#not only each other but themselves as well

[v4mpvelocity]

KANG DAE-HO X READER NSFW HEADCANNONS

pairing: Kang Dae-Ho x female reader

SMUT MDNI

A/N : literally my man sigh, all of these headcannons start sfw with how you met kinda but the rest IS nsfw

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who put his life on the line to ensure your safety during red light green light. Pushing you behind him and shielding you with his body when Gi-Hun said for those who were smaller to get behind someone bigger.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who you have been close to ever since, relying on eachother for survival in the games, a bond forming between you both. Although, as the games progressed that bond went beyond mutual effort to keep eachother alive. Eye contact that would last longer than for those who were just friends, lingering touches, unspoken words.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who would do anything to protect you and ensure your well-being. Always keeping you at arms length whether it be making you sit next to him or keeping an arm around your shoulders. Hugs after games, sharing beds, sharing food, there was much more than just friendship going on between the both of you, and you both knew it.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who's willing to fight somebody if they disrespect you, whether your around or not. His protective instincts working overdrive as he feels a primal need to declare you as his, making sure everybody knows it.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who thrusts into you softly from behind when everyone is asleep, his strong arms keeping you close to his chest as he presses kisses to the side of your face. His thick cock filling you deliciously with each thrust, the tip kissing your cervix.

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who puts your needs before his, ensuring that youve finished at least twice before even putting his cock in to make sure that your prepped enough. Holding you to his chest as you whine whilst he slides his dick into your tight hole, stretching you to the point where you feel as if your being split in half.

'Mm shh...shh honey.... almost all the way in... that's it, good girl...taking it so well'

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who talks you through it, murmuring softly in your ear as you whimper and whine, trying to stay quiet as his cock abuses your oversensitive pussy. Softly caressing your tits with one hand as the other rubs circles on your clit, only intention to bring you the most pleasure he can.

'That feel good, hm? yeah? such a good girl?' or 'You want it harder honey? hmm..shh..shhh ive got you sweetie'

Kang Dae-ho, the man who has your legs spread at an almost embarrassing angle in the squid game bathrooms, but somehow manages to make you feel as if you were the most gorgeous being known to man. Pouring his love and affection for you into every thrust, eyes locked with yours as if he were proving his love for you through actions and unspoken words. Making the most vulgar words seem as if they were written by the gods themselves, as if it were angels singing praises from up above.

'Thats it honey, keep bouncing on that cock...fuckk..such a good girl' or 'So fuckin' beautiful.....my beautiful girl'

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who whines when he cums, and hes not ashamed of it either. His thrusts speeding up as his cock drives into you with an unfathomable speed, abusing your gummy walls. Hands gripping your hips as he pounded into your pussy, balls smacking against your ass causing the sound of skin on skin to echo throughout the room. He 100% has a breeding kink and will want to cum in you with any chance he gets, but if thats not your thing thats ok with him too!

'Fuckk..fuckkk...gonna cum honey....where you want it baby? you want me to fill you up hm? yeah? good girl.' or

'Fuckk....please can i cum in you baby......lemme fuck a baby into you.'

Kang Dae-Ho, the man who is the biggest softie and amazing at aftercare, ensuring you feel worshipped and loved before running you a hot bubble bath and lighting some candles. Providing you with anything you may need food, water you name it he'll get it for you. Then after he'll hold you close, ensuring your asleep before he can finally drift off.

[haitanghusky]

When I used to write and post, I liked to know when the chapters made someone feel something. Back in 2021 I posted an SPOP fic. It hardly got any views, and I was a little disheartened because I thought that at that time SPOP had been so big that people would have, like me, swarmed AO3 for fanfics to continue the journey. But my little corner of the fandom on the website remained untouched. The best comment I had received was "crying in da club" and it made me feel so much better that for at least one person, the intent of what I had written had stirred up emotions. The intention behind the fic was to explore the psychological impact between Catra and Adora that growing up in the Fight Zone and with Shadow Weaver would have had, the emotional impact that fighting in a war would have had, the choices they made, and learning with each other how to knock down walls they had built to keep themselves moving. To learn to lean on each other, and learn to communicate through the barriers they had erected long ago to keep themselves safe. It was also a glance at what PTSD could be for some, how it could manifest. It was a healing journey for not only the characters, but for me as well because of the life I had lived up to that point. And that one comment telling me that this person I didn't know had felt something from my writing made it all worth it.

BTW i see these posts all the time like "ohhh i dont know what to comment on fics.." and every response is "keysmashes! or hearts!! anything works :3" and thats GREAT!! thats helpful!!

but: consider. if u genuinely like analyzing writing.. do u know ur just allowed to go through and quote your favorite parts and ramble abt what they mean to u and the author will LOSE IT WITH HYPE?

genuinely. i felt SO WEIRD the first time i did it.. but like. holy shit authors love it. its crack for authors. the first time i did it, it was on a fic that hadnt updated in half a year, give or take, and the author made 3 updates that month BECAUSE OF MY COMMENT.

LIKE. as an author every comment is INCREDIBLE!!! but also, dont feel like your comment has to be short or otherwise ur invasive or smth!! authors ADORE long comments more than ANYTHING.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a "Toxic" Character

Toxic Behavior - any kind of behavior that results in unpleasantness for those around you.

This can range from accidentally telling a joke that hurts someone’s feelings to alienating close friends and family through consistently negative and cruel behavior.

In other words, toxic behavior is whatever someone does to bring negativity upon themselves and others.

Everyone can be difficult on occasion, but you want to avoid allowing occasional, accidental toxic behaviors to become a long-term feature of your personality.

It’s one thing to make a selfish decision and meaningfully apologize afterward, but it’s another when it becomes a defining trait.

Even the most toxic people can improve their behavior patterns, so long as they make an earnest effort to understand themselves and become more compassionate.

Even though it might take a lot of self-compassion, patience from friends and family, and a resolute commitment to becoming kinder, it’s well worth it for everyone in the long run.

Prominent Toxic Behavior Traits

Toxicity manifests in numerous ways. If you’re worried you might be consistently exhibiting toxic traits, ask yourself if someone would describe you as having any one of these 5 qualities:

Critical: When people behave in a toxic way, they often blame others for all their problems. Rather than accepting any responsibility for their unhappiness or aggression, they convince themselves they behave this way solely because of the kind of people around them. Ask yourself if you’re quicker to criticize others than to self-reflect.

Manipulative: Controlling behavior, gaslighting, and other forms of manipulation are some of the key signs of a toxic person. Perhaps you try to passive-aggressively get coworkers to do your job for you or try to make family members feel guilty so they’ll do you favors. If you manipulate other people, knowingly or unknowingly, you’re exhibiting a key toxic trait.

Narcissistic: Certain toxic people only look out for themselves. As narcissists, they view their own lives as above anyone else’s. While everyone can veer into self-interest from time to time, this sort of constant self-involvement is a sure sign of toxicity. Think about the last time you put someone else’s needs above your own—if you have a hard time remembering when that was, it might be time for some further self-evaluation and improvement.

Negativity: Toxic people are often negative people. They feel the need to nitpick and criticize the minutiae of their lives, berating friend and foe alike for making things more difficult than they need to be. No one can feel happy all the time, and negativity can balance out positivity on occasion—but if you constantly dwell on things that make you sad or angry, you could be embodying toxic behavior.

Unapologetic: When toxic people lash out at their loved ones, they’re unlikely to ever apologize or see what they’ve done as wrong. This might be because their self-worth is bound up in thinking they must be right at all times and at all costs. Ask yourself whether you ever feel comfortable being wrong. If the answer is no, this might be a toxic trait worth improving.

Tips for How to Not Be Toxic

Devoting yourself to positivity rather than toxicity can prove a boon for both you and all your loved ones. Learn how to stop being toxic with these 7 steps:

Apologize when necessary. Everyone exhibits bad behavior from time to time. Apologize when you act out of line so you can get back to spending time creating positive memories with friends and family.

Assess yourself regularly. Toxic traits often emanate from low self-esteem and unaddressed trauma. Work on bettering your mental health and wellness. Journal out your thoughts to improve your sense of self-awareness.

Be open to feedback. Free and open communication is one key hallmark of healthy relationships. Listen more than you speak. Ask people what you can do so you both can have a good relationship with each other.

Deal with past trauma. There’s an old saying: “Hurt people hurt people.” In other words, people who’ve gone through hard times and are in a painful situation are likely to create hard times and painful situations for others. Seek out help to deal with these very real wounds. No one deserves to suffer, and the sooner you heal, the sooner you can help others heal, too.

Practice mindfulness. Very few people actively set out to be a toxic person, they just fall into toxic habits. Practicing mindfulness meditation gives you the tool kit to break up negative thought patterns and assess why you might behave in a toxic way.

Respect boundaries. Individual toxicity often leads to toxic relationships with others characterized by codependency. Respect people when they set boundaries with you, then pay attention to whether you’re crossing them.

Seek opportunities for compassion. Rather than looking for opportunities to criticize, seek out the ability to be compassionate. Give yourself grace as a form of self-care—remind yourself you’re not a bad person, just someone trying to get through the difficulties of life like anyone else. Forgive others who frustrate or wrong you. Focus on spreading a sense of well-being and you’ll be well on your way to ensuring each day is a positive rather than toxic one.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sinofwriting]

Faking It - Max Verstappen

Words: 850 Summary: Max finds out his girlfriend faked an orgasm. Note(s): NSFW, Talks of Sex, Mention of Semi-Public Sex. Part of a kind series where drivers find out reader faked an orgasm.

Max pauses just before the entryway to the living room. “Have you ever y’know?” His brows furrow at the vague question from his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Have I ever what?”

“Faked it. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

She scoffs, “Before Max, yes.”

His cheeks turn a bit pink at the conversation he was overhearing, but he also stands a bit taller.

He knew that their sex life was good, that she was getting orgasms, they had of course talked about it, but it was different hearing her talk to someone else about it with no idea he was there.

His brows furrowed in confusion when she speaks again, “well, I don’t really know if it counts as faking it.”

“What?”

“I mean, there’s been a few times when we’ve had sex where I didn’t orgasm.”

His mind starts screaming at him, because what? He always made sure she came, usually before he did.

“Not because it wasn’t good or because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t.” He can practically see the shrug she gives. “The sex was still good though.”

“Y/N!” Her friend screeches and it breaks up a little through the phone.

The words replay in his head as he goes back to their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He tries to think of when she would have faked it but nothing comes to mind. He’s so wrapped up in his head he doesn’t hear her call his name or get onto the bed until she’s laying down on top of him, his arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her.

“What you thinking about?” She asks, pressing kisses to his jaw.

It normally relaxes the feeling of her lips pressed against his skin but not quite where he wants them, a lovely prelude to before she kisses him, but he can’t get past what he heard and he’s never been practically shy.

“When did you fake it? Having an orgasm with me?”

Her fingers pause where they had begun to lift his shirt to slide under. “Max, it’s not a big deal.”

His frown deepens and he’s pushing her upwards so they can look at each other. “Yes, it is. I always thought that I made you orgasm, usually first. And now I’ve found that isn’t true.”

She shakes her head. “You do! I promise you do.”

He doesn’t say anything and she sighs.

“It’s only happened twice.”

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved that it only happened twice or pissed that he failed twice. It should have never happened but twice was far too much.

“The first time was after the FIA gala last year.”

His eyebrows furrow, “But you talk about that night a lot.”

“It was a good night. I felt good, amazing. I loved everything we did, I just wasn’t able to orgasm. I didn’t feel unsatisfied or anything. Especially not with my wake-up call.”

He smirks at the reminder of the next morning. He had woken up just as the sun was rising and had ducked under the covers and ate her out until she was begging for him to stop. His jaw and tongue had ached for hours after, but it was worth it for the taste of her stayed just as long.

“The second time was in China. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what if someone walked in.”

“So, I didn’t fuck you good enough.”

She slaps his chest lightly, sending him a disbelieving look. “I was limping a little after. And you're lucky I was wearing those heels and everyone believed me when I said I twisted my ankle.”

“I’m sorry.” Max apologizes again, picking up her hand and kissing it. He still felt a little bad that their first foray into semi-public sex had been so rough. “Why didn’t you tell me though? That I didn’t make you come?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.” She tells him. “I love having sex with you, it always feels good regardless of me orgasming or not. And in those two instances I was just happy to be that close to you.”

He stares at her, looking deep into her eyes. He still feels like he’s failed but the way she’s looking at him, all gentle wide eyes filled with truth. “I’ll let it go.”

She snorts and he covers her mouth with his hand.

“But only if you tell me next time. Just so I can immediately make it up to you.” He says, removing his hand as he says the last word.

“Okay, I’ll tell you next time.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, pressing their lips together.

She hums into the kiss, her one hand slipping out of his and returning to the hem of shirt, drawing it up so she can slip her hands underneath and his stomach flexes at the feeling of her fingertips and he’s rolling them over. Easily putting himself in between her legs.

“Feel like making a mess for me?”

She lets out a happy little sigh, teeth lightly sinking into her bottom lip as she nods. “Please?”

“Of course.”

[yutarot]

cozy. n.jm

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ childhood bff!jaemin, snowboarding au, fwb, sfw

synopsis. you and jaemin have been inseparable since you were children. when you and a few of your friends go on your annual mountain ski trip, the air grows tense when they find out that you and jaemin have been sleeping together. so what happens when an overnight snowstorm extends your trip, bringing a sudden change of plans and a very unlikely guest to your vacation: jaemins crush. will your friendship survive within the cold presence of snow or will it melt away once the sun rises.

wc: 6.8k

warnings. implied sex, suggestive, language, jaemin sucks, miscommunication (sorry), yn is wayy too nice in this

notes — ty to the anon who gave me this idea hehe i immeeediately thought of jaemin so i had to write it. i hope u enjoy this it was fun to write (also ended up being way longer than i expected butttt oh well)

the trip started 4 days ago. 

you always loved your winter ski trips. you loved the way the snow glistened under the sun, illuminating the sky line in a crisp peach orange. you loved the way you could become carefree, no worries of college or having to pick up extra shifts at the cafe. it was always perfect, a spirited culmination of a frosty vacation. 

like usual, you unpacked at lightning speed, occupying the room directly between jaemin and jisung and opposite chenle. as kids, you and mark used to argue over who got the room that you stay in, it being the only room in the cabin with a double bed, but after many years of relentless fighting, you always managed to beat him.

the five of you have been friends since before you could remember, constant pranks and silliness as kids soon became reliability and comfort as you grow into your late teens. but now that you all attend college together, you’re closer than ever.

admittedly, you’ve always been closer to jaemin than the rest, your childhood homes being next to each other, serving as a reason for you to play out in the street each evening after school. even as you entered high school and eventually college, you stayed close, despite jaemin’s tendencies to sleep around with girls and eventually ghost them soon after.

you would be mad at jaemin’s exploits, but you can’t exactly say that being mad at someone’s past actions is entirely justifiable, especially since his playboy behaviour has recently become less frequent.

the air in the cabin is surprisingly warm, a crisp layer of frost encasing the windows and blocking the breeze of snow as it falls upon the mountain that the cabin rests between. the sky, once blue, is now an iridescent hue of orange, reflecting off the snow on the ground and pulsing through the window and onto the wooden walls around you, making them glow. it is an utterly beautiful place, and you thank chenle’s parents for letting you stay here each winter unsupervised.

as you walk through the walkway and into the main room, you spot chenle upon the sofa, browsing the old vintage tv for any channels that don’t bore him profusely. mark and jaemin are playing a game of chess on the floor, resting themselves upon fluffy white cushions and muttering snarky comments to each other under their breaths. noticing your presence, chenle clears his throat, causing mark to look up at you, and eventually, jaemin to spin his body round in your direction.

“i’m bored.” you say, “that tv looks way too old to function and i don’t know how to play chess.” 

chenle speaks first, “well, i mean, maybe if you actually spend some time with us, you might have some fun.”

“sounds like a blast.” you say sarcastically, “i just think we should go out and do something in the snow instead of just being all cooped up in here for the third day in a row.”

“it’s too cold.” jaemin utters, “usually it’s not this bad.”

“and? just put on an extra layer.” you reply, looking to mark for help.

sighing, mark speaks up to agree with you, and with his help, you eventually manage to convince chenle and jaemin to go and wake up jisung, before layering up and grabbing your snowboards from the shed behind the cabin.

as you all walk across the mountain to the ski area, occasionally partaking in a small snowball fight on the way, you hurl yourselves onto the ski lifts.

you sit in between jaemin and mark, ignoring mark’s teasing as you struggle to get yourself seated.

once the lift begins to climb, you feel an immediate sense of calm. you’ve always enjoyed these trips, a moment of relaxation away from home, all with your favourite people. it is true that you wish you could bring your girl friends along, but they all hate the boys with a passion for multiple, various (and valid) reasons, and so, with their permission, you go without them.

lost in your own thoughts, you don’t notice as you suddenly begin to slip from the ski lift, the bar doing absolutely nothing to keep you in place.

“yn?”, you hear jaemin’s voice beside you, a weird sense of distress lining his voice as he quickly grabs a hold of your arm, attempting to lift you back onto the seat.

but it’s no use, the snowboard beneath you weighs you down and you slip from his grasp.

“mark, she’s slipping.” jaemin urges the other boy beside you.

“shit.”

they both try to bring you up, but as you get higher and higher to the top of the slope, the ground begins to find your feet, pulling you down with it.

you stumble before landing upside down into the snow, luckily not sliding anywhere, but unfortunately feeling a sudden frosty chill as piles and piles of snow seep into your clothing and down your back.

noticing your discomfort, jaemin bends down, lifting your face to his and, with a gentle smile, he brushes your snow-covered hair from your face.

“it’s… everywhere.” you shiver.

“everywhere?” jaemin asks.

you roll your eyes. “not the time for jokes.”

it takes you a while to notice mark standing behind jaemin, but when you do, you tell them both to continue on without you and that you’ll find your own way back to the cabin to change your clothes.

nodding after making sure that you’re okay, mark leaves to snowboard down the slope, leaving you and jaemin as you sit, still shaking, covered in ice and snow.

“i’m gonna-“ you say, getting up.

jaemin interrupts. “let me help you.”

“i don’t need help.” you reply.

there is a moment of silence before jaemin speaks again, as if he is choosing his words carefully.

“i know a better way to warm you up.”

your face lines in an expression of shock.

“we promised we wouldn’t do it here.” you say, “what if one of the others see something?”

“they won’t.” he smiles at you before pointing in the direction of the others, all enjoying themselves drifting down the snow, swerving in all kinds of directions.

it doesn’t take much for you to give in. so when you get back to the cabin, eventually changing into some fresh clothes that will eventually be pointless, jaemin turns out to be right.

he does know a way to warm you up.

his request didn’t surprise you, and you’re unsure if the others finding out that you and jaemin have been secretly hooking up for the past year is an all too bad thing. but at the thought of them having a little bit too much fun potentially teasing you both, you decided to keep it on the down-low.

it was never supposed to happen; you and jaemin are best friends. but after jaemin’s vow to stop playing with girls’ hearts and your fresh break up with your ex, you both decided that the logical thing to do is to use each other when you need it. it was simple.

over the past year, you have established 3 main rules for your ‘friends with benefits’ situation. number 1: you and jaemin can both sleep with other people if you so wish, number 2: no feelings are involved, if one person begins to feel anything for the other, then you must break it off. (this one isn’t and never will be a problem for you two, but you need to add it there anyway; you’ve heard the stories about jaemin the ‘serial heartbreaker’, and you definitely don’t want to be a victim of that) and number 3: no sleeping together during the winter ski trip. right now, you are breaking a rule, and neither you, nor jaemin, seem to care. it does scare you a little, however, considering how easily jaemin was willing to break it, and it has you wondering how strong the other rules even are.

after cleaning yourself up, you make your way to the kitchen to make yourself and jaemin a hot chocolate, sprinkling far too much powdered chocolate on the whipped cream and having to clear up all your mess soon after. jaemin follows you into the kitchen, pulling his shirt back over his head.

“can i ask you something?” jaemin says, reaching his arm past you to scoop his finger into the whipped cream and swiping it onto your nose. you push him away, watching as he giggles at you frantically wiping the cream off your nose in annoyance.

“sure.” you reply, and he leans on the counter beside you.

“when was the last time you slept with someone else?”

if you say the question doesn’t surprise you, you’d be lying. jaemin knows you can sleep with other people, it’s part of your rules. so why do you feel as though you’re in trouble?

“last saturday. that party on joomi’s street. eric sohn.”

jaemin’s face is unreadable. you continue, “if you’re worried you have competition, i wouldn’t worry. it was just one night.” you laugh.

“oh, i’m not worried.” he replies, “especially after the way you were saying my name back in there.”

his head tilts to the side to point in the direction of your room and you look over on instinct, memories of the past 30 minutes flashing in your mind and causing you to forget what you were even about to say.

but when you look over to the doorway, something else catches your attention.

or someone else.

standing at the front door, snowboard in hand and ski mask pulled down to his chin, stands a mortified, and astonished mark lee.

you freeze up, and no longer from the cold chill of snow.

he has heard everything.

you’re completely fucked.

❆ ❆ ❆

pacing around the kitchen and watching as mark looks between you both, you begin to attempt to redeem yourself.

“look, mark, that wasn’t what it sounded like, me and jaemin would never.”

mark looks at you, skeptical, before turning his attention to jaemin, who stands in the back corner of the kitchen, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed as if none of this is bothering him.

mark looks back at you. “yoooo, i mean, i guess i always knew there was something off about you guys.”

you rush towards him, clutching his shoulders. “i promise you, mark, it’s not like that-”

“we’re fucking.” jaemin finally speaks, and yours and mark’s heads both whip towards him in shock. jaemin shrugs, as if it isn’t a big deal.

“jaemin.” you say sternly, “what are you doin-”

“what? he caught us, there’s no point in denying it.”

“this is unbelievable.” mark chuckles, “i gotta go tell the others.”

“no you don’t.” you say, grabbing a hold of his arm.

he rolls his eyes. “alright, but at least give me details, man. how long? when did it start? why?”

you look to jaemin, not wanting to answer for yourself.

“about a year,” he says, “and why not?”

“why not?!” mark exclaims in disbelief, “i don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re best friends? what if you end up catching-”

“not gonna happen.” says jaemin, “we dont see eachother like that, never will.”

mark only continues to laugh, “this is nuts. you guys haven’t been doing it all weekend, have you? i don’t think i wanna hear it if you guys end up getting busy while we’re all meant to be asleep.”

“nope,” you reply. “this is the first and only time we’ve done it here. we sort of made it a rule so that this wouldn’t happen.”

before you can finish your conversation, chenle walks through the door. “so what wouldn’t happen?” he says, scanning his eyes between yours and jaemin’s lack of outdoor wear compared to mark’s.

“nothing.” you reply.

“nothing?” he asks, studying mark and jaemin’s expressions.

there is a second where no one speaks, but that seems to be enough for chenle, because the next thing he says is: “you guys fucked, didn’t you?”

mark can’t keep in his smile as he tries not to laugh and give it away, but jaemin’s stern expression speaks volumes.

chenle shrugs before taking off his coat and making his way to the fridge, “ehh, was sort of obvious anyways.”

“what?” you exclaim, “how?”

his eyebrow raises as he takes a bite of the donut he had taken out its packet, “jaemin swearing off girls the same time as you breaking up with your ex, you constantly ditching our movie nights to ‘hang out with your cat,’ and jaemin suddenly changing from being an insufferable prick to actually being half nice.” jaemin lets out a laugh at the last comment. “i have more if you want me to continu-“

 “thats okay, no thank you,” you speak up, “first of all, jaemin is still an insufferable prick.”

“thanks.” jaemin butts in.

“no problem.” you turn your head to him quickly before you continue, causing the others to laugh. “and secondly, i do actually go to hang out with my cat. i love her.” you say, offended.

“whatever.” chenle replies, a judging expression on his face.

they both took the news a lot better than you thought, so you decide to let them tell jisung, who is undoubtedly the most surprised at the revelation. but jaemin’s silence throughout the whole conversation annoys you. you don’t understand why he was being so quiet about it. but when you hear mark and jaemin whispering amongst themselves while you were meant to be in the shower, your confusion peaked.

“this isn’t like you, man.” it sounded like mark’s voice.

“i know.” jaemin replied.

that’s all you heard.

for the rest of the night, you all wrap yourselves in blankets on the sofa to watch some movie that jisung wanted to watch, the fireplace emitting a radial heat and deep hue of ember, softening you into a state of tiredness, drifting off as your head rests on the hard sofa next to you.

it’s only after you wake up that you realize it is certainly not the sofa that you were lying against, but instead, jaemin’s shoulder.

you hear the melodic birdsong as it fills the air outside, the white of snow lighting up the room. or is it chenle’s hideous singing in the shower that you hear? it’s hard to tell.

breaking yourself from jaemins sleeping grasp, you get up to look out the window. you’re meant to go home today, this is supposed to be your final morning of the trip.

but as you peek your vision out the window, around 3 feet of snow covers the floor all around the cabin, the four wheels of marks camper van not even visible.

“uhm, guys..” you call out, grabbing the attention of a freshly showered chenle, a mid breakfast-making mark, a book occupied jisung and a half asleep jaemin. they all stop their various activities at the urgency in your voice, coming over to you and looking out the window for themselves.

it takes each of them about 5 minutes to process what this means; your trip is going to be extended. you are trapped.

and you may be trapped but yours and jaemins secret is very much free.

it finally hits 3pm and you realise that you have all spent the entire day enveloped in boredom, watching as the snow falls and continues to form on the ground. there is no way all this snow will clear in just a few days.

you are lucky that chenle had brought nearly double the amount of food that you needed originally, meaning all you had to do now was to sit and wait it out. 

lounging on the sofa, you listen to the smooth rhythm of chenles jazz vinyl playing on loop across the room. you’re bored, and you can’t even go outside. you can tell the others are bored too, that same expression of ‘i just want to go home now.’ plastered on all of their faces. 

but their expressions quickly flip when a knock rattles from the front door.

you all look at each other in question before collectively jumping up in sync, running at inhuman speeds to the door. you were about to be saved, removed from the shackles of dullness and provided passage back home. 

being the first to get to the door, you grab a hold of the handle, struggling in attempts to only slightly crack it open to keep the snow outside.

but when you open the door and poke your head through the crack, you’re met with a very familiar face.

hayun. also known as, jaemins long-time ‘secret’ infatuation: his crush. 

your mind shatters in disbelief as you pull the door fully open to let the other guys see who it is, no longer caring about the snow as it comes piling in.

all because the look on jaemins face is priceless.

the others all look to him to see what he’s going to say, and unsurprisingly, all he has to say is ‘hi.’ you wouldn’t expect more from him, he’s never spoken a word that exceeds a greeting to her before.

following jaemins poor attempt at an introduction, you take over.

“what are you doing here? are you okay?” you ask, genuine concern for the girl lining your voice. 

“well, i was here on a ski trip with my friends but, they all abandoned me.”

“what?” you ask. 

“and i remembered seeing a few of your guys’ instagram posts saying you were here so… i thought i’d knock.”

“wow.” mark says, “your friends suck.”

“i know. so, any chance i can stay here? i would go home but the weather isn’t exactly drivable.”

you turn to the rest of your group, concluding the pity in their faces before turning back to hayun. “of course! we don’t have a spare room and the sofa gets cold at night but i have a double bed if you don’t mind sharing.”

“thank you so much!” she grins before stepping inside and pulling you in for a hug. you cringe as you come into contact with the cold casing of her coat, the ice cool against your skin as you try not to push her off of you. 

in all honesty, you feel bad for her and you know that jaemin is about to get relentlessly bullied by the rest of the group. this was about to make your extended trip a whole lot more interesting.

it hasn’t been a long time since he developed a crush on hayun, spotting her across the other side of his lecture hall. he always gives you some excuse as to why he’s somehow never gotten a chance to speak to her, so you presume that he’s happy that he finally has. either that or completely terrified. either way, you’re happy for him.

yes, you are. you’re happy for him.

❆ ❆ ❆

a few hours pass as you show hayun around the cabin, making space for her things in your room. letting her unpack, you make your way to the front room, finding jaemin and mark on the sofa, seemingly midway through a conversation. 

“oh, don’t let me stop you.” you say, urging them to continue their talk after they cease talking at your arrival.

mark turns back to jaemin. “i think you should go for it, dude, what harm could come out of it, huh?” he says.

you’re curious, “you’re gonna ask her out?” you say to jaemin.

he smirks, “maybe, maybe not.”

somehow, something in your heart doesn’t like the idea of jaemin asking out hayun. you’re not sure if it’s the idea of you and him ending this whole ‘friends with benefits’ situation, or the fact that you’re probably going to have to step back from being his best friend, because, let’s face it, there’s no way she would ever let you stay as close as you now are if they got together.

you slap the idea out of your head; he hasn’t even asked her out yet. 

mark notices the internal battle you have with yourself. “something wrong with that, yn?”

if jaemin wasn’t here right now, blocking you from mark by sitting in between you, you one hundred percent would have punched him at that.

jaemin looks over to you, a questioning expression on his face. 

“uh.. no…” you reply, apprehensive.

“oh come on, i saw the face you just made. you’re jealous that he’s gonna be fucking someone else, aren’t you?” mark continues.

you don’t know what to say, caught off guard by the truth in marks words and the cold presence of jaemins gaze on you. 

“im not jel- “ you begin, but jaemin interrupts you. 

“yn.” he says. it’s just your name but it holds so much meaning. “am i not allowed to have a girlfriend?”

“‘course you can.” you reply, shrugging.

mark raises his eyebrow at you and you seriously consider getting up and kicking him. 

jaemin continues, “good. it's decided then. i'm gonna ask her out.” 

mark pats him on the back, laughing, “good luck, dude.”

you smile in acknowledgement as jaemin thanks mark before chenle comes in, completely changing the subject when he starts complaining about hayun’s infiltration of his ‘well organised fridge.’ 

you zone out their conversation to reassure yourself that you truly don't care that jaemin was going to try to get close to hayun, but you can't help but feel like you're about to be replaced. you always knew it was going to happen, that one day jaemin would want to settle down with a girl. but you're just so used to his playboy personality that you just never expected it to be so soon. 

amongst the endless drill of chatter, you feel a sudden glance in your direction, and as you look up, jaemins eyes suddenly divert away from you, as if he got caught looking. you want to ask him what he wants, but the silence in his demeanour tells you that you shouldn't. it's bittersweet; the end of his situation with you, marks the start of one with hayun. its a trade in which you don't want to be part of, but you fear you have no choice – only time can decide.

the rest of the day went by quickly. maybe it was because of your new addition to the vacation or simply because chenle found a cupboard full of dusty boardgames that you decided to occupy yourselves with. naturally, it was you and mark that beat everyone else at your very long, grueling game of monopoly, but that quickly flipped to jisung when you took your turns at scrabble. 

the entire time, you and mark teased jaemin relentlessly, catching glimpses as he (unwilling) took his seat next to hayun, pushed there by chenle and jisung and ending up on her team. you could tell that he was getting annoyed at you both giggling at him, but you didn't care; it only made the entire thing so much more fun. 

by the end of the night, it was time to sleep, so you and hayun took your rightful sides of the bed. it isn't the best sleeping situation, but you’d much rather sleep beside her than have to experience mark’s sweaty feet ever again. (that experience was not one that you want to remember.)

before you can switch the light off, though, you hear hayun sit up. 

“wait, yn, before we sleep…” she says, and you look at her expectantly, “can i ask you something?”

“sure.” you reply. 

she looks down, fiddling with her fingers. “Its jaemin. is he.. single?”

as if you hadn't heard her, you take a pause, processing her question. 

“yeah.” you let a laugh slip, “why? you like him?”

at your question, she giggles and her voice makes you cringe a little. 

“yes. a lot actually, it's sort of the reason why im here..”

you furrow your brow. “what do you mean?”

she takes a deep breath. “my friends never kicked me out.. i just saw that you guys were also here and, well, i thought it'd be a chance for me to get to know him.”

it's as if your ears are deceiving you, the late night tiredness of the conversation urging you to hallucinate. but it's all real, every last word of it. 

“wait, so, you lied?.. to get us to let you stay?”

she nods, and you don't know if you should pity her or hate her guts. 

because you know what it's like to be in love; you know what it's like to like someone so much to the point where you allow yourself to do stupid things. you understand. 

but that doesnt mean that you like her for it. 

“i know you probably think i'm a horrible person.” she says.

“no.. no, not at all.” you reply, and she smiles at your words. 

“thanks yn.”

you laugh back, “so, jaemin huh?”

she looks back down at her fingers, “yeah.. embarrassing right?”

you smile, not just to her, but to yourself. 

“totally.”

❆ ❆ ❆

all night, you debate with yourself over what hayun had told you. on one hand, you can't agree with what she did: lying like that. but her crush on him means that jaemin would be happy, and as his best friend, you can't take that away from him. therefore, amongst your deep pool of thought, her confession swimming in the depths of your mind, you decide that the best thing for you to do, is to hold off telling him that she lied; not only would it ruin their chances of getting together, but therefore, jaemin would only be upset that he never got the chance.

but just because you can't tell jaemin, doesn't mean you can't tell mark. 

“i really don't know what to think about her.” you say, standing in the kitchen over three pans of eggs. mark had asked you to have the task of cooking them, resorting to focus on the rest of the group's breakfast. you know it's because he can't cook eggs to save his life, but he'll never admit that.

“honestly,” he replies, “who cares if she likes jaemin? she’s a sneaky little liar.” 

you laugh, “i don't know, mark. maybe she's just really in love with him.”

“i’m not so sure about that. how could anyone ever be in love with someone who wears a hoodie saying ‘orgasm donor’ in public.”

you roll your eyes and mark continues, “well, i guess we all know who he's donating to now..”

you slap him around the arm, causing him to cackle at your rash response. 

“anyways,’ he continues, “i wont tell jaemin about it if you don't want me to.” 

you nod, “thanks, mark. oh, and you're burning the bacon by the way.”

“oh shit.”

❆ ❆ ❆

deciding that the weather still wasnt good enough to attempt to make the journey home, you all decided to stay another day. although the day was full of indiscriminate party games and full fledged boredom, you somehow managed to make it through to nightfall. 

you’re nearly drifting off to sleep when you hear a tap at the door of your’s and hayun’s room. turning over to see hayun fast asleep, you get up to see who’s there, wondering what idiot buffoon decided to wake you up at 4 o’clock in the morning. 

by means of absolutely no surprise, it’s a disheveled jaemin, hair sticking up in about seven different directions and a crumpled tshirt that rises ever so slightly above his pyjama pants waistline, exposing skin that you do not have the energy to be fawning over. although, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

assuming that he’s here to finally break the news to hayun in some twisted, sensual late night confession, you turn your back to jaemin to call her name. in noticing what you’re about to do, jaemin reaches an arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to him that the palm of his other hand can cover your mouth. 

“will you shut up?” you don't need to see his face to know he's rolling his eyes, “this isn't exactly something i want her to see.”

oh.

he lets go of you, spinning you round to face him by your shoulders. he’s done this before: knocking on your door in the dead of night when he needs you. but you never expected him to do it here. not after your conversation with mark a few days ago, and certainly not whilst his crush was staying in your room. it all seems so bizarre. 

but you weren't going to say no. 

❆ ❆ ❆

the next morning, you realise that you had completely and utterly fucked up. 

the warmth of jaemin next to you remains, his arm slung lazily over the front of your stomach. you expect to open your eyes to jaemins ceiling back at home, but to much avail, you are very much still on vacation.

and you had four pairs of eyes staring down on you both to prove that. 

you jump out of jaemin’s hold immediately, causing him to slowly stir before mumbling something incoherent into the sheets. when he finally realises the situation you’re in, he takes the pillow beside his head, pushing it into his face. 

“you promised you wouldn't do it here, man.” mark starts. but your focus isn't on him, it's on hayun. 

and she's livid.

you turn the attention of your words to her. “im sorry. i should have told you.”

jaemin finally gets up, picking up his discarded shirt off the ground and pulling it over his head before sitting back on the end of the bed. 

hayun eyes him for any form of an apologetic sense, but he gives off nothing, and you fear this only makes her angrier.

your fear is proven correct when she suddenly snaps at you, “you knew i liked him and you still went and did this behind my back?”

at her words, the mood in the room suddenly shifts. what was an atmosphere of laughter and mischief at them catching you and jaemin together, is now suddenly a room of tension, a room that you no longer want to be in. 

but it's jaemins reaction that formulates the world's most unfortunate predicament. 

his head turns to you, a look of disappointment and what seems to be hurt, plastered on his face. “she likes me? and you hid it from me?”

you don't know what else to say, so you just tell him the truth. “yes, but it's not that simpl-”

“i don't care, yn.” he gets up, pushing past chenle to the bathroom before shutting the door behind him. 

fuck. you’ve messed up.

but one thing is nagging at you: jaemin seems to care far more about the fact that you hid the truth from him than what the truth actually entailed. you tell yourself he’s probably just embarrassed. either that or just completely and utterly in denial about it. either way, he’s acting strange; he should be happy, not angry. 

the entire day, jaemin didn’t utter a single word to you. as for hayun, she had been hidden away in your room, not speaking to a single person and avoiding any opportunity to accidentally bump into you. you did feel bad, you should have told her about it the second that she confessed her feelings for jaemin to you. but you had assumed from jaemin’s previous conversation with you, that you were calling it off, jaemin seeming pretty aware about the fact that she was now here. how were you supposed to predict him rocking up to your room at 4am?

anyhow, you spent the day with mark, discussing the ending of titanic and eating way too much chocolate to be healthy. when night came once more, you decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to go back to your room, scared about facing the wrath of the girl who resided in it. instead, after washing up in the bathroom, you make your way to the sofa in the front room. 

your actions are halted when you hear voices coming from the other side of jaemin’s door. you know you shouldn't eavesdrop on a private conversation, but you can’t help yourself. 

you register the second voice as mark as you get close enough to hear them clearer, just enough until you can hear what they're saying.

your heart hurts in your chest when you do. 

“i'm still going to ask her out, even with things the way they are.” you hear jaemin whisper. 

it's like a sudden shot to the chest. this is exactly what you feared from the very beginning, this is exactly what you trusted jaemin enough not to do. 

he’s choosing her over his best friend; he’s choosing her over you. 

trying to remain as quiet as possible, you continue your journey to the sofa, pain causing you to wince with every footstep – he's leaving you behind.

as you lie on the sofa, the chill air of the cabin surrounding you despite the presence of the fireplace, forcing you to wrap the blanket around you tighter, you struggle to bring yourself to sleep. but when you hear footsteps from the kitchen, you peek your head over the back of the sofa to see who’s there. 

at your movement, the culprit looks up from their snack-making and their eyes meet yours.

“jaemin?” you whisper, “why are you awake?”

“hungry.” he turns back, working on spreading the peanut butter onto his bagel. “what are you doing sleeping out here? it's way too cold.”

you stand up, making your way to the kitchen to stand behind him, blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you shiver from the frost. “i don’t think hayun likes me right now.” you say.

jaemin turns to face you, biting into his bagel. “i wonder why.” he says sarcastically, mouth half-full. you hate to admit it, but he looks incredibly alluring, he always does in the middle of the night. 

you hate the fact that he’s acting this way with you, dismissive and persistent, but he has every right, you hid so much from him, and you hurt him in the process. 

you’re at war with yourself, but in all honesty you know that you were in the wrong; for your friendship to work, you need to tell him everything. everything.

“actually,” you start, taking a deep breath, “there’s something you don't know.”

jaemin’s interest in the conversation suddenly spikes, looking for you to continue. 

“hayun… she.. wasn’t actually abandoned by her friends.”

“what?”

“the night she told me she liked you, she also told me that she ditched her friends because she saw that we were here. she lied about them kicking her out so that we would feel bad and let her stay, so that then she could finally get her chance to talk to you.” you pause, attempting to read jaemin’s face but failing, getting nothing from his expression. “i should have told you, but i didn't want you to get hurt. instead… i did exactly that. i'm sorry, jaemin, really.”

when you finish speaking, you notice as jaemin’s lips slightly curl into a smile before dropping back to his cold demeanor, and it makes you question whether you really saw it or if it was just your mind playing tricks on you. 

“yn..” he trails off, whatever he wants to say interrupted by your sudden panic in not wanting to embarrassing yourself.

you ramble, scared that he won't accept your apology. “but like you said to mark earlier, if you still want to ask her out, that's fin-”

“wait, what?” jaemin says, moving from his position leaning against the counter to stand upright. 

“i, um, heard you and mark talking earlier about how you were still going to ask her out despite everything..” you say. 

jaemin laughs to himself and you grow confused. “oh, yn.” he says. 

“what? what’s so funny?”

“you never did get my hints, did you.”

your heart freezes in your throat, the cold weather no longer chilling you but instead the bitter taste of jaemin’s words as they formulate in your brain. 

he continues, noticing your confusion. “it was never her that i had a crush on. it was never her that i was planning to ask out.”

you’re struggling to breath, each intake of oxygen getting caught in your chest. 

“yeah, i thought she was kinda pretty when i first saw her across my lecture a few months ago, but that was long before i fell for who i really wanted.” he smiles, inching closer to you. “and after everyone found out that i was sleeping with you, i decided that there was no longer an excuse for me to hide my feelings.” he takes a hold of your hand, looking down at it as he plays with your fingers. “i was starting to get pretty pissed that you wouldn’t pick up any of my hints, you know? you can’t even imagined how embarrassed i was to find out that it was because you were trying to play cupid for me and someone else.”

your mind is vacant, filled with the epiphany of his words as they resonate in your head, playing a tune of melancholic rhythm as it twists into an allegro.

“but… the rule.” you say. 

jaemin chuckles, “i think we stopped caring about those rules a while ago, yn. i know i did. ”

you’re no longer cold, jaemins warmth radiating against you like the blissful aura of a flame, attracting you and drawing you closer. 

it was then that you realised that you haven't said anything to equate his long speech, but words can do nothing to describe the way that you’re feeling. its as if someone had approached you with a mirror, brutally displaying each of your own hidden thoughts and projecting them back at you. because every single word that jaemin muttered, you found deep within yourself. it all clicks, perfectly and irrevocably, into place. your jealousy, your embarrassment, your stupidity. 

your love. 

instead of attempting to sum up all of your feelings into words, you do the one thing that will live up to the emotions that reside within you. taking not a single moment to prepare yourself, you lean closer to him, his eyes finding your lips. you nod, its small but the gesture means so much. it's an agreement, a sealing of mutual understanding. it's slow and it's incredibly gentle as his lips greet yours, soft in a way unlike ever before. kisses between you and jaemin were always the result of lust, of stupidity. but now, it's the result of something far greater. 

it’s love. 

❆ ❆ ❆

when the sun rises above the horizon, you leap from jaemin’s bed, him giggling at your eagerness. 

“oh my god, it's finally clear!!” you yell, waking up each of the boys with your burst of excitement. you could finally go home. 

the morning consisted of three major revelations. one: you all contacting hayun’s friends, watching as they dragged her into their car to drive her home. two: discovering that chenle had only showered once throughout the entire holiday (you all started placing bids as to who gets to not sit next to him on the journey back.) and three: witnessing the boys’ reactions to your’s and jaemins new secret. 

“i knew you’d do it, dude.” mark said, attempting to fist bump jaemin in the most cringe-worthy interaction you’ve ever seen in your life. jisung and chenle however, were completely baffled, and it took about thirty minutes of explaining for them to understand that it was you that jaemin had a crush on, and not hayun. you’re still convinced that jisung doesn't understand.

once you had all packed your things, you grabbed your suitcases, standing in the porch as chenle locked the front door for the final time. 

“im going to miss this place.” mark says, exaggerating an act of sadness as he clutches his chest. 

“im not,” chenle replies, “i’ve never been so bored in my entire fucking life.”

“it’s been fun.” you say, smiling.

jaemin’s voice comes from next to you. “eh, could have been better.” 

you turn to him in offence. 

he continues, “i'm just saying, i never got to actually snowboard.”

“are you suggesting what i think you’re suggesting…?” mark replies, looking around the group and meeting similar grins and looks of hopefulness. 

jaemin shrugs, “i dont know, am i?”

as if on cue, you all drop your suitcases in the snow, laughter and coils of happiness springing between you as you run to the shed behind the cabin for one last time. 

no other winter ski trip ever got near to living up to that one. 

not even close. 

[proleposting]

Further lessons from On Tyranny:

1. Do not obey in advance. Most of the power of authoritarianism is freely given. In times like these, individuals think ahead about what a more repressive government will want, and then offer themselves without being asked.  A citizen who adapts in this way is teaching power what it can do.

2. Defend institutions. It is institutions that help us to preserve decency.  They need our help as well.  Do not speak of "our institutions" unless you make them yours by acting on their behalf.  Institutions do not protect themselves.  They fall one after the other unless each is defended from the beginning.  So choose an institution you care about -- a court, a newspaper, a law, a labor union -- and take its side.

3. Beware the one-party state. The parties that remade states and suppressed rivals were not omnipotent from the start.  They exploited a historic moment to make political life impossible for their opponents.  So support the multiple-party system and defend the rules of democratic elections.  Vote in local and state elections while you can.  Consider running for office.

4. Take responsibility for the face of the world. The symbols of today enable the reality of tomorrow.  Notice the swastikas and the other signs of hate.  Do not look away, and do not get used to them.  Remove them yourself and set an example for others to do so.

5. Remember professional ethics. When political leaders set a negative example, professional commitments to just practice become more important. It is hard to subvert a rule-of-law state without lawyers, or to hold show trials without judges.  Authoritarians need obedient civil servants, and concentration camp directors seek businessmen interested in cheap labor.

6. Be wary of paramilitaries. When the men with guns who have always claimed to be against the system start wearing uniforms and marching with torches and pictures of a leader, the end is nigh.  When the pro-leader paramilitary and the official police and military intermingle, the end has come.

7. Be reflective if you must be armed. If you carry a weapon in public service, may God bless you and keep you.  But know that evils of the past involved policemen and soldiers finding themselves, one day, doing irregular things.  Be ready to say no.

8. Stand out. Someone has to. It is easy to follow along. It can feel strange to do or say something different. But without that unease, there is no freedom. Remember Rosa Parks. The moment you set an example, the spell of the status quo is broken, and others will follow.

9. Be kind to our language. Avoid pronouncing the phrases everyone else does. Think up your own way of speaking, even if only to convey that thing you think everyone is saying. Make an effort to separate yourself from the internet. Read books.

10. Believe in truth. To abandon facts is to abandon freedom. If nothing is true, then no one can criticize power, because there is no basis upon which to do so.  If nothing is true, then all is spectacle.  The biggest wallet pays for the most blinding lights.

11. Investigate. Figure things out for yourself.  Spend more time with long articles. Subsidize investigative journalism by subscribing to print media.  Realize that some of what is on the internet is there to harm you.  Learn about sites that investigate propaganda campaigns (some of which come from abroad).  Take responsibility for what you communicate with others.

12. Make eye contact and small talk. This is not just polite. It is part of being a citizen and a responsible member of society. It is also a way to stay in touch with your surroundings, break down social barriers, and understand whom you should and should not trust. If we enter a culture of denunciation, you will want to know the psychological landscape of your daily life.

13. Practice corporeal politics. Power wants your body softening in your chair and your emotions dissipating on the screen. Get outside. Put your body in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Make new friends and march with them.

14. Establish a private life. Nastier rulers will use what they know about you to push you around. Scrub your computer of malware on a regular basis. Remember that email is skywriting. Consider using alternative forms of the internet, or simply using it less. Have personal exchanges in person. For the same reason, resolve any legal trouble. Tyrants seek the hook on which to hang you. Try not to have hooks.

15. Contribute to good causes. Be active in organizations, political or not, that express your own view of life. Pick a charity or two and set up autopay. Then you will have made a free choice that supports civil society and helps others to do good.

16. Learn from peers in other countries. Keep up your friendships abroad, or make new friends in other countries. The present difficulties in the United States are an element of a larger trend. And no country is going to find a solution by itself. Make sure you and your family have passports.

17. Listen for dangerous words. Be alert to use of the words "extremism" and "terrorism." Be alive to the fatal notions of "emergency" and "exception." Be angry about the treacherous use of patriotic vocabulary.

18. Be calm when the unthinkable arrives. Modern tyranny is terror management. When the terrorist attack comes, remember that authoritarians exploit such events in order to consolidate power. The sudden disaster that requires the end of checks and balances, the dissolution of opposition parties, the suspension of freedom of expression, the right to a fair trial, and so on, is the oldest trick in the Hitlerian book. Do not fall for it.

19. Be a patriot. Set a good example of what America means for the generations to come. They will need it.

20. Be as courageous as you can. If none of us is prepared to die for freedom, then all of us will die under tyranny.

These lessons are the openings of the twenty chapters of On Tyranny, by Timothy Snyder.

[moonlitstoriess]

The Cost of Deception- Azriel x fem!reader (3/3)

Summary: After years of silence, Y/N and Azriel unknowingly track the same target, only to find themselves face-to-face once more. Betrayal runs deep, and neither is willing to forgive, but the mission must come first—if they don’t destroy each other first.

See masterlist

Part 2

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI (I will mention when it starts and ends), angst, mentions of trauma, fighting, injuries, mentions of SA

A/N: Well guys, this is the finale! I truly hope you enjoyed reading this mini series as much as I enjoyed writing it for you my little angst lovers😘

Five years ago. The first time Azriel realized something was wrong, it had been too late.

Y/N had sent him the documents—a set of encrypted files from the Spring Court that she had painstakingly secured. He could still hear her voice in his mind, low but brimming with excitement.

"Az, I got it. All of it. This will change everything."

The pride in her voice had been unmistakable, her trust in him unwavering. She had worked tirelessly to secure that intel, putting herself in harm’s way to serve the Night Court. How could he not have trusted her completely? She was one of his best operatives, her sharp mind and steady hand unmatched in the chaos of espionage.

But when the information led them straight into a trap, resulting in the deaths of ten of their spies, everything had crumbled.

The ambush had been brutal, a coordinated strike that targeted their most vulnerable operatives. Three were killed on the spot. The others, hunted down in the following days, were slaughtered before they could escape. The loss was devastating, not just in lives but in the trust that bound their intricate network together.

When Rhysand summoned him, Azriel had gone with a heavy heart, knowing there would be questions he wasn’t yet ready to answer.

Rhysand’s violet eyes, usually so calm and understanding, were hard and cold. “Explain this, Azriel. How did this happen?”

Azriel had no answers. He had only fragments of a puzzle he hadn’t yet pieced together.

For days afterward, he barely slept. He pored over the documents Y/N had sent him, searching for inconsistencies, for anything that could explain how the information she’d provided had been so catastrophically wrong. He sent his own spies into Spring Court territory to investigate, desperate to uncover the truth.

It was one of his scouts who returned with the key.

“Someone fed her false information,” the scout explained, laying out the details. “A contact in the Spring Court deliberately set her up. They knew she’d take the bait. They knew exactly what to feed her.”

Azriel’s hands tightened into fists as he stared down at the report. The pieces clicked into place—agonizingly, unmistakably. Y/N had been played. She had been set up by someone who knew her movements, someone who had deliberately sought to discredit her.

But by the time Azriel uncovered the truth, it was too late. The network already knew of the failure. Y/N’s name had been whispered in the shadows, accusations of betrayal spreading like wildfire. The loss of their spies was fresh in everyone’s mind, their trust shattered.

Ten lives lost.

The number weighed heavily on Azriel’s soul. He could still see the faces of the operatives they’d lost, their smiles and laughter now memories that would haunt him forever.

He had tried to explain the situation to Rhysand, to tell him what he had uncovered. But Rhys’s expression had been grim, his voice unyielding.

“It’s not about what she intended,” Rhys said. “It’s about what this looks like. If we don’t act decisively, the entire network will fall apart. Our enemies will exploit this weakness.”

Azriel wanted to argue, to fight for Y/N. But he couldn’t deny the truth of Rhys’s words. The network’s survival depended on trust, and even the smallest fracture could cause everything they’d built to crumble.

And so, with a leaden heart, Azriel made the choice.

He spread the lie that Y/N had knowingly provided false information. He destroyed her reputation, painted her as a traitor, and watched as the court turned its back on her.

Azriel woke with a start, the memory still clawing at his mind.

The forest was quiet, the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds the only sounds. He sat up slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the area. The campfire had burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow against the dark silhouettes of the surrounding trees.

And there she was.

Y/N lay on the other side of the fire, her head resting on her pack, her body curled slightly for warmth. Even in sleep, there was a tension in her posture, as though she couldn’t fully let her guard down.

Azriel’s chest ached at the sight. She looked so small, so vulnerable in the dim light, and yet he knew how strong she was. How much she had endured because of him.

Because of the lies he had told.

He had tried not to think of her after her banishment. But she had haunted him anyway. Every report from the Night Court’s spies about her whereabouts, every whisper of her struggles, had found its way to him. He couldn’t help but keep tabs on her, even when he told himself it was better to let her go.

The guilt ate away at him, day by day. He told himself it had been necessary, that he had done what was required to protect the court. But the justifications rang hollow in the dead of night when he lay awake, her name a constant refrain in his mind.

And then there were the dreams.

They started innocently enough—memories of missions they had completed together, of the way she had laughed when they argued over strategy. But they soon turned darker. He would see her standing in the rain, her eyes filled with betrayal as she asked, “Why?”

He had never answered her then. And now, he didn’t know if he ever could.

Azriel leaned back against the tree behind him, his gaze never leaving her sleeping form. The firelight cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the faint parting of her lips. She was beautiful in a way that made his heart ache, a quiet, unassuming beauty that had drawn him in from the start.

And now, after everything he had done, she was here.

His shadows curled around him, their whispers faint and indecipherable. He let them surround him, a comforting presence in the silence. But even they couldn’t soothe the turmoil within him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. He had to make things right. He had to tell her the truth, to explain why he had done what he did. Even if she never forgave him, even if she hated him for the rest of her life, he owed her that much.

He would fix this. Somehow, he would find a way to atone for his sins.

But for now, he let himself watch her for a little longer, committing every detail of her to memory—the rise and fall of her chest, the soft curve of her mouth, the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

The past could not be undone. But perhaps, in the fragile, uncertain future, he could find redemption.

Y/N woke to the low rustle of leaves and the crackle of a small fire. The pale morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Her body ached from the cold, uneven ground, and the memories of her restless sleep haunted her like ghosts.

She pushed herself up, glancing toward the source of the sound. There he was, Azriel, seated on a fallen log, nibbling at a piece of dried fruit with his shadows coiling lazily around him. He didn’t look at her immediately, but the minute her movement caught his eye, his gaze snapped to hers.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, his voice as smooth as ever but tinged with something heavier. Guilt.

She didn’t respond, instead dragging herself to her feet and brushing the dirt from her tunic. The smell of breakfast—though plain and meager—made her stomach churn, not from hunger but from the knot of anxiety that had been a permanent resident there ever since she’d agreed to this mission.

Azriel shifted, his shadows curling toward her as though they could sense her discomfort. “You should eat something,” he said, holding out a piece of bread.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly.

“You’re not,” he countered, and his tone, while gentle, left no room for argument. “We’ll be moving soon. You need your strength.”

She clenched her jaw but took the bread anyway, sitting on the opposite end of the fire. They ate in silence, the tension between them a living, breathing thing that no amount of chewing could cut through.

To her surprise, it was Azriel who broke the quiet. “My shadows went far last night,” he said, his voice low. “They’ve scouted ahead. We’re close to Malrik’s place—closer than I thought. We should reach it by midday.”

She nodded but didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the bread in her hands.

Azriel continued, pulling out a map from his satchel. He unfolded it carefully, smoothing the edges on his thigh before spreading it out between them. “This is the layout the messenger gave me,” he said, his scarred fingers tracing lines and markings. “We’ll enter here, through the eastern ridge. It’s less guarded, but it’s steep, so we’ll need to move quickly. Once inside, you’ll take the northern passage—it leads directly to Malrik’s study. I’ll handle the guards and meet you there.”

He paused, glancing at her as though expecting a response, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on the map.

When he finished his rundown, the silence returned, heavier now, pressing down on them like the weight of the forest itself. She could feel his gaze on her, the way his shadows hesitated, unsure whether to reach for her or retreat.

Finally, she sighed, dropping the last bit of bread into her lap. “Spit it out,” she said coldly.

Azriel blinked, as though surprised by her bluntness, but then his composure cracked.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, the words tumbling out of his mouth so fast she barely caught them. “I didn’t mean for it to—Y/N, I swear, I didn’t—”

“What?” she interrupted, frowning.

He tried again, but the sentences came just as rushed, just as scattered. His shadows swirled around him, reflecting his inner turmoil, and it was so unlike him—this babbling, this loss of control—that she almost didn’t recognize him.

“Azriel,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Speak normally.”

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself. When he opened them again, they were filled with something raw, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.

“I was the one who spread the lie,” he said finally, his voice low but clear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had known—of course she had known—but hearing it from his mouth was a different kind of pain, a dagger twisting in a wound that had never healed.

“Not this again,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “I told you, I don’t wish to speak of it.”

“Please,” he said, standing as well. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she considered walking away, leaving him to his guilt and his shadows. But something in his voice—desperation, maybe, or the faint echo of the bond they once shared as comrades—made her stop.

“You have five minutes,” she said sharply. “Then we’re leaving.”

Azriel nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He didn’t sit back down, didn’t even look away from her as he began.

He told her everything. The ambush, the deaths, the documents he’d compared, the spies he’d sent to investigate. He told her about the trap laid by the Spring Court, about how they had used her as a pawn without her knowledge.

And he told her about Rhysand. About the conversation in the forest, about the decision they had made together. About how he had spread the lie to protect the network, to protect the court.

By the time he finished, Y/N’s hands were trembling with rage.

“You destroyed me,” she said, her voice shaking. “Do you understand that? You didn’t just ruin my reputation, Azriel. You ruined my life.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You don’t know what it was like. To be cast out, to be hunted by the same people I fought beside, to have nothing and no one because of you.”

Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to keep going. “You made me a traitor in their eyes. You made me a traitor in my own eyes. Do you know how many nights I spent wondering if I should just end it all? Wondering if it would hurt less than this?”

Azriel flinched, his shadows recoiling as though her words had struck them as well. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she spat. “Sorry doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t bring back the years I lost, the ME I lost. If I hadn't been exiled, if I had been in such a weakened, depressed state, I would have never fallen into Malrik's trap, I would have never been raped by him!"

Azriel closed his eyes, seemingly battling the rage and inner turmoil within him before exhaling and looking at her once more. "Y/N...I- I didn't know. Please, I.....I swear if only I knew that this would happen- he will die soon enough but....I know it's not enough. It never will

He took a step toward her, his hands outstretched, but she stepped back, her anger flaring hotter.

“I hate you,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “I hate you, Azriel. And after this mission, I never want to see your face or hear your voice again.”

She turned away, her hands shaking as she began to pack her things. Behind her, she could feel him deflate, his presence shrinking as though he wanted to disappear into his own shadows.

But she didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Not when the pain in her chest threatened to consume her all over again.

The silence left in Y/N’s wake was deafening. Azriel sat there, staring at the small fire he’d stoked earlier to ward off the morning chill. The flames flickered, but their warmth did nothing to thaw the icy pit in his chest.

Her words echoed in his mind: “I hate you.”

His shadows curled tighter around him, almost as if they could shield him from the sharp edge of her dismissal. But they couldn’t. Nothing could. He had heard those words from others—enemies, strangers—but never from her. Never from Y/N, the female he had…

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing himself to push away the thought. Whatever he had felt, or still felt, didn’t matter. Not now. Not when he’d destroyed her life.

He packed up the remnants of their meager breakfast in silence, every motion mechanical. His shadows flitted about, scouting ahead, as they always did. But even they seemed subdued, their whispers softer than usual, their presence a dull hum in the back of his mind.

When he finally stood, he caught sight of Y/N a short distance away, packing her own belongings. She moved with quick, efficient motions, her face set in a cold mask. It hurt more than it should, that distance.

Azriel forced himself to focus. The mission. They had to finish this mission. It was the only way he could begin to atone.

As they trekked through the dense forest, Azriel’s shadows returned to him, bringing snippets of information. Malrik’s stronghold wasn’t far now—a few hours’ travel at most. The path would grow more treacherous as they neared the base, but they could manage it. They always had before.

Azriel glanced at Y/N out of the corner of his eye. She walked ahead of him, her posture rigid, her focus locked on the path. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching on the strands of her hair, turning them into threads of gold. Even now, even with the weight of her anger pressing down on him, she was beautiful.

He tore his gaze away.

They didn’t speak. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s mind churned with everything he wanted to say, everything he should say, but the words tangled in his throat. What was the point? She’d made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.

His shadows stirred, tugging at his senses. He halted, raising a hand.

Y/N stopped immediately, her body tense. “What is it?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Azriel tilted his head, listening to his shadows. “Scouts. Two of them. About a hundred paces ahead.”

Y/N nodded, her hand already on the hilt of her blade. “We take them out?”

“No,” Azriel said quickly. “We avoid them. We’re too close to risk alerting Malrik.”

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. They veered off the path, moving in silence through the underbrush. Azriel’s shadows guided them, weaving a path around the scouts’ position.

They were a good team, even now. Azriel couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly they worked together, how her movements complemented his, how she trusted his shadows without question. It was a painful reminder of what they had lost—and what they might never regain.

“We’ll approach from the south,” he continued, pulling the map from his pocket. “Malrik’s defenses are weaker there. Once we’re inside—”

“Azriel.”

He stopped, startled by the sharpness in her voice.

“Save it for when we’re there,” she said, not even looking at him. “I don’t need a play-by-play.”

His grip on the map tightened, the paper crinkling under his fingers. He stuffed it back into his pocket, his shadows curling tighter around him in response to the sting of her dismissal.

The rest of the journey passed in tense, stifling silence.

By the time they reached the edge of Malrik’s territory, the sun was high overhead, and the air had grown heavy with the scent of damp earth. Azriel crouched low, scanning the terrain ahead as his shadows flitted out, scouting for traps or hidden sentries.

Y/N knelt beside him, her movements quiet and precise. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, just waited for his signal.

Azriel swallowed the ache in his chest and focused.

“We’ll go in after nightfall,” he said, his voice low. “There’s too much open ground to cover right now. We’d be spotted.”

Y/N nodded curtly, her expression unreadable.

He wanted to say something else, anything to fill the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t want to hear them, anyway.

So he stayed quiet, letting his shadows do the talking as they scouted the area ahead. And as he watched her, sitting there with her face turned away from him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever find a way to reach her again—or if he was destined to lose her for good.

The dense forest around them seemed to grow darker with every step. The shadows clung to the trees like they belonged there, a creeping stillness settling over the air. Y/N pulled her hood tighter, the familiar weight of her weapons reassuring against her sides. She wasn’t nervous—no, she refused to let herself feel anything close to fear. But the sharp edge of anticipation coiled in her stomach, and she didn’t know whether it was the thought of facing Malrik or simply walking beside Azriel that made her insides twist.

He was silent, as usual. Not that she minded. The less they spoke, the easier it was for her to focus. And yet, her gaze kept sliding to him—to the way his wings curled in, tight and guarded, like even they knew the weight of what he carried. His face was a mask, his jaw clenched as he scanned their surroundings, shadows slipping over his shoulders and whispering things she couldn’t hear.

She hated how he could still look like that. Like the male she used to trust with her life. Like the male who had destroyed it.

“We’re close,” Azriel said quietly, his voice cutting through the stillness. He motioned ahead to where the trees thinned, revealing a steep ridge that overlooked a sprawling estate.

Y/N stepped up beside him, peering through the canopy. The estate was larger than she’d expected—a fortress more than a house, with high stone walls and watchtowers at every corner. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and disciplined.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s fortified himself well.”

“Malrik always did think himself untouchable,” Azriel replied, his voice neutral. But she caught the edge of something beneath it—bitterness, maybe. Or regret.

“Maybe he is,” Y/N muttered, adjusting the straps of her weapons belt. “Or maybe he’s just another coward hiding behind walls.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He unfolded a map from his satchel, spreading it across a flat rock. Y/N crouched beside him, her eyes scanning the layout of the estate as he pointed to various entry points.

“There’s a blind spot here,” he said, tapping the eastern side of the wall. “The guards rotate every twenty minutes. If we time it right, we can get in unnoticed.”

“And once we’re inside?” Y/N asked, her voice clipped.

Azriel’s shadows darted across the map, as if outlining the paths he’d already memorized. “We split up. I’ll head to the main hall to find the records Malrik’s been keeping. You take the east wing. That’s where he’s likely hoarding the weapons.”

“And if we run into him?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes flicked to hers, steady and unyielding. “Don’t hesitate.”

Y/N snorted, straightening. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

The words hung between them, heavier than she intended. She saw the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, or maybe pain—but he quickly turned away, rolling up the map and tucking it back into his satchel.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, drawing her daggers. “Let’s get this over with.”

They moved in silence, sticking to the shadows as they descended the ridge. The air grew colder the closer they got, the stone walls looming larger with every step. Y/N’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to stay calm, to keep her breaths even.

As they reached the blind spot Azriel had mentioned, his shadows darted ahead, slipping through the cracks in the wall. He held up a hand, signaling for her to wait, and she crouched low, her fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger.

Seconds stretched into minutes.

Y/N’s heart thudded in the silence, her breaths measured but tight. She glanced at Azriel, who seemed completely still, his focus on the shadows reporting back to him. She envied that stillness, that ease with which he could disappear into himself. Because as the minutes dragged on, her mind began to wander—back to a time she had no choice but to keep moving or risk falling apart.

The banishment.

The loneliness.

She could still feel the cold of those nights when she had no roof over her head, no safety to retreat to. When even a small fire risked drawing too much attention, and the ache of hunger became as familiar as the weapons she now carried. Her hands tightened around her daggers at the memory of how she’d survived—scraping by on instincts she didn’t know she had, enduring humiliation and pain she refused to dwell on.

She thought of the faces that had turned away from her, the whispers that had followed her wherever she went. Traitor. Liar. The words had been knives, sharper than anything she’d ever wielded. She’d grown used to the weight of them, to the constant ache in her chest.

But it hadn’t just been anger that kept her going. It was exhaustion, too. Exhaustion from holding herself together, from waking up every day and deciding to fight through it all when no one else would fight for her.

Her jaw clenched as her gaze slid back to Azriel. He had been the cause of it all, the one who lit the spark that burned her world to ash. And now, here he was, standing beside her as if they could somehow go back to what they once were.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Azriel’s shadows returned then, pulling her from her thoughts. His hand brushed her arm—a silent signal.

“Now,” he murmured, motioning for her to follow.

The fortress was eerily quiet, save for the faint murmur of guards’ voices echoing down the stone corridors. The scent of damp stone and oil lanterns lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood Y/N swore she could almost taste.

She moved in Azriel’s shadow, her steps silent as they crept deeper into the heart of Malrik’s stronghold. His wings were tucked tightly against his back, his shadows a living entity around them, cloaking their movements in secrecy.

Azriel gestured for her to stop as they approached a fork in the hallway. His hazel eyes flicked between the two paths, and his shadows darted ahead, scouting for threats. Y/N leaned against the cold stone wall, her breathing steady but her pulse thrumming.

She hated how familiar this all felt—the stealth, the tension, the thrill of being on the hunt. It reminded her of the missions she used to carry out with the Night Court’s spymaster. Back when they were partners. Back when she trusted him.

The memory twisted like a knife in her chest, and she pushed it away.

Azriel’s hand brushed her shoulder, snapping her focus back to the present. He pointed to the left corridor. “Records room is this way,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Weapons cache is down the other hall. We’ll split up.”

Y/N nodded, already moving toward the right corridor.

“Be careful,” Azriel said softly, his voice carrying a weight she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She didn’t look back as she replied, “Always am.”

The weapons cache was heavily guarded, but Y/N had faced worse odds before. Fear was a luxury she had abandoned long ago, replaced with cold, calculated precision.

She slipped through the shadows, her steps light and soundless, each movement deliberate. The first guard never saw her coming. Her dagger slid cleanly between his ribs, a swift and silent strike that left him slumping to the ground.

The second turned at the faint noise, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth to shout, but Y/N was faster. She lunged, one hand covering his mouth as the other drove her blade into his chest. His muffled cry died on her palm, his body going limp as she lowered him to the floor.

The third guard wasn’t as easy. He rounded the corner just as Y/N straightened, his eyes locking onto her.

“Hey—!”

Y/N’s dagger flew before he could finish, embedding itself in his throat. The gurgling noise he made as he crumpled to the ground sent a shiver up her spine, but she ignored it, her focus already shifting to the task at hand.

Blood pooled around the bodies, dark and glistening in the dim light of the lanterns lining the walls. Her boots left faint imprints as she stepped over them, barely sparing the corpses a second glance. This was the life she’d chosen—or, rather, the one that had been forced upon her. Hesitation had no place in it.

The cache itself was a hoard of nightmares. Weapons of every make and size were stacked in chaotic piles, from polished swords to crude, rusted spears. Crates were scattered across the room, many of them stamped with ominous markings that hinted at their contents.

Explosives.

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she crouched beside one of the crates, prying it open with the tip of her blade. Inside, bundles of volatile materials were packed tightly, ready to unleash devastation. She could almost see the destruction they could cause—the lives they could end—if they fell into the wrong hands.

Or if she used them.

She inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she began assessing the room. The eastern wall was load-bearing, its stonework already showing signs of strain from age and poor maintenance. If she planted the charges there, the entire wing would collapse, taking everything—and everyone—in it.

Perfect.

Her fingers moved deftly, securing the charges Azriel had handed her earlier. She worked in silence, her ears attuned to the faintest sound, her eyes constantly flicking to the shadows that seemed to grow longer with every passing second.

The room was too quiet now.

The eerie silence crawled under her skin, each hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She tried to shake off the unease, forcing herself to focus. The quicker she finished, the quicker she could leave this place behind.

But as she reached for the final charge, the sensation of being watched became impossible to ignore.

Her hand froze mid-air.

Y/N’s gaze darted around the room, scanning the shadows for any movement. The faint glow of the lanterns danced across the stone walls, casting flickering shapes that played tricks on her mind.

You’re imagining things, she told herself. Just finish the job.

But her body betrayed her, every instinct honed from years of survival screaming at her to move, to run, to fight.

She tightened her grip on her dagger, rising slowly from her crouch. The weight of the silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, until the sound of a faint, deliberate step shattered it.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she spun, her blade already in hand, ready to strike.

But the room was empty.

No guards. No footsteps. Just the dim glow of the lanterns and the distant rumble of activity somewhere deeper in the fortress.

Y/N let out a slow, shaky breath, cursing herself for faltering. She had a job to do, and paranoia wouldn’t help her survive it.

Still, as she finished setting the last charge and turned to leave, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

And that whoever—or whatever—was watching her wasn’t finished yet.

The last charge was set, and as Y/N’s hand pressed the final button to trigger the detonators, a strange, primal sense of satisfaction pulsed through her veins. The fortress would fall. Malrik’s reign of terror would come to an end.

She turned swiftly, ready to leave the weapons cache and move to the next part of the plan, but something in the air had shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

It wasn’t just the oppressive silence anymore. No, this was different—more sinister. The shadows felt alive, watching her every move.

“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and urgent.

She spun, meeting his eyes in the dim light of the hallway. He looked… different. His usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by a look of steely focus, his shadows swirling around him as if responding to some unspoken command.

“There’s no time,” he said, his voice low but determined. “Malrik knows we’re here. We’ve been compromised.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She’d known the plan wouldn’t go off without a hitch, but she hadn’t expected it to unravel so quickly.

“Then let’s move,” she said, voice tight.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, searching her face, his shadows curling around her like a protective blanket. He didn’t speak, but she could see the question in his eyes: Are you ready for this?

She didn’t respond. Instead, she moved, leading the way down the narrow corridor with Azriel right behind her.

As they neared the center of the fortress, Y/N’s mind raced. She couldn’t help but think back to the years she spent trapped under Malrik’s control—the constant fear, the manipulation, the pain. She’d survived, but at what cost? Her mind was still scarred by those years, and her body still carried the marks of his cruelty.

The thought of confronting him made her hands shake, but she pushed it down. This wasn’t about her. It was about ending this once and for all.

They reached the heart of the fortress just as the first explosion rang out in the distance, shaking the ground beneath them. The walls trembled.

Malrik’s voice echoed through the halls, distant but unmistakable. “You think you can destroy me? You think you can bring me down? You’re nothing. Just like the others who tried before you.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

Azriel’s eyes met hers, and for a split second, she saw the fear in them—something she hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

He was worried.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that. They had a job to finish.

As they rounded the corner into a wide open room, the smell of smoke and the distant crackling of flames reached her nose. But it wasn’t the fire that caught her attention—it was the figure standing in the center of the room, waiting for them.

Malrik.

The man who had taken everything from her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The man who had shattered her life was standing there, his smirk twisted in that all-too-familiar way. The air around him seemed to crackle with malice, his presence almost suffocating.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice oozing with mock sweetness. “I was wondering when you’d come. How predictable. You can’t outrun your past. It’s always waiting for you.”

A surge of rage hit her, and she took a step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. Her thoughts blurred as her heart hammered in her chest. The years of pain, of torment, everything she’d endured flooded back to the surface in a tidal wave.

Before she could even react, the room seemed to shift, the shadows thickening around them, and suddenly, Malrik’s forces were everywhere—emerging from the walls, from hidden doors, and from the shadows themselves. They were ready.

Azriel moved immediately, his shadows cutting through the air, but there were too many. They’d underestimated him, and they’d paid the price.

Y/N stepped back, pulling out her daggers, her mind focused on the fight ahead. But as she squared off with one of Malrik’s soldiers, her chest tightened. The memories of her past flooded in, overwhelming her—the nights in his cell, the screams, the betrayal, the suffocating darkness that held her captive.

It was too much.

She froze. The soldier in front of her lunged, but her body didn’t react. Her hands were shaking, the blades slipping from her fingers as a wave of panic and dread washed over her.

“Y/N!” Azriel’s voice pierced through the chaos, but it sounded far away. His voice broke her from her stupor, but the damage was done.

A soldier’s blade grazed her side, sending a jolt of pain through her body. She stumbled back, the world spinning as the wound burned.

She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. The memories, the horror, the terror she’d endured—it was too much.

Azriel was at her side in an instant, fury and panic flashing in his eyes. He pushed her behind him, his shadows swarming as he fought to protect her, but Y/N’s body refused to cooperate.

“Focus, Y/N!” Azriel growled, his voice thick with urgency. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

But the battle raged around them, and in her frozen state, Y/N could do nothing but watch as Azriel fought off the soldiers with deadly precision.

Then, Malrik’s voice boomed across the room.

“Enough.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She could barely see through the fog of her own mind, but the cold, terrifying presence of Malrik seemed to surround her, like a suffocating blanket. She tried to focus, tried to force her body to move, but it was too late.

Azriel was already too far into the fight.

And then, with a roar, Malrik advanced. The final confrontation had begun.

The air around them felt thick with tension, suffocating and heavy. Malrik’s figure loomed ahead, like a dark storm cloud about to break. He was everything Azriel despised—cold, calculating, cruel—and his presence in this fortress was a testament to the devastation he had caused over the years. But now, standing before him, there was only one thing Azriel could think of: Y/N.

The woman who had been broken by Malrik’s hands, scarred by his touch, now stood at the mercy of his soldiers, her body stiff, her mind still imprisoned by the ghosts of her past. Azriel’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and a sharp wave of fury surged through him. Malrik had caused this. Malrik had taken everything from her, and Azriel would be damned if he let him take more.

“I won’t let you have her,” Azriel’s voice was low, barely above a growl, as he faced Malrik in the center of the crumbling hall. His shadows twisted around him, responding to his fury. “Not again.”

Malrik’s smirk was maddeningly calm. His pale eyes gleamed with dark amusement, as if he knew exactly what he was doing—pitting Azriel’s deepest rage against him, throwing him off balance. But Azriel wasn’t going to be distracted. Not this time. Not when Y/N was in danger.

The soldier closest to Y/N lunged at her, but Azriel was already in motion. His blades sliced through the air, a blur of lethal precision, and the soldier crumpled to the ground without so much as a sound. But as he moved, he saw Y/N falter—her hand trembling, her gaze distant.

Her past was haunting her again.

Azriel’s blood ran cold, and his shadows surged forward, protecting her in a shield that held the remaining soldiers at bay. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Malrik and what he had done to her—the rape, the violence, the years of torment that had scarred her beyond recognition. Azriel had heard the stories, but hearing them from her mouth had been like a blade to his chest. The image of that bastard touching Y/N, breaking her, was enough to drive him into a rage that could level this fortress.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

Malrik’s gaze shifted toward him, an almost smug expression crossing his face. “You think you can stop me? You think you can kill me after all this time? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Shadow-cursed.”

Before Azriel could respond, Malrik’s soldiers descended on them, weapons raised. Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows lashed out, tearing through the attackers with deadly force, but the numbers were overwhelming. They were everywhere—more than Azriel had anticipated. He could feel the weight of every strike, every dodge, every move, but he couldn’t stop. Not while Y/N was at risk.

Every slash of his blades, every strike, was fueled by the image of Y/N’s face when she had spoken of her suffering. He wanted Malrik to pay. He wanted him to feel every ounce of the hell he had put her through, to feel the agony, the loss, the betrayal.

But Malrik wasn’t a mere man—he was a threat unlike any Azriel had faced before. He had the resources, the men, and a weapon that Azriel had no way of anticipating. Malrik fought like a predator—cold, calculating, never wasting a movement. And Azriel was starting to realize the full extent of what he was up against.

Malrik didn’t need to speak for his presence to become overwhelming. The moment Azriel made an opening to strike, Malrik’s weapon swung in, a heavy, dark blade that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light, cutting through the air with a sound like the crack of a whip. It connected with Azriel’s side, a painful, burning slice that sent him stumbling back, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

He fought with everything he had—his daggers cutting through flesh, his shadows warping around him, but Malrik was relentless. Every time Azriel gained an inch, Malrik took it back, pushing him farther and farther back. His soldiers surrounded them, and the walls seemed to close in as the fight dragged on, each passing second feeling like an eternity.

But in the chaos of the battle, something broke through—the sound of Y/N’s scream. It wasn’t just any scream. It was filled with pain, terror, and helplessness. Azriel’s heart stuttered, his blood running cold. He whipped his head around, his shadows moving with lightning speed to shield her once more.

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind. His shadows exploded outward, a torrent of darkness and power, cutting down every enemy in sight, his focus on nothing but protecting Y/N. His blades flashed, severing limbs and spilling blood in an instant.

The air around them felt thick with tension, suffocating and heavy. Malrik’s figure loomed ahead, like a dark storm cloud about to break. He was everything Azriel despised—cold, calculating, cruel—and his presence in this fortress was a testament to the devastation he had caused over the years. But now, standing before him, there was only one thing Azriel could think of: Y/N.

The woman who had been broken by Malrik’s hands, scarred by his touch, now stood at the mercy of his soldiers, her body stiff, her mind still imprisoned by the ghosts of her past. Azriel’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and a sharp wave of fury surged through him. Malrik had caused this. Malrik had taken everything from her, and Azriel would be damned if he let him take more.

“I won’t let you have her,” Azriel’s voice was low, barely above a growl, as he faced Malrik in the center of the crumbling hall. His shadows twisted around him, responding to his fury. “Not again.”

Malrik’s smirk was maddeningly calm. His pale eyes gleamed with dark amusement, as if he knew exactly what he was doing—pitting Azriel’s deepest rage against him, throwing him off balance. But Azriel wasn’t going to be distracted. Not this time. Not when Y/N was in danger.

The soldier closest to Y/N lunged at her, but Azriel was already in motion. His blades sliced through the air, a blur of lethal precision, and the soldier crumpled to the ground without so much as a sound. But as he moved, he saw Y/N falter—her hand trembling, her gaze distant.

Her past was haunting her again.

Azriel’s blood ran cold, and his shadows surged forward, protecting her in a shield that held the remaining soldiers at bay. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Malrik and what he had done to her—the rape, the violence, the years of torment that had scarred her beyond recognition. Azriel had heard the stories, but hearing them from her mouth had been like a blade to his chest. The image of that bastard touching Y/N, breaking her, was enough to drive him into a rage that could level this fortress.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

Malrik’s gaze shifted toward him, an almost smug expression crossing his face. “You think you can stop me? You think you can kill me after all this time? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Shadow-cursed.”

Before Azriel could respond, Malrik’s soldiers descended on them, weapons raised. Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows lashed out, tearing through the attackers with deadly force, but the numbers were overwhelming. They were everywhere—more than Azriel had anticipated. He could feel the weight of every strike, every dodge, every move, but he couldn’t stop. Not while Y/N was at risk.

Every slash of his blades, every strike, was fueled by the image of Y/N’s face when she had spoken of her suffering. He wanted Malrik to pay. He wanted him to feel every ounce of the hell he had put her through, to feel the agony, the loss, the betrayal.

But Malrik wasn’t a mere man—he was a threat unlike any Azriel had faced before. He had the resources, the men, and a weapon that Azriel had no way of anticipating. Malrik fought like a predator—cold, calculating, never wasting a movement. And Azriel was starting to realize the full extent of what he was up against.

Malrik didn’t need to speak for his presence to become overwhelming. The moment Azriel made an opening to strike, Malrik’s weapon swung in, a heavy, dark blade that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light, cutting through the air with a sound like the crack of a whip. It connected with Azriel’s side, a painful, burning slice that sent him stumbling back, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

He fought with everything he had—his daggers cutting through flesh, his shadows warping around him, but Malrik was relentless. Every time Azriel gained an inch, Malrik took it back, pushing him farther and farther back. His soldiers surrounded them, and the walls seemed to close in as the fight dragged on, each passing second feeling like an eternity.

But in the chaos of the battle, something broke through—the sound of Y/N’s scream. It wasn’t just any scream. It was filled with pain, terror, and helplessness. Azriel’s heart stuttered, his blood running cold. He whipped his head around, his shadows moving with lightning speed to shield her once more.

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited once more, burning through him like wildfire. It felt as if the ground beneath him had cracked open, his heart beating out of his chest as his shadows swarmed, tearing through the soldiers with a speed and precision that left no room for mercy.

But as Azriel turned back to face Malrik, his mind sharpened with clarity, rage, and something darker—something primal. Malrik stood at the center of the chaos, watching with a twisted satisfaction in his cold eyes.

“You think you can stop me, Azriel?” Malrik laughed, his voice laced with arrogance. “You’ll never be enough. You’re weak, just like your pathetic allies. And when I’m done with you, I’ll make her scream again. She’ll remember—”

Azriel didn’t wait for him to finish. He lunged forward, daggers flashing in the dim light. But Malrik was prepared. His blade whipped out, clashing against Azriel’s with a violent crack. The force of the strike sent Azriel staggering, but he recovered in an instant, his shadows lunging forward to bind Malrik in place.

“You’ve caused enough destruction, Malrik,” Azriel growled, every word soaked with hatred. “It ends today.”

But Malrik wasn’t finished. With a growl, he twisted in the shadows’ grip, his body moving in unnatural, serpentine motions. He freed himself, ripping through the darkness with an ease that sent chills down Azriel’s spine.

“You can’t even begin to understand what I’ve done,” Malrik said coldly, a cruel smile on his lips. “And I’ll do it all over again—just to watch her break.”

Azriel’s vision blurred with rage. He attacked again, this time with more precision, his daggers slicing through the air with the fury of a storm. But Malrik was faster, stronger—his blade moving with deadly force, striking against Azriel’s, knocking him back.

The two of them collided in a clash of shadows and steel, neither giving an inch. Azriel’s heart thundered in his chest as he fought, shadows dancing wildly around him, his daggers flashing in the dim light, but Malrik was always a step ahead. Each strike felt like an eternity—every wound, every bruise, only fueling Azriel’s determination.

Azriel’s shadows tried to bind Malrik again, but Malrik’s blade was relentless, cutting through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Every time Azriel thought he had the upper hand, Malrik shifted, ducked, or twisted, evading the strike with terrifying precision.

It was like fighting a monster—a nightmare that would never end.

And then, in a moment of vulnerability, Malrik made his move.

With a wicked grin, Malrik struck—his blade slashing across Azriel’s chest, cutting deep. Azriel gasped, staggering back as the blood welled from the wound. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as pain exploded in his side, but the fury inside him burned brighter.

“Is this all you have, Azriel?” Malrik taunted, his blade dripping with blood. “You couldn’t protect her before, and you won’t protect her now.”

Azriel’s vision clouded, the anger overwhelming every thought, every instinct. He wasn’t just fighting for victory—he was fighting for Y/N, for the woman who had been torn apart by this monster, for the woman who had been broken and rebuilt, piece by piece, by his hands.

“You don’t deserve to breathe,” Azriel hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

Malrik’s grin faltered as Azriel’s shadows surged forward in a final, desperate push, coiling around his legs, his arms—binding him tight. The shadows felt like iron chains, relentless and unyielding.

Azriel lunged forward, his blades flashing in the flickering torchlight, and with a scream of pure fury, he drove both daggers into Malrik’s chest, pushing deep until he felt the life drain out of him.

Malrik’s body slumped to the ground with a sickening thud.

Azriel stood over him, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wounds. His hands trembled as he pulled his daggers from the lifeless corpse. His gaze never left Malrik, not even as the life left him.

But as the adrenaline slowly faded, it wasn’t satisfaction that Azriel felt—it was the cold weight of loss.

The moment Malrik’s body crumpled to the ground, Azriel’s breath was ragged, his body pulsing with pain. The battle was over—Malrik was dead—but the victory felt hollow. The blood dripping from Azriel’s chest, from his side, was a constant reminder of the price he had paid. His vision was fading, but there was no time to stop. Not when Y/N was still in danger. Not when the woman who had been broken by this monster lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, barely conscious, her body barely clinging to life.

Azriel’s shadows moved around him, reaching out to steady him as his legs threatened to give way under him. His chest ached with every breath, but his eyes were locked on Y/N. He didn’t care about the blood pooling at his feet. He didn’t care about the pain. All that mattered was getting her out of here. Getting her somewhere safe. Somewhere she could heal.

His shadows crawled around her, pulling her body closer to his. He felt the weight of her fragile form in his arms, heard her ragged breaths, felt her pulse weakly under his touch.

“No. No, Y/N. Stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky with raw emotion. The words were a plea—a command, a desperate cry. He couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not when they had just begun to fight back.

His hands shook as he cradled her, his blood mixing with hers, staining his skin, but he barely noticed it. Every drop of blood that soaked into his clothes only made the urgency in his chest burn hotter. His mind raced. He had to get her out. He had to get her somewhere safe.

Azriel’s last reserves of strength came crashing down on him. His wings trembled as he winnowed them both through the wreckage of the room, out of the hell that Malrik had made, and into the air. He was barely conscious himself, every breath a struggle. His vision was a blur, dark spots dancing before his eyes, but there was no other option. He couldn’t stop.

Velaris. The House of Wind. His only goal.

He landed with a jarring force, the impact almost sending him to his knees, but he stayed upright, clutching Y/N close to his chest. His body screamed in protest as he stumbled, blood dripping down his sides. He felt every injury, every slice from Malrik’s blade. But he couldn’t focus on that now. Not when Y/N was slipping away.

The doors to the House of Wind burst open, and Azriel’s heart nearly shattered as he rushed through the threshold, stumbling into the quiet hall.

“Azriel!” Rhysand’s voice cut through the panic in his mind, but Azriel couldn’t focus on the High Lord’s words. He couldn’t hear anyone. His only thought was Y/N, her fragile form in his arms.

“Get the healers. NOW!” Azriel shouted, his voice raw, frantic. His blood dripped from him like a scarlet trail as he moved, shaking, toward the stairs. The whole world seemed to pulse and fade with each breath, but he couldn’t stop. Not until she was safe.

“Azriel—”

Rhysand’s voice broke through again, but Azriel didn’t hear him. He was past the point of reason, his shadows thrashing around him as if they were as panicked as he was. The darkness roiled with his fury, his desperation. His wings were heavy with blood and exhaustion, but he wouldn’t let himself stop.

“Get out of my way,” Azriel growled, his voice an animalistic snarl as he shot a glare at Rhysand, his High Lord, the one person who had ever been his brother. The one person who should have commanded Azriel’s respect, but now? Nothing mattered but Y/N. His shadows twisted in response, threatening to lash out at the High Lord’s form. Azriel didn’t know what he’d do next, but he couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t wait.

He needed help. He needed someone to save her.

“She needs a healer, Rhys!” Azriel’s words were urgent, his voice thick with barely controlled panic. “Now!”

The shadows wrapped tighter around him, their darkness spreading out into the room, as if trying to force the world to bend to Azriel’s will. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

Rhysand’s expression flickered, and his gaze turned dark with understanding. Cassian appeared almost immediately, his face full of concern as he rushed toward them.

“What happened?” Cassian’s eyes darted between Azriel and Y/N, his hand brushing over Azriel’s bloodied chest.

“It’s Malrik,” Azriel muttered, his voice weak but fierce. “He—he’s dead. He’s dead, but... she... She needs help now.”

Cassian’s eyes hardened, and he nodded sharply. “I’ll get the healers.”

Azriel couldn’t think anymore. His mind was slipping in and out, and the world around him was dimming. The pain in his body was overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the sight of Y/N, barely breathing in his arms. Her pulse was faint under his touch. She was fading.

Her body shuddered, and a weak sound escaped her lips. Azriel's heart shattered as he leaned in closer, his hands trembling as he pressed against her skin. “Y/N, please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, raw with grief. “Stay with me. Don’t leave me... don’t leave me alone.”

But she wasn’t responding. Her eyes flickered, and he could see the fight in her slowly dimming. She was slipping.

"Please," Azriel begged, his voice a tortured plea. "Please, Y/N... just stay awake. Stay with me. I’m here. I’m right here."

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, and Azriel’s heart skipped. He could hear the frantic movement around him, the Inner Circle gathering close, but nothing mattered. Nothing mattered except for Y/N.

Cassian and Rhysand spoke, Mor ran to get Amren in case the ancient female knew anything that could help, but Azriel didn’t hear them. All he could focus on was the weight of Y/N’s body, her breath shallow and shallow. He couldn’t let her die.

He wouldn’t survive if she did.

Azriel’s head swam as he willed himself to remain conscious. His injuries were severe—he could feel the blood seeping from the gash in his chest, his side throbbing in agony—but none of that mattered. He had no time for his own pain.

Y/N needed him.

And then, finally, the healers arrived.

“Azriel, we need space,” one of them said, their voice calm but firm.

Azriel barely registered the words. He shook his head desperately. “No,” he snapped. “She stays with me. You heal her, now.”

But the healers weren’t backing down. Rhysand’s powerful voice cut through his panic. “Azriel. Let them help.”

Azriel’s breath came in ragged gasps. His vision was closing in, everything feeling like it was slipping away. The tension in his body coiled tightly, the shadows vibrating with his distress. He had no idea how he was still standing, but there was nothing—nothing—that would tear him away from Y/N.

“No one takes her from me,” he hissed, his voice almost feral. His wings twitched behind him, and he took a step back to allow the healers to do their work, but his hands never left her body. He didn’t trust anyone else. Not right now.

As the healers began their work, Azriel sank to his knees beside her, his shadow-covered wings stretched out protectively over both of them, and he whispered through clenched teeth, “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me.”

And then, finally, darkness overcame him.

The world was blurry when she woke up. Her vision swam in and out of focus, her head pounding as if a hundred hammers were smashing against her skull. She groaned softly, the weight of her limbs and the ache in her body dragging her back into consciousness. The first thing she noticed was the softness beneath her. The feeling of fine sheets, the coolness of the air. This was not the place she’d last remembered. This was not the battlefield, the ruins where Malrik had been.

Where am I?

The question was sluggish, curling in her mind. She turned her head, the movement slow and cautious, and she immediately regretted it. A sharp, agonizing pain coursed through her body, but she pushed through it. She was alive. That much she knew. But she could feel the heaviness of the room, the faint scent of healing herbs in the air. Something was off, but there were more immediate concerns.

The flicker of motion caught her eye. A woman was standing beside the bed, one that didn’t exactly seem familiar but was clearly there with intent. Y/N tried to push herself up, but the dizziness almost made her collapse again. She gripped the side of the bed and blinked at the woman.

“Where am I?” Her voice sounded strange—weak, like she hadn’t used it in ages.

The woman—who Y/N now recognized as Amren, one of the Inner Circle—raised an eyebrow, her cold, calculating gaze flicking over Y/N’s form. There was no warmth there, no sympathy. But that was to be expected. Y/N knew of Amren. The woman was an enigma, someone who remained aloof from others.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” Amren said with her usual bluntness, the words heavy in the air. “It’s no surprise, considering the state you were in when you arrived.” She didn’t look concerned, just matter-of-fact. “The healers are doing their best to keep you alive.”

Y/N's heart dropped at the word state. The last thing she remembered before everything went black... Malrik’s blade. The fight. Azriel. She bit down on the pain that wanted to crawl up her throat, her stomach twisting into a tight knot as the realization began to seep in like a slow poison.

“Azriel…” she whispered, her voice faint, trembling. “Where is he? What happened to him?”

Amren hesitated, just the smallest flicker of emotion crossing her cold features before she turned to the door. “That’s Mor’s department. She’ll have more details for you.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened at the mention of his name. She struggled to sit up, the pain ripping through her body. She could barely see straight, but she had to know. Had to. She needed to hear it from someone who had seen it all, who knew what happened.

Before Amren could stop her, the door to the room opened. A figure appeared in the doorway—Mor, her presence commanding, yet there was a tiredness in her eyes that Y/N hadn’t seen before. The High Fae’s gaze flickered to her briefly before moving to Amren, her wings twitching behind her.

“Well, any news?” Amren asked, her tone like steel, unbothered by the situation. She was a woman of few words, but those words always carried weight.

Mor sighed, her eyes dark and weary. “No change. He’s still unconscious. The shadows are restless. They won’t stay still. It’s like they’re trying to drag him back to the fight.” She paused, glancing at Y/N. “And... Y/N, I’m glad you’re awake, but I... I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

Her voice softened when she saw Y/N’s frantic gaze locked onto her, and she moved closer to the bed, her face full of concern despite her usual guarded demeanor. Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of impending dread that settled in her chest, the heaviness of it threatening to crush her.

“Who are you talking about?” Y/N asked, the words strangling her as they left her mouth. She knew, but she needed to hear it. She needed confirmation.

Amren and Mor exchanged a glance. It was brief, but there was an unmistakable hesitation in it.

“Azriel,” Mor said, her voice soft but steady, the name carrying a weight Y/N hadn’t expected to hear. "He’s been unconscious for the same amount of time as you. Both of you... you looked like absolute shit when you were brought back. He could barely hold you, Y/N. He was badly wounded."

Y/N felt her heart stop. The breath caught in her throat. He was hurt? The memory of their last moments together came flooding back. Azriel, fighting with everything he had to protect her, to save her. He’d come for her. He hadn’t left her behind.

He hadn’t left her.

The room seemed to spin as the emotion she’d been holding back finally began to crack open. “He saved me?” The words were raw, broken, like she was speaking through a jagged breath. “He didn’t leave me behind? Even after everything? After—?”

Mor stepped closer, her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. There was something unspoken in her gaze, something that softened her usual sharp edges. “Of course not,” Mor replied. “He would never leave you behind. Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

Y/N’s chest felt tight. She wanted to scream, to shout, to cry, but her body refused to let her. It was as if everything inside her had been frozen in place—until now. The realization that Azriel had come for her, that he had fought for her, that he hadn’t abandoned her in the chaos, was almost too much to comprehend.

But as soon as the weight of that truth sank in, a surge of panic tore through her.

“Where is he?” Y/N demanded, sitting up, her body screaming in protest at the movement, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. “I need to see him. Now.”

“Y/N, you’re not—” Amren started, but Y/N wasn’t listening. She could barely hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her knees buckling beneath her as pain shot through her entire body. Her head spun, but she didn’t care. She was not staying here, helpless and stuck in this room. Not when Azriel—he—was out there, fighting to stay alive.

Before anyone could stop her, Y/N surged forward, pushing past Mor and Amren as she stood on shaky legs. The pain was unbearable, but it didn’t matter. She grabbed Mor’s arm, holding onto her with a desperation that surprised them both.

“Lead the way,” Y/N’s voice was fierce, even though it cracked. “I don’t care about anything else. Take me to Azriel. Now.”

Mor blinked at her in surprise, clearly taken aback by Y/N’s sudden surge of strength, but she didn’t hesitate for long. The urgency in Y/N’s voice was undeniable, and after a beat of hesitation, she nodded.

“Fine,” Mor said, her voice softening for a moment before she turned and motioned for Y/N to follow. “But you’re not going to like how bad he looks. We can’t risk you falling apart again. You need to be ready for this.”

“I don’t care!” Y/N snapped, her voice hoarse, filled with panic and fear. “Just take me to him.”

And without another word, Mor led her through the winding halls, her heart pounding with every step. She could hear the distant sound of voices, of the chaos that seemed to have erupted in the house. But Y/N’s focus remained on one thing—Azriel. And nothing would stop her from reaching him. Not the pain, not the fear, not even the weight of everything that had happened.

She was going to get to him. And she was going to make sure he knew, once and for all, that she would never leave him behind.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Y/N’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the only thing that mattered—the figure lying on the bed, unconscious and battered beyond recognition.

Azriel.

Her heart stopped for a brief second, a sharp pang of panic squeezing the breath from her lungs. It was him. It was really him. She stumbled into the room, leaning heavily on Mor, her legs shaking beneath her from the strain. But once she crossed the threshold and saw him, the world seemed to blur. Nothing else existed in that moment, not the soft hum of the room, not the presence of others who quietly lingered in the shadows. It was just Azriel, the male she needed, the male who had saved her.

The sight of him like this—a shell of the warrior she knew, pale and drained of life, bandaged and broken—made her chest tighten painfully. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, too slow, too weak, and it felt like a distant echo of the man she remembered.

Her legs gave out then, and Mor helped her gently onto the edge of the bed. She sat down slowly, careful not to jostle him, her hands trembling as they hovered near Azriel’s. The room felt suffocating now, as though the weight of the air, of the uncertainty, was too much to bear. The presence of others in the room—Rhysand and Cassian—faded to the background as she focused solely on the man lying in front of her.

She didn’t acknowledge them. She didn’t need to.

Her fingers brushed against Azriel’s hand, as if she was afraid the touch would somehow shatter the moment. The warmth of his skin was faint, but it was there. It was enough. She took his hand in both of hers, holding it gently, and she let her breath steady before speaking, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her voice soft but desperate. “Please, come back to me. I can’t do this without you. I can’t... I won’t let you go.”

She swallowed, trying to keep the trembling from her voice, trying to keep her composure, but the fear was there—thick, suffocating. “I need you. You saved me, but now... now it’s my turn to save you. Please, don’t leave me here, don’t leave me to fight this alone. You’re my strength, my anchor. Without you, I’ll be lost.”

She leaned closer, her face hovering just above his. The words came easier now, spilling from her lips in a quiet flood. “I know we’ve been through so much, Azriel, but I... I need you. We have so much left to do, so much we haven’t said to each other. I—I can’t lose you. Not now.”

The words hung in the air, like a fragile prayer, but she felt them burn in her chest. She didn’t want to let go of him. Not now. Not ever.

Then, as if the universe had decided to remind her that she wasn’t alone, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the quiet. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t noticed Rhysand and Cassian standing at the other side of the room, their watchful eyes fixed on her and Azriel.

Rhysand’s voice was soft, but there was a tightness to it. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

It was Rhys who spoke again, his words careful, each one deliberate as he took a step closer to her and Azriel. “I should have told you before. But you deserve to hear it now.” He paused, a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps—before he continued. “I had a hand in your exile, Y/N. I thought duty came first, and I made a choice. I forced Azriel to do what he did, and... I regret it. So much. Especially after seeing what he’s gone through since.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering to Rhysand. She wanted to say something—wanted to scream at him, to ask why, to demand answers—but the words felt too heavy, too loaded. And besides, Azriel’s life hung in the balance, and she wasn’t sure she could focus on anything else just yet.

Rhysand looked at her with a quiet, raw honesty. “I regret it, Y/N. I did it because I thought it was best for the Court, for all of us. But I see now that I was wrong. I never should have forced Azriel into that position. Never.”

Cassian stepped forward then, his face hardened with regret, his voice a little rougher than usual. “None of us knew, Y/N. Not Mor, not Amren, not any of us. We didn’t know how bad it was, how much Azriel was suffering. We didn’t know the weight he was carrying. But I’m begging you—please, understand that none of us knew. And we all want to make it right.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Her mind was reeling, trying to process the weight of what they were saying. But through the fog of her thoughts, one thing became painfully clear—she couldn’t afford to focus on this. Not right now. She couldn’t afford to let this divide them further. Azriel needed her.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Y/N muttered, her voice shaking, but there was no anger in it, just a quiet, resigned exhaustion. “We’ll talk later. Right now, just... just don’t let him die. Please.”

Her gaze flickered back to Azriel’s pale face, the shadows that still clung to him like a dark promise, and she squeezed his hand tighter, as if to will him to wake up.

“I have unspoken words to share with him,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “I’m not ready to lose him. Not yet.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. The room fell into a heavy silence as Y/N sat at Azriel’s side, her heart beating in time with his shallow breaths. And as the moments ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, she could only hope, pray, that the male she loved would come back to her.

That he wouldn’t let go.

Not yet.

Two more days passed. Forty-eight hours.

Two days that felt like an eternity.

In all that time, Y/N had never once left Azriel’s side. Not once. Even when she was being treated for her own injuries, she would make sure to sit beside him afterward, her gaze never straying too far from his unconscious form. She ate her meals in his room, and when the healers came to check on him, she would watch, her heart in her throat, praying for any sign of improvement.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness, but she refused to leave him, not when he had done so much for her, not when he had saved her life and brought her back from the edge of death itself. No. She would stay with him, even if it felt like time was dragging on and the world outside seemed so far away.

And then, on the second day, when the shadows had grown restless and the light of the room began to shift as dusk approached, it happened.

Azriel woke up.

Y/N felt it before she saw it—the subtle shift in the air, the way the shadows calmed, the way his chest gave that faint rise and fall, like a fragile whisper. Her heart skipped a beat, and in a heartbeat, she was at his side, her hand gently brushing against his, as though afraid that touching him too much would shatter the moment.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, the darkness of his irises blinking against the light, the weakness in his expression making her heart break all over again.

"Azriel," Y/N whispered, her voice a breathless exhale of relief.

He blinked again, and then a small, tired smile crept onto his face as he realized she was there. “You’re awake,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse, but still so much like the Azriel she knew.

She nodded, her hand shaking as she cupped his cheek, gazing at him as if afraid he might slip away again if she let go for even a second. “I’m awake, I’m here,” she whispered, her breath hitching in her throat. Her heart felt too full, and in that moment, she didn’t care who saw or heard. Azriel was awake, and that was all that mattered.

But as her gaze flickered to the door, ready to call for anyone—healers, Rhys, Mor—Azriel’s weak hand reached out and grasped hers, gently but firmly, stopping her before she could move.

“Please,” he said softly, his voice barely audible, but it held a quiet desperation. “Stay with me... just a little longer.”

Her heart ached at the plea in his voice, but she nodded, sinking back into the chair beside him, her fingers still intertwined with his. Azriel pulled her closer, his hand guiding hers to rest at his side, his tired eyes locking onto hers.

“I need more time like this,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a softness in his gaze. A vulnerability that she wasn’t used to seeing from him. “More time with you. I know it’s probably an illusion. I know I don’t deserve this... but...” He paused, his eyes flickering with the weight of unsaid words. “Please, let’s talk. Let’s get this out in the open, so I can stop carrying this weight.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening at his words. She opened her mouth to protest, to say they could talk later, that she didn’t want to push him when he was so weak, but Azriel cut her off before she could speak.

“No, Y/N,” he said, a rare intensity flickering in his eyes despite his exhaustion. “I can’t keep pretending. I need to say this now.”

She could see it—he was determined. He had to do this now, or it would consume him.

“Alright,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, though her hand tightened around his. “We can talk. But not about everything. Not now, Azriel. Not when you're like this.”

He gave a soft, sad smile, nodding. “I’ll go first.” His gaze softened as he exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. “I never got the chance to properly express myself before... but I need you to hear this now.”

He took a breath, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body. “After your banishment... I made sure you weren’t alone. I made sure you were never without what you needed, even when I couldn’t be there for you. It was me who left the money on your doorstep every month... it was me, Y/N. I couldn’t do anything for you in the first year because I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near you. I thought you hated me. And I... I couldn’t bring myself to face you, to tell you how sorry I was. How guilty I felt for what happened. But I made sure you had what you needed... I just couldn’t tell you. I didn’t deserve your smile. I didn’t deserve to be a part of your life anymore."

His fists clenched as he sighed. "That's why I never....never knew of what Malrik did to you. Because the first year I tried- truly tried justifying my horrible actions and staying away from you. I swear Y/N, if only I knew-"

He took a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around hers. “I want to make this right. I will make it right, Y/N. When I recover, I will personally make sure Rhys understands what I’ve done, and that I’ll fix everything, whatever it takes. I’ll make sure you’re taken back to the Night Court. And if you’ll have me, if you’ll allow me... I’ll make sure you rejoin my team. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I understand if you say no. But I’m asking for the chance... a chance to prove myself to you.”

Y/N stared at him, the words settling over her like a heavy weight, the truth of them sinking into her chest. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to forgive him, not yet, not when everything still felt so raw, so painful.

But then, she brushed the strands of hair from his forehead, her fingers gentle as they touched his skin, the warmth of his body grounding her in the moment. She let out a slow sigh, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t forgive you, Azriel,” she said softly. “And I will never forget what you did. But... I’m willing to give you a chance.” She met his gaze, her heart a tangle of emotions she didn’t have words for. “To prove yourself. To show me you can do better. To show me you care.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders relaxing, as if a weight had been lifted. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered. “Anything to prove it to you.”

And for the first time in days, Y/N felt a flicker of hope.

The days seemed to stretch on, slow but comforting, and with every passing moment, Y/N and Azriel began to discover a new rhythm between them—one they had never experienced before. There were no rushes, no expectations, only the quiet bond they shared that had begun to grow roots in the fertile soil of time. Each small gesture, each word spoken, was a step forward, a step toward something neither of them had ever dared to hope for.

It wasn’t just their conversations that made the days feel different—it was the way they spent time together. They no longer avoided each other, as they once had, but instead leaned into the comfort of shared silence. In the mornings, they would sit side by side, Azriel with his books and reports, Y/N with a cup of tea in hand, and they would just be there together. There were no grand confessions or dramatic exchanges, just the small moments of connection that seemed to fill the spaces between them.

Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in years. She had come to love the quiet moments with Azriel. It wasn’t even about the things they talked about, but the way they could just exist together without the burden of the past hanging over them. Every laugh, every quiet word shared, began to heal something deep inside her.

But the true magic of their bond happened when they opened up about their fears—things they had never told anyone before.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Y/N found herself sitting across from Azriel in the garden. The air was cool, the breeze gentle, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of the world seemed to fall away.

She spoke of her time in exile—how she had tried to survive, tried to find meaning in the solitude that had been thrust upon her. Azriel listened, always patient, always present, never once interrupting. And in return, Azriel began to share more—about his guilt, about the constant weight of responsibility he had carried, and about the painful truths he had buried deep within him. They both found a kind of solace in these conversations, a silent understanding between them that spoke louder than words.

Azriel leaned back against the stone bench, his eyes searching the darkening sky. “Do you ever wonder if we’re just... doomed to repeat our mistakes?” His voice was low, almost contemplative.

Y/N glanced at him, sensing the underlying vulnerability in his question. “I think... we all have our demons. Some of us just face them sooner than others.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to her, his expression softening. “What if I told you that I spent so long running from my mistakes, I almost forgot how to face them head-on? I didn’t just fail you—I failed myself, too. I thought I could keep it all under control, but I’ve learned... the hard way that control is just an illusion.”

Y/N’s heart ached as she heard the pain in his voice. She had never imagined Azriel would carry such heavy burdens on his own. She reached out, placing her hand on his. The touch was gentle, a silent offer of comfort. “You’re not alone in this, Azriel. You never have been.”

His hand squeezed hers, and for a moment, they were silent, both lost in their thoughts. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though; it was a quiet understanding between them, an unspoken connection that neither of them had ever felt with anyone else.

Azriel broke the silence after a while, his voice steady but with an underlying emotion. “I’m sorry for everything, Y/N. I was selfish. I pushed you away when all you ever needed was someone to stand beside you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at him, her heart swelling. “I was angry, Azriel. I hated you for what you did, for the way you left me in the dark. But I see now... I see how much you’ve changed. How much you’ve done to make things right.”

Azriel looked down at their intertwined hands, his voice rough. “It’s not enough, Y/N. I can never undo what I did. But I’ll spend every moment from now on trying to prove to you that I’m not that person anymore.”

Y/N was quiet for a long moment. She had been angry, so angry, for so long. But now, as she listened to him, felt the sincerity in his words, the anger began to lose its grip on her heart. She had always known that deep down, Azriel wasn’t the one she should be angry at. He was just another soul trying to find his way, just like she was.

“I believe you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s going to take time. I need time to heal, too.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. “We have time. As much time as we need.”

Azriel kept his word. He did everything in his power to make things right, though his efforts often went unnoticed by the rest of the world. He took the time to visit every corner of his network—his spies, his workers, the people who owed him loyalty—one by one, and confessed his shame. He told them all of his mistake, how he had failed Y/N, how he had allowed her to be exiled and how that decision had broken him.

And when the time came to speak with Rhys, Azriel was firm, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Azriel had said, his gaze unwavering. “If Y/N isn’t allowed back into the Night Court, then I will leave. I will go with her. I’m done with this court, if it means losing her.”

Rhys had looked at him, his face unreadable for a moment, but then he spoke, his voice soft but firm. “You think I wouldn’t accept her back? You think I would make you choose between this court and her?”

Azriel met his gaze, his jaw tight. “You tell me. You’ve made your position clear before. I won’t let you tear us apart.”

Rhys had exhaled, his shoulders loosening. “It’s not like that. I never wanted to keep her from you. And if you think for one second that I would let anything come between the two of you, you’re wrong. But there’s more to this than just your promise, Azriel. There’s the matter of what’s right.”

Y/N had overheard part of the conversation, her heart stirring in her chest. She had known, deep down, that Rhys had his reasons, but hearing him speak so openly, so honestly, about what he would do for her... it made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t expected. For all their tension, their difficult history, there was a part of her that understood the weight of the choices Rhys had made.

When the conversation ended, it was like a door had been opened—a door that had been locked for so long. Y/N wasn’t just being accepted back into the Night Court; she was being welcomed with open arms, with an understanding that she had a place here. That she wasn’t just Azriel’s, but part of something bigger, something that had always been hers.

Weeks Later

Y/N walked into the training courtyard, the soft hum of the day’s activities filling the air. Her body had healed, her strength returning with each day. Azriel was already there, practicing his forms, his movements fluid and precise. He looked up as she approached, his eyes softening when he saw her.

She had learned, in the time since their conversation, how much he had done—how much effort he had put into making things right. And while the road to healing was still long, she couldn’t deny the shift in their dynamic. She had seen him work tirelessly, not just for her, but for himself. He had made amends where he could, he had spoken with those who needed to hear it, and he had taken responsibility for his actions in a way that left her with no choice but to respect him all over again.

“You’ve been training all morning,” she teased, her lips quirking into a smile as she approached him.

Azriel’s mouth twitched into a grin, though his tired eyes showed the weight of his own healing journey. “Someone has to keep up with you,” he replied, his voice laced with affection.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully and watched him for a moment. “You’re getting better,” she observed. “But you still need to catch up to me.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe I’ll get there one day.”

She stepped forward, her fingers grazing his arm lightly. “You’re already there,” she murmured, the words almost too soft to hear.

Azriel’s gaze flickered to her, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. He stepped closer, closing the space between them, and reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long time coming. I know I can’t undo what’s been done... but I’m going to spend every moment I can making sure you know how much I care. How much I regret the things I did.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just the apology that moved her, it was the sincerity in his eyes. She had never seen Azriel so raw, so open. And it made her believe in him again.

“I believe you,” she whispered. “And I know you’re trying. But we have time now... time to figure this out together.”

A gentle silence passed between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a quiet understanding, a promise without words, that they would move forward, together.

The conversation with Rhys had been long and difficult, but when Azriel emerged, there was a calmness to him that hadn’t been there before. Y/N could sense the weight of it, the way he stood taller now, as though he had finally cast off the chains of guilt and shame that had bound him for so long.

Azriel met her eyes across the room, his gaze softening as she stood from her seat. He walked toward her, his movements slower than usual, as though every step was a testament to how far they had come.

“I never thought it would feel like this,” Y/N said, her voice quiet as she stood before Azriel, her heart pounding in her chest. “To be accepted back... to have everything feel like it’s slowly coming together.”

Azriel stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not perfect. It never will be. But we’re here. We’re together now.”

Y/N smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looked up at him. “And that’s all that matters.”

As Azriel cupped her face in his hands, their lips met in a kiss that held the promise of all the things they had yet to say, all the healing yet to come. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was a quiet, slow kiss that spoke of time, of patience, of the love they had built in the silence between them. And as they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, both of them knew—this was just the beginning.

"Show me how much you've changed, Az" she whispered before feeling him gently scoop her up in bridal style and go down the hallway.

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

Once inside his bedroom, Azriel towered over her, "Are you sure you want this?"

Y/N only nodded her head, hands resting on his chest. "Yes, fuck me, Azriel."

He smiled gently and shook his head. "No, I won't fuck you. I will make love to you."

He didn't give her a chance to reply before leaning down and in one quick motion capturing her lips, her gasp. Y/N's hand's went to his shoulders, one of them holding Azriel by the nape of his neck, bringing him closer down to her as she felt his arms tighten around her, their bodies pressed flush against one another.

Their kiss deepened, and Azriel’s movements were slow, deliberate. There was no rush, no sense of urgency between them, only the quiet, steady rhythm of two souls coming together after years of separation, of scars and healing.

Y/N felt her breath hitch as Azriel’s hands gently skimmed over her skin, his touch almost reverent, as though he were cherishing each part of her. His fingers trailed along the curve of her waist, his touch light, as though testing the waters. She felt the heat of his body against hers, the solid weight of him comforting and grounding.

With a gentle pull, Azriel guided her to sit up on the edge of the bed, never breaking their kiss. His hands moved to the fabric of her clothing, his fingertips brushing against the soft material, but his motions were cautious, careful—almost as if asking for permission. He didn’t need to speak it; his touch was enough. Y/N felt the weight of the past between them, but in this moment, it was a distant memory. There were no walls between them, no walls to break down.

Her hands moved to his chest, pushing his tunic off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap. She could feel the hard lines of his muscles beneath her fingertips, the smoothness of his skin, but there was a tenderness in how they undressed each other, a silent understanding that this wasn’t about passion or lust alone—it was about something deeper. It was about trust. About healing.

Azriel’s breath was warm against her skin, and his hands moved to the buttons of her dress, his movements slow, deliberate, as if every action held meaning. Each layer of clothing that fell away was like another barrier they had broken down, another step closer to one another. And as her dress pooled around her feet, she felt more exposed than she ever had, but not vulnerable. Not with Azriel. With him, it felt like coming home.

He took a step back, just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire but filled with something deeper—something tender, something that made her heart ache in a way she wasn’t expecting. The vulnerability between them was raw, but it was comforting, something she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

“I won’t rush you,” Azriel murmured, his voice low, like the sound of a night wind through the trees. “This is about us—about us being here. Now.”

Y/N nodded, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed up at him, her hands resting lightly on his chest. The weight of everything they had been through—everything they were still going through—hung in the air, but it no longer felt like something they had to carry alone. It was a shared weight, something they would hold together.

And as Azriel lowered himself onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms, the soft press of his lips against her forehead was the promise of something far more profound than what either of them had ever experienced. This wasn’t just a physical connection; it was emotional, it was spiritual, and it was a healing that neither of them had expected.

Their bodies moved together, slowly, with care, the gentle rhythm of their movements speaking volumes. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was a dance of patience and love, a stark contrast to the turmoil and chaos of their past. They were no longer the broken, scarred people they once were. Together, they were something new, something rebuilt. Each caress, each kiss, was a quiet declaration that they had found something real.

"Azriel..." she moaned an hour and two rounds later as the male in question had his head inbetween her legs, lapping up all her juices, his fingers also massaging her clit while his eyes never left hers. Oh those dark, intense eyes....

Y/N clenched his hair harder as Azriel began thrusting his tounge deeper and faster. He had kept to his word, fucking her gently, lovingly, leaving love bites and marks all over her chest, stomach and thighs. Of course she hadn't forgotten about him either, once again riding him just like that night at the inn but this time....slower, gentler, as she kissed his lips, his face, his neck and chest, hearing him groan and moan, her name spilling out of his mouth like some sacred prayer.

And now, he was intent on licking her clean. Y/N sucked in aharsh breath as she felt his other hand drift upwards, to her breasts, gently grasping and fondling them. Her thighs squeezed his head and Azriel rolled- visibly, literally rolled his eyes and groane dinto her mouth, causing her to cum all over his face.

Azriel lifted his wet, dripping face as he crawled upwards on her body, kissing along her scars, her marks, her curves, her 'imprefections' as he growled loving praises at ehr like, "Delicious" "Absolutely divine" "Mine" "Fucking hell" and Y/N could barely hide her blush.

But all of her thoughts went out of her head when she felt his thick, once more hardened and angry cock gently sliding inside her overstimulated lips. Her arms immediately went up to his neck as brought him down and whispered, "Now, will you fuck me Azriel?"

She heard a true, genuine, laugh from him as he replied with his smug voice. "Whatever you wish, beautiful." before picking up his pace.

And when they finally came together, it wasn’t with the force of their past storms, but with the calm of the peace they had found in each other. It was tender, it was slow, and it was everything they had been waiting for without even realizing it.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

In the stillness of the room, only the sound of their steady breathing filled the air. The world outside seemed far away, as if time itself had slowed down to honor this moment between them. Azriel’s hand gently traced the curve of Y/N’s back, the soft movement a promise that he would never let go again, not after everything they had been through. His touch was warm, grounding, and as her fingers played with the fabric of his tunic, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace—something she hadn’t known she was missing until now.

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the past slowly but surely lifting. There were no more words to be spoken, no more apologies to be made—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that they had found their way back to each other. The road ahead was uncertain, but it no longer felt daunting. Together, they would face whatever came next, not as two individuals, but as a united force, stronger for the healing they had both undergone.

Y/N sighed softly, her head resting on Azriel’s chest, the steady beat of his heart echoing in her ear. She could feel the peace settling over her, like a gentle tide washing away the remnants of all the pain, all the loss. She had once thought she couldn’t move forward, couldn’t heal. But now, with Azriel beside her, she knew that healing wasn’t about forgetting—it was about letting go, trusting, and opening up to the possibility of something more.

Azriel shifted slightly, lifting his head to look at her. His gaze was soft, filled with a warmth that made her heart swell. “We’re going to be okay,” he murmured, as if reaffirming the truth they both knew deep down. “Together.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. “Together,” she whispered back, the word tasting like the beginning of something beautiful.

And as the quiet night stretched on, they remained in that peaceful embrace, a new chapter unfolding before them, ready to be written with all the love and healing they had fought so hard to find. The future was no longer a place of uncertainty. With each other, they had found their way home.

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Taglist: @darkbloodsly @moonfawnx @clementine111002 @galaxystern08 @batboyslutt @circe143 @tele86

[emmasclaws]

summer lovin✿-rafe Cameron

social media/ irl au

you wanted a laid back and chill summer until one of your moms rich snobby friends lent you two rooms In her ridiculously huge summer house. now you're forced to hang out with her kids the entire summer.

pairings: rafe Cameron x mamas girl reader

warnings: low self esteem, curse words, sexual innuendos, eventual smut, angst, arguing. I'll add more if needed :)

(that's all the smau you'll get for now the juicy stuff hasn't happened yet and she's sorta a loser😭)

I looked up from my phone as I felt the car stop looking out of my window up at the big mansion like home that I'll be staying at for the next 4 months of my life "mama this is a huge house" you said unbuckling your seat belt. "no wonder she offered us to stay" my mom said sharing my awe and surprised at the size and beauty of the house. (I'm glazing)

after getting our bags from the car we approached the house before we could knock on the door a lady opened it who I assume was rose by the way her and my mom started squealing their hellos and hugging each other.

"oh and this must be your daughter! she looks just like her mama oh my god you are just beautiful" she said opening her arms gesturing me to give her a hug I obviously obliged not wanting to seem rude or disrespectful, first impressions are important."ok come I'll show you two to your rooms and then once y'all are settled I'll show you around the house".

As we walked into the house it was very warm and cozy. we walked up the stairs with my mom and rose chatting on about plans for themselves and planning family dinner that already sounded awkward. it was actually nice to see my mom getting along with people who weren't me.

"ok sweetie this is your room it's just one room away from my daughter Sarah's and right across from my son rafes room." she said while gesturing toward both rooms and opening the door to my room for me. "thank you so much Mrs. Cameron" I thanked her while putting my luggage in my room.

"ok so that was my room so now lemme show you the whole house." I said to bailey who I was facetimeing, I opened my door heading towards the stairs I stop in my tracks when I see the son rafe I hadn't expected him to be home so soon I thought he'd be out partying and doing what guys like him do, I only assumed this because I sorta kinda stalked his and his sisters instas but that doesn't matter rn.

"oh hi you must be the girl rose was talking about, y/n right?" he said as he fully got up the stairs. holy shit he was handsome how am I supposed to spend an entire summer with him." yeah I am your must be rafe, it's nice to meet you" I said with a soft smile on my face trying to hide the pure nerves inside of me right now.

"yeah nice to meet you too, well I'm going to my room see you later" he said as he walked off toward his room, I replied with mhm and a nod before staring right back at phone to see if bailey had just seen the absolute man that I just saw.

"oh my god? he was like so hot I guess you will find a hot guy this summer" she said in a quiet squeal "I know omg oh but anyways house tour girl" I said walking down the stairs and heading towards the kitchen. As I headed toward the kitchen I saw Sarah Cameron or on her Instagram Sarah Routledge she was scrolling on her phone while eating strawberries out of a bowl.

"oh hi your y/n right?, nice to meet you!!" Sarah said with a big smile and reaching for a hug, "yeah and you must be Sarah nice to meet you too!" I said with the same smile on my face, she's so pretty oh em gee. "y/n are you still there?? earth to y/n" bailey said from the phone, "yeah sorry omg" I apologized "I'm on the phone with my friend doing like a house tour you know" I explained to Sarah her eyes lit up with excitement before saying "omg lemme show you around I love showing the place come on follow me" she said getting up to show me and bailey the kitchen.

In the middle of the tour bailey said she had to go cause her mom was dragging her to the store to get groceries for dinner, so sarah out of kindness for her new house mate and her potentially new bestie decided to continue the tour and that's what they were doing right now. "ok so this is the movie room it's basically a movie theater except we can put YouTube and like all the other stuff on the big screen it's so fun we should have a movie night soon" she said while pointing at all the things she was describing. I was obviously answering and talking back to her but I was just really taking in the richness of it all I've never even had a tv in my room let alone a whole movie theater it was great.

a little while later and we had finished the tour as we headed up to our rooms she told me that rose had planned a breakfast for all of us to get to know each other and so we could all become friends? I don't know roses words not mine.

this chapter was a lot shorter then I wanted it to be but wtv next chapter will be longer trust me I hope you liked it and if there're any critiques plz give them!

[that-one-anxious-mango]

milestones.

summary: during picture taking of the twins cutesy monthly birthday milestone photo shoot. terry unexpectedly takes this opportunity to remind you of a not so cutesy milestone in your relationship.

paring: terry richmond x black reader (Dallas)

content: fluff, mentions and allusions to body fluids, crude humor, allusion to nsfw acts

a/n: welcome back to another installment of the thunder and lightning universe. hope you like it. as always feel free to like, comment, and reblog your thoughts :) and if you feel like it...send me a letter.

You absolutely loved the difference in the personalities of your twins.

In fact, for being twin girls they had both managed to have always found a way to unintentionally distinguish themselves apart from the time they both came shining from your womb on June 3rd as the pair of Gemini twins that your Gemini husband had so desperately wanted.

Each having their own unique glow about them.

Your eldest by five minutes and twenty six seconds, Tiana Michelle Richmond, was almost every bit of your husband not only in face, but in spirit and personality. The quieter and more reserved of the two, she was everything positive Terry had hoped for his girls to gain from him. Polite, mannerable, sweet, perceptive as hell at her young age, but most of all disciplined in a way that he’d seen grown men unable to reach. With a big heart and an abundance of gentle kindness for anyone she encountered, she was your “moon child”. Her glow was soft but still strong enough to illuminate and beguile all those who meet the teensy human.

On other hand your second, Edith Denver Richmond, was the fire cracker of a child that you just knew was your reckoning in life for how you treated your poor mother in your adolescence. And while she may have also stolen her Daddy’s face along with her sister, this one had been sure to rob you of your personality on her way out.                                                                                                                                       

She was hard headed, stubborn, tempered, but most of all, she possessed a smart mouth that had been known to challenge yours since the time of her sassy babbling as an infant. 

And while you were to blame for some of her more…rougher characteristics, you believed there were others she’d also inherited from you like your determination, strong will, and that famed Dubois family charm. All of which paired well with the strength, charisma, and fascination to learn she’d gotten from her father. Always outspoken and the loudest in the room at her tiny size, your sunshine girl was perfect.

Thus, creating two very different little girls, who together, kept you and your husband on your toes since the moment they arrived. 

“ C’mon, baby girl. Give Daddy a smile.” Terry cooed at the three month old twins, both laid out on the special blanket reserved for their monthly milestone pictures. Each dressed in a cute ruffled navy jumper and matching bows.

You watched as your husband, all 6 '4 and 248 pounds of him, was at the mercy of two small 13 pound babies. With one giggling and smiling in appreciation of her father’s antics, while the other just blankly stared. Clearly unamused, with a small scowl resting on her face.

“ There’s a smile. Show off them’ gums, girl. Pretty mama.” He cooed at Tiana, snapping a few pictures before turning his attention to Edith who still refused to smile.

“ C’mon now, Tiny. Please. Smile for Daddy. C’mon sugarfoot. Smile.” He reached down to grab and playfully tug at her little feet, only to result in a half a grunt and her pulling her foot from his grasp just as quick as he got it.

You laughed watching an identical frown appear on his face at the stubbornness of his daughter, “ Really Edith Denver. That’s how you gone do your pops? Hmm? The same man who slips you extra tiddy milk when your mama won’t give up the tap.” 

It was your turn to frown now, “ Uh excuse me, who do you–” 

Quickly he silenced you with a plea, “ Hold on, mama. I can only handle one attitude filled Richmond lady at a time. Now back to you, little girl.” He turned. 

Frustrated he groaned, “ Look ya’ mama is rich and ya’ daddy is good looking. Now smile, baby. Please.” 

Curiously you looked on at the frustrated giant, unsure if his phrasing of the famous line was correct, “ Poppa, I think you said it backwards.” You giggle, watching your husband’s animated movements that made your eldest squeal in glee. “ I think I’m the one who's pretty and your suppose to be rich.” 

“ Nahh.” He held up the camera in one hand, the other waving Edith's favorite stuffed lion around, “ I said it the right way, Miss two time funeral director of the year. I know you sitting on all that cash, under all dat’ ass. Business is booming.”  He wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

“ Terry.” You blushed, chiding his language, “ Don’t talk like that in front of them, babe.” 

“ Girl, please. How you think they got here? .” He smirked, “ Besides they’ve definitely heard worse from both of us while they were in utero. You remember the Denver trip? How this little mean gnome here got her middle name and why?”

Vivid memories of yours and Terry’s unexpected lover’s getaway to Denver, Colorado had flashed in your mind. It had been a wild couple of days of fun skiing, food tasting, and absolutely filthy sex all of which unknowingly resulted in you getting pregnant.

" You damn near flooded our hotel room, girl. Never had I ever had to pay a cleanin' fee at a hotel until I married your freaky self."

Almost immediately you went into a defense, “ Hey! Ain’t nobody tell you to do all that to me, sicko! Poor cleaning lady had to wipe it off the walls, all because you wouldn’t listen and let up. How was I supposed to know I could do that?! I barely could control my legs let alone that!” You recalled your rather...explosive reaction... to certain tricks your husband had pulled that night.

“ Aye’ I never heard the magic word. So I proceeded to do my thing, and I’m glad I did cause that’s the day I learned how to turn on that there firehose you got on you. Damn sure put out my fire that night, and I LOVED IT.” He goofed, licking his lips in an exaggerated manner and blowing you a kiss.

“ Here’s the proof.” He pointed to your two oblivious babies who babbled away, eyes darting and exploring the room, “ Aren’t they cute? Daddy’s babies.” He cooed, “ Turned y’all mama every which way but loose for three days to get y'all here. But hey. I got ya’. Even if it meant leaving a tip as big as a piece of cabbage cause y'all mama wanted to play fire woman that one night.” 

An audible gasp of horror overpowered the sound of your husband’s deep laughter at your expression, since you couldn’t believe was speaking this way in front of your angels, “ Terrance Richmond.” You groaned, half laughing as you picked up a decorative pillow, hitting your husband’s bareback with it. “ Excuse you, meathead. But don’t be acting like it was all me Mr. “ oh yeah, baby. Don’t hold back. Let me feel it. Let me feel you get wet for me.” 

“ I know what I said, woman.” He laughed, moving to poke and attempt to tickle your sides, “ But what I didn’t say was to hose me down, mama.” 

“ OH MY—Ugh!”  The two of you laughed and joked as you continued your playful assault on your husband until not one…but two tiny giggles accompanied yours and his laughter.

Looking down you were surprised to see the wide and drool riddled smile on Edith’s face as she practically burst her gut laughing along with her sister, who too found amusement in their father’s fluffy misfortune. 

Immediately Terry's eyes narrowed something silly as he reached to scoop up the giggly baby, “ So that’s it, huh Miss Denver. That’s the winning ticket to get you to smile. To watch Daddy be mistreated by Mama.” 

“ Boy, ain't nobody mistreating you. If anything you're the one out here embarrassing me, telling our children about how they were made. What’s wrong witchu’.” You laughed.

“ Boy?” His head snapped your direction, eyebrows raised in a clear signal to allow you to ‘ try that shit again’. 

His eyes danced with glimmers of the same mischief that had gotten you in this position of folding endless piles of baby garments in the first place, “ Nobody is mistreating you, sir.” You corrected yourself.

“ Better.” He acknowledged, “ But don’t worry, my love. They won’t remember this.” A hand came to rub you on your back, “ Besides, I’m proud of what we did that night in that hotel room. It was a big milestone in our relationship and unknowingly the start of something so absolutely beautiful for us.” He said, placing his daughter back next to her sister and being absolutely mesmerized by the image of your two gorgeous and healthy girls laying and kicking their chunky legs around before him.

You smiled, joining in on the admiration of what your love for one another had created. It had been a long and bumpy road to get them here, but all the baby scrunches, little yawns, and first smiles had all been worth it, just like you knew being able to raise them would be worth more than anything you could have ever imagined. 

“ It was, wasn't it, Poppa.” You sighed, moving over more so you could find your way into his lap, he welcomed you, arms receiving your body into his embrace.

“ Of course.” He pecked your neck, “ Just the same way the next set will be an even bigger milestone for us after we take that trip to Peru this summer.” 

Immediately your eyes bugged out of your head as you began trying to wiggle and shift your way out of his grasp, “ Dear, Lord. He’s lost his mind. Terrance I am not giving you another set of twins?! Are you insane?!” 

You turned your head to look at the way he was biting on his lip, head leaning to nuzzle into your neck, “ They’ll need brothers…or more sisters.” 

“ Plus I’m trying to see what that thang’ do when I give you this hot five alarm kinda love on a balcony somewhere.” He said, “ Imma’ need it on full blast and ready for duty.” 

" Oh brother." You groan, accepting the kisses and small love bites in glee from your husband and eventual father of all of your children.

[mafuyussweater]

[Now I'm thinking about that first year that Shen Qingqiu is dead and how Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge may have reacted to that....]

That day Luo Binghe felt too emotionally raw to put in any effort to do much of anything. He barely wanted to exist. So instead, he drank, heavily. Everything felt too real. It was just too painful. So when Liu Qingge comes storming in (secretly wanting to unleash some of the heavier emotions he is feeling by fighting Luo Binghe) he lands a blow on him and realizes very quickly something is off. It doesn't take long for the stench of alcohol to reach his nose and he can't help but grimace at the smell.

"What do you want Liu Shishu?" Luo Binghe slurred from his spot on the floor. He couldn't be bothered to get back up. Instead he reached into his sleeves and pulled out another jar of alcohol and took a swig, uncaring at how some spilled down his neck and onto his robes.

"What the hell are you doing brat?" Liu Qingge strode forward reaching out to grab the jar out of his hands. He was clearly way too intoxicated. Seeing his Shishu advancing towards him looking pissed caused Luo Binghe to instinctively roll out of the way which was neither elegant nor effective in escape. Instead they both found themselves tangled up in each other while covered in the harsh smell of liquor.

Liu Qingge was beginning to regret coming here today but he just couldn't stomach ever giving up. He let out a harsh sigh and bolted up to his feet. Not bothering to look down he picked at his now wet robes and bit out, "Ugh, now look what you did beast!"

*hiccup*

Risking a glance back at his rival on the floor, he was shocked to see the man curled into himself sobbing quietly on the floor. Well.. he was necessarily 'quietly sobbing' it's just that it looked like he was trying very hard to shove the sobs back in.

Liu Qingge really did not do well with people crying so he tried to slowly back out of the room knowing that he wouldn't have an admirable fight today. But as soon as he back up no more than a few steps, Luo Binghe with his super demon hearing snapped his head up at him and just... broke down into a full on mental breakdown ugly crying mess. Pathetically he crawled on the floor until his arms wrapped around Liu Qingge's ankles, forcing him to either kick the man while he was down, or just pray for it to be over soon. And so he prayed.

"L-Liu Sh-Shi-Shishu", he was trying to hard to just breathe. "Plea-p-please.. I-" Luo Binghe took in a shaky breath, "I just miss him so much!", he finally cried out.

Luo Binghe's whole body shook as he tightened like an anchor around his legs but it was as if the rest of him was made of paper, he crumpled further into himself. All the walls he had built between them over the years simply dissolved.

He probably wouldn't remember this in the morning but maybe they could have this. Just one day where they were simply two people who lost someone they loved more than anyone else could ever understand. And they could just be there together and remember how much the man they both loved meant to them.

With an exasperated sigh, Liu Qingge bent down and like he had seen his Shixiong do, he patted Luo Binghe on the head and said, "if you are going to act like this, at least get me drunk first."

Just today he told himself, only because it was today would he let his guard down too.

I think people are way too normal about the way Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe were acting during the five years that SQQ were dead. Like when I was reading I saw that shit and went "wow that is enemies to lovers behavior right there" and then proceeded to never see it in the fandom.

Come on guys, the homoerotic sword fights are right there! The fact that after years everyone except them had given up on SQQ! The drama of your enemy being the only one who understands the deep love you have for this man, of feeling like you're the only two people in the world who still care, of getting what the other person is going through but also hating them for what they are doing to you. Both of you having very different ideas of what it means to love someone, but at least you can respect each other for trying.

Despite everything, Yue Qingyuan never canonically tried to go get SQQs body. Maybe this was because he wanted to avoid a war, maybe because something just felt off, like it wasn't his Xiao Jiu anymore. There is also no evidence that any other peak lords went to Huan Hua, besides Mu Qingfang, who was literally kidnapped. It was just Liu Qingge, fighting for SQQ every day.

There has to be some kind of bond that forms, having fought each other for so long. Some kind of understanding. Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe probably saw each other at their worsts, when Liu Qingge came crawling back with so many half healed wounds and broken bones, but still determined to fight. When Luo Binghe was so exhausted by his Qi transfers, running Huan Hua, trying to find a way to save his Shizun.

What did it look like on the anniversary of Shen Qingqiu's death? How did they mourn?

And what about the angst factor of falling in love with someone while the man you love is still dead and gone? And feeling something for the person who stole him from you? The guilt, the agony?

Anyways, I'm just surprised I haven't seen more BingLiuShen where the BingLiu started brewing during those five years. There's no way I could fight a man for five years, always spare his life/be spared, and NOT feel something. Even if it's not romantic,,,

Consider, years after the end of the novel. BingQiu are together, living their best life. But even years later, on the anniversary of Shen Qingqiu's death...

A demon emperor lands on Bai Zhan Peak. And the War God is waiting for him, sword drawn.

[my-cat-ate-your-appendix]

A few theories floating around in my head that aren't based on anything, just me wildly speculating possibilities (and when I saw wild, I really mean it):

1) That book and that key

As was pointed out by user goodbye432, we can see that Violet's key comes out of the book, but this key still remains.

I feel like this could be a gateway key that helps all the keys find each other? Or it could be the book that acts as a gateway. Or maybe both of them as a combination act as a gateway?

Point is, that key definitely isn't a key that gathers narratonin

It doesn't have the narratonin compartment that all the other keys have

The whole structure is different, actually.

So it's probably not a key that was in the original story-key roster. Maybe it was created after the other keys to help them find each other better? Maybe Nox himself created this key while he was still a human? Maybe Nox created this key after he became a key? Maybe Nox didn't have anything to do with it at all? Maybe it was accidentally made by a cat named Prunella?

Personally, I don't think that key is sentient (like, I don't think it has a tiny goober form like the other keys), either, but that really has no basis at all. It very well could.

2) Are the stories themselves sentient?

The story just wants to be enjoyed, the story just wants to be finished, the story doesn't want to be destroyed. The story's sounding an awful lot like a sentient creature right now.

We know that the keys don't decide anything about the story, and nor do the holders of the keys. So who decides when the story ends? Who decides the amount of enjoyment (and therefore the amount of narratonin) received from the story? My bet's on the story itself.

I don't think this is going to have much relevance in the actual plot, but it was just interesting to think about.

3) Silver is in on it

Silver knows something. This has such major foreshadowing with this particular panel:

and then the scene immediately cuts to Silver

Suspicious. Also, so far, Silver's key is the only key that was left around with a note. Bronze and Goldie were literally on sale in a flea market. Silver's key, on the other hand, was left in the library, very clearly intentionally. It was meant to be found, just not by Chase.

And why was Silver broken? What happened? Did she just like, fall? I don't think so.

This is not necessarily a bad thing, since we all know that Silver adores Chase as well as her family and would never agree to endanger them again. Maybe she escaped and was supposed to help the other keys escape too? Maybe she was supposed to help Nox escape? Maybe she did help some of the keys escape, but not the others? Maybe she's part of the FBI? Who knows? Not me, that's who.

4) What's up with Ex Libris anyway?

So far, we've been hearing of Ex Libris as this kind of Big Bad Organisation, but we've never actually seen them make a move? I think it's clear now that Nox wasn't working for the Ex Libris, but rather for his own motives, so it isn't as if the Ex Libris sent him either.

So does the Ex Libris just like, not know that half of it's keys are missing and another key is trying to turn human? Or does it know and is deciding to not do anything about it?

Or does it know and can't do anything about it? What if the Ex Libris has been disbanded, and the keys just don't know about it? That's not quite feasible, I know, considering that Violet and Buddy are probably in the Ex Libris facility right now but that's just our assumption, y'know? They might be in hiding. I'm pretty sure Ex Libris wouldn't want Buddy turning back into a human, so they're definitely going behind Ex Libris' back to do what they're doing, so why can't they be in hiding? Why can't they be totally unaware of what's going on in Ex Libris?

Or maybe the Ex Libris isn't evil at all? They seem more like a bunch of sleep-deprived scientists making one mad discovery after another. If I'm right about the artificial key Buddy theory (see this post) then I admit that would make them more evil, but maybe they're aware of that. Maybe they know that what they did was wrong, and regret it. Maybe all the unethical experimentation was done by a far, far older batch of the Ex Libris, and the new generation of the Ex Libris is strictly vegan and on the keys' side. Maybe they're choosing to help by ignoring. Maybe there's a helper on the inside. Maybe it's Chase's dance partner who never shows up to practices.

Maybe he never shows up to practices because he's too busy trying to save the keys from the Ex Libris. Poor guy.

5) Chase's friends

Yeah, they're definitely not just there to show us that hey! Chase actually has friends his own age! It just doesn't line up.

Maybe one of them's going to coincidentally show up in the same book as Chase and Nox some other time, and Nox is just going to stare at Chase and Chase will be like "Dude I swear I had absolutely no idea this time."

I just think that would be funny.

That's all I can think of right now. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, I'll be disappearing off of the face of Earth now.

(On a totally unrelated note, a few months ago, my school counsellor told me I should test for ADHD)

[bouquetface]

Vedic Observations 12

Accuracy influenced by the entire chart. Reading for only a few placements will never give the full story, the chart must be read as a whole for accuracy. take this as learner's info + entertainment.

Rahu in 9th House

The person can create their own belief/religious/moral system. They may respect and understand traditional belief's but they have their twist on how they interpret it. Rahu is the unconventional so this person's belief system will not be shared by most around them.

Rahu in 9th aspects 1st H, Rahu creates illusions and fogs up one's understanding of their purpose and self. Finding yourself takes time. This placement is unlikely to be the type of person who knew what they wanted to do from a young and actually proceed to do it. They have obstacles and confusion in finding themselves.

Rahu in 9th H aspects 5th H, this suggests your children could be unique in some way. If Venus is debilitated in D7, the children may be disabled. You could have a surprise/unplanned pregnancy occur. You could have a miscarriage shocking you. Something unconventional occurs in regard to what you create/your children. You could encounter deceptive romantic partners too.

This suggests foreign travel however Rahu is malefic. I've noticed they can have hardship in foreign places. They can have hardship in finishing higher education too. Often, this placement will try their best to seek higher education - formally or informally.

Rahu is a rebel, 9th H deals with the Law in certain cases this gives someone with loose morals. ex: criminals. This placement can find ways to justify their wrongdoings using religion or other corrupt thinking. ex: someone who discriminates and uses God as excuse for their ignorance. Or someone who breaks the law but thinks it's okay because they've had a hard life.

Rahu aspects the 3rd House when in 9th H. The relationship with siblings can become distant at some point. In extreme cases, you can have a sibling die before old age. You can have unique thinking possibly corrupt and/or obsessive thinking.

There may be something unconventional about your father. Depending on the entire chart, the father can be a loser in society or very strict with you. How this manifests will vary - ex: father is of a different religion, father has a unique career, father is foreign from your mother, father is not conforming to the father/masculine role, etc. Your father or his side of the family may live in foreign lands.

For better or for worse, your life/future is majorly dependent on your father and his side of the family. If they are loving and supportive, you will do well. If they don't, you will struggle a lot. They can make your life Hell.

Jupiter in 11th House

Jupiter aspects 3rd, 5th and 7th house from the 11th H. Unless Jupiter is debilitated, it can provide blessings to these houses. Accuracy is dependent on entire chart tho. If these houses have debilitated or malefics in them, you may not see any blessings - however the hardships are unlikely to be worst case scenario.

Aquarius Moon

Feeling like an outsider. Being an outsider. Finding it hard to relate to others. People find it hard to relate to you - some people hate what they can't understand.

I've noticed often aqua moon celebs get comments describing them as "depressing" "monotone" + get jokingly accused of being an alien.

Aqua moons get 1 of 2 reactions when first getting to know someone - ppl are fascinated by them or ppl are weirded out by them. The entire chart will influence the exact experience for each person.

Repressed emotions. Delayed emotional reaction - they can experience something difficult, refuse to think/process it until much later. They'll become an emotional wreck (usually in secret) when everyone else has moved on. Lonely & isolating moon sign.

Parents Appearance:

4th House & 9th House can correlate to physical traits of your mother & father.

ex: Saturn Aqua 4th H - this person’s mom is very tall. Cancer Mars 9th H - their father is shorter than their mother.

Early Death of Parents:

9th H in vedic shows father. This person has 9th H ruler (Jupiter) conjunct Ketu in Natal. At age 11, they had their Jupiter/Ketu dasha+bhukti period. Their father died.

This person has Moon conjunct Ketu. At age 5, this person had their Moon/Ketu dasha+bhukti period. Their mom died.

[loveandleases]

Here's G version, of this ask.

Shit, you're nervous. Each second that G remains quiet, each passing glance pulling another thread of your resolve.

Their fingers glide along the curve of your spine, brushing against the delicate fabric that kisses your skin. You wanted to look good – irresistible even. To see their composure crack, feel that glimmer of heat in their touch and lips that finds you late at night.

You’ve craved to feel their breath fanning your thighs again, and your fingers pulling at their hair like it did in Em’s kitchen. When G looked up at you, lips – swollen, slick. A perfect example of aroused and enamored.

They pull you against their chest, their warm breath against the shell of your ear. “Why did you choose this outfit?” Their fingers brush against the corseted ties holding your pants together, a single tug away from being undone.

Your breath hitches as you feel their fingers along the sliver of skin left uncovered. “Do you not like it?” you say far more breathless than you intended.

God, this is cruel. The way you can see the corners of their eyes lift with their smile as they press their cheek against yours. Tilting your head to the side with their other hand.

G shakes their head and for a moment, your heart drops. You don’t want to admit you care that they dislike your outfit. But you did pick it out in hopes it would stir something up within them. G can be so hot and cold; that it drives you crazy. Their touch, the way they lower their voice so that it affects you more, yet their words are the opposite.

Sometimes you wondered if it was their way of toying with you, wanting you to argue to make the air around you tense and heated. Only to have the two of you crash into one another later.

“I hate it.” They whisper, their lips brushing your skin but not giving way to a kiss.

There’s no hiding your disappointment, your voice practically drips of it. “Why?”

G’s fingers ghost against the ties, taunting. Always taunting. Each brush ignites a battle of push and pull, of temptation and restraint. Their fingers shift, and for a moment you think they’ll undo them. Leave you bare.

But the more you’ve come to know G. The more you’ve learned how hard they deny themselves what they want. Be that you, or anything else. Always putting themselves last. So, maybe just this once, you’ll remove that struggle of indecision. Refuse to let them straddle the line. Your hands cover theirs, refusing to let them move from the ties.

“Tell me,” you press, voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “Why do you hate it.”

“Because…” Their pulse races beneath your touch. “Because it’s making it hard to think. You make it hard to think.

It’s a good reason, knowing how much G likes to be in control of themselves. Everything was thought out and easily predicted. Nothing to get in their way, or their plans. Well, their parents’ plans.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“Because it scares me.” They whisper, voice raw. “Wanting you, letting you in. It all scares me, thinking I have a choice.”

“You do.”

“Not for most things.” They admit, as their sturdy walls crumble. “My father made sure of that. Go to school, and become a surgeon. Follow in his footsteps. Follow his plan. Always his plan.”

“And me?”

G’s breath catches, “I couldn’t have planned for you in my wildest dreams. And now… now I’m looking at my future, and the only thing I’m sure of is that I want you in it. I don’t care about the rest, and it terrifies me.”

“I want you there too. In my future.” And you couldn’t mean it more, not when you turn to look in their eyes. Eyes that were once full of suspicion, and cold. Now so trusting, and warm. And only looking at you, always at you.

“You really mean that?”

There’s no hesitation in your nod. No hesitation when your lips meet and G sinks into them. Relaxing against the heat of your body and the taste of your kiss.

That tension from earlier returns, with each flick of a tongue and each pass of G’s hand along the ties of your pants. G’s fingers brush along your thighs, growing braver. As you pull away, to catch your breath, you see the question in their eyes. And watch as it vanishes when your hands cover theirs, tugging lightly at the ties. Encouraging them to make their choice.

And they do, boldy. Despite the tremor in their fingers, despite the fear of what comes next. One pull is all it takes for them to put themselves, what they want, who they want. First.

[kivino]

MEANT FOR EACH OTHER || ZOMBIE AU || KÖNIG X READER || PART I

sum. A deep-seated paranoia takes hold of you. Every hour of the day, you feel like you’re being watched. Followed. And you’re not wrong. So observant, so beautiful and perfect, but always dismissed by your group, left behind, not paid even a sliver of attention. How tragic. It’s okay though. König is here to do right by you. F̶̖̓͆̕͝o̷̢͚̲̬̍͠r̶͖̝̾̊̍̾e̸͔͇̣̓̈̊̾v̶̛͚͕́͗͝e̷̤̻͔͎̅̑̽r̴̝̬̩̘͒̒̃ ̴͔͆͋̈͝ȃ̷̢̭̯n̶̡̜̫͚̉̌̊̒ḍ̷̩̲̹͝ ̷̖̔͌͘ả̶̡̬̥͊l̶͕̇̓̄w̴̺̥̋̂͠ä̷̢̢̝́̒͗y̴̳̦̙̕ŝ̶͕̋̀.̵̝̱͒̌̅̆

tags. zombie au (twdg inspired), stalking, obsessive behavior, themes of paranoia, fear, distrust, isolation  

w.c. 2.7k

a.n. i had a post about this fic quite some time ago, but only got to finishing this fic right about now. it’s my bad, folks! still, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! let me know your thoughts and like and reblog, please!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

You were not okay. Unstable. Dangerous to the group. That’s what you kept hearing every time you would try to speak up about your worries. “Help your fellow man” your ass. Delusional assholes, all of them, you thought, after having to endure this torture that appeared endless. Constant paranoia eating away at you, piece by piece, making you look over your shoulder more than look straight ahead, forcing your sleep to become so light you’d wake up from the slightest shifts of your companions dosing off in the tents beside yours. Or from the wind rattling the rusted metal sheets on the roof of the abandoned storage house you camped out in. You felt exhausted which was no less shitty than being unheard. Or, rather, straight up ignored.  

It’s been weeks…months of it? You weren’t quite sure anymore. You had trouble tracking the days at this point in time, any disruption turning you into a likeness of a jittery rabbit – head on a swivel, ready to dart at the merest visible sign of this…unknown and incomprehensible danger. So naturally, days blended into nights, and nights would smother themselves in-between the days, and there was no end to it. At times, anything felt as a sign of some foreign, unfamiliar and very unwelcome presence. The whole world ending, shriveling away into a primitive, disconnected and scattered realm of endless violence was bad enough, but then there was something else…You weren’t quite sure what started out this deep terror within you. But you just knew, after bumping into someone’s empty, but clearly frequently used hideout in a dingy, and frankly, nasty motel, nothing has been the same.

Stretches of makeshift barbed wire across all the fences and, in places, even the ground, where the passage wasn’t interrupted by wrecked cars forming a barricade in front of the dark building with the windows boarded up shut. As you approached the place, you swore you could hear a low purr of a generator and smell the fuel, heavy in the air, and thick on your tongue. However, the place, though well protected, seemed to be deserted. Not a sign of a human presence from a quick glance. A lawn chair on the second floor of the motel, right behind a study looking railing with the paint rubbed off in the center, however, threw you off a little bit, as well as the doors, either locked, or boarded up shut from the inside. No bodies, no signs of fight or struggle, very little blood, while the place itself was locked up so tight you’d think a herd of was mere hours away from reaching it. Who’d put so much effort into making this motel a fortress, only to then abandon it, since there were no bodies that would suggest an attack from the walkers, or a raid from a fellow man.

Things clearly didn’t line up and you didn’t like that. Your group, however, didn’t bother with technicalities and nuance. Safe place was a safe place, end of story. Having nothing to offer in terms of resources – apart from a couple of already ransacked vending machines, the motel was quickly moved on from after the group spent the night. Since no one managed to get a single door, but the one leading to the laundry room of the dreary place open, the decision was made to sleep in the tents within the barricaded parking lot. “You’re welcome to freeze your ass off outside the fence, if you’d like, love, I couldn’t give two shits” – grumbled Rory, a woman in her thirties, who was clearly not having your cautious behavior. You were more than sure that she probably had to sleep in places much colder and dangerous than this dirty godforsaken motel, so you let it go. That night was the last night of undisturbed and calm sleep you’ve had before the unrest took hold.

You haven’t told anyone (as if that would change anything, your mind adds with palpable bitterness), but you swore there was something at that motel. Always conveniently just out of the corner of your eye, avoiding you so well you were ready to scream in frustration at the lack of substantial evidence for your suspicions. A giant, hulking shadow, faster than your reaction speed. A suspicious, bright glint from stuffy darkness of a boarded-up window. A loose stretch of a chain-link fence with dull grass crushed underneath. But then, why would it be? Unless it pinned the lifeless blades of greenery to the ground while sliding out (or in) below the fence.  

Of course, without outright noticeable evidence it was just that. It. But you were just scared to admit that this shapeless, inexplicable “It" you kept in your thoughts day and night, waking up and going to bed with an insistent tremble in your chest and shaky hands, was someone. That this “It” would suddenly develop a form, a conscience. Then, a goal. You didn’t like that. Not in the slightest. Frankly, who would like the phantoms that reside in their mind to suddenly become real? Nobody. And definitely not fucking you.

Regardless of your limitless turmoil and anxiety, non-stop coiling within your gut, you had to wake up. Stirring awake in your stuffy, hot tent, you don’t waste any time finding a zipper on the cheap rainproof fabric and dragging it down, to let some (relatively) fresh air inside, letting your lungs enjoy it while it lasts. Your group of seven has already been obviously busy; you can hear some chatter and clacking of pots over the fire in the middle of the camp. Didn’t even wake you up? Odd. You’ll take it though. An extra hour of sleep is better than none.

You shuffle towards the opening in your tent, your hand snaking towards the half-empty backpack, laying on its side right in your reach. Empty-minded, you let your fingers pick at a bunch of zippers and clasps, while rubbing your eyes off the scarce leftover sleep. Your hand, much like a lithe spider finally gets inside the backpack to pull a sweatshirt out, until you hear a clear, almost deafening crunch of plastic in the morning quiet.

You can feel the blood in your veins turn to ice.

The hand snakes deeper inside, trying to get a feel of this plastic package that was definitely not there last night, before you went to sleep. Finally, you fish out multiple packs of ramen from your belongings and you sit there for a moment, in silence that only you can comprehend.

None of your group store their food in their personal backpacks. You included. Nobody went on any supply runs this week. And you definitely don’t remember ever having problems with sleepwalking. Your head finds its way into your hands. There “It” is again. You’re on the verge of hysteria. And even if your try to say something, it’s going to be the same song, all over again.

“You’re overthinking simple things.”

“Maybe you put it there before, but just…forgot about it?”

“What does it matter anyway? You’ve got more food to last you, would you stop being hung up over nothing?”

Same things, same voices, same thoughts. You were sick of it. Utterly and completely.

Finally!

You found it!  König could feel a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as you took out the gift he so carefully placed in the bag during the night. Sneaking around the other tents, careful with every step, suffocated with anticipation and worry. Now he had the perfect view of you from the shattered roof window of the storage house, which couldn’t have made the moment any better. Setting up this vantage point was his best decision yet…Apart from deciding to trail behind you, tagging along until your useless group members make the slightest mistake that will cost them their life. And then, König will be able to swoop in, finally help you openly, get you to join him (because why wouldn’t you? Your refusal was not even a possibility in his mind). The mere thought sent shivers of excitement down his body, sweet and languid. He couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of peeking out from behind the window once again, tilting his head ever so slightly, so his dark hood is not too visible over the vivid backdrop of the winter sky – off-grey and dull, much like a dirty slush that was this year’s snow, resting in a thick, melting blanket over the dark earth.

His eyes are zeroed in on you, squinting through the bright light penetrating even the dull clouds hanging over the earth and he could just feel the familiar, loving tremble in his chest when he sees you taking out his little surprise from your bag. It would seem that you’re lost for words – clutching your poor little head in your hands, mulling over who it might be from. Or maybe you’re already drowning in despair, deep in the realization that no one from your group can protect you properly, if someone was able to sneak into the camp in the middle of the night. Yes! Yes… König couldn’t have asked for a better reaction.

This…utter distress you were displaying, fanned the flames within him like no other person ever managed to, even before the world has ended. Frankly, anything you did would set off this insistent, lasting spark deep within his chest, burning König up from inside out, until it felt like he was smoldering if his eyes couldn’t catch a glimpse of you for too long. His insides would churn with an unknown, heavy feeling, it almost felt like he was drowning in a bog, being dragged down in the depths of his mind with little to no resistance. Only catching a glimpse of you helped to stop that feeling. So, keeping away just wasn’t an option. Never was. Never will be. And how could it ever be, if even in his restless dreams he searched for you, while every waking thought revolved around you. How determined he was to see his plan through, how desperate for the closer presence of your light in his life, finally being able to bask in it without your disgusting group getting in the way.

König never thought the accidental encounter at the motel he’s been holed up in would end up in him packing up everything he had to follow your useless group. You. You were the first living soul he’s seen up close since the world started falling apart so rapidly. It awakened something he completely forgot about in the months he hasn’t seen any people. The newfound hope.

Your carefree smile near the bonfire first confused him. How can you be happy and laugh the way you did when nothing around you was in its original state – shattered, broken, locked, rotten, spoiled or otherwise; when he the danger was around the corner, lurking just out of reach, ready to pounce and consume the measly, weak remains of humanity any time. Nothing to smile about for him. Despite his initial, less than generous assumption about your mental abilities and level of intelligence, you proved more cautious and careful than any people from your group. Stupid jackasses, satisfied with the surface-level search. How pathetic.

It would be such a pleasure to finally get rid of them. Give them all that they deserved. Every blow, every bite and every scratch. But not from him, sadly. He has to be even more careful, so you don’t have any basis to even assume König had anything to do with their deaths. He’ll…nudge them in the direction of death, but he will not be the deliverer of justice. As much as he wished he could.

Not you, though. Oh, never you. That day, as König peeked from the darkness of the motel room around him, through tiny slits in the dusty curtains that obscured everything behind the wooden boards he hammered in himself, you seemed like you started figuring something out, looking over the spots of the motel he most often frequented. Almost like you could feel or see his presence there, only hours ago.

Carefully, but nonchalantly walking around vending machines, the good spot overlooking the front gate and the parking lot with König’s chair on the second-floor balcony, his sleeping spot on warm nights, in a bed of a pickup truck, and finally, attempting to open the room where the man would sort through the supplies he had. When he was completely shrouded in darkness of said supply room, it felt like you could see right through it, like you caught sight of him through the dirty glass window. Your narrowed eyes, suspicion-ridden expression, laced with fear at the same time that he glimpsed at before tearing himself away from the handmade peephole in a manner too reluctant and terrified for him.

There and then, leaned on a wall with his breath short and face burning up under the hood that obscured his face, König realized. You shared a connection, deeper than any. You must be. How easily you picked apart each of the places that belonged to him, like you felt with your whole being the dark, smudged stains of his presence left behind, how observant you were, it couldn’t have been a simple lucky guess, he was sure of it. You were meant for each other. Yes, yes, that’s it! The world fell apart, but it was always supposed to happen, you would find each other no matter what. The thought, for the first time in many, so many months filled to the brim with blood, gore, loneliness and hunger filled him with comfort.

That was what drew him in, there was nothing easy or outright understandable about you to König. He didn’t mind, though. You were meant for each other, that was all that mattered. He would bathe the world in blood if it meant you’ll be there to find way into his arms. He’ll protect you, just like the comfort from the smallest glimpse of your charming self protected him from the darkness that caged him in for so long. Only König can protect you. You just didn’t know it yet.

Of course, he realizes that his attempts might be too…forward for you, but it was for the best. He was doing it for you only, for your wellbeing, and no one else’s. Of course, he could be much more discreet, yet instead König chose to be meticulous with how he approached leaving behind signs of his presence. It was charming and so, so endearing, how quickly you picked up on the smallest traces left by him, how your brows would knit together in careful consideration, piecing together every clue given to you by König’s generous hand. Like a conversation between only the two of you. König had to let you know that your savior, your protector is coming. He wasn’t worried about you pointing out things left by him to your group; figures that they would choose to ignore it – it wasn’t meant for them.

König cherished every expression, every tiny reaction you gave to the smallest traces of his presence, keeping them hidden, locked away in his mind, recalling every and each one while lulling himself to a sleep that was sure to bring more dreams of you. The man savored them like there was nothing better than seeing your eyes widen in horror, hand clasping over your mouth to contain a loud scream of terror, as you stumble across a large, neatly stacked pile of festering, unmoving walkers that just a day ago creeped upon the camp, with no one from your group noticing, as expected. Of course, König could easily dispose of the whole pile elsewhere, burn them, bury them, or dismember them until there was nothing but rotten mincemeat left on the ground, but he wanted to send another message, by leaving the bodies for his beloved to find. Just so you’ll know, he’ll do anything to keep you safe. Anything to keep you all to himself.

Or when the shuffling within you tent momentarily stop after he would intentionally snap a twig with his full weight while doing a round through your camp, intent on putting another food item in your bag. Clearly you took notice of someone lurking through the camp, but didn’t dare to check what was the noise you heard. How cute. König needed you to know that you won’t go hungry with him either – he’ll give away the last he has for you to last longer. The world will have a little more light with you in it, rather than with him.

König also knew you could see his shadow from the corner of your eye at times. Those days, he was intentionally being sloppy, allowing himself more and more of the simple, invigorating pleasures of taking in your beauty just a few more seconds before ducking behind the thick trunks, scattered bushes or a corner. His blood would come to a boil almost instantly, the hood that usually allowed for normal breathing would soon become suffocating for him, and his hands would start to tremble until his teeth would find a way to bite into his flesh, flashes of pain searing the incredibly joy the image of you gave him.

It was hard to wait. So hard to not act on his deep-seated, loving urges and finally take you all for himself, like it should be. Like it was meant to be. Every day without you in his arms felt more and more like torture, hours ticking away with him wasting himself out of your embrace he craved so restlessly. Anything seemed to remind him of you, pulling along the slow realization that you were not there to ease his heavy mind out of the instability that threatened to spill over in destructive, bloody violence. It was worse than bad. König needed you. So wholly and desperately he couldn’t exist or function in the way he was used to.

Soon. He’ll set everything in motion very soon. König already started carrying over all his stuff and equipment from the roof to a camp he put together carefully, a safe distance away from this storage house. You’ll need a safe place to stumble into, after all. And, from that safe place, right into his arms.

You won’t have a choice. Because you were meant for each other. You just didn’t know it yet.

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[shipping-receiving]

On vulnerability in Love Scout

I’ve been seeing a few comments here and there asking what Jiyun “offers” to Eunho and what she can bring to their potential relationship, especially considering how much he does for her both materially and emotionally. While this is one method of determining if their relationship is truly balanced, I wonder if a straightforward measurement of give-and-take can effectively assess their dynamic, especially given their current employer-employee status. After all, since Eunho is Jiyun's secretary, so much of his caretaking can be seen as a natural extension of his job scope, although of course he has gone above and beyond professional expectations (and boundaries).

Jiyun can’t easily reciprocate Eunho’s acts of service within the limits of their (thus far) professional relationship – even if she is starting to do so by buying him food and coffee etc. On top of that, she is an inherently guarded person. It’s difficult to say what she can “offer” because she’s not in a position to offer anything besides his salary. It’s also much easier to see the value that he has added to her life because her struggles were emphasised from the start in very visible ways (messiness, insomnia, her trip to the hospital), while he seemed to live a very full life with Byeol.

Therefore, perhaps a better measure of their mutual compatibility and support is in the vulnerabilities that they allow themselves to show around each other – when they let themselves to be something other than the ‘perfection’ that they’ve defined for themselves. Again, it’s more obvious when Jiyun’s walls come down (expressing joy, letting herself be helped/comforted, falling asleep), because it is such a contrast to her stern, no-nonsense, ultra-professional demeanour. With Eunho, it’s not so clear, because his warmth and compassion can easily be mistaken for openness. Yet his pleasantness can also be a shield; a way to deflect uncomfortable feelings by minimising himself for the well-being of others. The most obvious example of this is when he maintains his amiability even in the face of outright mistreatment from his former boss. But it’s also in how he defaults to being the pillar of strength and the ‘fixer’ in social situations. 

In fact, almost all of Eunho’s true moments of vulnerability and honesty have come only in Jiyun’s presence. First, and more circumstantially, the frustration and anger at her for trying to poach the developer in Episode 1, and his desperation to keep his new job as her secretary in Episode 2. Then, more purposefully, when he tells her about why he took paternal leave; the challenges of his previous job; the fact that he was orphaned at a young age; his worries about fatherhood. These are not the only times he’s discussed his anxieties with another character – he did so with his ex-colleague when he was in danger of losing his first job, and with Suhyeon when Jiyun was still being difficult – but both of those times, he was also binging something sugary as a coping mechanism, and speaking in generalities with a tone of resigned acceptance. He’s simply not in the habit of showing so much of himself (i.e. his ‘imperfections’) to another person; even his beloved senior/Mi-ae’s husband doesn’t know why he got divorced.

Of course, everything he has revealed to Jiyun has been in response to her very direct questions. But I don’t think it’s just about that. As much as Jiyun can be a mess, she is also a very stable and confident person who is a good judge of the characters and motivations of others. That’s what makes her so good at speaking to both clients and targets, which Eunho himself has observed first-hand. Jiyun inspires trust and respect, which is (part of the reason) why he feels comfortable revealing the parts of himself that aren’t so ‘put-together’. Furthermore, he’s seen that she’s not incapable of the sincerity that he so readily offers to other people, even while being very rational and principled. This is not just Eunho “rubbing off on her” as Jiyun observes in herself in Episode 6. It’s just that her sincerity, which is a form of emotional vulnerability for her, has often only felt ‘safe’ to use as a strategy in appropriate professional situations.

Jiyun’s interactions with Byeol shed further light on the positive aspects of Jiyun’s personality. It would have been easy for her character to be written as cold or awkward around kids. Instead, there is a mutual respect between her and Byeol, with whom she’s not afraid to discuss more difficult personal topics (at least in an abstract sense). Jiyun treats Byeol like a fully-formed person with agency, takes genuine interest in her independent of any connection to Eunho, and is able to be supportive in her own way without pandering or patronising. It’s the very things that make Jiyun “cool” in Byeol’s eyes that gives us clues about what Eunho admires in her.

In a recent interview (a very cute one conducted by Ki So-yu, who plays Byeol), Han Jimin says that with Eunho in her life, Jiyun’s “sharp and prickly points have softened and become smoother”. Conversely, I think Jiyun is someone who gives Eunho room to show the roughness beneath his rounder, gentler exterior, which he otherwise takes such pains to smooth over.

[anonymous-dentist]

Blood Moon

The rain, supposedly, is made of blood near the Vampire Castle.

Honestly? Bullshit, the rain is rain, and the moon is the moon, and Roier is going to die, and it's all normal. The grass is just as green as the grass back home is. The stars are the same; Roier waves goodnight to the same sun he's known his entire life when it sets every night.

It's kiiind of disappointing, t-b-h. Roier wants blood. He's going to the Vampire Castle: he wants blood.

The castle itself isn't that disappointing, at least: its tall black stone towers almost seem to touch the stars, and the roofs are the color of freshly-spilled blood.

It's all red: roofs, trees, gates, windows. The flowers planted along the path leading to the castle's broken bridge are red. The ragged banners hanging from the parapets are red. The dim, dying lanters dangling from the trees' skeletal overhanging branches are red.

Castelo Arabutã: the Vampire Castle.

Roier looks at the bones scattered among the road's ruined pavestones, and he smiles.

And then he looks back at the destroyed bridge in front of him, and his smile falls.

(A small hand tugs on the back of his coat impatiently: "Come on, Apa, you're too slow! I'm bored!")

The sun continues to set, complaining its way behind the horizon even through the growing storm clouds. The rain continues to fall. The wind continues to blow, tossing the tails of Roier's headband about like an impatient child.

There's a single light on in one of the castle's towers. It dances, laughing, and Roier is just a little homesick.

But, he figures, he can't die the way he wants back home.

So: onwards!

The bottomless pit beneath the bridge beckons him.

Roier tightens his backpack's straps and reties his boots. He cracks his neck and adjusts his headband.

He waves one final "Goodnight!" to the sun, and he silently asks it to watch over its mother for him.

And then he cracks his neck, lets out a breath, runs, and jumps.

-

The castle's front doors are easily the size of three Roiers stacked on top of each other. They're big and red and imposing and Quackity would probably be pissing himself at the sight of the literal actual gruesome murder scenes carved into the wood: there's a decapitation, two separate dudes getting sawed in half via the asscrack, a spike getting shoved up a different dude's ass... all that and more just on the square meter or so directly in front of Roier's face.

The door's knocker is a screaming skull cast in black iron.

Roier's hand only briefly hesitates over the knocker before grabbing it and, well, knocking.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK

The moon starts to rise, cutting silver through the storm, and Roier, finally, is ready to die.

Every child in the Federation knows about the Vampire King. He was born out of blood in a battle thousands of years ago, back before the Federation was even formed. His name was discarded when his humanity was; he's hardly anything more than a bloodthirsty tyrant these days, plotting to destroy the Federation and restore his fallen kingdom with absolutely no considerations aimed towards the common people outside of what blood types they might have.

Famously, the Vampire King kills anyone who visits his castle: vampire hunters, lost travelers, curious historians. Idiots.

Roier knocks again, knuckles white.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK

Roier's abuelo was a vampire hunter, now forcefully retired and in prison for treason. Roier's best friend (..."friend") is still a vampire hunter. Roier has gone through the training himself, and his son was supposed to start it in the upcoming fall.

Once upon a time, Roier was supposed to be a hunter. Then he met Jaiden.

Now, he's doing what every Federation citizen knows not to do, and he's knocking on the Vampire King's front door.

Thunder rolls, and Roier drops his hand from the knocker and slips it into his coat pocket. His fingers wrap around a loose coin and start flipping it between themselves idly as he waits.

And, oh, he waits.

Nobody knows what the Vampire King looks like. Paintings back home portray him as some tall skinny old man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut a steak with. Roier's abuelo said that he looks like how a cat would look if it was turned into an ugly man by an evil wizard. Cucurucho never spoke of him, probably because they've always been pissy about their twin brother having a huge embarrassing crush on Roier.

What Roier does know is this: the Vampire King is apparently really bad at answering the door.

(Besides, it doesn't matter what he looks like. All Roier cares about is how sharp his teeth are.)

Lightning.

Roier jumps and swears as it strikes a tree back across the bridge and catches it on fire.

He turns to look at it, eyes widening as the tree's leaves all seem to shake the fire off of themselves like a dog coming in from the rain.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck starts to stand on end. His abuelo always told him that he had good instincts, so-

The door opens with a rush of wind and a screamed CREEEAK!! and a cold hand grabs Roier by the back of his coat and then, suddenly, abruptly, suddenly, he's getting dragged inside the castle by a force so strong that it has to be otherworldly.

Roier fights and kicks and reaches out on instinct towards the door even as it shuts, closed by an unseen force.

And then he stops fighting because he remembers, right. He's here for a reason.

He goes limp just in time to be let go and spun around by a hand on either one of his shoulders.

He blinks a few times in surprise as he comes face-to-face with... a guy.

A very pathetic-looking guy.

"Please tell me that you're the babysitter," he begs, a faint accent to his voice that clues him out as distinctly not from the Federation.

His fingers curl into the red fabric of Roier's coat desperately- black painted nails, bitten short.

"Um," says Roier, looking vaguely over the very stressed man's shoulder for the guy supposed to kill him.

The inside of the castle is... nice? Large throne in the middle of the room with a toy bear on the seat. Professionally-done paintings alongside childlike sketches. Crayons and pieces of paper scattered across the floors. A couple of miniature toy cows next to an unpolished, bloody suit of armor.

(His heart clenches, and he fights back tears. It won't do to cry right before dying, that's sad as hell and not how Roier wants to go out!)

There's a faint crash from upstairs and a laugh, and the extremely tired-looking man in front of Roier sighs and hangs his head.

He's... nice? Nice looking. Definitely someone Roier would be more interested in looking at if he wasn't two seconds away from his planned demise: slightly curly hair with a rather charming white streak in it, pierced ears. But then there are the circles under his eyes and the scabs on his lips and-

"I will literally give you a hundred sovereigns if you can get him to go to sleep," the man pleads, looking Roier right in the eyes.

-and the fangs.

Roier is still holding onto his coin, somehow. He squeezes it until the grooves on its sides dig into his palm.

"I don't even care if you're the babysitter," the Vampire King groans, backing off and scrubbing his face with his hands. "I'm just- Richas!"

He snaps his head up and shouts at the ceiling. Roier doesn't know what he's saying, and he definitely doesn't know what the... what the child in the room above them is saying back- are they speaking Purtuguse? Does Roier know Purtuguse?

The Vampire King has a nice side profile. His sleeves are stained brown with long-dried blood, and his vest is stained with blue paint.

Roier wants to cry.

He lets go of the coin and swallows a lump in his throat.

He offers the Vampire King a very charming smile and says, "Lead the way."

(Because he may have come to the castle to die, but he will never subject a child to the sound of someone's last moments.)

The Vampire King looks about ready to cry out of relief as he flips his cape and starts walking towards a side hallway and a red brick staircase leading up, up, and away.

Roier follows. What else can he do?

The Vampire King rambles as they walk, "I don't actually sleep, Pac probably already told you about this, but Richas does, but I don't know how to get a human to sleep anymore, and he won't sleep, and I can't work until he's asleep, and..."

And he keeps talking. He doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it, he's almost delirious in his exhaustion. (Because that's what he has, exhaustion, Roier was a soldier for long enough to know the signs when he sees them.)

Roier tries not to think about the fact that the Vampire King does not, in fact, look like an old man or a cat man or however Cucurucho imagines him. He looks like somebody Roier would have met at Maxo's tavern on a Friday night, or one of the army's reject drafts.

He's short. He's wearing heeled boots, and Roier is still taller than him. Not by much, but! The Vampire King!

The stairwell is long and winding and decorated with dark sigils and painted smiley faces.

The door at the top of the stairwell is bright blue and definitely cleaner than the rest of the castle seems to be. It's... new. Roier thinks. New, and blue.

The Vampire King stops right in front of the door and knocks once, says, "Richas, the babysitter is here."

"Fuck the babysitter!" the child inside shouts.

The Vampire King shoots Roier an apologetic look. His eyes don't look like they're... all there. He's seeing, but he isn't seeing. He's tired, and Roier almost feels bad for him. Almost.

"His other dad always puts him to bed," the Vampire King softly explains. "But Felps is..."

His eyes start to drift, and, for a moment, he actually looks like he's about to cry.

Roier, not willing to watch his future killer have a depressive breakdown, walks right past him and opens the door and walks right into the kid's room with absolutely no thoughts in his head.

He easily dodges a squishy horse toy thrown at his head and leans up against a little wooden desk, hands slipping into his pants' pockets. He looks the kid, stood on top of his bed in a pair of bright yellow pajamas, up and down.

"Hey," Roier says.

He ducks his head to the side to avoid a cow to the head.

The Vampire King slips into the room and closes the door behind him, probably trying to avoid an escape attempt.

The kid points at him accusingly. "You're locking me in here!"

"You need to sleep," the Vampire King sighs. "See? The babysitter agrees."

He nods towards Roier, who just sort of goes along with it, because what else can he do? He doesn't care about anything anymore, what's wrong with going along with the bit?

The kid huffs and flops down so he's sitting criss-cross on his bed. "I don't know him."

"And I don't know you," Roier shrugs. "Doesn't mean I can't get you to go to sleep. I have my ways."

The kid narrows his eyes. "If you touch me, you're dead."

(Gods, he's just like...)

"I don't need to touch you," Roier says. "See, I'm not just a babysitter. I'm also a monster hunter, and I just saw a monster outside."

To the kid's credit, he doesn't super react. But he's also a literal child, and Roier is a literal dad; he knows how to read a kid's face better than he knows how to read a damn book.

Roier pushes off of the table and starts pacing, looking around the room as if looking for a monster.

"It was tall," he continues, voice dropping slightly in volume as he decides to play this shit up, "and its eyes were made of glass. It was looking up at your window and licking its lips because it's the most dangerous monster of all."

He looks around some more before dramatically leaning in and whispering to the kid, "El Mariana."

The child gasps as if he knows what that is.

The Vampire King bites his lip to hold back a smile.

Roier nods, dead serious (pun intended, thanks.) "Mhmm. It's outside waiting to get in and eat you, but! I'm sure you know this, but it can't see you if you can't see it."

The Vampire King adds, "He's right. I saw it, too, that's why I brought him inside. And you know I hate guests."

The kid shuffles slightly towards his pillows and blankets, all piled on top of each other at the end of his bed.

"The best way to trick El Mariana is to close your eyes," Roier explains. "It'll think that you're asleep, and it won't eat you."

The child looks up at the Vampire King. "But it won't get into the castle, right?"

The Vampire King sighs, "I don't know, Richas. Normally, no, but I haven't been able to get Bagi here to fix the wards. Anything can get in."

"I know I'm going to go find someplace to sit down and close my eyes in until morning," Roier says. "I don't wanna get eaten, thanks."

There's an awkward silence as the child looks up at Roier, eyes narrowed in thought.

And then, thankfully, he nods and starts to lay down and adjust his pillows until they're comfy.

"Fine," he grumbles.

He looks up at the Vampire King and adds, "You better get the magic fixed before Pai Felps gets back. He won't taste very good."

The Vampire King nods. "Of course, I'll write to Bagi as soon as the monster is gone."

With one last unhappy grunt, the child closes his eyes, and the room's candles immediately, magically dim.

The Vampire King lets out a relieved breath and slips out the door, leaving it open for Roier to follow.

As they make their ways back down the tower, Roier awkwardly says, "Uh, so..."

The Vampire King nods. "Right, the sovereigns. Give me a..." (He yawns.) "...a minute and I'll get them to you. But you shouldn't leave until the morning, it's a little nasty outside."

On cue, lightning flashes outside so brightly that it turns the vampire's skin translucent.

The Vampire King yawns again, showing off his fangs.

Roier gulps, out of sight behind him.

Who else does he trust to murder him but the most murderous guy on the planet? No one else will get the job done. Everyone else has morals. The Vampire King, famously, does not.

The Vampire King, apparently, is near delirious from exhaustion.

He wont be a good killer now. Roier... should wait until he's more awake. Then, he might even be violent about it.

Casually, Roier shrugs and says, "I dunno, I might stick around for a bit. You need a babysitter, right?"

The Vampire King turns his head to look at him, and Roier just smiles.

Who knows? Maybe he'll get lucky and get slaughtered in his sleep.

(Maybe then he'll get to tuck his own son into bed again...)