thins out as the night deepens.

A few stragglers remain—Yunjin and Eunchae huddled together like gossiping schoolgirls, while Kazuha and Sakura stare into the flames like they're trying to divine their futures or something.

You sit there, watching the fire die down, feeling that pleasant buzz from earlier starting to fade.

Then you spot it—a tiny orange glow in the darkness, like a misplaced star.

Cigarette.

And there's only one brooding asshole who'd be lurking in the shadows at this hour.

You get up, picking your way through what feels like a minefield of sleeping bags and empty bottles. You make it through some trees and bushes, and an owl hoots somewhere in the distance, probably judging your life choices.

Then he's there.

Jeon.

Standing there like some noir film character, all broad shoulders and moody silence.

The cigarette between his lips is the only thing giving him away in the darkness.

Dramatic bastard.

"Smoking again?" You try to keep your voice casual, but it comes out softer than intended. Maybe it's the lingering alcohol, or maybe it's just... him.

He doesn't even flinch—of course he doesn't. Mr. Perfect Assassin probably knew you were coming before you did.

He takes a long drag before answering, smoke curling from his lips.

"Yeah." His voice is rough, low. "Had to hide from J-Hope. He'd have my ass for this."

"And here I thought you quit." You lean against his tree, close enough to smell that addictive mix of tobacco and him.

Pine and wood and petrichor.

He finally turns to look at you, and fuck—the way the cigarette's glow catches his features should be illegal.

That smirk doesn't help either.

"Old habits die hard."

"Bad for your health, you know." You're not sure why you're still talking, but something about this moment feels... different. Significant.

His laugh is dark, barely there. "Ain't much about our lives that's good for health, is there?"

Silence falls between you, like tiny droplets of water during a sizzle.

You both know what this is—what it isn't.

You watch him take another drag, mesmerized by the way his lips wrap around the filter. The only sounds are some distant snoring and the occasional hoot of that judgmental owl from earlier.

"You ever think about quitting? For real, I mean?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Blame it on the lingering alcohol, or maybe just the way the moonlight catches on his lip ring.

Jeon rolls the cigarette between his fingers, and you try not to stare at the way they move.

Really try.

"Sometimes," he murmurs.

And god, his voice shouldn't sound like that—all gravely and burnt at the edges from the nicotine dragging down his throat.

"But it's like this—" He gestures vaguely at the darkness around you, at your whole fucked-up world. "It's a part of me. Even if it's not the best part."

Your eyes drift to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, lingering maybe a second too long on his lips as they part to release another cloud of smoke. There's something dangerous about the way he looks right now, something that has you holding yourself back from doing something stupid.

Something really stupid.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach out and snatch the cigarette right from between his lips. His expression shifts from surprise to something else, something you can't quite grasp. His mouth stays slightly parted, just for a moment, before he catches himself.

You bring the cigarette to your own lips, taking a slow drag. The filter's still warm from his mouth. You hold his gaze as you inhale, watching the way his eyes track the movement.

"Look at you," he finally says, voice rough and low, "preaching about bad habits."

You exhale, letting the smoke curl between you like a secret. "Consider it a public service. Just looking out for you."

You can't help the smirk that tugs at your lips.

He leans in—fuck—close enough that you can smell pine and rain and tobacco.

"By taking on the bad habits yourself?" His tone is teasing, but his eyes... his eyes are something else entirely.

Another drag, slower this time.

You're playing with fire and you know it.

"Someone's got to make sure you don't fall off the wagon." Your voice comes out lower than intended, smoke dancing around your words. "Might as well be me."

Your chest burns, and you wonder if it's really just the nicotine. 

Dangerous territory, babe.

You watch as Jeon's eyes track the cigarette between your fingers. He doesn't ask for it back, and somehow that feels more intimate than if he had.

"You're a hell of a contradiction, you know that?" His voice is soft, barely there, but it hits you like a punch to the gut.

You can't help the wry grin that tugs at your lips.

"Aren't we all, in this game?"

The question hovers between you like the smoke curling up from the cigarette still nestled between your lips.

Loaded.

With all the things you're not supposed to say, not supposed to want.

His laugh, when it comes, is low, obscure. Utterly dangerous. It does things to your chest that you refuse to examine too closely.

"We are," he admits, and fuck, the way he's looking at you makes your skin feel too tight. "But some of us are better at playing the part than others."

You pull the cig out of your mouth, roll it between your fingers, watching the smoke curl up toward the stars.

Anything to avoid drowning in those hurricane eyes of his.

"And which one of us isn't playing their part right now?"

You catch the way his jaw tenses, the slight shift as he leans back. It's subtle, but you think you're starting to learn to read these tiny tells of his. The way he holds himself, like he's physically stopping from moving closer.

"We're both walking a thin line here," he murmurs, and there's something in his voice—exhaustion maybe, or resignation. "You know the rules as well as I do."

"I do." The words taste bitter on your tongue. "Doesn't mean I have to like them."

Doesn't mean you have to like the way he makes you want to break them. Squash them. Fuck them.

F̶u̶c̶k̶ h̶i̶m̶.̶

He watches you like he's trying to memorize every detail, and you hate how it makes you feel exposed.

Like you're simply made of glass and he can see right through to the mess underneath.

"We don't get to pick and choose which rules to follow." His voice drops so low you almost miss it. "Not without consequences."

Consequences. It's a horrible word and you suddenly can't help hating it. Fucking stupid consequences.

You take one last drag from the cigarette, letting the burn ground you. It's almost funny how that tiny ember matches the heat that floods your system whenever he looks at you like that.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it spinning into the darkness, watching it burst into sparks before fading to nothing.

"Then I guess we're good at playing by the rules, aren't we?" Your voice stays steady, even if your pulse is doing gymnastics in your throat.

His eyes follow the dead cigarette's arc before landing back on you, and fuck—there's something in that look that makes your chest ache.

"Yeah," he says, and you catch that hint of... something in his voice. Like regret, maybe. Or defeat. "We're the best."

It's almost funny how these stolen moments have become your new normal—these little pockets of time where you both pretend you're not thinking about breaking every single atom of space between both of you.

But rules are rules, and Jeon... well, Jeon follows them like his life depends on it.

And maybe, it does.

Too bad his dedication to the rules doesn't make him any less fucking attractive.

goal: 160 notes. If we don’t hit it, I’m putting you all in Moon’s next trust fall workshop. With V as your partner. Good luck.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[bradleysass]

Map - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 773

"You're holding it upside down."

"I'm not holding it upside down, Regulus."

James’ voice wobbled dangerously, which was a sign that he was either going to cry or laugh hysterically. Regulus hoped for the latter. He didn't have the emotional energy to console him if he broke down into frustrated tears.

"You absolutely are," Regulus said, snatching the wrinkled, smudged map out of James' grip. "The words are upside down, you idiot."

James made a strangled noise. "Oh, because that’s the problem! Not the fact that the ink is running, and we have no idea where we are, and my socks are wet, and we—"

"James."

James inhaled sharply. He looked one second away from a full-blown tantrum. His glasses had slid down his nose, and his curls were frizzing from the humidity. Regulus should’ve found it funny, but he was too busy being angry.

"This was your plan," Regulus reminded him, holding up the ruined map like it was exhibit A in James’ trial for Worst Navigator of the Year. "You said we wouldn’t get lost. You said, and I quote, 'Reg, my love, my moon and stars, my most beautiful boy, I am a professional at reading maps.'"

James groaned, running a hand down his face. "To be fair, I really thought I was."

"Clearly, you were wrong."

"You could be a little less mean about it," James muttered, kicking a stray rock.

Regulus folded his arms. "We are stranded in the middle of nowhere. My shoes are covered in mud. There is no signal. There is no road. There is—" He gestured vaguely at the abyss of trees and dirt surrounding them. "—nothing, James. How, exactly, am I supposed to be nice about that?"

James sniffled.

Regulus exhaled through his nose. "Oh, don’t do that."

"I'm not—" James cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. "I’m not doing anything."

"You’re going to cry," Regulus accused.

"I am not going to cry!" James said, deeply offended, even as his lower lip wobbled.

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Merlin." He was stuck in the middle of the wilderness with a man who was possibly on the verge of tears and definitely not on the verge of getting them out of this mess.

James huffed, rubbing his nose. "I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas."

"That's because I'm too busy being furious at you."

"Okay, but if you put that aside for a second—"

Regulus fixed him with a glare.

James sighed, defeated.

The trees rustled ominously.

Regulus stared down at the smeared map in his hands. The ink had bled in long, inky streaks, their route a meaningless blur. They might as well have been looking at an abstract painting. He let his hands drop to his sides, feeling the last of his patience drain out of him.

"Well," he said flatly. "I suppose this is where we die."

James groaned dramatically. "Oh my god, Reg, you’re being so dramatic."

"Am I?" Regulus turned his glare back on him. "Are we not two idiots lost in the wilderness, with no sense of direction and no survival skills to speak of?"

James opened his mouth, then closed it. He considered. "I have survival skills," he finally muttered.

Regulus arched an eyebrow.

James hesitated. "Some survival skills."

"Which ones?" Regulus asked, voice syrupy with false sweetness. "You mean the ones that got us lost? Or the ones that made you bring a map drawn on parchment when rain was in the forecast?"

James groaned again, dramatically collapsing onto the nearest tree stump. "You love being right, don’t you?"

"I love not dying in the woods, James."

James scrubbed his hands over his face. "Okay. Okay. Let's think. Worst case scenario, we sleep here for the night—"

Regulus made a strangled sound.

"—but we won’t have to do that," James hurriedly added, correctly interpreting the look of absolute horror on Regulus' face. "Because we are capable and resourceful and will get back to civilization before sunset!"

Regulus inhaled deeply through his nose. "If we get out of here, I’m going to kill you."

James grinned at him. "You’d miss me too much."

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, he turned on his heel, facing a random direction. If James had ruined their only map, then they would have to get out the old-fashioned way. "Come on," he said, grabbing James by the wrist and yanking him to his feet. "We’re walking until we find a road."

"You're so bossy," James muttered, but he followed.

Regulus didn’t let go of his hand.

Even if they were doomed, they’d be doomed together.

[hesperisms]

hello! can i request zayne with reader who shows up at his doorstep really badly injured and just passes out against him when he opens the door?

i really love how you write zayne in your fics and i've been thinking about this idea for awhile..

// Safe Haven

"You're not fighting alone this time..."

// summary: your assignment was taking a turn for the worse and out of desperation and panic, you turned to the one person you know will always be there for you...

// content warnings: injuries, blood, angst, fluff. IT'S SOFT BOI HOURS, OKAY?

// a/n: hope I did your idea justice anon! something about the idea of seeing Zayne's all possessive and protective makes my chest ache!

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

Zayne couldn't place his finger on the feeling, but something had him full of restless energy despite the late hour. He'd decided the only course of action was to burn it off, so he put on his sweats and headed out into his quiet leafy suburb for a late night jog. He used it as an opportunity to clear his thoughts and mentally debrief himself about the surgery he had completed earlier, about his to-do lists and then his thoughts drifted as they always do, to you.

He hadn't heard from you for a few hours, which wasn't unusual for you two, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing that he hadn't seen a goodnight text or voice note from you, hoping that it meant maybe you had conked out on the couch and were getting some rest. As he walked the last block back towards his house, relaxing on his cooldown he takes a photo of the full moon in the sky and sends it over to you along with a "the moon looks beautiful tonight" note.

DING.

Zayne approaches his driveway and your notification sound rings out, echoing in the silent night. He shakes his head, a smile touching the corner of his lips as he realizes you're nearby but his brow knits in confusion when he doesn't see your ride parked nearby. She probably got dropped off by Tara or that partner Xavier, he thinks to himself with a shrug. The cool night air was trapping the sweat in against his compression shirt, making him shiver as he walked up the steps to his front door. Something was off, he realized suddenly; one of his ambient security lights that normally cast a soft glow up his front steps was dimmed and bent at an odd angle, like something had fallen on it.

He leans over, attempting to make out in the dark what landed on top of it to break it when he hears it again and sees the flash.

DING.

Blood turns to ice in his veins as your notification tone sounds from beside the broken garden lighting, the flash of your phone camera strobing in the darkness for a split second in tandem with the sound. Delicately picking up your phone in his left hand, his heart catches in his chest as he sees bloody fingerprints on the screen. Zayne's mind surges with all sorts of worst-case fears as his eyes desperately scan the yard for any sign of you, but you're nowhere to be found.

Wary now and knowing you're hurt, he carefully calls forth shards of ice to his fingertips of his right hand, holding them tensely, ready to jump to action if he needs to defend himself too. Punching in the code for his electronic front door lock, he lets the door swing open as he steps inside cautiously, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary inside. Zayne moves room to room silently looking for anything out of place, any sign of you, without success.

He's just about to shut the front door and start making calls to your boss Jenna and emergency services when your hand slams against the closing door, jolting him as he stares at you. "Zayne..." you squeak out, using all your strength to prop yourself up on his doorframe.

"I'm so gla-" you don't even get a chance to finish before your body is in freefall towards him and his eyes widen in panic, the phone and the ice shards both clattering loudly on the entryway tiles as he scrambles to catch you before you hit the floor. "My hero..." you joke weakly, face pallid as you slip out of consciousness in his arms.

Cradling you gently, kneeling on the cold tiles beside you his combat medic instinct overtakes his fears and he begins to perform some cursory checks, noting how pale your lips are, how shallow your breathing is, and that's when he sees it; your right arm is dangling limply, seemingly dislocated from the socket and the sleeve has been ripped to shreds, your bicep showing a deep, angry wound. You've lost a lot of blood and you're in shock, so Zayne knows he needs to act swiftly.

"I'm so sorry, this is not going to be enjoyable for either of us." he murmurs to your unconscious body gently as he takes hold of your dislocated shoulder, feeling for the socket before firmly and skillfully setting it back into place. You cry out a whimper of pain as it temporarily wakes you and he brushes your hair away from your forehead with a bloody hand, stroking the backs of his fingers tenderly across your brow with a trembling touch. "Shhhh my love, I'm sorry, I know it hurt but I had no choice, it couldn't stay that way, you're okay, I've got you. You're okay."

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused, but you look up at him like he's an angel, the ceiling down light cascading around his dark hair above you like a halo; that handsome face stroking your brow lovingly with gentle sweeps, trying so hard to hide from you how scared he is as he smiles down at you trying to reassure you both with his soft whispers. As your eyes begin to flutter shut again and unconsciousness swallows you, you see him pulling his compression shirt off up over his head, his bare chest sucking in deep shuddering breaths that betray his smile and measured tone.

Zayne ties a sleeve of the compression shirt around your bicep wound like a tourniquet and loops the other sleeve around your neck, creating a very crude home made sling for your badly damaged arm. If he thought he had more time, he'd run to the bathroom for medical supplies but you were too pale and he was terrified to let you out of his sight so he made do as best he could. Swallowing down all sorts of insidious memories and fears from his time on the front lines, he works to stabilize you so that you'll be safe to move.

Grabbing the throw blanket off the couch and draping it over you, he scoops you up into his arms, pressing you tightly into his body as he carries you to his car, delicately lowering you into the passenger side and locking the seatbelt over you. You flit in and out of consciousness under the bright streetlights as he drives you to Akso Hospital, the steady weight of his large hand cradled behind your head, pressing and stroking tenderly on the nape of your neck the only constant feeling other than pain.

"Dr. Zayne, didn't you finish a couple of hours ago? Did you forget something in your office?" The tired but friendly voice of Dr. Greyson rings out over the car's Bluetooth speakers as Zayne's call to the nurses station connects. "Go cuddle with your Lady paperwork can wait!" Yvonne laughs in the background and Zayne realizes he's on speakerphone.

"I'm just about to hit the exit ramp. I'm 2 minutes away, prep a bay in Emergency Greyson...it's y/n." Zayne says with a harsher, colder tone than he intended, fear for your wellbeing getting the better of him.

Silence hangs on the line for a moment before someone sniffs awkwardly and a cacophony of chairs scraping and shuffling flares to life as the nurses scramble.

"How bad?" Comes the soft reply and Zayne can hear the concern in his colleague and friend's tone.

Zayne squeezes the nape of your neck reassuringly, but whether it's to reassure you or himself, he can't tell; "she's lost a lot of blood, it's hard to say. I have her stable but we don't have much time," he responds, his voice breaking slightly.

"We'll be waiting for you at the front doors." Greyson says confidently as he disconnects the call. Zayne's golden-green gaze flits across to your lips, checking on your shallow breathing as he pulls his car into the ambulance bay. Just as promised, Greyson, Yvonne and the other nurses pull up a stretcher to the passenger side of the car and open the door, looking across from you to Zayne and giving him a solemn nod.

Zayne gives your neck one last squeeze and lets them take you from the car, watching critically as they lift you gently onto the stretcher and rush you into the waiting Emergency bay. He shivers as the shock starts to wear off and the cold silence of the middle of the night settles in. Looking down at himself, realizing that he's half-naked and covered in smears of your blood, he grabs his coat out of the back of his car and jogs in after them.

He's about to follow them into the Emergency bay when Greyson puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Are you trying to come in as her Doctor, because you don't trust us to work on her, or her lover because you need to know she's okay?" He asks pointedly.

Zayne snarls out a frustrated sigh, but Greyson continues.

"The code of conduct is there for her interests as the patient, you know that. I'll call you in as soon as we're done. You look like hell, go clean yourself up."

Zayne nods his resignation with a scowl, knowing Greyson was right. He wasn't happy to be called out on it, but Zayne couldn't maintain his objectiveness and professionalism, not when you were involved. The Akso Hospital board might turn a blind eye to him being your General Practitioner while dating you, but they would not stand for him being part of a surgical team.

He showered in the Doctor's suites and grabbed a spare shirt from his office before settling into the visitor's seating in the hallway outside Emergency. Zayne was lying back in the armchair, his head tilted back as he rubbed slow circles on his temples when Greyson finally come out to get him a couple of hours later.

"She's got a fractured humerus and she needed almost a litre of blood, but she's out of the woods now. Pulse is strong again, color has returned and we've stitched up the wound in her bicep. She's asking for you." Greyson said with a smile, giving Zayne a pat on the shoulder as he walked off towards the Doctor's suites.

"She's awake?"

He calls back over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Go to your woman, Zayne!"

Zayne slips in through the door to see the nurses packing up the crash cart and various other Emergency supplies and they give him a knowing smile as they make way for him. Yvonne hands him the pillow she was about to put behind your head and says with a smile "we should leave you two lovebirds alone, you've been through a lot tonight."

"You look..." Zayne begins, pushing the pillow in behind your head.

"Terrible?"

"A sight for sore eyes. For a minute there I was scared I was going to lose you."

You chuckled weakly, color rising in your cheeks. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily, Handsome." You reached for his hand, wincing as your stitches pulled and Zayne slipped his hand over yours, gently snuggling himself onto the bed beside you. "I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there..." you began, emotions spilling over and you choke back a sob. He presses you into his chest, hushing you and peppering kisses into your hair.

"Don't think about it Darling, don't upset yourself with what ifs and scenarios." He murmured. "I was there, you're safe now. I've got you and that's all that matters."

As he let you cry softly against his warm chest, he rubbed slow circles on your back, squeezing you tightly, pecking little soothing kisses onto your head. Zayne gently brushed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you lovingly, the pad of his thumb feeling so comforting as you stared up at him.

Zayne released you and reached over to read your chart, his brows knitting and his eyes narrowing as he scans through your status and treatment observations. Giving you a gentle peck on the cheek, he tells you he'll be right back and slips from the room.

He's gone for a few minutes and when the door to your room opens, he's carrying the powder blue baby blanket you bought him when he was struggling with nightmares and sitting on top of the bundle were a couple of his always on hand mint candies. Climbing back onto the bed beside you, pulling you onto his chest so he can support your wounded arm he spreads the blanket out over the two of you.

Zayne unwraps a mint candy and holds it out for you.

"Open." He commands gently and you part your lips to let him pop it into your mouth, before he takes the other one himself, tossing the wrappers into the little trashcan beside your bed. "They're keeping you in for observation overnight, so lets do our best to get a good night of sleep, my love." Zayne explains to you in a soft, whispered tone, pulling your head down to rest underneath his chin. As you both chew your candies and cuddle into each other's warmth, he strokes your hair until after a few minutes he feels your breathing settle and you relax, falling asleep against him.

The door opens with a soft click, Greyson poking his head in silently to check on you before he ends his shift, changed out of his scrubs and now in his casual wear. He gives Zayne a small nod and Zayne nods back at him solemnly in thanks, the two men exchanging a whole conversation unspoken in their gestures. The whole time Zayne is squeezing his arm tightly around you, cradling you to his chest as you sleep, his heartbeat lulling you into gentle dreams.