#I feel like I’ve been cast out of gender

[scatteredcloud]

I’ve been feeling what I can only describe as gender dysphoric again and I must ask. For what?

[0x-cinder]

Fem! Reader (gendered language)has been flirting with Luffy for months, and she's starting to lose hope. Will Luffy prove her wrong?

Content Warnings: none?

Lovesickness

It was a bright, peaceful afternoon for the Strawhats. Each member enjoyed their usual activities while the captain looked out to sea atop the ship's figurehead.

You watched him from where you sat with Nico Robin as she read, holding Chopper in your lap.

Even from this angle, the captain was beautiful. His dark hair blew in the breeze as he sat, rocking side to side in contentment. You didn’t have to see it to know that he had his signature joyful smile painted all over his face.

Just imagining it made your heart flutter.

“Ugh, this is so frustrating.” You sighed, running your hands through your hair.

Nico Robin looked up from the book she was reading.”What is?”

“Luffy.” You replied.

“What about him?”

“I’ve been flirting with him for months, and he still doesn’t get it!” You exclaimed, “Not even Nami’s tips are working.”

“Luffy’s an idiot.” Chopper chimed in, still focused on the chocolate bar he was snacking on, “He’ll notice eventually.”

“Maybe it’s already working.” Robin offered, “He’s been quite touchy with you recently.”

“He’s touchy with everyone.” You deadpanned, “It’s Luffy.”

“I think that’s just your self-doubt talking.” She said, closing her book in her lap. “You don’t see what we do.”

Chopper nodded in agreement. “Robin’s right! Remember yesterday when I showed you my medical drawing, and he appeared out of nowhere just to hug you?”

You felt your cheeks begin to burn at the memory. Luffy had done similar things in the past, from randomly bringing you snacks to share to casually swinging his arm around your shoulder or linking your arm with his while walking.

“And,” Chopper continued, taking another bite of his chocolate bar, “When you asked him why, he said he ‘just felt like it’ and left?”

You cast a doubtful look at Robin, “He doesn’t do that to either of you?”

They both shook their heads.

“You know there’s only one way to find out…” Robin said with a smile, “Just tell him how you feel.”

Your eyes widened, “No! I can’t do that! What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if he doesn’t want me on the ship anymore?”

Robin chuckled. “Luffy wouldn’t kick you out. If he doesn’t feel the same, he’ll probably assume you’re confessing platonic love.”

You buried your face in your hands, “That’s even worse.”

“Well, you won’t know until you try.” Robin shrugged, opening her book and leaning back in her chair to continue reading.

You considered her words for a moment. She was right. You wouldn’t truly know how Luffy felt unless you said something to him.

“I’ll think about it.” You sighed.

Chopper shifted from your lap onto Robin’s as you stood, “I’m gonna ask Sanji for a snack.” You said before dismissing yourself.

You didn’t really need a snack, just a moment to yourself.

Robin’s words echoed through your mind as you made your way to your room.

How on earth am I supposed to tell him? You thought anxiously.

How would he react?

Would things change between us if my feelings aren't reciprocated?

Suddenly, a solid object in your path knocked you out of your thoughts. Startled, you looked up to see the beaming eyes of your captain looking back at you.

“Woah, watch where you’re going.” Luffy laughed, “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

Your heart rate picked up, “Uhm- nothing important.” You stammered.

Tell him now. Your mind screamed. Just get it over with.

“Are you okay? You look…Upset.” He asked with a concerned look, reaching out to take your arm.

You froze. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t speak.

Luffy waited for a response, his worried eyes focused on you.

You looked away and stepped around him. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.” You said quietly, walking away before he could interrogate you further.

Luffy’s eyes remained on your back as you departed. He’d been happy to see you; he hadn’t spoken to you all day, and it was killing him.

Is she mad at me or something? His heart grew heavy at the thought.

Once you were out of sight, Luffy placed his hand over his chest, reacting to the unfamiliar feeling. Usually, his heart felt lighter when you were around.

“What is going on with me? Am I sick or something?” He said quietly to himself.

The captain decided he’d talk to Chopper, just to be safe, and continued in the direction you’d come from to find Chopper and Robin in the same place you’d just left them.

Chopper waved as Luffy approached and opened his mouth to greet him.

“Chopper, I think I’m sick or something.” Luffy explained before the doctor could speak, “Is there a sickness that only affects you when you’re around a certain person?”

“You mean…You think someone got you sick?” Chopper asked, confused, “What are your symptoms?”

Luffy thought for a moment before responding, “No. It’s more like…When she smiles at me, my heart starts beating weird.” He started, his ears turning a light shade of pink. “When I touch her, warmth spreads around my body like I have a fever.” He clutched his chest, still aching from seeing the conflicted look in your eyes when he'd run into you moments ago. “When she’s hurt or upset, my chest starts feeling heavy.”

“She?” Robin asked, putting her book down with a smile and shooting a knowing look at Chopper.

“Y-yeah?” Luffy replied, a blush spreading across his cheeks, “See? Just thinking about her makes me feel fuzzy.”

Robin laughed. “That’s what we call lovesickness.”

“Lovesickness…” Luffy repeated, tilting his head in confusion. His eyes darted to Chopper, “Is there a cure?”

“It’s not a real sickness that has a cure, Luffy,” Chopper grinned, “All the symptoms you’ve described tell me that you’re in love.”

Luffy’s eyes widened as it clicked in his mind. For the past month and a half, he’d spent countless hours trying to rationalize the way you made him feel but he'd just been harboring feelings for you the whole time. He felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“So this is what a crush feels like?” Luffy asked, more as a note to himself rather than a question he needed an answer to.

A wave of determination washed over him. He had to share this with you. Now that he knew what the feeling was, what it meant, he couldn’t keep it from you.

“How do I tell her? Do you think she feels the same about me?” He asked his two crewmates.

“Pick a time and a place, then tell her you want to talk to her.” Robin advised, “Then just speak from your heart.”

“Oooh! Then kiss her!” Chopper added with a nod, “That’s important.”

“Kiss her?” Luffy pondered, “But wouldn’t that be awkward if she doesn’t-"

“Don’t overthink it, Luffy. Trust us.” Chopper giggled excitedly.

Luffy turned to Robin inquisitively. She nodded in agreement.

The captain grinned. “All right. I’m gonna do it! Thanks, guys!”

“Any time.” Robin chuckled.

---

You spent the rest of the day in your room, avoiding Luffy. Completely overthinking the way you’d practically run away from him earlier.

A knock sounded at your door. “Mon amour,” Sanji’s voice said through the wood, dripping with its usual devotion, “dinner will be ready in ten. I made one of your favorites!”

“Okay, thanks, Sanji. I’ll be down in a bit,” You called, beginning to prepare yourself to leave the safety of your room.

“Also, Luffy’s looking for you.” The cook added with much less enthusiasm.

You froze, your heart pounding in your ears, “Okay” was all you said.

Sanji’s footsteps faded away, leaving you alone once again.

“Fuck it.” You said eventually, tired of wallowing in self-pity. You opened your door and made your way to the top deck.

Suddenly, two arms wrapped around you from behind. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You jumped and spun around to face Luffy, “Jeez, you scared me, Lu!”

He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, “Sorry, I’ve just been lookin’ for you everywhere. I’ve got somethin’ to tell you.”

“Okay?” You fiddled with the tips of your fingers.

“It’s important.” He looked around, “But not here. Follow me.”

The captain grabbed your hand and began leading you towards the front of the ship.

He stopped just before the ship’s figurehead and turned to you, taking both of your hands in his. “Okay. This is my favorite place on the ship, so I think this is a good spot.” He fidgeted nervously, and his expression turned serious.

“Luffy, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Luffy took a deep breath, squeezing your hands gently.

Then he brought his lips down onto yours.

Your eyes widened in shock as your body tensed.

Luffy slid his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him. Warmth radiated through your body, and you relaxed into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.

It was a soft, affectionate kiss. The captain

kept his hands where they were despite wanting to touch elsewhere. He wanted to claim every part of you as his. He'd watched Nami demolish Sanji enough times to be wary of how he touched women.

You pulled away after a moment, needing a moment to process the event.

Luffy tilted his head in confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head. “No, no, that was…” you looked away shyly, “...Good.”

Luffy smiled his wide, goofy smile. “That’s a relief; I thought you were gonna turn me down for a second.”

“Why would I ever do that? You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”

He tensed, his ears turning a vibrant shade of pink. “I am?”

You nodded.

His smile grew even more comprehensive, “Then you’re the kindest, funniest, and most beautiful woman I’ve met.”

“Luffy! Get your dirty paws off her!” Sanji’s angry voice sounded from the deck below, interrupting the moment you and Luffy were in the middle of. “Dinner’s ready!”

Luffy laughed, ignoring Sanji’s demand to let you go. “Finally! I'm starving!”

“You're always hungry, Luffy.” You chuckled.

“I can't help it! I gotta have enough energy to protect what's mine.” He winked, “Let's go eat!”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You were his.

[starry-fame]

18+ Overboard [Caleb x Gender Neutral!reader/MC]

Summary:

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

Like a moth to a flame, you follow.

Tags: Smut, Pining, Confessions, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Begging Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 11,734

Author's Notes: I posted this a while ago on ao3 and wanted to try tumblr as well! I can also post silly MC stuff and character edits haha. Anyway, I hope Caleb lovers enjoy! Also, certain parts technically aren't canon as of A World Underneath release, but that's okay :')

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Sequel - Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

It burns.

The air’s filled with plumes of smoke, darkened to an ugly red clouded in ash. It waters your eyes and fills your lungs with soot, wracking you with dry coughs that destroy your throat. It’s hot — so hot — your body feels heavy. You’re crawling — you think? But the ground seems to slide beneath you, and your palms scrape against the concrete, bloodied.

Though your ears ring a terrible, destitute tune and your chest cries in agony — the only thing your mind screams is to get away. Run. Crawl. Slide. Drag your useless limbs and get away. You have to run; stand up and run but your body just lays there.

It’s coming. You can’t get away — you’ll die. You don’t want to die. Shelter’s right there. So close — so close. You drag past a mangled, severed arm, and instantly retch. But you keep moving. So near. Right there. But the sound of inhuman dragging grates your ears behind you and—

Your eyes shoot open, body doused in a sheen of sweat and heart ready to burst. The sheets feel far too sticky and clammy under your fingers and you’re quick to peel them off — rid yourself of anything that makes you feel hot. Confined.

One breath, two, three… it takes a moment to gather your bearings. You’re not freshly seven drowning in a sea of pain and desperate tears. You’re in your childhood home, resting on your sheets and surrounded by memories of the past.

Seems that no matter how much time passes, your dreams will always find a way to torment you as though you lived them yesterday.

What a mood-killer. You’re finally in your old home after an extended absence, and all your mind can do is taunt you by conjuring up your darkest memories.

The room’s bathed in darkness — a glance at your watch shows it’s late in the middle of the night. Not exactly time to rise, but you’re not so trusting of your dreams either. The sweat that dampens your brows and the front of your shirt feels disgusting, so you fan yourself mindlessly. You have to do something, be anywhere but here.

You’re quick to stand, stumbling a little from the sudden shift in gravity. Your eyes are still bleary, crusted, and you rub at them as you trudge out your room.

The house is dead silent, which only makes the sound of your footsteps more apparent, has you silently wincing at every step. Still, you do your best to move quiet as you can to the fridge. Grab yourself a water and chug about half of it in one gulp, cooling your clammy skin and ridding that feeling of scalding — of hot ash coating your throat. You enjoy the crinkle of the cool bottle in your grasp, how the mundane, predictable noise reminds you of reality and the now.

The incessant buzz of crickets in the distance is almost calming. The house is otherwise tranquil and calm. Peace and — you hear a quiet thump. Okay, not as quiet as you thought. Setting the bottle down, you slowly turn toward the noise, reminding your quickening pulse that unless your hunter’s watch is buzzing with a warning, there’s no imminent danger.

A few footsteps and… a tall figure emerges from the doorway, bending so he can properly fit through. Though he’s doused in shadow and you can only make out the slight glimmer of his two-toned irises, his name naturally falls from your lips.

“Caleb…”

“Thought I heard someone sneaking around in here. Why am I not surprised?” He languidly strides across the moonlit room, pausing to gently ruffle your hair like its tradition; he’s been doing it for so long, it might as well be. Even when you two were little and you had a bit of height on him (he’d prop up on his tip toes to pat your head — it was pretty adorable, in hindsight.) So you can’t bring yourself to swat his hand away as he goes for the fridge to grab a drink of his own.

Instead of drinking, though, Caleb pauses and scrutinizes the water, like it did a personal wrong to him. Before you get the chance to probe his mind, he presses the chilled bottle against your forehead. The cold makes you flinch on instinct and shoot a quick glare at him.

“What was that for?”

“Wake up call. Did you get thirsty in the middle of the night? Or you just can’t sleep?” He raises a brow, wearing a grin coated with worry as he takes a drink. Caleb’s always been terribly perceptive, he seemed to just know when you were having a terrible day or if something was amiss. Whether it was the years you’ve spent in each other’s company or Caleb’s innate sensitivity to human emotion, you have no clue. A mix of both, maybe.

Like always, he watches. You look away.

“Thirsty.”

“Uh huh. And I guess all that thirst’s what made your eyes red. You’re looking a little hot there too. Should I crank up the A/C?” Caleb raises a brow, and you wonder why he even bothers asking when he comes to his own conclusions. He should hardly be able to tell these things in the dark — does he just know? Or are the faint streaks of moonlight through the window just enough to tell him everything he needs?

“It’s not a bad thing to admit when you’re having nightmares, y’know. I mean, when you were a kid, you’d come knocking on my door in near tears and—“

“I get it, Caleb. I don’t need the whole rundown.” You snap, fighting the immediate embarrassment that wells up at your vulnerability and dependence as a child. For how strong you like to deem yourself now, it’s not like that was always the case. You were an easily frightened kid, especially jumpy after the attack. You clung to everyone and everything around you because you lost everything you held dear once before.

“And for the record,” you add, “it was a two way street. I can name a few times you came to my room saying you just wanted to talk. You look like you’d been crying for the past hour.” Right. Seeking solace in one another because you were confused kids who had their lives flipped upside down in a single afternoon.

You and Caleb were friends before the tragedy, neighbors who played together a few times at most. Not best friends, but he was the nice kid down the block you enjoyed spending time with.

When you found Caleb during the Catastrophe, you remember like it was only days ago. Crawling frantically, trying not to collapse from the pain that engulfed your being enough to make your vision swirl. In the makeshift shelter, you saw a few injured adults — some minimal, some fatal, and even fewer children crying tended to by lesser wounded adults. You could barely sit up. Someone tried to offer assistance, you think, but then a kid your size rushed beside you and knelt down, asking if you were okay.

Your ears were ringing and you could barely get a noise out, but you could tilt your head up and see those raven eyes with a hint of amber, full of absolute terror. You whispered his name so hoarse — “Caleb…” and like the turning of a faucet, an ugly mesh of tears and mucus immediately began streaming down your face. The smell of red — death, the sights, your bloodied hands, aching body, screaming heart, all honed in at once. All you could do was sob while Caleb knelt down beside you and cradled your head, tears prickling his eyes. It didn’t take long for you two to break down in one another’s arms.

From then on, you couldn’t help but stick to Caleb like glue. Caleb was the only person you had connected to your old life — the only remaining stability when everything else crumbled to dust. When you were bundled in your room and didn’t even want to talk to Grandma because she was some strange adult whom you now lived with — Caleb would sit in with you. He’d remain as long as he had to, validate every last awful thought you had in your frustrations and soothe you with sweet caresses and gentle words. As embarrassing as it is to recall, as a child, he was your lifeline. Caleb’s the reason you didn’t run away in a frenzy when everything was too much and you felt like you just needed to be away and gone. He’s the reason you were able to eventually adapt to your new lifestyle and warm up to Grandma over time. It’s ridiculous, really, how much Caleb meant and was able to do for you by just existing as himself. Caleb could sit in your room minding his business, and his presence alone was enough to soothe your tired limbs and mind from punching your pillows and recalling every terrible thing that happened that fated day.

He was always there for you, one way or another. It’s just the way it’s always been.

It’d be nice if you had something of an effect like that on him, too.

“Right. Because sometimes a little chat is all you need when you’re not doing so hot,” Caleb says, leaning on the counter and gesturing his bottle to you. Yeah, just like him alright, to flip it around on you even when you try to call him out. Makes it feel like every conversation with him is a losing battle, like he always has the upper hand because he knows just the right thing to say and how to say it.

“Alright, alright. Yeah, I had a nightmare. Happy?” You sigh, resigned at this point. You can’t even really be angry when Caleb’s been nothing but reasonable from the start, speaks out of pure care and concern. Rather, perhaps it’s the fact that he’s always reasonable you tend to get irate.

“‘Course not. It’s not like I like hearing you still get them. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of keeping it all to yourself, right?” His eyes crinkle so sweetly, non-judgmental. It’s that look that always breaks you, forces you to spill anything and everything he can pull from you. He never takes advantage, just offers support, so you fall into his trap every time.

“It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I can’t just run to you every time I have a bad dream,” you still utter. It’s weak at best, but you can’t toss all your issues onto Caleb like you did as a child. He lost everything that day too, and he still took the time to comfort and spoil you every single time you sought him out (or he came to you), no matter the day or hour. How many of those times did he cry himself, but choke back the tears just so he could attend to you?

“I didn’t say all that. But it’s not gonna kill you to quit bottling up your emotions, y’know.” The amber in Caleb’s eyes seem to flash, and yours flicker down in turn. Sometimes it feels like he still sees the same seven-year-old you once were, pitiful and dependent.

“I… know that. It’s just….”

A heavy breath leaves Caleb’s nose. He closes his eyes, sits on his words, and opens them with a twinkle of clarity.

“You gonna fall back asleep soon?”

You blink. “Huh?” Caleb doubles down.

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

You’ll let him have this one though; swallow your complaints and choose his method. You dip your head and follow him to his room, still decorated with posters of My Life as a Hunter and old-school shooter games he raved over as a kid. Though he grew a passion for piloting after a period, he still had an interest in Hunter shows as an early teen, posters and figures scattered about his room proof as such. You think they existed in attempt to ease the public into the idea of Hunters, hell, even to coerce a few impressionable people in the process. A small part of you always wanted a way to reign in control of your life, to be someone who can do the saving, not sit in tears and wait to be saved. The show just increased your resolve, if anything. Though, you remember a short period where Caleb tried to convince you otherwise.

Eventually, you think he understood well enough to quietly show his support, if only because you weren’t backing down. And it tickles the nose a little, knowing you’re now something he admired with sparkling eyes as a kid.

Like always, he sits on his bed, and you take a spot in the swivel chair at his desk, idly spinning back and fourth. There’s a dim, pale night light to give the room a low glow. It’s easy on the eyes and you can still comfortably make out the ridges of Caleb’s face, his indiscernible expression when he settles and just seems to think.

“…Feels like we haven’t done this in forever,” You murmur, eyes trailing around each and every corner. You well with nostalgia, so much it makes your heart ache, bittersweet.

“Yeah, guess we didn’t get much time once I left. Not soon after you were off getting your Hunter’s license, so we were both pretty busy,” Caleb responds, and you wonder if he feels the same way you do. A tinge of sadness, but serenity at the familiar scene. Getting to sit in one another’s company like you always would in the past.

“Getting used to you not always being around was…” It feels embarrassing to just admit how much you missed him, how empty the house felt without his lively presence. “Hard. Harder than I expected, anyway.”

“It was weird not waking up to Gran’s cooking or your demands, that’s for sure.”

“Demands?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You always act so proper around other people, but not with me and Gran. Everyone needs a place to loosen up, someone you can just be yourself around. And a little selfish.” Caleb’s laugh makes your cheeks warm, though your ears seem to love it. It fills you with various memories and you realize man, you really missed Caleb. When you talk, it’s like you two were never separated. But it’s times like these the feeling of truly getting to see him every day, just be with him, swells in your heart. You sigh, grasp your nightshirt, and peer at Caleb through your lashes because you fear how telling your expression is.

“Then… is it the same for you? Or was it easier to loosen up around your friends?” You ask nonchalantly, as though the question wasn’t gnawing at you from the inside out. Did Caleb feel at home, or like he had to put on a show and be the ‘strong one’, only able to let loose when he’s around peers and not biting off more than he can chew?

“Mmm…” You hear a low hum, and fingers ghost over your forehead, gone before you can even get a noise out. Caleb watches you intently, enough to make you break his gaze first. He looks pleased.

“It’s different with other friends, sure. Because you’re not them, and they’re not you. There’s ways I can relax with them, and reasons I can relax here,” he answers. His gaze feels loaded, and you vaguely wonder if there’s more to that answer with how his eyes bore into you. But you bite your tongue and decide to let the question go unsaid.

“I see.”

Caleb’s gaze persists. It’s gentle, not demanding of anything, or even expectant. But for some reason, it makes you want to turn away so you don’t have to be subject to it.

“I did miss home y’know, pipsqueak.” You wonder if that’s what Caleb was watching for, trying to see if you were silently doubtful. You bite your lip and decide to just let the words spill out before your pride makes you swallow them whole.

“I missed you.”

Caleb’s eyelids widen almost imperceptibly, but you still catch it. He blinks, and they relax with this look that feels fond, but also seems to carry another aspect you can’t decipher with so little light.

The sound of crickets buzz in the distance. The extended silence makes your grip tighten on the arm rest.

“This necklace is nice, y’know. Whenever anyone asks, I get to bring you up. They probably get sick of it after a while,” Caleb murmurs, and he lifts the silver chain you placed around his neck, ruby glimmering in the light. Knowing he kept it, the way he so proudly handles the chain, makes you feel fuzzy.

“You tell other people about me?”

“So much they could probably write an essay. How you’d cling to me as a kid, when we’d hang out together, how, for a short while, we were all the other had.” Caleb squeezes the chain and lets it dangle against his tee, expression gentle, and part of you wishes you had a chain too. Something to remind you of Caleb, an excuse to think or talk about him. To rub between your fingers and recall a time you were both in a fit of laughter, young, happy and free.

“I relied on you a lot. More than you deserved, especially as a kid. …Sorry.”

“Seriously?” Caleb gapes, and a snort leaves his mouth. “Never thought I’d hear that. But you don’t have to—no. I don’t want you to apologize. It was nice. Part of me kinda misses it. I mean I get it, you can handle your own. It’s not like you need me looking after you anymore, but… I liked it. And nowadays, I can’t help wanting to at least support you,” Caleb shrugs, like those words don’t penetrate your core and settle deep in your chest, breath hitching. A million responses swim through your mind, none of them breaking the surface.

“Oh, uh…” It’s… embarrassing, hearing that blatantly said aloud.

“And, to be perfectly clear, I missed you too,” he adds. Your throat bobs. You enjoy hearing those words from his mouth, the way he says them so easily with a hint of affection. While it’s enough to make your body feel flush with embarrassment, it’s nice he’s never too stubborn to show his care. If anything, you’re far more stubborn in admitting your feelings. Perhaps that’s why you told yourself to just say it, not let the pride win and be honest every once in a while.

“It… sucks. I only get to see you for a few days at most and poof, you’re gone,” you gesture along with your words, hastily getting them out while you still have the weak confidence to. “Your cooking, waking up to you everyday, when you get me little snacks just because…” Your legs swing back and fourth, antsy, but your heart feels lighter when you can freely speak your mind, say all the things you were too prideful to say as a kid.

Caleb listens silently with solicitous eyes. His mouth parts, closes again, and he seems to swallow. You time the kick of your legs, so you don’t start kicking them faster while you’re left on the waiting end, mute until Caleb responds.

“It’s pretty dull not having your own personal 5-star chef, huh?” He finally says, with a grin, and you softly deflate. Your legs slow to a stop, and your heart feels heavy again.

“Yeah… I… I guess—“

“No,” Caleb hisses under his breath. You think it’s to himself. But he leans forward on his duvet and reaches up, brushing his fingers over the jut of your eyebrows so light you can barely feel the touch. Your eyes shut reflectively, and his hand eases to your cheek, knuckles gently sliding down. You peek an eye at the sudden touch, trying to not make your mild startle too known. He’s the type to stroke your head or push you away in jest. This brand of touch is new. Foreign.

Your lips tremble and Caleb’s eyes flicker down to them.

“I’d do all those things every day, if I could. Listen to you get ridiculously excited about those rare kitty cards, see you when I get home from work; when you get home from work…” His knuckles trail down to your chin, dangerously close to your lips.

You inhale slowly, and try not to show your panic when your heart begins to beat an erratic rhythm. This is the first time Caleb’s ever made your heart race — like this anyway, and a flurry of thoughts and emotions you never dared consider all invade you at once. If you were standing, you’d stumble on the spot.

“I miss seeing your mug, what can I say?” Caleb laughs, gives your face two playful pats, and retracts his fingers. You withhold the urge to chase them, press his palm against your cheek. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek to curb the desire.

They’re nothing but strange thoughts in the heat of the moment, a little too drawn in by the touch of his fingers after not seeing him for so long. Equating nostalgia with attraction is not a good look, and you know to smother it in its wisps before it engulfs into a bed of flames.

“When — when we were kids it was kind of like this,” you begin, trying to even out the tremor in your voice. “We weren’t telling each other we missed one another, of course. But I’d sit in this chair. And you’d wipe my tears when I was sad. No matter how long it took.” You say, and you know you’re just making conversation to push your mind away from uncouth thoughts. With luck, Caleb won’t pick up on a thing.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a crybaby. Always barging in, no matter the time, just to have someone to cry to. It was pretty cute, though.” Caleb stands slowly, already no more than a foot in front of you, and he bends down to rest one hand on the armrest while the other palm holds your cheek, thumb swiping under your eye. “Just like this.”

This… feels dangerous. The part of you that automatically reacts to his teasing wants to glare and push his hand away, scoffing and spouting some retort. That’s how you should respond, how he expects you to.

This new, faint part of you wants to close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm, turn your head so your lips rest on his fingertips. You do neither, and just peer up at him through your lashes, too scared to tilt your head up and have your face reveal every dirty thought racing through your brain.

“It was cute when you’d come to me, too. You’d sit next to me, trying to act all strong. Then I’d pat your shoulder and you’d go ‘I’m not crying’ while you kept wiping your eyes. Couldn’t fool a baby. But it made me happy. That you came to me,” You speak, and reach up to Caleb’s shoulder, giving it a few soft pats. “Just like this.”

Caleb’s fingers dig into the armrest though his face remains moderately amused. He tilts his head, murmurs a “Guess we were both the type to tear up,” with a cryptic smile, and moves to pull his hand away.

Subconsciously, against any rational thought, you chase after him and hold tight to his shoulder, other hand keeping Caleb’s palm firmly in place.

He blinks once, twice. The moment is palpable. You know you can’t explain yourself out of this, but your gut instinct just doesn’t care. It craves to stay in Caleb’s proximity, to keep him by you. Like he’d melt away if you let go, and the moment would be lost to eternity.

“Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, rubbing a curious thumb across your cheek and it’s all you can really take. You feel the way Caleb tenses up when you bury your nose in his palm, when you shakily inhale and just settle into its warmth. You think you’re trembling a little, and fear eats at your racing heart. Fear of shattering the relationship you have — pushing beyond the bounds of your preconceived ‘normal’. This isn’t what you and Caleb are. Caleb calls you an infuriatingly affectionate nickname when he checks up on you. You and Caleb bicker about mindless things and easily make up in a few hours because Caleb always gives in. You and Caleb were friends since you were children, kids who played together, teens who begrudgingly got along, and adults who were still close and made efforts to visit home on your shared time off.

It wasn’t whatever the hell this was. And the guilt that rises in your throat is immense, taking Caleb’s actions to make them something they’re not — twisting his kind gestures into something awful. You force yourself to recede from his palm, mouth open to utter a soft apology.

Just as that soft ‘sorry’ passes your lips, Caleb coaxes your head up, peers long and hard into your eyes, like he’s searching the depths to find whatever it is he seeks, needs.

You think he finds it, because his breath hitches, the hand on your face seems to quiver, and his face leans so close to yours. Not touching, no, his hot breaths ghost over your lips, his nose tickling your cheek. You swallow thickly, and the warmth from his proximity spreads like wildfire.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, urgent. Almost desperate, like it takes every ounce of self-restraint to remain as he is. So near but never bridging the small gap.

“I…” You start, knowing this is the tipping point. He’s still kind enough to give you an out, to let you reject any notion of whatever this is and pretend none of it ever happened. Makes it seem like he doesn’t want it to happen. Caleb’s always been kind like that. And maybe, in the long run, it would be the better option. To not risk destroying the relationship you’ve built and nurtured for well over a decade.

But, meeting his pleading eyes with your own, you know the only words that can leave your mouth. It’s the sole thought that repeated over and over in tandem with each shaky sigh that parted from his pink lips.

Slowly opening your mouth, you take the plunge. “I do.”

You don’t know whether Caleb’s face flashes with relief or pain — maybe both — and his lips press so deep into yours, slow and heated. It elicits a quiet, gasping noise from your throat that Caleb swallows. You have to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself because his kisses are starved, like he’s been craving this moment forever and you wonder if that’s really the case. His hand on the armrest moves down to grasp your thigh and a pleased noise rumbles in the back of your throat, his thumb stroking the inside of it so tenderly you could tremble. The sense of relief, of immediate euphoria of having this man on your lips almost makes you wanna cry as he kisses you senseless, licks his tongue into your mouth and coaxes every soft noise he can with each repeated press of his lips. When your fingers sneak up to his neck, quiet sounds hum in his throat and they envelop your mind, drugging you with the sound and feel of him. You could do this for hours, kiss Caleb until the only thing your mouth knows is the taste of him.

“I can’t believe —“ Caleb gasps between breathless kisses, speaking against your lips and sliding his hand down to rest on the junction of your head and neck. You tremble and he pecks the corner of your mouth in response, as though to soothe you. “You’re actually—“ He kisses at your cheek, then your nose affectionately. You feel the heat rise in your neck and avert your gaze out of pure embarrassment. “Letting me…” He laughs against your cheek, face alight and you hope the pain you perceived earlier is a little lessened now.

“I didn’t know you wanted to…” You murmur, and stretch your neck up again to capture his lips. Somehow, each kiss only seems to improve upon the last, and when his fingers slide against your neck, a quiet moan vibrates in your throat. Caleb pulls back with low lids and ragged breaths, lips pinker than you’ve ever seen and covered with a sheen of saliva. Kiss swollen’s never a look you imagined on him, but you quite like it.

“Guess I’m good at keeping secrets then,” Caleb says in a huff of soft laughter, and he’s gently tugging, guiding your body up and off the chair to sit beside him on the duvet. “Or,” he leans down and pets the front of your throat, lips steady against your fluttering pulse. “You’re just stupidly oblivious.”

“There’s no way I would’ve…” you begin to murmur as your fingers clench on his nightclothes. Your body reacts to the sensation of his lips kissing every bit of skin he can reach on your neck, licking but mindful enough to not leave marks and the consideration alone is hot enough to make you shudder.

Could you have? Your mind is hazy and each time Caleb mouths at your throat you lose it a little more, but you vaguely replay memories in your mind. Caleb’s mindfulness, his perception, his endless kindness — but he’s like that with everyone, so how could you have known you were special beyond your friendship and shared past? Granted you probably got a little extra pampering from him — but you shared a home. Of course you’d get more if you saw him more.

“Good. I was never gonna tell you, y’know,” he breathes. His large hands gently ease you backwards and you comply, letting him press you against the mattress. It smells like a mix of him — that same oak body wash he’s used since he was a teen (thankfully you bullied him out of that terrible smelling cologne phase), and fresh detergent from the laundry he took care of earlier. You resist the urge to turn your head and bury it into the covers, inhale deep, for you’re sure it’d come off as a little strange.

“Never?”

“Never.” He rests his forearms next to your head, face mere inches away. He seems to like watching you, those dimly lit eyes of his boring into you. “I mean, I thought about it sometimes. But we’ve known each other what, sixteen years now? We played together since we were preschoolers,” he sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek. His face is so raw and open, flushed and longing. Like he can finally spill every dirty little secret he’s kept hidden forever. His thumb moves to swipe across your lip and you kiss it — innocently enough. His breath stutters.

Then you open your mouth, gently suck on the digit, and he stops breathing altogether.

“Mm…” You hum in agreement, though with the way Caleb’s eyes darken, you figure it more resembles a moan.

“Damn,” he curses, and experimentally swipes across your tongue. You shamelessly take his thumb in deeper, revel in the way his lips tremble and he bites them, as though to curb some thought or action that sprung in his mind in response.

“You’re friends with someone that long, you figure there’s no chance. Figured you saw me as a brother or something. I mean, I kinda did it to myself,” he speaks, but looks absolutely enthralled by your mouth around his thumb. The way you swirl your tongue around him, encouraging him to just let go. You think his words are half spoken on instinct with how dazed and red-faced he looks.

“Fuck , if I just knew…” Caleb hisses, and he leans forward for balance, forehead pressed against yours (he’s so warm) while his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just below your navel. The proximity to your waistband makes you subconsciously squirm a little, and his hand presses firmer, stilling your hips. “I could’ve done this so much sooner.”

You try to murmur a response past his thumb but the welcome intrusion makes your words incoherent. He gently retracts it from your lips to press against them, saliva coating his thumb, your lips, and wetting your chin.

“What’s that, pipsqueak?” He murmurs. You feel his hand creep up to trace your abdomen, catch at your side and massage there mindlessly.

“For someone who wants to do this so bad…” you sigh, and look up at him, unamused, trying not to let your mild fluster show. It seems even pinned under him, you can’t help but want to be a bit of a brat in his presence. “You’re sure taking your sweet time.”

Caleb’s brow twitches and he completely stills, staring at you with those gorgeous sunset eyes of his up close. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, and his fingers on your torso squeeze, not painful, just a firm hold.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” he finally exhales, exasperation plain on his face. He affectionately rubs his forehead against yours, the gesture so sweet it makes your heart swell. “Don’t forget, you’re the one that spurred me on.”

And like a man on a mission, the sweet moment is gone, replaced by greedy lips and needy hands. His mouth is back on yours and you gift him an appeased hum, instantly lost in the warmth of lips and the way he kisses you like he’ll never kiss again. So heated, so, so perfect, and you reach your fingers to tighten in his hair, lift your hips to wrap your legs around his torso. You both sink into the duvet with the strength of his kiss, his hands shamelessly trailing up and down your torso, mapping it out, squeezing when he hears quiet noises and whines emerge from your throat.

You think Caleb enjoys the sounds you make most, because he’ll do anything and everything to draw them out of you, hands frisky and shameless. They’re calloused and rough in the best way and you squeeze his hair in approval, press fleeting kisses to the corner of his lips when you part to breathe. He laughs, happy, and you laugh in turn.

“It’s a little hot, don’t you think?” He murmurs, and uses that as his excuse to push the hem of your shirt past your chest, encourages you to slip your shirt off and sit with your bare torso.

The way he stares at your body, your chest, like there’s nothing else in the word makes your body singe. You reach a hand up to cover his wandering eyes, scoffing. “Don’t just stare, it’s embarrassing.”

“All that talk and you’re embarrassed when I look at you?” He gives your hand a few taps before prying it away, taking in the view just as shamelessly as he did before, if not more so. You’d smack his face with a pillow if he didn’t have your hand held so tightly. “Telling me not to look’s like telling a dehydrated man not to drink. It’s plain cruel,” he laughs, and pulls your hand to his lips to give your fingers a fleeting kiss. Your eyelids flutter alongside your heart, and he grins.

Satisfied with the view, he slides down on the covers (you have to loosen your legs to accommodate), and stares up at you with a playful, shit-eating grin, his chin rested perfectly above your chest. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Don’t ask, do,” you huff, turning your head away in mock annoyance. Caleb’s more than happy to oblige and hums his approval while his hands move to trace the contours of your chest, moves down to press a light kiss to one side, and is quick to focus his mouth where it’s sensitive, have the bud harden under his tongue and send shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

It even surprises you, how much you feel your face flame not just from pleasure, but pure embarrassment. This is Caleb , of all people. Not just some guy you started crushing on. Being this vulnerable and having his lips on your chest isn’t something you imagined even yesterday. If he saw you like this yesterday, you’d definitely die from shame. There’s not a glimmer of regret, but there’s heaps of embarrassment to spare and you bury your face into the pillow under you, tensing the more he plays. You knew nipples could feel good, but wow, they can feel good and his mouth on them sends shocks straight down your abdomen, makes heat settle low between your legs.

Finally, he pulls away, though his thumbs still graze over them, and he moves up to press a kiss to your jaw. “Don’t get all shy now. C’mon, show me that cute face of yours,” he hums, and you want to bury it even further being called cute (seriously, what the hell? You don’t know if it’s more embarrassing or insulting). But if only to show some semblance of control and confidence, you pull your head away and force yourself to meet Caleb’s adoring eyes, giving him a halfhearted glare with lips curled into a small pout.

“Looking at me like that only makes me wanna tease you more,” he murmurs, and moves to kiss your cheek (he’s so affectionate. It’s so much you almost don’t know how to handle it). And his hands slide down from your chest, settle at your waist and massage right above the band of your sweatpants. So close but not enough, the more his thumbs tease the more the heat becomes unbearable.

“Maybe you should use that mouth of yours for something other than talking,” you grumble, palms pushing Caleb’s head away. You huff with a side-turned head and peer at him from the corner of your eye, wiggling your hips. You couldn’t be more obvious.

“Demanding today, aren’t we?” He rubs his hands forward and back on your hips, trailing a slew of kisses down from the center of your chest to your abdomen, leaving flames in its wake. “Like what? I could make out with you until the sun rises, easy.”

The way Caleb looks at you, eyes flashing, you know what he wants. Those words to fall so reluctant from your tongue, to watch you drop your pride and ask. But Caleb’s had his way well enough, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of your words, you slide down your sweats and underwear, exhaling at the lack of restriction, the free air against your throbbing arousal. Caleb’s eyes go wide and you’re dragging his face between your thighs before he can retort, trying not to tremble from the absolute need that courses through your body. The thought of Caleb’s mouth on you, his tongue against you until your mind is numb.

“This.” You breathe, and Caleb can only let out a breathy chuckle.

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” he teases, smug but lets you guide his head, him dragging his hands down with it and across the planes of your thighs. They slide and down, palming close to your hips and earning him a small jolt, a bitten down noise.

Your fingers dig into his short hairs, dragging him down and rolling your hips to meet him halfway, urgent, needing. Caleb complies, gently mouthing at your inner thighs, biting at them (that gets a startled sound out of you that you instantly smother in fear of making too much noise.) And kisses and licks his way further up until he’s exactly where he needs to be, breaths hot and lips so close they could brush over you.

“To think you’re like this already…” he murmurs, cheeks flushed, and he dives his head down to slowly lick you into his mouth, your legs tensing and fingers shivering. His hands pet your thighs soothingly (it only makes you tremble more) and he sucks, holds your thighs so nice while they shake in his touch. He’s horribly slow, taking his sweet time to mouth against you, kiss against your aching heat and so gently take it into his mouth, painstakingly swirls his tongue. It’s not enough and you roll your hips into his mouth, mumbling curses.

“Dammit Caleb…” you groan, urging for more, grabbing and releasing at his hair, and his eyes flicker up to you, pupils blown and face a pretty red.

“Mm…” He hums, you shudder, and try not to burn at the sight of Caleb so pleased between your legs. Hands anchored to your thighs, mouth busy with a hardworking tongue as he eagerly lavishes you with attention. It’s good this time, not slow torture, and Caleb easily lets you rock your hips into his mouth, whine under the flat of his tongue and the sight of him between your legs. He pushes, holds you when you gasp and jerk into his touch and murmurs soothing hums while his mouth is busy on the taste of you. Your hips develop a rhythm of their own, chasing Caleb’s mouth over and over and when he briefly pulls back, he’s quick to stroke his fingers where his lips were, watch you sigh and and clutch at the parts of him you can reach.

“I wanna—“ he breathes, leans down to kiss the swell of your heat, laughs when you jump because of how swollen, how sensitive you are to his every move. You drag his face back down, his lips around you, not letting him finish the words he was trying to say. You just — his mouth — his warmth, you need, and you buck your hips into his touch, bursts of pleasure coming through you in waves the more his mouth moves in rhythm, the perfect pace he sets and the unfair way his tongue seems to do just the right thing to make you whine against bitten lips.

“Caleb,” you whisper, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Caleb’s tactic changes, he’s using one hand to keep a steady grip on your thigh while the other reaches up stroke at your sensitive hip, then sneaks up to your nipple to tease it under his thumb and forefinger. His mouth remains occupied, tongue and lips unrelenting, and the dual pleasure is so much it almost feels like too much. But he moves, hot, mouth in tandem with your restless hips, confident and warm and the almost unbearable heat between your legs grows and grows, until you’re biting back a strangled noise and digging your fingers into Caleb’s scalp. You hold his head in place while you ride out the throes of pleasure, Caleb’s mouth easing you through it, still pressing and stroking with the heat of his tongue when the orgasm ebbs away. You have to squirm and push Caleb’s head away, panting and soaked in a sheen of sweat.

Caleb’s lips, nose, chin, are coated in you and he shamelessly licks what he can away, watches as you breathe, catch your breath amidst the aftershocks of your pleasure. Your entire body feels flushed with heat, and the only sound you’re capable of making are quiet gasps for a moment or two.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, presses a hand over his mouth and he’s scrambling off the bed, rushing to rifle through his drawers. He pulls out a bottle of lube and jerks his head to where you’re still settled on the bed, steadying your pulse. You’ve eased yourself to sit up on your elbows, so you can watch in your curiosity, see what’s got him so worked up. Seeing him still fully clothed while your pants lay sweat-ridden and bunched at your ankles, shirt tossed in some corner makes your face fill with heat.

“Can I—would you—“ he returns to the bed, crawls between your open thighs and presses his forehead to yours. The heat of his breaths make you dizzy, and you can feel the flicker of a flame despite just bursting with heat. “Fuck, I just…” he murmurs, moving his head down to rest against your shoulder, lips pressing against the jut of the bone. And the way his nose presses against you, he nuzzles against you and so dearingly asks makes the answer come far too easy. You inhale, stroke his cheek, and nod.

“Mhm,” you agree, moving your head to press a sweet kiss to Caleb’s temple. He groans, wastes no time coating his fingers and slipping them against you, stroking in a tease, then pressing in one.

It’s cold, you tense and Caleb mouths at your collarbone, murmuring “I got you,” while his fingers sits, letting you adjust and you relax to the chill, shudder to the way the digit settles in you, doesn’t feel like enough, and he moves.

Maybe — you think — you didn’t properly think this through. Because while you’ve a short respite from coming, now you have a finger inside you, a hand exploring every inch of your body it can reach, and lips playing with the soft patch between your neck and shoulder that has you sighing and subconsciously quivering. Somehow it’s all too much and not enough all too soon after — and you actively dig your teeth into your lip to keep quiet, not risk sounds traveling through the walls.

“So…” Caleb inhales, his lips travel down to kiss at your chest, lick at your nipples once more and they stand to attention at his efforts. “So damn warm…” You wonder if he means the heat from your body or the way you feel around his finger. His lips tease while his finger thrusts at a steady rhythm and when it becomes comfortable (and lacking). You start to grind into his touch, craving more, shuddering when a soft noise leaves his throat.

You exhale, peer at the pink cheeks of your childhood friend — hell, your best friend. You feel your heart melt, then your body melt in tandem when his finger slips out so he can ease two of them in, slowly stretching you. They move deep, curling inside you and with the just perfect brush of his fingertips, you let out a pitched gasp and pull a hand up to cover your mouth. Caleb doesn’t say a thing, instead makes sure to move against that bundle of sensitive nerves over and over, watches you tense and squirm the more he focuses his attention.

“You’re pretty good at keeping quiet,” Caleb praises, and moves his face up to draw you into a long kiss, mouth in sync with the way he fucks you with his fingers, steady and perfectly bent to leave you panting. You whine against him, chasing his fingers with your hips. He sucks on your bottom lip, pulling away with a dirty pop, lips glistening. “Can’t wait for the day you don’t have to hold back.”

“Hah—shit…” You curse, wanting to come up with a coherent response but your words catch in your throat, interrupted by gasps, and your mind can’t even conjure what to say to something like that, but you feel your body throb, your hips jump at his praise. Caleb hums, presses a kiss to your cheek, and slides down.

He does that thing where he looks up at you from between your legs, cheek rested on your thighs damp with sweat. His lips curl into that gorgeous, sinful grin that’s stupidly hot and infuriating all at once and you squeeze his hair in half-assed annoyance. He kisses one thigh, turns and sucks a gentle bruise into the other - fuck, why does that feel so damn good. And he busies his mouth with the taste of you, fingers working a slowly building rhythm that has your palm firm over your mouth and the other hand steady in his hair while you try — and fail, to not fall into a haze of pleasure. You almost want to curse, being so weak under his fingers and mouth. Flip the scene and give him a taste of his own medicine. But his tongue knows just what to do and he knows just the way to move his head to have you unable to do anything but let out choked gasps and rut into his eager mouth.

Though you take his fingers easily now, feel prepared enough to handle all he has to offer, he doesn’t stop. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and his pretty, obscene mouth on you fill the otherwise silent room, save for your gasps and sighs. You curl against him and huff, biting your lip and using both palms to still his head.

“If you keep going, I’ll—“ you warn, because his fingers aren’t enough but his mouth is too much, and if you’re left a quivering mess you won’t be able to handle Caleb fucking you on top of it. Caleb hums, his glimmering eyes flicker up to you, and you think they crinkle in amusement. You’ve learned not to trust that face of his.

And of course, the dick , he keeps going. Holds you down with one hand so he can push and spread his fingers deep, taste you on his tongue as he sucks. It’s enough to have you arching your back, whimpering quiet noises into the pillow you bury your face into. Your hips squirm of your own according, the heat pooling in your gut and threatening to burst and you try to push his head away, gasp weak complaints. Too much if he doesn’t stop you’ll — But he’s relentless and overwhelming. Fingers curling, mouth moving, his hand gripping your waist. And your body accepts it all until that feeling crescendos again, you turning into a shaking mess as you whisper quiet curses into the pillow, try to escape his mouth but he licks and pumps his fingers into you all throughout it to prologue how your back arches, the high washes over you over and over. When you slowly relax, he pulls away with a messy mouth, leaving you with breaths labored and somehow still sane enough to sport a glare.

“I told you—“

“Sorry,” he says, and kisses at your navel while he watches you with enthralled eyes, like you’re a piece of stunning art. But his eyes aren’t apologetic in the least, and you’d think it right to demand a proper one if your heart wasn’t thundering so quick you think it’ll leap out your chest. He sighs, scoots up to press a kiss against your chin, and whispers, so quiet. “Can I…?”

You huff, try to steady your breathing, and zone into the dull ache between your legs and the empty feeling from losing his fingers. Of course you want it, want him, it’s a matter of already having been pleasured to hell and back by this man twice. You’re spent, even if the idea of Caleb nude and flushed against you is hot as hell.

“There’s a reason I tried to tell you…” you sigh, brush some slick hairs from his eyes and observe the dazed, greedy look in his eyes. He really just wants it all, doesn’t he? You always thought you were spoiled by Caleb, but maybe, there are times when you spoil him.

“Mmm… it’s just nice, seeing you lose your composure,” he nuzzles into your neck, breath warm and your entire body reacts to something so small, so soft. “But we’ve got all the time in the world. Next time.”

And he exhales so warm, pulls his head away and you immediately grab both cheeks, drag Caleb’s lips to yours and kiss him so sweetly it feels something akin to love. Your hips tingle, and the idea makes you absolutely dizzy, but you mouth it against his lips anyway.

“Finish what you started.”

Caleb doesn’t immediately answer or react, he simply observes you, watches the way your arms cling to him. For good measure, you wrap your legs around him and roll, right into the hard erection confined in his pants. He gasps, gripping the duvet beside your head.

“If… If it’s too much. Just pinch me. Or tap me a few times. Do whatever, really, shit,” Caleb hisses, and he’s finally stripping off that stupid bed shirt of his and tossing it unceremoniously across his room, breaths slow and deep as though to calm himself.

It’s not your first time seeing Caleb shirtless, but it is the first time you’re able to admire the full view in dim glory. Amidst the streaks of moonlight through the window, the red of his necklace sparkles. He wears it, even in his sleep, and you try not to think too much on how he must’ve cherished it. Treated it like a prized possession, because it makes a surge of happiness flood through you with a mix of guilt for never treating Caleb’s gifts or gestures just as precious.

“Oh, so when I stare, it’s a problem. But when you stare, it’s fine, huh?” Caleb chuckles, and his pants are kicked off with no shame. He’s so eager he doesn’t even try to make it sexy, he just looks like he’s dying to feel every inch of you, finally be able to feel the whole of you tight around him. It’s so silly and so Caleb you just have to laugh, and it’s nice when he laughs in turn, makes you feel serene.

“Think of it like payback,” You decide to say. Payback for making you come from his mouth and fingers when he knew you wanted to feel him inside of you. Caleb makes an approving noise, leans back over you, and the sight of his flushed, toned body with his necklace dangling down is way sexier than it has any right to be. He slides a hand up your thigh, gives it an encouraging squeeze when you tremble, and his lips find yours in a fleeting kiss.

“Guess I gotta do all I can to make up for it,” he whispers in a ghost of a kiss, and settles between your legs, erection strained in his underwear and words way too calm for someone who looks like he can’t stand waiting a minute longer. He shoves them down well enough with one hand and he springs free, eager and leaking at the pink tip. You think it’s almost pretty, the way it stands, twitches when you thumb his cheeks.

He captures your lips the same moment he lifts your thighs, lines himself where he had his fingers buried deep only a minute or two ago, and slowly, slowly pushes. Sighs into your mouth as he sinks into you, and you grab at his back, wrap your arms so tight around him as he just fills you, moves as you cling to him. You think the wait alone is torture when he finally settles deep, hips flush to yours and mouth swallowing any weak noises you utter. You’re still so sensitive and even just the feeling of his cock inside, barely moving, is enough to make you clutch at him.

“You feel so perfect,” he utters, shaking hands settled on the sides of your face, lips plush on your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, slowly, slowly moves out, and you can feel his entire body shaking on top of you as he pushes again, deep into you and fills you perfect. So hot inside of you, you can’t help but squeeze around him. He chokes against your skin, kisses at it while his hips steadily draw out—then you think he loses his composure a little. His hips sputter, and his pushes into you quicker, steady, and holy fuck is your body just quivering and you already feel a mess, heat between your legs near unbearable and Caleb’s cock stretching you open for him.

“Caleb…” You gasp, bite back the moans that want to continually spill from your throat while Caleb steadily pumps, in and out. It’s so tender, and even though your body is an absolute mess, you just need more and drag in Caleb with the strength of your legs wrapped around him, helplessly grind into his cock, and Caleb understands the message loud and clear. He shakes, kisses your shoulder, and pulls out to snap his hips against yours, murmurs small affirmations against your skin as he fucks you, heavy and deep and your body is a squirming mess, like it isn’t even your own. You’re whining and biting back every loud, broken noise that threatens to leave your mouth with the rock of his hips.

“Shit—Caleb, it’s—“ you gasp, be hums into your shoulder and looks at you with wild eyes while he pushes into you over and over. Your legs are a mess and you’re gasping, trying to focus on swallowing down the noises in your throat but Caleb’s driving you absolutely insane and when he positions himself just right, you’re letting out a sharp cry and your body arches into his touch.

“Don’t wake the whole neighborhood now.” He coos against your collarbone, and gently covers your mouth, palm flat so all you can do is groan against his hand, weak noises and sharp gasps muffled. Every inch of you feels sensitive, alight, and the hand not silencing you gently massages your chest while he fucks you deep into the mattress, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room. It’s filthy and you absolutely love it, even if your body is screaming it’s on fire, and all your nerves are alight from being so thoroughly handled.

“Mmn—!” You gasp, unable to even articulate how it feels to have Caleb rolling his hips into yours so damn hot while you can barely control the way your body reacts. You think he swells even more when inside you, thick and hot and nearly every thrust hitting you so you see stars. You gape, claw at his neck and anything you can cling to on him, while his movements gradually speed up and he pounds into you relentlessly, cries muffled by his palm.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this…” Caleb gasps, breaths heavy, lifting his palm and resting it sweetly on your face instead. He looks at you so damn adoring while he’s fucking you senseless, watching you gasp and start to squirm under him when the sensation builds upon too much. “Wanted you. Like this.”

“Gh… Y-Yeah…?” You somehow manage to choke out while your body has a mind of its own, squirming and shaking and Caleb’s hands hold you right where he needs you as he slides in and out of you again, pulls out so only the tip is in and snaps his hips against yours in a fluid motion. You wonder if it’s because your most recent orgasm was so close, left you so sensitive you feel like you’re already on the brink. You hang onto Caleb for purchase and try not to cry out as he pushes into you over and over and over.

“You’re way too hot. You feel way too—haah —good.” Caleb curses as he moves, hold your hips and reaches a hand down between the two of you to tease you with sweet fingers while he pumps into you. “You. Undone. Under me,” he murmurs, and your hips helplessly buck into his touch, fingers clutch him tight as he fucks you.

“Y-You…ah—Caleb,” you try to respond, but the way Caleb rocks his hips, and his hand wastes no time driving you mad, you feel that feeling build, build and build so quick, so perfect. You want to retort, say anything to flip his words on him, but you know you’re a gasping mess and can’t focus your mind enough to put up a decent argument. So you clutch at his slick skin, bury your fingers so deep it pales, and whine “I’m… I’ll… ‘M about to…”

Caleb hears you loud and clear, keeps the pace of him pumping into you and is always sure to angle the way your hips slot together perfectly, so each thrust hits you with a deep wave of pleasure and his fingers leave you weak.

“You always act so strong, so tough. It’s nice I can get you like this,” he speaks, and if your mind wasn’t in such fog you’d probably be a little annoyed, but all you can do is whimper at how his voice whispers low in your ear, and the way he circles his hips perfectly to make you gasp, clench, and make him groan in return.

That feeling approaches, the familiar feeling of being undone by Caleb and at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and thrusts. He murmurs sweet words against your lips, and it’s all you can handle when you’re biting your lip and your body is pulled taught like a string, shuddering and powerful as you feel a burst of pleasure like no other, so strong and prolonged you wonder if it’ll ever end, so much you actually see white. Caleb doesn’t relent on his thrusts, fucks you through it, and he doesn’t stop when you’re quivering either and suddenly it’s too much all at once. Your body is still in tremors and shakes as he grasps your hips firm, presses a soothing kiss to your temple as you start to squirm and let out weak noises.

It’s too much and too fast and you’re so sensitive and you can’t— “Caleb,” you choke out, body naturally moving to escape the sensation, but Caleb’s hands hold you steady.

“Want—“ he rasps, “want me to stop? All you gotta do is tap me,” he murmurs so sweet in your ear, and tears prick in your eyes as the pleasure, the sensitivity is so blinding you can’t keep them from your face. And you quietly cry and squirm but hold on tight, not tapping, not pinching. It’s torture but it feels terribly amazing in the best way, even if Caleb has to keep a firm hold so you don’t scramble from his grasp.

“Too much, I can’t, Caleb,” you sob, Caleb kisses the tears that fall down your cheeks so sweetly and proceeds to fuck you silly. Your heart is pounding, your whole body is a shaking over sensitive mess and the feeling is so intense your mind can barely formulate words. “I—please, fuck…” you babble, can’t string together full sentences and just whimper under him. Fuck if you’re never at someone’s mercy like this, you wonder if it’s better or worse that it’s Caleb.

“So damn cute,” he breathes out in broken fragments, breaths quickening as he thrusts deep, hard, accepts every whimper and plea that leaves your wet lips. “You can relax around me, trust me. Let me take care of you.”

“Ah…!” You wish you could respond, you really do, but the only thoughts you can formulate are pleads and Caleb, the endless pleasure bordering pain he pushes you through. He’s so sweet in your hair as his pace quickens and his breaths are shallow, ragged. His face is a damp mess and strings of hair cling to his forehead as he utters your name — your name, not ‘pipsqueak’, over and over. Whispers your name in your ears, mouths it on your temple, presses his lips against your neck as he sighs it. You melt and squeeze your teary eyes shut, clawing at Caleb and letting him pound you into oblivion. You feel fucking ruined and Caleb kisses your tears and pets your head all throughout it.

“Dammit, seriously, what am I gonna do with you…” He rasps, and you think your hazy mind can classify it as positive. His thrusts are quick and it’s not soon after that he’s suddenly groaning, hips going still as he holds deep inside you, trembling as he spills. Deep, warm. You quiver and finally find relief in his slowed thrusts, the way he holds himself with shaky breaths and bright red cheeks, sweat sliding down his temple. Slowly, he stills, panting, and when he’s nearly done shaking, he slowly pulls himself out. The feeling of both being empty and filled is filthy, but you haven’t the energy to burn on feeling embarrassed when you can barely form a sentence. You gasp, wipe at the tears that rolled down your face, and can’t keep the tiny quivers from racking through your body even after the high has passed.

“You okay, pipsqueak?” He whispers after, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You nod, mute, and have to give yourself a bit to be able to respond in full. He seems to understand that much, and rolls to the side so he can gently hold you in his affection.

“That was…wow,” you murmur, and bury your head into his damp chest, the sent of oak and sweat. “Can’t move…” The thought of so much as standing seems impossible, your brain is in this weird, pleasant fog and you can barely focus.

“Did I go overboard?” His laugh is light and raw, lips settled on your forehead.

“It was a lot,” you answer, and your fingers trace over his bicep. Who knew fighter pilots had to be so toned? “It’s hard to think but…” you hum, and adjust your buzzing limbs so you’re a little more comfortable. “It was… good.”

“Good. Guess I’ll put that on the list of things you like,” you feel his lips curl against your forehead, probably grinning. You don’t even have the energy to glare.

“You have a list?”

“In my mind,” he says, and you decide to pull back from his chest a little, if only to see his expression.

Sweat-ridden but sparkling with an air of pleasant satisfaction. Eyes alight, cheeks warm. Since when was Caleb so damn beautiful?

“Next time…” You look up at him with heavy eyes. Feel almost drunk as your body sags and your speech comes out in quiet rasps, throat spent from all the cries you swallowed down. “It’s your turn,” you run your fingers across his lean chest, feel the way his muscles jump with laugher and his heart is starting to slow into a steady rhythm. He’s so irritatingly attractive.

You’re not used to feeling so utterly spent, helpless after. Your legs would collapse under you like a fawn learning to walk if you tried anything right now. You’d like to see Caleb come undone under your fingers, unable to keep himself from writhing while you tease him endlessly. In that way, you’re both similar, you suppose, and you can hardly blame Caleb for the way he gets off on you clawing at him.

“Can’t wait,” he says easily, almost makes you more mad at how easily he accepts your words. He strokes your cheek, wipes the remnants of tears, and holds you comfortably in his palm. “You look so good when you’re a mess.”

“Hush now,” you sigh, and turn your head to kiss his palm. He pads your lip so gently, traces shapes across them (you think one is a heart). It’s so silly but so him and he continually manages to make your heart fill.

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream.” He pulls you to him, buries his nose in your hair and strokes your back like he hasn’t seen you in years and needs to confirm your existence. “It feels like a dream. You in my arms. Kissing me. Wanting me.” He draws back so he can tilt your head up and peer into your eyes. You think the sun is starting to rise, his eyes are as clear as ever yet clouded with contentment and apprehension. “You like me, don’t you?” His hands hold you so sweetly, his eyes are so raw. “Pretty sure I’ve loved you as long as I can remember.”

You blink, try to process his words in the fog of your mind and feel yourself run warm when you’re able to take his words piece by piece and understand them, digest them in full. The word ‘love’ tickles your ears, and you try not to let the tears flow again (who knew being so wrecked made you stupidly emotional) and nod quickly, covering the hand that holds your cheek.

“Of course I like you. I’ve trusted and cared about you as long as I can remember.” Your hand on his chest stills, presses so you can hear the drum of his heartbeat that’s now relatively fast. You can’t judge, when your heartbeats are so heavy you feel them in the back of your throat. “I’ll love you back, someday. The way you love me. I’ve loved you like my best friend, as a person, for the longest, though.”

“I’ve waited so long to hear that…” Caleb sighs, your eyes flicker to the chain around his neck, and you silently vow to yourself to sometimes let go of your stubborn streak, take care of Caleb the way he loves to take care of you. You hum and nuzzle into his chest, basking in how warm he feels, skin against skin, heating you, like a pleasant wood fire on a cozy winter night.

You sigh, can’t bite back a small smile, and let your eyelids flutter, your weak body sink into the mattress as Caleb’s slow breaths and caresses lull you, goad you to rest.

Caleb’s skin, heat, the love and affection you feel encased in each featherlight touch draws you in, comforts you enough to let your consciousness fade. Like a soothing lullaby.

It’s perfect, knowing you’ll wake up in his arms the next morning.

—

Sequel — Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

[bunnwich]

A bit of controversial post maybe??? (feel free to skip)

Not to be controversial but I keep seeing how ppl are reading the “Leona is kind to Sally” situation and just thinking how my perspective is bit…different.  (if you don't care about my opinion ofc you can always skip)

SPOILERS FOR EVENT

When I saw it, these were my thoughts:

"Oh I love this so much!! It's adorable for one, and I’ve been saying for years that Leona is only mean to ppl he doesn't like/finds annoying or doesn’t care about. Like he HAS the ability, like everyone else to be polite and nice but we only see him interact with ppl who annoy him etc. Which is...um most of the cast. AND we rarely get a peak at how he would be with someone he likes.

I hope that this helps ppl see that he can be gentler to act toward someone he's SUPPOSED to like as a friend or even like romantically. 

Banter is one thing but I don’t believe he'd ever act straight-up rude to someone he was true friends with, dating or had a crush on?" 

So, a lot of ppl loved this scene I DO TOO! However…

This whole “Leona said men ain’t shit” joke is worrisome. Like…do you guys think that Leona would in fact be ruder or less gentle to a masc or nonbinary S/O vs a femme one? Some of these remarks…feel uh not really nice to those who have nonbinary/masc pairing with him.

He grew up in a matriarchal society, he respects women NO DOUBT.

I just think it would be nice to for us to be kinder in how we phrase things like this. I know they are jokes but still Yumes and ships mean a lot to ppl and I think it's just another catalyst for masc and masc-leaning fans to feel further alienated in the fandom space, yk?

Do I believe he respects women OFC, but much like those who had the “consent king” take about the voiceline of him being offended at Scully kissing the MC's hand I ONLY agree to an extent. WHY? Bc Leona is a big-ass hypocrite! Leona, for all I defend him, is not always keen on physical boundaries himself and can be quite rude. I think that line is more him being annoyed at Scully than genuinely worried for anyone's virtue, yk?

And to bring it back to the Sally/Leona thing I think it's not just bc Sally is a woman he is nice to her, bc she is SMART and cunning and was quickly underestimated by the rest of the cast. She was able take care of herself. He liked that about her. I really don't think it was just cause she was girl by itself.

Idk thats all I have to say, this is just my opinion as usual but it just didn’t sit right with me from a fandom perspective and I genuinely feel the “Leona is the feminist king of all time” is not a full reading of the character when we’ve seen him be nice to others and neutral to other women. Plus, he’s IS a hypocrite about the manners thing! The cast even call him out on it.

Leona is still flawed just like any other character in twst and I don't think him “bowing down at every women's feet” is something I subscribe to. Not in the way some ppl are acting anyways.

And frankly how some ppl are wording themselves in their tags and reblogs of these posts about Leona “drinking respect women’s juice bc he dislikes men” feels alienating toward those who have nonbinary/masc ships with him.

This is meant as no offense to anyone's fun I just thought I’d give my perspective on it. 

TLDR: I do think that it is genuinely funny and endearing to see the juxtaposition of how Leona treats everyone else VS Sally HOWEVER I don't think it is purely a gender thing and making that just doesn't sit right with me.

[vergilscatgirl]

── .✦  A Gentle Shred of Humanity ♡

𖥻 Pairings ; Vergil/Fem Reader, Vergil/You.

𖥻 Content Warnings ; Explicit sexual content (18+), reader is fem-bodied (though no gendered pronouns are used), porn written with plot, fingering, penetration, creampie, praise, situationship to lovers, partially vocal Vergil, slight obsession if you squint.

𖥻 A/N ; I’m not sure why I wrote this. I had this idea since I began writing “Humanity Isn’t Easy” (A fic I’ve been working on for about a week now), Vergil may be OOC, but I’ll let you all be the judge of that. I haven’t written smut in the longest time, but feedback is greatly appreciated. A big thank you to @dantescatboy and @fragmented-stars for beta reading this for me and providing feedback. ♡

Vergil struggled to navigate humanity and the intricacies it held within. Whether it be socially, romantically, or platonically, little did it matter; for he still found difficulty in truly comprehending its meaning.

Meeting you brought a whole new perspective. It has been weeks since he returned to mankind — despite the icy demeanor he upheld to, you begun to pierce through the defenses he built; albeit, minimal chips at the exterior, it was progress. What you two shared wasn’t a romance, but it wasn’t platonic either. Gentle touches interlaced with dulcet conversations, exchanged fleeting glances at one another during work.

He was uncertain about the emotions he was experiencing towards you, it seemed like a far away concept, baring no sense of familiarity. It was obvious a connection of some form was developing between the two of you, but comprehension failed him. It took time to even acknowledge the probability that he had the capacity to have feelings for someone, especially someone who was human. For most of his life, Vergil denied his own humanity, yet in the time he sought it out, he hesitated when addressing it head on.

Later that evening, when you approached his room, to him it came as a surprise. He hadn’t foreseen your visit to his door at such a late hour in the night. Granting you a silent nod of acknowledgment, the door opened further, welcoming your entry.

And that’s what led to this.

You lay, nestled in his embrace, amongst the dark of the room that encircles you both, with the moonlight above casting the floorboards and walls with a luminescent blue. His grasp on you was gentle, holding onto you as if he never wanted to relinquish you — while he couldn’t explain why. 

“What are we?” You would ask, out of the blue. “We act like lovers, but are we really even that?”

“I have no answer to that,” was his terse response. The uncertainty gnawed at him — beyond his exterior, he was keenly aware you two had a connection of some form, though the prospect of it developing into something more was a thought he dared not address. “Are you wanting a relationship with me?” He found himself inquiring aloud, seeking clarity to calm his ever growing musings.

“That’d be nice, yeah.” 

The silence that lingered between you two felt interminable; as if a century had gone by. He found himself without words, adrift in indecision. For a man who thrived on seeking, knowing, understanding the truth of what he sought after, grappling at the concept of romance in its entirety proved to be an arduous challenge.

“Is there anything in particular you had in mind?” Idle hands remain on your body, cherishing your warmth against his own.

Your face would flush in response to the unexpected  question. “Not..exactly, no.” Your hands explore the texture of his chest, soft traces along the skin.

“I am unable to understand what is included within a relationship — beyond the usual, we already do what contributes to a connection, aside from sex, if that is what you’re implying that you want from me.”

Your face would heat up even more, if that was even possible, face pressing firm into his chest. This was definitely not the implication you intended, however if that were to be the outcome, you wouldn’t deny him.

“If that is what you wanted of me, I’m sure I could provide it for you.” With a gentle glance towards your crimsoned face, hidden within the confines of his body, he almost found a smile gracing his lips, which manifested into a mere tilt at the corner of his mouth. 

“I mean.. I.. don’t really.. well..” You mumble incoherencies, unable to find your wording, arousal clear in your tone, an ache igniting within you; mutters turn into mere, hushed noises. 

“Only if you wanted to, that is. I’m not fully informed on the subject, though that may change.” His voice looms above, hand raising to caress your hair in placid strokes in an attempt to calm your growing nerves.

“I mean..I wouldn’t mind.. if.. we..” You truly were at a loss for words, taken aback by the forwardness of his statements.

It was as if time had come to a standstill; his movements are precise—premeditated, every maneuver found purpose. His grip on you remains as delicate as before as your body lays beneath him, a near yelp escapes your lips. His gaze locks onto you, unwavering as his hands leisurely explore along your body, as if noting every unique detail he could find. 

“I will ask this once, and I want you to be entirely honest with me,” his voice resonates from above, “are you wanting this with me?” 

If you weren’t aroused before, you certainly were now, the pruriency aflame within you formerly boils to a further degree, pooling between your thighs — you stare at him, the moonlight casting a glow on his features. Frigid, azure eyes reflect sincerity, seldom seen beyond his typical austerity, lips compressed into a firm line, awaiting your answer.

“Yes,” your hands raise from your sides, serene in your movements, cupping his face. Butterflies flutter within your entire being, his arms enveloping your body with such admiration, as if you were the most beautiful creation humanity had to offer him. 

Calculated motions, timing stilled in hushed breaths in the fever of the moment — grasps at your shirt, peeling it away from your body with intent. Desperate, tremendously so, though his composure never falters, he endures the ache, testing his displicine; to him, this moment was not about intercourse, it wasn’t an act upon lust, nor passion — a chance to produce a connection anew, restoring the jagged bond between you two, to piece together the sporadic fragments of his humanity. He can feel it in the way you caress his body, lips parting to disperse near discernible whimpers. You were his fortitude, his longing, his humanity. He yearned to discover that exhilaration which intoxicated him so sweetly, something he pursued for so long, now right within his grasp.

Sultry breath fans along your collarbone, leading to your neck. Coarse hands ensnare your frame, treading circles into your skin, seeking out more, sparing no time to ease your shorts down your thighs. Your body radiates heat, sweat glistening along your skin, all you desire is him in the moment, your mind running vacant. “Your body is of God's most divine creations.” His tone rings true, fingers pursuing elsewhere, curling around the waistband of your underwear, to guide it down, slick coating its fabrics. “You poor soul,” he murmurs into the alluring warmth of your skin, inhaling the essence of your scent.

Fingers taunt your skin, earning a gasp from your lips, a singular finger slipping into your silky and soaked heat, your pussy clenches around his digit, enticing him in further. “How I adore hearing you,” he adds another, your hips bucking up to meet his penetrating motions, gliding out, only to plunge right back in. Your breath was caught in your throat, moan after moan rolls off your tongue, the sounds you make urges him further. His thumb strokes your clit, in careful, precise circles. You can sense your climax approaching, deep within your abdomen, a coil burning alight, your cunt gripping his fingers so firm.

 “Vergil, oh god, Vergil,” you weep to him in utter desperation, hand reaching to his hair, tangling your fingers within his unkempt silver strands, slick with sweat. The needs within you boil over, noises falling upon his ears like a graceful song, cunt smearing his hand with your juices, coating the sheets below, and it’s sloppy; and you’re so close, each gasp that leaves your lips, glossy with spit, chest heaving—

His actions halt, fingers slipping out of your pussy, a trail of slick following. A pitiful whine slips from your throat. “Why did you-”

“Quiet,” was the only response he would grant you, his tone carrying the weight of an unspoken command. Rising to his knees before you, his belt unfastening in a brisk manner, his hardened cock finally being freed from the refinements of his pants. Your eyes broaden at the sheer size of it, worrisome that you may be unable to fit it. As if reading your expression, he supplies with, “and you can take it, my love. I am positive you can.”

With his body pressing against yours, you surrender to his touch, fingers finding place in his sweat-coated hair much like before. His own find home on your hips, gentle and light, kneading into the skin.

“You are my everything,” he leaves no time for your response, cock easing into your sopping cunt, ceasing only to watch as your eyes cycle upwards, a soft cry breaking through the air. A kiss brushes your temple, followed by the weight of his own as he respites there. “I have you, my love.” He pulls himself from your heat, only to push himself back in, relishing in the way you clamp around his cock. He stifles a groan, the now harsh thrust of his hips melting away your composure, his right hand leaving its place to begin circular strokes at your clit. The coil burns anew, if your whimpers are any give away to the pleasure capitulating you. You’re so full, and the immense pleasure stirs within your entire body. You can tell by the way his thrusts grow sloppy that he’s close himself. “Vergil, please, I.. I’m so-”

Your words matter not, for his labyrinth of thoughts entraps him, “my everything, my light,” his praises ring in your ears, bringing you closer to your climax, “my own gentle shred of humanity, for you have made me feel alive again.”

You seize, body trembling as your climax washes over you, a loud moan igniting the air, your fingers digging into his hair, whimpering out babbling incoherencies. He continues on, guiding you through your high, before succumbing to his own, a final sharp thrust of his hips as he fills you, his cum flooding within you, a moan finally escaping him. He stays there, noting the heavy rise and fall of your breathing, your body against his. He presses a gentle peck to your forehead, brushing your hair from your eyes. “I love you.”

And you were his; his ever present humanity, a guidance to his troubles, his light in the dark, something to cling to in his journey through life, to never relinquish, to never let go of.

[writingquestionsanswered]

How do you write boys dialogue? it’s really hard when I write it it comes out like girls usually talk but when I write it to sound like a boy it comes out cringy and weird

Boy Dialogue vs Girl Dialogue

It's important to note that, generally-speaking, how a person speaks is not dictated by their sexual organs or gender identification.

There can be differences in when and how language develops, but these differences are general. Individuals vary.

Historically-speaking, and still today to a lesser degree, socialization into gender roles and cultural norms have also played a role in how people speak. But again, this is a general difference because individuals vary.

Can you tell whether the following sentences were said by boys, girls, or nonbinary people?

-- I'm in biology and recently we dissected a frog, which was really cool because everyone got to participate, and when my partner, Rachel, cut into it, it like splattered all over her, and I was just like whoa! -- Me and my brother collect corks, like, bottle cap corks, and um, we have a couple hundred in our rooms upstairs. -- My relationship with my parents I think, relatively, is pretty good. Obviously, being a teenager, there are moments when I don't really feel like talking to them. -- When something's on my mind, I usually go to my friends about it, I don't really talk to my brother. -- I don't know if they'd like to hear it, but [my friends] are definitely the burnout/stoner kids. But they're great people! -- I'm pretty nerdy. I do computer science.

Those are all real sentences spoken candidly by teens of different genders, but you can't really tell who said what, right?

So, when writing characters, it's infinitely more important that you make your character sound authentic to who they are. If you are writing about a 17-year-old girl in 1950, then of course there will probably be some differences in the way she speaks compared to her brother, because at that time gender roles were much stricter, and there was a lot of pressure on young women to be "prim and proper."

However, if you were writing a 17-year-old boy in 1950, he would speak quite differently from a 17-year-old boy in 2024. Not only because societal expectations and cultural norms were different then compared to now, but also because things like slang, pop culture, popular phrases and idioms, etc. are different now compared to then.

So, instead of worrying about your character's gender and how that influences how they speak, focus instead on who they are. What is their personality like? What is their education like? What types of people and things might influence how they speak? How does their society and family expect them to speak? What are their hobbies and skills? As long as what they say makes sense with what you've laid out for this character, you're writing authentic speech.

Here are some other posts that will help:

Writing Natural Dialogue Giving Your Characters a Unique Voice Recognizing a Flat Character

Also, I think it's very helpful to make sure you really know your character, so here's a post for that. Also, I find it helpful to cast my characters with real actors/models, because it helps me imagine them more clearly, which helps their dialogue come across more naturally in my head: 5 Tips for Getting Attached to Your Characters Guide: Casting Your Characters

Happy writing!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[brisquad-unit-4402]

vanvan bans a man

i had so much fun with that title. you know what else is fun? the jealous vanta kick i’m on atm. i’ve got another possessive vanta fic in the works and really fighting the urge to post jealous krisis (polykrisis even⁉️)

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, protective vanta, reader has a shitty ex-boyfriend, jealousy, vanta calls you "mine" and other subtle possessive dialogue, unspecified what your ex has done in the past, the boys are fightinggggggg

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unfortunately, a vibrating phone is what wakes you up today. Which is really quite a bummer; you’re used to waking up on your own time in Vanta’s arms, or when he’s the first to rise and you can feel the mattress shift as he gets up.

The phone vibrates again, and you’re inclined to shut your eyes tight and let the text go unanswered, at least until you wake up proper. At the third buzz your mind connects the dots. It’s a call.

Your closed eyes sting as you rub them, then grab the phone with the other hand. The taste of sleepy breath cracks along your tongue as you mumble, “Hello?”

On the other end, you can hear shuffling and slinking, some ambient picture that you don’t have the sense to imagine right now. “Oh, you picked up.”

Your blood runs cold.

Oh, you recognize that voice. You recognize it damn well, no matter how hard you wished you wouldn’t hear it again. You told your ex in no uncertain terms to never contact you again last time you saw his face. He was lucky you couldn’t muster up the courage to curse him out as you broke it off.

Yet here you are, laying in bed at a weak hour. The screen, even in dark mode, singes your sights as you read the current time: 1:19 AM on a weekend night.

“Hey, Reader,” your ex continues, as if he didn’t know his voice was knives under your skin, needling you until something cracked open. “How’s it going?”

“Why are you calling me?” You ask faintly.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” he says.

You blink, the sleep in your eyes making way for shock. As it subsided, you could feel it growing into a nasty pool of anxiety in your throat. The sheets around you crinkle and shuffle as you repeat, “Why?”

“I dunno, sometimes I just wonder what you’re up to,” your ex drawls. He speaks like a long smoke, cigarette ash dusting his way-too-carefree tongue. “But if you really want to know, I got something to tell you.”

No, no, no. You know where this is going. A thousand rejections rumble up, but your lips are shut, stapled in place by your nerves. The world around you keeps moving while you’re frozen.

“I guess I should continue?” He chuckles for a moment. Smarmy. Incorrigible. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, more than usual. That means there’s something there, right? And I’m not ready to let go of it yet.”

You hear your name but this feels like a trap.

“We should try again,” you ex suggests. You can hear the smile in his voice, the way one corner of his lip curls before the other and the confident eyes. That was charming—until you got used to seeing the damn smirk whenever you apologized for something he should’ve owned up to himself. He’s a master at getting what he wants while casting you off to the side.

You hear your name being called again as you get lost in your haze. “Reader,” Vanta murmurs. He turns to you, looping his sleepy hands around your waist. “Who’re you calling? Tell them I said hello.”

The other line shuffles for a moment. “You’re still with him?”

“Are they talking about me?” Vanta yawns. “Hello.”

Great. Now you’re stuck between two men that care for you: the one that broke your heart time and time again, and a tired tyrant spooning you as he wakes up. At least Vanta’s gentle grasp is grounding you while you can feel your thoughts spiral.

The ex hesitates. “I didn’t think he’d last long,” he says aloud.

“Hey,” Vanta sets his chin on your shoulder. He pouts, ready to whine, but then he glances at the phone screen and the contact name. “Wait, is that…?”

“So you must be the boyfriend.”

“Yeah, this is he. Give me the phone, Reader.”

Passing it off feels like a burden.

Vanta rolls onto his back, but keeps an arm by your waist. You place your hand on his, hoping that the veins and knuckles soothe you as you rub them.

Ex-Boyfriend starts. “Well, I don’t—“

“What the hell is your problem calling at ass o’clock in the morning to harass Reader,” Current Boyfriend snaps. A switch flipped. Usually when he's groggy, his low voice is soothing, but now the rumble of interrupted rest makes his voice growl, dangerous and menacing. "Should I even ask why you thought this was a good idea? The fuck did you think was going to happen? If Reader said you're done, then you're done. You're cooked. Golden brown, deep-fried, burnt to a crisp, cooked. You’re done."

"I don't need your permission to talk to Reader."

"L-O-L? Yes, you do?" Vanta says, so baffled his jaw drops. "If you're going to hit on my partner, I have a right to tell you to eat shit. Not to mention how weird you were in the past, and how weird you are now. Like, if you really cared for Reader you'd delete this number and go on with your life instead of calling like a creep at one in the morning!"

"Fuck off, it was important."

"You fuck off! What's important is that you leave Reader the hell alone.” Vanta practically spits as he hisses at the man on the line, even though his volume is barely below his usual speaking voice. Underneath your grasp, his hand tightens around your waist. The seam of your shirt curls as he pulls you close. “You try that shit again and I’ll tear you apart. Reader’s mine, not yours. Got it?”

He doesn’t even wait for the ex to respond before continuing. “Glad to hear it. Goodnight.” Vanta hangs up without a second thought. You watch the phone’s light illuminate his face as the screen returns to normal, casting a pale glow around his nose and his furrowed brows. “Bitch,” he adds, still frowning at the screen.

Purple eyes glance at you. At the contact, he sighs, placing your phone down so he can wrap both of his arms around you properly. He rests his hand along the back of your neck, thumbing along the soft skin and setting his forehead along yours, eyes now downcast.

“Sorry,” he says, far gentler than when he was on the phone. “I wish you didn’t have to hear any of that.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s just the way that he was talking about you, and your history with him was pissing me off. I just couldn’t hold back. I’m—“

“Thank you,” you choke out.

“—Really sorry,” Vanta says at the same time. “Wait, huh?”

But you don’t even respond. Instead you bury yourself into your partner’s chest, trying to control your breathing. You’re overwhelmed with anxiousness but at least Vanta’s shirt smells like him.

His palm goes from your neck down to your back, rubbing circles as you try to calm yourself. Vanta mumbles. It’s muffled through his shirt and arms around you, but you’d assume it’s consoling. His throat hums and vibrates along your temple in soothing rhythms as he speaks.

Now that the emotional overload is dwindling, your grip tightens around him like you’re holding a stress ball. You murmur. “I really didn’t want to talk to him.”

Vanta’s heart breaks at that admission. You feel him readjust his position and hear the telltale pulse of a kiss at the top of your head. “You don’t have to,” he says. “He’s not worth it.

“Makes me sick thinking that some people are so entitled that they can just hurt you and act like nothing happened,” Vanta continues. “You deserve to be treated like royalty, and you deserve better than him. Screw him.”

Your boyfriend pats your back as you recompose yourself. You bitterly cast a glance at the phone, still resting face-down from the call earlier. “I’m sorry you had to take care of it.”

“Don’t feel bad. That’s the bare minimum.” He kisses you again on your forehead. “You just rest, it’s late for you.”

“It’s late for you, too, Vanta.”

“I’ll manage.” He grins. “Gotta protect my baby somehow.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[atlasthegreatest]

A Taste of Love / Erza Scarlet x Gender Neutral Reader

If there’s one thing that Erza Scarlet likes the most, is eating her favorite— strawberry cake. But what she didn’t expect was to fall in love with the one that made the best ones in all of Magnolia. So, with the help of her friends, will she finally confess her feelings?

Word count: 3061

A/n: I love Erza — she's one of the most badass women in Fairy Tail and in anime in general, so I had to write something about her. I hope you enjoy it!

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over Magnolia. The bustling town was alive with the sound of laughter, chatter, and the occasional bellowing of Natsu’s voice from the guildhall. Yet, inside Fairy Tail, things were unusually quiet at one table. Erza Scarlet, the formidable Titania of the guild, sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her usual confident demeanor cracking slightly as her friends—Lucy, Mirajane, and Wendy—huddled around her.

“Okay, Erza,” Lucy said, her voice steady but her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Today’s the day! You’re going to tell them.”

Mirajane smiled softly, her eyes sparkling as she chimed in, “You’ve been visiting their bakery for months, Erza. And it’s obvious you have feelings for them.”

Wendy nodded, her youthful face serious, trying to be as supportive as she could. “We’re all here for you. We know you can do this!”

Erza took a deep breath, her normally stoic expression giving way to a flicker of uncertainty. Confessing her feelings wasn’t something she was used to. She could face armies, dragons, and the fiercest of enemies, but this—this was something entirely different. The baker, Y/n, was no enemy, no threat, and that made them all the more terrifying.

“I don’t know what to say,” Erza admitted, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Lucy placed a reassuring hand on Erza’s shoulder. “You don’t need a script. Just be honest. Tell them how you feel.”

“Yeah!” Wendy added, smiling brightly. “They’re always been so kind to you! And anyone who makes cakes that good has to have a heart of gold.”

Mirajane’s voice was soft and encouraging. “Besides, they like you, Erza. I see the way they look at you whenever you stop by. There’s a certain… glow in their eyes.”

Erza’s cheeks flushed at the thought. She had spent countless afternoons at Y/n’s bakery, her love for their sweets growing alongside her feelings for the kind-hearted person. Their warmth, their smile, the way they treated every customer like a dear friend—it was something that had captivated her heart long ago. But confessing? That was a different kind of battle.

Mirajane clapped her hands together, breaking Erza out of her thoughts. “Alright, let’s go over the plan one more time. You’ll walk in, grab one of their freshly baked strawberry cakes—”

“Strawberry…?” Erza repeated, her resolve strengthening. “Yes. That will help.”

Lucy giggled. “Then, you tell them how you feel. We’ll be right outside for moral support.”

Wendy nodded eagerly. “You’ve got this, Erza!”

With a final deep breath, Erza stood up, her crimson hair flowing behind her as she steeled herself for the task at hand. “Very well. I will do it.”

The four of them left the guild, walking together towards the bakery. The scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filled the air, a familiar and comforting aroma that put Erza’s racing heart somewhat at ease. As they reached the bakery, Lucy, Mirajane, and Wendy gave her a final round of encouragement.

“We’ll be right here,” Lucy assured, leaning against the window outside the bakery. “Good luck!”

Erza nodded, her resolve solidifying. She pushed open the door to the bakery, the little bell above it ringing softly to announce her entrance. The shop was warm and welcoming, filled with the scent of sugar and baked goods. And there, behind the counter, stood Y/n, the person who had unknowingly stolen her heart.

“Erza! You’re here just in time—I’ve just taken some strawberry cakes out of the oven. Would you like one?” Y/n smiled brightly, their eyes warm and kind as always. They wiped their flour-dusted hands on their apron and gestured to the tray of perfect, gleaming cakes on the counter.

Erza approached the counter, her heart pounding. She could handle this. She had faced worse challenges. “Yes, I would like one… but there’s something else I came to say.”

Y/n paused, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. “What’s on your mind?”

Erza clenched her fists slightly as if bracing herself for impact. “I… I’ve been coming here for a long time. Not just because of your delicious cakes, though they are the best in Magnolia.”

Y/n chuckled softly. “I’m glad you think so.”

Erza continued, her voice softening. “But because I enjoy seeing you. You’ve been so kind to me and everyone. I admire your dedication, your passion for your craft, and your kindness. I’ve come to realize that… I have feelings for you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Erza feared the worst. But then, Y/n’s smile widened to a warm, genuine smile that reached their eyes.

“Erza, I’ve been hoping you’d say something like that for a long time,” Y/n said, their voice gentle. “I’ve always admired your strength, your bravery, but also your kindness. You’re an incredible person. I… I feel the same way.”

Erza’s heart soared. She had done it. She had confessed, and not only had it gone well, but the person she cared for felt the same. Without thinking, she reached out and took one of the strawberry cakes from the tray, holding it up to Y/n. “To celebrate, then?”

Y/n laughed, their eyes sparkling with affection. “To celebrate.”

As they shared the cake, the warmth between them felt sweeter than anything else in the room. And just outside the window, Lucy, Mirajane, and Wendy peeked in, grinning from ear to ear.

“She did it!” Wendy whispered excitedly.

Lucy sighed happily. “It was perfect.”

Mirajane smiled knowingly. “Sometimes, love just needs a little nudge—and maybe a strawberry cake.”

—————————

As the shared moment between Erza and Y/n settled into a comfortable rhythm, the sweet taste of the strawberry cake lingering in the air, Erza found herself more relaxed than she had anticipated. Y/n’s warm, genuine response had lifted a weight from her heart, one she hadn’t fully realized she was carrying. She had faced this unknown battlefield of vulnerability, and now, standing across from them, everything seemed brighter, sweeter—just like the perfect cake they were sharing.

“You always order strawberry cakes, don’t you?” Y/n asked with a teasing smile. Their eyes softened as they met hers. “I started baking them more often once I noticed.”

Erza blinked in surprise, her expression softening. “You did? Just for me?”

Y/n nodded, a slight blush creeping onto their cheeks. “Well, I noticed you always light up whenever you see them. I thought… maybe you liked them as much as I enjoy seeing you here.”

Erza’s heart swelled with an unfamiliar warmth. It wasn’t often that she was caught off guard, but hearing how attentive Y/n had been to her preferences made her chest tighten most pleasantly. “Thank you,” she said softly, feeling a sense of ease washing over her. “For everything.”

Their conversation drifted into comfortable banter as the sun outside began to dip lower, casting a soft golden hue over the bakery. The sounds of Magnolia outside faded into the background as the two of them remained wrapped in their world, the atmosphere inside the bakery warmer than ever.

Meanwhile, outside, Lucy, Mirajane, and Wendy were still standing by the window, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. Lucy, her hands pressed against the glass, could barely contain her excitement. “They’re talking! Look at them! It’s going so well.”

Wendy smiled brightly, her hands clasped together. “I knew she could do it! She’s amazing.”

Mirajane, ever the romantic, chuckled softly. “I had no doubt. But… we should probably give them some privacy now, don’t you think?”

Lucy pouted but nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t want to be that nosy.”

The three of them stepped away from the window and began strolling back toward the guild, leaving Erza and Alaric to enjoy the rest of their evening together. However, as they walked, Lucy couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder, a soft smile still on her face. “She deserves this. I’m happy for her.”

Back inside the bakery, the conversation had quieted, and a comfortable silence filled the space as Y/n worked behind the counter, preparing to close up for the evening. Erza watched them, her thoughts swirling. She couldn’t believe how smoothly everything had gone. It was strange—after all the battles, the enemies, the trials she had faced over the years, this confession had been the hardest thing for her to face. But now, it seemed so simple. Y/n’s acceptance, their warmth—it made her feel… lighter.

“Erza,” Y/n called out gently, breaking her from her thoughts. “Would you like to help me close up?”

Erza stood, smiling softly. “Of course.” She moved around the counter, watching as Y/n carefully wiped down the surfaces, organizing their baking tools with the same care she took in maintaining her weapons. Something was soothing about the quiet rhythm of the bakery, the way everything seemed to move with purpose and care.

As they worked side by side, Y/n glanced at her from the corner of their eye. “You know, I’ve always admired how strong you are. But it’s moments like this, when you’re just… being you, that I admire most.”

Erza paused, her hands stilling on the cloth she was using to clean. Their words were simple, yet they held a weight that made her chest tighten once more. It wasn’t often that people saw her beyond her strength, and her role as Titania. But Y/n had, and it meant more to her than she could express.

“I’m not always as strong as people think,” she admitted quietly, her voice carrying a vulnerability she rarely let show. “But… I’m trying.”

Y/n set down the tray they had been cleaning and turned to her, their eyes filled with understanding. “I think that’s what makes you strong, Erza. Not the armor or the sword. It’s your heart.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she felt exposed in a way that wasn’t frightening. Instead, it felt… freeing. She didn’t have to be the strongest person in the room here. She could just be Erza.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It was all she could manage, but the sincerity behind it was palpable.

Y/n smiled softly, reaching out to take her hand in theirs. Their touch was gentle, their thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “I’m glad you came today,” they said. “Not just because you confessed… but because it feels right. Being here with you.”

Erza felt her heart flutter at their words. She had faced countless battles, but this one, the battle of the heart, had led her to a victory she hadn’t expected. Standing there, hand in hand with Y/n, she realized that sometimes, the strongest thing a person could do was let their guard down and allow someone else to see them, truly see them.

And at that moment, with the warmth of the bakery around her and Y/n by her side, Erza knew she had found something special—something as sweet and comforting as the strawberry cakes she had come to love.

As the evening drew to a close and they stepped out into the quiet streets of Magnolia together, Erza couldn’t help but smile to herself. For once, she had found peace not in battle, but in love.

Bonus:

The morning sun was bright, casting a warm glow over Magnolia as Y/n stood outside the imposing doors of the Fairy Tail guildhall, box of fresh pastries in hand. Today was the day they had promised to pick Erza up for their next date, and while the last visit to the guild had been… intense, to say the least, they were prepared. Or at least, that’s what they told themself.

Taking a deep breath, they pushed the doors open and were immediately met with the usual boisterous energy of Fairy Tail. Tables were flipped, Natsu and Gray were in the middle of a wrestling match, and the ever-lively chatter of the guild members filled the hall. It didn’t take long for them to notice them.

As if on cue, the room went silent.

Y/n stood there, the box of pastries clutched tightly in their hands as dozens of eyes turned to them. They smiled awkwardly, trying to keep their composure. “Uh… good morning.”

Levy was the first to break the silence, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Oh! It’s Erza’s partner!”

The word hung in the air for a moment, and Y/n could feel their cheeks flush as the guild suddenly burst into excited chatter. They had never explicitly used that title, but it seemed the guild had already made up their minds.

“Partner?” Natsu’s voice boomed as he suddenly appeared in front of Y/n, eyes wide. “So it’s official now, huh? Are you guys gonna get married or something?”

“Natsu!” Lucy exclaimed, smacking him on the back of the head. “Don’t scare them off!”

“Yeah,” Gray chimed in, leaning against a nearby pillar with a smirk. “What’s the rush, Natsu? They’ve only been on, what, one date?”

Y/n cleared their throat, trying not to shrink under the weight of the guild’s collective curiosity. “This will be our second date,” they said, holding up the box of pastries like a peace offering. “I brought these as a thank you. For, uh, last time.”

Cana eyed the box, taking a swig from her mug. “Ooh, bribing us with food again? I like this guy’s style.”

Y/n was about to offer the box to the group when Elfman, who had been eerily quiet up until now, suddenly stood up from his seat, towering over everyone. His booming voice echoed through the hall. “You want to date Erza? That takes a real man!”

A collective groan rippled through the guild as they braced themselves for one of Elfman’s usual rants about what it means to be a “real man.” Y/n smiled nervously, not entirely sure how to respond to that, but luckily, Mirajane swooped in, her usual gentle smile on her face.

“Now, now, Elfman, let’s not scare them off,” she said, giving Y/n a wink. “Erza would never forgive us.”

At the mention of Erza, a collective shift of focus seemed to occur, as if everyone suddenly remembered the person who would, without a doubt, not be pleased if they scared off her date. Y/n was grateful for the reminder; the last thing they wanted was to cause trouble.

“Where is Erza, anyway?” Lucy asked, scanning the room.

As if on cue, the doors to the upstairs creaked open, and Erza herself stepped into the guildhall. She wore a simple but elegant outfit, her scarlet hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The moment she laid eyes on Y/n, a soft smile spread across her face, though there was a clear warning in her gaze as she scanned the room, daring anyone to cause trouble.

“Y/n,” she greeted warmly, walking towards them with purpose. “I’m glad you made it.”

Y/n smiled back, instantly feeling more at ease now that Erza was with them. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

But before they could leave, Natsu darted between them, eyes wide with excitement. “Hey, wait a minute! What’s your plan for the date? You better not take her somewhere boring.”

“A-Actually,” Y/n stammered, feeling the pressure of the guild’s collective stares once more. “I thought we’d start with a nice lunch at that new restaurant near the river. I heard it’s quiet and has a great view.”

“That sounds lovely,” Erza interjected before anyone else could speak. She placed a reassuring hand on Y/n’s arm. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Natsu pouted, clearly wanting more details, but Happy quickly swooped in, grinning mischievously. “What if you guys go on a magic battle date? You could spar while eating cake!”

Y/n's eyes widened in horror at the thought, but Erza chuckled, shaking her head. “I think we’ll leave the sparring for another time, Happy.”

Gajeel, who had been silently observing the interaction from his seat, finally spoke up, his voice gruff. “I don’t get it. What’s a person like him doing with someone like Titania?”

Levy elbowed him sharply. “Gajeel!”

But Y/n, to their credit, only smiled, though their nerves were still apparent. “Erza’s incredible, and I’m lucky she even gives me the time of day. I just… want to make her happy.”

For a moment, the guild fell silent. Y/n’s words seemed to resonate with everyone, even the usually tough-natured Gajeel, who grunted in approval.

Before anyone could comment further, Erza stepped forward, gently taking Y/n’s hand in hers. “Shall we?”

The guild watched, almost in awe, as Erza—one of the strongest, most fearsome members of Fairy Tail—smiled softly at Y/n, her hand firmly in theirs as they made their way toward the door. It was a rare sight to see Erza so… at ease, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

Just as they were about to leave, Makarov, who had been silently observing from his usual spot, cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Y/n,” he called out, his voice commanding. “I trust you’ll take good care of our Erza?”

Y/n turned, meeting the guild master’s gaze. Though small in stature, Makarov’s presence was formidable. Y/n stood a little straighter, their voice steady. “I promise, sir.”

Makarov’s expression softened into a smile. “Good. Off you go then.”

As Erza and Y/n finally stepped out of the guildhall, leaving behind the chaos of Fairy Tail, Y/n let out a long breath he hadn’t realized they’d been holding.

Erza glanced at them, her expression both amused and sympathetic. “Are you alright?”

Y/n chuckled, shaking their head slightly. “I think I survived.”

Erza smiled, giving their hand a gentle squeeze. “They’re just protective. But you handled yourself well.”

“I had some help,” Y/n said, smiling down at her. “Thank you.”

The two of them continued walking through the streets of Magnolia, their hands still intertwined, the noise of the guild fading into the background. For the first time since entering the guild hall, Y/n felt completely at ease. They had survived the guild’s “gentle” interrogation, and now, they could focus on what truly mattered—their time with Erza.

As they made their way toward the restaurant, Y/n couldn’t help but think that this, despite the chaos, was the start of something wonderful

[reverse1999fics]

humbly requesting a Forget Me Not x reader because I’ve been starving for Forget Me Not content ahhhhhhhhh! Maybe the reader is like a regular quest at the Walden and he’s grown fond of them or something!!

Ahh I loved this idea so much! I definitely had fun writing this!!

Forget Me Not x Gender-Neutral Reader

Such a shame

A beautiful specimen, they were. Often he would see them and think how much of a waste it would be for them to fall into the hands of the storm

Everyday, Mr. Forget Me Not would be blessed with light. A smile so bright, heaven looked dim. A laugh so enchanting, music was nothing compared to it. He'd never come to terms with the fact he was under this spell, a spell that was cast by some non-arcanist scum. He should think that, but he couldn't bring himself to be with such a mindset. They were wonderful, and it was the best part of his day, seeing them come in.

The familiar chime of a bell was loud in such a quiet place, the door was opened and someone very special was coming in for their usual. Forget Me Not smiles to himself, as he recognized the small 'tap tap tap's of their shoes.

With a deep breath, he braced himself for beauty as he turned around to face his customer. "Good evening Mx. (Y/N), it's a pleasure to see you." He smiled spreading his hands to lean on the countertop in front of him so he could lean forward and perhaps down a bit and get a good look at them.

"Mr. Forget Me Not, it's wonderful to see such a handsome face again." They smiled back, sitting down on one of the bar stools and setting their bag on the floor, entangling their legs with the straps.

Forget Me Not chuckled, a light dust of red leaving a barely visible residue on his pale cheeks. "You're too kind, it is you who is handsome. Beautiful in fact, it's not often I see someone stop by that could rival your looks." He said, leaning forward and leaning on his hand, watching as their face lit a bright red.

They brought their hand up to their face, covering their smile and they laughed lightly. "A charmer as always", their eyes closed and they brought their other hand up to help cover the big smile and rosey cheeks from the man in front of them.

"My dear, why must you always hide such a beautiful smile from me? It breaks my heart to think you're ashamed of it." Forget Me Not says, reaching out his hand and lightly grabbing one of theirs.

He grasped their skin, wishing he wasn't wearing his gloves so he could feel their skin on his own. Slowly, he leaned forward while bringing their hand closer, closing his eyes while kissing their knuckles ever so gently.

The action only made their face blush more, a more nervous laugh let out by them as they looked away.

"You're too much." They said, posture more tense than before. It wasn't a bad thing, their reaction, the two had the same interaction everyday.

'It would truly be a waste for them to be victim of the storm', Forget Me Not thought to himself. His actions were justified, he told himself. Watching in the midst of chaos as they, his dear light, fell under the actions of Manus Vindicate, the oozing mask covering their face and dripping onto their silk clothes and skin.

[thatlotuscookie]

Tanjiro x Reader? reader is a fellow demon slayer who’s always been very independent, but during a tough mission, they push themselves too hard and collapse from exhaustion. Tanjiro steps in, worried sick, and insists on taking care of them even though the reader doesn’t like to show weakness

✧･ﾟ: a/n: thank you so much for the request, anon! Writing Tanjiro being soft and protective was such a treat. There's something about his gentle, caring nature that just makes this kind of scenario perfect. Let me know if you guys have any more requests or ideas!

✧ Title: ✧ Rest in His Arms ✧ ✧ Characters: Tanjiro Kamado x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: After a brutal battle, you find yourself severely injured and struggling to keep going. Tanjiro, ever protective, stays by your side, taking care of you despite his own exhaustion. Vulnerability may feel like weakness, but in Tanjiro's arms, it feels safe. ✧ Content Warnings: Injury, blood, emotional distress, caretaking, mention of exhaustion. ✧ WC: 943 words // 5.3k chars

The sun was setting over the small clearing, casting long shadows across the bloodstained grass. The battle had left a dark stain on the earth, and the once peaceful evening was now heavy with the aftermath of the demon's attack. You could barely muster the energy to keep your eyes open, the dull ache in your muscles turning into sharp pain with every shallow breath. Your body was screaming in protest as you struggled to sit up, but your strength was rapidly fading.

The mission had been a disaster. The demon you'd been tracking was far stronger than any of you had anticipated. Your comrades, though brave, were all injured, some lying unconscious a few feet away. You... you had pushed yourself too far.

A warm hand grasped your shoulder, pulling you gently but firmly back against a familiar chest. “No, no, no! You have to rest!” Tanjiro’s voice was laced with worry, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by something much more serious. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to make sure you were comfortable.

You blinked up at him, trying to focus. “I’m... fine,” you rasped, but your words lacked conviction. All that came out was a hoarse whisper, weak and thin. The effort of speaking made your head spin, and the world around you began to blur at the edges. Tanjiro’s concerned face became an indistinct shape, and darkness threatened to swallow you whole.

Tanjiro’s arms wrapped tightly around you just as your body gave way, cradling you protectively. “It’s going to be alright,” he whispered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his own fear. “I’ve got you.”

As the world faded, the last thing you remembered was the warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was oddly comforting, despite the chaos around you.

When you came to, the first thing you noticed was the smell of wood smoke, the soft crackling of a small fire nearby. Your body was still heavy with exhaustion, but there was something softer now—a roll of blankets tucked under your head, the warmth of the fire chasing away the night’s chill. Your mind was hazy as you tried to piece together what had happened.

Tanjiro was kneeling beside you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stirred a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. The firelight danced across his features, casting shadows that highlighted his deep concern. “You need to eat,” he said, his voice low and soft. There was an undeniable tenderness in his tone. “You lost a lot of blood.”

You tried to sit up, but the moment you moved, a sharp wave of pain washed over you, forcing a pained gasp from your throat. Your hand instinctively went to your side, where the worst of your injuries had been bandaged. Tanjiro was instantly at your side, his reflexes as quick as ever, helping you sit up slowly. His touch was gentle but firm as he steadied you when you swayed. “Take it easy,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I... I can’t believe I let myself get so weak,” you muttered, frustration welling up inside you. You were a demon slayer—someone strong, capable. Yet here you were, unable to move without help.

Tanjiro looked at you with those warm, understanding eyes of his, eyes that held none of the judgment you feared. “You’re not weak,” he said quietly, but with conviction. “You’re brave. You pushed yourself because you care so much about protecting everyone.” His hand lingered on your shoulder, a silent reassurance. “But even the strongest warriors need to take care of themselves. You’re no exception.”

For once, you didn’t argue. Exhaustion weighed too heavily on your limbs, and the warmth of his presence melted away the sharp edges of your pride. You let him help you eat, the rich broth soothing your parched throat and warming your body from the inside out. Each small bite was a reminder of how much you needed this, needed him, even if you hated to admit it.

He was so gentle, checking your wounds with careful hands, rebandaging them when needed. His brow furrowed in concentration as he worked, making sure you were comfortable, never once complaining or making you feel like a burden. You could see the weariness in his own eyes, the battle taking its toll on him too, but still, his focus was entirely on you.

When the soup was gone and the fire had died down to embers, Tanjiro returned to your side, his hand resting on your shoulder again as he knelt beside you. “You should rest more,” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. “There’s no rush. The others are safe, and you need to heal.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips as you saw the pleading look in his eyes. He wasn’t asking you to rest for his sake, but for yours. And so, with a deep breath, you relented, letting him guide you back against his chest once more. His arms wrapped around you, steady and strong, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax completely.

It was strange, feeling so vulnerable, but in Tanjiro’s arms, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt... safe. Protected. Like you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone.

As the night wore on, you felt a strange sense of peace wash over you, a comfort you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. Maybe... maybe it wasn’t so bad to accept help sometimes. And maybe, just maybe, Tanjiro wasn’t so bad himself.

[rush-the-stars]

new tricks

pairing: yandere abyss prince kaeya x gender neutral reader

cw: dark content, kidnapping/capture, the reader is treated physically well but is still captured/being held against their will, mentions of a punishment, strange and toxic dynamic, mildly suggestive.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune!

this is just a tiny drabble. don't squint at worldbuilding or plot lol. i had this idea prattling around my head and wanted it out. one day i will write the dark long fic of my dreams but today is not the day. thank you to @/lorelune for taking a peek beforehand and assuring me <33

on the back of your neck, goosebumps ripple to life. a chill races down your spine. you know it well—as intimately as you know the brag of your own heart.

sensing him, you cast your eyes up in the reflection of your mirror to catch the shape of him behind you.

you didn’t even hear him enter your chambers. but you’d felt him somehow, known his presence. maybe known his gaze on you.

(it burns deep and vicious to know his gaze. to become accustomed and attuned to him.)

prince kaeya smiles knowingly.

the dark glint to his eye lets you know he’s in strange ways.

“you’re getting quite perceptive.” he muses. “if only you’d been so sharp when i first took you, maybe you wouldn’t be here.”

you were just a naive artist from mondstadt then. a child who knew the sound of the wind in the trees and the birdsong that rose into the sky early in the morning. you knew the golden hills and the valley and a sort of freedom that made you sing like those birds in the morning, too.

(in the dark, he asks you to sing. sing like you used to, he says. and when you open your mouth, you’re always terrified of what will come out.)

now you sit tucked away in the gilded cage he’s made for you in a land far from your home skies. in a castle where the eyes of gods cannot reach you.

“you’re lucky i wasn’t.” you reply sharply, trying to keep your bite around him.

it grows harder and harder to.

every day the edge you’ve tried so desperately to keep begins to whittle away. it’s hard to always be angry. it’s miserable to always be vicious.

(and he’s never harmed you. not physically—just in stranger, worse ways. emotionally. mentally. you wish he’d just break a bone or make a scar, so that when it heals, you know you’re okay again.

it’s worse that he spoils you. it’s worse that he cherishes you. it’s its own form of torment. he knows it.)

he smiles lazily, on the edges are amusement. fondness. he is endlessly entertained by your contempt.

he approaches where you sit in front of your ornate vanity. it’s too beautiful. it’s too grand.

he’s a dark shadow of blue behind you in the mirror. you watch his reflection carefully. he watches you back as he approaches.

something thrills inside you, wild and dark and sudden.

he reaches out, touches your cheek.

you watch his knuckle brush against your face in the mirror.

he’s testing you.

the last time you bit him.

the moment you turn your face towards his hand, it slips away, dancing out of your reach.

he smiles again knowingly.

it’s insufferable.

sensing your ire, he says, “let’s play our game.”

you breathe hard through your nose.

you turn to face him so you’re not caught in his endless reflection. you glare up at him with all the vitriol you can muster.

(it isn’t much anymore.)

“don’t you have more important things to do?”

“nothing so important as you, darling.”

your teeth grind together. but you get out;

“i’d try to escape from the balcony.”

he tsks.

“the guards would spot you.”

“i’d poison the guards.”

he laughs outright at this, “with what poison?”

you feel heat in your face, but you press on, “the hemlock i’ve been growing in the garden.”

he pauses at that. tilts his head.

“my, you’ve gotten good. i can’t tell if you’re lying.”

“go and check.” you dare.

“maybe later.” he agrees, “say i destroyed it. i froze it.”

“you’re not playing fair.” you accuse.

he laughs warmly, reaching out again to tousle your hair. you swat and push at him, but it only excites him, it only makes his hands catch your wrists and come down to your level. kneeling beside you. he holds your wrists tight, presses them down into your own lap. in another world, he could be a lover on his knees for you, his hands clasped over yours.

he fits himself between your legs. he presses himself too close.

but it isn’t another world. and his eye is like the endless night sky in this one. so dark, so terrifying.

“fine,” he agrees pleasantly, “the guards are poisoned. you slip out from the balcony. i’m a light sleeper—i hear you jump to the ground.”

“i try to run.” you breathe.

“where would you run?” he asks, nose nudging yours. you can feel the sharp cut of his foxish smile.

“past the fountain.”

“come now, you’re cleverer than that. i’d find you and drag you back.”

“i’d kick and scream. i’d make you bleed.”

“you’ve done that all before, it doesn’t stop me anymore.”

your nails bite into his shoulders as he lifts you from your place in front of the vanity. you hang around his neck like a child. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist.

you tuck your face into his shoulder so you don’t see the pleased look in his eye.

you know where he’ll take you.

“you need new tricks.” he hums as he sits on the edge of the bed with you in his lap.

“maybe i already have them—if it’s a good trick, you wouldn’t know.” you mumble into his shoulder. you hide there.

his hand creeps up to the back of your neck. goosebumps prickle. his fingers slip into your hair and then curl into a loose fist. he tugs gently to dislodge you from his shoulder, to pull you away so that he may see your face again.

he looks at you as if he’s trying to find the trick you speak of. perhaps it’s in your eyes or the set of your mouth.

“i always know.” he warns.

“let’s play again.” you say.

and this time, you use your weight to push him down onto the bed.

he goes down willingly, too easily.

you capture his wrists the way he did to you earlier. you pin them by his head. languidly, he stretches beneath you, amused with this show of sudden power or interest.

“okay, you begin.” he says and his smile is the curve of a laughing, crescent moon.

“i grow to trust you.”

he tilts his head, uncertain or intrigued, you can’t tell. but you can tell you’ve surprised him. his smile falters.

“i’m pleased—you know it’s all i want.” he says and though it’s softened, it’s guarded. you can feel the way he tenses beneath you, waiting, searching.

“and i grow to—to want you, too.” you say and your voice sounds strange to your own ears. far off. maybe too near. not your own, or else, horrifyingly, only yours.

perhaps there is truth there in a way you cannot even begin to untangle.

he’s silent. watching.

“what do you do?” you prompt, breath hitching, almost beg him to speak. “play the game. it’s your turn.”

you feel his wrists flex, the tendons and muscles moving, encircled in your fingers.

“i—cherish you. i foster your desires. i give you whatever you want.” his voice is bedroom soft. his lashes flutter.

“freedom?”

he releases a slow breath of frustration. you feel it against your cheek.

“a form of it.” he answers. and then, carefully, you feel the shifting of his hand beneath yours. his thumb sweeps over your wrist, into your palm. “more and more as i grow to trust you, too.”

you let your hand open up to his, feel it bloom to the touch.

“being alone in the garden.” you press, “i ask you one day to tend to it by myself, when i please.”

he laces his fingers with yours.

“in time.” he agrees, “and you can tend to your garden alone. you can walk on the grounds, wherever you please. you can take dinner in the atrium or the greenhouse or by the lake. it could all be yours.”

you squeeze his hand, “say i earn your trust—let’s finish the game.”

“i give you the world.” he breathes it and you feel it against your lips, feel it somewhere deep inside of you. on the other, soft side of your chest, where your heart thrums.

you know he is telling the truth.

but it rings discordant inside of you. just as softly, you murmur;

“and then i disappear with it. you wait for me to come in from the garden one day—and i never do.”

the tender hold of your hand turns vicious, biting.

you bare your teeth and hiss, “i steal your world and your trust and the love you gave me and i run and run and run. until you can’t find me—until you can’t catch me. i do it when you least expect it—when i love you too much.”

he pushes and twists you under him. he presses you down hard like he could keep you from disappearing, like you’re slipping from him already. but you press on;

“and you’ll see my face everywhere—in the windows of the atrium and the corners of the greenhouse. in the hemlock i grew in the garden and the wind that howls while you stand on the balcony. but i’ll be gone—“

“you’ll never earn my trust now.” he warns, “and you’ll never know the garden alone, or the world i could give you.”

“but i’ll know the one you took from me.”

his eye flashes dangerously, the flicker of frigid, dark waters beneath ice.

but then he’s gone. off of you. the warmth of him leaves you in a rush.

he grabs for a coat of his, throwing it over his shoulders in a flare of dark fabric.

“where are you going? i thought you wanted to play.” you sneer.

“and i thought you didn’t?” he heads for the door anyways, “i’m going to the garden. alone.”

“scared you’ll find hemlock?” you ask.

“are you scared i’ll find hemlock?” he retorts and then lowers his voice, almost to a caress, “i would punish you.”

“you’ve done that all before, it doesn’t stop me anymore.” you tilt your head, “maybe you need new tricks.”

the door slams behind him. you don’t even flinch.

and in a moment, you watch his figure, a dark smudge against the gray fog, trudge out towards the garden.

you watch from the balcony.

there is no hemlock in the garden.

and he is gentler again when he returns that night. but he locks the door to the balcony and he keeps the key tethered around his neck, pressed to you as he holds you; so close and yet so far.

you can feel it’s cool metal against your bare back. you can feel his skin to yours, the way he holds you like you’re going to slip away.

there is no hemlock in the garden, but there is nightshade.

“let’s play our game.” he whispers that night, pressing scattered kisses like falling stars along your shoulder, your jaw.

“i steal the key around your throat. i unlock the balcony door—“

“i hear you. i let you go, anyways.”

you go perfectly still.

“i—i climb down the balcony and i run—“

“past the fountain?”

you nod slowly. you feel your heart kick into an unsteady rhythm.

“i let you go. i let you get far.”

“you’d let me—“

your throat constricts; a ball of emotion wedged there suddenly. you feel your eyes prick with—with shock. is he really—?

something terrified stirs inside you at even the thought of your real freedom; of the thing you want most.

“and then i hunt you.”

he kisses beneath your ear, like a lover.

your blood goes cold.

“i chase you across the world i gave you and the one i took from you. and every time, i find you. i’d find you. and i’d drag you back.”

“i’d—i’d kick and scream. i’d make you bleed.” you manage to get out.

he props himself up, if only to catch your chin, to force you to look back at him.

he kisses you. slowly. sweetly.

“there’s no hemlock in the garden. you need new tricks.”

but the nightshade opens its flowers to the moon, just outside the locked door of your balcony, in the garden that you can’t tend to alone.

you melt into the kiss, open mouthed and tender. soft and deep like lovers.

when you pull away, you have the key dangling in your hand;

“and this isn’t the key to the balcony. so do you.”

when he kisses you again, brutal and dreadful, and with too much heat for someone so, so cold, you feel the sharp cut of his foxish smile.

and maybe even some sick curve of your own.

[uchidachi]

I am getting a bit pissed because I want to make my silly little posts poking fun at the new installment of Dragon Age (as is the wont and right of every long-term fan) Like how Rook has to do a little dance for Myrna and Vorgoth before they can sell vendor trash because the chat hitboxes are too close together. But I feel like…

The hate Veilguard is getting is INSANE and I don’t trust a single one of you to be honest about the reasons behind it. Because a lot of the complaints I see don’t make sense from someone who played previous games

“The voice lines didn’t match the text” -> listen babe it’s been three games since Origins, at this point it’s a feature, not a bug, or at least just the cost of having a fully-voiced Bioware protagonist

“Oh there was so much second-hand embarassment” -> oh i agree i cringed so hard when the entire cast broke out into a religious sing-along at a dramatic mom— OH WAIT

“The writers said Southern Thedas was almost completely destroyed because they hate us, the players, so much” -> the entire setting’s concept is that Thedas has been very nearly destroyed four times before DAO… this game is about the SIXTH and final Blight. They’ll be fine.

“The writers turned Solas evil and hate Solavellans” -> Solavellans got an entire different & unique true-love-conquers-all ending scene to everyone else and also Solas killed his best and oldest friend at the end of Inquisition (and also killed his other best and oldest friend at the end of The Masked Empire) [insert “always has been” astronaut meme here]

Nope you know actually i’m gonna finish this post without the cutesy sarcasm.

I’ve had to unfollow three different fanartists who went from “I just don’t vibe with the game” to “I don’t think the Lords of Fortune were handled well” to “All the gender stuff was FORCED on us” in a MONTH since the game came out.

So yeah, I don’t trust anyone who is too angry about Veilguard. Even in the most critical light it is FINE as a game, and, just personally, I would feel very strange about being intensely critical about a piece of media whose loudest critics are explicitly targeting it for being “too woke”

Maybe I’m being unfair to those who are sincerely unhappy with the game, but I think it’s more unfair to trans & nonbinary fans to have to deal with supposed allies making almost-identical posts as the gamergate-for-transphobes crowd!

So I’m not going to do that!! I’m gonna make this post ranting at fandom instead!!! As is also the wont and right of every long-term fan!!!!

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑.

notes. genshin boys as songs from taylor swift’s album, lover, super sorry for misreading your request mikan, i hope this one is better for you!

genre. fluff + angst

for @alatushours <3

ft. xiao, kazuha kaedehara, albedo, scaramouche ( wanderer / kabukimono / kunikuzushi / balladeer )

tw. implied alcohol consumption ( scaramouche’s ), implications and discussions of abandonment issues.

gender neutral! reader

ะ ྂ ❤︎ . ˚˖ now playing.. the archer.

+ about. the archer tells the story of someone’s anxiety, inner suffering and insecurities. while they have had their fair share of the upper hand in a situation, they’ve also been in a more vulnerable, hunted position. relationships are hard to hold onto, as most of their enemies started off as friends

+ xiao has lived a long time, having gone from a peaceful life among his yaksha allies — whom he called his friends. in the present, those friends are no longer, having become corrupted with karma and the after effects of the cataclysm, which had left him with no choice but to fulfill his duty as the remainder of the five. on the outside, the conqueror of demons stands as a symbol of strength and protection for the people of liyue, a hope for a karma-free region. yet, there stood somebody who always seemed to see right through him, who saw through the stable front he put on for everyone. he found it stupid that you did, but deep down it scared him. xiao once wondered who could ever leave him, but now.. it’s who could stay? it strained his chances at new friendships, at relationships — at letting somebody into his life. yet you paved a path towards him, through all the karma that follows and bathes him under the moonlight, and reach out for him to hold onto you.

+ “i’ve been the archer.. i’ve been the prey..”

ะ ྂ ❤︎ . ˚˖ now playing.. daylight.

+ about. daylight tells the story of a person who has been stuck in what feels like a never ending dark night, and finally breathes out a puff of fresh air when the brightness of day, their cherished love, washes away the eternal darkness that has trapped them for so long.

+ kazuha didn’t want to look anything else now that he saw you. ever since the lockdown on inazuma with sakoku decree, the loss of his friend, what remained of his lineage; just about everything, he felt stuck. stuck within a night without a moon or stars to light his way, to guide him out of the dark.. until he met you, that was. with his only escape through beidou’s ship, he was met with the most cleansing opportunity of meeting you upon his arrival in the ever prospering liyue. you were like a ray of sunshine, the daylight he’d been search for what felt eons for, and finally found. you’d driven out every shroud of darkness that held onto him and flooded his vision with a brightness so warm, it gravitated him to you. of course there had been the fear of flying too close, like the story of icarus. only, if kazuha flew too close, there was the fear of losing you as he’d lost another once before. but as he drew closer.. he found himself greeted with warmth, rather than ashes.

+ “and now i see daylight, i only see daylight.”

ะ ྂ ❤︎ . ˚˖ now playing.. lover.

+ about. lover tells the story of someone who feels they’ve known their partner a lifetime, rather than the amount of time in which they’ve been together. they have finally found the one they have been searching for all their life, and wants to go wherever they go.

+ albedo never thought himself to be cut out for frivolous love and romance, and yet here he was now. a holiday dinner at his place had ended with his colleagues friends of the knights crashing in the living room, fairy lights still up, casting their warm glow. he held up a cup of tea as he walked in to see you snickering at them with a morning drink of your tastes in hand, wrapping an arm around you as he held you close to him. he could remember last night near perfect detail, recalling the cooking, the laughter, and the seat you saved him right next to you, just as he did for you at every table you both sat at. it was always the little details that made his heart burn with an unfamiliar warmth, similar to the one he felt with alice’s daughter, klee, yet different. yours felt like a bundle of blankets on the coldest day of the year, on the peak of sal vindagnyr, with a shower of adoration in the form of sweet nothings, dirty jokes and the tenderest kisses. a reminder that you are his, forever and ever and ever. his.. lover.

+ “i take this magnetic force of a man to be my.. lover!”

ะ ྂ ❤︎ . ˚˖ now playing.. cornelia street.

+ about. cornelia street tells the story of someone afraid to lose another person they loved, due to previous loss. they’re enjoying the moments with the person they love, but doubts and fear surface in their head of those moments coming to an abrupt end, just as everything else does.

+ scaramouche swore off getting close to people after the third incident in his early life. now, he is met again with what could be the fourth incident, out of his ( stupid ) feelings for someone that warmed their way into his hollow chest. that was you. after a night out, feeling tipsy, you threw in the idea of renting a place for the both of you to live in. the wanderer thought it to be stupid. given his new lifestyle, renting a place didn’t align with that. but he didn’t refuse the idea. he enjoyed his time with you there, life was never brighter.. except for those moments where he thinks back to his past, and wonders if he would lose you, too. if the former harbinger did, he knew he would never be the same, that he would never be able to walk the street of your rented home again. terrified, he tried to leave at point, fearing history would repeat.. and yet you showed your hand before he could leave, and sat on the roof with him that night with the promise of never leaving.

+ “hope it never ends.. i’d never walk cornelia street again.”

notes. hello mikan! super sorry again for misreading the request, i hope this one is better and that the songs i chose are okay😭 i only listen to a few tracks on lover so i tried my best to pick what fits them best</3

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[aphidclan-clangen]

Hi! Happy 2025 :D

You've done an amazing job this past year, Iridis! AphidClan is one of the only clangens I can follow without getting lost or bored within a few updates (including one of my own I tried to start lol); your designs are instantly recognizable and eye-catching, the darker lore is balanced out with enough cute, light moments that it never feels overwhelming or overcomplicated, you express such a wide range of emotions and dynamics so well! Plus the diversity in your character base and your care towards representing a variety of identities, just makes me so happy to see. Everything about this comic is so uniquely creative, it's honestly incredibly impressive.

Obviously nothing against other clangens– just that yours has something special I've been unable to find elsewhere :]

Thank you for everything you've done this year, and I hope the next goes well for you 💞

AWWWW man thank you so much <33 This is so sweet and honestly relieving to hear lol, I often feel like I don’t really know what I’m doing with Aphidclan. Like it’s a constant hazy state of cluelessness that I’ve just grown used to. Im not very aware of like… what my work reads as to others? Man I dunno if you guys even know what’s going on lmao. So it’s really nice to hear an outside perspective and realize that’s probably just a me thing. And that it’s impressive??? Damn, man, thank you lol

I’ve never quite done anything like Aphidclan before. It started at a time in my life when I was…technically my gender exploration journey started months earlier than this, but it was kinda started at the cusp of my own gender identity exploration,,explosion. The first thing I wanted to explore was being xenogender (other folk go from “cisgender —> maybe I’m non-binary or trans…” in their journey like normal people but nah man. before anything else occurred to me I went from “im cisgender” to “maybe I’m a neon rainbow insect with neopronouns actually :)” lmao) and that coincided really well with the rise of the clangen trend, so I figured I’d use some brand new OCs to explore gender identity in a…safe way? In a safe little pocket where it was all,,,nonconsequential and only tangential to my own identity. And I ended up exploring transgender and non-binary identities as well very frequently, which was mostly helped by the game giving me cats with assigned genders/sexes and me squinting at them and going “…nah. that’s a unicorncore trans man if I ever seen one” and reversing it, and then transing half the cast lmao.

I was not transgender going into this comic. I am now coming out of our first year with Aphidclan as a transmasc nonbinary man <3

I never intended it to be a thing for representation points exactly? I was certainly surprised by the lack of xenogender and more complicated/unusual LGBTQ gender identities depicted in all media ever! I still don’t really understand why something like neopronouns aren’t more present? They’re the coolest shit ever. Like- we’ve broken down gender norms and gender roles so much that now gender is not just “feminine” and “masculine,” it’s anything and everything you could ever want it to be. It’s ultimate freedom. It’s not just what it means to be “man” or “woman,” it’s “but what if I was more than that? What if I felt like a bug? Or a rainbow? Or a cloud? Or a connection to nature and the ocean and the stars? What if I felt like I was part of the universe? Or a music genre, or a concept, or a candy bar, an animal, a fairy, a slice of fruit!” You could be anything you’ve ever dreamed of being and more.

And once you get used to the funky grammar of neopronouns, it’s not that polarizingly different from other identities at all, honestly. And plus, it’s really fkin fun lol.

Aphidclan’s helped me explore a lot throughout this year. There were often times where I was struggling with my own femininity as a trans man and I remembered Firebeetle and the support I’ve received for his character, and using “well, if it’s okay for firebeetle to wear dresses and flowers and feminine things, then it’s okay for me to do that too, and it doesn’t invalidate my identity at all” and it really helped. 2024 was a great year for me creatively and exploration-wise, and I’ll certainly never be the same. Thank you guys for all your support, it means a lot <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi there, i love your writing alot!!

https://www.tumblr.com/gay-dorito-dust/729892805178261505/reptilesyzith-hc-with-a-gender-neutral-partner?source=share

If asks are still open, can i request this but with the lin kuei trio? i wonder how their reactions are gonna be.. 👀

Oh yeah! Absolutely!

This is based off of this x reader who can respawn like in a video game but died for a bit but just with the Lin Kuei trio.

Character ooc? More likely than you think.

Tomas Vrbada

Distraught and ashamed of himself.

He promised you that he’d be better but upon hearing news of your passing had struck him deeply as thoughts began stacking onto one another, clustering his head with the what ifs and the what could’ve beens had he been there to prevent it from happening. Yet he wasn’t and that was Tomas’ biggest issue throughout all this, that he wasn’t there to prevent your death from happening, and that he failed in every doing that was enough to knock the air out of his lungs and for his knees to buckle.

So in response to loosing his family and now you was to overwork himself until he physically couldn’t take it anymore, and or distract his mind from further speculating that everyone also believed that your death was his fault. Something Kuai Liang would always say otherwise to but he could tell his brother knew that but wanted to feel as though they were as some weird form of motivation to get stronger.

He would even stay up late at night, unable to remember a proper nights sleep seeing as how he had grown accustomed to sleeping with you tightly in his arms, in hopes that one day he’d catch you coming back home. Only for Tomas to end up sleeping at his windowsill disappointed and tear streaks on his cheeks that he would wash away before leaving him room, though not before casting one last look behind him in hopes that you would’ve appeared in his room; just to be proven wrong again as he would then sigh sadly and close the door behind him to work himself to the bone once again.

Imagine the look upon his face when he opened the door to his room, only to find you stood there, looking as though you had been there the entire time. ‘Tomas? I-‘ before you could even get to finish your sentence, Tomas had already had you in his arms with his face shoved into the crook of your neck, his grip tightening as tears touched your skin. ‘You’re here, you’re really here. Thank god.’ You heard him say into your neck and you couldn’t help but hug him just as tightly, having severely missed his warmth.

‘Yes. I’m here Tomas, I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through I should’ve-‘ once again you were interrupted by Tomas who pulled his head from your neck to push it against yours instead. ‘You can explain later,’ Tomas said softly. ‘All I care about right now is that my wish came true, you finally came home.’

Kuai Liang

Seething with anger and filled with guilt.

Kuai Liang was a whole mess of emotions and didn’t have much choice when it came to healthy outlets for him to choice from, so instead he just worked himself tirelessly into finding whoever was responsible for your death.

He, much like Bi-Han, had more or less suppressed any and all emotions that weren’t either an insatiable blood thirst or rage but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have days where he’d express guilt over the fact that he had let you go out alone, thinking that you would come back, only to be told by Tomas that wouldn’t be the case.

Kuai Liang didn’t get much sleep that night becuase he was too busy being enraged with himself and the events leading up to now, trying to recall if he missed something pivotal, but couldn’t a trace which only proved to piss him off even more and allowed for his grieve to become anger then finally to revenge. He has loved you so deeply and so much that he knew that he wouldn’t rest until he had simultaneously brought both peace to your soul and had avenged you.

Yet even when he had achieved what he wanted, he still didn’t feel accomplished, Kuai Liang felt as though he was still missed something, missed something important. He thought that when he had his revenge he would feel somewhat better but as it had become more and more apparent to the pyromancer, the loss of a loved one was like an unsealable wound, destined to bleed forever with every mention of their name.

All that bloodshed, all that he felt, was for nothing…or so he had thought…

‘Kuai Liang?’ He perked up at your voice but didn’t dare look over his shoulder, feeling himself extremely unprepared for this moment. ‘I’ve heard that you’ve become a vengeful man, I guess I can’t blame you but none of this would’ve happened has I been straightforward with you from the beginning.’ You told him, fiddling with your hands.

‘How do you mean my love?’ Kuai Liang questioned, now looking at you as he stepped towards you, hands instinctively grasping your arms gently, tugging you closer to him so that he could see that this wasn’t some dream by feeling your body warmth against his own. ‘I should’ve told you not to mourn me because I have this ability to respawn.’ Kuai Liang still looked confused so you continued. ‘It means that if I were to die, it’ll only be a short while before I came back but this time I stayed dead a lot longer then supposed to…when I came back I heard that you had gone on a killing spree.’

You saw that Kuai Liang was still silent and decided that it were best if you left him be and not hurt him any further but found that his hold on your arms had grown tighter before being pulled into his chest, where his arms then quickly caged you in, preventing you an escape rout tl but you didn’t care; his arms were where you wanted to be.

Bi-Han

Eerily silent is how Bi-Han was when news of your unsuspected death.

Showing absolutely no visible emotions whatsoever but behind that ice cold dementor was a broken man who rejected the notion that his dearly beloved could be dead. So he then chooses to isolate within himself and essentially reverts back into being the unfeeling and unrelenting Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, completely forgoing the man he had become upon your arrival within his life, Bi-Han could handle physical pain; but it always seemed that the emotional and mental kind left the most scars upon his mind and soul.

Repressing and shoving his emotions down, Bi-Han would then act like he wasn’t all that affected by your recent passing, but with his gradual ruthless and dwindling patience, it was safe to say that loosing you had somehow made Bi-Han an even colder man. No one would dare say so as they valued their lives to ever think to accuse their Grandmaster for ever being soft, nor question his leadership: after all Bi-Han only wanted the most loyal and faithful within the Lin Kuei under his command.

So imagine his surprise when he saw whom he presumed to be you suddenly appear within what was once your shared room one day, completely unscathed.

‘Bi-Han!’ You sighed in relief. ‘I’m so glad to see you my beloved. I have so much to explain that I probably should have told you from the start!’

Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed as his heart and mind were at war with one another, for on one hand he wants to truly believe that you have come back to him and that the news of your death were vastly exaggerated but even if that were to be true, then you had left him to believe you were dead and you haven’t been as truthful to him throughout your entire relationship. Bi-Han had given you his trust and yet all you’ve given him in return was half truths, he should have thrown you out by now or killed you himself but even as his grip on his ice dagger tightened, he knew deep down that he had made his choice long ago in what he wanted to do if you should ever come back to him.

‘Then I suggest you speak quickly.’ Bi-Han said as his brows furrowed deeper. Your smile melted off of your face as you noticed his stance before your eyes fell to the ice dagger within his hand, you should’ve known that Bi-Han wouldn’t act so kindly to you suddenly showing up as though you were never killed in the first place. To Bi-Han, it probably felt like you had decided him because you didn’t love him anymore which couldn’t be further from the truth; You loved Bi-Han but even you must admit that hiding your powers from him was quite possibly the most stupidest thing you’ve ever done.

‘We’ll be here a while.’ You told him sheepishly as you sat yourself down on the edge of the bed before gesturing for him do to do so as well. Bi-Han sighed, cursing himself as he gave in to your invitation to sit down but whilst doing so, he remembered to put a bit of distance between the two of you as silence befell the room. You cleared your throat and began, ‘I have powers that prevent me from dying per se. So for example if I were to get fatally wounded, I’d be dead for a bit but would ultimately come back without a single trace that I was ever hurt, or you could say that I respawned as though I’m in a video game.’

Needless to say after your long winded explanation, Bi-Han felt as though he received some closure from it all, but don’t expect him to fully give over his trust to you again, that’ll take some time to mend but thankfully you were patient, and Bi-Han was glad to not have to say goodbye to you just yet.

[jbaileyfansite]

Ariana Grande interviews Jonathan Bailey for VMan Magazine (2024)

Jonathan Bailey’s acting career began at the age of eight when the prestigious Royal Shakespeare Company cast him in a role coveted by all little boys who like musicals: Gavroche in Les Miserables. Since then, he’s starred in contemporary plays, refined his iambic pentameter flow via several Shakespearian productions, and, in 2019, won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role for his work in the gender-swapped revival of Company. In other words, Bailey is a theater nerd. 

This made his upcoming role as Fiyero Tigelaar in the movie adaptation of the Broadway hit, Wicked, all the more unbelievable to him. Over Zoom, with co-star Ariana Grande, Bailey admits that he’s only recently had the space to fangirl over the reality that he’s playing the lead in a musical that rocked his world when he first saw it at the age of 15. Tuning in from Thailand, he and Grande chat about his upcoming project, another adaptation, Jurassic Park, and the memories of Oz that he (reportedly) carries in his pocket.

Ariana Grande: Hi, good morning. What time is it for you?

Jonathan Bailey: It’s 8am. Feeling pretty fresh.

AG: You look beautifully fresh. Just for context, for people reading, Johnny, you’re currently in Thailand. What are you up to over there?

JB: I’m on a really long holiday in the jungle, pretending to run away from fake dinosaurs… Um, no, I’m filming Jurassic Park.  And there are massive links between it and Wicked because it’s got so many of the same crew.

AG: Yes!

JB: The bereavement of leaving Wicked behind has been sort of solved by the fact that so many of them are still here. So, I’m keeping the Wicked dream alive, but with dinosaurs. 

AG: That’s so beautiful. You’re so lucky to have a little piece of Oz with you still every day.

JB: I carry Oz in my pocket. 

AG: Yes. How is it going? 

JB: I am loving it. We’re doing a whole new version of the Jurassic Park franchise.

AG: What can you say about your character, about this new franchise?

JB: I can say that it’s written by David Koepp, who wrote the original. It feels like it’s in ultimate hands to bring it back to what the original achieved. (Jurassic Park) was the first film I went to see with my whole family, and I was way too young, I was terrified. There is a similarity between doing this and Wicked, I also saw the original run of Wicked in London. 

AG: I would love to touch on Fellow Travelers, which was such an emotional and expansive project. What was the process of taking on a character like Tim, whose story is told over several decades? 

JB: Fellow Travelers will always be something that I’m incredibly proud of. For me it [was] the most fulfilling creative, emotional, and spiritual thing I’ve done. Tim and Hawke (leads in Fellow Travelers) are allegories. So many men that lost their lives. It’s never lost on me, all the other actors that couldn’t come out or were vilified for being caught having sex in toilets. All the horrific ways in which a pure thing like man-on-man love has been misconstrued.

AG: It was absolutely palpable. 

JB: I had this amazing weekend in Bangkok and I met this group of Malaysian dudes who were just so brilliant. They were doctors and they were really bright, intelligent, kind, sweet men who were having such a brilliant time. We ended up having dinner and, after a few drinks, they were telling me that they come over from Malaysia to Bangkok because they can’t be out to their families.

AG: My God.

JB: It’s so painful.

AG: I was gonna say, this leads us beautifully into The Shameless Fund, your foundation that you launched actually this week, congratulations. How does it feel that it’s finally out there in the world?

JB: It’s been a labor of love for about two years. When the second series of Bridgerton came out, I was suddenly aware of an increased platform, especially the fact Bridgerton is viewed in multiple territories where being gay is different. So, I just sort of fused the two together—

AG: It’s a beautiful way of making sense of it all. 

JB: Thank you for being an icon and an ambassador for the Shameless Fund.

AG: I’m so proud of you and I love you and your heart so much. Okay, moving on. I was wondering what things have helped you recharge your human battery?

JB: I’ve adapted my life slightly. I don’t live in a city anymore, I do a lot of swimming and gymnastics, which is something that I’ve done [since] I was younger. I [also] think it’s friends, which I know is such a sort ofeye roll [answer]. I’ve got amazing friends, they’ve always been there and I’ve been friends with them for so long.

AG: And me, for 2 years. 

JB: I’ve spiritually known you for 20 years.

AG: Yeah, 100. Let’s move on to Wicked. How did you prepare for the role of Fiyero? 

JB: I mean, it’s a complete dream come true. The preparation started when I listened to the soundtrack when I was like 15. And I remember viscerally; it sent ripples through culture. Also, I remember hearing the orchestration. I hadn’t really heard the synth-meets-full-orchestra-meets-syncopation.

Something about it just completely grabbed me. My best friend from school, me and him went to go and see it together—we were soulmates through school. And it was so funny that, like, two lads just went with it. I think the themes of Wicked have probably expanded, and that’s what I’m really excited about with the film.

AG: Yeah, it feels like it needs to be now more than ever before, perhaps.

JB: I went to go meet Jon (Chu, director). We chatted for about two and a half hours and it was really emotional. The one thing that we talked about with Fiyero: everything is so easy to him. How do you tell the story of someone who seemingly doesn’t care? What’s he frustrated by? We discussed it and found quite a human thing, I think. And, obviously, with our film, it represents extreme privilege and it’s about his bubble needing to pop. 

AG: I think our characters share that in a big way, Elphaba comes along and pops both of our bubbles. Perhaps for the first time we both are able to look at things differently. And it’s not that we’re not loving, heartful people. It’s just that we’ve never had to look outside of what affects us until we meet her.

JB: Exactly. And anyway, it was Jon. Basically, the answer to every question about Wicked is Jon Chu. Don’t you think?

AG: Yeah, I do. I think we were very spoiled to have done this with him. It felt like a teeny, little secret student thing—its intimacy. It felt so small and private until all of a sudden, we were outside, and the Daily Mail was hand gliding over our set—oh, he should play the pterodactyl in your film. 

JB: I think he’s actually hovering over right now.

AG: Can you explain what this was, please? 

JB: It was a man on a massive kite, floating around with his legs hanging down.

AG: I couldn’t believe my eyes. Well, firstly because I don’t have the best eyes. But secondly, because there’s no way. There’s no way! I was like, ah, guy on a hand glider.

JB: With a GoPro. With a GoPro on his toes.

AG: With a GoPro on his toes. Was your experience filming Wicked at all what you expected it to be?

JB: There were certain elements of it that I was incredibly impressed by and I think that is because of the love and care of Mark Platt and Jon Chu. Obviously we’ve grown up loving theater and musical theater, I always felt attached to that wonderment. I think my expectation might have been that somehow in the making of something, you lose that. But we were on those incredible sets. 

AG: Oh my gosh. Best in the world.

JB: I think I was in Wicked fan survival mode for the last 18 months. I’m starting to really get excited about it.

AG: It takes a certain amount of time to grieve something like that. I mean you’re already in Thailand and a whole different person, but it’s interesting how it takes a while and then it hits you.

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