#like bouncing around the room ''panic panic panic panic''

[quitealotofsodapop]

Macaque doesn't ever come face to face with Wu until after New Years, something MK had sort of intentionally did. Look, in his defense, it hadn't been the first time soemone had mistaken his Uncle Wu for the Monkey King (see the Calabash episode) and he didn't want to risk Macaque attacking his uncle for no good reason because he thought he was someone was wasn't, he wasn't dumb enough to not realize that Macaque would do something rash based on what he did when he thought MK had connections to the real Great Sage!

After New Years, however, Wu is revealed to have been Sun Wukong this entire time. And after being convinced to stay by weaponized puppy dog eyes form MK and a pleading Sandy telling him they love him legend or no legend during Sleep Bug, Wu had been dealing with a lot of fuss and harassment from the demons who'd been in the spider web with him, the Demon Bull Family included (albeit they weren't really HARASSING him moreso not leaving him alone after father and son eavesdropped on why he disappeared and how he felt he being Sun Wukong was akin to being a monster). So Tang comes up with the idea of seeing a shadow play. The room would be dark, nobody would see anyone else in the crowd, and it'd give Wu a chance to just relax and enjoy himself.

Unfortunately, the person doing the play happened to ve the person the most obsessed with the Monkey King, and he recognizes him in the crowd.

I'm just thinking of Macaque brooding after his attempt to draw Wukong out in his debut episode failed - only to overhear a certain pair of horned demons bouncing conspiracy theories off one another. Turns out having your former-mentor's nutty kids around doesn't leave much room for silence.

Macaque finds the twins in the theatre's prop room discussing over a large cork board containing MK's and multiple peoples' photographs. There's drawing attached to each photo, seemingly ripped from books.

Jin: "What about the cook? He seems to be both the Monkie Kid's dad and his boss?" Yin: "Must be like when we work for mum." Jin, nodding: "Ah, true. Why hire staff when you got perfectly good kids right there? But then again, wouldn't that make him the Pig Kid?" Macaque, makes presence known: "What are you two doing?" Jin & Yin: (*jump a little at seeing the shadow monkey emerge from the shadows*) Yin: "'Ello bruv!" Jin: "Ever since we tried capturing the Monkie Kid in the Dream Calabash, we've been thinking lots." Macaque, snarking: "An extreme sport." Jin: "Hardy har." Yin: "Well, we tried recreating the Monkie Kid's uncle in the Calabash, and you know what? He looks an awful lot like The Monkey King!" Macaque, stunned: "...what?" Jin: "Working theory. We actually thought it *was* the Monkey King when we tried making the calabash copy! But the kid didn't see it that way. Kept calling 'im Uncle Wu for some reason." Yin, gesturing to the noodle gang's photos: "So now our theory is that the Monkey King has been in hiding, acting the Uncle to his old bruvs descendants, and choose MK as his successor cus he's the pig's something great-grandson!" Macaque: (*slowly blinks as the sheer weirdness of the theory sinks in. Sees a blurry photograph of someone who is definitely Wukong giving younger MK a piggyback ride*) Jin & Yin: (*look very proud/smug of their detective work*) Macaque: "I need a drink."

Macaque swears he can hear the twins yell "I FECKING KNEW IT!!!" on New Years.

And now the shadow monkey is secretly scaring suitors away from his Wukong like they're cubs all over again.

Macaque tries (key word: tries) to put on a dranatic show to his mate so that he can get it through Wukong's head that no matter how he feels about him in the moment's he's still His.

Then MK stumbles in mid-confession, and panics thonking Macaque is planning an attack!!

Wukong is left more confused, an convinced Macaque hates him more than ever.

Macaque curses MK for having terrible timing.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 30- 'Pretty Girl's All Good' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 13.4 k

“T’s coming over.” You mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, curled up in the corner of the sectional in the living room. The oversized blanket you’d wrapped around yourself felt thin compared to the comfort you craved. Your knees were tucked tightly to your chest, your phone held like a lifeline. The words felt like reassurance—if you said them aloud, maybe the ache in your chest would ease. Jack sat across from you, his jaw clenched, his leg bouncing slightly. He’d been patient, more patient than most would be, but something inside him snapped—not with anger, but with fear masked as frustration.

“Y/N, enough…” he said firmly, his voice steady but low, trying not to shatter you more than you already were. “You need some space.” You blinked, stunned by the sudden break in his usual gentle approach. The words stung like ice water against raw skin. Your throat tightened as you swallowed the lump rising, your defenses kicking in before your heart could catch up.

“No… fuck off, Jack,” you shot back, your voice brittle, trembling under the weight of hurt and exhaustion. It wasn’t loud or sharp—it was fragile, like a glass about to crack. You weren’t angry. You were terrified. “He’s coming over, so if you have an issue then say that in front of him.” Your words were meant to sound defiant, but they wobbled, your voice betraying you, thick with unshed tears. Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. 

“Y/N… You’ve gotta stop. You’re building your self-esteem around him. He’s not who you are.” The words were heavy, but his eyes were soft, glassy even, like he hated every syllable as it left his mouth. Tears broke free, streaming silently down your face, hot against your cold skin. 

“Tell him that,” you snapped, your voice crumbling like the rest of you. “Say that in front of him.” You tried to threaten Jack thinking maybe he only had the gall to say it to you. And that’s when Trent walked in. The sound of the front door shutting behind him cutting through the room.

“Yo, bro—” His voice was light, casual, like it always was when he entered a room with you in it. But the second his eyes landed on you—your tear-streaked face, the tension thick enough to choke on—his words died mid-breath. His eyes darted to Jack, confusion flashing before morphing into panic. What happened? His mind raced. Did I do something? Was I gone too long?

“Tell him,” you whispered aloud, your voice broken, a plea hidden beneath the challenge. Trent didn’t waste a second. He crossed the room in quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands found your face, thumbs brushing away the tears with the gentlest touch, like you might shatter if he pressed too hard. His forehead rested against yours for a brief, grounding second.

“Please…” He quietly whispered, begging you to not cry anymore. His heart couldn’t take it anymore. “Can you wait right here for me, pretty girl?” His voice was soft, a balm against the sting of Jack’s words. “Save me some space under that blanket, yeah?” You nodded, your bottom lip trembling, clutching the blanket tighter like it could keep you from falling apart completely. Trent pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering a second longer than necessary, as if trying to pour all his comfort into you through that one touch. Then he stood, his jaw tightening as he turned to Jack. “Bro, c’mere for a sec.” His tone was calm, but there was a current of something deeper beneath it—controlled, but coiled tight. He nodded toward the hallway, silently asking for space, for privacy. Jack hesitated, glancing back at you, then got up and followed. It wasn’t far—just a few steps separating them from you—but far enough that their words wouldn’t reach your ears. The muffled hum of the television you’d left on for background noise faded under the weight of unspoken tension pressing between them. Once they were out of sight but mildly out of earshot, Trent’s posture shifted. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp. “What’s going on, Jack?” he asked quietly, but his voice held an edge. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose. 

“I’m worried, man. She’s not… she’s not okay. And I get it, I do. But she leans on you like if you’re not there, she’ll fall apart.” Jack blurted out his honest answer. Trent’s jaw clenched, his mind flashing with every night you’d fallen asleep tangled in his arms, every time you’d reached for him like he was the only thing keeping you afloat. Trent ran a hand over his hair, rocking slightly, his jaw tight. His heart was still racing from seeing you like that, tears streaking your face, clinging to your blanket like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground but he also hated that Jack wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Bro… I know. I see it,” Trent started, his voice low but thick with frustration, not at Jack, but at himself—for not noticing sooner, for letting it get this far. “But I’m not doing anything but being a shoulder right now. I’m just listening to her. Being there for her, I swear.” He exhaled sharply, like admitting it out loud made it more real. “I’m very aware of what this could morph into. It’s not, though.” The words tumbled out in a rush, like he’d only just realized them himself. Dianne’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, soft but pointed, making him see things differently now. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the opposite wall with a skeptical expression etched into his face. 

“T… come on, mate. You’re all over her just the same.” Jack replied. Trent’s composure cracked. His hands shot up in frustration before dropping to his sides, clenched into fists. His voice rose slightly, not in anger, but in desperation.

“I am all over her because I’m fucking scared, mate!” he burst out, his chest heaving with the force of the words. “I don’t feel okay leaving her. If she wants me there, I’m going to be there. I have to be there.” The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished. Trent’s breathing was heavy, his emotions barely contained. Jack didn’t flinch. His voice remained steady, calm—anchoring Trent’s storm. 

“I don’t want her to need you.” Jack said earnestly. It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t jealousy. It was fear—the kind of fear that seeps into your bones when you watch someone you love disappear into their pain, gripping onto someone else like a life raft. Jack didn’t want you to drown if that raft drifted away. But Trent shook his head, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, urgent tone.

“She does need me though, Jack.” His eyes burned with conviction, but underneath that—guilt. “I understand it’s been really intense lately, but I promise I’m working on it. I won’t let her slip, but I’ll do it the right way. I’m not trying to push. But she needs someone to hold her up so she doesn’t collapse.” The words spilled out in a rush, fast and uneven, like he was afraid if he didn’t get them out, they’d choke him. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes pleading for Jack to understand—not for himself, but for you. Jack sighed heavily, his back pressing harder against the wall as if it could absorb the weight he was carrying. He tilted his head back, eyes closing for a brief moment, letting the silence stretch between them. “And maybe I’m part of the problem,” Trent admitted quietly, surprising even himself at the admission. “But I’m also the only thing that makes her feel safe right now. You think I don’t know how heavy that is? You think I don’t lie awake wondering if I’m helping her heal or just helping her hide?” Trent confessed. Jack looked at him, the anger in his face softening into something closer to understanding. “I love her,” Trent continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, like the words were sacred. “But if I have to be the wall she leans on until she can stand on her own, then I’ll be that wall. Because I’d rather be too much than not enough for her.” Jack swallowed hard, his shoulders deflating. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, worn thin by worry but threaded with understanding. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out, his shoulders slumping. Trent stepped back slightly, his own exhaustion catching up with him. 

“Jack, please.” His voice cracked just a little, the vulnerability bleeding through. Jack rolled his head to the side, opening his eyes to meet Trent’s gaze. There was no judgment left, only the shared ache of two people desperate to keep someone they loved from falling apart.

“I just don’t want to lose her.” Jack muttered. He’d spoken to Dianne about you but there was an additional undercurrent. The one that had coursed through him since he found out about you and Trent, since he asked Megan to be his girlfriend, it wasn’t in his control… it was the tide of your mother, losing another important woman in his life wasn’t an option. 

“You won’t,” Trent said, his voice steady now. “Neither will I. But we’ve got to meet her where she’s at, not where we wish she was.” Trent explained. Silence settled between them, heavy but less suffocating.

“I know. I know,” Jack murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He straightened up, stepping closer, his face serious but kind. “Can we just… Trent, I need to make sure she’s okay. And I know you want that too. So can we do it together and not like…”Jack sighed unsure how to say it. Trent’s eyes narrowed waiting for his words. In reality, Trent had been blinded by love and fear and protection. He hadn’t realized how reclusive you two had been. “Like just not lock yourselves away for days at a time, yeah?” The sincerity in his voice was disarming, breaking down the invisible wall Trent had been bracing against. Trent nodded slowly, his throat tight. “And, bro,” Jack added, his tone softening with a small, crooked smile, “it’s not lost on me that this has to be hard on you too. I just need you two to be okay. So please… just let me in a little. Come up for air every once in a while, yeah? There’s oxygen elsewhere.”  The words hit Trent harder than he expected, like a lifeline thrown into waters he didn’t even realize he was drowning in. He gave a breathy chuckle, shaking his head, then reached out, gripping Jack’s shoulder firmly—a silent thank you wrapped in the gesture.

“Thanks, Jacky.” His voice was rough but honest. “Trust me… I’m struggling, mate but we’re all coming out of this.” Jack nodded, his hand patting Trent’s back briefly as they turned to head back to you. Because despite everything, they were in this together. It was the only option and you were waiting, the one thing tethering them both to hope. Trent pushed off the wall, heading back toward you, but not before glancing back at Jack one last time. “We’ll figure it out. For her.” Jack nodded again, his chest tight, but his heart a little lighter. And Trent? He went back to you, because that’s where he belonged.

---

“C’mon, move over for me,” Trent smirked as he stood beside the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. His tone was playful, but the warmth in his eyes softened the teasing edge. You barely looked up, curled up in the corner of the sectional, wrapped in a thick blanket like it was the only thing holding you together. The minutes apart since he’d gone to Dianne’s till now had felt like an eternity, and though you wouldn’t admit it, your body still buzzed with the residual unease of his absence. Instead of moving, you just blinked at him, hesitant. Trent’s smirk faded slightly.  “Pretty girl… ” he murmured, immediately picking up on your hesitation. His expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, and instead of waiting for you to move, he simply settled into the space beside you, pulling you into him with ease. His arms wrapped around you, a steady and familiar embrace. He kissed your temple gently. “Baby, he just wants you all good, yeah?” His voice was soft, meant only for you, each word laced with reassurance. Another kiss, this time to your forehead. Jack sighed heavily from his seat across the room, shifting slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. 

“Just looking out for you, Y/N.” His voice was steady, but the weight of it was unmistakable.

“Okay…” you mumbled, but your tone was dismissive, your face still buried against Trent’s chest, unwilling to engage in the conversation any further. Trent let out a quiet hum, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back. 

“C’mon, gonna watch the game,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. With one arm still wrapped around you, he attempted to adjust you, trying to turn your body so you could see the TV instead of burrowing into him. But you resisted, gripping onto him tighter. 

“No.” The pout in your voice made him chuckle, but he didn’t cave this time. Instead, he maneuvered you carefully, positioning you so you were settled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, his arms still locked securely around your stomach.

“Yeah, sorry, pretty girl,” he cooed, pressing another kiss to your temple, amusement laced in his voice. He wasn’t giving in this time. Jack, watching silently, exhaled a quiet breath of relief. His eyes met Trent’s, and he gave him a small nod, mouthing “better.” Trent didn’t respond, but the flicker of acknowledgment in his expression was enough. For a moment, you stayed like that, nestled against Trent, your body finally relaxing as the quiet murmur of the TV filled the space. But soon, the discomfort of being apart, even by just a few inches, became too much. Without thinking, you turned fully into him, shifting so that your body curled over his, your cheek pressed against his heartbeat. Trent let out a small breath of amusement, unsurprised by your need to be closer. His arms instinctively tightened around you, his hand smoothing up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. Your foot dragged up his toned leg, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing against the warmth of his skin. The contact was necessary, grounding. His body had become your safe haven, the only place where you felt truly at ease. Jack watched silently from across the room, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t judgment, nor was it frustration—it was concern, laced with something softer. He didn’t fully understand the weight of what you were carrying, but he knew you were holding on to Trent like he was the last solid thing in your world. Trent, for his part, simply held you. He didn’t push you away, didn’t tell you to move, didn’t tell you that you were clinging too much. He just kept rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, his other hand resting protectively on your thigh. The game continued on the TV, but neither of you were watching. The rise and fall of Trent’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the gentle brush of his lips against your hair—it was enough to lull you into a sleepy haze. “Go to sleep, baby,” Trent eventually murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He pressed another soft kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “I got you.” And for the first time that day, you allowed yourself to fully believe it.

---

Trent had promised Jack he’d help, that he’d be mindful, that he wouldn’t let things spiral. But that was easier said than done when every day, he saw you like this—fragile, weary, sinking deeper into him as if he were the only thing tethering you down. Every time he saw you clinging to him like he was the only thing you knew, he felt that promise slipping through his fingers. And maybe he was. How was he supposed to pull away when you needed him so much? When he needed you just the same? 

Dianne’s Sunday roasts were tradition, a staple in the Alexander-Arnold household, and today was no different. The garden was alive with laughter, plates clinking, the scent of spices from inside seeping outside into the air. The whole family was there, sprawled out in the back garden, chatting away, the summer heat melting into the kind of warmth only home could bring. His brothers were chatting, his cousin fussing over the family dog, and his mum was flitting between guests, ensuring everyone had what they needed and then back to the kitchen. The house was full of love, warmth, and normalcy-something you hadn't felt in a long time. But you barely registered it. You were sitting in Trent’s lap, tucked against his chest, your body draped over his like a second skin. His hands rested on your waist, fingers lazily grazing under the sheer fabric of your top, tracing the soft skin of your stomach absentmindedly.  Every touch was slow, deliberate, his presence wrapped around you like a shield. Your back rolled into him as his nose brushed against the curve of your neck, his lips finding the soft skin just below your ear. Your head rolled to the side, exposing more of your neck, and Trent didn't hesitate to nuzzle into the space. He whispered, ‘I love yous’ quietly and just for you. It wasn't the first time he'd said it today. In fact, he'd been murmuring it to you all afternoon, as if afraid you'd slip away if he stopped reminding you. You let out a slow exhale, and hummed softly in response, your hands moving over his forearms in front of you, fingertips tracing over the muscles and veins beneath his skin. You weren't really here. You were with him, yes, but the rest of the world barely existed. The laughter, the voices, the chatter-it was all just background noise. The only thing you could feel, hear, breathe, was Trent. He was comfort. He was safety. 

“Hun, come help me, yeah?” Dianne’s voice cut through the quiet bubble you and Trent had wrapped yourselves in. Your eyes fluttered open, barely processing the request before turning to her. She stood just a few steps away, nodding toward the house, an easy smile on her lips. You always helped Dianne. In fact, you usually offered. But today? Today, you just wanted to stay right where you were. Your body stiffened slightly, the thought of leaving Trent—even for a few minutes—causing unease to bloom in your chest. Trent felt it instantly before you even had to say anything.. His hands gripped your waist a little tighter, his own muscles tensing beneath you. The way your body stiffened, the subtle hitch in your breath, the way your hands instinctively gripped his forearms tighter. His fingers pressed against your stomach, rubbing soothing circles, silently reassuring you that you didn't have to move if you didn't want to.

“Mum, I don’t think—” Trent started, already intervening, already ready to reject the request on your behalf, ready to make an excuse for you before you even had to answer. But Dianne didn’t budge.

“Yeah, I need this gorgeous girl,” she cooed, her voice soft but unwavering. Her eyes met yours, her meaning clear, patient but expectant. Trent’s arms curled around you a little tighter, a silent plea to stay. But you knew Dianne. This wasn’t just about getting help in the kitchen. You let out a breath before shifting slightly, preparing to move. Trent hesitated, then hugged you against him for a moment longer, as if to imprint the feeling of you there before finally standing with you. You exhaled slowly before shifting, preparing to move. Trent's hold lingered for just a second longer before he reluctantly let go, his hands trailing down your waist as he helped you stand. You adjusted the hem of your tiny knit shorts, smoothing them down, but Trent’s hands never fully left you. They hovered, warm and familiar, settling on the small of your back as he dipped his head down, lips brushing against your ear. His hands lingered on the small of your back, warm and grounding, his fingertips lightly pressing into your skin. 

“Just for a little bit, yeah? I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” He kissed the top of your shoulder, lips brushing against the ribbing of your top, before trailing up to press another against your temple. Jack, who had been watching the entire thing unfold, shot Dianne a knowing look from across the garden. She simply winked at him, her patience unwavering. She was giving you space, gently forcing you to take a breath of air outside of Trent’s hold, even if just for a moment. Trent hesitated before finally pulling away completely, but even then, his fingers trailed down your arm, as if reluctant to break contact entirely. You nodded softly, stepping away, but not before Trent reached out again, fingertips grazing your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I’ll be here," he whispered. It took everything in you to turn away and follow Dianne into the house. Jack exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he watched you disappear inside. Dianne had done what he couldn't-pried you away from Trent's grip, even if just for a few minutes. And Trent? Trent was still standing there, his eyes fixed on the door you had just walked through, already waiting for you to come back.

---

“Hun, how are you doing?” Dianne asked you softly in the empty kitchen. You shrugged continuing to slice vegetables she’d given you on the cutting board. She sighed at your response. “Sweetie, I’ve never seen you like this…”She spoke again. Dianne was being patient, she wasn’t going to push you further than needed, she knew how sensitive you were but she also wanted to help. Dianne waited but you didn’t speak so she did again instead. “You know, I’ve talked to two boys who love you very much….” In that moment your heart sank… she knew. “Talk to me, hun, please. I’m here.” She encouraged you. Dianne turned to you fully now, her warm eyes softening as she reached out, placing both hands gently on your shoulders. She gave you a slight squeeze, her touch firm yet soothing, grounding you in the moment. Dianne’s heart ached watching you. She could see how fragile you were, the way your hands trembled slightly as you wiped your face, the way your breath hitched as you fought against the sobs threatening to spill out. Without hesitation, she pulled you into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around you, cradling the back of your head as if you were a child again. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” she murmured. The moment your body pressed against hers, it was as if the weight of the past weeks broke free from inside you, shattering the fragile composure you’d been holding onto.  The tears came freely now, silent at first, your shoulders shaking as she ran a soothing hand over your back. Your arms wrapped around her, fingers gripping at the fabric of her blouse as a choked sob left your lips. Dianne held you tighter, one hand stroking your hair, the other smoothing comforting circles down your back. “It’s okay, darling,” she whispered, her voice steady, a rock in the storm of your emotions. “You’ve been holding so much inside, haven’t you? A lot’s been going on, hmm?” You nodded into her shoulder, your entire frame trembling. The pressure in your chest, the one that had been suffocating you, finally gave way. Tears streamed freely now, soaking into her shirt, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just kept holding you, humming softly under her breath, a mother’s instinct taking over. “You are so loved, sweet girl,” she murmured, her voice filled with conviction. “I know it feels safe with him. I know he makes it all feel okay, like the world is a little less heavy when he’s there. But sweetheart, you need to be okay even when he’s not.” Her words cut through you like a blade you were just using, sharp but true. You tried to shake your head, to deny it, but she pulled back slightly, cupping your tear-streaked face in her hands, her thumbs wiping at your damp cheeks. “You are strong,” she insisted, her voice firm but tender. “Even if you don’t feel it right now, even if it’s buried under all this pain, it’s there.” Your lips wobbled as more tears spilled over.

 “I—I don’t that way,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Dianne sighed, her thumbs still brushing over your cheeks, her gaze unwavering. 

“I know, hun. And that’s okay. Strength isn’t about feeling unbreakable all the time. It’s about taking even the tiniest steps forward, even when it hurts.” Her voice was calm and it made your heart ache. A sob wracked your chest, and she pulled you in again, holding you as if she could stitch your broken pieces back together just with the force of her love. “It’s going to take time, sweetie. No one expects you to just wake up one day and be fine. But you have to start finding yourself again—little by little.” Your breath hitched as you clung to her. 

“I just need to be with T, Di. I’m scared. I don’t feel like myself without him.” You whimpered a confession, your voice fragile, barely there.

“No one can make you more yourself than you can. Hun, that boy…” She paused with a sigh. “The one that hurt you, he doesn’t define you. And as much as he brings out the best in you, Trenty doesn’t either.” She explained. You sniffled reluctantly listening to her.

“Sorry, Di.” You whimpered as you wiped your face, stepping back from her feeling guilty like you were burdening her but she reached out to you again.

“Sweetie, not one apology needed.” Dianne exhaled, pressing a kiss to your hair. Let’s figure it out together, yeah?” she whispered. “You’re not alone in this, hun.” She swayed slightly, rocking you in place like she used to do with her own children when they were small, letting the warmth of the kitchen, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the quiet love she poured into you fill the space. And for the first time in a long time, even without Trent there, you felt a little less lost. And then in a moment of vulnerability you heard the words come from your mouth like someone else was speaking them. 

“Di…. I miss her,” you choked out suddenly, the words tasting foreign in your mouth, but feeling so deeply true. “I miss my mum so much.” Dianne inhaled sharply, her own eyes glistening as she held you tighter. 

“Oh, hun. I know you do,” she whispered. “And I know she would be so proud of you. She would be holding you just like this if she could.” You nodded against her shoulder, the warmth of her comfort breaking down something in you.

“I just don’t know who I am. And without her I felt like I didn’t know where home was anymore, what that felt like anymore but with T, he gives me that. Without—without Trent. I feel like I’ll fall apart.” You muttered in between shaky breaths. Dianne pulled back just enough to cup your face, her thumbs wiping away the endless stream of tears.

“Listen to me. I know you feel lost right now. And I know Trent is your safe place, but you need to remember that you are still here. You are strong. You are still you, even without them right next to you.” You sniffled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t feel strong.” You tried to tell her once again. Dianne smiled sadly, brushing a piece of hair from your face. 

“That’s the thing about strength, hun. It doesn’t always feel like it. Sometimes it feels like just waking up and getting through the day. Sometimes it’s crying and still standing after. And sometimes, strength is knowing when to hold on, and when to let yourself breathe.” You swallowed hard, her words settling deep in your chest. You wanted to believe them. You wanted to trust that you could be okay, even if you weren’t wrapped up in Trent’s arms every second.

“I’m scared,” you admitted in a whisper. Dianne kissed the top of your head gently.  

“I know, sweetheart. But you’re not alone. And you never will be. We’ll figure this out, together, promise. I’m here. We’re all with you.” And you let yourself believe it as you nodded.

---

The house carried the familiar, comforting scent of home-cooked food, mingling with the low hum of conversation drifting in from the back garden. The warmth of the kitchen should’ve been soothing, but you felt restless, your mind tangled in too many emotions to focus on something as simple as cooking. Your hands moved mechanically, slicing vegetables, stirring sauces, going through the motions without truly being present. You were trying to be there but your emotional conversation with Dianne moments earlier lingered. Trent and Jack stepped inside, their presence filling the space instantly. Trent’s eyes found yours immediately, scanning your face with that quiet, searching intensity he always had when he was worried about you. You knew why he was here. It wasn’t really about the food.

“Food ready?” he asked, voice casual, but the question held a deeper meaning.  A lame excuse in an effort to make sure you were okay. Dianne’s hands brushed your arms as she passed, her touch gentle but grounding. She didn’t miss anything—never had, never would.

“Almost…” she cooed, before adding with a knowing softness, “Takes time, hun.” You knew she wasn’t just talking about the food. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken understanding. Trent hesitated, lingering for a moment like he was debating whether to say more, but instead, he exhaled, giving you one last glance before following Jack back outside.

By the time the meal was finally finished, the back garden had settled into the kind of easy, familiar atmosphere that always came with these family gatherings. The sun had started breaking through the thick English clouds, casting golden streaks across the table. There was a light breeze, the kind that made the trees rustle lazily, the sound mixing with the distant laughter of Trent’s brothers. You sat beside him, close but not quite close enough, resisting the urge that had become second nature—to curl into him, to let his warmth swallow you whole. You wanted to, so badly, but Dianne’s words still echoed in your mind. Maybe Jack’s did, too. But resisting Trent was like trying to fight gravity. Mid-sentence, as he spoke to Tyler and Noah, Trent’s hand moved instinctively. His fingers dipped into the waistband of your knit shorts, his touch slow, deliberate. Before you even had the chance to react, he pulled you into him with quiet certainty, his arm winding around your waist as if reminding you there was no use in fighting it. The second your body met his, it was like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. The tension in your shoulders melted, your muscles softened. You belonged here. Noah, ever the comic relief, threw out a joke that had the whole table chuckling. The sound of it nudged something loose in your chest, and before you knew it, you were giggling too—light, breathy, real. Trent stilled for just a moment, as if soaking in the sound, as if letting it seep into his skin. Then, ever so subtly, he exhaled, his body finally relaxing, his hand squeezing your waist in quiet acknowledgment. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, murmuring something against your skin that you couldn’t quite make out, but you felt it all the same. And suddenly, everything seemed… clearer. The food you had cooked no longer felt like a chore; its rich scent curled around you, grounding you in the moment. The sun’s rays warming your skin didn’t just feel like another passing part of the day—it felt like something to lean into. The familiar voices around you, the laughter, the ease of it all—it was a reminder. You were safe. You were here. And maybe, just maybe, the haze was beginning to lift.

---

The back garden of your house was alive in a different way days later with the rhythmic thud of the ball against the ground, the occasional smack of it colliding with the crossbar, and the relentless banter between Jack and Trent. It was a competition neither would admit to taking too seriously, but the way Trent’s brows furrowed and Jack’s smirk grew every time he landed a shot told a different story.

“Bro, just fucking hit it!” Trent whined, his frustration bleeding through as Jack took his time setting up his strike. They were deep into a game, who could hit the crossbar the most given 50 tries. They were nearing the fiftieth strike and Jack was trailing behind.  

“Gimme a minute, mate!” Jack shot back, eyeing the ball like he was lining up the perfect shot in a World Cup final rather than a backyard challenge. Trent groaned, shifting impatiently, but Jack ignored him, reassessing his stance before finally letting the ball fly. The crisp sound of leather meeting metal rang out as the ball ricocheted off the bar with precision. Jack’s lips curled into a barely-there smirk, pleased but refusing to show just how much he’d surprised himself. Trent, on the other hand, scowled. Jack wasn’t a professional footballer, nowhere near his level—but moments like this, when Trent could actually lose, were golden. It wasn’t about talent or skill. It was about how hilariously terrible Trent was at losing. Jack, now fully embracing the moment, plopped down onto the grass with a dramatic sigh, rocking onto his back, feet briefly in the air. He stretched out leisurely, basking in the satisfaction of having a shot at beating Trent at his own game. “Trenty, you got two more… gotta hit both, win by two…” Jack taunted, a teasing chuckle in his voice. He was finally… relaxed. Trent exhaled sharply, shaking out his shoulders as if preparing for a match-winning free kick in stoppage time. Jack and Trent didn’t need to speak more about you. It was obvious, out in the open, what needed to happen, what had happened so instead they did what they did best… laugh. Just lads being lads 

“Yeah, yeah, mate, I got it. I got it,” he muttered, his expression shifting into one of razor-sharp focus. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and stepped up. His leg pulled back in a perfect stride, ready to strike—but then, the unmistakable sound of the back door sliding open cut through the air. Even without looking, he felt you.  Trent’s focus lapsed. Your presence was as real to him as the ball at his feet. The way the air changed when you walked into a space, the way his body instinctively reacted, drawn to you before his brain even caught up. His focus flickered for the briefest moment—but it was enough. The ball flew off his boot, but the precision was gone. The strike was sloppy, mistimed. The ball sailed wide, nowhere near the target. Jack, seeing the perfect opportunity, didn’t let it slide. 

“Wayyyy!” he bellowed, mimicking an English football crowd heckling a poor attempt. He clapped his hands together, grinning wildly as he stood up and dusted his palms off on his shorts. “Sorry, lad… we keep going then. You lost it, bro.” Trent, stunned for a second, spun around in protest.

“Nah, nah, nah! I get a redo! No way, she distracted me. That’s not—” He stopped himself, gesturing wildly at you as if the mere fact of your existence had cost him the game. It was genuinely ridiculous how bad he was at losing. Delusional, even. But that was Trent—so incredibly competitive, so unwilling to accept defeat in even the silliest of games. And because you loved him, and always had, you found it painfully endearing. You crossed your arms, a knowing smirk creeping onto your lips as you watched him grumble, already gearing up to argue his case.

“Excuses, excuses,” Jack teased, shaking his head. Trent shot you a look, dramatic and wounded, like you’d betrayed him simply by existing in his line of sight. You only laughed, stepping closer, and with that, whatever frustration Trent had was gone. Because at the end of the day, no loss—no matter how much he hated them—mattered when you were there. Jack jogged up to Trent, shoving him roughly, laughter bubbling between them as they wrestled like kids in the schoolyard.

"Hey, c'mere..." Trent called out to you suddenly, swatting at Jack to get him off before jogging in your direction. The way he looked at you, slightly breathless from the game but entirely focused on you now, made your stomach flip. "You distracted me, you know," he smirked, reaching for your waist and pulling you flush against him. The movement was so unexpected that you let out a surprised giggle, tilting your head just out of reach of his kisses—not to reject them, but just to tease. In truth, you loved the feeling of his hands splayed over your bare skin, his warmth pressing into you, the way his scent mixed with the summer air, fresh-cut grass, and whatever faint cologne lingered on his shirt. His laugh, so genuine and perfect, sent your heart into overdrive. You hadn't even realized he was here. From inside, all you heard was their whining back and forth, the sounds of a game in progress. It had been a small surprise seeing him, but as he held you close, it felt... good. Normal. "Sorry, baby... I should've told you-" Trent muttered, suddenly realizing that he wasn't just at Jack's house; he was at yours. He hadn't told you he was coming, and there was an awkward flicker in his voice like he was afraid he'd overstepped.

"It's okay," you whispered, pressing your nose against his in reassurance. "It's good." Trent's breath hitched slightly. He had expected hesitation, maybe a flicker of hurt that he hadn't called ahead. Not anger, but something... instead, you just looked at him with soft eyes, your lips pursing slightly, silently asking for a kiss. He obliged instantly, cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours, slow and warm, melting into the moment.

"Hey!" Jack's voice rang out, exaggeratedly impatient, feigned annoyance. "We're in the middle of a game!" His arms flew up dramatically, as if the fate of the world depended on their crossbar challenge. Trent pulled back with a grin, his lips curling into the most beautiful, mischievous smile you'd ever seen. Without warning, he bent low and tossed you over his shoulder with ease. You shrieked in laughter, gripping onto his back as he took off running toward Jack, your giggles filling the air. He kissed your thigh in front of Jack's face, smirking at his best mate's dramatic sigh, before carefully setting you down on the grass with such tenderness that it made your heart flutter. In that moment, everything felt light-like the weight you'd been carrying had momentarily lifted, leaving just the warmth of the sun, the sound of laughter, and the feeling of being wrapped in him.

“Alright, alright, game’s back on. I got distracted,” Trent announced, but not without shooting you a cheeky wink. You giggled again, your chest rising and falling with the remnants of laughter, still coming down from the sheer lightness of the moment. Jack scoffed, shaking his head as he nudged Trent toward the ball.

“Yeah, she’s been distracting you for years. Play the game, mate.” Jack complained but not without a tease. You curled your legs beneath you, settling comfortably onto the grass, watching the two most important people in your life go back and forth, their bond evident in every jab and shove. There was something mesmerizing about it—the way they could argue, tease, and compete, yet the love and loyalty between them never wavered. Trent refocused, rolling his shoulders back before hitting the ball with precision. The sharp crack of his foot against the leather was effortless, the ball soaring toward the crossbar and bouncing off with a satisfying clink. Another point to him. But just as he was about to take his next strike, he did something unexpected. Instead of immediately stepping up, he turned to you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, something playful and adoring dancing in them. He kissed his fingers, then pointed directly at you, his signature smirk tugging at his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he swung his leg back and struck the ball—smooth, confident, no hesitation. He barely turned to track its trajectory, his attention back fixed on you, his grin widening by the second. And then— Whack! The ball smacked the post with pinpoint accuracy. He didn’t even need to see it. The game set, finished, won.

“Oh, fuck you!” Jack whined, throwing his hands up in frustration, while you burst into laughter. Trent was at the end of the day a very very good footballer and equally pompous about it. 

“I’m a big game player, bro!” Trent laughed obnoxiously, basking in his win. He strutted towards you, brimming with triumph, before cupping your face between his hands and pressing a firm, eager kiss to your lips.

“Trying to impress me?” you murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough to tease him. Trent hummed smugly in response, his nose brushing against yours. Not wanting to leave Jack out, considering how much he always included you, you reached for Trent’s wrists, using them as leverage to pull yourself up.

“Okay, okay, my turn, Jacky!” you yelped, moving past Trent toward a loose ball. Jack grinned, passing it to you as you set it down near the edge of the 18-yard box. “If I hit it, you have to get dinner,” you challenged with a playful smirk. Jack chuckled, tilting his head with an exaggeratedly skeptical hum. 

“Yeah? Go on…” He rolled his eyes. Just as you prepared to take your shot, Trent leaned in and gave your ass a teasing slap. Jack was immediately on it, throwing a hand in the air as if holding an invisible card, his referee instincts kicking in. Trent lifted his hands in mock innocence, raising an eyebrow as if he had no idea what Jack was accusing him of.

“That’s a yellow…” Jack insisted, shaking his head with faux seriousness and gestured again giving him the imaginary card. You just laughed, shaking them both off as you focused on the ball. Taking a deep breath, you swung your foot through. It wasn’t perfect, not as effortless as Trent’s, but it floated just enough—clipping the top bar with a soft ting. You were beaming.

“Come on!!!!” Trent’s voice rang out across the garden, pure elation laced in every syllable. His excitement was so infectious you couldn’t help but giggle, heat rushing to your cheeks as he sprinted toward you. His arms wrapped around your waist seamlessly, lifting you off your feet like you weighed nothing, spinning you around in wild celebration.

“Fuck you both!” Jack yelped from behind, feigning annoyance, but the laughter bubbling in his voice betrayed him. Jack exhaled through his nose, giving you a slow, approving nod. 

“It’s what we do, bro!” Trent shot back through his grin, still twirling you in his arms like you were some sort of trophy. “My girl’s got tek you know!” His grip adjusted—one arm sliding down your back, the other hooking under your legs—before he scooped you up entirely, carrying you around the grass like he’d just won the Champions League.

“Dinner’s on you, Jacky lad!” you teased, your voice a mix of giggles and breathless excitement. Trent pressed frantic kisses along your cheek, his stubble tickling your skin, making you squirm in his hold. You squealed in protest, but he only laughed harder, dropping to the ground with you still in his grasp, landing in a dramatic sprawl on the grass. His arms tightened around you, refusing to let you go as you caught your breath, your body molded into his like a missing puzzle piece. Jack shook his head, hands on his hips as he watched the two of you tangled together. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no shadows lingering around you, no weight pressing down, no tension knotting shoulders. Just light. Just love. You and Trent finally happy, finally safe, no tears, no anger, no fights, just you two doused in the setting sun, love and permanent smiles.

“Honestly…” Jack sighed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He saw it now—how natural you and Trent were together, how safe you finally felt. “What do you lot want to eat then?” He asked.

“Mmm, pizza please,” you hummed, nuzzling your face into Trent’s neck, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of him as his fingers traced gentle patterns against your skin. Jack sauntered over to the edge of the grass where their belongings were scattered—phones, water bottles, and, conveniently for him, Trent’s Prada wallet. He plucked it up, flipping it open with exaggerated ease, fingers rummaging through its contents.

“And the Amex Centurion is fine, yeah?” Jack quipped, holding up Trent’s sleek black card with an impish grin. Trent’s head snapped up immediately, his brows furrowing before his jaw slacked in realization.

“Huh?…. Nah, wait, mate. Fuck right off—” he started, but before he could finish, Jack was already making a break for it.  Trent barely had time to place one last kiss against your temple before he was springing to his feet, launching into a full sprint after Jack, their laughter echoing through the garden. They barreled toward the house, limbs flailing, their rivalry turning into something straight out of a slapstick comedy as Jack fumbled with the sliding door, trying to shield himself. You sighed, a slow, contented exhale, and let yourself sink back into the grass. The sky stretched above you, painted in soft hues of pink, orange, and lilac, melting together at the edges like a watercolor. The clouds drifted lazily, moving at the same steady pace as your own heartbeat. The sun’s warmth seeped into your skin, a golden glow settling over everything. And then you felt it—really felt it. You were okay. For the first time in a long, long time, you were okay.

---

“I’ve been keeping a secret…” Layla’s voice was barely above a whisper as she tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie, pulling you into the hallway off the kitchen. Her eyes were wide, almost mischievous, but there was something serious beneath the playfulness. Her eyes darted around, checking for eavesdroppers, her whole demeanor screaming mischief.

“Another one? No thanks,” You smirked, your brows shooting up as you folded your arms across your chest. “What could you possibly be hiding?” You asked her at a normal volume, narrowing your eyes in suspicion, Layla took a deep breath, her lips twitching like she was trying to suppress a smile. Then she dropped the bomb she couldn’t hold onto anymore.

“Y/N…” Layla took a breath, her grip tightening on your wrist as if to steady herself. Then, with a look so grave it sent a shiver up your spine, she said it— “I slept at Noah’s.” Your jaw dropped. Your heart pounded so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“EXCUSE ME?!” You shrieked, voice bouncing off the walls of the hallway like an echo in a canyon.

“Shh! Shhh!” Layla panicked, her hands flying to your mouth as she glanced back toward the kitchen, dragging you further into the corridor. You could still hear Noah and Jack’s laughter mixing in the distance, the faint sound of the front door opening—Trent just arriving at the house. “We didn’t have sex,” she rushed to clarify, her expression dead serious. You cocked your head to the side, giving her a slow, knowing smirk. 

“Mmhmm, sure,” you teased, popping your lips before letting a wicked grin spread across your face. 

“I swear we didn’t!” she squealed, half defending herself, half laughing at her own situation.

“I just don’t believe you.”  You popped your lips, tilting your head with an infuriatingly knowing smirk. Layla let out a dramatic groan, but her cheeks flushing as she tried to double down. 

“I swear… Trust me, I—” She started to finish her sentence but suddenly dissolved into a fit of giggles, shaking her head like she couldn’t even process what she was saying or what happened. “No, but seriously, we didn’t,” she reiterated, though it was entirely unnecessary at this point. You raised a hand, gesturing for her to spill everything, and she did. Layla told you everything—every little detail you never needed (or wanted) to know about Noah. The way he looked at her, the way he held her, the way he made her feel. She took the bait, launching into every intimate detail about her night with Noah all the things she’d been dying to tell you—how he was charming, how he somehow managed to make her feel safe but turned on, how he pulled some kind of witchcraft on her, making her feel so sexy, yet so at ease.  “Like, I don’t know what juju that man has, but good lord…” Layla whispered, shaking her head with a dreamy sort of daze before she burst into laughter, hands flailing as she dramatically recounted the way Noah had completely bewitched her. You couldn’t help but laugh too, wrapping her in a playful hug as you both dissolved into giggles, the two of you stumbling slightly in the narrow hallway, barely able to contain your giddy energy.

“Jack really has great friends,” you mused teasingly, still giggling as you started walking back toward the kitchen, Layla beside you.

“Don’t say it like that.” She groaned but fell into a cheeky laugh. You shot her a wink, still grinning as you linked arms and continued walking. The boys’ voices grew louder—Jack laughing at something, Noah’s unmistakable banter in response—and then… Trent. You didn’t have to see him to feel him. The air shifted, that familiar pull settling deep in your stomach before your eyes even landed on him. The way he occupied a room, effortlessly magnetic, like some invisible string tying him to you no matter how much distance you tried to put between you. Jack had great friends, sure. But one of them had you utterly, helplessly in love—had for years. The distant sound of Trent’s voice carried through the house, and suddenly, your heart did something ridiculous—it skipped. Because if Noah had some sort of juju over Layla, then Trent… Trent had spent years casting a spell on you. One you had no intention of ever breaking.

“Y/N, you can’t meddle though, yeah?” Layla’s voice was hushed but firm as you both stepped into the kitchen, where all the boys were gathered but still on the other side of the room.She gave you a pointed look, her eyes gleaming with both warning and amusement. You scoffed, eyes widening as if she’d just accused you of a crime. 

“When have I ever meddled?!” you yelped, clutching your chest in mock offense. Layla didn’t even need to say anything—her face alone was enough of a response. “Like, all anyone does is meddle with me. Meddle in my life, my relationships, everything,” you huffed dramatically, crossing your arms. It wasn’t even a lie. Lately, it felt like everyone had something to say about your choices, your love life, Trent. Layla just shook her head at you, her expression unimpressed. 

“Nothing. Not a word.” she warned lightheartedly, her voice quieter now, but the look in her eyes said she meant it. You pursed your lips, sealing them like a vow, and parted ways with her as you moved toward Trent, who was sitting at the kitchen counter. He was busy laughing at something Jack had just said, but the second your hands slid around his waist, dipping under the soft fabric of his jumper, he felt you. Trent shivered slightly at the cold touch of your fingers against his abs, the drag of your nails on his skin, a sharp inhale slipping from his lips. His body instantly relaxed into yours as your head found a home on his shoulder.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he purred, tilting his head back, trying to reach your lips. You met him halfway, letting his mouth brush against yours in the softest, laziest kiss.

“Hi,” you giggled against his lips, the warmth of his breath fanning against your skin as his mouth curled into a perfect pink, pouty smile. Jack less amused by Trent’s lips couldn’t resist a little tease after overhearing you and Layla moments ago. 

“Yeah, well, I just wish you wouldn’t meddle with my mate in my kitchen,” Jack interrupted, his voice laced with teasing disapproval before he picked up a grape and threw it at Trent’s head. The grape bounced off Trent’s temple, and he barely reacted, just chuckled and picked it up, lobbing it with some arch across the room with perfect accuracy. Noah, ever the chaos magnet, opened his mouth and caught it effortlessly in his mouth, chewing with a smug grin.

“Eh, meddling can be a good thing,” Noah added through a mouthful of grape, his words slightly muffled. His eyes flickered toward Layla, and before anyone could react, he winked at her. You felt Layla stiffen across the room. It took everything in you not to react. Not to squeal or poke fun or say something incriminating. Instead, you bit down on your lip so hard you nearly hurt yourself, gripping Trent’s jumper for support as you fought the urge to explode. Nothing. Not a word, just as she said. But God, was it hard.

---

Noah strolled back into the kitchen later that night, his presence easy and familiar as you stood at the counter, halfway through preparing dinner for what felt like an entire army. It wasn’t an official movie night—not really—since no one had agreed on a film, and the TV in the living room was flipping between some rugby games. Jack had a few of his mates over, you had Layla, and somehow, that meant you were now in charge of feeding everyone. You sighed, silently cursing your own generosity.

“Alright?” Noah cooed as he made his way toward the refrigerator, his tone warm and teasing, as if he could feel your exhaustion. You hummed in response, nodding slightly, your focus still on the chopping board in front of you. Your hands moved on autopilot, slicing ingredients, measuring seasonings. But when you caught sight of the butter near your workspace, you hesitated, remembering something.

“You can’t have dairy, right?” you asked, glancing up at him with a soft smile as you cheekily slid the butter away from you. Noah, mid-search in the fridge, looked up in slight surprise before a smirk curved onto his lips. 

“Yeah, sorry… Thank you for remembering.” He answered you. You shook your head as if to say it’s nothing, but then he noticed the olive oil sitting on a lower shelf. Without missing a beat, he grabbed it and slid the non-dairy alternate across the marble countertop toward you. A silent, unspoken exchange. You took it without a second thought, pouring some into the pan.

“So, what’s been up with you?” The question fell from your lips naturally, without much thought. But then, as soon as you asked it, you realized. Shit. Would he mention Layla? Would he talk about his night? Her night? Maybe Layla was right. Maybe you did meddle. Noah, either unaware of your overthinking or simply choosing to ignore it, leaned back against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

“Eh, laying low… looking out after you.” That stupid, knowing smirk of his made you roll your eyes instantly.

“Shut up.” You scoffed, reaching for the salt and sprinkling it into the pot of boiling water. The hiss of the bubbles matched your playful annoyance. Noah chuckled, amused, before pushing off the counter and grabbing a handful of grapes from a bowl nearby. He popped one into his mouth, watching you as if waiting for you to break—to prod him for more information, to slip up and meddle. You wouldn’t. At least… you’d try not to.

“Nah, just chilling though…” Noah’s voice was casual, filling the comfortable silence between you. He popped another grape into his mouth, chewing slowly, but you barely acknowledged him, too focused on stirring the simmering sauce in the pan. You could feel him still standing there, though. He wasn’t just lingering—he was building up to something. “Erm… quick question for ya…” He cleared his throat, the shift in his tone so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed if you hadn’t known exactly where this was going.

“Shoot.” You finally turned to him, brow raised, curiosity feigned. Noah scratched the back of his neck, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

“Yeah… just curious…Erm… you know if Lays is seeing anyone?” He asked sheepishly. You felt your entire body internally scream, but on the outside, you played it smooth. Too smooth. You let out a slow, measured breath, forcing your expression into something casual, as if the question didn’t make you want to combust.

“No, she’s just chilling, laying low, I think,” you replied, your voice laced with an effortless, knowing smile, borrowing his words. There was no indication that you knew anything more than what he was asking. Noah, however, was suspicious. His head tilted slightly, his brows furrowing, eyes narrowing on you as if you were some sort of enigma. 

“Not gonna grill me with questions?” He looked at you curiously.  You shrugged, keeping the smile on your lips. 

“No… should I?” You looked back. His eyes narrowed even further. 

“Nah, fuck off—what’d she tell you?” He let out a laugh, shaking his head at you. Your lips curled as you bit back a giggle, but it was no use.

“Noah has a crushhhhh,” you sang, your voice playful and teasing as you reached out to squeeze his arm.

“Nah, see…” He scoffed, laughing as he shook your hand off him, pretending to be unbothered. But the slight redness in his ears gave him away. He turned away from you, making a beeline for the exit, but not before tossing a cheeky, mocking, “Thank you for making dinner, Y/N,” over his shoulder. Like he hadn’t just asked about Layla. Like you hadn’t reacted exactly how he suspected you would. And as he disappeared from the kitchen, you couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face.

---

The low hum of the TV filled the dark cinema room, the glow from the screen casting soft shadows over you and Trent as you crawled up his body, giggling softly after you’d finished cleaning up after dinner.  He let you, his strong arms instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you close, like he always did. His warmth, his scent, the way his fingers ran up and down your back absentmindedly -it all made you feel so safe, so at home. Everyone had gone home, save Noah. And Jack had popped over to Megan’s but said he’d be back tonight. Layla left a bit ago too and so for now, at least until whatever was on tv ended it was just the three of you.

"Guess what?" you whispered, lips brushing against his ear as you pressed a quick kiss there. Trent hummed in response, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, tilting his head to the side so you had more room to kiss his neck. His hands tightened around you, fingers spreading across your back. "He kissed Layla," you murmured, meddling, voice playful, teasing. Trent tensed beneath you, his body stiffening in surprise as he suddenly gripped your waist and pulled you back to look at you properly. His jaw slacked, his lips parting before pulling into the most amused, stunned grin. His eyes were wide, flickering between you and where Noah sat across the room, completely unaware.

"No," Trent whispered, like he couldn't quite believe it. His eyes lit up, Trent loved some gossip. You grinned, biting your lip, nodding as you snuggled back into his chest. Trent's wide eyes darted to Noah, watching him lounge in the chair, his face relaxed, completely unbothered. Noah must have caught the look from the corner of his eye because he sighed, shaking his head, still not bothering to turn around. 

"Stop," he muttered, his tone flat, already knowing exactly what was being said and going through Trent's head. You burst into giggles, burying your face against Trent's chest, your whole body shaking from the effort of keeping quiet. Trent raised his brows at you, biting back his own grin, but decided to leave it. He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Noah didn't say anything else, just carried on watching the game like nothing had happened. And eventually, he called it a night, grabbing his things and heading out, leaving just you and Trent alone in the house. The second the front door shut, Trent pulled you completely on top of him with a mischievous smirk.

"Been waiting to get you alone… " he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, the only thing separating you from another long night of trouble. You leaned forward with a whimper and sentences full of sin. Trent's hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was grounding himself in the moment, like he couldn't believe you were actually here-straddling him, whispering sinful promises into his ear. His dark eyes flickered with something primal, something possessive.

"T..." You whispered, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, leaving featherlight kisses that had him exhaling a sharp breath. He hummed, his hands sliding up your back, fingertips teasing beneath your shirt. 

"What do you need, pretty girl?" He asked smugly, his voice thick with desire.

"You. Please." You murmured, sitting up fully on his lap, locking your eyes with his. Trent's smirk widened. 

"Yeah?" He tilted his head, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, kneading it in his palms like he'd been dying to do it all day, dying to do it for years. You nodded, your lips parting as you watched him take in the sight of you, the way his eyes darkened, how his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

"Do you know how long l've wanted you in here?" His voice was low, rough, like he was holding himself back. 

"Tell me..." You swallowed, biting your lip as heat pooled in your stomach. 

"The amount of times l've sat in here and thought about you-" He exhaled, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your thighs. "Fuck, you don't even wanna know." Your stomach tightened at his admission, and your hands slid up his chest, gripping his shoulders.

"Baby," you whispered, leaning in so your lips ghosted over his, teasing. "Tell me all the places you've wanted me..." You dragged your nails lightly down his back, loving the way his breath hitched. "I want you to fuck me everywhere you've ever thought about..." Trent groaned, his hands squeezing your ass again, harder this time. His smirk turned lazy, dangerous.

"That's a lot of places..." He murmured, his voice thick with promise, his hands gripping your hips, pressing you down against him so you could feel exactly how much he wanted you. Your stomach flipped, your heart raced.

"Good," you whispered, dragging your lips over his jaw. "We have time." The cinema room was dark, the soft glow of whatever was on the telly casting just enough light to illuminate Trent's face as he looked up at you, his pupils blown wide with desire. His hands roamed your body, gripping, teasing, exploring like he couldn't get enough-like he never would. You straddled him, your thighs wrapped around his waist, completely lost in the way his mouth moved against yours-hungry, demanding, possessive. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing a breathy moan from you as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers trailing over your skin, making you shiver but you were desperate and he was moving too slow, so you took control, peeling your top off over your head leaving you completely bare, completely on display just for him.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he groaned, his lips moving down to your jaw, then lower, his teeth grazing your neck before sucking lightly, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart. Your fingers tangled in his short curls, tugging slightly as you rocked against him, feeling the heat between you intensify. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, his breathing growing heavier, more erratic.

"T..." You whimpered, pressing your forehead to his, your lips brushing

"I got you, baby," he whispered, his hands sliding down your back, gripping your ass as he shifted beneath you, making you gasp. Everything was a blur of heat, of whispered names and desperate touches, of breathless moans swallowed by deep kisses. His hands worshipped your body, his touch electric, igniting every nerve as he pulled you closer, as he took you apart piece by piece. And when it was over, when you were spent and tangled up in his arms, your head resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you sighed in pure contentment. Trent pressed a lazy kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles on your bare back.

"So good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“What you wanted?”You whispered, nuzzling into his warmth, feeling completely safe, completely his.

“Mmmhmm.” He hummed. After a few moments of blissful silence, you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. 

"So... where's next on the list?" You asked. Trent chuckled, the sound deep and full of mischief. He shook his head with a grin before gripping your thighs.

"List is fucking pages, pretty girl" he teased, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. You giggled, wrapping yourself around him as he stood up with ease. "C’mon," he murmured, carrying you out of the cinema room. "We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” He whispered into your ear and you felt yourself fall a little bit more with him  and maybe a little bit more in lust.

---

When Jack came back to the house that night, the silence immediately put him on edge. It was too quiet—unnaturally quiet. Noah’s car was gone, but Trent’s was still parked outside, which wasn’t unusual. He figured you two were probably just watching something or maybe gone upstairs. Nothing alarming. But then he heard it. A breathy sound he didn’t recognize. A soft, muffled noise that made his brow furrow. His lips twisted in confusion. He took a few more steps, rounding the corner—

“Oh my fucking god!” Jack yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. His entire body jolted back as if he’d been physically slapped by the sight in front of him. “Nah! I'm gonna be sick. I changed my mind! You can’t be together! Oh my fucking god!” Sheer horror plastered itself across his face as he smacked a hand over his eyes, his entire existence now dedicated to unseeing what he had just seen. You gasped, mortified, your body collapsing against Trent’s chest in sheer panic on the sofa in the living room. The third location on Trent’s list, although maybe the laziest and arguably the stupidest considering Jack had said he was coming home. 

“Shit, sorry, mate…” Trent muttered, his voice shaking with amusement as he scrambled for a blanket, tossing it over your half-dressed torso in a poor attempt at damage control.But then—he laughed. Jack whipped around, absolutely appalled. 

“It’s not funny, bro!” he shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of trauma. His hands rubbed aggressively over his face like he was trying to scrub the memory out of existence. Meanwhile, Trent’s bare chest shook beneath you as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter. You, on the other hand, wanted the earth to swallow you whole. “Y/N!” Jack practically yelled again, voice strained with disgust. “That’s so gross! Put your fucking clothes on!” He let out a loud, exaggerated grunt, facing away so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash.

“Oh my god,” you whispered into Trent’s skin, too mortified to lift your head. It was dark enough, but still—the silhouettes alone were scarring. Jack continued, pacing aggressively as if sheer movement could shake this nightmare from his brain. You groaned against Trent’s chest while he laughed like this was the funniest thing to ever happen to him. And maybe it was. He was just genuinely so in shock and mildly disinterested in Jack considering he had you on top of him without a top on. For Jack, though? It was a fucking tragedy. He left without another word.

"You may have to move," Trent murmured against your neck, his voice thick with laughter, warm breath ghosting over your skin. One arm remained splayed across your lower back, securing the blanket over you both, while the other reached blindly along the sofa in search of your discarded shirt.

"I know..." you groaned softly, pressing your forehead to his bare shoulder, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. Jack had walked in. Jack. Your brother. You squeezed your eyes shut at the memory, a mortified laugh bubbling in your throat. Trent felt it-the way your body tensed slightly against him. And for once, he didn't tease. He just kissed your temple gently, the weight of his lips lingering for a second too long.

"I just wanna be able to fuck you whenever I want," he whispered against your skin, voice tinged with playfulness, but beneath that, something deeper, something real. Your breath hitched as his lips moved lower, his teeth grazing just below your jaw. The warmth of his body, the scent of him surrounding you-it made your stomach flip.

"T," you giggled, shaking your head, fingers absently tracing over his ribs, feeling the way his chest vibrated with quiet laughter. His hand continued searching for your shirt, but when his fingers finally closed around fabric, he realized it wasn't yours. He gave a little huff of frustration before handing you his own instead.

"Here, pretty girl, as much as I hate it, think should put something on" he muttered, pressing it into your hands. You sat up slightly, shifting against his lap as you pulled the shirt over your head. It was soft, oversized, and smelled exactly like him-clean, musky, safe. You curled your fingers into the hem, glancing up at him through your lashes.

"Yeah?" Your voice was soft, a little shy. Trent's gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes, something unreadable settling over his features.

"Yeah," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, without hesitation, "I think you should move in with me." The words fell so effortlessly from his lips that for a second, you weren't sure if he even realized what he'd just said. Your body stilled, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

"Really?" Your voice came out quieter than expected, unsure, as if you were waiting for him to backtrack. Trent's brows furrowed slightly at your hesitation.

"Yeah, really," he repeated, tilting his head, studying your reaction. You swallowed hard, licking your lips.

"T... you don't have to say that." you replied worrying this offer was circumstantial.  His lips parted slightly, realization dawning in his dark eyes. 

"Pretty girl," he sighed, his voice softer now. "I want to say it. I mean it." Your breath caught in your throat. "I think it'd be good for us," he continued, his fingers finding your chin, tilting it up just slightly. "Good for you. When the season kicks off, I want to come home to you. No use in being apart when we don't have to be." Your lips parted slightly, heart pounding as he searched your face for anything-doubt, hesitation, uncertainty. But all he found was soft eyes, an even softer smile. "I just always thought..." He paused, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "That's where we were going." Your chest rose and fell a little harder, your fingers curling around his wrist, holding him there.

"We are," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. Then, a giggle slipped from your lips, your nose scrunching slightly. "I'd like that." Trent let out a small, relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing. His expression softened into something completely smitten as he leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your nose.

"Good."

---

“Jack, I’m so sorry.” Your voice was small, hesitant, as you stepped into the  cinema room. Jack had holed himself up in here since yesterday, ever since you’d scarred him for life by getting caught on top of Trent. He hadn’t even gone up to his room last night—he’d slept here instead, fully unwilling to risk hearing anything from upstairs. Now, in the quiet morning light, you finally had a chance to talk, just the two of you. Jack didn’t even look at you at first. His eyes stayed locked on the TV, the remote balanced lazily in his hand. 

“Gross…” he muttered flatly, before finally glancing at you. “Fine, but gross.” His expression was smug, but there was no real malice behind it, and you exhaled with a relieved smile.

“I’m sorry! I forgot you said you were coming back,” you whined, plopping down onto the sofa beside him, tucking your feet up beneath you. Jack scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand, chuckling slightly. It was equal parts acceptance and tease. Still, you couldn’t shake the lingering guilt that gnawed at you. You imagined moments like this, well maybe not exactly like this, you didn’t want to relive this embarrassment but moments of comfort and familiarity with your brother. If you moved out, you wouldn’t have that. You wouldn’t be able to walk to the next room and find him. 

“I am really sorry,” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. Jack must’ve picked up on the shift, because he turned his head to look at you properly, his brows furrowing slightly.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he said, but the usual bite in his voice was gone. Now, there was something softer, something more concerned. “You alright?” You hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the edge of your sleeve.

“Yeah, just… yesterday Trent said something… I don’t know how legitimate it is, but I just don’t know,” you rambled, half-talking to yourself, half-talking to Jack. Jack’s posture stiffened just slightly. His caution was obvious.

“What did he say…?” He asked and your stomach twisted, a lump forming in your throat. You suddenly felt young—like his little sister all over again, sitting beside him, looking to him for reassurance. You swallowed. 

“Erm…” You hesitated for a second longer, then finally forced the words out, barely above a whisper. “He asked me to move in with him.” Jack didn’t react at first. His face didn’t give anything away. You watched him anxiously, waiting for some kind of response—something, anything. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Oh.” Just oh. Your heart sank.

“I don’t have to… because, Jack, you’ve taken care of me my entire life,” you blurted, speaking a mile a minute, terrified he’d be upset. “I know that, and I’m so grateful for everything you do for me. And I know—even if it’s little things—I help out here, so if you want me to—” Jack cut you off, his voice calm but firm. 

“You want to though, yeah?” He asked. His eyes were serious, searching yours. You swallowed hard, nodding sheepishly, lips pouting slightly. Jack sighed, his face softening. 

“Y/N, you’re my little sister… but you’re also an adult. I know that. And you don’t owe me anything.” His lips curled into a small smile, his voice reassuring. “I’d do everything I’ve ever done for you a hundred times over, no questions asked.” It was comforting, but you caught it—the flicker of sadness in his eyes. It was so subtle that no one else would’ve noticed, but you did. The kind of sadness Jack would never put into words.

“Thank you, Jacky,” you murmured, voice quiet as you tried to fight the lump in your throat. You glanced down, then back up at him with wide, hesitant eyes. “I know you’re my big brother, but you do know you’re, like, my best friend too, right?” Jack’s lips twitched into a smirk, but he let you finish. “So if he actually wants me to move in… and if I do… can we still do our things?” You hated how small your voice sounded, but Jack understood instantly.

“’Course,” he said immediately, nudging your ankle playfully. “Always. My best friend too, yeah?” You nodded, lips curling into a small, sad smile. Jack exhaled, leaning back into the sofa. 

“It’ll be good… about time he took you off my hands.” You let out a breathy giggle, but there was a weight to it. A bittersweetness.

“Yeah… about time,” you muttered under your breath. Jack glanced at you, then turned back to the screen. 

“Love you, alright? Where you live doesn’t change that.” You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. Jack’s voice was so steady, but you felt the weight behind it. Then he added, softer this time, “Mum would be really happy. She’d want this for you.” Your heart ached. “She knew you loved him. And he loved you.” You sucked in a breath, eyes welling up. Jack’s jaw flexed as he stared straight at the TV, refusing to look at you. He wasn’t stoic about Mum—not really. He just didn’t let himself show it. But right now, his voice was full of quiet emotion. “I knew too…” he admitted, his tone a little lighter. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t the best cheerleader from the jump, but if you two are happy, I’m happy. She’d be happy. Dad will be too, Y/N.” That was it. That was what broke you. Without a word, you shifted across the sofa, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Jack let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding and instinctively pulled you closer, draping an arm around you. He pressed a firm, warm kiss to the top of your head. “All good,” he murmured. You sniffled, tucking yourself against him. Jack just held you there, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against your arm, neither of you in any rush to move. 

Eventually you settled back into your own seats, You and Jack sat in comfortable silence for a long while, the TV playing in the background though neither of you were really watching.

“Think T’s having a movie night tonight if you’re interested,” Jack muttered eventually, his eyes focused on his phone as he typed out a text.

“I know.” You replied, unphased. Jack’s body tensed for a brief second—just a subtle, unconscious reaction—but you caught it. He still wasn’t used to this. You knew that. But he was trying, and you knew that too. He’d told you as much an hour ago, but you still couldn’t help yourself. “Jack… are you actually okay with this?” You mumbled, voice hesitant. Jack didn’t look at you right away, just let out a slow breath before nodding.

“Yeah. I am.” He confirmed, his tone even, honest. Then, after a beat, his lips twitched into a smirk. “Just don’t hook up with him on the sofa in front of me again and we’ve got no problems.” 

“Oh my God, shut up.” You let out a groan, rolling your eyes as a smile tugged at your lips. Jack just chuckled, shaking his head, clearly pleased with himself.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - okay, now actually The Final Chapter xx

[ionegirl-art]

Remnant

Warning: This story contains the following content: suicide, self harm, depression and panic attacks. 

~*~

Remnant

~*~

The soft droning hum of machinery beside the rattle of air traveling through vents resonate in the shaking breaths of a motionless figure. Standing still in the center of the Derelict’s single ‘cabin’ Drifter’s eyes focus in and out as his mind cycles through memories.  Engines humming quietly as the ship remains idle in orbit.  

Above him, a single lantern casts the room in a warm golden glow illuminating the clutter of several tall neck glass bottles dispersed around him.  The atmosphere was heavy in the absence of noise that generally would be active at this time. 

Gambit would have to wait. 

Knuckles cracking as his hands clenched tightly at his sides, Drifter’s breathing rattles past his lips in stressed puffs.  There was absolutely no way he would be able to focus on anything when all he desired to do was tear through the Dreadnaught.  The fury in his veins already coursed through his battered system leaving him feeling both torn apart and ready to explode.  While the Light was not his style, he struggled to control the solar burning in his fingertips as he visualized tearing apart the Dread. 

He would make sure that every last one of those abominations died by his hands for what they did.  They would pay for...  

…

“Her body motionless on the stasis glaive.  The echoing drip, drip of her blood as it hit the rocks beneath her body.  The dawning terror rising like bile at the back of his throat at her crumpled and lifeless form.  Cold.  So cold…” 

…

Gloved hands gripped his head as he violently shook it to clear the panic from his mind.  His voice is hoarse, hollow as he cries out in the silence of his cabin. “No.  No, no, no…NO!” 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how you won’t see her again. Don’t think. Don’t think, don’t think, please no… Don’t think!!  He has to fight.  To keep fighting.  Against the memory.  Her.  Of the heaviness of her in his arms.  Her body, still and lifeless.  Her skin, warm but cooling rapidly. 

…

“A soft touch on his hip has him jumping and whirling.  Did a Taken thrall get close enough to him to graze his hip?  His gaze hones in on her.  And then on his hand-cannon in her small hand.  There is a warmth just beneath his heart that he ignores and also decides is heartburn.  He’s… hungry.  Of course.”

…

Denial.

A familiar pain swells in his chest, one that he thought had gone numb.  He takes a gasping breath, his hands shaking and griping the side of his workbench.  Blue eyes focus on the red flecks of blood on his hand cannon.  Her blood.  All that he has left of her.  His teeth worry against his dry and cracked lip.  Trust.  Aptly named.  He has to clean it.  He has to be ready.  He has too…

With a growl, his fist slams against the top of his workbench. Shaking the hand-cannon and bouncing numerous paraphernalia to crash against the steel plating of the floor.

“Fuck!”

The plip, plip, plip of tears fall against the top of his workbench.  A hysterical sob breaks free from his throat.  His fist pounds once more against the surface rattling the loose bullets that fall and chime against the floor.  He should have seen this coming.  His head bows as his hand pulls through his hair and he hiccups past another sob.   

…

“Her body had already been carted away to the Tower by hesitant guardians, their somber eyes steering clear of him.  His blue eyes staring unseeing at the disturbed lines in the rock and soil from where IT had dragged her.  Listlessly following the trail to where Trust rested, where the rocks glistened in the dim lighting from her blood…”   

…

It wasn’t right.

He was right there. She trusted him and he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t …

Drifter turned on his heel sharply, his body leaning against the workbench. Hands shaking, he runs them once more through his short hair.  Gasping breaths even out as his eyes focus on the haphazardly pieced together steel of the ceiling of his cabin.  The folding chair, long forgotten, collapsed on the floor like the last vestiges of his sanity.  The pain now threatened to bear down onto his heart as though a thrall had seized it with its own claws. 

It’s all your fault. 

“Shut it! I don’t need to hear it - I know!” He growls out into the emptiness. 

Why did you think you could keep her safe?

Feeling nauseous, he pushes off his workbench and begins to pace within the entrance of his room.  The sobs that he had stalled come back viciously ripping the air from his throat in gasping breaths.  His body and mind are heavy with grief and guilt.

How could he have let it happen? Wasn’t he right beside her? Why did he allow himself to be separated from her?

She wanted to live… and you let her die.

Another sob escaped his lips. The ache in his heart wouldn’t go away. He attempts to redirect his thoughts by hitting the side of his head with the palm of his hand, but it wasn’t enough.  It's never enough. 

He wasn’t enough.   

Damn it all, he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“ARGH!” 

With a shout, Drifter’s fist grabs the closest item near him, a cup, to become the next outlet for his grief.  Fingers wrapping around the cool ceramic exterior, memories of her smile over the rim flashing in his mind before he viciously tosses it at the opposite wall.  His panting breaths echoing in the chamber as white ceramic glittered on an otherwise dark floor. 

There is a moment of clarity as his eyes focus on the small shards of her teacup before flicking back to where the cup had once sat. A dark ring stained the surface, blending with the various other stains. But also different.  Hers.  He winced at the sudden twisting of his heart. 

…

“... the soft smile on her lips as she set the cup down on his shelf, still half full of the oolong tea she had been drinking. Her hand coming up to her face, index finger rubbing her bottom lip gently as she disappeared back into the light of his room. The memory of a smile on her lips as she left his sight.”

…

She’s gone. You will never see her again.

He coughed as another sob broke free. The ache was unbearable now. It felt as though someone was ripping his heart out from his chest. He was tired of feeling like this. He was so tired… 

Another drink. He needed another drink. Enough alcohol would either numb him or poison him. Either way, he didn’t mind as long as the pain went away. Hurriedly, he reached across his workbench and grabbed the remaining bottle of liquor, popped open the top and tilted his head back. 

Nothing. 

Empty. 

Frustrated, he threw the bottle to the floor and grabbed another glass bottle. He lifted it to his lips and tilted it back.

Empty.

It was when he lowered the bottle from his lips that he noticed the shaking in his hands. The bottle dropped and clanked onto the metal floor as he clasped his hands tightly together to stop the tremors. Drifter dropped to his knees and fell forward, keeping his hands close to his chest as he fought through the trembling. 

I need you, Eris. 

He could no longer fight the intensity of all his emotions bearing down on him, threatening to crush all of who he was and is. She was no longer there and her hand would never again rest on his to bring comfort. 

She was gone. His Moonlight… was gone. 

A soft tone signaled above him but he found it impossible to raise his head. Allowing his body to grow weak following his attack, Drifter kept his body grounded to the floor. His hands slowly fell to his lap as the tremors dissipated. Another soft tone came from his Ghost as it steadied itself in front of him. Too weak to push it away and not wanting to look up from the metal floor, Drifter took in a breath and exhaled unsteadily.

“Get out.” He commanded weakly. The Ghost waited a few moments before it acknowledged his order and unmaterialized from view. 

Taking in another unsteady breath, Drifter looked up to Trust which was still laying untouched on his workbench. With the back of his gauntlet, he rubbed his nose and pushed himself up off the ground. Jerkily he picked up the folding chair from the floor and collapsed onto the cold metal seat. Movements slow and unhurried, he carefully lifted the scattered bullets to place them one by one into the cylinder.  With a flick of his wrist, the cylinder clicked back into place and he held the gun steady in front of himself. 

…

“I gotcha.  I gotcha.  I gotcha, Moonlight…”

…

There was no more alcohol to numb his body or force him to sleep. 

It was just him and her flecks of blood on his hand cannon.  They could still be together.  In death.  In the viscous hold of their gore.  

Without thought, he lifted the barrel of Trust to his temple.  Eyes drifted closed, his fingers pressed down on the trigger. His body instinctively jumped at the loud click he heard from the hand cannon and he huffed a self depreciated laugh when nothing happened. A quick glance down the narrow space between the cylinder and the barrel explained what had occurred. The bullet had shifted enough to get caught on the barrel and jammed. 

He chuckled lightly to himself. His own Trust had failed him. 

He slumped back in his seat, eyes swollen from the tears and chest unbearably tight. Deep down, he felt that despite no longer being here, Eris’s reassuring hand still rested on his arm urging him to live. Urging him to move forward. An emptiness fell over him as unfocused eyes stared forward. 

Another soft tone came from beside him, this time louder than last. Drifter’s lips snarled as he glared over his shoulder at his Ghost. 

“Get. Out.” His voice turned dark and rough. It was enough to cause his Ghost to disappear immediately out of view. His glare lingered in its direction, knowing that it was still there but at a safer distance. 

Exhaling, he leaned forward in his chair and focused back onto his hand cannon in need of repair. 

Reaching over into his toolkit, Drifter grabbed his plastic and brass hammer, thumbed the cylinder catch to open, and smacked the cylinder open. He placed his hammer back into his toolkit and replaced it with another brass brush with a cotton cloth and oil. He removed each of the bullets from their respective chambers and returned to cleaning. 

Oil to cloth, he removed the gunpowder residue and grime that had built up within the gun. He cleaned every part minus the specks of blood on the handle. 

A darkness surged within him as his fingertips touched the remnants of Eris on his handle.

Those things would come to learn what a mistake it was … to take his Moonlight away from him.

~*~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing in about 10 years. This episode is full of content opportunities. I just want to hug this man as tightly as possible.

[andromeda3116]

planning to make a move tonight with this guy and deeply terrified even though i know he's interested, he's made it very clear that he's interested but putting the ball in my court to decide what, if anything, i want and i've made up my mind to pursue this but like. i've been single since the obama administration because there's not, like, a person-shaped hole in my life, i don't need to be with someone to feel whole, and i have to make room in my life for another person and idk how to do this and i hate feeling vulnerable or exposed or out of control and giving someone else the power to hurt me and having to just. trust that they won't. but i kind of... accidentally already gave him that power without realizing it. i kind of... feel like this is just acknowledging something that's already started.

i am. so nervous.

like, a little giddy, a little eager, a lot anxious for no reason other than how terrified i am of major changes even when i feel like they're good ones and. and. and.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

Part Two

[kisses4themissus]

A Foreign Love || In-ho x Reader

wc: 2.6k a/n: Ahh i had so much fun writing this request!! if you would like a happier ending do please send me a message or inbox me i don't mind warning: (spelling errors possibly?)

Pt 2 | masterlist

You nervously played with your hands as you walked around the room, every team had gotten a sixth player, it didn't help that you were seemingly the only foreigner there.

“Excuse me, could I join you all?” You questioned as you walked up to a group of elders. 

Player 100 scoffed and dismissed you with a wave of his hand. “Please sir, I see your team is short a member..” You tried to convince him. He groaned at you before turning towards you. “Can’t you take a hint and leave...entitled americans!” He scoffed at you, looking you up and down in disgust.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized before walking away. You sat down near the wall and let tears well up in your eyes. As you let out a shakily breath, covering your face with your hands. You didn't even want to play more games, all you wished was to go home.

As you cried, a gentle hand was placed on you shoulder, making you peek through your hands. Player 388 was squatted next to you. “Are you alright, miss?” He questioned, concern in his eyes, you nodded and wiped your eyes with your jacket sleeve.

“Do you have a team?” He asked, helping you stand up; You shook your head at him, “Everyone claimed to have a sixth player..” You explained, he nodded slowly at your words before motioning for you to follow him. 

Trailing behind him, he led you to a group of three older men and one girl around your age. “I have found our sixth!” He announced happily before stepping to the side to show you.

They all blinked as you waved to them, a small polite smile on your face.

“The foreigner?!” Player 390 exclaimed, one of the other men; player 456 smacked his arm before greeting you with a nod.

“In my game we had a foreigner, he did well, he just got given the wrong kind of person during a game...” Player 456 explained.

“Welcome!” Player 001 greeted, you smiled and nodded your head in acknowledgment “Thank you for having me.” You bowed slightly.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

You all sat together in a line as the games got announced. 

Ddakji, flying stones, gong-gi, spinning top, jegi and jacks.

“Jacks?” All of your teammates questioned. “You have to bounce a ball and collect little metal jacks and have to pick them up before the ball falls.” You explained, perking up. 

“Are you any good?” Player 001 questioned. You held your hand out and shook it side to side, “somewhat.” He nodded as the others began to claim the other games.

You all watched as the other teams went, before you knew it, you were the last team to go.

You all got up and waited as the guards chained you; Your team had done well til it had gotten to spinning top.

You groaned as he managed to toss it behind you all, he broke down, yelling at himself for his mistake, you leaned forward a bit and looked towards player 001, “We all make mistakes, maybe try your left hand!” You suggested, he nodded and winded the toy up before letting it go, you all waited with baited breath as it spun.

You all walked to the next mini game and began to hype player 456 up as he did jegi, you all moved forwards as both player 456 and 001 caught it with their legs that were tied together.

“You got this!” Player 388 smiled as the guard handed you the ball, you and your team squatted down so you could play on the small table, shaking you tossed the ball up, you had failed to catch the jack in time due to your shaking hands. You groaned, you had tried twice to get the jacks before the ball fell but failed, you were on the verge of a panic attack as you glanced up to the counter. 

“Calm down, we all make mistakes!” 001 tried to reassure. You just nodded and tried once more, you waited as the ball went up, with a swift hand you swiped up the mini jacks and the ball, you all yelled out in relief before running the fastest you could tied together.

You all cheered as you crossed the finish line; your beginning was cut short. Gunshots made you all flinch; The opposite team didn’t make it. You all stared horrified at the corpses while being unshackled.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

You all walked back to the dorm, everyone's eyes on your backs. You had linked arms with 222, she had explained she was pregnant at the beginning of the game, you had gained a need to protect her ever since. As you passed player 100 and his friends you stopped at his words, “Both the foreigner and the pregnant girl lived, they’re definitely not making it to the next round!” He laughed, you turned and went to open your mouth but stopped as 001 walked over to them.

“What does that say about you? Your team is all old men, who’s to say none of you don’t have heart failure in the middle of the next game? What kind of men are you all, denying an expecting mother and an innocent foreigner help?!” He scoffed as the group of older men stumbled over their words.

He wordlessly walked away to his bed by the others.

You unlinked your arms as 222 walked towards another player, leaving you to follow after 001.

He sat on his bed, sighing. You quietly approached his bed, watching as he rubbed his shoulder, trying to give his muscles a bit of comfort. “Thank you again mister.” You muttered out, earning his attention, he looked in your direction. 

“For letting me on your team, and standing up to that player…thank you mister!” You clarified, nervously playing with your fingers. 

“Someone had to put them in their place, it was a matter of time really.” He lightly chuckled, patting the space next to him on his bed, you sit down.

“Why are you in the game?” He questioned, you softly laughed. “I originally came here to study abroad.  emergencies happened in my home country, I trusted the wrong shady guy to send money to my family..” You explained, he listened.

“What brought you here mister?” you questioned, sitting up. “Hospital’s build up a lot of debt..” He sighed, you nodded. 

He snickered, making you look at him confused. “You don’t have to call me mister, it’s-!” As he went to give you his name the others walked over, talking about the next vote.

“I think I threw my shoulder out!” Player 390 sighed, moving his arm in a circle motion. “I’m sorry about earlier, everyone..” 001 apologized. You all dismissed his apology 

Player 222 had walked over and sat on the steps beside your shoes; she looked around as the group sat down together and talked. “Oh what about her ddakji  play, im surprised she didn’t break the ground when she threw it!” Player 390 laughed, she looked bashfully to the ground, a smile on her face.

“Or what about her jacks play, swiped them better than a thief!” 388 complimented making you giggle; Player 222 bowed her head as she looked at you all. “Thank you for including me on your team.” she thanked. You quickly nodded in agreement, “thank you, i’d probably be dead if i hadn't found a team in time..” They all nodded.

“I think we’re lucky you two joined us, we’d be lost with the jacks or stuck on ddakji forever.” 390 joked, earning laughs from everyone. 388 stood up in front of you all, “listen since we’re sticking together, i think we should learn each other's names, it would be a good idea right?” He questioned, waiting for someone to disagree but it never came, you all nodded.

“I’ll start, my name is kang dae-ho; dae means big and ho means tiger!” He grinned, you all nodded.

“That’s a very cool meaning!” You grinned at him. Player 390 cleared his throat, “My parents didn't give me a cool name, it's just park jung-bae. Righteous and twice.. I guess they want me to be twice as righteous.” He sighed.

“My name is kim jun-hee, i dunno what it means though..” She gave a soft look before glancing down to her hands.

“Jun-hee, once we get out of here you need to go see a doctor, stress isn't good for either you or the baby.” 001 told the young girl, who nodded.

“I’m oh young il.” He introduced himself, you all nodded. 

“It kinda sounds like your number!” You pointed out. “It’s easy to remember,” He laughed, before turning to 456.

“You’ve all heard my name, it's gi-hun.” He dismissed you all, “What’s your last name gi-hun?” Young il questioned. “It’s seong gi-hun.” He explained, earning nods.

“I’m y/n y/l/n, my name doesn’t have any meaning like your guys.” You smiled, earning a laugh from jungbae.

“Very american!” He commented, earning more comments of your nationality. 

“Is it true americans carry guns everywhere?” Jung-bae asked, earning a laugh from you. “Um, certain states..yes.” You grinned.

You all had continued talking till a loud buzz, out walked the guards with the voting machine, you all watched as they set it up and went over the rules once more.

You all looked at one another’s badges. Young il cover his as you looked at him with a slight frown. ‘I’m voting to leave this time.” He nodded at you. You grinned and nodded “Maybe when we get out, me and you can go for dinner?” You suggested, a smile on your face, he chuckled at you “I’d enjoy that.”

You grinned at him as he walked to the machine and pressed the X.

You watched as the screen counting the votes go up as more people voted to stay, you began to shake as gi-hun pressed the X but was outvoted, you swallowed a knot in your throat. 

You stood beside dae-ho and jun-hee in shock at the results, “I’m gonna be sick.” You muttered before running to the restrooms. 

In-ho waited til everyone had disbursed before signalling towards the guard in your direction, you were to busy trying not to vomit in the dorm to notice anyone gaze.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Gi-hun had you all move your mattresses to the ground, he was on edge. He had told your group in his past game by the third game players had gotten violent during the night.

You sighed, laying down under the bed frame on your mattress. Slowly you had drifted off to sleep while the others continued to move more beds and set up a watch system.

You woke up during the night, having to use the restroom. You glanced over and saw everyone had fallen asleep. You quietly got up and walked to gi-hun, who watched for other players.

“I need to go use the restroom.” you told him, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “It's dangerous out there!” He warned, you glanced around the dorm, no one was actively awake.

“I'll be ok, no one seems to be up yet either!” 

Before he could respond, you walked past and towards the side door and knocked. A triangle guard opened the small hatch, before you could say anything the door opened fully for you. “oh, thank you! I won't be long.” You thanked them, before walking into the restroom.

Gi-hun silently watched, holding back his yawns. A tap of his shoulder alerted him, in-ho smiled at the man. “Ready to switch off?” He asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes, gi-hun nodded and traded spots; In-ho waited til he knew gi-hun was asleep before getting up from the floor and walked to the side door and knocked in a pattern, the triangle guard bowed their head and stepped to the side.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

You yawned as you walked out of the restroom, as you went to leave back to the dorm, the guard stopped you, standing in front of the door, facing you.

“Can i get by please?” You motioned to the door with your hand. They shook their head at you before speaking. “Follow the guard.” 

You gave him a confused look, as you followed their raised hand you were surprised to see another guard, this guard was dressed different, his clothing was black and his mask had a sqaure. “Ok?” You quickly followed as the guard let you through the stairs, as you go to a certain part, they turned around and handed you a piece of black cloth. “Put it on.” They commanded, you nodded and tied it over your eyes, your heart began to pick up.

What did they want from you? Are they going to execute you? 

Your thoughts ran wild as the guard guided you through the halls. Finally you had stopped. The sound of shoes filled your ears.

Your blood ran cold as your vision was restored, you flinched covering your eyes due to the lights. You squinted at the figure.

“Who are you?” You questioned, your eyes adjusting to the room’s light, the man’s mask was matte black, it had a sort of 3D design to it.

“I am the frontman, owner of these games.” He introduced himself, your heart stopped. 

“Why am i here?” You questioned, too busy to see the guard grabbed rope and slowly approaching you. “I see you have gotten very close with one of the players…001.” You nodded, watching his every move.

“What did you do to him?” You questioned, the frontman stepping closer to you. “Nothing, just if your safe and away from him, he’ll do better at these games.” He explained, motioning for the guard.

As you turned your head the guard grabbed your arms and began to tie them together. You let out a yell as they pinned you and tied your legs together. “No one can hear you from here.” He explained, running one of his gloved fingers over your cheek as tears fell down.

He motioned to the guard to help move you to the bed he had in an adjacent room. You cried and thrashed the best you could.

He shushed you as you cried, he sighed, knowing it wasn't helping. He grabbed a remote he had on the bedside; he waited til the guard confirmed you were sacred in the bed before pressing a button, a small hiss filled the room. You stared at him in horror as gas filled the room. 

“Goodnight.” He nodded to you before shutting the room door, feeling drowsy, you tired to look around the room for any way out but stopped as your eyes forced shut.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Gi-hun and the others were startled awake as in-ho yelled at the guards. “What happened?” Jung-bae questioned, rubbing his eyes and began to stand up to see the commotion.

“YOU TOOK HER, I  KNOW IT SHE’S BEEN GONE FOR 5 HOURS!” In-ho yelled, pounding at the door where the hatch was closed.

Gi-hun and the others ran over to him, concerned and confused. “What’s going on?” Gi-hun asked looking at his teammate who sobbed squatting down to his knees, playing the grieving act.

“Those masked guards took y/n, she had been gone for sometime and i went to see if she was there and-!” He sobbed, earning worried looks from the group.

“Player 129 has been eliminated!” The voice rang out in the room. 

Everyone stared at each other in shock. Jun-hee covered her mouth in shock. Gi-hun sighed and squatted down to in-ho’s level and patted him on the back in comfort. “Help stop these games for her.” 

In-ho nodded and wiped the tears away. “For her..” He repeated sadly, knowing full well you were peacefully sleeping in his bed at the moment.

pt 2

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

I’M NOT HIM

rafe cameron x fem!reader

( mood board does NOT depict readers appearance !! )

SUMMARY: in which rafe snaps at reader during a heated argument and she flinches, her past trauma resurfacing. rafe breaking the main promise he made to her: to not be anything like her father.

based on an ask i got that i lost </3 i hope the anon who requested it finds this, and this its what you asked for! i’m a little rusty with one-shots so just a short one to ease me into things again! :)

WARNINGS: angst to fluff, arguing, cursing, mentions of past childhood abuse (reader), mentions of a gun/brief mention of violence, trauma responses, crying. (lmk if i missed anything!!)

WORD COUNT: 900 words

THIRD PERSON +

Rafe Cameron wasn’t the kind of man anyone would describe as soft. Not with the sharp edge in his voice, the perpetual storm behind his ocean eyes, and the way his knuckles bore scars from fights he barely remembered. He had spent his life battling demons, most of them inherited from Ward Cameron, and those fights had shaped him into someone who took no prisoners.

But with Y/N, none of that mattered.

Y/N was everything Rafe wasn’t—gentle, warm, full of an optimism he couldn’t begin to understand but adored nonetheless. She radiated light, the kind that made him want to shield her from the darkness in himself. For two years, she’d been his anchor, the one person who saw past the volatile exterior to the man buried beneath. And for two years, Rafe had promised himself that he would never hurt her.

But promises don’t always hold in the heat of the moment.

The argument had started over something Y/N had brought up before: the gun in Rafe’s apartment. She hated it, hated what it represented, and hated the memories it dragged up for her.

“Rafe, I told you,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t feel safe with it here. Please.”

Rafe, already wound tight from dealing with his father’s latest scheme and the growing weight of “the business,” felt his patience snap like a rubber band stretched too far.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N,” he muttered, pacing the living room. “It’s not like I’m walking around with it in my hand. It’s locked up, alright? Just drop it.”

Y/N didn’t drop it. She rarely did when something mattered to her. “It is a big deal, Rafe. I asked you to get rid of it. I thought you understood how—”

“I said fucking drop it!” Rafe’s voice thundered through the room, loud enough to make the walls seem smaller.

The words echoed in the sudden silence, bouncing off the tension between them. Rafe froze, immediately regretting the way he’d shouted, but it was too late.

Y/N stood there, trembling, her wide eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lip wobbled as she tried to hold herself together, but Rafe saw the cracks forming.

“Baby…” he said softly, taking a step toward her, reaching out his hand.

She flinched. Actually flinched.

It was like a knife to his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He knew her past—knew about her father’s temper and the way it had scarred her. He knew that shouting brought her back to those dark, suffocating memories.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with panic. He reached out again, but she backed away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I—I can’t,” she choked out before rushing to the bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Rafe rushed after her before collapsing onto the floor, pressing his back against the wall beside the bedroom door. He could hear her quiet sobs on the other side, each one driving the guilt deeper into his chest.

He buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, baby” he murmured, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, just… let me make it right.”

Her sobs continued, muffled but heartbreaking. Rafe rested his head against the door, tears streaming down his face. He could picture her inside, curled up in the corner, just like she used to do as a little girl to shield herself from her father’s rage. A place he promised her she wouldn't ever have to go back to.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. “I’ll never be him. I swear. I’ll never hurt you.”

Minutes turned into half an hour, but Rafe didn’t move. He felt he didn’t deserve to move.

When the door finally opened, Rafe almost didn’t notice at first. He’d been staring at the floor, lost in the heaviness of his own shame. But then Y/N was there, stepping out quietly and kneeling beside him.

Without a word, she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Her touch was tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust it yet, but Rafe held her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over, his voice cracking as he clung to her. “I didn’t mean it. I swear, Y/N/N. I’m so sorry.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just held him, letting his warmth chase away the cold that had settled in her chest. Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart all over again.

“Please don’t yell at me like that again,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

Rafe cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I won’t,” he promised, his tone fierce with conviction. “Never again. I’ll get rid of the gun. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Y/N said, her voice barely audible. “I’m afraid of the person you might become.”

Rafe nodded, the weight of her words sinking deep. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her tightly again. “I’ll be better,” he whispered. “For you, I’ll be better.”

In that moment, Rafe vowed to prove it. Not with words, but with actions—starting with the gun.

(dividers by @kodaswrld <3)

betty’s notes ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

ahhhh my first one-shot in FOREVER :’) it’s a short one and really sad and angsty but it felt like the quickest ask to whip out, and angst is easier for me to write atm :)

i’m so excited to start with the other requests, and please don’t stop requesting! i plan on writing most stuff 1,500 words +, this was just a short little ask so please request with as MUCH detail as possible <3

master list will be updated soon! but for now, to keep track of my works check my personalised tags that are below such as: #bettys asks!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ and #bettys work!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ or my personalised tags for characters !!

[tbaluver]

I feel like you’re the perfect author to get this done!! I was wondering if you could do the l&ds boys and their reactions to you crying during sex? Not because you’re upset but either from a genuine love for them or overwhelming feelings and sensations. I love your work so so much!!! <333

When You Cry During Sex- The Love And DeepSpace Men

genre/warning: smut included MDNI, comfort and some fluff

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader

a/n: hihi anonnie!! im so so happy to hear you love my work! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ i hope this is alright and that you'll enjoy this !!

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He gazes down at you with a look that combined lust and adoration, one hand reaching to gently cradle your cheek. He sinks into you so slowly as his hands roam free. He lowers his head down where his lips kiss at your neck. He pants and gasps against you, thrusting inside of you deeply. It's the way he took his time with you to give you what you want. Your bodies connected, souls intertwined. He was always so tender and affectionate with you that you didn't even notice the tears racing down your cheeks. Oh how you loved this man so deeply.

He would be SO worried. He would be internally panicking the moment he saw your tears. He'd slowly stop his pace and start asking multiple questions if you were uncomfortable or in any pain while wiping your tears away. He'd also ask if you'd want to stop but you'd cut him off and say no because that's the last thing you want and you were so so close to your climax.

He'd relax to hear you were okay while wiping any extra tears that ran down and replacing each tear with a kiss. You'd apologize for crying but he truly does not care because he insist that he will always be there for you and to wipe any of your tears away. He'd continue his pace to reach your climax and to meet his own.

Zayne:

With his perfectly angled thrusts, you can already feel the intense pleasure building inside of you. Your fingers fist his hair, gripping and pulling at the strands while he thrusts himself into you. An elongated groan strings from his lips as you tug his hair, his head tilting back with your pull, mouth agape while sighs escape him. His eyes peer down, continuing to stay locked on you.

He was so deep inside you, his cock twitching at the sight of his tip pushing slightly against the skin of your lower belly. The way his long fingers curling tighter into your hips to fuck you even harder. The way the man you love always made you feel so so good. He was also so affectionate and prioritized you first even to make you feel so good.

The pleasure coursed through your body with every quick and deep pump of his cock that you didn't even realize the tears tracing down your cheeks.

He would freeze, literally

His pacing would stop, immediately asking you multiple questions of "Are you hurt?" "Would you like me stop?" while he cups your cheeks and wipes your tears.

When you reassured him and explained what happened he was patient and relaxed to hear you were okay. He would always be understanding and sweet. He would draw you in closer, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head before gently pressing another kiss on your lips. It wouldn't take long for you both to get back to where you were and help finish you off.

Rafayel:

Rafayel liked having you on top of him because he can see you bouncing on top of him with your tips going up and down and seeing your face contorting with pleasure every time he reached a little deeper inside you. You work on his cock as your hands roam around his sculpted chest. Both of your grunts and moans echoed in the room as you fastened the pace. You were so close to your orgasm as your movement began to get sloppy. You were desperately chasing your high that you were unaware of the tears quietly sliding down your face.

The tears running down your face made Rafayel panic. He'd stop completely and sit up as he wipes the tears staining your cheeks while babbling "Are you okay?" and "I'm so so sorry." He would get cut off mid sentence when you'd whine and beg to let you continue while pulling him closer so he'd understand.

He would smirk understanding what those tears meant and let you continue back to work. But this time he would take control and grab your hips bringing you up and down, slowing your pace to tease you. "Tell me how much you love bouncing on my cock pretty girl."

Sylus:

Watching your face contort into pleasure was one of his favorite things. He starts thrusting faster, rougher than before, his own sounds of pleasure mixed with yours bounced off the bedroom walls. You whine from the sensation as his places his lips onto yours to soothe you, to comfort you.

Sylus was always so warm and big inside of you. The way your tight hole was fluttering around his girth made you see stars. You don't remember how many times you came on his cock as he rutted against you. Your legs were wide open as his cock was pumping in and out of you in such a fast motion that you didn't even realize tears are leaking from your eyes.

He refused to always take his eyes off you. He's always an observant partner so when he saw the tears run down your cheeks, he would slow down. His voice would be so gentle and ask if you were in any pain and if you would like to stop completely. When he heard you whine to go continue, he would pick up the original pace and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

"Am I making you feel that good baby? Do you want more?" While kissing the back side of your knuckles or down your neck to your collarbone.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

A/N: Another Fern fic at last, requested by a kofi member ^^

Shrinking down to Fern’s side seemed almost fun at first. Getting to save money on food expenses and cuddling with your boyfriend while being the little spoon was great!

It only occurred to you a few hours after becoming a tiny human that you still had to do everything your big self had done before.

Except now you were the size of a pencil.

“Ahh, I still have to write out a report, make my lunches for this week, call my mom, do the laundry-“

Fern watched you panic from his usual spot on your bed, his head propped up by his hands. While you were struggling, he was relaxed and content to have his mate smaller than him for once.

“Calm down, princess. Don’t forget you have me to help. I’ve been this size my whole life, doing your chores can’t be that hard.”

Fern was terribly wrong.

Attempting to type out a detailed report by jumping key to key was exhausting, and after he messed up several times you had to do it alone. It left you too tired to do anything else.

“This would usually only take me 30 minutes, how much time has passed?”

“… three hours.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder as he played with your hair. “How do you do it, Fern? You always seem so happy go lucky, but being small can’t be easy on you.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly. “It’s not easy, but when you’re around it’s hard to be exhausted or angry.”

This made your heart flutter, and you let him guide you to the laundry room.

“My vines aren’t agile enough to help you type, but they can throw laundry into the washer and take them out no problem.”

He used his magic, vines creeping in through your window. They clumsily tossed clothes into the washer, and Fern flew you up so you could select the proper settings.

“Now I need to call my mom and make some lunches… how long will I be like this?”

Fern was too busy soaking in the feeling of you in his arms as he flew towards the fridge to really listen, so it took him a moment to process what you had said.

“… a few hours, maybe a day or two perhaps.”

‘Hopefully longer…’ Fern though, even though he felt guilty for it. Who could blame him? His lover was finally the same size as him, who wouldn’t want this to last forever?

The two of you laughed, both covered in food after struggling to finish packing your final lunch.

“Come, dear. Let’s get cleaned up.”

You sat in the small tub, feeling Fern’s cock twitch as he held you against him. He didn’t acknowledge his erection, a soft pink dusting his freckled cheeks.

“There’s mustard in your hair too, love.”

You pouted at him, feeling Fern’s fingers scrub the mess from your hair. You were glad you had bought such a large tub for fern to use for bathing, it had enough room for the two of you to sit comfortably without being squished.

Again, his erection rubbed against you, a soft hiss slipping from his lips as he clutched your hips. It was clear he wanted you, but was holding back.

“Fern…”

He whimpered when you reached back to stroke his cock, nearly cumming on the spot.

“Mmph! That’s… ahh…”

His hips bucked, a moan leaving his parted lips as he let out a needy whine. Now that you were small, he could truly have you…

Before you knew it you pulled into his lap, straddling him as his cock nudged at your fat pussy. God, he had dreamed of this day…

Getting to watch his cock stretch you out was heaven to Fern. You struggled with his size for a moment, your pussy clenching around him as he rubbed at your clit.

Unbeknownst to you, he had been looking over your shoulder at the smut you read at night, and had learned a thing or two.

As he bounced you on his lap at a steady rhythm, he pulled you in for a kiss, his slipping to the small of your back. You tasted sweet, like the chocolates the two of you ate earlier. He wanted more, so much more…

Cumming deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his seed felt… amazing. Fulfilling. It had to be the best thing to ever happen to him.

You were so beautiful, so warm and tight, he just couldn’t help but spurt thick ropes of hot cum into you, painting your walls and praying that this got you pregnant.

After that, he carefully washed the both of you up, occasionally using his fingers to pump his cum back into you when it started to drip out.

You returned to your full size the next day, but Fern was just happy with the memory of his cock stretching you out…

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Blood Moon (M)

★ PAIRING: Werewolf!Haechan x Vampire!Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 16K

★ GENRE(S): Smut, Angst, Forbidden Love, Dark Fantasy, Mortal enemies, Slightly melodramatic lol, Haechan is a real yearner in this.

☆ SUMMARY: Your boyfriend is in an accident that leaves him in critical condition. You wanted to be the one to save him, to turn him, but his best friend beats you to it. How will your relationship change now that you’ve become immortal enemies? ★ ☆ WARNINGS: Minor character death, mentions of grieving and loss, blood, mentions of torture, reader has a messed up backstory,dry humping, rough supernatural sex hehe, rimjob, cunnilingus, knotting, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, drug use in the form of pixie dust, Its freaky asl idk, mature, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: Might have got carried away on this one whoops. I love fantasy so excuse the lore but enjoy this porn with plot!

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Your heart was in the pit of your stomach. You'd always known this day would come eventually, but you'd been foolish to think you would ever be ready. The call from the hospital had come 10 minutes ago, and traffic crawled by like a sluggish beast. You wondered why you'd gotten behind the wheel, when you knew you were faster on foot.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the busy streets. Your veins thrummed with a restless energy as you tried to sit still. You would make it. You had to.

Your heels clicked against the tile of the hospital floor as you darted down the corridor, your head whipping in every direction for the room the receptionist had told you was Donghyuck’s. The scent of disinfectant and sterile air filled your lungs, but beneath it, you caught a whiff of something else – a faint hint of his presence.

Finally, your eyes found the room number, and as you approached the door, your gaze fixed on the whiteboard attached to it:

 Patient: Lee Donghyuck

As you entered the room, you didn't notice the strain in your shoulders or the way your breath caught in your throat until you almost yanked the door off its hinges. The bed was empty and cold, but his scent lingered. It hadn't been long since they'd moved him.

Your mind reeled with worst-case scenarios. You patted your pocket for your phone, but it wasn't there – you must have left it in the car in your panic.

You hear footsteps approaching, and they come to a stop outside the door. When you turn around, you see a nurse wiping the whiteboard clean.

“Where is he?” The harshness in your voice surprises you.

“If you’re asking about the patient who was in here, you just missed him. He was checked out a little while ago,” she replies, not looking up from her task.

You finally exhale, your legs growing weak beneath you as relief floods through you. He was okay. But then a flicker of confusion crosses your face, causing your slight smile to falter.

“Is something wrong?” the nurse asks, finally looking at you.

“I’m sorry, it’s just... his condition. I was told it was critical.”

The nurse nods, concern creasing her brow. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure he’d pull through. He was hit by a drunk driver. He broke several bones, and we thought there was internal bleeding. There should have been, at least.” She pauses, her expression turning puzzled the more she thinks about Donghyuck’s case.

“Where is he now? How could he just get up and leave after all that?” Panic begins to rise within you. He was human; you were certain of that. Humans don’t just bounce back like that, do they? Questions and doubts swirl in your mind.

“A few friends visited him about thirty minutes before you got here. One of them came to find me and said he needed to be checked out. I was just as shocked as you when I walked in and found him standing there, all his vitals normal. The doctor wanted to keep him for more tests, but the guys insisted on taking him home. Honestly, there wasn’t much we could do since he appeared fine.” The nurse shrugs, her confusion mirroring yours.

Just then, her pager buzzes, breaking the tension. “I’ve got to run. Sorry!” She glances at the notification before hurriedly excusing herself.

You start piecing things together, and the outcome doesn't sit well with you. You walk back into the room and focus. Your senses aren’t as sharp as usual, you’re due for another recharge soon. You sift through the scents in the hospital: sterile, metallic, but then you catch a whiff of something you missed earlier. It confirmed the nurse's story. They had been here.

Irritation bubbles up as you stride out of the hospital. You could leave a trail of fire in your wake with the heat radiating off you in fury. They had reached him first. They had taken him. You grind your heels into the pavement as you run. You’d worry about your car later; moving on foot is your best bet now. Better they didn’t see you coming.

The cold night air bites at your skin as you fly through the darkness, few cars passing you on the back roads. At this speed, they wouldn’t even catch a glimpse of you. The trees blur into shadows as you sprint toward your destination, buried deep in the forest. You split from the main highway to a side road, blocked by rusting barriers, stretching out for miles. its cracked and overgrown pavement leading to a half-built freeway that drops off into thickets of bushes and trees. No one comes this way; not many even know it exists. The only souls who dare venture down this path are high schoolers or college kids looking for thrills at night, chasing highs.

As you round a bend, your destination comes into view: a rundown motel, overtaken by moss and vines. It stands as the sole remnant for miles, until you reach the unfinished freeway. There's nothing else out here but forest. 

You slow your pace, taking in the scene; it feels like stepping back in time. The once flickering neon sign, long burned out, hung tilted above the entrance, and the peeling paint on the walls had seen better days. The only thing guiding you through the darkness is the moonlight and your own keen night vision. Without them, it would be pitch black—no lights for miles. 

Even before you see them, the smell hits you first: a wet, dog-like odor that makes your nose scrunch up in distaste. The moment you step onto the property, yellow eyes appear in the dark, and low snarls echo through the night. You’re in werewolf territory, and they’re just seconds away from ripping you apart. In an instant, you’re surrounded, their numbers closing in like a tightening net. Your own eyes flash red as you bare your fangs in warning, a growl rumbling in your throat. Teeth clash around you, spit flying as they display their own teeth.

“Where is he? I know you took him!” you shout, your voice carrying through the crowd. “I’m just looking for my boyfriend! I’m not here to fight!”

You took a gamble coming here unprepared. In the wild, they predominantly favored their wolf forms. The hairs along their necks and backs bristle, ears perk up, and they crouch low, ready to pounce. In this state, instinct reigns supreme; reason and negotiation was unlikely.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, preparing to unleash your own claws when a voice suddenly cuts through the chaos.

“Stand down,” an older voice commands as two familiar figures emerge from the pack.

One of the pack members howls, calling the others to attention. The wolf shakes violently, as if shrugging off water, before morphing into a human—a few others follow suit. The rest bound off into the dense forest.

“You shouldn’t be here. This is our territory,” the first transformed wolf says, a warning etched across his features. He stands before you, his human form unapologetically naked.

“Jeno, enough!” the old man insists, his presence commanding.

“She’s a vampire! She’s breaking treaty by being here without permission!” Jeno, points accusingly at you.

“He’s here, isn’t he? There’s no way you haven’t heard about the accident. He wasn’t at the hospital.” Your frustration boils over, almost uncontrollable. “You turned him into one of you, didn’t you? Answer me Jeno!”

He meets your gaze with a snarl at the mention of his name.

“I said enough! We don’t need to escalate this,” the old man interjects firmly.

“Dad!” Jeno says in disbelief.

“Follow me,” Jeno’s father commands, brushing aside his son’s fury with practiced ease.

You glower at Jeno as you follow his father deeper into the property. Your scowl is met with silent glares from the others, who stand in their human forms, their eyes watching intently. The chief has spoken. it’s clear—no one is to touch you.

You recognized Ten, Johnny, Kun, Xiaojun, Yangyang, and a few other familiar faces among the pack. Your boyfriend, Donghyuck, had grown up with them. His dad was friends with Jeno’s, so he and Jeno had played  together since diapers. They were the ones who had given him the nickname Haechan. You always hated how close he was to the pack. He always carried a trace of their scent and there was a time you were fully convinced he might be one of them.

Donghyuck had been blissfully unaware of the supernatural world around him. When he introduced you to a few of his friends one day, you had to fight the instinct to bare your fangs. That night had been tense and awkward. You had learned to play nice while Haechan was around, but the moment he left the room, you were at each other's throats. 

They guide you into one of the rooms. Despite the rundown exterior of the motel, the inside was meticulously restored, almost like an oasis in this forgotten wilderness. As soon as you step inside, your breath catches in your throat. The sight of Haechan makes your heart swell and break all at once. 

At first glance, he seems fine—lying on a bed in the center of the room, his chest rising and falling gently. Sweat beads at his temples, and his brows are furrowed in a way that sends a rush of alarm through you. A slight grimace crosses his lips, hinting at discomfort or pain making your heart sink.

"What’s wrong with him?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, fear creeping in.

“It’s part of the process,” Jeno says from near the door. “He’s adjusting. It’s a lot for him to handle.”

“Why would you allow this?” you target the chief. Jeno pulls you back by the arm before you can get to him, his claws digging into your skin. 

“He didn’t know! I did this,” Jeno interjects.

Your anger shifts to Jeno, a growl escaping your lips. “You,” you spit, eyes glowing red again. “You know the risk of turning him, and yet you still did it!”

“He’s my best friend! I wasn’t going to let him just die!” Jeno’s voice rises with frustration and pain. “What were you planning to do when you got there? Watch him die?” He laughs cruelly, which only fuels your fury. “You’re just mad I beat you to it.”

The air is thick with tension, and you prepare to lunge at him when growls break the silence from behind you. Turning around, you see some of the pack entering the room. You lock eyes with Ten, Johnny, and Jaehyun, their expressions unreadable but serious. You sense their protectiveness over Jeno and reluctantly ease your stance, frustration boiling over in a huff of air. “Ughh!” You clench your fists, willing yourself to calm down as your chest rises and falls harshly.

“What’s going to happen to him?” you ask, looking towards the chief.

“He’s going to change,” he replies, his gaze steady. “He’s taking the bite well. There shouldn’t be any complications, but he needs rest. He’s been through a lot today.”

“How long will it take?” You say. You move carefully to sit at Haechan’s side and brush the hair from his forehead.

“It varies from person to person,” He says, pulling your attention away from haechan. “It can be a few hours to a couple of days. But he’s resilient, and he’s strong.” 

You turn back to Haechan, your heart aching as you scan his form. The covers are thrown aside, exposing his chest, bare except for the sweat glistening on his skin. He looks different—his shoulders broader, muscles more defined, and his face sharper than before. He was still your Haechan, but you realize with dread that there’s one detail you’ll have to adjust to.

That smell. The unmistakable scent of a werewolf—stronger and more pungent than the subtle hint he carried before. He reeked of mutt.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Past

You hadn’t told Haechan you were a vampire. It was safer that way or perhaps you were deluding yourself, too afraid to face the truth. As a vampire, dating humans was frowned upon. Humans were considered nothing more than food, meant to be consumed or else they’d spoil. Vampires, on the other hand, were the undead, nightwalkers who defied mortality and the passage of time. You didn't age, and You didn't die. Vampires were superior to humans in every way. It was common manners not to play with your food but eat it. You had sworn you would never date a human. Loving a human was dangerous but despite everything you couldn’t stop yourself from loving Haechan.

There was an abandoned cemetery just outside the city where you lived. Cliché as it might be, you loved the cemetery; it was one of the few places you felt truly at peace. You often found yourself wandering there, even outside of your biweekly recharging rituals. 

Living amongst humans was difficult for most vampires, but those who tried had to make accommodations. Unlike some legends you could bask in the sunlight without fear of turning to ash under the sun or sparkling like diamonds. But there was a trade-off—when exposed to the sun, you were stripped of your immortality. You were the most vulnerable during the day. You’d still retain your speed, hearing, and agility, but you felt as fragile as a human. Many were terrified of this weakness, so they hid away until nightfall when they were the most powerful. 

At night you were untouchable. Not even a stake through the heart, garlic, or silver bullets could kill you. Still, prolonged exposure to the sun would gradually drain your energy, weakening you until you were left with nothing if you didn’t recharge. Bathing in moonlight was one solution, but the quickest way to recuperate your strength was resting in a specially inscribed coffin. That kind of sleep rejuvenated you, allowing you to regain your vitality and power.

You had stumbled upon an unburied coffin in that cemetery long ago and inscribed it with runes of protection and rejuvenation. It became your perfect charging station. Tucked away from the bustling city, it was very rare that someone came here due to the cemetery's extremely run down appearance.

You thought it was perfect. The quiet stillness allowed you to gaze at the stars, and it was beneath that vast, twinkling sky that you first met Haechan.

You had spent an entire day in your coffin, allowing the darkness to wrap around you like a comforting blanket. As you pushed against the stone lid, it slid aside with ease, and you sat up, yawning and stretching your limbs. Blinking a few times, you find the moonlight spilling into the  space and filling you with its magic. You bask in it as it dances against your skin. After resting you always got the zoomies, a few laps around the forest would do just fine before heading home.

Sliding out of the grave, you dusted off the dirt and debris from your clothes. Just as you began to shake off the remnants of your rest, a shuffle caught your attention a few yards away. Instinct kicked in, and your senses sharpened. The sweet, tempting scent of human filled your nose, and a smile crept across your face. You were starving and could go for a little snack, especially if some careless drunk college kid had stumbled their way here. You’d never understood why freshmen chose this spot to get wasted, but at that moment, you silently thanked whichever god had sent them your way. You were tired of dealing with the trash and beer bottles they left behind anyway.

You're naturally light footed so you don't have to sneak up on the hunched figure in front of you. Just as you were about to attack, a small sniffle stopped you in your tracks. You took a moment to observe the young man kneeling in front of a grave, fresh pink camellias in his hand. He was crying, and his tears sparkled in the moonlight as they fell, unknowingly watering the flowers. There was something ethereal about him, reminiscent of a fairy. For a moment, you could have sworn the flowers bloomed brighter with each teardrop, but perhaps that was just your imagination running wild. Taking a deep breath to better understand this mysterious figure. His scent confirmed he was undeniably human, tinged with a hint of canine—perhaps he was a dog owner.

You may be a creature of the night, but you weren't heartless. 

As you gazed at the young man, you couldn't bring yourself to disturb him while he was grieving. Your voice, barely above a whisper, broke the silence. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He jumped, startled, and clutched his chest with his free hand. "You scared me," a nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he tried to calm his racing heart. "I didn’t think anyone else was here" he said, wiping his tears and clearing his throat. He gently set the flowers down beside him.

You offered him a soft, gentle smile and settled in beside him, your eyes drifting to the tombstone. "Who was she to you?" You asked, nodding toward the name etched into the stone. Your gaze flickered to his.

The young man stared at you, his mouth agape, his eyes wide with wonder. You couldn't help but giggle at his adorable expression – he reminded you of a baby bear, innocent and endearing. It's like he finally remembers you asked him a question and his mouth snapped shut, and he cleared his throat. His eyes refocusing on the grave and a fond smile spread across his face, and you could almost see the memories dancing across his features.

"She was my grandma," he said, his voice cracking slightly. You hummed softly, indicating you were listening, and he continued.

"She took care of me when my dad would leave on business trips when I was a kid. She got sick after I'd left the city, and I couldn't find the time to come see her... and now it's too late." Tears began to well up in his eyes. “She wanted to be buried by her mother but…” He trailed off. His eyes flit around the abandoned graveyard and its crumbling tombstones, their inscriptions faded and obscured by moss and creeping ivy. The path leading through the graveyard was overgrown with wild grasses hinting at years of neglect. 

You smiled, understanding where he was coming from. This wasn't the most ideal place to lay a loved one to rest anymore. 

"It's not your fault, you know. I'm sure you wanted to be there for her, and I'm sure she knew that too."

His eyes remained fixed on the grave as he traced the name engraved in stone with his fingers, a faint smile breaking through his sorrow. "Thank you," he replied, but you sensed it would take time for him to truly believe your words.

Suddenly, he turned to you with a new intensity. "I'm sorry I've been rambling about myself. Did you lose someone, too?"

His question caught you off guard. You had nearly forgotten that people came here to grieve, as you had your own reasons. You paused for a moment, scrambling to conjure a lie. But after the heartfelt story he had shared, you didn't feel that it was right to lie about visiting a loved one.

"I just come out here sometimes because it's quiet," you admitted, which wasn’t entirely untrue; sometimes the chaos of the city was overwhelming, and you needed a break from the noise.

Haechan looked at you as if you were crazy. "You're crazy."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. "I guess I am. But look," you said, pointing toward the stars. "They look so pretty out here."

His gaze flickered upward, captivated by the night sky. 

"That one's Ursa Major," you said with a smile. "It's my favorite." You reached out, taking his hand to trace the constellation. "Do you see it?"

"What's it supposed to look like?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"It's a bear! You see the Big Dipper? That's part of the constellation, and all together it’s supposed to resemble a bear." You released his hand and used your own to outline the Big Dipper in the sky.

His eyes lit up as he stared at the stars, and you found yourself captivated by him. The way the starlight shimmered in his gaze was enchanting.

"I see it!" he exclaimed happily, turning to share the joy with you, but when he looked back, you had vanished.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Your skin was cold to the touch and you were gone so suddenly he had almost written you off as a ghost that night. He had nearly forgotten about that night until you appeared before him again. A month later, he saw you in the library, and he was certain you were real. 

After his grandmother's passing, Haechan had moved back home. He was entrusted with managing a significant part of her affairs, leading to weeks of sleepless nights spent sorting through her accounts and handling paperwork. Juggling family responsibilities and his classes at the nearby community college had left him utterly exhausted.

When he first saw you he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He rubbed his eyes tiredly but there you remained.  You were just down the aisle, and he hurriedly packed his things, eager to follow you. When he turned the corner just a few seconds later, you had vanished again. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I’ve gotta get some sleep,” he murmured, shaking his head as he pulled his backpack higher up on his shoulders, preparing to leave.

“You probably should,” you said with a smile, making him jump back in fright, letting out a startled yell.

A few patrons shush the two of you. “I’m sorry. I should really stop sneaking up on you,” you said, a playful grin on your face.

“You think?” he whispered back, but a smile finally broke through his fatigue. “So you really are real,” he mused more to himself than anyone else.

Your smile widened at his revelation, and you nodded.

“What's your name?” 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Present day

A week had passed since you'd last seen Haechan. You hadn’t gone back to see him and honestly you weren’t sure if you ever would. Dating a werewolf? It seemed even more complicated than a relationship with a human. Your mind was reeling, and you were still struggling to wrap your head around the reality of it all.

You sat on your balcony that overlooked the forest behind your apartment. Sipping hot chocolate and watching the full moon, you couldn't help but think of him. You wondered how he was coping with his first full moon. Having his first full moon so close to his initial change must be tough. With a sigh, you tried to shake off the thoughts. It would be safer for both of you if you stayed away from each other.

You moved back inside. You were walking into the kitchen to wash your cup when you felt a sudden draft as the wind blew in through the double doors leading to your balcony. You must have forgotten to close it all the way. You walked back over to close them, ensuring they were locked before returning to the kitchen. 

You freeze when you spot the ash-grey wolf standing on your kitchen island. You couldn’t suppress the scream that escaped your lips. How the hell had it gotten in here without you noticing? Your senses were dulled, and you knew you were due for a much-needed recharge.

You cursed under your breath, taking in the beast before you. Its yellow eyes glowed, and saliva dripped onto your kitchen island, making you recoil in disgust. This wolf was not acting normal. Its shoulder heaved as it took ragged breaths, almost rabid in appearance. You instinctively put your guard up, creating distance between the two of you. You couldn’t fight it—not in your current state.

As you slowly began to back away, there was something in the wolf's eyes that halted you in your tracks. It couldn't be him.

“H-Haechan?” you called out, bending your knees to appear smaller so as not to frighten him. You wondered how he had ended up here. He looked scared.

“It's me, Haechan,” you said softly, hands extended in a non-threatening manner. You understood he was running purely on instinct. Perhaps he had sought out a place where he felt safe.

Now you stood just in front of him causing him to growl and bare his teeth. His body was rigid, and his ears were flattened against his head. Every sign warned you to stay back, yet you ignored them all as you reached out to touch him.

In an instant, it happened. One moment you were standing, and the next, he had pinned you to the floor, his powerful paws digging into your shoulders. He snarled, but you remained calm. He couldn’t kill you but healing would take days in this state if he did enough damage.

You looked into his eyes and took a deep breath. “Haechan, you need to calm down. It’s me. If you don’t find control, you’ll do something you’ll regret.”

He growls in response.

“Donghyuck!” you yelled sternly. “Snap out of it!” You scolded him as his claws dug deeper into your shoulders.

He flinched and whined, stepping off you reluctantly. His head hung low, and his tail tucked between his legs as he made a small circle before plopping down a few feet in front of you.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you realized he had regained some sense of awareness. Keeping your voice steady, you knelt beside him and tentatively reached out. When he allowed you to get close, you gently patted him. “You need to change back, baby. I know you're scared, but you have to. You can do this. You're stronger than this,” you whispered reassuringly.

He stood up, and you did too, backing away to give him space. He stretched into a downward dog and shook himself off, and to your amazement, his body morphed before your eyes. Finally, the Haechan you knew and loved stood naked before you, looking horrified as he took in the damage done.

“I’m sorry.” 

Following his gaze to your shoulders, you smiled. “This is nothing; don’t worry about it,” you said, trying to comfort him.

He backed away slightly, shaking his head. “Don’t come near me!” he yelled, and you flinched. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he added, his voice softer this time.

Ignoring his plea, you walked toward him anyway. “You could never hurt me, love,” you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he sank to his knees. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t remember anything. Jeno and the others came for me and then turned me into… this.” He gestured to his hands, which hadn't fully reverted, his claws still bared.

Kneeling in front of him, you took his hands in yours. He tried to pull away, but your grip was firm enough to keep him in place. He looked at you in shock but before he could question your strength you spoke.

“Is that why you ran?” you asked gently.

“They turned me into a monster. How can I live like this?” His eyes searched your face for answers. Your heart ached at the fear reflected in his gaze. You felt a wave of shame wash over you; Jeno was right. If you’d gotten to him first, you would have changed him but that wasn’t what Haechan wanted. Jeno had acted selfishly, and so had you for even contemplating it.

“He was just trying to help,” you found yourself defending Jeno unexpectedly. Maybe you were subconsciously defending yourself. “You have to go back to them, Haechan. They’re the only ones who can teach you how to control yourself.”

“So I don’t hurt more people,” he scoffed, humorlessly. “How can you even look at me right now?”

“You’re not a monster, do you hear me?” you replied sternly.

“I AM! LOOK AT ME!” he yelled, his eyes glinting yellow as he finally found the strength to yank his hands away from yours. He stood and walked toward your room, rummaging through your drawer until he found a pair of pants he’d left behind. You stand in the doorway, watching him dress with your arms crossed.

“Haechan I'm fine,” you called out.

“Don’t lie to make me feel better!” he shouted back.

Frustration surged within you as you pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your already healed skin. “LOOK!” you yelled.

He halted, his eyes widening as he examined you. Your skin was unmarred, untouched by his claws. He dashed toward you, grabbing your shoulders and twisting you this way and that, searching for any signs of injury. “Wha—” he stuttered. “How did you do that?”

Closing your eyes, you remembered your true self. When you opened them, they glowed crimson. “You’re not a monster, Haechan. Unless you consider me one too,” you told him.

His eyes widened in astonishment, but he stood rooted in place, shock holding him there. “What are you?”

You hissed softly, revealing your fangs. "I'm a vampire," you stated simply.

You could see the gears turning in his head as he connected the dots: why you were always so cold to the touch, how you could sneak up on him silently, how you exhibited unnatural strength just moments ago.

Finally, his body relaxed, and he sank onto your bed, looking lightheaded. “So you’re a vampire,” he repeated, almost incredulously, as if trying to grasp everything that had just unfolded.

“Yes,” you said, sitting next to him.

“And I’m a werewolf.”

“Correct again,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

“How old are you?” he asked next, genuinely curious.

You fought back a smile. “How rude!” you joked, shoving him lightly.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” he replied apologetically, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. “I mean, when did you become a vampire? Has it been a long time? Your family…” He trailed off, the gravity of the conversation settling in the atmosphere.

“They’re probably dead by now,” you replied, your voice softening.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the sincerity in his tone.

“It’s okay. I don’t remember my human years; most vampires don’t,” you explained. “I was 24 when I turned. The one who turned me was the closest thing to a father I had, and he was cruel.” You bristled at the memories of your past.

Haechan stayed quiet, allowing you to open up if you wanted. You took a deep breath before continuing, "He kept me locked away and taught me how to survive, but the punishments were brutal. I knew I had to get away from him eventually."

You told Haechan everything…

You don’t remember how you ended up there, but when you awoke that night, a man in his late forties stood before you. He had dark hair and striking blue eyes. Now that you’re older, you realize blue eyes belong to ancient vampires, beings that had survived since the dark ages. With a voice like dark velvet, he taught you how to harness your powers and you learned the art of inscribing. His teachings also instilled in you a deep-seated fear of the sun. He spun tales of scorched skin and searing pain, convincing you that to step into its light would mean certain death.  He taught you other things too, like to despise humans. He taught you humans were to never be trusted and that one day they would betray you.

He kept you locked away underground in an old tower, isolated from the world above. The room where you stayed contained only a coffin. You were tasked with maintaining the underground floors, ensuring they remained orderly. You weren’t allowed to venture beyond the floors beneath ground level. He treated you like a slave, proclaiming that you belonged to him in exchange for granting you eternal life. It was a twisted bargain that felt more like a curse. 

You had been above ground only once, it was a rare and seemingly indulgent gift from your master. He would normally bring you his kills to feed on but that night he had taken you out into the world, to teach you to hunt. It was exhilarating to experience the raw, primal instincts that surged within you. You hunted until dawn, the sun creeping up threateningly beyond the horizon.

The night had ended all too soon and you headed back home. You made it to the front of the tower, and just seconds before you were ushered inside, the sun rose, spilling soft gold and pink across the sky. You had caught your first glimpse of its light, radiant and breathtaking. It painted the world warm hues, something you had never seen in the cold tower. 

Your master’s hand gripped your shoulder. “We must return,” he said, his voice laced with authority as he ushered you back into the shadows. Since that one fateful night, you have never been allowed to see the surface again.

One night, curiosity got the better of you, and while your master was absent, you explored the tower. You snuck into the library and read until dawn. When the sun rose, you raced to the top floor and gazed out at the sunrise. You longed to bathe in its light, fully aware that it would be fatal. Your master had warned you that direct sunlight could kill you, only safe within the tower's shadows.

Everything changed one fateful night. You had taken a book from the library but your master returned sooner than you had expected. Despite the risks, you knew you had to return the book before he noticed. 

It was through the pages of his books that you discovered the truth. You were taught many things, but after reading his books how many of them had been true? The books told you stories about humans, the outside world, and important history. It revealed that while the sun wouldn’t kill you, it could weaken you, and that to regain any lost power, you must sleep. He had kept secrets from you, you couldn’t trust him. Maybe if you could escape, you could live among humans without fear? You’d never find out unless you returned the book. If your master discovered you had sneaked upstairs, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.

The halls were quiet, and slipping the book back into place was easy. You were making your way back, using an old passageway you had stumbled across, when a flickering light caught your eye. The corridor was lined with doors, each one leading to a different part of the tower. Peeking through a crack in one door, you saw something chilling.

Your master stood in the center of a gathering room, surrounded by chained and shackled humans. An entire council of vampires filled the room, and the sight of the horrific treatment inflicted on the humans made you nauseous. They were beaten and tortured cruelly. Their screams echoed in your mind, and that night, you swore to escape. The humans you had read about had their faults but they did not deserve that. 

You thought you had everything figured out until three days later, when your master visited with a human man around your age. He offered no explanation, only instructing you to take care of him. You soon grew close to the human, who introduced himself as Kun. He quickly became your only friend, sharing stories about the outside world and his family. For two years, he stayed with you, working alongside you as a fellow slave. At first, you worried that your master would eat him, as it wasn’t like him to let food spoil. Eventually you stopped worrying about it and just learned to enjoy Kun’s company.

You showed Kun everything: the hidden passageways, the library, and the sunset whenever your master was away. You promised each other that when the time was right, you would escape together.

Then one night, your master woke you from a rare period of recharging. He had previously insisted you slept. You found it strange but you hadn’t argued. There was no reason for you to recharge, you spent most nights watching Kun sleep.

You instinctively turned towards his cot but it was empty. Before you could voice your concern, your master ushered you out of your room and upstairs to the gathering room you had once watched from the shadows. Ancient vampires surrounded the area, their underlings present as well.

In the middle of the room was Kun. He was stripped bare, bruises, scars and welts were painted across his once beautiful skin.  

“KUN!” you shouted, trying to rush to him, but your master’s voice stopped you in your tracks. He had the ability to compel, a power only ancient vampires possessed. You had read that the only way to break it was to call him by his true name, a name you didn’t know since you had only ever addressed him as “Master.” 

“MASTER!” you screamed, desperation rising in your voice. “PLEASE, STOP THIS!” 

Tears welled up in your eyes and you could feel yourself die. You knew you were already dead but this pain in your chest would have been fatal if you were moral.

“You brought this upon yourself, foolish girl,” he sneered. 

The other ancient vampires laughed at your distress, their underlings at their side, made to watch to teach them what would happen if they disobeyed their master.

“Make her suffer!”

“Look how she cares for that wretched human!” one of them jeered.

“Kill them both!” shouted another.

They hurled insults your way while you trembled under your master’s control.

“Did you think I was a fool? I knew what you were up to. I could smell you in the walls, you little rodent.”

“Please, Master, I’m sorry! Forgive me!” you begged.

“It’s not me you need to ask for forgiveness. It is him,” he said, gesturing a long finger at Kun. “Because of you, this is his fate.”

With an audience of ancient vampires, he turned to them proudly and declared, “Nothing but ruin can come from loving a human. Witness now the consequences of defying tradition. Drink from him!” he ordered.

Your body moved against your will. You fought against his compulsion with every ounce of strength, but each step felt heavier. Standing before Kun, you could see that he was barely breathing.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he managed to whisper. With the last of his strength, he smiled weakly. “Don’t let him break you.”

Tears streamed down your face as you bared your teeth and sank them into him. You could feel his life slipping away, and as you drank, your heart shattered in silence.

Later that night, you were thrown back into your room. You didn't move for months. Staring blankly at the wall, you cried until the hunger became overwhelming. Your master hadn’t brought you any food, likely leaving you there to die. You couldn’t let that happen; you had promised Kun. 

Eventually, you found a way out. You fled during daylight, running until you could run no more. You felt the grass beneath your toes and the sun on your face. You ran so hard you broke your ankle in the process but by nightfall, it had healed. You lived as a nomad for years until you rolled into the city you now call home. Adjusting to your new life was a challenge at first, but eventually, you met a city vampire who taught you how to navigate life among humans.

Haechan listened intently, not interrupting once.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all of this sooner; it was easier if you didn’t know,” you confessed.

“I’m sorry you had to carry all that alone," he replied gently. "I promise, you won’t have to go through that again. We’re stronger now.”

“That's it though,” you began, gathering your thoughts. “We’re not strong enough. You need to go back to your pack, Haechan. You can’t come back here. There are rules, and we have to uphold them.”

“I don’t see why we can’t see each other. I know you’re afraid, but you can’t just push me away.”

"You can’t just do whatever you want! This isn’t a game, and those rules are there for a reason—to keep people alive!" You didn’t want to sound harsh, but the history between wolves and vampires was too complicated to explain right now. “The others are probably already looking for you. I can’t have a fight breaking out if they catch you here.”

“So that’s it? I’m nothing to you now?” Haechan stood up, frustration etched across his face.

“That's not—” You take a deep breath. “I didn’t say that. It’s just… complicated.”

You heard a howl echo in the distance, and your heart sank. “We don’t have time to talk about this. You need to leave. Now!” You turned and headed toward your balcony; it was safer for him to leave the way he came. He wouldn’t run into anyone and he could head straight into the forest. You swung open the doors, only to be greeted by the last person you wanted to see.

“Where is he?” Jeno demanded.

You sighed, trying to keep your attitude in check. “He was scared.”

“I don’t know if you’ve understood this yet, but he’s one of us now. You need to stay away from him. I’m running out of warnings,” he snarled.

Haechan rounded the corner and met Jeno’s gaze. “Jeno, relax! You know her,” he said defensively.

Johnny chimed in, “you don’t understand, just stay out of this.”

Haechan stepped in front of you, shielding you. “Guys, seriously! We’ve hung out together plenty of times. Why is everyone suddenly so defensive?”

“I told you, Haechan, it’s different now. New rules apply because you’re different. You’re part of their pack, and I’m a vicious vampire,” you replied, your sarcasm biting.

“Sorry, dude, but that’s just the way things are,” Mark added.

“This is so stupid! I didn’t ask for this life, and now everyone’s trying to tell me what’s best for me!” Haechan yelled, frustration boiling over.

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I know it’s unfair, love, but you have to go. I’ll see y—” You paused, stopping yourself from making any false promises. “Just… go with them, for me. Please?” You gave him your best pleading look, and slowly, he calmed down. Then he pulled you into a kiss. Neither of you wanted to pull away, but when he finally did, he turned away before you could see the tears threaten to fall. 

He walked toward Jeno and the others, but when Jeno reached out to put a comforting hand on Haechan's shoulder he shrugged it off with a low growl. They all jump from your balcony and when you look down below to where they land a pack of wolves stare back up at you before running off into the forest.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A year passed, and you hadn’t seen Haechan again. You were the one who had told him to stay away, but still, there were moments when you couldn't help but ask Mark about him. Mark was the most reasonable of their pack; you wouldn’t quite call him a friend, but you could manage more than a few words with him without the threat of a fight looming over you. The city was considered neutral territory, so running into a member of the pack while out and about was not uncommon.

“Mark told me Haechan is adjusting fine,” you shared with your friend Sooyoung as you leaned against your kitchen counter. “It took him a while, but he can control his powers now. Apparently, it took longer than usual because Haechan was still mad at them and refused to learn, but they’re on better terms now.”

“You’re living in a soap opera,” Sooyoung huffed, plopping down on one of your barstools, resting her head in her palm as she slouched over your countertop. “Are you really not going to see him?” she asked, lifting her head slightly.

“I can’t. I really can’t,” you stressed.

“Well then I’m tired of hearing about him,” she replied through a yawn. There were many myths about fairies, and one was that they couldn’t lie. While that wasn’t entirely true, they preferred not to, which made them incredibly blunt.

“Wow! What a great friend you are!” you said, rolling your eyes playfully.

Sooyoung straightened up a bit as you focused on making dinner for the two of you. “I’m sorry,” she whined, “it’s not that I don’t care; it’s just that you clearly still care about him. I can’t watch you torture yourself like this. As your friend, I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy!” you shot back defensively.

“Not if all you talk about is your stupid wolf-turned-ex-boyfriend that you miss!” she countered.

“I don’t miss him!” you insisted.

“Do you think about him?” she asked knowingly.

“I do,” you admitted.

“And I have to hear about it all the time, every day, every minute.” she pointed out.

“I'm sorry.” You cringed.

“Why don’t you just go see him? Just once, for closure,” she added, trying to be convincing.

“But what if he’s moved on?” The thought plagued you, an echo in your mind. “He hasn’t come to see me at all.”

“He has his reasons, just as you’ve had yours,” she reminded you. You considered this as you took the dinner off the stove and plated it.

“Let’s just eat,” you said, setting the conversation aside for now. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You could feel eyes on you from the moment you woke from your slumber. The scent was unmistakably his—Haechan. Rising from your grave, you sensed his presence pulling away, retreating into the nearby woods. You knew you should let him go, but you couldn’t. Sooyoung was right; maybe you needed closure.

You followed him. His figure dashed gracefully through the undergrowth, and moonlight danced off his ash-grey fur, illuminating the way. He eventually led you into a clearing, where the moon cast a spotlight on him before he turned to face you. With a shake of his fur, he began the transformation you had seen so many times before. It unsettled you how his bones shifted and reshaped, until he stood before you—bare and vulnerable, yet undeniably Haechan.

“Why are you here?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I missed you,” he replied, his eyes earnest.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed to see you,” he said, dismissing your warning. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

“That's enough!” you yelled, emotions welling up inside you.

“I know you’ve been asking Mark about me. I know you still love me,” he said, stepping closer.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted. If he came any closer…

“That’s why you followed me here. Admit it,” he pushed, standing a breath away. He searched your eyes, as if looking for the truth that lay hidden in your heart. “Admit it.”  He says almost like he's trying to convince himself as well.

You didn’t stop him when his lips met yours. It was a desperate kiss, and you found yourself kissing him back instinctively. His hands found their way around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest, as if he feared you would slip away again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him just as tightly. But before he could deepen the kiss, you pulled away suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, brows furrowed as he reached out to pull you back into his embrace.

“You know what's wrong.” you managed to say, your mind racing. “We can’t.”

Haechan ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “What’s your issue?! I can see it all over your face. You still love me; why are you fighting it? What are you so afraid of?”

“Losing you!” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks as you finally let the walls come crashing down. “You’re so damn stupid!” You closed the distance once more, pounding your fists against his chest. “Why couldn’t you just stay away?” 

He let you unleash your anger, waiting patiently until you had calmed down. Then, he wrapped you in his arms again, grounding you as your knees wobbled. You buried your face in his chest with a sob.

Haechan wasn't as ignorant as he was in the past. He knew the history between werewolves and vampires but eons of bad blood wasn't enough to keep him from you. He was fully aware of the dangers that came with being with you but he would rather die fighting for you than to do nothing at all. 

Vampires had a long history of hunting werewolves. They were the only creature that could rival their speed and strength. It was a sport, a display of dominance, to show that they were the apex predator. Treaties were signed but broken, territories marked, and warnings sent. Vampires and werewolves had learned that the best way to keep the peace was to stay far apart from one another. Most city vampires were progressive, they partied with elves, drank with werewolves, and got high off pixie dust. They mingled across species, but such alliances were frowned upon by the more traditional clans. Any love across species was seen as a betrayal, deserving of the fiercest punishment—blood spilled in the name of ancient grudges. You could be branded a traitor just for showing kindness to a werewolf.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, and you won’t let anything happen to me. We were together when I was human, and that was probably more dangerous,” he pointed out.

“I know, and I was selfish,” you admitted.

“Well, now it’s my turn to be selfish. Just let me see you,” he said earnestly.

“This is not a good idea,” you warned, but his pleading gaze softened your resolve.

He must have sensed your wavering will, as he pulled out the puppy-dog eyes. “Please,” he begged.

“Fine,” you said with an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

Just as he was about to celebrate and pull you into another kiss, you raised a finger to his lips. “But that doesn’t mean we’re dating! And the moment your pack finds out about this…” You gestured between the two of you with your free hand, “whatever this is, it’s done.”

“Deal,” he mumbled against your finger before you pulled it away.

You turned to walk away, glancing back over your shoulder before disappearing behind the trees. Haechan stood there, wearing the dopiest smile you had ever seen. “Stop looking at my ass, Haechan. Go home!” you shouted.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You and Haechan had been stealing moments together ever since that night. You found eachother in the dark corners of clubs, had picnics on abandoned rooftops under the moon, and shared intimate conversations beneath the ancient canopy of trees in the depths of the forest

Tonight you texted Haechan to meet you at an abandoned amusement park in the next city over. It took a few hours to run there, but you loved the freedom of it—being stuck in a car always felt so suffocating.  When you arrived you settled into one of the old, rusted teacups.  You heard rustling from the trees behind you and Haechan emerged in his wolf form, a backpack clamped between his teeth. When he shifted back to his human form, you instinctively looked away. The brief glimpse of his bare skin sent your mind racing with thoughts that definitely crossed the line of friendship. You reminded yourself for the hundredth time that you were just friends and friends don’t think about their friends like that. The sound of him unzipping his backpack and rummaging through clothes broke your train of thought as he started getting dressed.

“You can turn around now, darling,” he said, his voice teasing.

You hopped out of the teacup and ran right into him, relief washing over you. You’d missed him so much, and honestly, you didn’t even care that he smelled like a puppy—you buried your face in his neck.

“Hey hey, watch those teeth,” he joked.

You pulled away and playfully shoved him. “Shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “How have you been?”

“Terrible. We took in a stray recently,” he replied, a hint of irritation in his voice. “His name’s Jisung. We found him while traveling. Total troublemaker, so they dumped him on me. Ugh, he’s been giving me a headache! I was lucky to sneak away tonight.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” you said, your voice playful as you both started to walk deeper into the amusement park. 

“No way! I was not like that! He’s just so moody sometimes, such a teenager,” Haechan replied, shaking his head.

“I forgot, you had a valid reason for being so angsty.”

“Yeah, she’s standing right in front of me,” he said, then playfully tickled your sides, making you giggle.

You and Haechan were in a good place now, able to joke about the past without any hard feelings. You cherished these moments together and loved being with him.

“How did you find this place anyway?” he asked as you passed a distorted funhouse, a shiver running down his spine. “It’s creepy.”

“Is my puppy scared?” you mocked.

“I’m not scared!” he insisted with an annoyed tilt of his head.

You skipped a few steps ahead before turning around to face him. “Oh yeah? And what if I just left you right here?”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Very funny, but I’m faster than you now.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged.

“Yeah.” He says confidently. 

“Race you to the top of the Ferris wheel then!” you exclaimed and took off.

You sprinted toward the Ferris wheel on the other side of the park, Haechan hot on your heels. As you dashed past a few booths, you grabbed some old, soggy plushies and hurled them at him.

“That’s so gross!” he yelled, dodging them with ease.

Determined to leave him in the dust, you picked up speed. You leaped over old concession carts and swung through the spider ride, with its twisting central column and spinning arms. With a laugh, you propelled yourself off its arms, feeling the rush of adrenaline. Haechan dropped down onto the car behind you before launching himself off to chase you.

“Catch up, slowpoke!” you called, glancing back as the Ferris wheel loomed closer.

Tension built in your legs, and you sprang forward, grabbing one of the metal bars of the ride and climbing higher. It was massive, and when you looked down, you were surprised to see Haechan close behind, springing off each bar with the agility of a cat. You swung from bar to bar, pulling yourself up and up. There was a car waiting at the top, and that was your goal.

As you climbed, you glanced down to gauge how far Haechan was, but he was suddenly nowhere to be seen. You froze for a moment, scanning the ride. 

Your breath caught—though you didn't technically need to breathe, the habit was hard to shake. From this height, he could’ve easily fallen and gotten hurt. Werewolves were resilient, but they weren't immortal. They could almost live forever with how slowly they aged, as long as they weren’t mortally wounded. 

“HAECHAN!” you called out worriedly. “THIS ISN'T FUNNY! WHERE ARE YOU?” Your voice echoed in the stillness of the night.

Just then, a laugh rang out. “Who’s scared now?” He called down to you from the passenger car at the very top.

A wave of relief washed over you. In no time, you reached the top and stood on the outerrail of the car while he lounged in the seat. The sides of the car weren't enclosed, allowing you to lean in and meet his gaze with a glare. “I thought you fell!” You grumbled.

“Sorry, babe. Couldn't let you win,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “Sit down.”

You ambled into the car and sat down across from him. “Don’t be mad,” he smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come sit by me.”

You uncrossed your arms, giving up the act; it had been too long since you last saw him. You slid over, the seat snug but cozy enough for both of you. It was probably intended for moments like this—everyone knew that when you reached the top of the Ferris wheel you were supposed to kiss.

He nudged you playfully, and you met his gaze. “I was counting down the days until I saw you again,” he confessed softly.

You returned his smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “I missed you too.” He took your hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to your palm, his lips lingering longer than necessary before he pulled away.

He intertwined your fingers and looked up to the night sky. “You can see The Great Bear from here,” he remarked.

Following his gaze, you noted how Ursa Major shone brightly against the dark canvas of the sky. “Have I ever told you the story behind that constellation?” you asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he shook his head.

With a grin, you turned to him, relishing the moment. “In Greek mythology, Zeus once fell in love with a nymph named Callisto. When his wife Hera found out, she turned her into a bear.”

“Sounds like something you would do,” Haechan snickered.

“Except I would turn you into the bear,” you elbowed him playfully.

“Oww!” he laughed, rubbing his side dramatically.

A comfortable silence settled around you as you enjoyed each other’s company. Leaning against him, you closed your eyes, letting the peaceful moment wash over you.

“I love you,” he whispered, a soft vulnerability in his voice. Sitting up, you looked at him, his expression revealing that he was about to say something that he shouldn’t. You could see the longing in his eyes, how he yearned for you. He still wanted more.

Before he could voice his feelings, before he could reopen the wounds you both had worked so hard to heal, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was electric, you knew you couldn’t say it out loud so you put all your love and heartache into the kiss.

His hands held the sides of your face firmly, anchoring you in place as he refused to let you pull away. With a fervor you had almost forgotten, he deepened the kiss, a low moan escaping him as your tongues danced together. It was a sound so full of desire it sent heat pooling low in your belly. You couldn't help the slickness that dripped into your underwear.

You found yourself whining into his mouth, and the low growl that rumbled from his chest only encouraged you further. You fought to maintain control, willing your hands to stay in your lap. You knew the moment you touched him you wouldn’t let him go. 

His fingers found their way to your waist and pulled you onto his lap. Your hands scramble to grip onto the rail behind him. The car swayed wildly with the motion of your bodies. A part of you tried to speak, to remind him that this was dangerous but he only pulled you back into the searing kiss in response. You didn’t complain when he started grinding you down against him, you had forgotten how well you fit together. You could feel his hard length pressed against you, and the realization made your head swim. You hadn't been touched like this in what felt like an eternity, and the sensation was overwhelming.

His hands began to roam your body, mapping out every curve. When he cupped your breast, a soft moan escaped your lips making him shudder. The world around you disappeared, and all that mattered was the way his hands trailed down your waist, gripping your ass possessively. The way his hips began to thrust up in desperation had you seeing stars. He held you there, utterly lost in the way you felt pressed against him. You gripped the railing tighter, your fingers bending the metal beneath your grasp. You had to stay in control.

You managed to whisper a single word against his lips, "fuck." His hand had trailed under your shirt, sending shivers of delight down your spine. But as much as you wanted to continue, the way the passenger cart was creaking was starting to worry you. You pulled away, using your strength to push his chest. You had him pinned, his back against the seat. For a fleeting moment, his eyes flashed a deeper shade of red, a hint of a growl forming on his lips, raw desire evident in his gaze.

You stood your ground, a playful smirk on your face. "Down, boy," you said with a raised eyebrow.

"This thing is old, it's too dangerous to stay up here. Come on, we need to get down," you said firmly, the reality of the situation snapping him back to attention.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he replied, trying to mask his frustration with a hint of amusement. 

You sit still in haechans lap until the cart stops moving. When the cart slowly ceased its swaying you sighed in relief, grateful that the groaning of the rusted cart had silenced. However, just as you began to relax, a sudden crash startled you—the door fell off its hinges, clattering loudly as it hit everything in its path on its way down to the ground.

You jumped at the sound, heart racing, and exchanged a panicked look with Haechan. The spell of the previous excitement diminished, and you both burst into laughter.

“See what I mean?” he said. “This place is a death trap!”

“Yeah, but it’s kind of thrilling, don’t you think? A little dangerous excitement?” 

"You're crazy," he teased, helping you off his lap as you two made your way down.

“You loved every second of it.” 

You made it to the ground safely, and as you turned to Haechan, curiosity etched on your face, "Hey, have you presented yet?" you asked. As a golden-eyed wolf, Haechan held a neutral status, but it was possible for his eye color to shift to either red or blue once he presented - red for an alpha, blue for an omega.

He looked at you with a questioning expression, "No, why?" he asked.

You teased, "No reason, I just thought it would be cute if your eyes matched mine."

“Ah, like a couple's item,” he said, a grin breaking across his face.

“More like a friendship bracelet,” you corrected.

“Or like matching wedding rings,” he countered, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Like matching t-shirts,” you playfully curved him again.

His expression shifted slightly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You want me to be your alpha, is that it? Want me to dominate you?” His words hung in the air, full of just the right amount of flirtation.

You knew he was joking, but the way he said it stirred something deep within you. 

Desperate to regain your composure, you shot him a playful glare, trying to mask your reaction. "Very funny, Haechan," you replied, rolling your eyes, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you. The tension between you was thick, a swirl of playful teasing and underlying desire, and you both seemed acutely aware of it.

“Just imagine it,” he continued, leaning closer with mock seriousness. “Matched for life. You, me, and our golden-eyed offspring.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Keep dreaming.” Even though you tried to shake off the feeling, you could sense your face getting hot. 

 Noticing your reaction, Haechan's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he looked at you with a pleased smile. “Oh? You like that idea, huh.” He teases.

You stalked off, leaving him to follow beside you with a knowing smirk. "Shut up or I will kill you," you threatened, trying to mask your emotions.

"That's against the rules, you know that, babe," he tuts.  "Besides, I'd like to see you try. You vampires aren't so scary, you know."

"Another challenge? You don't get sick of losing, do you?"

"I won the first one," he shot back, a flicker of pride in his voice.

"I let you win," you replied.

A fire ignited behind his eyes. "You did not let me win."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night," you teased, pushing all the right buttons to rile him up. He was super competitive so it was easy.

He leaned in closer, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. "Okay, fine, you wanna play like that? I got a game for you. We have a few more hours before sunrise. You down?" The devilish smile on his face was one you knew better than to trust.

"Depends on what it is," you replied, crossing your arms defiantly.

"You think you’re faster and stronger than me, so let's put it to the test," he proposed, his grin broadening. "If I manage to rip your shirt off, I win. If you can evade me for a full hour, you win. Like that running man show we always watched." 

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. "What the hell? You just want to take my shirt off!" you argued.

"Then you better not let me catch you," he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide the challenge that sparked within you. "Fine, it will be fun knocking you down a few pegs anyway." 

He gave you a minute head start, and without hesitation, you took off, the ground fading beneath your feet as you covered hundreds of yards in no time. The scent of pine and damp earth filled your senses, and with every stride, you pushed yourself to create as much distance as possible.

But even with your impressive speed, you knew you couldn’t hide your scent from him; the bloodhound instincts of a wolf would always lead him straight to you. You would have to rely on your speed if you wanted to win, there was no point in hiding. You listened intently to the sounds of the night, and soon enough, the heavy gait of Haechan, now in his wolf form, reached your ears. He was fast, closing the gap between you with each passing second. You continue running. You fly through the trees, running, jumping and swinging between the branches. You propelled yourself farther and farther, you had been running at full speed for 30 minutes just to keep him off your heels and it was starting to annoy you how easily he was able to keep up. You had 30 more minutes and you were sick of running. You had to outsmart him if you wanted to win.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you decided to lead him to the place where you knew you could gain the upper hand: the fun house. You had been there before, giggling and disoriented off pixie dust during a fairy rave.You got trapped in the funhouse for hours. 

You circled back, running until you were back at the amusement park. The giant tattered circus tent of the fun house comes into view and you look behind your shoulder to make sure Haechan was following. He was close, a few yards back. 

As you rounded the corner into the funhouse, you felt a surge of confidence. With your last burst of energy, you darted through the maze of mirrors, instinctively weaving and dodging obstacles while leaving your scent against every reflective surface. The idea was solid; if you covered the place with your scent, he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint where you were. You hid at the end and waited.

A soft growl echoed through the maze, and the sound of Haechan's frustration made you suppress a giggle. When he entered the mirror maze, it was as if the walls began to close around him, reflecting his struggling figure infinitely. You could hear him bumping into the mirrored walls and howling in annoyance. He's about half way through when he gives up and decides he wants to go back before he realizes he can't. He's too deep inside now and he's stuck. 

“Stuck already, big bad wolf?” you thought, grinning to yourself.

He lets out a howl when he bumps into another mirror. You have to hold in your laughter. Time began to slip away, and after about twenty minutes of him navigating the maze, he finally broke through to the exit. 

When he finds you waiting at the exit he speeds towards you. You curse under your breath, you only had a few minutes left now but you couldn't outrun him. You're able to get back to the forest, hoping the natural obstacles of trees and bushes might buy you the time you need but it doesn't. 

He charged at you, and with a yelp, he tackled you to the ground. You laughed uncontrollably when he shifted back to human, completely naked and utterly unbothered by his state.

The forest floor was cool beneath your back, the damp moss pressing into your skin as you struggled against him. It was chaos, a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter, one moment he was on top, and the next, you had somehow reversed your positions. The thrill of victory rushed through you as you caught his hands, using your strength to roll him onto his back while you straddle his waist.

A triumphant smile spread across your face as you taunted him, “Give it up. Only a minute left.”

His lips curled into a sly smirk, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. “I’m letting you win,” he insisted, echoing your earlier words with a gleam of defiance in his eyes. 

You leaned down, your hair brushing against his cheeks as you whispered in his ear, “Oh, is that why you’re under me? What happened to dominating me?”

 His gaze flickered, a flash of something feral erupting within their depths. Before you could react, he was moving—too fast, too strong. In an instant, he flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. The other tore at your shirt, you gasped as he ripped your shirt from your body.

“Not so tough now are you?” he says, his smirk widening.  But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes as they roam down to your chest. “Looks like I win.” His voice drifts away, leaving a thick silence between you. 

You lie beneath him in the tatters of your shirt, your bra and a pair of low-rise skinny jeans. You can’t help but notice how hard he’s becoming against you. Your gaze trails over his exposed skin and lingering on the hard lines of his muscles until they reach his length. You bite your lip at how red the tip of his dick was. 

“I guess you did win,” you breathe out, your voice heavy with tension. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the raw effort it takes for him to hold himself back. “But I think a victory like this deserves a prize.”

And then his mouth was on yours, fierce and demanding, stealing the air from your lungs. You moaned into the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair as he pressed his body against yours. Twigs and leaves tangle in your hair but you didn’t care. You needed him—needed this—more than anything. He broke the kiss abruptly to undress you, his lips trailing down your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone before sinking in just enough to make you gasp. A shiver ran down your spine as his claws pricked at your skin, trailing down your side before retracting, leaving only the warmth of his palm groping your breast roughly.

“Haechan,” you whimpered, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

He breathed you in deeply. “I could smell you,” he murmured, his voice raspy. “The moment you saw me, I could smell how much you wanted me. But you always want to play the good girl, don’t you? The rule-follower.” His lips found your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe as he added, “Want to act like you don’t like me… but look at you now.”

You whined again, your nails digging into his shoulders as his mouth moved lower, kissing, licking, biting—claiming every inch of your body as his. He wasn’t gentle, but you didn’t want him to be. His tongue traced the curve of your breast, sucking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him, begging for more.

He trails his kisses down your body until his head is between your thighs. He lifts your legs over his shoulders and got comfortable. You see it for certain this time, his eyes glow crimson. His gaze stays locked on you the entire time as he works his tongue between your folds, collecting your slick and slurping noisily on your juices. He sucks ruthlessly at your clit and you're no match for his strength when you try to close your legs around his head. His claws dig into the skin of your thighs as he holds you open. His tongue is so slick and he's basically drooling as he devours you. The entire lower half of his face is soaked. You throw your head back in pleasure and claw at the ground beside you. 

“Yes Haechan!” You moaned as your hips kicked up and grind against his tongue. You chase your release unashamed. 

You were always weak to his touch but there was something about him now that just made you want to submit to his every order. 

When he sat up, plunging two fingers deep inside you, you rode your high out on his fingers, your legs trembling with the force of your release. You lay there, spent and shuddering. Your legs are shaking pathetically when he sits up. The moon behind him shines its light down on him. He obscures the view enough for it to look like a halo above his head. 

The red in his eyes is nothing but devilish as he licks his lips. “Turn over.” He commands. 

You didn’t hesitate, rolling onto your hands and knees as he positioned himself behind you. His hands gripped your hips, claws pricking at your skin as he pulled you back against him. 

He was everywhere—his hands gripping your hips, your hair, your throat—filling you completely, stretching you in ways that made your vision blur. Each thrust was punishing, driving the air from your lungs and drawing a symphony of moans and gasps from your lips. You were certain he would have broken you if you were human.

This was exactly what you had needed. You liked it rough, and in the past, while Haechan did his best to indulge you, he was afraid of hurting you. He didn't know you were a vampire; he didn’t know you could take it.

You could feel the same doubt begin to cloud his judgment as his touch became lighter and his thrusts shallower as he noticed just how rough he had been. In a sudden surge of frustration, you whipped your head back, baring your fangs to make it unmistakably clear what you were and what you could handle. “Do I need to remind you of what I am?” you hissed, your voice low and thick with desire. “Don’t hold back.”

The last remnants of his control snap, and he thrusts into you roughly. A heavy hand pushes your skull down into the damp moss while the other maintains the perfect arch in your back, elevating your hips as he fucks into you. Your eyes roll back, lost in pleasure as he mounts you, his hips snapping relentlessly against you over and over again.

His grip tightens, pulling you back to meet each primal thrust. He was treating you like a rag doll, and you loved every minute of it. It hurt good, the pain reminding you of what it felt like to be alive. 

With a fierce handful of your hair, he pulls you up, leaning down to press hot, wet kisses against the side of your mouth. His grip moves from your hair to your neck, his fingers constricting around your throat choking you. You smile up at him, your expression wild and hungry as he takes you. 

He was so deep, you could feel the delicious ache of him inside you, as if he were going to tear you apart. You haven't been to recharge so you know that the marks he left wouldn’t fade immediately. You wanted to admire the bruises on your skin for days, to remember him long after he had pulled away.

You don’t think there’s a single coherent thought behind his eyes, just a primal urge to stuff you full. He’s mumbling into your shoulder, biting the skin there before sinking his teeth in, and you whine, clenching down hard around him. His eyes roll back in ecstasy as he releases deep inside you, his body seemingly on autopilot, his hips continuing to thrust rhythmically as if driven by instinct. He pushes deeper and deeper, fucking you until the mixture of your combined release seeps out around his thick cock. With a violent shudder, you cum so hard your cunt pushes him out momentarily but he’s back inside you in seconds, helping you ride your high.

“Stupid puppy, fucked himself dumb?” you tease with a smile.

He's too far gone to register your insult. He pulls out, flipping you onto your side, sliding himself in between your legs, straddling one while throwing the other over his shoulder. He grips your thigh tightly and fucks into you again, still impossibly hard. You could never get enough of him. He hugs your leg as he thrusts, and you reach down, circling your clit, the pressure building again as his breath comes out in ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good. I don’t think I can stop. Please, don’t make me stop,” he whines, the desperation in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You pull him down to connect your lips. The kiss is raw and hungry, filled with teeth as you try to kiss him but every thrust that jolts your body upward makes it difficult. You could feel yourself growing closer and you cum again, soaking his length even more. He follows soon after, burying himself deep within you as he releases his hot cum, his body twitching with the force of his release.

Hours slip by in the haze of pleasure, the sun beginning to rise by the time he finally pulls out. He’s out cold, and the fangs and claws that once decorated him are nowhere to be seen; he looks entirely human now, vulnerable and peaceful.

Whatever power he had, he’s completely drained himself of it. You’re spent too, but you gather just enough strength to stand. The sun is creeping higher and you have to get home before it fully rises, or you risk losing the last remnants of energy you have left to make the run. You consider waking him to say goodbye but he looks too peaceful. You prayed he would understand your reasoning.

Ultimately, you slip away, making it home just before the sun breaks the horizon.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The past couple of weeks have left you feeling rejuvenated, like there’s a hidden spring in your step that wasn’t there before. Sooyoung, your ever-observant best friend, quickly pieces things together. You haven't mentioned your encounter with Haechan at the amusement park yet—mostly because you know she would freak out and bombard you with a million questions. Honestly, you didn’t need your best friend knowing just how much of a slut you were for your self-proclaimed mortal enemy.

Sooyoung's knowing smile has been ever-present, and you glare at her from across the couch while she takes a sip from her coffee mug. “What?” you ask, feigning annoyance.

“Nothing. Nothing,” she replies, her eyes flickering back to the movie, but you can sense her amusement. A few moments pass, and, unable to contain her excitement, her gaze shifts back to you, her smile widening. 

“Okay, seriously, what is it?” you exclaim, shoving her playfully.

Sooyoung shrugs, taking a long sip before speaking. “That’s a nice mark you’ve got there on your shoulder. Who’d you get that from?” she asks pointedly.

Your expression falters as you realize that your shirt has slid off your shoulder, revealing the bruise he left behind, the one you had tried to cover with makeup. You curse under your breath.

“No need to be ashamed, girl. I knew the day was coming sooner or later!” she laughs. “But if you think you’re leaving without telling me what happened, you’re high off pixie dust.”

You bite your lip, a smile breaking through. Before you know it, you’re giggling and screaming, overwhelmed with excitement. Sooyoung smacks you lightly on the arm, her own laughter ringing out. “No way, tell me! He got you kicking your feet like that?”

You spill everything that happened and by the end of it, Sooyoung is standing up from the couch. “We need to go out! He broke your dry spell, this calls for a celebration!”

You playfully smack her on the butt as she turns toward the remote to switch off the TV. “Shut up,” you laugh.

You can hear the bass thumping even before you step into the old, abandoned church. City vampires know how to throw the best raves, and you’re not surprised to see half of the city’s paranormal packed inside. 

Sooyoung drops her cloak, her wings unfurling gracefully across her back as she shrinks down a few sizes. At parties like this, no one bothers to cloak. Within the weathered walls of the church, every supernatural creature is free to shed their human facades and embrace their true forms. You allow your eyes to gleam a deep crimson, fangs brushing your bottom lip as you lose yourself to the pulsating rhythm of the music. 

Hours slip by before you even realize it. The music here is enchanted—not so overwhelming that it would keep you dancing to the brink of exhaustion, but just enough to carry good vibes throughout the crowd. It also amplifies the high from the pixie dust, ensuring that everyone who joins in the dance has a good trip.

“I'm gonna go find a pixie! Want to come?” Sooyoung asks over the pulsating beats.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, waving her off. She nods and heads off into the crowd while you make your way out back to get some fresh air.

Stepping outside, you spot a few couples making out against the building while others drift in quiet conversation. One familiar figure catches your eye. Jeno was leaning against a tree smiling at something on his phone.

Curiosity piqued, you walked up to him. “What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Looking after my pack. Why are you bothering me?” he replies, not bothering to look up.

“Just making small talk, you infuriating mutt,” you roll your eyes.

“Your boyfriend’s also a mutt, so how’s that make you feel?” He shoots back.

You glare at him, feeling a pang of irritation. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” you snap, afraid the wrong crowd might overhear.

“Right, that’s too bad,” he smirks, finally looking at you.

“And why is that?” you grit your teeth.

“You didn’t know? He presented. He’ll be going into rutt soon and he’s gonna need a mate if he wants to survive it.”

Your stomach drops. You didn’t need to ask what he presented as, it was obvious.

“You know, my dad’s been trying to find someone compatible with him.” Jeno says, an edge of satisfaction in his tone.

“And that’s probably going as well as it did for you,” you shot back. “Your sorry self is still alone. What, are you jealous that you'll have to jerk it solo during your rutt?” Venom laced your words.

Jeno’s smile grows wider, and he knows he's hit a nerve. “Don’t be too sad when he stops coming around. I warned you,” he says, shoulder checking you and heading back into the party.

You felt sick. If what jeno said was true Haechan would be looking for a mate to satisfy his rutt. Just like that your world crashes down around you. You go back inside and look for Sooyoung. When you finally locate her, it’s in the storage room, where she’s wrapped up in a makeout session with Renjun, a pixie you recognize as her casual fling.

“We need to go,” you insist, cutting right through their moment.

Renjun pressed a lingering kiss to her neck as she glanced past him at you, surprise flickering across her face. “Aww, but it was just getting fun,” she pouted.

“Well, I’m heading home,” you state flatly. “I don’t feel good.” Without waiting for her to pull herself from Renjun's embrace, you race home

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It had been days since you heard from Haechan; he wasn’t answering your texts or returning your calls. It was rare for him to be home anymore, so you weren’t surprised to find his place empty when you went to check on him. Had his rutt already begun? You cringed at the thought and quickly shook it from your mind. If he were in rutt, they would have found him someone to lay with by now.

You realized that constantly thinking about him was driving you crazy. You needed a distraction. You left your home and headed to the library, but all you could think about were those late nights helping him study within those four walls. You decided to visit Sooyoung, hoping she could take your mind off things, but  she had taken too much pixie dust at the last party and was still coming down from the high. 

There was only one place you knew where you could silence your thoughts. You needed to recharge. Maybe if you slept long enough, you could forget about what Jeno had told you, maybe even forget about Haechan.

It wasn’t until you reached the cemetery that you realized tonight was a full moon. If Haechan had truly gone into rutt, it would officially begin tonight. A wave of bloodlust washed over you as tormenting images of Haechan with someone else flooded your mind. Maybe he was right; perhaps you and Hera did share some traits after all.

You could become deadly when you were jealous.

You locked yourself in your coffin, fighting the urge to storm into werewolf territory and tear them all apart. They weren’t the only ones who became stronger under a full moon.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The lid of your casket slid open, and when you locked eyes with the person who dared to interrupt your sleep, a primal urge to rip his throat out surged through you.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey, wait!” Mark shouted, jumping back several feet. You rose from your coffin, the scent surrounding you immediately igniting a rage.

The last thing you wanted to smell upon waking up was mutt.

“What the hell are you doing in my territory?” you snapped, your voice icy cold. “This breaks the treaty, and I have free rein to murder all of you.”

You scanned the graveyard, spotting Ten, Johnny, and Yangyang standing several yards away. Jeno and Jaehyun were closer, but not close enough to be within your reach, unlike Mark—who was either brave or incredibly stupid for waking you.

“Guys, I told you this was a bad idea,” Mark whined.

“She likes you the most; she would have killed me already if I'd woken her up,” Jeno replied, arms crossed.

“You have five seconds to explain what’s going on before I use your hide to make myself a coat,” you threatened, your patience wearing thin.

“It’s Haechan! He needs you!” Mark exclaimed, hands raised defensively.

You dropped your guard. “What? What happened?” You asked, stalking closer and gripping him by the front of his shirt.

“He’s in rutt. We tried to find him a partner to help him through it, but he refused. He’s getting more and more agitated as the days pass, and usually, the rutt would be dying down by now, but it isn’t,” Mark huffed, worry etched on his face as he recalled the events.

That idiot—what did he think he was doing?

“Dad thinks he’ll drive himself insane if he keeps refusing his urges,” Jeno butts in.

“How long has he been like that?” you demanded.

“Three days,” Jaehyun spoke up. “As much as we don’t like it, he’s our brother, and we can’t lose him. You need to go to him.”

“You waited three days to find me?” you yelled, incredulous.

“We thought he would break eventually, but now he just becomes aggressive if an omega tries to come near him,” Johnny explained, cautiously stepping closer now that he was certain you wouldn’t try to kill anyone.

“Well, let’s go,” you said, preparing to run off, until Jeno stepped in front of you. “If you like your head being on your shoulders, I’d move.” 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? If he hurts you, he’ll never forgive us for bringing you to him in this condition,” Jeno continued, his concern evident.

You flashed him a confident smile. “Fully charged.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

This time, when you crossed into werewolf territory, the atmosphere was far less hostile. Jeno and Jaehyun led the way and eventually brought you into a secluded room where a heavy door stood, carved with symbols that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. You could feel the whispers of magic, familiar and foreign all at once. To the side, a hidden passageway led down a narrow set of stairs, the faint echo of your footsteps reverberating off the stone walls as you descended.

“You’ve been keeping him locked up underground?” you questioned, a wave of memories from your past life flashing before your eyes. 

“This is where we all go during the first rut. It can be dangerous,” Jaehyun explained. “The same goes for newly turned werewolves. If they can’t find control, the only way to keep everyone safe is to let them weather the storm down here.”

You finally reached a door at the end of the hallway. Jaehyun paused, the concern etched on his face deepening. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re asking,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Well, we’ll be out here if you need us. Just yell,” Jeno said. He handed you a key, it's cold metal feeling heavy in your palm.

The door loomed before you, heavy and imposing, its surface cool to the touch as you reached for the handle. You stepped into the room, and your heart sank at the sight of Haechan. He was lying on the bed, shackled to the floor, but the chains were long enough to allow him some space to move around. 

His red eyes snapped to you the moment you entered, studying your figure in the middle of the room. He was barely dressed, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs, and the covers beneath him were shredded to pieces. The remnants of furniture lay scattered around, completely demolished, and the walls bore deep, angry scars. Some looked like old wounds, while others appeared fresh, no doubt done by Haechan.

A sheen of sweat coated his tan skin, his hair matted to his forehead. Before you could process it, he was in front of you, moving faster than you’d ever seen him. If you had been any closer, he might have reached out to grab you. He thrashed against his restraints, hands straining towards you in desperation.

You weren’t afraid; there was no hesitation as you stepped into his embrace.

He pulls you close against his chest, his grip possessive and strong. He was burning like a furnace against you. “I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost unrecognizable. “I’ve been waiting, holding on for you.” You can feel his arousal pressing stiff against your stomach. Your body reacts immediately to him, your nipples harden and you can feel yourself getting wet.

“It’s okay, let go,” you reassure him, using the key Jeno had given you earlier to unbind him. “I trust you.”

As the last of his shackles clatter to the floor, he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he slams you against the nearest wall. He bites your lip before he rips your shirt down the middle, pulling away just enough to attach his mouth to one of your breasts, his other hand eagerly exploring your body. He humps at your leg pathetically, dragging his cock over the rough fabric of your jeans.

You fumble with your pants, realizing too late that you should have chosen something with easier access. His patience wears thin, and with a flash of claws, he impatiently rips the crotch from your jeans. The cold air immediately hits your wet core, and Haechan inhales deeply. He drops to his knees in seconds, shoving his nose deep in your cunt, he wanted to drown in your scent.

“Haechan,” you gasp, instinctively pushing his head away.

One of his hands grips both your wrists tightly, pinning them against your lower stomach as he leans in closer, inhaling your scent like it’s the sweetest perfume. You glance down to find him stroking himself, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He buries his face deeper, forcing his tongue between your legs. You can feel the tip of his tongue prod at the tight rim of your asshole. Heat rushes to your face as you try to close your thighs, but he pulls back only to bite your thigh in warning.

“Don’t fight me. You’re going to lose,” he huffs.

You shiver at his command, surrendering as you throw a leg over his shoulder. He instantly resets his focus, lapping at you while moaning in appreciation. 

“God,” he exhales, the muscles in his arms straining as he grips himself tighter, strokes growing rough and desperate. His eyes screw shut in frustration. “Not enough, I need you.” 

He manhandles you, turning you to face the wall and pressing you firmly against it. Your jeans cling uncomfortably to your skin as he grips your hips tightly. In one deep thrust, he’s inside you, and it feels like he’s rearranging your guts. He feels different from before—thicker—and you can’t help but rise onto your tiptoes with every deep thrust. You brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the surface.

“You don’t know how bad I wished you were here. I needed you,” he grunts. His thrusts grow more aggressive. “Where the hell were you? Huh?” His grip tightens in your hair, forcing you to look back at him.

You whimper, brain fogging as he stretches you open. “I’m here, Haechan. I’ll always be right here.

You feel the familiar heat building within you, and his fingers find your clit, rubbing in tight circles. “That’s right, baby. Give it to me.”

You come hard and he pulls out, dropping to his knees to lick deep inside you as he ate you out from the back. He wanted to taste every last drop of you and you would let him suck you dry.

You don't realize he's thrown you on the bed until you're staring at the ceiling, the tattered sheets beneath you. He crawls towards you, like a predator about to catch his prey. Gripping your ankle, he pulls you closer, ripping your pants off.  When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his lips. 

He sinks back into you, and you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips against him, your nails raking down his chest as he takes you. 

“Mmh fuck.” He whines.

His mouth drops open in pleasure and you can tell he appreciates the way your pussy grips him. He looks like hes on cloud nine as he fucks you into the bed. You were exactly what he had been needing these past few days. You grip the hair at the back of his nape and pull. He moans breathlessly and his next thrust is so sharp it knocks you up the bed a few inches.

“Alpha,” you moan.

He grips your thighs, pressing them against your chest, holding you in place as he ravages you. The sound of the bed creaking fills the room with each thrust, the headboard connecting rhythmically with the wall. He doesn’t relent, his hand gripping your chin to make sure you’re looking at him. “Say it again.”

“Alpha!” you scream as he abuses your cunt. 

“You’re mine,” he growls, capturing your lips in a quick messy kiss. “Say it.”

“I'm yours, only yours.”

As he releases his grip on your face, he pulls your hair, making you watch as he thrusts between your legs. “Look at how you take me. So fucking beautiful.” He growls.

He quickened his pace, raw and desperate, and the bed shakes beneath you.

“Shit” you scream.  You dig your nails into his shoulder and take it. You cling to him, your breaths coming in short gasps as pleasure builds low in your belly. His lips find yours again, silencing your moans as he fucks you with an intensity that borders on pain. But it’s perfect—it’s everything you both needed.

You don't even get the chance to warn him when you come around him, clamping down impossibly tight. He fucks you into the mattress, unable to hold back and the bed shakes so forcefully it gives out under you, collapsing to the ground with a loud creak. He doesn’t look up, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t care.

He buries his face into your neck and chants your name. You could feel him swelling inside of you and he bites down hard onto your shoulder hips stilling as he spills into you. 

He rolls you on top of him but stays buried inside of you. Knotting you to make sure not a drop of his cum spills out. You take a look around the room, your shredded clothes lay haphazardly on the ground and the bed lies in splinters below you. You laugh breathlessly before snuggling closer to him.

“I'm sorry I was so late,” you say. “When they told me you were in rutt I thought you would take someone else.”

“Never. You’re the only one I want. The only one I’ll ever want.”

You smile, tracing patterns on his chest. “Good. Because I’m not sharing.”

He laughs, the sound warm and rich. He looks at peace, his eyes no longer clouded with desperation.

A loud knock echoes through the room.

“Haechan!” Jeno’s voice calls from outside the door. “If you're back to normal We need to talk. Now.”

Your body stiffens at his voice. You had forgotten they were out there.

You feel Haechan’s body stiffen as well, his grip on you tightening. “What is it?” he barks, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“It’s serious. Dad found out about her being here. He’s ordered everyone to the meeting hall… including her.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It isn’t until much later that you and Haechan muster the energy to finally roll out of the bed, or what’s left of it. You find yourself dressed in his clothes, feeling a little shy. The walk to the meeting hall is quiet, but Haechan’s hand remains firmly intertwined with yours, offering a sense of strength and support.

At the head of the room stands jeno’s father, the pack leader.

 His eyes shift from Haechan to you, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. You had assumed it was his orders that brought you here, but maybe not.

“You,” he says, his voice low and measured. “Come closer.”

Hesitant, you move forward, Haechan’s hand reluctantly releasing yours. The alpha steps down from his platform, circling you slowly. 

“Do you know,” he begins, stopping in front of you, “how rare it is for a werewolf in rutt to resist an omega’s scent? Even more so for three days?” His tone isn’t accusatory, it’s almost… impressed.

You swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. “I… I didn’t realize…”

“And yet,” he continues, ignoring your stammering, “he endured it. Refused every omega offered to him, tore himself apart fighting his instincts—for you.” He pauses, his gaze piercing. “Do you understand what that means?”

Your breath catches. 

“It means,” he says, his voice softening ever so slightly, “that you mean more to him than anything else. More than his instincts. More than his own survival.” He turns to Haechan, who’s standing rigidly nearby. “Isn’t that right, son?”

Haechan doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” His voice is steady, unwavering. “She’s mine. And I’m hers.”

The alpha stares at him for a long moment before nodding, almost imperceptibly. Then, he turns back to you. “If one of my sons is willing to endure hell for you, then I can see no reason to stand in the way of this bond. I give you both my blessing.”

The room erupts into murmurs, shock rippling through the pack. But the alpha silences them with a single raised hand. “Anyone who challenges this decision will answer to me directly.” His gaze sweeps across the room, daring anyone to speak against him. No one does.

Haechan steps forward.  “Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

The alpha nods again, his expression unreadable. “Take care of her,” he directs towards Haechan before turning back to you. “And take care of yourself. If this is the path you choose, then make sure you’re strong enough to walk it.”

You nod at him, still in shock as haechan picks you up off the ground in a tight hug.

Mark and Ten approach, clapping Haechan on the back. “Guess you’re part of the pack now,” Ten teases you playfully.

Jeno steps forward too. “Don’t think just because my dad likes you that I do.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around Haechan’s neck. “It will be a cold day in hell before we’re friends.”

“Just ignore him,” Johnny says with a chuckle. “If the chief says so then you’re family. We’ve got your back whether he likes it or not.”

Jaehyun nods in agreement, a reassuring smile on his face. “If anyone tries to come between you two, you can rely on us.”

A smile blooms across your face. All the fear and worry you once carried begins to lift. You felt safe knowing they had your back.  Vampire or werewolf—let them come. You’re not fighting by yourself anymore. 

[127rkives]

uhhhh idk if anyone has discussed this before but... miguel likes to eat pussy from the back!!!

like idk, every once in a while, his brain goes brrrr and something short circuits. idk chalk it up to stress but it's more like some feral, animalistic urge. he can’t really explain it. it’s almost as if someone flips a switch, his mind goes blank except for the thought of needing to be with you, under you, in you. he has to stop whatever he’s doing and go find you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

and as soon as he makes it home to find you relaxed on the couch, he's flipping you over, contorting you face down ass up, and he’s nuzzling into your clothed pussy like a dog in fucking heat. when he’s finally spent just enough time shrouded in the scent of you, he's yanking your shorts off. he’s been at this for approximately 2 minutes but there's already a wet patch in the center of your panties. that sight makes his pupils dilate before going in for the kill. his claws come out to rip your panties to shreds right before he straight up nose dives into your pussy, and granted you can feel him, the action still catches you off guard enough for you to emit a loud gasp. it’s just too much too fast. “mig- ohhh!~”

“mmm... mmmf” miguel gets so much satisfaction from tasting you that he releases moans of his own. they would be bouncing around the room and intermingling with yours except right now he can't bring himself to pry his tongue from the slick walls of your cunt. 

“oh my gosh- miguel!”

hearing you raise your voice in alarm while saying his name is enough to make miguel pause for a second. you take the moment of reprieve to look over your shoulder— huffing and puffing— only to be stunned by miguel’s animalistic look. his curls are messily hanging near his eyes which are dark, yet spacey as if he’s on another planet. his lips are parted just enough to show a peek of his fangs as he breathes heavily through his mouth after suffocating himself with your pussy, and a gleaming mixture of his spit and your slick is smothered over half of his face and all the way down to his collarbone.

“m- miggy could you just give me a few seconds?” you ask. miguel tilts his head to the side and scoffs. a curt “no” is all you get before miguel locks his arms around your thighs to drag you back to his watering mouth. you don’t have claws like miguel but if you did the couch cushions would definitely be in shreds from the way you’re gripping them. 

the wet slurps of miguel’s tongue lapping at your cunt are soon paired with two of his thick fingers easily slipping in thanks to your arousal. he scissors them for a moment before adding a third. the speed he uses to pump them in and out and the feeling of his slightly calloused fingers against your gummy walls leaves you floating in the clouds. you’re brought crashing back down, however, when a deep groan from miguel sends sparks up your spine. soon enough you feel pressure building at the bottom of your stomach, only it doesn’t feel like it usually does. in a fit of panic you try to drag yourself out of miguel’s grip.

“ohhh my go- miggy!” it’s all you can do to let out little slurred calls of his name, but it doesn’t matter. miguel’s not stopping until he’s satisfied. your escape attempts are useless, but the wiggling is enough to piss him off.

“querida. don’t move so much. be good.” but you can’t be still. the tingly feeling in your tummy is growing and all you can do let out breathy moans as you thrash around in ecstacy.

“ahh- i can- can’t help it!”

all of your moving loosened miguel’s grip too much for his liking. in less than a second, he's yanking you back towards his mouth and hoisting your hips just high enough to wrap his lips around your cute little clit. 

one hard suck is all it takes before you’re squealing at the top of your lungs. a scream of “miguel!~” is the only thing leaving your lips while your vision goes white and your breathing stops for a second. miguel is unrelenting behind you, switching to messily swiping his thumb across your clit and shoving his tongue back into your pulsating cunt in an attempt to catch every last drop squirting in to his mouth. 

even when your arms give out beneath you and you faceplant into the couch miguel is still lapping at your outer lips like he’s been saved after being stranded in the desert for a year.

and like that, it’s like the switch in his brain flips again. he smooths his hands up and down your trembling thighs and scatters kisses in a path up your back to the nape of your neck. “you okay, cariño?” a weak “mhm” is all you can muster up as you turn your head to flash miguel a floaty smirk. he smiles and chuckles, recognizing the foggy look in your eyes. covered in a sheen of sweat and high off the feeling of him is just one of the times miguel thinks you look the most beautiful.

after ghosting his hands across your skin and giving you a few minutes to calm down, miguel goes to gently move you to his lap. he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling all of you. with the little strength you have, you wiggle around in his lap attempting to get comfortable but something is in the way- 

“ohh~” miguel’s breath is hot on your neck as he groans into it. his fangs graze your skin, his hands grasp onto your hips for dear life and oh...

someone flipped the damn switch again...

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (5)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, angst babyyy <3

a/n: I'm going insane and crazy and every iteration of that. I love writing this fic so much I want it tattooed on my forehead. Thanks, love you all <3

Read part one | part two | part three | part four | (bonus part 5) | part 6

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You were in and out of sleep for the next few days—much to your displeasure. 

After attempting to down all the herbal remedies Azriel’s healer had left and continuing to care for your daughter without missing a beat, Azriel had made it clear that that would not fly. You told him several times to go home and not burden himself with caring for the two of you, but he was entirely too stubborn to listen to you. 

You even watched as his shadows left and returned with messages for him, sure that his High Lord was calling him home. 

But Azriel still stayed. 

He made food, he served the food, and he fed Melanie, coaxing her delirious eyes open to make sure she took medicine at the right times. You weren’t completely incapacitated, but it didn’t matter; Azriel wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger. 

He answered the door to the apothecary several times, sending away customers after collecting payments and restocking shelves, somehow privy to the knowledge of the store. You weren’t entirely confident that he wasn’t overcharging everyone or putting things in random places.

A few times, when sleep fought for the space in your mind, you felt fingers in your hair, along your face, across your shoulders. Each brush would send you deeper into the void you avoided so adamantly, and you were ignoring the fact that you had never felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of other people until now. 

You caught Azriel holding Melanie on a few occasions.

You would crack an eye open after an unexpected bout of sleep and he’d be rocking her in his arms, bouncing her to sleep as she lay her flushed face on his shoulder. 

Azriel had never told you if he had experience with children. Sure, he mentioned his closeness with Nyx and how much he loved his nephew, but that was… different from this. The ease with which he held Melanie, the instinct he seemed to have towards her—it felt different. Looked different. 

You felt an unexplainable sense of safety as you watched them. 

Melanie would pull back from his shoulder and arrange her fingers on the planes of Azriel’s cheeks and he would smile at her. And you felt safe. 

You found more energy on the third day of the fever. 

You got out of bed and took some semblance of a bath, fumbling around in the bathroom without much coordination. Your head was still fuzzy and an ache still permeated deep within your muscles, but the feeling was lessened. 

It wasn’t until after your bath that you realized you hadn’t checked on Melanie the moment you woke up. 

You hadn’t shot out of bed and raced to her room as you had done almost every morning since she was born. 

You hadn’t feared that she was somehow taken from your home, from your arms—that she was in danger of being ripped from your grasp and sent back to Autumn to live out the same cruel fate you were destined for. 

A small voice in the back of your mind offered a gentle whisper, reminding you that it was because of Azriel that you found that brief moment of peace. 

You pushed it back. 

With a shiver, you made your way down the narrow hallway to your daughter’s bedroom. 

Empty. 

You felt your heart rate tick up in a small bout of panic, but you were calmed by a fluttering in your chest just as quickly. The light pressure led you into the kitchen and then flushed into a warm bloom as the scene in front of you unfolded. 

Melanie was bundled up in a blanket and sat atop the kitchen counter as Azriel whisked the contents of a bowl. She was talking her head off about something that happened at school and Azriel was nodding his head with each exasperated huff she let out. Another glance told you that Melanie had eaten an entire plate of food before you’d entered, a feat in itself as your daughter hardly ate to begin with—let alone when she was sick. 

“Mommy!” Melanie cheered, wrapping her arms around your neck as you entered the quaint kitchen. “I thought you were gonna sleep forever. I wanted to wake you up but Mr. Azriel said you had to sleep to get better so he made me lunch.” 

“Lunch, huh?” you smiled, gathering her into your arms and sliding her off the counter. 

“Uh-huh. You slept through breakfast and lunch. Aren’t you hungry, mommy?” 

“Maybe a little bit.” 

“Well, you should have Mr. Azriel’s pancakes.” Melanie yawned. Her blinks became longer. “They’re so good, mommy. He should live with us and make them all the time.” 

From the stove, you heard Azriel breathe out a laugh. You glanced at him through your lashes as you held Melanie in your arms, the broad expanse of his wings barely contained in the kitchen. The shirt he wore strained against his arms as he shifted a pan on the burner and he didn’t look back as the two of you spoke. 

“I think I need a nap,” Melanie proclaimed, rubbing at her heavy eyes. “I thought I was a big girl at school now and didn’t need to take naps. You told me that, mommy.” 

You tore your gaze from Azriel’s back and offered your daughter a soft smile. “Well, you need rest to get better, too. So it’s okay for you to take naps right now.” 

“I don’t like having hot blood. This is so annoying.” 

You jutted your head back at her statement and made to have her explain, but Melanie shimmied from your arms and scampered off to her room before you could make a sound, her blanket dragging behind her. 

That left you alone with Azriel. 

“Hot blood?” you asked, leaning against the counter and attempting to appear casual in your own home. It was still surreal that he was up here—making pancakes in your kitchen—when just a few days ago, you never would have let him get past the stairs. 

Azriel hummed and flicked the burner off, leaning his back on a nearby counter to face you. “I think she heard what Madja said when she was explaining what was wrong with you both. Mel’s been calling it hot blood. I didn’t—I didn’t think it was my place to correct her.” 

You pressed your lips into a line and rubbed your forearm in some attempt of comfort. “Right.” A long pause. Azriel didn’t press you to speak. You did anyway to fill the dead air. “You really didn’t have to stay for as long as you did. I know this place isn’t what you’re used to and it must have been a handful with Mel—” 

“I wanted to stay,” Azriel interrupted. He stepped forward and placed a hand on your forehead, ignoring the tension you felt weighing on your shoulders. “You’re still warm.” 

“I feel a lot better. Almost completely fine. It would be okay… if you had somewhere to go. If you had to leave, I mean.” 

The hand on your forehead slid down to your chin and tilted your face up. Azriel’s gaze flickered between your eyes—back and forth with a furrowed brow as if trying to parse out a deeper meaning behind your words or solve a puzzle you hadn’t presented. His hand was hot against your chin in a way it wasn’t against your forehead. 

“You should eat,” he settled on. He brushed your still-damp hair back from your face before turning on his heel. “Mel was right. I make great pancakes and you haven’t eaten in a while. Lucky for you she didn’t finish all of them. She was close, but there are a few left.” 

You let him fuss, watched him as he rooted around the cupboards to pull out a plate and a glass, and tried to figure this out now that you were more coherent. 

Azriel had stayed—for almost three days he had stayed at your apartment and cared for you and your daughter as if it was expected. Each time you had woken up he had been there, coaxing water and bone-dry broth into your mouth before helping you see Melanie and then helping you to fall back to sleep. He had held your daughter and made her pancakes and he was still here. 

Could this somehow be nefarious? Some ploy to get close to you just to use you as a bargaining chip and send you back home? Had the High Lord demanded that his Spymaster keep a close eye on you and this was the outcome? 

No. 

No, that couldn’t be the reason Azriel was setting a plate down on the counter beside you. That couldn’t be why he caught your eye with a worried gaze and seemed to pinpoint your inner turmoil almost instantly. 

But why? 

His visits over the past few weeks had been welcomed—confusing at first, but a welcomed break from the mundane, anxiety-fueled life you lived. You had grown comfortable with him and Melanie had begun asking for him when she showed you her art projects or had questions about the walks of life. You had come to expect his presence in your store and found yourself looking forward to the chance to see him outside of Melanie’s school. 

But what could he possibly have to gain from making himself a constant in your life? 

You had asked before, a single question with a simple “Why not?” for a response that you had brushed off. Because it wasn’t too much of a big deal for him to stop by or help you lift the apothecary boxes or let Melanie talk his ear off. 

But this was a big deal. 

It was a big deal when he sat beside you until you fell asleep and it was a big deal that he was still standing here now, inches from you, eyes boring into yours. 

“Why are you doing this, Azriel?” 

Your question seemed to suck all of the air from the room. Azriel winced to such an infinitesimal degree you almost missed it. His fingers twitched as they rested on the counter. The plate of food sat forgotten, its intended distraction wasted. 

“I’ve already said.” 

You shook your head. “‘Why not’ was okay when you were stopping by the apothecary a few times a week and flirting with me for fun. It was okay when you were saving me from nosey teachers and opening doors when my hands were full. It was okay when this—” you jabbed your finger between your chest and his “—didn’t involve you in my apartment holding my daughter until she fell asleep. I need more than why not, Azriel. I need to understand if… if…” 

“What?” he whispered so close the air between you warmed. 

When had he gotten so close?

“I need to know if this isn’t safe. If there’s some other reason for all of this.” 

This time, when Azriel winced, he flinched. His body seemed to stun and his face twisted into a frown etched with such an uncomfortable pain it was difficult to look at. 

He spoke as his head shook. “I’ve told you this isn’t… I want you to feel safe with me. I thought I would have proved that was possible after this.” 

“You have,” you were quick to reply. “I wouldn’t have been able to take care of Mel if you hadn’t been here. But, that’s the thing. I don’t even know how you knew to come here. You walked in asking if I was okay—asking where Melanie was. I know your shadows spy, but why, Azriel? Why take such an interest in me? In us?” 

“Is it not enough to just want to know you?” he asked, his words tight and pained. 

“No. For others, maybe. But not… not after everything I’ve been through. Not when everything I have could be ripped away. I need a reason, Azriel. I can’t let this happen without one. I can’t put Melanie in danger.” 

“I don’t understand,” Azriel pleaded. He got closer, wrenching his head down to find your eyes. “Help me to understand. What danger are you in? I can explain, but I can’t protect you without knowing.” 

You let out an exasperated scoff, tugging at your hair and regretting the action as a headache bloomed. You took a step back until your back met the kitchen wall. 

“You can’t protect me, Azriel. You can’t.” 

“I could if you—” 

“It doesn’t make sense that you want to! You work for the High Lord. You spy for him! Do you have any idea what any of that means in the grand scheme of things? What it could mean if someone found out that the Night Court’s Spymaster was suddenly asking around about someone from Autumn?”

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, confusion marring his features, but you were breathing faster, the fever and the panic combining beneath your skin.

“I have stayed hidden for five years—five. I shouldn’t have sent Melanie to school. I shouldn’t have asked for help from anyone. If… if someone finds me—” 

“No one will find you. Hey—hey.” Azriel invaded your space, your back against the wall and his hands against your face. His eyes softened as they caught yours. “No one is going to find you. You need a reason why I want to be here with you? Why I care about you and Mel?” 

Your jaw quivered under his fingers. You nodded in place of speech, unable to find words that wouldn’t make tears fall down your cheeks. 

Azriel stared back at you with so much torture and conflict in his eyes you almost wanted to take back the request. He took several breaths and seemed unsure of his next words. But he held your face in his hands with such surety, strong fingers unshaken. 

The Shadowsinger brought you forward with the guide of his palms until his lips met your forehead. 

And then he pulled back and said, “You are my mate. I want to keep you safe—to protect you and Melanie—because you are my mate. You are what I’ve been waiting for for hundreds of years and if you want nothing to do with me after this, that’s fine. But if you’ll have me, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

part 6

[hairmetal666]

Steve has done interviews before. Like, a lot of interviews. YouTube, podcasts, print, TV stuff. Not as a brag, or anything, just. He's been an influencer for a long time, for better or worse, and it's part of the deal.

Usually, he's comfortable in front of the camera. Usually, he's poised and well-spoken. But today, this time, sweat pools under his arms and beads along his hairline, the lights beating down on him in a harsh glare.

"Steve Harrington," Murray Bauman crosses his legs, smiles big for the cameras. "It's been a while."

He smiles too, tries to seem like he's not about to have a panic attack. "I've been a little busy."

Murray laughs and it's then that Steve understands how screwed he really is. Murray's show, it's all glitz and glamour on the surface; mixed drinks and hijinks until the celebrity guests lose their inhibitions, admitting things they probably wanted to keep secret.

It's just that, before, Steve didn't have any salacious rumors to worry about, and now--

"You've had a rough year, Steve, yeah?"

"Not my best, for sure." He leans back, tries to seem calm, unbothered.

"I was sorry to hear about your divorce. I think that announcement really took a lot of people by surprise."

His hands clench, but he manages not to shift or bounce his leg. "Thanks for, uh. Yeah. We were also sorry it didn't work out."

Murray nods, face full of sympathy. "You and Nancy, you'd been together since high school? That's almost--what? 15 years?"

"It's--" he clears his throat. "About that long." Steve takes a sip of the drink next to him, an apple martini that's both too sweet and too strong.

"Am I right to assume that you didn't see it coming?"

And isn't that a question? Sure, now in hindsight, he can see the fractures that lead to the end, but six months ago did he--it's all so--what if all along--

"All marriages have rough patches," is what he says. "We just couldn't come out of ours as a couple."

"Do you know what I've found really remarkable about this phase of your life? The content and tone of your videos in the midst of the maelstrom of rumors and gossip didn't change at all. 'Your kids' as you call them, are still as bright and vibrant as ever. You're laughing, dancing, cooking, having a great time."

"I needed that--that normalcy you know? And the kids, they're such an important part of my life, having them around helped."

"Including Nancy's brother, Mike?"

Steve laughs and it's not fake. "Totally including Mike. My relationship with Nancy has nothing to do with my relationship with him."

"He's kind of an antagonist--would you say?--in your videos, though."

"We have conflict sometimes, but it's never serious. We know how to play it up for laughs."

"So, nothing's changed between you?"

"Not at all."

"The cheating rumors." Murray's smile is soft, but all the air still leaves the room.

"What about them?" It's more combative than he means, but--

"Did Nancy cheat on you with Jonathan Byers?"

He swallows and it hurts. She did cheat, is the thing. It's not public information, still only speculation, but--

"You can't believe everything you read, Murray."

"So, she didn't cheat?" There's a glow to Murray's eyes that tells Steve he already knows the answer.

"Like, I said before, marriages are hard. We spent a lot of time apart because of our jobs. It took a toll."

"And she was traveling with Jonathan, yes? He's been her photographer for the past decade, from what I understand."

"They were co-workers, but we're all close. And those rumors didn't help our relationship, for sure. It's--not easy to hear that a bunch of people think your wife and close friend may be having an affair, that people 'ship' them. Even when it's not true, it creates--"

"Tension? Distrust?"

"Both, probably." He takes another drink as he nods. "After a while you do start to wonder if there's truth to it, and you're too ignorant or too--too trusting to see it."

"And it eroded the relationship."

"It certainly didn't help." He takes another drink.

"And how about your relationship with Jonathan's brother, Will. Has that been impacted?"

"Of course not. Never. Whatever happens between Nancy, Jonathan, and I, it has nothing to do with the kids. They know that.

"You talked about it."

"Yes. Extensively."

"I know there's often speculation on the relationship you have with them; if you're really close or it's all for the cameras."

"Murray." He leans forward. "We've talked about this before. I met Dustin through Mike, and the whole group followed. I've known them all since they were 8 years old. They're--I mean, not to be cliche, but they're my family." He sips the last bit of martini.

"And where does Eddie Munson fit into that family?"

The question shouldn't be a surprise, but he almost does a spit take, has to fight to keep it together.

"Eddie?"

"Yes." Murray's smile is chilling. "Your close friend Eddie Munson. Musician. Plays Dungeons and Dragons on YouTube. You made out with him in a music video. Ringing any bells?"

"I'm familiar with Eddie," his grin is rigid. "I don't know what that has to do with my marriage ending."

"Well, the rumors weren't all about Nancy, were they?"

"Eddie and I have--we became mutuals online years and years ago. I used one of his songs in a video and the kids are obsessed with his dnd stuff, so. We've become close."

"Friends?"

"Isn't that implied?"

"After that music video, I don't think so."

Steve rolls his eyes, lets the irritation show for the first time. "He asked me to be in his video. There's nothing scandalous about it."

"What's your relationship with Eddie right now?"

"Like I said, friends."

"Do you want it to be more than that?"

"Eddie's really important to me."

"Is that all?"

"Not really sure what you want me to say here, Murray."

"You were married to a woman for years, but now there are questions about your sexuality."

He grits his teeth. "My sexuality isn't anyone's business aside my own. People can say shit on Twitter all they want, that doesn't mean they know me. But--the end of my marriage--it definitely gave me the space for self-discovery, I guess? In a way I hadn't had before."

"And is Eddie a part of that self-discovery?"

"Yeah, as one of my closest friends, he is."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"That's--that's not--I'm going through a divorce. My focus isn't on starting another relationship right now."

"You, famously, tattooed your initials on the inside of his thigh during an Instagram live. That's pretty intimate."

"We were just having a little fun."

"Huh. That seems like more than 'a little fun' to me. So, how's Eddie doing with the increased attention?"

It takes Steve a second to track the change of subject, mind still stuck on the tattoo, on how the ink had looked on Eddie's pale skin.

"It's hard." Steve eventually answers. "Of course he enjoys bringing his music and dnd to a wider audience, but the focus on his personal life is--it's a lot."

"Well, he should have thought about before letting you tattoo him for your 850,000 followers. Does he want a relationship with you?"

His throat is dry, burning, he wishes he had more martini. He wishes he'd never taken a sip. "You'd have to ask him. I'm just taking it day by day, you know? That's what I need right now."

"We're getting to the end of our time, but you know I have to ask. Your best friend, Robin Buckley, she very famously unfollowed both Nancy and Jonathan on all social media when news broke about your divorce. Can you tell us why she unfollowed them?"

"I have no control over Robin's accounts. I didn't even know she followed Jonathan ever, and she and Nancy have a relationship outside of me, you know? I can't say what happened between them."

"She's been in your videos with Eddie. She like him?"

"Very much. It's kind of annoying actually. They keep ganging up on me."

"Much to everyone's delight, I'm sure. So, what can we expect from the newly single Steve Harrington?"

"There are a couple things in the works, but only time will tell."

---

He walks through his front door an hour later, and Eddie's sitting on the couch, playing a soft melody on an acoustic guitar. He stops when he sees Steve, setting the guitar aside, and standing.

"How'd it go, baby?" He asks. His soft smile is so beautiful, Steve gets a lump in his throat.

"As expected." He crosses the space between them, lets Eddie pull him close.

"He ask about us?" Eddie's breath tickles his ear.

"Of course."

"And you--"

"I want--it should be just for us. We should be able to announce when we're ready. Not when Murray-fucking-Bauman asks."

Eddie kisses him, then, sweet and slow, making him lose his breath.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be right by your side."

"You sure? All my mess--"

"Is mine too. Afraid you're stuck with me for the long haul, Steve Harrington."

[hanniewho]

⋆˚࿔ You mean it? When you said you love me?𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆˚࿔ Summary: Vi is your roommate, and you guys occasionally have sex to release stress, but you guys are not in a romantic relationship. During one of your stress relief sessions, you blurt out what you really feel about her.

𐙚˙✧˖° Words: 2.3k

༘ ⋆｡ ˚ Warnings: Strap, Fingering, Nipple play and fluff

⋆✦ Pairings: Modern Au Vi x Afab reader, and Powder

"Oh fuck, yes, right there," you gasped, your back arching off the bed as the rhythmic thrusts of the strap-on filled you completely. Your eyes clenched shut, a pattern of pleasure resonating through your body.

Vi's breath grew heavy with exertion, her muscles flexing with every pump. She had found your favorite spot and hit it with precision, making you squirm beneath her. The mattress squeaked in protest, a steady beat accompanying the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. Your legs were wrapped tightly around her waist, nails digging into the firm flesh of her back.

You could feel the heat emanating from her body, the sheen of sweat glistening on her skin under the dim lamp light. Her eyes, a piercing blue, bore into yours, the intensity of her gaze almost too much to handle. The way she moved was like a dance, every motion calculated to push you closer to the edge. And you were so, so close.

Her grip on your hips tightened as she increased the pace, the strap-on sliding in and out of you with a smoothness that made your toes curl. Each time she bottomed out, you felt the head of the toy nudge against your g-spot, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. You moaned, a needy sound that seemed to spur her on.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, a potent mix of your arousal and the faint smell of leather from the strap-on. Your chest heaved, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, the tips sensitive to the air that kissed them as your shirt had been discarded earlier. Vi's eyes flickered down to them, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she reached between you to tease your clit, her thumb circling the sensitive bud in a way that had you biting your lower lip to stifle a scream.

But as you felt yourself hurtling towards that sweet release, something slipped out of your mouth, raw and unfiltered, "I love you," you chanted, your voice hoarse with passion. The words hung in the air, a sudden stillness descending upon the room. Vi's movements ceased, her eyes wide with shock, the strap-on still buried deep within you.

"What did you just say?" she whispered, her breath hot against your neck. You felt a jolt of panic, realizing what had just slipped out. You didn't mean to say it, not like this, not in the throes of passion. But the truth was there, laid bare, and you couldn't take it back.

"I..." you stuttered, your heart racing as you searched for the right words. But before you could say anything else, Vi leaned in closer, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your ear. "Say it again," she demanded, her voice low and gruff, sending a shiver down your spine.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of your confession hanging heavily in the air. "I love you," you repeated, the words now a declaration rather than a slip. The room remained still, the only sound the heavy thump of your heartbeat echoing in your ears.

Vi pulled back slightly, her gaze searching yours, as if trying to gauge the depth of your feelings. "You do?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and hope. The strap-on remained lodged inside you, the sudden pause in movement creating a delicious ache that you craved to be sated once more.

"I do," you affirmed, the words feeling surprisingly right as they left your lips. You reached up, your hand trembling slightly, to cup her cheek. Her skin was warm and slick with sweat, but the touch grounded you, making the moment feel more real than any fantasy you could have conjured.

Vi searched your eyes for a long moment, her own emotions a stormy sea of doubt and hope. Then, with a growl that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul, she crashed her mouth against yours. The kiss was desperate, hungry, a declaration of all the things she hadn't dared to voice herself. Her tongue danced with yours, tasting the truth of your words, and the connection between you grew stronger with every passing second.

Her hips began to move again, the strap-on sliding in and out of you with renewed vigor. You moaned into her mouth, the sudden burst of passion making your body respond in kind. You could feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke. Your nails raked down her back, leaving red lines in their wake, and she groaned in pleasure at the sensation.

Breaking the kiss, Vi whispered against your skin, "Fuck, I love you too," her voice a fervent murmur that sent your heart soaring. She leaned back, her eyes never leaving yours, and began to thrust in earnest, the intensity of her feelings fueling her movements. The room was a cocoon of sensation, the only reality the feel of her inside you and the sound of your mingled breaths.

Your orgasm washed over you, a tsunami of pleasure that left you trembling and gasping for air. You clung to her, your legs tightening around her waist as your body convulsed around the strap-on. Vi watched you with a fierce, possessive gaze, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she felt your climax ripple through you.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, she gently eased the toy out of you, replacing it with her fingers. They slid in with ease, coated in your juices and the evidence of your passion. She curled them in a come-hither motion, stroking that spot deep inside that only she knew how to find. You whimpered, your eyes still closed, lost in the aftershocks of ecstasy.

Vi's touch grew slower, more tender, as she felt your muscles relax. She kissed down your neck, leaving a trail of gentle pecks that sent delightful shivers through your body. You felt a soft smile play on your lips as her hand moved to cup one of your breasts, her thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, eliciting a sigh from you.

"Vi," you murmured, your voice still laced with desire. She paused, looking up at you, her eyes searching for any signs of regret or uncertainty. But all she saw was the same love and passion mirrored in your gaze.

"I mean it," you assured her, your voice stronger now. "I've felt this way for a while, I just didn't know how to tell you."

Vi's eyes searched yours, the vulnerability in her expression making her seem almost unrecognizable from the fierce woman you knew so well. "Why?" she managed to ask, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Because you're... everything," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your words. You reached up to trace the contours of her face, feeling the roughness of her cheek and the softness of her lips. "You're my best friend, my roommate, and now...my lover."

Vi's expression softened, the tension in her body dissipating as she took in your words. She leaned in to kiss you again, this time with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. "I didn't know," she murmured, her thumb continuing to make lazy circles around your areola. "I never thought..."

You reached up to stroke her hair, the strands sticking to your damp palm. "It's okay," you assured her, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I didn't either, not at first."

Vi's eyes searched yours, her own feelings a tumultuous storm of emotions. "But now?" she prompted, her voice hopeful.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving hers. "Now, I know for sure. And I want this, with you, Vi." You felt your heart swell as you confessed your feelings, the words feeling like a weight lifted from your chest.

Her eyes searched yours, a mix of disbelief and elation. "Fuck, I want this too," she breathed, the words coming out in a rush as if she had been holding them back for an eternity. She leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss that sent your pulse racing once again. Her tongue danced with yours, her hands roaming your body with a newfound tenderness.

The room was a blur of sensations: the feel of her soft, plush lips against yours, the gentle scrape of her calloused hands as they caressed your skin, and the wetness of your sex, still pulsing from your recent climax. Vi's fingers slid into you again, the intimacy of the act now colored with the depth of your newfound love. She whispered sweet nothings into your ear, her breath hot and ragged, making you shiver with desire.

And then, she leaned in too deep, her hips jolting forward slightly. A gasp escaped your throat as the strap-on went deeper than you were ready for, the suddenness of it making you squirm in discomfort. Vi's eyes widened with alarm, and she immediately pulled back, her expression a mix of concern and fear. "Oh shit, I'm sorry," she murmured, her thumb brushing against your clit to soothe the sting.

Her apology hung in the air as she gently removed the strap-on, her movements careful and tender. You felt the coldness of the room in contrast to the warmth of your bodies. Vi's eyes searched yours, seeking reassurance that she hadn't gone too far, that she hadn't hurt you. You offered her a small smile, your hand reaching down to squeeze hers, letting her know that it was okay, that you were okay.

The silence was comforting, filled with the unspoken words of love and the unanswered questions of what lay ahead. You watched as she unbuckled the harness, her hands trembling slightly with the weight of the moment. The strap-on fell to the side, forgotten in the tangle of sheets, a silent testament to the passion that had just transpired.

Vi's gaze remained locked on yours as she slid the toy from your body, her eyes filled with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. The sudden emptiness made you ache, but the love in her gaze soothed the void. She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving yours, and whispered, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

You reached up to cup her cheek, feeling the stubble against your palm. "You didn't, Vi," you assured her, your voice hoarse from your earlier cries. "It was just a surprise." Your eyes searched hers, a silent promise of understanding passing between you. She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

"I've never felt like this before," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "With anyone."

Your heart swelled with love and gratitude. You knew Vi had been hurt in the past, her trust not easily given. The fact that she was sharing this moment with you, opening herself up so completely, was a gift beyond measure. "Me neither," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Vi pulled away slightly, her eyes searching yours. "But you're okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. You nodded, smiling softly. "More than okay," you assured her.

With a relieved sigh, she leaned in to kiss you again, this time with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Her hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and valley with a newfound reverence. The kiss deepened, and you felt your body responding despite the intensity of your earlier climax.

Your hands found their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her bare skin against yours. Her touch was like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, leaving you craving more. The room was still, the only sound the ragged breaths escaping your lips.

Powder sat cross-legged on her bed, her thumb gliding across the screen of her phone. The soft glow of the device cast shadows on her cheekbones as she scrolled through the endless feed of Instagram, her eyes flicking from post to post, looking for something to capture her interest. It had been a long, mundane day at work, and she craved the escape that social media so often provided. Her eyes widened as she stumbled upon a picture that was anything but mundane.

The mirror selfie showed you both, arms wrapped around each other's waists, smiles wide and genuine. Your cheeks were flushed with happiness, and the way your eyes sparkled when they met hers in the reflection. The caption beneath the image was simple, yet it spoke volumes: "I have won." It was a declaration of victory, a silent shout to the world that you were together, and it was all she could do to keep her own smile from breaking into a grin.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, the urge to leave a snarky comment growing stronger. Without a second thought, she tapped out the words "she's being held hostage," her heart racing with a mix of excitement and anticipation. It was a playful jab, one she knew would get under Vi's skin in the best possible way. The moment she hit 'post', she couldn't help but chuckle at her own audacity. She knew Vi would see it as nothing more than a challenge, a declaration of war in the never-ending battle of wits that had become a staple of their siblings relationship.

The response was almost immediate. Vi's face appeared on the screen, a scowl etched onto her features. "Oh, it's on," she growled playfully, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement. The video call was poorly timed; Vi was in the middle of a raid in her favorite online game, surrounded by the chaotic sounds of battle. Despite this, she took a moment to lean closer to the camera, her eyes narrowing as she pointed a finger at Powder. "You're going to regret that, little sis," she teased, the sound of her voice muffled by the headset.

[solxamber]

Valentines day event woowoowoo (dont burn yourself out aye!!)

Idia, romantic, "absolutely smitten" by Dodie (if i got that right-) :]

Hope it could be a fun one ! Stay safe ayeaye

i love the pining potential in the song!!! hope you like my interpretation of it <3

"I'm absolutely smitten" || Idia Shroud

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Absolutely Smitten by Dodie

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 670

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Idia first sees you during orientation. Not in person, of course—there’s no way he’d willingly subject himself to a room full of loud, unpredictable people—but through his tablet, streaming the event from the safety of his dorm.

It’s routine, really, just scoping out who he’ll inevitably be avoiding for the next few years. But then the camera pans across the crowd, and he sees you.

And something unfamiliar stirs in his chest.

It’s a strange, unquantifiable feeling, something too big for him to handle, too much for his ribs to cage in. His fingers tighten around the tablet as he watches you smile at something someone says, and a thought creeps into his brain before he can stop it.

I wish that were me.

It’s over for him. Absolutely, completely, no-respawn doomed.

And when he actually gets to know you? Oh, he’s done for. Every interaction with you is a critical hit to his heart. You are bright where he is shadowed, warm where he is cold, a force of nature where he is content to be static.

And yet, somehow, you seem to like being around him. You talk to him, seek him out, sit with him even when he fumbles through his words and hides behind his hood.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Idia Shroud, the ghost of Ignihyde, the one who would rather face a boss battle on the highest difficulty than make eye contact with another human being, wants nothing more than to be close to you.

He wants to talk to you about everything that makes his mind race at 3 AM, wants to know what makes you tick, wants to kiss you until he forgets what loneliness feels like.

But he can’t. Because you are you, and he is him, and the idea of ruining what he has with you is a fear greater than any horror game could ever conjure.

So he does nothing. He pines. He wonders.

Are you just being nice?

Would you ever see him that way?

Is he even worth your time?

And yet, he doesn’t know that you are just as smitten.

The day you met him is engraved in your brain like a prophecy fulfilled. You think he’s the one. It sounds ridiculous, impossibly romantic, something straight out of a visual novel, but you can’t shake the feeling that you and Idia are meant to be.

And so, one day, when you’re sitting next to him in his room—shoulders almost touching, his leg bouncing like a loading screen buffering at 99%—you slide a little closer.

“Idia.”

He stiffens. “W-what?”

“I like you.” A pause. “I really like you.”

His brain blue-screens.

You barely have time to process his expression—wide golden eyes, parted lips—before he starts tearing up.

“Wait, wait, are you okay?” You panic, reaching for him, but he shakes his head rapidly, hands clutching his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“You—” His voice cracks. “You actually—?”

You nod. “I mean, yeah. Kinda thought it was obvious.”

Obvious? Obvious? He’s been agonizing over this for months, drowning in his feelings, convinced you were nothing more than a dream he was too scared to wake up from. And yet, here you are, looking at him like he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to you.

He doesn’t know what to say. But you do.

So you pull him into a hug, letting him bury his face in your shoulder as he trembles. His hands hover before finally clutching the fabric of your shirt, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds on too tightly.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Idia feels whole.

He pulls back slightly, and when he looks at your soft smile, something inside him clicks into place. He’s never letting you go.

And when you look at his teary-eyed grin, you think the same thing.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”