#THE QUIET KNOWING AND UNDERSTANDING PASSING BETWEEN THEM

[wonderlandcrown]

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑀𝑦 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒

𝑉𝑖𝑙 𝑥 𝑌𝑢𝑢(𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

a/n : book 5 spoilers, also Vil didn't know Jamil overbloted until book 6. reader is gn and referred to as "Yuu, the prefect, you, they/them pronouns"

genre : light angst, romance(pining)

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛💜♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

Someday my prince will come Someday I'll find my love And how thrilling that moment will be When the prince of my dreams comes to me He'll whisper, "I love you" And steal a kiss or two Though he's far away I'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true

Vil was reluctant to stay in Ramshackle during VDC, "A messy room equals a messy mind", is what he tells his dorm mates. Though he understood that the prefect didn't choose to stay there, Vil Schoenheit was never a fan of unclean spaces.

But Vil had bigger problems at the moment, Neige will undoubtedly show up for the competition, and his dream- no, his goal will be in jeopardy.

The headmage did say that the prefect was quite talented in bringing people together...

Fine then, if staying in a dingy dorm means having a chance at winning against Neige, he'll do it.

"How thrilling, " Vil thought, "will my moment of victory be."

Someday I'll find my love Someone to call my own And I'll know him the moment we meet For my heart will start skipping a beat Some day we'll say, "I do" Things we've been longing to Though he's far away I'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true

Vil noticed the scars around the prefects hands, undoubtedly the result of going through no less than 3 overblots, not to mention all of them happened under a year!

Vil scoffs, Crowley must be more incompetent than he thought if he allowed a poor defenseless student to get caught up in so much trouble; or is it Yuu who is careless?

He originally saw you akin to something like a pathetic wet cat : lost, clueless, naive.

Though he'll admit he was quite wrong, your occasional sharp jabs towards the trio of potatoes(Ace, Deuce and Grim) didn't go unnoticed by Vil. He thinks you're quite funny, you act so brazenly and sarcastic around your friends but around strangers you suddenly become quiet and well spoken, you remind him of the difference of his personalities on camera and off.

Though that's the only thing he and you have in common.

Vil remembers perfectly well the glare Yuu shot at him when he cursed the delicacies Trey gifted the younger spudlings. It was a necessary measure! You're smarter than your friends, you should understand that they would've tried to break away from the diet Vil gave them.

Vil doesn't understand, he doesn't understand those potatoes, didn't they agree to this? Don't they want to win? If they do they should listen to him, he knows what's best, he's been trained for countless competitions since he was young, these diets, these restrictions have been imposed onto him ever since then and they will be forevermore.

For them, it'll only be a moment before they're back to their normal lives, so why can't they understand? Vil understood ever since he was young, so why can't they?

He's been longing for the chance to stay on stage until the very last moment, so why can't Yuu just do what he says and help those idiots cooperate with him.

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, he shouldn't dwell on unnecessary things for too long, lest he stray from his goal.

Somewhere waiting for me There is someone I'm longing to see Someone I simply can't help but adore Someone who'll thrill me forever

"Hey, uh, can we discuss something? "

It was already late afternoon, Epel had screamed at Vil and ran away from the dorm and one of your friends, Deuce, he remembers, ran after him. But they haven't been back.

He lets out a sigh, not bothering to hide his frustration.

"What is it?" Vil turns to face you, usually during the breaks between the VDC groups training, you pass around water bottles and some snacks(not cursed by Vil this time). Though this time you carry nothing, it's expected, the rest of the group only have a break because two of the members ran off to who knows where.

"I think you're being too harsh on them. " Vil scoffs, "Excuse me? They're the ones being too careless, they're not serious enough. " Vil glares at you, nose scrunched. You betray his expectations, really, he expected you to be more mature about this.

You only look at him in the eyes as a response, he notices your tense frame, you must've been planning to tell him this for a while now.

"..Epel ran away." Vil lifts an eyebrow, "And? Are you just here to state the obvious?" He hears you click your tongue, you're irritated with him? Why must you be so mean to him, prefect, all he wants is to win, is that so much to ask for?

"Look, I understand your efforts, what you do to achieve your dreams is commendable, really, "

Dreams? How dare you use such a childish word, the Vil Schoenheit doesn't dream, he has no time for that.

"but you need to realize that not everyone can handle, well, you. We want to win, obviously but uh, you're already so accustomed to this type of stuff but we're not.."

Hm? Oh, prefect, you're flattering him, so you're saying that he's so glamorous to the point that the normal spudlings can't even begin to compare?... Vil's kidding obviously, but the compliment has made him more inclined to listen to you.

"Dear prefect, I may see your point.. Though you must realize that diamonds are created under pressure, and the headmage has been far too lenient." You sigh, brows furrowed, "Tell me about it.. Again, you're not wrong, there are limits. Even the seemingly strong gems can crack if they have internal flaws."

My, isn't this new.. Prefect, it's been quite the long time since someone dared to question him, in such an interesting way no less.. Most people either agree with no objections or slander his views vehemently (Rook and Epel, Vil's looking at you) Congratulations are in order for managing to intrigue Vil of all people.

You're confused on why Vil's smiling, so.. fondly at you, did you do something wrong?

"Prefect, if you don't mind, how do you feel about joining my nightly routine tomorrow, I think you have many interesting topics to share with me."

Someday my prince will come Someday I will find the one Though he's far away he'll find my love someday Someday when my dreams come true Oh, please make my dreams come true

"The winner of VDC is.. ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY, LED BY THE ONE AND ONLY NEIGE LEBLANCHE!"

The crowd cheers endlessly, Vil feels his heart grow heavy with that same, twisting, horrendously ugly feeling of envy. His feet feel like they're on fire and Vil has to pretend the camera flashes are irritating him in order to blink back the tears.

It's ok, it's fine, the loser has to fall and Vil feels like he's been plummeting since then, now, and perhaps forevermore.(please don't let it be so)

It's even worse when Neige pulls him into an encore, his hand pressing on one of the bruises on his arm, a scar gained from his overblot. But Vil's heart only winces when he thinks of you, he thinks of your scars, you must have so many, you've been through so much..

Vil is so, so sorry, he wants to cry and beg for your forgiveness, for Rook's, for Epel's, for everyone's forgiveness. What he did was so stupidly immature, how could he just betray his own expectations, everyone expected Vil Schoenheit to be level headed, mature, and beautiful. So why? Why must he be everything except that?

Everything after his overblot was a blur, really. He thought his career would go up on smoke, everything he worked for would've been gone. Vil stared at his phone, waiting for a ping from his manager, informing him that his overblot, his weakest moment, was leaked for the whole world to see. Vil sits at the vanity, normally he would be staring into his reflection, but now he can't even bear the thought of looking at the mirror.

Suddenly he was met with a knock on his door.

"I'm not expecting visitors, if it's not urgent then go find Rook, or the prefect."

"Vil, I am the prefect."

Vil immediately sits up right, brushing away the few strands of stray hair, before inviting you in. "Come on in."

You quickly slip inside his room, closing the door behind you with a click, Vil tilts his head, usually he would never do this, unbefitting of the mature image of Vil Schoenheit, but since it's you, he finds himself at ease without putting on his performative mask. "I see you want privacy, is it personal?"

"Yeah, I.. wanted to see how you're doing. " Vil doesn't hold back the bittersweet smile, "You really are kind, don't worry about me, you should've ran away when you saw me overblot, why didn't you?"

Why didn't you? You should've ran away the moment you saw blot dripping from his lips and eyes, yet you stayed, you stayed during his overblot and all the others. Vil wants to know, how is one person so caring yet sarcastic, so plain yet so interesting, so normal yet.. Vil feels like he's never met someone like you before.

"Why didn't I? What kind of question is that, the better question is how could I leave a friend during his weakest moments?"

See? Caring yet sarcastic, Vil giggles at your response, "You should know when to stop helping people, dear. One day you'll get irreversibly wounded and there's nothing I could do to help you at that point." Vil's tone is light, though he feels an aching sensation when he imagines a fatally wounded Yuu.

You sigh, taking a step closer to Vil, "I'm not that weak, so don't think of stuff like that." The housewarden of Pomefiore only gives a tired smile, plain yet so interesting, he thinks. You're a magicless being somehow willed with such tenacity that befits the values of the Beautiful Queen, Vil might be inclined to take a few lessons from you.

It takes a while before Vil notices you're staring at him, you look at him as if you were looking at a poor, caged animal. "..Is there something else you want to tell me?" You don't respond, you only continue to look at him, at his clothes, at his hair, then you stare at him in the eye.

Vil feels a lump form in his throat, you're looking at him in such a humane way, not the lovesick expressions usually adorned on his fans, not the scowls of jealousy from the haters. You look at him as if you see something beyond the masks he wears.

Unlike what most people think, Vil Schoenheit actually has two masks, one he adorns when the camera rolls, which from there he has many others to choose from. The second he wears to retain the strict and regal image of Pomefiore, the one who rules this dorm with an iron fist, where he is both hated and loved.(not that much different from his career)

But you, you're looking at none of the two, he never saw anyone else other than his own father and Rook wear this expression. Someone who sees beyond what is presented to them.

"You're tired." Vil finally hears you say something, "I'll go draw you a bath." Your words were authoritative and left no room for arguement, it reminds Vil of himself. As the actor watches you walk into his bathroom he feels a warm sensation course through him, it's been quite the long time since he was the one on the receiving end of these affections.

No, affections is too intimate a word, but Vil can't think of any other way to describe it.

You can't see his expression now, prefect, but do know that you made Vil Schoenheit of all people cover his face to hide his blush and smile. So normal yet Vil's never met anyone else like you.

Vil hears the sound of water flowing coming from the bathroom, he hopes you finish your task soon, Vil has never felt what yearning for another's presence was like until now.

Vil already has his hunter and poison apple, so tell him what you'll be? What role will you take on to complete the Beautiful Queen's camaraderie? Will you be his raven, dutiful, working from the shadows; or his mirror : showing him what you see, beyond what Vil presents himself to be.

Vil shall wait for your answer, prefect.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬

a/n : someday my prefect will come - vil schoenheit. first fanfic tbh, there were pacing issues but I don't think it's that bad for a first timer. reblogs are appreciated

[tojicide]

chapter one ── pest control. the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies

chapter summary. ┆ caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

Most days in Linkon City begin with sirens.

Loud, blaring, unmistakable screeches that cut through the early morning quiet like a blade, carving their way through alleyways and avenues alike. They seep into walls, curl beneath locked doors, and coil around the restless minds of those who have long since stopped flinching at their call.

To them, the inhabitants of this city, it is nothing more than background noise—a city’s heartbeat, rhythmic and ceaseless. But to you, it is a warning. A sign that the world beyond the window of your dorm room is a battlefield, and you, a stranger in its midst, are only beginning to understand the rules of this strange place.

Perhaps, in time, you will grow desensitized as they have. Learn to sleep through the wailing cries, to walk these streets without the ever-present weight of caution pressing against your ribs. In a way, they forbade you from venturing out, instilling a fear within you that if you did, you would be the individual these melodies chased—or worse, the victim they had been called for in the first place. 

The entirety of the first semester has passed, and you haven’t even finished unpacking. Your suitcase remains half-full, a tangible reminder that you do not yet belong here. That you still have a choice—to do something before this place sinks its teeth into you, before you become just another soul who mistakes chaos for comfort.

But that choice is an illusion.

Here, people like you make no difference. You are not a hero, nor anything close to it. You are just a student who knows better, one who recognizes that the sirens will always be there, a requiem for the city’s unrest. And the crime will persist, as will the men in uniform who fail to stop it.

Somewhere beyond the blaring wails, beyond the tangled skyline and shadowed alleys, someone is fighting a battle you will never quite understand.

And for now, all you can do is listen.

Yet, in a way, you know that this was exactly where you wanted to be.

Despite its rapidly deteriorating surroundings, Linkon University remained a place of prestige. Young children dreamed of acceptance into its ranks, babbling to their parents about how they, too, would one day make these halls their stomping grounds. Maybe it was naivety that brought you here. Or maybe it was the last remnants of a dream that hadn’t yet died on your tongue.

Or perhaps, it was the medical journalism program—a rare gem, dwindling into obscurity at every other university.

You were lucky to be accepted. But humbly speaking, luck had very little to do with it. Your stats spoke for themselves: a 1540 SAT, a 4.98 weighted GPA, more extracurriculars than you could count on both hands. A smart cookie, as written in the shining letters of recommendation that paved your way here.

And yet, imposter syndrome festered like a quiet disease, creeping into the spaces between your confidence. You have spent your entire life at the top. Always number one.

Here? You were number two.

Number two to whom? You did not know. Not yet, anyway.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb’s perfect life has unraveled in the span of a week and a half, but he positively swears it’s not his fault.

It’s yours.

Ten days ago, at precisely 12:57 PM, he endured the worst torment known to man: his seat in the lecture hall was stolen. A cruel move, truly. Class had been in session for four days, he’d claimed that seat twice—twice—and by the unspoken law of university students everywhere, that granted him full ownership. So why, then, were you sitting in his allotted property?

Looking back, Caleb sees only two possible explanations. The first: you had unknowingly taken the seat after enrolling just before the census date. The second: you were out to get him from the very start.

And personally? He’s convinced it’s the latter.

But alas, he hadn’t made a fuss about it then. It wasn’t like he’d just lost the single best seat in the entire hall—the one with perfect access to the exit, the projector, and the professor’s desk. But hey, he could be cool about this, right? Yeah… totally cool. So cool. The coolest.

Days passed, and everyone seemed to be settling into the spring semester just fine. The weather was getting warmer, flowers on the great lawn were blooming, and Caleb was thriving.

That was, until the unthinkable happened.

Time? 2:19 PM. Class? CHEM 001 AH. Location? The Grand Hall.

Caleb sat directly behind you, having resigned himself to the second best seat in the room, as the sound of pencils scratching against paper filled the otherwise quiet space.

Taking practice exams felt pointless. A waste of time, really. His efforts could be better spent elsewhere—like taking the real exam or absolutely demolishing his roommate Zayne in Apex Legends yet again. But instead, here he was, surrounded by classmates diligently scribbling away as the session inched closer to its eventual end.

And when it did, Caleb would have simply packed up and gone on his merry way—if not for the single most bone-chilling sentence he had ever heard in his entire academic career.

You were chatting with the girl beside you, talking about things he had zero interest in. Your shared biology class at 3 PM, your dorm building, plans to meet up at the dining hall later… blah blah blah. But then—an acronym. A single, horrific acronym triggered him like a sleeper agent.

“My GPA? Oh, it’s… 4.30. I think. To be honest, it’s been a while since I checked.”

His jaw went slack. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face.

A 4.30 GPA? No. No. That couldn’t be real. That could not be real.

But as his gaze flickered between the back of your head and your friend’s, he came to the most horrifying conclusion of all.

You weren’t lying. And if that were true… then that meant you had the same GPA he did.

Which meant that, depending on your course load and how well you performed, you could take his spot as number one in the class rank.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb burst into his dorm room, slinging his backpack onto his mattress before face-planting into it with a sound somewhere between a groan and a hmph.

Across the room, Zayne didn’t even glance up from his desk, fingers tapping away at his mounted laptop. Click, clack. Click, clack. For a stretch of time, that was the only sound in the room—until he finally exhaled, the kind of quiet sigh that could only mean here we go again.

“Rough day?”

Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “The worst day.”

Zayne closed his eyes for a moment, like he was mentally preparing himself, before pushing away from his desk and turning his chair just enough to look at his roommate. “What happened?”

Still face-down on the bed, Caleb let out a long, exaggerated sigh—nowhere near as silent as Zayne’s. “I think I have to take trig next semester. Honors.”

That made Zayne pause. Brow quirked, he leaned back. “Why? Your counselor quite literally said you’re already on track to graduate with honors and as one of the top-ranked students in our year.”

That was the problem, though. Caleb wasn’t satisfied with being one of the best. He wanted to be the best—and now, that source of pride was under attack.

“Well, that was before I found out I’m sharing a GPA with some girl in my chem lecture,” he said, rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling. “Which means if I don’t get my shit together and pack on a few more honors courses, I’m cooked.”

Zayne laughed. Actually laughed. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, plucked his glasses off the mousepad, and slid them on. “You should hear yourself right now.”

Caleb’s head snapped to the side, eyebrows pinching together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just amusing, is all.” Zayne smirked. “I find it endearing that you, Mr. ‘I can skip the final and still pass with a 94%,’ Mr. ‘I think I might take astronomy honors for fun this semester,’—”

“All riiight, I get it,” Caleb cut in. “What’s your point?”

Zayne snickered, amused. “My point is that if you of all people feel threatened by a classmate you hardly know, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

Caleb hated that there was probably some truth to that. Not that he’d ever admit it. Being threatened by a classmate he barely knew? Please. He knew enough. (And yes, he had meticulously sifted through the entire roster of his chemistry class to stalk your Canvas profile. What? It’s… field research.)

“Y’know, you’re terrible at pep talks,” he muttered, folding his hands behind his head.

“I’m not trying to be,” Zayne replied easily. “But if you want my input—take the trig course next semester. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

Caleb rolled onto his side, fishing his laptop from his backpack as the weight of his evening workload settled in.

And maybe Zayne was right.

Maybe he would need all the help he could get.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It wasn’t until six days later—today—that Caleb knew for certain fate was no longer on his side.

The professor’s voice cut through the shuffle of students packing up their belongings, all of which were currently praying that their first lab of the semester wouldn’t be a complete and utter disaster. It was a well known fact that Dr. Rappaccini was quite the harsh critic, and an even harsher grader. Her score on Rate My Professors was a whopping 2.8/5 for crying out loud.

“Alright, it’s time for you all to receive your lab partners for the semester. Before heading to the lab next door, please check the list of pairings at the front.”

Luckily, Caleb had committed the syllabus to memory and knew that each person was scored individually no matter how their partner performed, but it was recommended that the pair conduct their experiments together to save time and... okay, maybe he hadn’t memorized it as well as he thought, but at least he knew the core details, right?

Scanning the list, his blood ran cold. He squinted, hoping that the prescription of his glasses had failed him, but of course, it was unmistakable. Your name was printed next to his. Emboldened, unignorable, in a perfectly neutral 12 pt Times New Roman font.

The walk to the laboratory was a quiet one, and you were walking a few feet ahead of him without a care in the world. Reaching for the door handle, he twisted the metallic lever and gestured for you to enter ahead of him with a single nod of his head. It was a force of habit. He may not care for you as an academic peer, but you didn't directly wrong him in any way. Not knowingly, that is.

With a curt nod of your own and a sliver of a smile, you entered the class with a quiet “thank you.”

And before he could follow in step behind you, the neverending line of your fellow classmates began to flood into the room, leaving him to stand idle while offering each of them a thin-lipped smile. It felt like an eternity before he was able to step inside of the laboratory too, and his first instinct was to map out the classroom to find the best possible seating arrangement. 

To his surprise… you’d already claimed the most optimal lab station, and as he approached, you made the first move to speak. 

“I hope you’re okay with sitting here,” you say, fishing out your sleek notebook and a bright blue pencil. “It’s the only lab station with equal access to the exit, the supplies cabinet, and the professor’s desk.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side as bewilderment etches into his features. Were you inside of his brain? He clears his throat, shaking away his confusion as he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright with this spot. Good choice.” 

Smiling, you nod too. “Cool.” 

A beat of silence passes, and you smooth your hands over the black resin material of the table, a movement that his eyes instinctively follow. Then, your hand raises and extends out to him, forcing him to blink himself out of his state of daydreaming. 

You say your name while tilting your head with a smile—this time, a smile with teeth—as you wait for his hand to take yours. “And you’re… Xia?” 

Raising his eyebrows, he shakes his head while a chuckle slips through his carefully crafted exterior. “Caleb,” he corrects, his firm grasp enveloping your hand as he gives it a shake. “Caleb Xia.”

“Ah, got it,” you remark, an epiphany dawning on you as you slip your hand from his hold. “Well, I’m going to go get our safety goggles.” 

But before leaving, you straightened, eyes glued to him—or rather, his head.

Huffing out a laugh through his nose, Caleb’s lip tugs up in the corner. “What are you doing?”

Tapping your chin, you sigh. “I’m trying to see if you have a big head. If you do, I’ll have to go fight tooth and nail for one of the ones with adjustable straps.” 

Rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, he rests his elbow on the edge of the table before leaning his cheek into his hand. “Well, lay it on me. What’s your diagnosis?”

Humming, you tilt your head back and forth before nodding your head a single time. “Big-head syndrome. I’m positive.”

Caleb’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “I should take that as a compliment. Big head means big brain, you know.”

“Or a big ego,” you retort with a shrug, giving him a once-over with raised brows before whisking away towards the horde of students currently going to war over the remaining pick of the litter. 

Yeah, that too, he thinks. 

In your absence, he takes the liberty of prepping the lab for the both of you. Beakers? Check. Random substance that the two of you were going to be experimenting on? Check. Hydrochloric acid? Check. Sodium bicarbonate? Check—

“Safety goggles,” you state, plopping down on your stool and handing his pair to him.

Without missing a beat, he speaks. “Check.”

Drawing back slightly, you turn to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “Uh… yeah. Check.”

Faltering, Caleb slides the item onto his face as he stammers through his words. “I was just… never mind, let’s start.”

The class had settled into a low hum—the murmur of newly paired partners, the scribbling of notes, the soft hiss of chemicals reacting. 

As the two of you began the experiment, an incredibly prominent conclusion dawned on him: Disliking you as a person wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. As a competitor? You were treacherous. As a lab partner? You were… tolerable. Efficient. Annoyingly easy to work with. 

It wasn’t the end result that he was hoping for, if he were to be entirely honest with himself. He wanted you to be difficult to be around, he wanted you to be stuck up, he wanted you to give him a genuine reason to dislike you apart from being the root of his newfound insecurity. But you weren’t, and that was a problem. 

“Pass me the baking soda?” you ask.

“The sodium bicarbonate?”

“Yeah. The baking soda.”

Caleb tilts his head with a smile. “Also known as sodium bicarbonate.”

You glance his way, and your eyes met. “Congrats, big guy. You know big words. Now pass it.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Biting back a smile, he hands it over, only to retract it at the last second. “Wait. What’s it called again?”

Your force smile was all teeth. “Sodium bicarbonate.”

Finally relenting, Caleb places the bowl in your orbit with a triumphant grin. 

He was smart enough to know that this was a bad idea. Despite how easily the two of you worked together, he knew that he couldn’t entertain this any further. You weren’t just his classmate, his peer—you were his competition. And while he’s heard the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer just as many times as the next person, he knows that mixing any ounce of developing friendship with his pursuit for greatness would be wrong.

It would work best that way. You can’t be friends, and that’s okay.

And for the first time in what felt like ages, fate seemed to agree with him.

“Hmm,” Caleb soon rumbles, squinting at the beaker. “This isn’t lookin’ too good. You said you added the sodium bicarbonate, yeah?”

You frown, glancing up from your notes. Your stomach twists at the sight of the clock—barely any time left before the lab ends. The professor would be making her rounds any second now.

“What? I didn’t add it. You said you added it.”

Caleb flits his gaze to the side of your face. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

Your head snaps toward him so fast he was surprised it didn’t snap right off. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

You exhale sharply, frustration creeping up your neck. “How are you gonna tell me what I did or didn’t do?”

Your pulse ticks up a bit faster than it naturally should, and your eyes rose up from the glass cylinder. Around the room, students were already wrapping up their conclusions while the two of you hadn’t even finished the experiment. You suck in a breath and push up from your stool.

“Fine. Fine. Can you just pass me the baking soda?”

Caleb nods, handing over the pre-measured bowl of sodium bicarbonate. While you worked to fix the mess, he jotted down a few quick notes. You added just enough of the powder to neutralize the acid—but not smother it completely.

And then? Silence. The two of you sat. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

Then, miraculously, the beaker decided to behave and the fizzing subsided.

Like clockwork, you both exhaled, shoulders slumping as small, victorious smiles tugged at your mouths—

Until yours vanished entirely. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Caleb falters, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“Well, you should have.”

“Why? If I hadn’t pointed out the weird reaction, we’d have been screwed.”

“Oh? If I hadn’t realized neither of us added the sodium bicarbonate—which was your responsibility, by the way—we would’ve actually been screwed.”

Tension thickened between you like a drawn bowstring. You clench your jaw and look away, scribbling down your final observations. Stupid man, you thought to yourself. And here you were, actually believing that this semester wouldn’t be a total shitshow, that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten lucky.

Unfortunately not.

Then, your attention was caught by something out of the ordinary. Your gaze lands on his neck, and your breath hitched. Staring back at you was a small, multi-legged beady eyed monster. Sticking out your pointer finger, you still find yourself instinctively drawing back, as if it were out to get you next. “There’s a spider on—”

But before you could finish your sentence, Caleb winced, his veins tightening as he instinctively flicked the eight-legged menace off. You sucked your teeth, drumming your fingers on the table. So much for your timely warning.

Glancing his way, your brows elevate as you see the already forming bite mark on his neck. “Yikes. It got you good.”

“Did it?” he asks, raising a hand to rub over the mark with narrowed eyes. “Hm. Guess so, yeah.”

Reluctantly, you ask, “Are you okay?” 

With a nod, he picks up his pencil once more and works on finishing the last of his lab report. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sighing airily, you can’t help the smile that tugs on your mouth. “Poor spider, being flicked through the air like that.”

Like routine, Caleb shot a glare your way. “Funny.”

“Thanks.”

With that, you left for the washing station. Meanwhile, Dr. Rappaccini stood from her desk, making her rounds. It was in that moment that a shrill of panic shot up his spine—the stimulation foreign, unfamiliar, and… terrifying. 

He could feel his heart rate shooting through the roof, a sweat break on his forehead, and his fingertips flex at his sides—all things that he wasn’t even conscious of. And before he knew it, he was glancing in your direction, noting that you were distracted. Good.

With a quick ease, he snatched up your notepad and erased a few numbers, replacing them with subtle, logicless mistakes. 34? Now a 26. 32 to the power of 5? Not anymore.

It wasn’t his proudest moment. Sabotaging his own lab partner’s work? Definitely not.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took to ruin you just enough. He slid the notepad back into place, brushing away the eraser shavings. Like clockwork, you returned, none the wiser.

Exhaling softly, you turned to him. “Look, I just wanted to say that—”

“Now, you two,” Dr. Rappaccini’s voice cut you off.

You both turned as she scanned and picked up Caleb’s report, making a few marks with her fine-pointed marker before sliding it back into place. You glanced over, making note of his grade. 94.

Then, she picked up yours. A moment later, she handed it back. Your professor held up a roll of stickers, tearing two off before setting them down on the table.

Despite the vibrant designs on the stickers, your stomach dropped. Your grade was big, bold, and unmistakable. 82.

“Wait—Dr. Rappaccini,” you call after her, staring at the page with widened eyes of shock. “I… I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

“Well, your experiment was solid—your observations were well-written, and your documentation was precise. But your math?” She sighs. “Completely off.” A beat of silence. Then, a smile. “Don’t feel discouraged. You’re a good student as you are—no need to compare your scores to others.”

The implication was clear. She thought you were smart—just not as smart as Caleb.

Huffing, you toss your notebook onto the table, fingers curling against the edge of it.

“You got cut off earlier,” he says casually, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What were you sayin’?”

Blinking, you tried to retrace your thoughts. “Oh, yeah… I was just saying that…”

Your voice trails, eyes drifting to your lab report. Caleb caught the flicker of realization dawning on you—and when you turned to him, his not-so-hidden grin said it all.

“I was just saying,” you snap, “that you’re an asshole whose handwriting looks like a drunk chicken clawed at my report.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he says with a shrug, peeling off his sticker to plaster it onto your shoulder. “Good luck on the exam tomorrow morning.”

And with that, he walks out of the lab.

“Yeah, you too,” you murmur, though he was already gone before he could hear the hissed “bitch” that followed.

Irritation pricks at your skin as you stuff—more like shove—your belongings into your backpack. Prick. So much for not knowing the single person you were beneath in the class ranks.

Guilt stirred in his chest as he walked towards his dorm building… but only a little.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

By the time Caleb stumbled back to his dorm, he felt like he’d been hit by a freight train.

He barely managed to push the door open before kicking off his shoes, letting his backpack slump to the floor with a heavy thud. His head swam, his breath uneven as he widened his eyes in a feeble attempt to stay awake. Slapping himself on the cheek, he quickly realized it was no use. His neck stung worse than it had when the spider first bit him, the dull throb pulsing beneath his fingertips as he rubbed over the puncture point.

"Are you drunk?" Zayne’s voice drifts from across the room.

"No," Caleb mutters, face buried in his pillow. "Just… tired. Really tired."

He sank into the thin mattress like dead weight, the springs groaning beneath him. With sluggish hands, he pulled his glasses from his face and tossed them onto the bedside table, missing by an inch. His breathing grew heavier, his skin slick with cold sweat. His pupils—blown wide as saucers—fluttered shut as he barely mustered the strength to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

And within seconds, he was out like a light.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, painting golden stripes across Caleb’s bare back as he jolted awake.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, erratic breaths, but despite the abruptness of it all, he felt… alert. Fully awake in a way that didn’t exactly make sense.

Blinking rapidly, he reached for his glasses and slid them onto his face with a groggy groan. And then—he froze.

His vision was still blurry.

Frowning, he pulled his glasses off, breathed onto the lenses, and wiped them against his bedsheet. When he slid them back on—blurry again. He pulled them down. Clear. Glasses up. Blurry. Glasses down. Clear.

He stares at them in his hands. “...Weird.”

Setting the frames down, he threw his legs over the bed and staggered toward his closet—only to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Since when the hell did he have abs?

He flexed instinctively, stomach tensing under his own scrutiny. Then his gaze trailed up—to his arms. His biceps. His shoulders.

Turning, twisting, he inspected every angle of himself like a stranger in his own skin. He’d been in shape before, sure, but this? This was different. He would’ve noticed this.

Knuckles rapped against the door, making him flinch.

“Caleb? Are you awake? I forgot my key.” A pause. Then, “Are you feeling any better? You slept like a log last night—perhaps you’re catching a bug.”

"A bug?" Caleb echoes under his breath, flexing again just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “Holy shit… Uh, yeah, man, I’m good. Just—gimme a sec.”

Turning back toward his desk, he reached for his chair, only meaning to push it aside—but the moment his palm touched the wood, it stuck.

His brows furrow.

He yanks once. Then again.

Nothing.

His heartbeat quickens as he curls his fingers, attempting to lift his hand—and instead, he lifts the entire chair clean off the ground.

“What the—” His stomach drops. He waved his hand. The chair waved with it. Up. Down. Side to side. Still stuck.

“Caleb?” Zayne calls from the other side of the door.

Caleb whips his head toward the sound, panic tightening in his throat. Shit. He bolted across the room—chair still attached to his palm—and somehow managed to unlock the door just as Zayne strode in.

Zayne, clearly in a rush, barely spared him a glance as he grabbed a stack of papers from his desk, clipped them together, and breezed back out with a nod.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Caleb exhaled sharply—only to realize his hand was still stuck… to the doorknob.

Huffing, he gave it a firm tug, expecting it to pop free. Instead, the entire knob wrenched out of the door, hinges snapping with a loud crack.

"Shit."

He barely had time to process before his body betrayed him once again—this time, with a sharp thwip.

A thick strand of silk shot from his wrist, attaching him to his bedpost.

His pulse stuttered. 

"What. The. Fuck."

Another sharp tug. Another web. More panic. Before he knew it, his dorm room looked like a crime scene from some horror movie—threads of silk stretching from walls to furniture to the ceiling.

His gaze snapped to the clock on his desk. 12:56 PM.

"Alright," he mutters, inhaling deeply. "Exam starts in four minutes. I’m sticking to everything I touch. I’m half-naked. Cool, cool, cool."

But nothing about this was cool.

If anyone in the history of Linkon University could take an exam like this, it was going to be him.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n like & reblog if you enjoyed!! this was really fun to write :)

i could not stop laughing while writing this at 4am bc i was just imagining caleb coming up with an elaborate ass internalized beef with reader and she’s just sitting in her chem lab like

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[eclipixels]

Qué Delicia

Character: Sae Itoshi x reader

Content: Dancing at 3 A.M. to a song with Sae in the kitchen

[1,000 words]

      You wake up to an empty bed, your heart thudding in your chest. The sheets are cool, and the familiar warmth of Sae's presence is nowhere to be found. Your mind immediately starts to spiral, did you do something wrong? Did he leave? Your thoughts race, fueled by past experiences that left you scarred and afraid to trust. The silence in the room feels suffocating as you sit up, the fear tightening around your chest.

      Sae knows you, knows how your past weighs on you, and yet, he never comments on it. He never pushes you. He simply... waits. Patient, understanding, even when you pull away. But right now, the absence of his calming presence is too much. Your mind convinces you that maybe you’ve ruined something beautiful, that maybe you’ve pushed him away without even realizing it.

      You throw the blankets off yourself, your body trembling slightly as you make your way to the door. The hallway is quiet. The house feels empty, like the space between the walls is holding its breath. You’re about to call out for him when you hear the soft clinking of dishes from the kitchen.

      Relief washes over you, though it’s tinged with embarrassment. You realize how foolish your thoughts were, he hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s just... in the kitchen. Yet, the weight of your emotions still lingers, a mixture of gratitude and guilt. You’re afraid sometimes, afraid of the love you feel for him because of what you've endured before, but Sae never rushes you, never makes you feel like your fears are anything more than a part of you.

      You cautiously approach him, your feet dragging slightly as you take slow, measured steps. Sae seems lost in thought, his gaze distant, as if he's somewhere far away. The kitchen feels smaller now, your thoughts racing again, but you quiet them as best you can. Slowly, you sit next to him, the space between you seeming to shrink with each passing second.

      You rest your head gently on his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, something earthy and comforting. The tension in your chest starts to loosen, but there’s still a quiet flutter of uncertainty, like a bird unsure if it’s allowed to fly. Sae doesn’t move at first, his hand still hovering over the mug in front of him, but then you feel the soft hum of a tune. It’s slow, simple, almost like a lullaby, and it vibrates in his chest. 

      his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. 

      “Why are you up?” He kisses your forehead. 

      You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your skin. 

      “Couldn’t sleep.” You admit, your voice soft like warm wax. 

      His arm, without a word, reaches around you. He pulls you closer, lifting you gently up onto the counter, his movements calm, steady, as if he’s done this a thousand times. You almost feel like you're floating in the quiet of the moment, the world outside fading away. Sae’s hands slide to your waist, and his rhythm begins to match the humming. You feel it in the subtle shift of his body, the way he moves without hesitation, as if the two of you have always been in sync.

      For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of you, dancing softly in the kitchen. His movements are deliberate and gentle, guiding you without rushing, never forcing. The music between you is silent, but it speaks louder than anything else in that moment. You sway with him, your body falling into his rhythm, heart beating a little faster with every step you take together.

      You close your eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the knot in your chest loosens completely. The world beyond doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, except the warmth of Sae’s hands around you, his steady presence, and the way you two move together, no longer just a space between you, but something tangible and real. Something safe.

      As the song in your heart continues to play, you feel the rhythm of your emotions start to align with his, a perfect dance of understanding and connection. Sae doesn’t speak, but the way his hand presses against your back, pulling you closer as you sway, tells you everything. No matter the doubts you hold, no matter the past that lingers, here, in this moment, you are exactly where you’re meant to be. And he is, too.

      His lips kissed away any and all doubts you had, cleansing the darkness in your mind. You didn’t even realize the kind of man Sae became for you, or who he allowed himself to be around you. You didn’t know how much you’ve helped him. 

      During his time in Spain, Sae immersed himself in the language and culture, picking up bits and pieces along the way. Hispanic music was everywhere, creating an atmosphere he couldn't help but absorb. It played constantly, especially in bars, where couples would dance close together whenever the familiar tunes filled the air. One particular song, which he had heard many times, seemed to always set the perfect romantic mood.

      He always imagined you with him whenever the song would come on. The way your cute smile lit up his heart, and how your delicate features seemed to soften when he cupped your face in his hands, those little moments made his heart race. He couldn’t get enough of you, of every little detail that made you uniquely, wonderfully you.

      “You’re so delightful.” Sae whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from you. How dare you? How dare you look so beautiful? And you’re all his, he didn’t understand how he was given only a lifetime to cherish you because no amount of time could ever be enough. 

[chxnsgirl]

황현진 & 한지성 ─── pas de trois 3

♡ pairing ៸៸ ballet dancer!hyunjin x ballet dancer!jisung x afab!reader ៸៸ genre ៸៸ love triangle, ballet academy au៸៸ cw ៸៸ none, lmk if anything needs to be a warning !! ♡ synopsis ៸៸ in the world of ballet, every step is choreographed—but love never follows the script. what happens when you get accepted into the ballet academy of your dreams? MAKE SURE YOU READ PARTS ONE AND TWO FIRST (HERE & HERE) a/n ๑ new part hehe. r u guys excited for where the story is going? ♡ masterlist

after class, the tension from earlier still clung to the air like a thick fog. though everyone tried to act normal, there was an undeniable undercurrent of curiosity, especially regarding hyunjin’s sudden departure. you, celeste, yeji, and the rest of your group moved toward the cafeteria together, the low hum of conversation filling the hall.

“i still can’t believe she’s here,” yuqi muttered, stretching her arms above her head. “madeline picard. that’s insane.”

“i know,” lia added, adjusting the strap of her dance bag. “people would kill for the chance to work under her. this could be huge for whoever gets cast.”

your stomach twisted slightly at the thought. as incredible as the opportunity was, it was overshadowed by what happened earlier.

felix sighed. “hyunjin looked like he was ready to break something.”

minho, walking a step ahead, clicked his tongue. “tch. can’t really blame him, though.”

you stayed quiet, your mind still replaying the way hyunjin’s expression had darkened the second he saw her.

as you all passed by one of the smaller practice rooms, a voice caught your attention.

familiar. soft. and painfully sweet.

“…i’m really glad you’re back.”

the group instinctively slowed down, eyes flickering toward the cracked-open door. you exchanged a glance with yeji, who raised a brow.

it was madeline.

no one said anything, but your curiosity got the better of you. you edged slightly closer, just enough to peek through the small opening. inside, hyunjin stood with his arms crossed, his back facing you. madeline was a few feet away from him, her expression open and hopeful.

“i want you in manon,” she continued, taking a small step forward. “you know as well as i do that you’d be perfect for it. i can talk to emile—”

“no.”

hyunjin’s voice was cold, curt.

madeline blinked, clearly taken aback. “what?”

“i said no.” he shifted slightly, his jaw tight. “i don’t care what you want, madeline. i’m not interested.”

a beat of silence passed between them.

“i don’t understand,” she said softly. “this is everything you ever wanted—”

“what i wanted?” hyunjin let out a bitter scoff, finally turning to face her. his eyes were sharp, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “that’s funny. because last i checked, what i wanted never mattered to you.”

madeline flinched, hurt flashing across her delicate features. “hyunjin…”

“you don’t get to waltz back in here and act like nothing happened,” he went on, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “you left. you made your choice.”

she exhaled, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “i didn’t want to leave you—”

“yeah?” hyunjin tilted his head, a humorless smirk playing on his lips. “well, you did. so congratulations.”

madeline’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—maybe to argue, maybe to apologize—but nothing came out.

another tense silence.

hyunjin shook his head, running a hand along his hair. his shoulders were stiff, his entire body seemingly wound tight with frustration. “just drop it, madeline. i’m not doing your ballet.”

and with that, he turned on his heel, walking toward the door.

your heart nearly stopped.

panic surged through you as you quickly grabbed yeji’s wrist, yanking her forward. “let’s go,” you whispered urgently, making a beeline for the hallway. the rest of the group scrambled after you, pretending as if they hadn’t just been eavesdropping.

just as you rounded the corner, you heard the practice room door swing open behind you.

you didn’t dare look back.

the dining hall was buzzing with conversation as you and your friends made your way to your usual table, trays in hand. despite the lively atmosphere, there was an unspoken weight hanging between you all—everyone was thinking about what they had just overheard.

celeste was the first to break the silence, stabbing her fork into her salad. “well, that was… intense.”

“no kidding,” yeji murmured, picking at her food. “i didn’t expect madeline to waltz in here and act like nothing happened.”

“she has some nerve,” yuqi huffed, leaning back in her chair. “did you hear her? ‘i’m glad you’re back, hyunjin’—as if she didn’t rip his heart out and stomp on it.”

lia glanced at you, sensing the way you were quietly processing everything. “what do you think?”

you hesitated, twirling your fork against your plate. “i don’t know. she sounded… sincere.”

yeji raised a brow. “you believe her?”

“i didn’t say that,” you corrected quickly. “i just mean… what if she really does regret everything? maybe she’s trying to make amends.”

celeste scoffed. “even if she is, that doesn’t mean hyunjin has to forgive her. did you see the way he stormed out? he looked pissed.”

your stomach twisted at the memory of his tense shoulders and clenched jaw as he left the room. you’d never seen him like that before.

minho and the guys walked over then, their trays clattering onto the table as they sat down. “you all look like someone died,” minho remarked, taking a sip of his drink.

felix sighed. “we’re talking about madeline and hyunjin.”

jisung, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since joining, finally spoke up. “i mean, can you really blame him for being mad?” his voice was unusually firm. “she broke his heart, and now she’s back like nothing happened, expecting him to be in her ballet? it’s messed up.”

you blinked, a little surprised at the bitterness in his tone. “you really don’t think people can change?”

jisung’s eyes flickered to yours for a second before he shrugged. “i think some people don’t deserve a second chance.”

the statement lingered between you both, heavier than it should have been. you couldn’t shake the feeling that jisung wasn’t just talking about madeline and hyunjin.

felix exhaled, stretching back in his seat. “either way, this is going to make things messy. if hyunjin refuses to dance in manon, they’re gonna need a replacement.”

minho smirked. “guess that means one of us might have a shot at the lead role.”

your stomach twisted again. another ballet meant another chance for you, but it also meant working under madeline.

and worse—if hyunjin really did refuse, it meant watching someone else stand where he was supposed to be.

would you be okay with that? would he?

as you poked at your food, your thoughts drifted back to hyunjin’s face before he stormed out. the anger, the pain beneath it.

after lunch, while the others lingered in the dining hall, chatting about class and upcoming auditions, you found yourself walking in the opposite direction—toward the quieter, more secluded practice rooms.

you weren’t entirely sure why.

maybe it was the way he had stormed out earlier, anger carved into every sharp movement. maybe it was the way jisung’s words at lunch lingered in your head—some people don’t deserve a second chance.

or maybe it was something simpler.

maybe you just wanted to see him.

the hallway was empty as you approached one of the smaller studios, the faint sound of music playing from inside. the door was slightly ajar, and when you peeked in, you saw him.

hyunjin sat on the floor, his back against the mirror, his long legs stretched out in front of him. his phone lay discarded beside him, and a half-empty water bottle rested near his hand. his expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed downward, lost in thought.

you hesitated before pushing the door open further. “hey.”

his head lifted slightly at your voice. for a moment, he didn’t say anything—just looked at you, as if debating whether he wanted company. but then, with a sigh, he nodded toward the floor beside him. “you can sit, if you want.”

you stepped inside, letting the door close behind you, and sank down beside him. the room smelled faintly of wood polish and sweat, the air thick with lingering tension.

a beat of silence passed. then another.

finally, you spoke. “you left pretty fast.”

hyunjin let out a dry chuckle, tilting his head back against the mirror. “yeah, well. not really in the mood for a reunion.”

you studied him carefully. the hyunjin sitting next to you wasn’t the confident, teasing guy you had come to know. he wasn’t the flirt, the golden boy of the company. he looked… tired. guarded.

“she said she’s glad you’re back,” you murmured.

his jaw clenched. “yeah. funny, isn’t it?”

you hesitated before asking, “do you believe her?”

hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose, running a along his hair. “i don’t know,” he admitted. “i don’t know what she wants. but i do know that i can’t just pretend nothing happened.”

you nodded slowly, tracing invisible patterns on the floor with your fingers. “and the ballet? manon?”

he scoffed. “i don’t know about that either. she really thinks i’d want to be in her production?”

“she might just want to work with you because you’re talented.”

he turned his head slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “or she just wants control over me again.”

the weight behind his words settled deep in your chest. you didn’t know the full details of their past, but you knew enough to understand why he’d be wary.

“i don’t think she deserves that power,” you said softly.

hyunjin’s lips twitched into a small, humorless smile. “yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

for the first time since you sat down, the tightness in his shoulders seemed to ease. he let out a slow breath, tilting his head back again. “thanks,” he murmured.

the silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. it was comfortable.

after a moment, he nudged your knee with his. “you didn’t have to come find me, you know.”

“i know.”

he turned to look at you again, his dark eyes searching yours. “but you did.”

your pulse skipped. there was something about the way he said it—like he was trying to figure you out, like he wanted to understand why you cared.

you held his gaze, the space between you suddenly feeling smaller, the air warmer. but before either of you could say anything else, the door creaked open.

both of you turned as emile poked his head in. “ah, there you are, hyunjin.” his eyes flickered to you briefly, but he didn’t comment on it. “come with me. we need to talk.”

hyunjin’s expression shifted instantly—back to the mask, the composed dancer, the golden boy. he stood up, brushing his hands over his pants before glancing back at you.

“i’ll see you later,” he said, and this time, his voice was a little softer.

you nodded, watching as he followed emile out of the room.

and as you sat there alone, you realized something.

even with all the uncertainty surrounding hyunjin and madeline—about whether or not he would take the role, about what she really wanted—there was one thing you knew for sure.

you weren’t just starstruck by him anymore.

you cared.

maybe more than you should.

hyunjin followed emile down the hall in silence, his jaw tight as he braced himself for whatever was coming. the older man’s office was tucked away in the administrative wing of the building, away from the main practice rooms. when they arrived, emile pushed open the door, motioning for hyunjin to step inside.

the office was neat, as always—stacks of neatly arranged papers on the desk, a single framed photo of a past production hanging on the wall. the windows let in soft afternoon light, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

emile shut the door behind them and turned, folding his arms as he studied hyunjin.

“you want to tell me what that was about?” his voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose. “i don’t think it needs explaining.”

emile arched a brow. “walking out on class? storming out like a child? that’s not the hyunjin i know.”

hyunjin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “i’m not a child. but i also don’t have to sit there and pretend everything is fine.”

“no one’s asking you to pretend,” emile countered. “but you are expected to act like a professional. you think you can just walk out on class because you don’t like the guest director?”

hyunjin let out a dry laugh. “i don’t just not like her, emile.”

“i know.” emile’s voice softened, if only slightly. “i know the history. i understand why you’re upset. but personal grievances or not, madeline picard is directing manon. and you—” he pointed a firm finger at hyunjin “—are going to be the male lead.”

hyunjin’s brows shot up. “excuse me?”

emile walked around his desk, leaning against it. “you heard me.”

“no.” hyunjin scoffed. “no way. you can’t be serious.”

“i’m very serious.”

hyunjin shook his head in disbelief. “you want me to be her lead?” he let out a humorless laugh. “after everything?”

“yes.” emile’s tone left no room for argument. “you are the most talented dancer in this company, hyunjin. the best. no one else comes close.”

hyunjin clenched his jaw. he knew he was good—he had worked himself to the bone to be where he was. but this?

“you expect me to just go along with this like it’s any other role?”

“i expect you to see the bigger picture.” emile straightened. “you being the male lead isn’t just about you. this is a workshop. if we have you in manon, every girl here will want to audition. it raises the stakes. it guarantees a better cast. and it keeps this company’s reputation exactly where it needs to be.”

hyunjin’s hands twitched at his sides. “so i don’t have a choice.”

emile sighed, rubbing his temples. “i’m not forcing you, hyunjin. but i am telling you to be smart about this. don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment.”

hyunjin stayed silent, his thoughts racing.

emile watched him carefully before speaking again. “take the night to think about it.” he turned back to his desk, signaling the conversation was over. “but i expect an answer tomorrow.”

hyunjin scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as he turned toward the door. he yanked it open, stepping out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

his mind was a whirlwind.

madeline wanted him in her ballet. and emile wanted him to agree—for the sake of the company, for the sake of the production.

but could he really do it?

the cafeteria hummed with life—students talking animatedly, utensils clinking against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the space. you sat with celeste, yeji, and jisung, half-listening to their conversation while your mind drifted to the looming auditions.

then, yeji abruptly nudged your arm. “look.”

your head snapped up just in time to see hyunjin weaving through the cafeteria, heading toward a table near the center. sitting there, poised and elegant, was none other than madeline picard.

your stomach twisted.

celeste raised a brow. “didn’t he storm out of class the second he saw her yesterday?”

jisung crossed his arms, watching closely. “yeah. so why is he voluntarily going up to her now?”

the four of you fell into silence, your gazes locked on the interaction unfolding across the room. hyunjin stopped beside madeline’s table, hands in his pockets. she glanced up at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise before she smirked.

hyunjin said something, his expression unreadable. madeline tilted her head, twirling her fork between her fingers as she listened.

your fingers tightened around the edge of your tray.

a few heads in the cafeteria turned, clearly noticing the two as well. it wasn’t every day that two of the most well-known dancers in the academy shared a conversation—especially not with the history they had.

then, to everyone’s surprise, hyunjin pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

yeji’s eyes widened. “okay, now i really want to know what they’re talking about.”

you did too. and a part of you—the irrational, insecure part—hated that he was sitting with her at all.

as if sensing your gaze, hyunjin briefly glanced in your direction. but before you could decipher the look in his eyes, he returned his focus to madeline, speaking again.

hyunjin leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. “i’ve decided.”

madeline arched a delicate brow. “oh?”

“i’ll do it,” he said. “i’ll be the male lead in manon.”

a pleased smile ghosted across her lips. “i knew you’d come around.”

hyunjin’s expression didn’t change. “i’m not doing this for you.”

madeline chuckled softly, unfazed. “of course not.”

he exhaled through his nose, then leaned back against his chair. “there’s something else.”

she tilted her head. “go on.”

hyunjin didn’t return the sentiment. he was here for business, nothing more. “i want to talk about the female lead.”

madeline arched a delicate brow, folding her arms. “oh?”

hyunjin scooted closer. “i know you probably already have names in mind, but i think you should seriously consider someone.” he held her gaze. “y/n.”

madeline blinked, clearly not expecting that. “y/n?”

“yes.” his voice was firm. “she’s the best fit for the role.”

madeline hummed, mulling over his words. “she’s talented,” she admitted. “but she’s young. inexperienced.”

“so was i, once,” hyunjin countered. “that never stopped you from choosing me.”

she exhaled a soft laugh. “you always were ambitious.”

“she’s good, madeline,” he insisted. “and you want this ballet to be the best it can be, right?” he met her gaze pointedly. “she’s the one you should cast.”

madeline studied him for a long moment, then a knowing smile played on her lips. “you care about her.”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened. “that’s not the point.”

“isn’t it?” she leaned in closer, searching his expression. “you never put in a word for anyone before. not even when we were together.”

his expression remained unreadable. “i’m telling you she’s the right choice.”

madeline watched him carefully before exhaling softly, her arms falling to her sides. “i’ll think about it,” she finally said.

“that’s all i ask.”

hyunjin didn’t wait for anything else. he turned on his heel and strode toward the cafeteria doors.

as he passed your table, madeline called out, her voice soft but certain.

“it’s nice to have you back, hyunjin.”

he paused, but he didn’t respond.

instead, he started walking again, staying on his path to the door.

the atmosphere in the studio hallway was thick with anticipation. dancers huddled in clusters, whispering in nervous excitement as they waited. every few seconds, someone stole a glance toward the door, where miss cassandra was expected to emerge with the casting results.

the wait felt excruciating. you stood with yeji and celeste, your stomach churning with a mixture of hope and dread. jisung was nearby, hands shoved in his pockets, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

finally, the door creaked open, and miss cassandra stepped out, holding a crisp white sheet of paper. the hallway fell into a hush as she walked toward the bulletin board, each click of her heels echoing off the walls. without a word, she smoothed the paper against the corkboard and pinned it in place.

"congratulations to all," she said, glancing over the anxious crowd. "rehearsals begin tomorrow. make sure you’re prepared."

the moment she stepped away, the crowd surged forward. bodies pressed together as everyone strained to see their fate.

you inhaled sharply, pushing through with yeji and celeste at your side. your fingers trembled as your eyes darted across the list, scanning frantically until they landed on your name.

manon

manon – your name

des grieux – hyunjin hwang

des grieux understudy / supporting role – jisung han

the words blurred for a moment as your breath hitched. your heart pounded against your ribs. you blinked, making sure you weren’t imagining it. your name. next to hyunjin’s.

a soft gasp escaped your lips. yeji, reading over your shoulder, shrieked. "oh my god! you got the lead!"

celeste let out a triumphant laugh. "i knew it! i knew you would!"

your body felt light, almost detached from reality. this was it—this was everything you’d been dreaming of.

yeji quickly found her own name under another ballet. "yes!" she cheered, grabbing minho’s arm. "we got the lead together!"

celeste beamed as she pointed at her own role. "felix, we’re partners."

laughter and celebration erupted around you, but your eyes instinctively searched for jisung. you found him a few steps away, his gaze locked on the list. his expression was unreadable at first, but then his jaw tensed. his shoulders sagged just slightly.

you swallowed hard.

"jisung..." you said softly, stepping toward him.

he turned, schooling his features into something neutral. "hey," he said, forcing a small smile. "congrats."

you hesitated. "i… i thought you would get a lead."

he shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "i guess they thought i was better suited for supporting." he let out a small, humorless chuckle. "and an understudy. in case hyunjin suddenly forgets how to dance."

you frowned, guilt gnawing at you. "you deserve more than that."

"it’s fine," he said quickly, waving it off. "i’ll still be in the ballet. it’s not the end of the world." but his voice lacked conviction.

your stomach twisted. you knew how much this meant to him. he was always so confident, so lively—but now, he looked… small.

before you could say anything else, movement in the crowd caught your eye. hyunjin stood off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, watching the reactions unfold. his expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

your breath hitched. this was real. you were going to be partners.

jisung followed your gaze and exhaled through his nose. "looks like you and hyunjin will be spending a lot of time together," he said, his tone light but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

you turned back to him, unsure of what to say. but before you could respond, emile clapped his hands, calling for attention.

"congratulations to everyone," he announced. "rehearsals start tomorrow. bring your best, because i expect nothing less than perfection."

the hallway buzzed with chatter, but a strange unease settled in your chest.

this was everything you had worked for. so why did it feel like something wasn’t quite right?

the rehearsal studio was alive with movement, dancers stretching, adjusting their shoes, and murmuring about the newly assigned roles. the atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the weight of their new responsibilities settling on their shoulders.

you stood near the center of the room, nervously adjusting the straps of your leotard. this was it—your first rehearsal as the lead in manon. your heart thudded against your ribcage as you stole a glance at hyunjin. he was across the room, tying the ribbons of his pointe shoes, his expression unreadable.

“all right, everyone, places,” madeline’s voice cut through the chatter, and the room quickly fell silent. she stood at the front with a clipboard in hand, her sharp eyes flicking between you and hyunjin. “we’ll begin with the first pas de deux. let’s see what we’re working with.”

you swallowed hard as hyunjin finally met your gaze. he smirked, pushing himself up from his seat before sauntering over to you. he moved with the kind of effortless grace you had always admired—and envied.

“nervous?” he murmured as he came to stand beside you, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you straightened your posture, refusing to let him get under your skin. “no.”

hyunjin chuckled under his breath. “you’re a bad liar.”

madeline clapped her hands once. “we’ll start with the lift.”

your stomach twisted. the lift.

it was one of the most challenging parts of the duet—hyunjin would have to sweep you off your feet and spin you before carefully lowering you into his arms. you had rehearsed lifts before, but never with him.

he extended a hand toward you, waiting. you hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing your palm in his. his fingers curled around yours, firm but careful.

“just relax,” he murmured as he stepped closer. his free hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing lightly into your side. you shivered under his touch, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your leotard.

you barely had time to process the closeness before he moved.

with practiced ease, hyunjin lifted you into the air, his grip unwavering. for a fleeting moment, you felt weightless, suspended between the ground and his arms. but then—

“too stiff,” madeline’s voice rang out, making you flinch. “loosen up, (y/n). trust him.”

you barely registered the way hyunjin’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk.

“trust me,” he echoed, his voice dripping with amusement.

heat rose to your cheeks, but you nodded. you let yourself relax, allowing your body to mold against his movements. this time, the lift was smoother, more natural. when he lowered you into his arms, his face was just inches from yours, his breath ghosting against your cheek.

for a moment, it felt like the world around you disappeared. his dark eyes locked onto yours, and there was something unreadable in them—something that made your pulse race.

madeline’s voice shattered the moment. “better. again.”

hyunjin let out a low chuckle before pulling away, but not before his fingers lingered on your waist for just a second too long.

you exhaled shakily. this was going to be a long rehearsal.

the studio was nearly empty now. most of the dancers had filed out, murmuring about their aching muscles and plans for the evening. jisung sat on the wooden floor, untying his pointe shoes with more force than necessary.

felix plopped down beside him, stretching his legs out with a sigh. “man, that was brutal.”

jisung let out a dry laugh. “yeah.”

brutal was one word for it. torturous was another.

he had spent the entire rehearsal watching you in his arms. watching the way hyunjin’s hands traced over your waist, the way he lifted you with ease, the way your body followed his lead like you had done this a hundred times before.

and the worst part? the way you looked at hyunjin.

jisung had seen that look before—had seen it in your eyes when you talked about how talented hyunjin was, how much you admired him. but seeing it up close, right in front of him? it stung in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.

felix nudged his knee. “you okay?”

jisung exhaled sharply, dropping his shoes into his bag. “yeah. just—” he stopped, raking a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “it’s just hard to watch, you know?”

felix’s expression softened. “yeah, i know.”

jisung leaned back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling. “i mean, i get it. hyunjin’s a good dancer, and they need chemistry for the ballet to work, but…” his voice trailed off as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “it’s not just the dancing. she likes him.”

felix was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “and you like her.”

jisung let out a bitter laugh. “yeah. and it sucks.”

felix studied him, his blue eyes thoughtful. “why don’t you just tell her?”

jisung opened his mouth, then shut it.

tell you? now?

the words sat heavy on his tongue, pressing against the back of his throat. he imagined pulling you aside after rehearsal, imagined the way your eyes would widen as he finally said the words that had been burning inside him for months.

i like you. more than a friend should.

but then he thought about hyunjin. about the way you had smiled at him during practice, about the way your body fit so effortlessly against his.

jisung clenched his jaw.

“it’s not that easy,” he muttered.

felix raised an eyebrow. “why not?”

jisung let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. “because i don’t want to make things harder for her. she’s already got so much going on. and besides…” his voice dropped slightly. “she’s already looking at someone else.”

felix frowned but didn’t argue.

jisung pushed himself to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “it’s fine. i just need to get over it.”

felix stood as well, crossing his arms. “yeah? and how’s that going for you?”

jisung laughed, but there was no humor in it. “terribly.”

with one last glance at the empty studio, he turned on his heel and walked out, felix trailing behind him.

and as much as jisung wanted to convince himself that he could move on, that he could just let his feelings fade, he knew the truth.

he was in too deep.

and watching you with hyunjin was going to break him.

the studio was alive with movement, the grand mirrors reflecting every extension, every pirouette, every carefully rehearsed moment of passion. it had been a few weeks since rehearsals for manon began, and by now, you had expected to feel a deeper sense of connection with your partner. but something was off.

hyunjin had changed.

you noticed it in the way he carried himself—his steps were still precise, still beautiful, but there was something missing. the hyunjin you once knew, the one who made every touch, every glance electric, had started to dull. he barely looked at you when you danced together, his hands settling on your waist or wrist only when necessary, never lingering. his presence had once been magnetic, but now, he felt distant, cold.

even now, as you moved through a particularly intimate scene, you could feel it. the moment required a delicate interplay of emotions—love, desperation, longing. but hyunjin’s grip was detached, his gaze unfocused. when his hand brushed against your cheek, the touch was empty, mechanical, nothing like the heat you used to feel from him.

“hyunjin,” you whispered under your breath as you moved through the steps, hoping to catch his attention, to draw him back in.

he didn’t respond.

your stomach twisted as you fought through the rest of the sequence, trying not to let his detachment throw you off.

jisung was watching. you caught the flicker of his eyes from across the studio, his expression unreadable. he was warming up with the other dancers, but his attention kept drifting toward you and hyunjin.

madeline clapped her hands, signaling the end of the run-through. “alright, take a five-minute break before we go again,” she instructed.

hyunjin dropped his hands from you immediately, not even sparing you a glance before turning away. he grabbed his water bottle and moved toward the back of the room, running a hand along his hair in frustration.

you took a deep breath, stepping away as well. that was when jisung approached, his towel slung over his shoulder. “you okay?”

you hesitated before answering. “yeah, i just…” you glanced in hyunjin’s direction, watching as he wiped sweat from his brow, his posture tense, his expression dark. “…i don’t know what’s going on with him.”

jisung’s jaw tensed, and he let out a small scoff, though it wasn’t directed at you. “i could take a wild guess.”

your brows knitted together. “what do you mean?”

jisung sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. he hesitated, as if debating whether to speak his mind. his eyes flickered toward hyunjin, who was leaning against the mirror with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“look, i don’t know exactly what’s going on with him,” jisung admitted, lowering his voice. “but it’s obvious he’s… different.” he glanced at you again, his gaze searching. “and you’ve noticed it too.”

you swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. of course you had noticed. but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real.

jisung shifted his stance, gripping his towel a little tighter. “maybe he’s just stressed. maybe it’s the pressure of the lead role. or…” he paused, exhaling sharply. “maybe it’s something else.”

“like what?” you pressed, your heartbeat picking up.

he hesitated again, his lips parting like he was about to say something important—but then, at the last second, he clamped his mouth shut. instead, he shook his head, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“forget it,” he muttered. “it’s not my place.”

the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but what was he supposed to say? ‘it kills him to watch you care so much about hyunjin when he can’t even see what he has? that he can’t stand watching hyunjin push you away while he’d do anything to be in his place?’

no. he couldn’t say that.

instead, he forced a light chuckle, nudging your arm. “just… don’t let him ruin this for you, okay? you deserve to enjoy this.”

before you could respond, madeline’s voice rang out, calling everyone back. jisung shot you one last look—something lingering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place—before stepping away.

you turned back toward hyunjin, but he still wasn’t looking at you.

and for the first time since rehearsals started, you felt a sinking feeling settle in your stomach.

the theater buzzed with quiet anticipation, the dim glow of backstage lights casting long shadows on the walls. you slipped past a few crew members, carefully navigating your way to the side of the stage, where you could catch a glimpse of hyunjin without disrupting the performance.

you had thought about this all day—how you wanted to surprise him, show your support, and remind him that you were here for him. lately, something had been off. you weren’t blind to it. but maybe he just needed reassurance. maybe he just needed to know you still cared.

your heart pounded as your eyes landed on him. there he was, in his element, his body moving with the kind of precision and grace that left audiences breathless. he looked stunning under the stage lights, his expression intense as he danced alongside his partner, completely immersed in the performance.

for a moment, you forgot about everything else. his coldness, the distance he had put between you—it all melted away as you watched him, captivated.

and then, as he turned with a flourish, his gaze flickered toward the wings. toward you.

your breath hitched.

but instead of surprise or warmth flashing across his face, his expression hardened. his movements didn’t falter, but the second he exited the stage for a quick costume change, you saw him make a beeline in your direction.

“hyunjin!” you whispered excitedly, but the look in his eyes stopped you short.

his jaw was tight, and his face was unreadable as he towered over you, his skin glistening with sweat. “why are you here?” his voice was low, clipped.

the coldness in his tone stung. you blinked, taken aback. “i— i wanted to surprise you,” you said softly, forcing a small smile. “i thought you’d be happy.”

his lips pressed into a thin line. “you shouldn’t be backstage,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “i’m in the middle of a performance.”

you frowned. “i know, i just—”

“look, i don’t have time for this.” he cut you off, already moving past you. “enjoy the show, alright?”

and just like that, he disappeared back into the flurry of stagehands and dancers, leaving you standing there, stunned.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to brush off the interaction. maybe he was just in performance mode. maybe he was just tired, overwhelmed. that had to be it.

you shook off the uneasy feeling in your gut and made your way to the front of the theater, deciding to wait for him after the show. surely, once it was over, he’d explain. he’d apologize for being short with you, and everything would be fine.

right?

the performance ended, and the applause thundered through the theater. you waited by the stage door, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

and then, after what felt like forever, the door finally swung open.

hyunjin emerged, still in his stage makeup, his hair slightly damp with sweat. but he wasn’t alone.

your stomach dropped.

a girl followed close behind him, giggling at something he said. she was beautiful, elegant, with long, toned legs that told you she was likely another dancer.

you stiffened, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. he didn’t even notice you standing there.

didn’t even look for you.

your breath caught in your throat as you watched him place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit.

he walked right past you.

your chest tightened, a lump forming in your throat.

you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but no words came out.

and just like that, hyunjin disappeared into the night with her, leaving you standing alone in the cold.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life @geni-627

series taglist: @estella-novella @stayjinnie @wavetohannie @jehhskz @thecutiepieme @rousslut @mariteez @yeetmehome @stay3096 ♡

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[nopeferatu]

been thinking about this post lately and i wish i had the gumption to write a fic where jack calls his mama to tell her the news that he's getting married after knocking lureen up. i don't know if he'd tell her he got her pregnant, but i like thinking about how she'd react to the news. i don't think jack had ever mentioned lureen to his mama before, so when he says he's getting married it probably comes as a real shock to her, and she probably figures that something fishy is afoot. her concerns are also probably confirmed when she gets word of little bobby's arrival less than nine months after the wedding...

i think she'd be okay with it, though. sure, she wouldn't be happy that he got her pregnant before they were married, but she's probably glad to see some uhh. direction in jack's life. i feel like she's also always had her suspicions about her son's sexuality, and so it comes as a reassurance to her that he's finally interested in the things he 'should' be interested in, like having a wife and raising up a family.

but then he visits home after seeing Ennis in the fall of 1967, and he spares very few words for his family in between all the ramblimg about Ennis, and it's at that moment she knows without a doubt that her baby boy is different, because it's the first time she's seen him so vibrant and alive since...well, since the summer he'd met Ennis. And it hurts her, but she realizes then that it's something she has to come to terms with, cause it seems like Ennis del Mar is going to be sticking around for awhile yet...

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Six

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: The night of the gratitude banquet arrives. Your life will never be the same after it.

Warnings: insecurity and overthinking, deep introspection, reader processing every feeling ever, IC friendship dynamics, Az is in his jealousy era, reader chewing him out, a kiss, a confession and more!!

Word Count: 12.6k (happy finale!)

Part Five | Series Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The days slipped by quickly. You spent most of them in your head, avoiding social interactions except for the ones you deliberately made time for—helping Adrin pick out his clothes for the banquet and shopping for a dress with Mor and Feyre. Azriel had been busy. You hadn’t seen him.

You felt guilty for being relieved. But you were. You couldn’t handle seeing him. 

It hit you last night, after Mor dropped off your dress—neatly wrapped in its protective bag—and you crawled into bed. When your gaze landed on your wrist, on the hair tie still there, everything suddenly became clear. You couldn’t run anymore. You couldn’t ignore it.

You were in love with Azriel.

There was a certain discomfort that came with realizing you had been walking through your life half-blind. Like a fog had lifted, revealing a path you had already been traveling, except now you could see it for what it was. And you wondered—how long had this been true? How long had you been this blind?

All these years of knowing Azriel, of loving him in some way—platonically, protectively, whatever it was—you had never truly seen it. But now that you did, you couldn’t unsee it. And it ached. Deeply.

Your fingers pressed absently against your sternum, rubbing small circles over the bone as you made your way down the hall. Over and over, like it might ease it. Like you could massage the feeling away.

You knew better.

It didn’t subside. If anything, it settled deeper, curling into your ribs. Lingered. Even as you reached the kitchen—and faltered.

Because you heard him.

A quiet hum, soft and unhurried, the way he always did on slow mornings when he thought no one was listening. And his shadows—they slipped past the doorframe, curling like wisps of ink, reaching. They knew you were there. They always did.

You thought about leaving.

But before you could turn, the humming stopped. A beat of silence. Then—

“Y/n?”

You exhaled sharply, bracing yourself before stepping inside.

Azriel was already watching you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it shifted into something softer. Familiar.

“Good morning,” you murmured.

He smiled—small, easy, like nothing between you had changed. Like your world hadn’t tilted on its axis.

He lifted a cup in offering. “Tea?”

You accepted it with a quiet thanks, leaning against the counter as Azriel took a seat, his own cup cradled loosely between his fingers.

Silences like this weren’t unusual. They were often comfortable—the kind of quiet that settled when you were both still waking up and bracing for the day ahead. But this morning, it was different.

Azriel glanced at you. “You okay?”

You were almost tempted to laugh at the question, but you suppressed it.

You nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. Just… lots on my mind.”

He hummed in understanding. His gaze had yet to leave yours.

A beat passed. Another. You shifted your weight against the counter, eyes flicking down to your cup. “You ever feel like you have too many thoughts, and it’s just… disorienting?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Another stretch of silence. It wasn’t quite tense, but it wasn’t easy, either. Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat. “So, tonight…” He hesitated. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to get something beforehand. I’m assuming the finger food will be too extravagant for us, like usual.”

You hesitated. His words were fumbling a little, but you didn’t think too much about it. You had been overthinking everything lately. 

“I would, but I’m actually bringing someone tonight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for him.”

Azriel stilled. “Oh.” His head tilted slightly. “You’re bringing a date?”

“It’s not exactly a date. I just asked him to come with me.”

Azriel nodded slowly. “Who?”

“Adrin. I invited him the other day.”

“Adrin,” he repeated, like he was testing the name on his tongue. “Madja’s apprentice?”

"That's the one."

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, but he said nothing at first, just watched you, his shadows flickering across the floor like they knew something you didn’t.

He studied you like he was waiting for something more. When nothing came, he frowned, his voice turning cautious. “And he’s coming with you… tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I thought it’d be nice. He’s helped us before. He's nice.”

Azriel didn’t say anything, but you saw it—in the way his breath hitched, in the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He had something to say.

You exhaled sharply. “Okay. What is it?”

His gaze shifted, like he was considering denying it.

“Hm?” he hummed, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

You leveled him with a look. “Az.” A beat. “Just spit it out, yeah?”

A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know. It just feels... strange, don’t you think? I mean, inviting him to something like this?”

You bristled at the words, at the insinuation that you needed a reason to bring someone. Needed to justify it to him.

 “Az, it’s just a regular banquet, and I wanted to invite someone. That’s not a crime.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

"Then what is this judgmental look you have?" Your voice came out more defensive than you meant. “I’ve known him for a while. It’s not like he’s a stranger.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s just some casual get-together, either.”

You hated that this conversation made you wish for something else. Made you wish it was a date. A real one. That tonight was light and exciting—the kind of night that made you blush, that made you feel wanted. The kind of night that made you feel like someone falling in love, not someone realizing they already had. So deeply, so entirely unreciprocated that you hadn’t even noticed it had happened.

“I’m not making some huge statement by inviting him. It’s just a banquet.” You swallowed, forcing the irritation down. “A banquet to show appreciation for those who help us. I thought it’d be nice. He’s helped us before, you know that.”

You thought back to what Azriel had said about not wanting to be the last one standing, like love, companionship, was a prize to win before someone else did. A race. And maybe, mentioning you were bringing someone made him defensive, made him feel like he needed to be looking again. The thought made something bitter rise in you. Something akin to embarrassment. 

Azriel didn’t reply right away. When he finally spoke, there was a resignation in his voice. "Right. I do know that."

You couldn’t find the right words to reply, so you settled for silence once more. You finished your tea, rinsed out the cup, and set it in the sink. You felt his eyes on you as you turned and told him, “I think, for now, maybe we should stay out of each other’s personal lives. Not comment on any romantic prospects.”

It sounded like a good idea—like a boundary you could hold, something to protect yourself.

But Azriel’s expression flickered, a discomfort settling across his face. “So Adrin is a romantic prospect?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Well, that's not–that’s not the point.” You pressed your fingers to your temples, willing away the irritation clawing at you. Then you dropped your hand, looking at him again. “Way to pick and choose what you hear, by the way.”

"I'm just clarifying."

"Look. I know I was right about Selene. But I think we have very different approaches to our personal lives.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "Well, I do. It might be better for us to keep our opinions to ourselves."

Azriel blinked. Then, quietly—“I don't want you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

Your breath caught.

His voice was careful, his fingers curling slightly around his cup. “Your opinion is the most important thing to me.”

And then your chest tightened. Azriel couldn’t say things like that to you.

The words slipped out before you could stop them. “Maybe it shouldn’t be.”

Silence.

Azriel’s grip tightened around his cup.

You swallowed. “I should go.”

And with Azriel’s eyes still following your every movement, you left— the ache in your chest even deeper than before.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The entrance to the banquet hall was a grand display of velvet-draped archways and soft golden faelight. You spotted Adrin just beyond the doors, hands tucked neatly behind his back, his casual, loose, linen clothes traded for deep navy formalwear. He looked up as you approached, a large, bright smile forming.

"You clean up well," you teased, stopping beside him. "I could’ve picked you up from your apartment. Like a proper date."

Adrin huffed a quiet laugh. "And risk making the citizens of Velaris burn with jealousy over how we look together? I’d never be so cruel."

You rolled your eyes and laughed. The lightness of the sound surprised you. "I suppose we do look rather stunning."

His gaze lingered for a moment before he said, softer, "You do. That dress is quite beautiful."

You barely resisted the urge to fidget, instead smoothing your hand over the fabric. 

Mor and Feyre had helped you get ready at the river house, the way they always did before events like these. The three of you, despite everything—despite mates, despite growing older, despite how much life had changed—still made time for it. A tradition you refused to let go of. It was something sacred, in a way. The girlhood none of you had ever really gotten to experience, stolen by war or circumstance.

You suspected Mor had noticed you were in your head more than usual, that something about tonight felt different. She kept checking in, little glances through the mirror, hesitation when you’d asked her to help pin your hair up. Her fingers had lingered as she tucked the final strands into place, ensuring the hairpiece she used hid the infamous hair tie beneath it. She hadn’t asked, but you could feel the question lingering in the way she looked at you.

“Mor chose it for me,” you said, offering Adrin a playful curtsy. "I’ll let her know her taste is still undefeated."

A few more guests drifted past.

"This home is beautiful," Adrin murmured, his gaze sweeping over the high ceilings and intricate paintings covering the marble walls— all painted by Feyre herself. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your High Lord and High Lady have elegant tastes. I must admit, I feel slightly out of place."

"It’s just another event," you said lightly. "Don’t let the elegance scare you. Most of the guests already know you, anyway. The ones that don’t will have the pleasure tonight. Nothing to stress about."

Adrin exhaled, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "I wouldn’t say I’m stressed. Out of practice seems more fitting. I haven’t been to many events like this."

"Oh? Does Thesan not throw many?"

He tilted his head. "Some. But even then, I wouldn’t attend. Not everyone is as close to their High Lord as you."

You blinked. "I never thought of it like that."

Adrin smiled faintly. "It’s not a bad thing. It’s quite beautiful, really. It humanizes Rhysand—far more than the stories some might hear about Night."

For you, Rhysand had never been just High Lord—he was Rhys, the friend who stole the last pastry off your plate just to be an ass, who gave the best advice when you needed it most, who once drunkenly tried to shove more marshmallows into his mouth than Cassian. You knew he was powerful. Knew that the weight of his title was immense. But it was easy to forget. Easy to take for granted just how rare it was to have a ruler who felt like family. A ruler who was family.

“I appreciate your open mind. It’s not easy for many people to see past Rhys’s past.”

Adrin’s eyes softened. “I can see the heart beneath the power.”

You glanced around the hall, watching as laughter and conversation rippled through the guests. When you turned back, you caught Adrin scanning the crowd as well. You took the spare moment to examine him further.

Adrin had the kind of beauty that belonged to the quiet hush of morning. His golden-brown skin carried a softness—not kissed by the sun, but by first light, the gentle warmth before the world fully woke. Vitiligo traced around his right eye, trailing down his cheek, leaving a streak of white in his dark curls. Even his eyelashes and brow were dusted pale. There was nothing severe about him, nothing unreadable.

You wondered how many admirers he must have. How many people in the streets of your city turned to gawk when he passed. How many hearts he’d left broken when he left his home and moved to Velaris.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you said, drawing his attention back to you. When his warm eyes met yours, you continued. “What made you come here? From Dawn?"

He titled his head, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

"When I heard that Night and Dawn were fostering more exchanges—trade, apprenticeships—I jumped at the chance," Adrin said. "It seemed perfect. It’s been an honor to train under Madja, to learn from one of the most talented healers of all Fae alike." He shot you a look. "I have you to thank for that opportunity."

You raised a brow. "Me?"

"I heard it was your diplomacy that strengthened those relations between our courts," he said. "That made Velaris known for the oasis of opportunity it now is, rather than the secret gem of Night it once was."

You hummed, a smile pulling at your lips. Even now, after all these years, it still felt nice—validating—to be acknowledged for your work. For the vision you had continually strived to achieve for your court, for Prythian.

"Well then," you mused, "you’re welcome."

It was fascinating, really—how simple his answer had been. That he had made the choice to leave home with such certainty. You didn’t think you could ever do the same.

"Do you miss the Dawn court?" 

Adrin exhaled, thoughtful. "Yes, but not how you might think. I rather love change." He glanced at you, curiosity flickering in his expression now. "Do you?"

"What—miss Dawn?"

He laughed. "No. Do you like change?"

The answer should have been easy. You’d never been afraid of new things—your entire life had been built on pushing forward, on carving out space where there was none. But lately, change felt like something different. Like something looming. Like something you weren’t sure you wanted.

You fought the urge to glance over your shoulder, to scan the crowd for a familiar figure wreathed in shadows. You hadn’t seen him since this morning.

"No, actually," you admitted. "I despise it. I know it’s necessary for growth, but… I like things the way they are. I don’t think I’d want to leave my court. Not for long."

Adrin nodded. "With a life like this, I’m sure I wouldn’t either."

You let the words settle between you for a moment before exhaling. "Come on. Let me introduce you around."

Adrin extended an arm, eyes gleaming with humor. "Lead the way, shepherd of change. I am your sheep for the night."

You chuckled, looping your arm through his as you stepped into the light.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Adrin had slipped easily into conversation with Cassian and Nesta, asking them about their mating ceremony with a curiosity so good-natured even Nesta had warmed to him. You’d been content just standing there, watching as he made the connections you’d hoped he would.

When he left to get you both drinks, you lingered, half-listening to Cassian’s exaggerated retelling of something Nesta had told him from a recent book of hers. Your eyes drifted across the scene—the candlelit tables, the swirling gowns, the food laid out in delicate arrangements that looked more like art than a meal. Unlike most elaborate events Rhysand and Feyre threw, tonight had hors d'oeuvres that actually appealed to you. You made a mental note to try some of the rosemary and honey tartlets once your stomach felt less uneasy.

You let your gaze drift once more, scanning the crowd without much thought—until you saw him.

Azriel.

For a second, everything else faded. The music, the conversation, the clinking of glasses. The world narrowed to the space between you and him.

He looked good—unfairly so. He’d cleaned up well, the sharp lines of his suit making him look effortlessly put together, dark hair styled just enough to look like he hadn’t tried at all. 

If Adrin had been handsome in a way that was warm, inviting, then Azriel was beautiful in a way that stole the breath from your lungs. It was gut-wrenching, disarming, the kind of beauty that felt borderline sacred.

And gods, the way he was looking at you. Not just looking. Watching.

Your stomach flipped, something deep inside you tightening painfully. The air between you stretched thin. Humming. Waiting. It made your fingers twitch at your sides, made your feet shift like they might carry you forward without your permission.

And yet, somehow, you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—

“Here you are.”

The moment shattered. You blinked, the noise of the banquet rushing back in as Adrin reappeared at your side, pressing a glass of champagne into your hand. You took it with an appreciative smile, downing half of it in one go and ignoring the way your fingers trembled around the delicate flute.

Adrin turned back to Nesta, launching into another carefully respectful question, something about her Valkyrie training, but you barely heard it.

Not until Adrin nudged you, drawing you back. “Should I be concerned?” he murmured. 

You blinked. “About?”

“That the Shadowsinger is currently glaring at me like he wants me dead. Have I offended him?”

Confused, you followed his gaze—

Azriel was still watching. Only now, the look was different. The sharpness of it, the intensity—it was aimed at Adrin.

A full glare.

You barely swallowed down the sound of disbelief that threatened to escape. What the hell was his problem?

Heat rose to your face. You forced yourself to breathe, to roll your shoulders back. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, waving it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

But when you turned back, Nesta was looking at you. A direct, knowing look. You glanced back at Azriel, still staring, then back at her. She knew.

You gently brushed your champagne flute back into Adrin’s hands. “Excuse me for a minute?”

"Of course," Adrin said easily, though concern flickered in his warm gaze. Nesta took the opportunity to step in, calling over Gwyn—a plan you’d both briefly gone over before the night began.

"Adrin," she said, "let me introduce you to my friend and fellow Valkyrie."

Adrin’s voice drifted after you as you stepped away.

“Oh, by the Mother, is that an Invoking Stone?” His breath caught, reverent. “Beautiful—I’ve only ever read about them.”

You didn’t need to turn to know Gwyn was smiling, could already picture the soft pink dusting her cheeks. But the moment barely registered, drowned out by the weight of the gaze still burning into you.

You had more pressing matters.

You didn’t spare Azriel a glance before grabbing his forearm and dragging him into the nearest empty room.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel barely moved as you pulled him in, letting you manhandle him like a bag of heavy rocks. His brows had only just begun to furrow when you spun on him, still gripping his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the corded muscles of his forearm shifting under your grip—but you refused to let that distract you.

Not now.

It took you half a second to realize where you had dragged him. A library. A new one, judging by the scent of fresh wood and the pristine bookshelves lining the walls. You hadn’t even known this room existed. Your gaze flicked over the tall windows, the deep blue rug, the shelves still waiting to be filled. You hadn’t explored the house since the construction finished, too preoccupied with—

No. Focus.

You turned back to Azriel, finally letting go of his wrist. His wings twitched slightly, and his shadows curled at his feet like smoke, their edges sharper than usual.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, crossing your arms.

Azriel blinked, his head tilting slightly. “What?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No,” he said flatly. “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

A heavy breath caught in your throat as the words lodged themselves somewhere between your teeth and the pit of your stomach. Azriel’s voice was cool and even. It only made you angrier.

“Are you serious right now?”

His hazel eyes studied you.  A flicker of something passed through them, quick as a shadow in candlelight, but then it was gone.

Fine.

You squared your shoulders. “I’ll spell it out. Why are you glaring at Adrin like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I wasn’t glaring.”

You forced a breath out of your chest—through your nose, just to keep yourself from losing it. A sharp, humorless laugh left you. “If that wasn’t a glare, I’d hate to see what you classify as one.”

His expression didn’t change, but his wings tucked in a little tighter, hands flexing at his sides. You noted that his shadows had stilled, barely a ripple in the air now. They’d decided to be a quiet, unassuming audience, it seemed.

“I have known you long enough to recognize a glare, Azriel. Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

You huffed, your fingers twitching at your sides. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but you need to fix it. Now.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked, and for the first time, his expression hardened. He remained silent.

“If this is about me bringing someone and you being here alone, then you need to get over it,” you said.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence once more.

His shadows stirred again, coiling around his boots, floating across the ground beneath you two. You could see the muscle in his jaw tightening, but he didn’t speak.

You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples before meeting his gaze again. “Okay, well, whatever it is, I need you to find the reason, and I need you to swallow it. And if you can’t swallow it, I need you to shove it so far up your ass that you’re too focused on the discomfort to glare at him like that again.”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to respond, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered, scanning your face. Then they glazed over, as if he’d been pulled deeper into his own mind.

It didn’t stop you from continuing.

“Adrin is a guest here,” you went on, voice firm. “I invited him. He is kind, he is nice, and he hasn't done anything to you. In fact, he has helped you. So do not treat him like shit.” You stepped closer, tilting your head. “You haven’t even bothered to talk to him. The least you can do is not look at him like you’re imagining his head on a spike.”

Azriel’s gaze met yours, his voice low as he finally spoke, “I just think it’s rude that your date isn’t paying attention to you. He’s had his eyes on Cassian more than you tonight.”

You blinked, disbelief tightening your chest. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You scoffed. “Adrin has been perfectly attentive and respectful. What, did you expect him to have his hands all over me? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Azriel didn’t respond, but his shadows gained speed as they curled closer to his boots—like they were restless now, waiting for an order.

“This event is supposed to be about harmony,” you continued, “You’re embarrassing this court. You’re embarrassing me.”

That seemed to land. His lips pressed into a thin line, and something flickered in his expression—something raw, something almost like guilt.

“Do not give me a reason to be mad at you,” you added, voice low. “Because I will take it. You have no idea.”

A long beat of silence. Then—

“…Alright,” Az muttered. “Fine. I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”

The apology came so easily. You narrowed your eyes, studying him. He was still too quiet. But for now, you’d take it.

“Good. So, we go out there, and if you interact with him at all, you need to be pleasant. Maybe even smile.” You tilted your head. “And if you can’t do that, at least fix your face.”

Azriel blinked, brow twitching. “My face?”

“Yes. The one you’re currently wearing. You look like I just asked you to kill yourself.”

“I’m not wearing a face,” he said dryly.

“Yes, you are.”

“This is just my face. I don’t have many faces.”

“Well, find a new one.”

The sharpness faded from his eyes and the frustration in your chest loosened slightly, giving way to something else—exhaustion, maybe. 

“Okay, okay,” he said after a moment. “Fine.”

You nodded once, steadying yourself before turning for the door.

Right before you stepped out, you glanced over your shoulder. “Fix the face.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Consider it fixed.”

Then, he gave you a large grin—so obviously forced it made you cringe.

You rolled your eyes. “That is not what I meant.”

Still, you smiled despite yourself. A little amused, a little tired. And for a brief moment, before you turned away, you swore you saw a real smile flicker across his face, too. Soft and fleeting. It made your heart skip.

Before it could beat faster, you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel found you again an hour later.

You sensed him before you saw him—the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to settle in his presence. Then his shadows, curling toward you before slithering back, as if unsure if they were welcome.

You weren’t even sure why you’d walked away from Adrin and your friends. Maybe you needed space. Maybe you needed to breathe. It wasn’t until you stepped back—from the conversation, from the laughter, from the gentle touches shared between lovers—that you realized.

This was the first time you’d noticed. The first time it had stung.

How alone you were.

You didn’t look as Azriel approached. Instead, you fixated on the guests around you, on their easy smiles and warm hands clasped together. It would hurt to look at him. You already knew.

And yet, you felt him watching. Felt the heat of him beside you.

It was sad. All of it.

You’d assumed falling for your best friend would be a gift. Imagined it would be easy, uncomplicated—a love that came with a quiet understanding, someone who knew you better than you knew yourself. It sounded simple enough. You would know, and they would know, and that would be it. The kind of love that people dreamed of, that stories were made of.

It was funny, in a painfully poetic way, how reality differed from daydreams. You almost wanted to revisit every love story you’d ever read, to pick them apart, to see where they’d lied—where they’d dared to be hopeful.

A shadow curled at your wrist before slinking away. 

"Do you have another complaint for me?" you murmured, just loud enough for Azriel to hear over the music. “Maybe feeling bothered that Adrin isn’t slobbering at my feet like a hound desperate for food?”

Az huffed a quiet breath. "No."

Your lips pressed together. You wanted to hold on to the annoyance, to the way he’d been needling at you all evening, but the weight of the room was different now.

Azriel must have known it too, because after a pause, he shifted slightly, extending a hand toward you. "Dance with me?"

Your gaze flicked to his outstretched hand, then back to his face. His expression was carefully neutral, but his wings… His wings were tucked in tight, the only real tell of his discomfort. You knew he didn’t love events like these. The crowds, the attention. He wore it well—carried himself like he belonged, like nothing touched him—but you knew better.

And that’s why, despite everything, you sighed, placing your hand in his.

His shadows stirred again, wrapping briefly around your wrist before dissipating. Pleased with your choice.

"Your perfect date seems to be enjoying himself."

You felt it again—that ache in your chest.

Your eyes flicked over Azriel's shoulder, landing on Adrin. He was still standing alongside Gwyn, but the two had been joined by Lucien and Elain as well. Adrin was laughing at something Lucien was saying. He looked… comfortable. Bright. Perfect.

Perfect in the way that should have made your heart skip, that should have made you feel something when he smiled. But you felt… nothing. Just awareness, a passing observation. And then your gaze drifted back to Azriel, to the sharp lines of his face, the way the faelight caught in his eyes. Made something in them simmer.

"Not perfect," you murmured.

You didn’t like perfection. It was too neat, too curated—like something fragile on display, meant to be admired but never touched. It didn’t crack, didn’t bleed. And you didn’t want that. You never had.

"I wouldn’t want perfect anyway," you added, glancing briefly at Adrin and then back to Azriel. "Perfect isn't real."

Azriel said nothing at first, but his grip on your hand tightened briefly. You wondered if he understood.

His other hand rested against your waist as he led you through the steps. You felt his touch like a burning mark, your heart beating faster at the way he stroked his thumb along the fabric of your dress. The tension from earlier still lingered between you—thin, stretched taut. You wondered if he still wanted to bring up Adrin once more. But instead, Azriel said, "I didn’t get to tell you earlier, with you scolding me and all."

You rolled your eyes, casting your gaze aside.

"Which was very warranted," Azriel added, the corner of his mouth twitching as he leaned in further. "But, you are… breathtaking."

Your eyes snapped back to his. The way he said it—quiet, certain, like it was fact, undeniable and absolute—made something shift beneath your ribs. You forced yourself to keep breathing, to move past the moment before it could settle too deeply.

"Thank you. Mor helped me pick the dress."

Azriel guided you into a spin, and when you turned back to face him, he said, "I wasn’t referring to your dress."

His hand found yours, fingers lacing through before you could think too much about it. It was an easy thing, effortless—like it was second nature to him.  "I was referring to the person wearing it."

Your pulse stuttered. How could anyone else compare to this? How were you ever going to find someone who could make you feel like this?

The thought unsettled you. Maybe because it was the first time you let yourself acknowledge it. Maybe because you were starting to think he felt it too.

Because you knew Azriel. Knew him well enough to sense the shift—not just in yourself, but in him. There was something new in the way he watched you, something careful, deliberate. At first, you thought it was guilt, that he was still making up for the way he hurt you. But it was more than that. The way he looked at you now—really looked at you—it made you wonder if this realization had struck him too.

But you had seen him with Mor. With Elain. With Gwyn. You had seen the way he watched them, the way he softened, the way he held himself differently in their presence. And never—not once—had he looked at you like that.

So maybe this feeling was yours alone. Something to swallow like a bitter tonic, a remedy that only worsened the sickness.

The dance was slowing. You saw it in the way couples began to separate, the way the musicians readied to shift into something new. You and Azriel stilled, as if time itself was reluctant to move on.

His eyes traced over your face. "It’s different," he murmured. "Seeing your entire face like this."

Your brows furrowed slightly, and his lips twitched, like he knew you didn’t fully understand. Then his free hand lifted—hesitating for just a second—before his fingers brushed lightly against the side of your face, just above your ear, where your hair had been pinned back.

"You usually let it fall forward," he said. "I’m used to you hiding behind it."

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know what to do with the way he was looking at you. You wondered if he knew how much this pained you.

And when the music came to an end, you all but scrambled away from him, seeking out Adrin again.

Adrin told you about everything he’d learned from Lucien—the invitation the Vanserra had extended to explore the Day Court. Autumn too, if Adrin wished. You tried to listen. Tried to pay attention. To ignore the burning gaze of Azriel, to pretend you hadn’t seen the way his expression faltered when you pulled away.

You stayed by Adrin’s side all night, introducing him to more court members. Always finding your way back to Cassian, Nesta, and Gwyn. But no matter how much space you put between you and Azriel, you felt him.

Always, you felt him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The banquet had begun to settle into its last echoes of laughter and music, guests beginning their slow trickle home.You stood with Adrin near the entrance, the golden glow of the banquet spilling onto the front gardens.

He turned to you, his expression softened in the dim light. “Thank you,” he murmured, and before you could ask for what, he leaned in, pressing a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek. When he pulled back, there was something earnest in his gaze. “For sharing the night with a friend. For showing me all these connections I might not have made on my own.”

You smiled, something fond curling in your chest. “You would’ve made them eventually.”

“Maybe. But I like the way it happened tonight.”

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you told him. “You don’t know how much I needed it.”

With one last smile, he turned and disappeared down the path, his silhouette vanishing into the dark.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders before making your way back inside. The warmth hit you immediately—the lingering energy of the night still alive in the laughter, the flickering faelights, the press of familiar faces.

Your family. 

Rhys stood at the center of it, Nyx in his arms, tossing him into the air. The babe let out a shriek of joy, his chubby hands clapping together as he was caught again with ease.

“Bachelor of the evening,” Cassian declared, raising a half-empty glass. “In all his two feet and six inch glory.”

Nyx, unaware of the meaning but basking in the attention, beamed a chubby smile, curling into his father’s chest. 

You watched them, something warm and tight settling in your chest, even as Cassian snorted at his own words, making a joke about another six inch glory. But still—still—there was something else stirring within you. That restlessness in your bones. That all-too-familiar, infamous ache.

Before you could think twice, you turned, feet carrying you swiftly down the halls, toward the back of the manor.

The stone steps were cool beneath you as you descended into the garden. You exhaled, lowering yourself onto the edge of a stair, forearms braced against your knees. The air was cooler here, quieter, the sky stretched wide above you—clear and endless.

Behind you, the door creaked open. Light footsteps. Familiar.

Mor lowered herself onto the step beside you, the silk of her dress brushing against your arm. She didn’t say anything at first, just settled into the silence with you.

Then, gently, “You okay?”

Your thoughts were loud, pressing in from every angle, twisting over themselves until they became nothing but static. You let out a laugh, dry and brittle. “My head physically hurts from how much I’ve been thinking.”

Mor nodded, tilting her head back to look at the sky. “And have you come to any conclusions?”

“I might not be as patient as I once thought.”

Mor laughed, the sound carried off by the night breeze. “What makes you say that?”

You turned to her, lips pressing together before you admitted, “I was tempted to throttle Az in front of everyone.”

Mor’s lips quirked up, the faint remnants of her red lipstick catching the glow of the faelights through the windows. You were sure there were countless champagne flutes and wine glasses that now bore the mark of her lips, a kiss print of her perfect lipstick. There was something sweet about how the color was faded now. Years ago, it would still be perfect—because years ago, Mor would’ve excused herself to touch up her makeup almost every half hour. She didn’t do that anymore. These days, Emerie held her attention, made her forget anything other than the night unfolding around her.

“Not interested in adding to your growing reputation as a public street fighter?” Mor teased. “I would’ve helped you drag him to the street.”

You shot her a scowl. “Not funny,” you muttered. Then, hesitantly, “Do people really think that?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “No. I’m messing with you. But imagine how fun that would be.”

“We have different definitions of fun.”

“And that’s what makes us such great friends.”

Mor leaned in, looping her arm through yours, pressing it to her chest as she rested her head on your shoulder. The cool metal of her jewelry sent a shiver through you. You resisted the urge to frown at the large, chunky bracelet on her wrist—the one she’d taken from Selene. You’d already rolled your eyes at it earlier in the night, warning her it was probably cursed. She had only shrugged and said that nothing related to her could be bad luck—and that it matched her gown perfectly. She wasn’t wrong. It did.

You hummed, amused, and rested your head against hers.

“So what did Az do?” she asked after a moment.

“I don’t know what got into him. He was so rude tonight.”

“To you?”

“To Adrin,” you clarified, huffing. “Gods, it infuriated me. I had to scold him like some child before I lost my own mind.”

Mor lifted her head slightly. “Is that where you pulled him off to?”

You turned just enough to meet her gaze. “You saw that?”

She sat up, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I’m very observant.”

“Nosy is the word I’d use.”

Mor nudged you with a laugh. Then she shifted, pulling her arm away as she readjusted her position. “Do you know why it bothered you so much?”

Your brows knit together. “It was rude,” you deadpanned. “Adrin was a guest. Az had no right acting like some pompous guard dog.”

Mor nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Maybe we need to get him retrained.”

Despite yourself, you smiled, a quick image flashing in your mind of Azriel’s unimpressed face whenever one of you made a dog joke at his expense. Even the ones about his loyalty. Not that you could blame him—you probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison either.

“It was also a bit offensive that Az paid more attention to me tonight than he has for months,” you admitted. “Not even to me. To Adrin. I don’t know why that bothered me so much, aside from it being bad manners.”

Mor gave you a knowing look. “Can I ask you something? But you have to promise you won’t get mad.”

You narrowed your eyes. “When you say stuff like that, I don’t want to promise anything.”

She pouted slightly. “Please.”

You sighed, turning to face her more fully. The new position left you exposed to the chill, no longer shielded by your hunched posture. Your knees brushed, the fabric of your dress rustling against hers. “Fine. Tell me.”

Mor hesitated, studying you carefully. Then, softly, “Do you think it bothers you because you want him to pay attention to you this much… normally? And not just when you bring a date?”

You dropped your gaze to your lap, to your fidgeting fingers. “I mean, maybe. Yeah.”

Mor craned her neck, trying to meet your averted gaze. “Maybe because you have feelings for him?”

Your head snapped up so fast you were surprised you didn’t break something. Though, based on the sharp pull in your neck, you might have strained a muscle.

“What?” 

The sympathetic look Mor offered you was enough to draw the ache in your chest back to full strength. 

“Am I wrong?”

You could’ve lied. Could’ve shaken your head, laughed it off, brushed past it like it was nothing. And maybe Mor would’ve let you. Not because she let things go easily, but because she knew you—knew when to push and when to step back.

But you didn’t lie.

Because the weight of it, the truth of it, had been pressing down on you for too long.

“Maybe,” you admitted quietly.

The words settled over you like a breaking wave. The minute they were out in the open, everything rushed back—every ache, every stolen glance, every frustration and lingering sadness. The realization of it felt like a stone lodged behind your ribs, pressing into you from the inside. Your throat burned. Your eyes stung.

You swallowed hard, but it did nothing to push down the lump forming there.

Then your lips quivered. And that was enough to make you break.

You turned away, hands pressing against your face as a shaky breath left you.

“Gods, Mor,” you mumbled, voice unsteady. “I feel so dramatic. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, honey.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing to call your attention back to her. When you met her eyes, something flickered across her features. “Are you crying?”

“Not yet,” you sniffed. 

She blinked. Once, twice. Then said, “Give me a minute, okay? I’ll be right back. And then I want you to tell me everything.”

You didn’t question it, just nodded as she disappeared inside.

When she returned, her presence was quieter. She sank beside you, draping a shawl over your shoulders—one that matched the color of her dress. Her shawl. And on her own form, she wore one in deep purple. Emerie’s, you assumed. You hadn’t seen her wear it before.

You noticed, too, that Mor’s jewelry was gone. The rings, the collection of bracelets. She tended to do that when she was overstimulated by the sounds—when the weight of metal felt unbearable against her skin.

You tipped your head back, staring at the sky. No more tears fell, but they lingered, heavy behind your eyes. The lump in your throat was smaller now. Bearable. You swallowed against it, against everything that wanted to rise with it.

“I was content,” you said finally. You inhaled deeply, swore you heard your ribs rattle with the effort, and turned to look at Mor. “With being single. With waiting for whatever was supposed to happen. I never thought I’d be the last one standing, but I didn’t mind. It never felt like something was missing.”

Mor’s brown eyes scanned your face, a small crease forming between her brows. “And now?”

Now.

Now, you wondered if you had never felt that ache because you had been loved so deeply by people like Azriel. Loved in a way that had made you think—foolishly, blindly—that it was enough. That it would always be enough.

But the words tangled in your throat before you could voice them. Your mind was funny like that sometimes—so many thoughts, so fast, so loud, and yet, when you reached for them, they recoiled. Shy. Timid. As if they, too, were embarrassed by their own existence.

“Now, I feel like something was stolen from me.”

Mor blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I always thought…” You paused, digging through your mind, clawing for the right words. “I thought love would feel different. That I would know when it happened. That it would be this big, overwhelming thing—fireworks, explosions, something cinematic.” You shook your head. “But with Azriel, it never felt like that. It felt… calm.” Your voice softened. “Like home.”

Mor’s expression gentled, but she didn’t speak. Not yet. And you were grateful for it, because now the words were spilling out, untamed and raw.

“And I hate that I didn’t get to figure that out on my own,” you admitted, your voice cracking with the confession. “That Selene and this ridiculous situation forced me to see it before I was ready. I didn’t get to sit across from him at breakfast, watching him drink his tea, and realize—slowly, comfortably—that this could be the rest of my life.” You swallowed hard. “Instead, it feels like everyone else saw it before I did. Like my feelings aren’t even my own. I feel… embarrassed.”

Mor’s brows knit together, and she reached for your hand. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You know that, right?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Doesn’t matter. It feels that way.”

And maybe that was the worst part. That something so personal, so yours, had been made into something for everyone else to witness. That, maybe, they had already formed their own conclusions.

“I’ve never really dated.” The words felt foreign, like they didn’t belong in this conversation. But they did. “Not really. I never searched for it, never felt like I needed to.”

Mor traced her thumb in slow circles against your knuckles.

“I thought it was because I was happy. Because I was fulfilled, platonically. That I never ached for a mate or a partner because I was already surrounded by love. But now—” Your throat tightened. “Now, I wonder if it was just because of him. If I loved Azriel this whole time and never noticed. If my heart already knew there was nowhere else to look.”

Mor’s grip on your hand tightened.

“But he looked,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “Azriel has looked.” You swallowed hard. “Gods, Mor—he even looked to you.”

Mor’s lips parted slightly, guilt flickering in her expression before she caught herself. “That was—”

“I know,” you cut in. “It’s not about that. It’s not about you. It’s just—” You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. “I’ve never been this aware of myself before. My shortcomings. My inexperience. I’ve never thought about any of it because I never had to.”

But now, every interaction with Azriel felt different. Now, every glance, every touch, every conversation—changed.

And gods, maybe, just maybe, people would think Selene was right.

Maybe they would think you had pushed Azriel away from her because you were jealous, because you had always wanted him for yourself.

You looked at Mor. “I didn’t talk to Az about Selene because I was jealous. I swear, Mor. It wasn’t like that.”

Mor shushed you. “I know.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if everyone—”

“No one else matters.”

Mor’s gaze softened. She brought her free hand to your bicep, her palm warm as she ran it gently down your skin. The cool night air clung to you, but beneath it, you still burned. From your thoughts, from your grief, from the overwhelming realization that had come too soon.

“Y/n,” she said after a moment. “Do you truly think Az doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Yes,” you said with certainty. But after the words left your mouth, they felt hollow. You bit the inside of your cheek. “And even if he did, I’m not sure that would help me.”

“What do you mean?”

You stiffened. Loving Azriel was not the same as loving anyone else. Loving him was easy, yes—but the way Azriel romantically loved was sickening. It was obsessive, gluttonous.

You were afraid of what it might mean to be on the receiving end of it.

Because Azriel had always glorified the ones he loved, turned them into something untouchable, something divine. It was the kind of love that replaced religion. And you—you—were not divine. You were not flawless. And that alone made you doubt yourself.

Azriel had seen your faults. The way you held grudges, the way you sometimes bit down your emotions until they cut into you, the way you weren’t always kind. In a friend, those things were forgivable. But in a lover?

Flaws in a lover could be a sin for Az.

And you didn't think you could survive it—the moment he realized you weren’t something worth worshiping.

Better, then, to never let him try.

You decided not to answer Mor’s question— not properly at least. Instead, you shrugged, turning your gaze back to the night before you, to the calm gardens and the skies that illuminated them.

“I just do.”

Mor hummed. She understood that the conversation was over. You were tired. And there was nothing she could say that you hadn’t already dissected a thousand times in your mind. So she pulled you closer, and you let her, resting your head against the crook of her shoulder.

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t acknowledge it, but you felt Mor shift, felt her hair brush your cheek as she turned to greet the new addition to your self-pity circle.

And then you felt another familiar presence. The scent of night-chilled wind, sea, and citrus, the familiar shift in power—a presence heavier than Azriel’s, but just as consuming. Even more at times. 

Rhys settled beside you with a groan, joints creaking as he got comfortable.

It made you smile, just a little. Old man.

“I was wondering where you two went off to,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”

You let out a small sound—something noncommittal, something that didn’t quite fill the silence. “Oh, you know. Contemplating every single sense of existential dread.” You gestured vaguely. “Talking about the weather.”

Rhys lifted a brow. You paused, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s nice weather.”

He made a sound—half a hum, half a laugh—and rubbed his knee. “I don’t know. I can feel rain coming.”

You didn’t say anything, just glanced up at the sky—still clear, the stars bright. Some rain sounded nice. Peaceful. Something to wash away the past few days.

Rhys looked over at Mor. “Emerie is looking for you.”

Mor exhaled, glancing between the two of you before pulling away. Her hands, fingers now cold from the night, squeezed your face gently. “I love you,” she said softly. “Come find me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She hesitated for just a second before standing up and disappearing into the house. You watched her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin as you turned back around, finding Rhys already watching you. He had that look—one of quiet concern, of something like careful patience. The image of a concerned father. An older brother. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you muttered.

Rhys snorted. “Trust me, I’ve had enough babysitting for the night.”

“Yeah, but don’t you want to be inside with everyone else?”

“Are you trying to kick me back into my own home?” he asked, amused.

You shook your head. “No, I just don’t want you to feel like you need to be out here with me.”

“I don’t feel like I need to be anything,” he said simply. “I haven’t spent much time with you lately. I want to be out here.” His voice softened. “After all, this is a banquet thanking people who’ve helped this court. Who has helped more than you, the one I trust to help repair our image?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I did some damage recently, too.”

“Until you get banned from an entire court, I think you’re alright.”

The conversation settled into a lull, quiet stretching between you. 

Then you said, “I’m assuming Mor told you some things.”

“Not really. But I can assume.”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he said easily. “We don’t have to.”

“But…” You glanced at him, suddenly tired of holding it all in. You had always been honest with your family—always told them the truth, even when it was difficult. And after opening up to Mor, after feeling the weight of it ease just slightly, you realized how much you had missed this. How much lighter a burden felt when it was shared, when you weren’t the only one carrying it.

Rhys seemed to understand before you even said another word. His expression shifted, something like realization settling in his gaze. And then, carefully, you felt the light press of him in your mind. A knock.

You let your walls down.

You felt his presence as he sifted through the memories—watched his face change as he saw it all.

After a long moment, he straightened slightly, exhaling as he looked at you. He squinted, tilting his head. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

You turned away again, resting your head in your hands. Your chest felt a lot lighter now. Your thoughts a little less heavy. Rhys didn’t say anything. He just stood, brushing off his pants before stepping down the stairs.

You frowned, watching as he descended a few steps, then extended a hand toward you.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“We’re going on a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think you need to clear your mind.”

You hesitated, eyeing his outstretched hand. He only smiled. “Someone very special in my life used to take me on walks when I was overwhelmed.”

Your lips parted slightly, a flicker of recognition sparking in your chest. You thought back to those early years—when Rhys was newly High Lord, when he was drowning in responsibility and grief he wouldn’t even acknowledge. You had forced him to go on walks back then, dragging him away from his desk, ignoring his protests. He had hated it at first. And then, eventually, it had just become something you did.

A quiet tradition.

You smiled—small, almost sad—as you pushed yourself up. “Are you sure you want to leave everyone?”

“I think they can handle us leaving for a few hours.”

You scoffed. “Don’t speak too soon.”

Rhys huffed a laugh, shaking his head as you stepped down to join him. And then, without another word, you walked.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a certain shared understanding between you and Rhysand— two people who had seen each other at their best and worst. For an hour, as the familiar rhythm of your footsteps matched each other’s perfectly, it felt as if the world had paused just enough for you to feel like you belonged again.

When you finally reached the townhome, Rhys stopped, his hand on your arm like he was trying to keep you from walking away too soon.

“You’re not foolish for not realizing it sooner,” he said. “It’s a gift, really. To love so fully, so completely, that you don’t even notice where friendship ends and something more begins. Most people can’t do that, you know. We’re… very lucky to have you.”

You could only manage a smile in response. Rhys pulled you into a hug, his arms tight around you as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Get some rest,” he murmured, pulling away. Then he grinned, a familiar one that only he could pull off. “If you keep overthinking, I’ll have to start charging for my emotional support. I don’t come cheap, you know.”

“Are businesses no longer discounting damaged goods?”

Rhys let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “Ouch,” he said, eyes wide with mock offense. “I take back everything about you being loving.”

“Night, Rhys,” you said, your voice warmer now. Genuine. “Love you.”

His smile softened, no longer the teasing grin. “I know.”  And you could hear the affection there.

Then he turned and began walking down the path, whistling a nursing song that you were sure Nyx had been fixated on. Rhys reached the corner, paused for a moment as if to make sure no one was watching, then disappeared, winnowing into the night.

Dramatic even without an audience. You shook your head, a small smile still tugging at your lips, before entering the townhouse and making your way up the stairs. 

You stopped when you saw him.

Azriel. Sitting against your door like he was waiting for something—someone. You. His eyes met yours, locking in place as if he’d been holding his breath this whole time. And in a blink, he was on his feet, moving like something had snapped, urgent, too fast for comfort. 

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You paused, pushing the door to your bedroom open slowly, not fully meeting his gaze. “Why?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

You sighed, shoulders sagging as exhaustion settled over you. You didn’t want to have this conversation—not right now. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about what Azriel had to say, but everything just felt too much in this moment. You needed space, time to breathe and clear your head before diving into whatever this was between you two.

Tomorrow. You could deal with it tomorrow, with a fresh perspective, when you weren’t so drained. Tonight, you just needed to sleep, to wake up with your head in a better place, ready to handle it all. You wanted Rhys's words to be the last thing in your mind. Something comforting. Soothing.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping inside. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll make this quick.”

You moved toward your bed, placing Mor’s shawl across your sheets. “Az, seriously. Tomorrow.”

He didn’t move, and when you glanced up, he looked at you then—really looked at you—and your breath caught in your throat as he asked, "Do you have feelings for me?"

You froze. A strange, cold knot twisted in your stomach. “Oh, not this again,” you groaned. You looked away, instinctively crossing your arms across your chest.

“Yes, this again,” he pressed, stepping closer. “I want an answer. Please.”

“Come on, Az.” You forced control over the tremor rising in your chest. “What did I do this time? Stare at you too long? Breathe too loud? Did you mistake me scolding you for some strange forepla—”

“I heard you,” he interrupted, and the words hit like a slap.

It felt like the air stopped moving. You couldn’t breathe.

“What?”

“Tonight,” he said, voice quieter now, “I heard you and Mor. I found this in my pocket.” He pulled out a bracelet—Selene’s, the matching piece to the one Mor had worn earlier.

Your heart slammed into your ribs. You opened your mouth to explain, but nothing came out. You needed something—anything. "You—you misunderstood."

"Did I?" His shadows stirred restlessly around him. “I-I didn’t hear much. It went quiet too fast, but from what I did hear… Did I really misunderstand?”

Your face burned, the heat spreading so quickly it felt like your skin might catch fire under his stare. You turned away, pulling your arms tighter across your chest. “Azriel, I don’t—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he urged, his voice cracking. “Please.”

You couldn’t respond. The words wouldn’t come.

A long silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” Az said, and his voice was so soft, so unlike his usual tone, it almost felt foreign. “Then I need to say something.” 

"Az…" You turned to him, meeting his eyes as you said, "Just, please, don’t.”

Your response didn’t seem to register. Azriel closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath, like he was steadying himself before a plunge. 

“That night,” he started, “when I cleaned up your cheek, you asked why I listened to Selene. Why I said you had feelings for me. I told you I didn’t know.” He paused, dragging his hand over his face. “I lied. I know why. It bothered me when she said it. More than I wanted to admit. I told myself it was just because it made me uncomfortable—but that wasn’t it. I think the real reason I couldn’t stop thinking about it was because a part of me wanted it to be true.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the way Azriel looked so exposed in front of you, but his words didn’t land right away. You blinked, trying to process, but before you could speak, he continued—his voice somehow even softer now.

“I thought if I said it out loud, you’d laugh it off. Call me crazy. Maybe you’d correct me. Then I could force myself to never think about it again. But you didn’t. And gods, the look on your face when I said it... it was like I’d hit you.” 

Another silence settled between you. For the first time, you were grateful for it, because one look at Az told you he wasn’t finished, that there was more he needed to say.

“I think I’ve always loved you,” Az said, and the words cracked something open inside you. “I didn’t know it—not at first. I thought it was normal. Of course, I wanted to be around you all the time. Of course, you’d be the first person I thought of in the morning and the last person at night.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as his wings fell lax. “But it’s not. It’s not normal.”

His gaze finally met yours, steady, like he was holding you there with it. You’d never seen him look at anyone like this—not Mor, not Elain, not Gwyn. 

“I can't lie to you, Y/n. I can’t pretend I don’t love you. You’re everywhere. You’re everything.”

You couldn’t breathe. The world around you narrowed, collapsing inward until there was nothing left but him. Azriel loved you. The relief that hit you almost made your knees give out. 

His chest rose and fell quickly, like he was bracing for impact. The earlier desperation was gone, replaced by something more timid. "Please," he whispered. "Say something."

The pressure in your chest—the ache that had burrowed beneath your ribs for weeks—dissipated in an instant. Every concern, every gnawing worry. All that remained was the quiet comfort that Azriel had always given you. That ease, that feeling of home you’d only ever found in him.

You exhaled, and before you could stop yourself, a laugh slipped past your lips—breathless, almost disbelieving. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much. Like, ever.”

Azriel blinked. For a moment, you thought you’d broken something—but then, his lips twitched, a hesitant smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, there was a lot of ground to cover.” He exhaled through his nose. “But if you don’t feel the same—if this isn’t what you want, I’ll step back. I won’t push. I promise.”

You wanted to cry, to laugh, to praise the Mother that he felt the same. Instead, you closed the space between you. Slowly, you reached up, fingers threading through the mess of his hair, smoothing away the strands that had fallen across his forehead. You traced the line of his cheekbone with the barest brush of your fingertips, committing it to memory, savoring the way his breath hitched beneath your touch.

You hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before cupping his face in your palm.

And then, you kissed him.

He didn’t react at first. He just stood there, completely still, like he hadn’t even processed what was happening. You started to pull away, suddenly unsure—

But then he made a sound, something like a sigh of relief, and his hands found you.

The next kiss wasn’t hesitant. His fingers pressed into your waist as he pulled you in, tilting his head, deepening it, like he didn’t want to waste another second. And you felt it—every inch of it. The ache, the longing, the unbearable relief of finally knowing. Every agonizing thought, every moment spent convincing yourself this was one-sided, crumbling beneath the warmth of his mouth against yours.

No kiss had ever felt like this. Not in all your years, not in all your life.  Like something was finally, truly yours. It was sharp, it was bright, a rush that sent you spiraling in a way you hadn’t known you could.

But even with your heart glowing in your chest, there was no dramatic shift. No world-altering moment. It just felt right. A quiet kind of certainty. The kind that settled into your bones and left you with nothing but butterflies.

You pulled apart slowly, foreheads resting together, lips still brushing as if reluctant to let go. The cool touch of his shadows grazed your skin. You weren’t sure if it was them or the kiss itself that made your skin tingle.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open a second after yours. The way he looked at you—so close, his hazel eyes bright with green flecks—had your chest tightening. It made you breathless. His smile softened the furrow in his brow, the motion pulling at his cheeks in a way that made your heart stutter all over again. 

His thumb ghosted over your cheek. “Are you crying?”

You blinked, still so caught up in the haze of everything, in how your heart was doing this erratic dance that you couldn’t quite follow. You lifted a hand to your face, and—shit, there were tears. You hadn’t even noticed. “Oh. Well, guess I am,” you said, a half-laugh slipping out before you could stop it, but it sounded hollow, a little shaky. “Awkward.”

Azriel made a sound, something close to a laugh of his own, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, not fully. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?” 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been overthinking the past few weeks.”

Azriel’s expression softened as his finger moved, brushing over your lips now. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, “I’ve been in complete agony too.”

A proper laugh slipped from you. “Well, good,” you said, a little teasing, but it felt good to say it. “It does make me feel better. You deserved it a little bit.”

He smiled, amused, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. “I did, didn’t I?”

A soft hum rumbled in your chest in response, something between a smile and a sigh. His thumb continued its slow, deliberate path across your lips, tracing the edges like he was memorizing them. You didn’t stop him.

You let your hands fall, landing gently against his chest, where you could feel the steady, rhythmic pulse of his heart beneath your palm. 

“So, what do we do now?” You asked quietly, the question coming out before you could stop it. 

Azriel’s motions slowed. “What would you like to do?”

“Well, we probably have to talk about what this means.”

He nodded. “Probably.”

You couldn’t help it. “And we really need to figure out how we’re going to move forward, how this changes everything…”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his focus now completely on your face, his fingers tracing your features, exploring them in a way he’d never been able to. 

“Az,” you murmured. “Are you listening to me?”

He didn’t hesitate as he met your gaze and responded, “I would never make the mistake of not listening to you again.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, every other thought fading in the wake of it—until your stomach growled. You grimaced. 

“Actually,” you said, tapping a finger against his chest. “You know what I would really like to do now?”

“Tell me.”

“I could really go for some food.” 

Suddenly, Azriel stepped back, eyes lighting up like an excited child. You frowned at the loss of contact. “Wait here.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he was already gone, running out the door. A few seconds later, he returned, breathless, looking slightly too pleased with himself as he held both hands behind his back. “I  have something for you.”

You eyed him. “Is it a bug?”

Realistically, you knew it wasn’t. Or at least, you hoped it wasn’t. But Azriel had never looked this pleased with himself before, never this close to giddy. That, combined with the way his hands were securely tucked behind his back, reminded you that—before anything else—Azriel was your best friend. And your best friend knew exactly how to mess with you at the strangest times.

Azriel’s expression faltered for a second. “What? No. Why would it—never mind.”

Then, hesitantly, he revealed it: crumpled in a piece of an appetizer liner, slightly worse for wear, was the rosemary and honey tartlet you’d eyed earlier. You melted at the sight and reached for it gently, cradling it in your hands like something precious.

Azriel looked almost sheepish. “We can get a proper meal, but I noticed you were looking at it earlier—at the banquet. You never grabbed one. So I thought…”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. A real one. Centuries. Centuries of friendship, of knowing him better than anyone, and somehow you’d never seen this. Never noticed how deeply he noticed you. How foolish you had been. How lucky you were now. 

Azriel frowned. “What? What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head, still laughing softly. “Its just— of course you noticed.” 

His lips quirked like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or suspicious. “Well, yeah.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching out again, pressing your palm against his cheek for a beat before turning your focus back to the tartlet. You turned it over in your hands. “Why is it squished?”

Azriel winced, like the question itself embarrassed him. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, brushing it off.

You lifted a brow. “Okay.”

You stared at it for another moment, then turned, setting it carefully on your bed.

He frowned. “But the crumbs on your bedsheet—”

You shook your head, smiling with a teasing eye roll. “Just kiss me, neat freak.”

His protest faded as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your mouth to his. Once, then again, and again, until you were sure even his shadows felt the need to look away.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You and Azriel hadn’t slept.

Not for any reason that would have had Cassian waggling his eyebrows at you—though you did, naturally, find yourself thinking about it—but because the night had slipped away in conversation over greasy food from a little restaurant south of the townhouse.

The early morning light stretched through the windows, soft and golden, as Azriel stood at the kitchen counter making tea. You watched the familiar sight of him steeping the leaves, the way he moved like this was just any other morning.

But it wasn’t. Twelve hours ago, this had felt impossible. And now it was here.

You curled your fingers around the edge of the table, trying to process the weight of it. It wasn’t heavy, though. That was the strangest part. Not that you now knew how his lips felt against yours, or how his heartbeat sounded when it synced with your own, but how there had been no grand shift, no dramatic revelation. No bolt of lightning splitting your world in two. 

Just this—Azriel placing a mug in front of you, his fingers brushing yours, his lips quirking as he sat by you like he always had. Except there were small differences now— his chair was closer, next to you more than it was across. You found yourself focusing on smaller details, his dark lashes as he looked down at his cup, the way his fingers curled around the ceramic. You did your best to suppress any fleeting thoughts at the sight of them. Those ideas could be addressed later. 

It all made sense—the infuriating, vague notion that people had told you over the years: when you know, you know. You’d always hated that. How could no one ever explain it? How could no one ever find the words? But looking at Az now, you understood. There were no words. Just this. Just the way your heart settled at the sight of him. 

“You’re staring,” Azriel murmured, watching you over the rim of his cup.

You hummed, taking a sip of your tea. “You’re pretty.”

Azriel choked. Caught completely off guard. He set his mug down, coughing once, and when he looked at you again, his eyes were narrowed. “That was disgustingly sincere.”

“I know,” you grinned. “You’ll survive.”

Your mind drifted back to the night before—how the two of you had been desperate to catch up on all the things you had missed over the past few weeks. You’d told him about Adrin’s extensive mirthroot collection and how well you thought he’d be suited for Gwyn. He’d groaned, muttering something about needing to apologize. And then Az had told the story of how Cassian had slapped him for being an idiot. Three times. You’d really laughed at that one.

Somewhere between it all, between the easy conversation and the warmth of having him near, it had hit you again and again—this is it. This is what you could have for the rest of your life, if you were lucky.

Azriel hummed, setting his cup down. He knocked his knee against yours—once, then twice, like he was testing something. And then he reached over, grabbed the side of your chair, and scraped it just an inch closer to his.

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t tell me you’re a clingy boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Azriel raised a brow jokingly. “I don’t remember us labeling anything.”

“Oh, right. My mistake. In that case, I should probably tell Nesta to back out of the Gwyn and Adrin plan—”

“Don’t you dare.”

You smirked over your tea. “Why not? It’s not like I have a boyfriend to be upset about it.”

He stared at you for a beat, smiling as his eyes softened with a warmth that made your stomach flip. Seconds later, you were both laughing. Quiet, warm laughter that filled the kitchen, that curled around you like an embrace.

And then—

A shift, a subtle pull, like the air had thickened and the room was just a little smaller. It wasn’t a shock, nothing sudden or harsh. It was smooth, like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding until you exhaled, like the feeling of stepping into the sun after hours in the cold. 

This was it. He was it.

Azriel froze, eyes widening as the feeling settled. Then, like he was testing something—searching—he tugged, just a bit, like he wasn’t sure if it was real. You sucked in a breath, hand instinctively rising to your chest. You felt it, in the way it seemed to resonate through every nerve, like a pulse echoing through your ribs.

He cleared his throat, a soft sound, almost nervous, and then his voice came out, rough but teasing, “Clingy mate, actually.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. A laugh caught in your throat, half breathless, half disbelieving. And then you were kissing him, pressing your forehead against his, letting the warmth of him, of this, sink into every part of you.

“Bold of you to assume I accept.”

Azriel laughed deeply before he was kissing you again, grinning against your lips as you laughed into his. And when you pulled back, breathless and giddy, you knew—without a single doubt—that you’d never stop choosing this.

Never stop choosing him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note:

and.... it is a happy ending after all :D awsf? nation how are we feeling tonight🎤

theyre mates, your honor!!! theyre mates and in love!!! im so sorry this took so long my loves, i rewrote it like 6 times. im still worried it doesnt do them justice but hehe we ball

i do have at least two more works for this little universe! a small lil epilogue planned for these sweethearts AND another surprise piece... which is already at 10k (hint: we get…another perspective of the night. plus a fun lil convo with a certain matedhaired male...). the surprise should be out next week, and the proper epilogue (with a timejump!) sometime after. and im always so so open to doing lil one-shots for this universe

thank you all again for reading <3 i hope i've done this lovestory justice.

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[promptedwordsmith]

Could you do something NSFW for the lads boys for how they would approach a first time being intimate with the reader because she's nervous? Sensual reassurance is my bread and butter

I’m actually Ace so I'm not very good with NSFW stuff I'm so sorry! I did the best I could so I hope this is OK

Caleb

The glow of the TV flickered against the dimly lit living room, casting soft shadows across the walls. You sat cross-legged on the couch, fingers wrapped around the controller as your character sprinted across the screen. The game was absorbing, your focus sharp—until you felt a familiar presence settle beside you.

Caleb.

He had been quiet for a while, watching you play from a distance, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. But now, he finally moved closer, sinking onto the couch with a sigh.

"You always this serious when you play?" His voice was warm with amusement, and when you glanced over, you caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You scoffed, eyes flicking back to the screen. "Only when I’m winning."

"That why you're frowning so hard?"

You nudged him with your elbow, but he caught your wrist before you could pull away, his touch light but lingering. You tensed—just barely—and he must have noticed because he let go just as easily, masking it with a small chuckle.

A moment passed. The game continued, the background noise filling the silence between you. But then, Caleb shifted, resting an arm along the back of the couch, fingers just barely brushing your shoulder.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, not teasing—something careful beneath it.

You didn’t look at him.

"Hmm?"

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "You ever think about… us?"

Your hands froze on the controller. Your character stood still on-screen, completely open for attack, but you didn’t care. The only thing you could focus on was the weight of his words, the way they lingered in the air, unspoken meanings woven between them.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

Caleb, for all his usual confidence, looked… uncertain. His expression was unreadable, his fingers tapping idly against his knee like he was working through something in his head.

You swallowed. "I think about us all the time."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his violet eyes. "I mean…" He exhaled, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. "Have you ever thought about—" He gestured vaguely between you both. "More?"

Your heart skipped.

Your throat went dry.

The game was still running, but it might as well not have been.

You weren’t naïve—you knew what he meant. And the fact that he was bringing it up like this, carefully, giving you an out if you wanted it, made something tighten in your chest.

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t want it—because you did. God, you did. But there was something terrifying about the idea of that kind of closeness. You had spent so much of your life building walls, keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one ever got close enough to hurt you.

And yet…

Here he was. Caleb. The one person you had ever let in. The one person who had waited.

You inhaled slowly. "I… don’t know."

His fingers twitched against his knee, but he nodded. He didn’t push, didn’t press—just let the words settle between you.

"That’s okay," he said, like he meant it.

Silence stretched, heavy and full of unsaid things.

You weren’t sure why you said it, or what made you finally brave enough, but before you could stop yourself, you spoke.

"I think I want to."

Caleb stilled.

It was subtle—the way his breath caught, the way his shoulders went rigid for half a second before he relaxed. But his eyes, always so unreadable, softened in a way you had never seen before.

"Yeah?" His voice was quiet.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Another pause. And then, instead of reaching for you, instead of pushing any further, he just… smiled.

"Okay."

And that was it.

No pressure. No expectations. Just an understanding.

And as you turned back to your game, trying to ignore the way your pulse hammered in your ears, you felt Caleb shift a little closer, his arm grazing yours, his presence warm and steady beside you.

Rafayel

The rhythmic sound of the brush against canvas filled the quiet room, blending with the distant hum of the city outside. You sat cross-legged on the floor, knees tucked to your chest, watching Rafayel as he painted. His entire world had narrowed down to the strokes of color spreading beneath his fingers, his golden eyes half-lidded in deep concentration.

You had always loved watching him paint. There was something intimate about it—the way his hands, so capable of destruction with his Evol, moved with infinite tenderness over the canvas. He painted as if each stroke mattered, as if every detail was a secret he was trying to put into form.

Tonight, though, something felt different.

The air between you held a strange weight. Rafayel wasn’t just painting—he was thinking. The slow, careful drag of his brush, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but held it back.

His strokes slowed further, his fingers hesitating before dipping the brush into a deep shade of red.

Then, without looking away from his work, he finally spoke.

"You always watch me so closely," Rafayel murmured, his voice quiet but sure. "It makes me wonder..."

You blinked. "Wonder what?"

His hand stilled. He set the brush down, rolling his shoulders back slightly before finally turning to look at you. His gaze was searching, as if studying you for something he wasn’t sure how to name.

"If you'd let me do the same," he said softly.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He wasn’t talking about painting.

The way his golden eyes lingered on you, the slight tension in his fingers as if resisting the urge to reach out—it was all so clear. Rafayel had always been affectionate in his own way, teasing touches, arms draped over your shoulders, lazy, warm hugs when he was feeling indulgent. But he had never pressed for more. Never asked.

Now, he was asking.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

Rafayel stood, slow and deliberate, and crossed the space between you. He crouched in front of you, close enough that you could see the fine flecks of color staining his fingers, the way his breath stirred the air between you. He reached out, hesitant, his fingertips barely ghosting along the side of your face, testing.

You swallowed hard, gripping the hem of your shirt between your fingers. The warmth of his touch was barely there, but it sent something unsteady through you. A tremor, a shift.

"I—" you started, unsure of what you wanted to say. Unsure of what you were allowed to say.

Rafayel didn’t push. He never did. He let the moment settle, let the space between you feel safe instead of overwhelming. His fingers traced lightly over your cheek, his thumb stopping just shy of your lips.

"You can say no," he murmured. "I just..." He exhaled through his nose, something almost frustrated in the way his brows pulled together. "I just wanted you to know that I—" He stopped himself, lips pressing into a thin line before he shook his head. "Never mind."

You felt the space he tried to put between you. Felt him withdrawing, giving you an easy way out.

You didn’t want him to.

You reached up, hesitant, and covered his hand with your own before he could pull away completely. His fingers tensed under yours, surprised, before slowly relaxing.

You still weren’t sure what to say.

But you didn’t have to.

"Okay," you whispered, barely louder than a breath.

His fingers twitched under your touch. His eyes flickered with something deep and unreadable, something almost fragile before his lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Okay," he echoed, voice low, reverent.

And then, he leaned in

Sylus

The dim glow of the fireplace flickered across the spines of Sylus’ vast collection of books, casting long shadows as you ran your fingers along the leather-bound covers. His study was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional crackle from the fire.

You had been in here dozens of times before, but tonight, something about the library called to you. Maybe it was the stillness of the night or the way the scent of old pages and Sylus’ cologne mixed in the air—musk, edelweiss, and something slightly metallic. Something undeniably him.

You tilted your head, squinting at a particular volume with a worn crimson spine. It looked important, but before you could reach for it—

"Curious thing, aren’t you?"

His voice was quiet, laced with amusement.

You jumped slightly, turning just in time to see Sylus leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted. His red eyes gleamed in the low light, watching you with something unreadable—something deep.

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You keep so many books locked away in here, yet I never see you actually read them. So, I figured I’d do some investigating."

Sylus stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence filling the space between you in an instant. You were suddenly very aware of how close you were to the shelves—trapped between aged paper and the man who had a habit of pulling you into his orbit.

He reached past you, plucking the crimson book from the shelf with ease. "I do read them," he murmured, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "Some hold knowledge worth revisiting… others are simply reminders of things I cannot forget."

Your eyes flickered up to his face, studying the way his expression softened, if only slightly. There was something intimate about seeing him like this, surrounded by things that mattered to him.

"...And which category does this one fall into?" you asked, nudging his arm playfully.

He closed the book with a quiet thump, his gaze drifting to yours. The amusement in his expression lingered, but there was something else beneath it now—something heavier.

"It reminds me of patience," he said slowly, slipping it back onto the shelf. "And restraint."

You swallowed, your breath hitching slightly as his fingers trailed along the spines beside it, his knuckles brushing lightly against your arm in the process.

He wasn’t touching you, not really, but the weight of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

"I have been patient, haven’t I?" he mused, tilting his head. "I’ve given you time. Space. Waited for you to come to me when you were ready."

Your pulse quickened.

There it was. The thing that had lingered in the air between you both for weeks—unspoken, but always felt.

Sylus had never been the type to push, never the type to demand. He was calculating, careful. A man who could take what he wanted but chose to wait instead. And yet, tonight, here in the quiet of his study, with the scent of old books and firelight wrapping around you both like a secret—he was asking.

Not demanding. Not expecting. Just… asking.

You inhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. "You have," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He studied you for a long moment, red eyes deep and endless, as if searching for something in your expression.

"And?" he prompted gently.

You hesitated. Not out of fear—no, you knew Sylus would never let harm come to you. But this was new.

The way he was looking at you. The way his voice dipped just enough to make your stomach twist. The way he was leaving the decision entirely in your hands.

You had spent so long resisting, so long pretending you didn’t notice the way he lingered, the way his fingers sometimes brushed against yours when he thought you wouldn’t catch it.

But you did.

And you wanted.

"...And I think I’m done making you wait," you murmured, voice softer now.

Sylus exhaled sharply—not out of frustration, but relief. His lips curved slightly, not quite a smirk, but something just as dangerous.

Then, as if sensing you were on the verge of bolting, he lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, letting his knuckles ghost over the side of your jaw.

"Are you sure, kitten?" he murmured.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs.

But despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, despite the way your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your sleeve—

You nodded.

Sylus let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and pleased. He lifted your hand slowly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.

"Good," he murmured, a glint in his eye.

Xavier

The gentle rustle of paper filled the quiet space, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of your book as you leaned against the arm of the couch. The apartment was dimly lit, warm from the soft glow of the lamps Xavier had turned on earlier. He had been quiet for a while now, stretched out beside you, one arm resting on the back of the couch as he absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on his sleeve. You were used to his quiet presence, but something about tonight felt different—like he was trying to find the right words.

You didn’t notice him shift closer at first, not until the couch dipped slightly beneath his weight. His fingers brushed the edge of your book, just enough to catch your attention.

“You’ve been reading that for a while,” Xavier murmured, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You hummed, turning the page. “It’s a good book.”

His lips quirked slightly, though there was something pensive in his expression as he exhaled through his nose. “You always say that.”

You turned to look at him then, noting the way his silver hair fell into his eyes, the slight crease between his brows. There was something on his mind, and now that he had your attention, he didn’t seem sure how to begin.

“…Is something wrong?” you asked, closing the book but keeping your finger between the pages.

Xavier was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering to the book in your lap before settling on you. His hands, always so steady, fidgeted with the hem of his sweater.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he admitted finally, his voice even softer now. “About us.”

Your stomach fluttered, warmth creeping into your cheeks as you nodded for him to continue.

He hesitated, then reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip was warm, familiar, but there was a different kind of intent behind it this time.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “but I—” He paused, took a breath, and tried again. “I want to be closer to you.”

The meaning behind his words settled in your chest, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew what he meant, and you could see from the way he held your hand so carefully—like he was afraid to push too far—that this was difficult for him to bring up.

You swallowed, heart pounding. “You mean…?”

Xavier nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Only when you’re ready. If you’re ready.”

He gave you space to respond, his grip just loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you squeezed his hand and looked down, lips parting as you tried to steady your breathing.

You weren’t scared, but the idea of being that vulnerable with someone—even someone like Xavier—was new. Unfamiliar. He seemed to sense your hesitation, because he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your fingers.

“There’s no rush,” he murmured against your skin. “I just…wanted you to know.”

Your heart softened at his words. He had never been the type to demand anything of you. He was patient, always waiting for you to meet him halfway, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

You took a deep breath, then finally met his eyes again, offering him a small but genuine smile. “I think…I’d like that.”

Xavier blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before his expression melted into something tender, something relieved. His other hand lifted to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin with infinite care.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I’m sure.”

And with that, Xavier smiled, his forehead pressing against yours as he let out a slow breath. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you like you were the most important thing in the world.

And maybe to him, you were.

Zayne

living room was finally in order. You exhaled softly, surveying your work—the pillows fluffed, the coffee table wiped down, and even Zayne’s usually pristine bookshelves had been dusted without disturbing their meticulous arrangement. The faint scent of cleaning products lingered in the air, blending with the subtle notes of his usual amber cologne.

You stretched your arms above your head, satisfied, just as you heard quiet footsteps approaching from behind.

Zayne’s voice was smooth, edged with something unreadable. “I didn’t ask you to do all this.”

You turned to face him, catching the way his gaze flickered over the room before settling on you. He wasn’t scolding you—if anything, he looked almost… thoughtful.

“I know,” you said, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’ve been busy, and I had the time.”

Zayne hummed, stepping further inside. He was still dressed from work, though he had shed his usual long coat. The top button of his shirt was undone, and he carried himself with that same composed presence, yet there was something softer in the way he looked at you now.

“I appreciate it,” he admitted, glancing at the freshly organized space. His eyes returned to you, and there was a pause, as if he were debating something.

Then, in a quieter tone, he added, “You take care of things even when no one asks you to.”

You shrugged. “I just like helping.”

Zayne was quiet for a moment before he moved, his steps slow, deliberate. He stopped just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice measured. “About us.”

You swallowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Oh?”

His gaze searched yours. “I don’t want to rush anything.” A pause. “But I don’t want to ignore it either.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your palm. There was a weight to his words, but not an uncomfortable one. Just… careful.

“Zayne…” You hesitated, feeling the air between you grow heavier—not with tension, but with something else. Something patient.

He lifted a hand slightly, not quite touching you but close enough that the intent was clear. “I just need to know if… when the time comes, you’ll tell me what you want.”

Your heart beat a little faster. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding. Just waiting. Always waiting, as if making sure he wasn’t stepping over a line you hadn’t even drawn yet.

Your voice was softer when you answered.

“I will.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face. His hand finally closed the space, brushing lightly over yours. The touch was barely there, but it still sent a quiet warmth through you.

“And… if I said I was ready?” you asked, heartbeat loud in your ears.

Zayne held your gaze, his fingers resting just against yours, grounding.

“Then I’d ask you to stay.”

You exhaled, the weight in your chest shifting into something lighter, something certain.

“…Then I’ll stay.”

Zayne’s lips curved ever so slightly—a rare, quiet smile. His thumb brushed over your knuckles before he gave a small nod, as if sealing the unspoken promise between you.

And though the night had yet to unfold, in that moment, something had already begun.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤRED HOODㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Jason Todd x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How would he be when he's obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The first time Jason stepped into Wayne Manor, he looked more like a stray cat than a boy. When Bruce introduced him to you—you couldn’t help but notice the defiance in his eyes, like he expected you to reject him immediately. But instead of recoiling from his rough edges, you smiled and offered your hand. It was the first moment Jason felt truly seen.

Jason didn’t know what to do with kindness, especially not from someone who looked at him like he was worth something.

“You’re going to love it here,” you said warmly, still holding out your hand.

He didn’t take it, but he didn’t forget the gesture either. That moment rooted itself in him, and he clung to it in the months to come.

You were the first person to make him laugh in years. It started small—quiet chuckles he tried to hide—but eventually, you had him cackling so hard that tears streamed down his face.

You were unlike anyone Jason had ever met. While Bruce was the stern, brooding authority figure, you were warmth and understanding. You treated him like an equal, never pitying him for his past or scolding him for his sharp tongue. You’d sit with him during his training, patch him up after patrols, and listen to him vent about the unfairness of Gotham’s streets. Jason began to feel that you were the one good thing in his life—a tether to keep him grounded.

Even in those early days, Jason couldn’t help but feel a flicker of jealousy whenever you spent time with others. Whether it was Dick dropping by the Manor or Bruce pulling you away for a mission, Jason would watch, his jaw clenched and fists tight. You were his sanctuary, and the thought of sharing you with anyone else left a sour taste in his mouth.

Jason always found reasons to keep you close. He insisted on sparring with you during training, claiming no one else could push him like you did. He memorized the way you moved, the sound of your laughter when you managed to pin him, and the way your eyes narrowed in concentration. He lived for those moments.

Whenever you went on patrol, Jason was there, watching your back like a hawk. At first, you thought he was just being protective, but over time, his behavior grew more intense. If a thug so much as glanced at you the wrong way, Jason’s fists would leave them unrecognizable. “They deserved it,” he’d mutter, his knuckles dripping with blood, his gaze softening only when it landed on you.

Jason began planting seeds of doubt about everyone around you. He’d point out flaws in Dick’s plans, subtly criticize Bruce’s parenting, and even question Alfred’s judgment, all to make you feel like he was the only one you could truly rely on.

When Jason died, it shattered you. The boy who had been your closest friend, your partner in everything, was gone. Bruce tried to comfort you, but nothing could fill the void Jason left behind.

When Jason came back as the Red Hood, his first thought was of you.

You. The only light he’d ever known. The one thing that kept him tethered to humanity. And you hadn’t saved him.

His obsession became worse, this bitter, consuming need to make you pay for abandoning him—and to keep you. Jason spiraled, his love for you warping into something darker, something unrecognizable.

Jason stalks you now, though he doesn’t see it that way. He calls it watching over you. You’re his, and Gotham is dangerous, especially with the Bat family’s enemies constantly circling.

He knows everything: where you go, who you talk to, what makes you smile. The line between love and control blurs with each passing day.

Sometimes, he visits you in secret. You’ll come home to find your favorite meal waiting on the counter or a new book sitting on your bedside table. Other times, you’ll catch glimpses of him in the shadows—just a flicker of red and black before he’s gone.

And then there are the times he lets himself be seen. He’ll stand in the middle of your apartment, waiting for you to come home. His voice is low, almost dangerous, as he says, “You don’t lock your windows, princess. Someone could get hurt.”

You try to confront him, try to reason with him, but Jason isn’t the boy you knew. He’s sharper now, more unhinged.

“You think you can just forget me?” he growls, pinning you against the wall. “You think you can move on, live your life without me? That’s not how this works princess.”

Jason’s obsession manifests in unpredictable ways. One moment, he’s protective and tender, swearing to keep you safe at all costs. The next, he’s violent and possessive, tearing apart anyone who gets too close to you.

He’s killed for you, though he’d never admit it. That coworker who flirted with you too much? Dead in an alleyway. The stranger who catcalled you on the street? Beaten within an inch of their life.

“I’m doing this for you,” he says, his voice trembling with something raw and desperate. “You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you. I’ll take care of it.”

You try to push him away, but it only makes him cling harder. Jason doesn’t see the line between love and obsession. To him, it’s all the same.

Jason’s ultimate goal is simple: to have you. To keep you with him, away from the dangers of Gotham—and away from anyone else.

“I’m not asking, princess,” he says one night, dragging you into his arms. “I’m taking you. No one else gets to have you. Not Bruce, not Dick, not anyone. You’re mine, and I’ll burn this city to the ground before I let you go.”

And maybe, deep down, a part of you doesn’t want him to. Because for all his madness, Jason is still Jason—the boy who made you laugh, who understood your pain, who loved you in a way no one else ever could.

But at what cost?

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[bunnygirllover45]

— THE THRILL OF THE HUNT.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann literally hunts down the reader, Small outburst at the end, and a lot of bullshit talk about hunting because I like it, DEAD DOVE. No violence was used.

Synopsis: You escape from Johann, he has to track you down. WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Johann wasn't exactly the thrill-seeking kind. He always preferred a slow-paced life, not filled with many excitements or tragedies. He wasn’t an adventurous spirit or a fiery soul in search of greater meaning. In his head, the only thing he needed was you.

And maybe that’s why this exact moment made his blood boil with newfound rapture, he could swear for a moment his skin bumped at the feeling of his heart throbbing so quickly against his ribcage. The thrill of the hunt, like his father used to say, made mere men become beasts, some because it was vital for their survival, others because of the rush of power it gave them.

But he couldn’t quite understand it until now. For him, hunts weren’t that exciting. The game was always too easy to track down, the footsteps effortlessly concealed. The gun didn’t feel heavy enough. His breath didn’t quicken at the mere chance of letting his prey slip away; he’ll always find a way to reach them again, after all. Animals have their habits; they’re easy to decipher once you know their true nature.

This is the type of hunt he’s been craving for so long. Johann had to press a hand against his mouth to prevent a low chuckle from escaping. Oh, how right his father was. This was truly trilling to the core, the kind of thrill that made a foreign heat rise towards his head and seep into his very brain tissue.

Humans aren’t like animals, their behavior is a little more erratic, animals can be divided between highly intelligent beings and straight-up dumb ones, but humans? All of them had their quirks, you couldn’t easily guess how prepared someone could be under certain circumstances. “Isn’t that so fucking interesting?” 

Lowering himself to the ground Johann reached to touch the freshly shaped footstep that his precious prey left behind. If they’re leaving such a pretty trail behind they’re expecting me to find them, what a tease.

“You know what kind of animals roam these types of terrains?” His voice was loud enough to carry its sound through the extremely quiet, when the hunt begins, the forest goes quiet, no need to scream. “Bears, moose, sometimes even wolves. Had to detangle a lot of ‘em from traps before, not without properly securing they won’t be able to bite, ‘course.” 

His heavy boots made the rotten wood and debris scattered around the forest soil yield under their weight, no need to change onto more quiet shoes, his bunny wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, surely their heartbeat was the only thing resounding inside their ears. Reaching into his pocket he took out his watch, starting a countdown. “I’ll give you two minutes to gain distance, cover your tracks, you can try hiding if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend staying still, it makes you easier to spot.” 

“Once the two minutes are done I’ll begin searching, I'll make a bird calling each 45 seconds, and once three minutes pass by, I’ll stop making bird callings and hunt in earnest, ‘kay? Just want to make the game easier for you, it isn’t fun if I’m the one with the upper hand all the time even if this is my subject.” 

With a deep sigh, he crouched down again, his hands fidgeting inside his pocket until he found a cigarette, the last one actually. Grabbing his lighter he lit up the tip, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke escape from his lips. 

His free hand reached to grab the gun he always had with him, it was an old friend of sorts, stuck by his side in all the worst situations, a lot of people meeting their death at the end of this same barrel. Maybe it should have your name, after all, people do name their guns sometimes.

The forest grew more eerily quiet, the sun setting down in the distance while Johann quietly awaited the starting gunshot of the race, he didn’t really need to put the time on his watch, he could already count the time down to the millisecond inside his head. “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” His gloved fingers tapped against his lips, hands tightly clad in leather gloves, perfect for the harsh Austrian winter. 

A part of him wished you didn’t even make the effort to run away, maybe finding you curled up against a rock or a tree just waiting for him to find you was more exciting than actually pursuing you, after all, that meant you truly gave up on the idea of leaving him behind—still, another part of his brain screamed for you to run, so he could find you and make sure you won’t try pulling up bullshit like this again.

Slowly he stood up, the watch making a low beeping sound before he began to walk, settling the gun back onto the strap around his thigh. Holding the cigarette in between his lips he began to prepare the clothes you were going to use once he caught you, after all, little you decided to escape both barefoot and barely dressed, the worst thing in this forest beside him was the cold. Holding the spare jacket he always brought with him inside his bag and a blanket he continued to walk nonchalantly, not even sparing a single stare in any direction that wasn’t just dead front and center. 

Johann's stare drifted onto the floor, a little disappointed that you didn’t take his recommendation into account, there, clear as day, were your pretty little marks for him to follow like a bloodhound. Johann even took the time to carefully make sure he didn’t accidentally step into any of them, not wanting to overshadow the loving tracks you left behind for him with his heavy boots.

He knew very well he was taking all of this too lightly, this was a high gamble where he could lose everything or gain all, but still the elated sense of happiness and bubbling excitement made him more self-confident, too sure you wouldn’t get away too far, and even if you did, he’d stay in the damn forest all the time necessary for you to realize you need to go back onto his loving arms.

Stopping dead in his tracks he turned around as he heard a small sound coming from behind a fallen stump, dead bark peeling off the tree’s corpse. There you are.

And there you were indeed, curled up in a ball, back pressing against the rough bark as you held your arms around your torso, bracing yourself from the harsh winter cold, from the shiver that ran down your shoulders towards your legs or the sight you so pathetically defenseless made him smile, a blush creeping up onto his features.

“You didn’t even run far enough to let me do any bird calls, are you that tired, baby?” He kneeled down in front of you, but as soon as you jolted up in surprise Johann’s hand shot to grab your wrist with unnerving quickness. His dark eyes bore into you, a small smile gracing his lips, but there was no emotion behind that expression of his. “That’s okay, next time I’ll give you some proper equipment, some shoes wouldn’t hurt.” 

His thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, while his other hand threw away the now almost half-smoked cigarette that Johann held in between his lips. Eventually he reached to grab your head in between them, rubbing your cheeks with such tenderness that it could be even soothing in a different situation. “There, you did good. Not good enough to grant you a reward, but you did have me a little scared back there.” His smile widened as he lied through his teeth. You frowned, tired, freezing cold and also breathless, but still with enough energy to try and pry his hand away from your wrist, it was useless, he was latched onto you like a handcuff. “Fuck yo—” Before you could even finish he reached to clasp his free hand onto your mouth, the sudden movement making you stumble backward, head pressing against the tree. “Fuckin’ language.” He whispered between his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes. “You should be grateful I didn’t put a damn bullet in between those pretty eyes of yours. Runnin’ away from me like that? After all I did for you? I let you away from my sight for just a second and you go jolting away like a fucking rabbit.” 

Taking a deep breath he lowered his head, slowly pushing his hand away from your mouth, his face leaning closer to you, the only warm feeling gracing your warm body being his hot breath against your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pushed your lower lip with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss onto your flesh as some sick and twisted kind of apology.

“I won’t be as lenient next time, ‘kay? You know I care about you a lot, meine Liebe, don’t want you getting hurt.” He forced a smile, leaning his forehead against yours, but again his voice was masked by the thumping sound of your heart against your ears. “Let’s get you back to the car, I’ll get you all warmed up and cozy.” 

You just let him grab you, his hands effortlessly grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as both of you made your way back toward the car, you stole a few glances at Johann’s face, finding a small smile and that darn blush in his cheeks that showed how much he enjoyed himself, maybe a twisted part of him was truly pleased by all of this, even if it just started as a rebellious act of trying to escape from your part.

“Hear that? It’s a White-tailed eagle. Birds of prey, always hunted them with my father as a child.” Suddenly the forest wasn’t so quiet anymore, the hunt has ended.

[kateschi]

same book, different chapters

synopsis: an ordinary evening takes a turn when katsuki expresses what you've always known but never expected to hear.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

being with katsuki is a lesson in unspoken understanding. you knew who he is long before you started dating him—loud, brash, and not the type to share his feelings openly.

but it didn’t take long to realize there’s so much more to him than that. his love is quiet, reserved, and shown in the details:

how he pulls you out of the way of a passing car, or how he remembers the smallest things, like your favorite kind of tea or that you prefer your coffee without sugar.

and that is enough for you. mostly.

you didn’t expect him to be the kind of boyfriend who says "I love you" with ease. katsuki isn’t like that. it isn’t something you hold against him either.

but every now and then, a small part of you wonders what it would be like to hear him say it—to hear those three words slip past his lips in the same way they had from yours.

you say it first, a quiet “I love you” in the middle of a peaceful night when the world outside feels still.

his response comes in the shape of hugging you tighter, securing you in his arms. however, he doesn’t say it back, and you don’t expect him to. you don’t need him to.

still, there are times when you find yourself holding your breath, wondering if one day he’ll actually verbalize it.

it isn’t that you doubt his feelings. katsuki isn’t one to waste time on things or people he doesn’t care about.

you know how much he cares by the way he silently takes care of you, always putting you first in his own way, even when his words are rough around the edges.

it’s just that sometimes, words have a way of making things feel more real.

tonight is one of those easy evenings you cherish—one where you don’t have to think too much about anything. the two of you are in your kitchen, making dinner together, though “together” is generous.

you’re doing most of the work while katsuki stands next to you, arms crossed, casting a critical eye over everything you do.

“you’re putting too much salt,” he says, the frown on his face making you smile.

“pretty sure this is the exact amount the recipe says to use,” you reply, amused at how serious he always gets when it comes to food.

“that recipe’s wrong. I could’ve made this better with my eyes closed.”

“then why don’t you?” you tease, turning your head to glance at him. his gaze is sharp as usual, but the small curve in the corner of his lips betrays him.

“maybe I’ll cook next time,” he grumbles, looking away like the very idea of giving in bothers him.

you laugh softly, enjoying the banter. this is something you love about him—how even in these simple moments, his presence fills the space with a sense of ease.

there’s no pressure to be anything other than yourselves, even when his blunt honesty clashes with your more relaxed approach.

as you stir the pot, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander back to the three words. you know katsuki isn’t the type to say things until he’s ready, and you respect that.

but part of you is curious—would it ever come naturally to him, or would it always be something unspoken between the two of you?

still, as you stand there, the warmth of his steady presence beside you, you realize that maybe you’re okay with it remaining unspoken. katsuki shows his love in ways that don’t need words to validate them.

and then, without warning, you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard.

“katsuki?” you ask, your voice soft, as you lean into him instinctively.

he doesn��t answer right away, just holds you there. his touch isn’t hesitant, but it is different from the usual casual touches you’ve grown used to.

“you’re annoying sometimes,” he mutters, voice low in your ear.

you chuckle, relaxing further into his hold. “I know.”

there’s silence for a beat, and then: “but I love you anyway, idiot.”

you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. you turn your head slightly, trying to see his face, but he buries it against your neck, hiding his expression. “did you just—?”

“don’t make a big deal out of it,” he mumbles, voice suddenly gruff, though you can hear the embarrassment beneath the words.

a smile breaks across your face, warmth spreading through your chest. you didn’t expect it, but that makes it all the more special. he isn’t saying it because the moment demands it.

he isn’t saying it because you’re waiting. he says it because he wants to, because he feels it.

“I’m not,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably as your happiness bubbles up in your voice. “but…I love you too.”

you feel his grip tighten around you and a kiss pressed to your shoulder.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kashverse]

your boyfriend coaching a girls’ sports teams is a fascinating study of chaos, discipline, and emotional whiplash. it is also a terrifying display of how much power one person can have over impressionable minds. if anyone ever questions how deeply a coach can shape the future, they need only observe the absolute mayhem that unfolds under the leadership of said boyfriend.

gojo’s football team

“ladies, we must slay,” gojo declares, standing in the middle of the field, sunglasses perched on his nose like he’s about to give a ted talk instead of coaching a group of five- to fifteen-year-olds in a sport that he just barely understands. he claps his hands once. the team stands at attention. the youngest, a tiny but fierce five-year-old named mei, raises a hand. “coach gojo, what’s slay?”

“good question, mei dear!” gojo beams. “slay is when you dominate in style. it’s when you flip your hair after a touchdown, when your cleats match your energy, when—” he pauses dramatically, lowering his shades to wink at them, “—you leave your enemies in the dust and look good doing it.”

“what about actual football?” asks misaki, one of the older girls, clearly tired of his nonsense.

“yes, yes, there’s that too,” he waves a hand dismissively. “but listen, coordination is key. we can’t just play well, we have to look well. what’s our game plan today?”

the team groans in unison: “flip the hair, score the goal.”

“atta girls.”

the game begins, and despite his ridiculous antics, gojo’s training somehow works. every single touchdown is punctuated with a dramatic hair flip. even the girls with short hair have perfected an imaginary one, jerking their heads back in a movement so fierce that their opponents are momentarily stunned. “see?” gojo says smugly as the team wins their game. “dominance. in style.”

geto’s swim team

in contrast, geto’s approach is far calmer. he leans against the pool’s edge, arms crossed, nodding at his team with an approving smile. “good work, everyone,” he says, high-fiving a seven-year-old who looks like she’s about to pass out from exhaustion. “coach, can we rest now?” asks hana, one of the older girls, between gasps for air. “of course,” he says kindly. then he claps his hands together. 

“right after you double up.”

there’s a moment of silence. someone whimpers.

“coach—”

“you heard me,” he says, and suddenly, his previous warmth is gone. “double up.”

“but—”

“double. up.”

and then, like a switch has been flipped, the entire team triples their swimming speed. they slice through the water like sharks chasing prey, their strokes precise, their turns flawless. geto watches with quiet satisfaction, nodding approvingly as a twelve-year-old girl overtakes her teammate with the determination of an olympic athlete. once the session ends and the team is gasping at the edge of the pool, he pats them on the back like nothing happened. “great job today, girls.”

“you’re a menace,” one of them wheezes. he chuckles. 

“i know.”

sukuna’s badminton team

if gojo is chaos disguised as charisma and geto is warmth that turns to terror, sukuna is just terror. “victory at all costs,” he says before every game. before every practice. before every team dinner. it is their mantra, their religion, their unshakable truth. the team does not question it.

“if your opponent is faster, be faster. if they’re smarter, be smarter. if they want it more,” sukuna crosses his arms, voice dangerously low, “rip it from their goddamn hands.”

this is why his team plays like demons. they lunge for the shuttlecock like it’s the last meal on earth, their movements so aggressive that referees often ask if they’ve been trained in hand-to-hand combat. during one particular match, his youngest player, aki, executes a perfect smash that sends the shuttlecock flying into the opposing team’s side with such force that it bounces off the ground and hits the net.

“hell yeah, kid!” sukuna roars, slamming a fist into his palm. aki beams, vibrating with murderous joy. when the match ends and his team emerges victorious, they march off the court like soldiers who have conquered a nation. and then, the moment they step off the court—

“hiiiiiii, coach!” aki chirps, her demon-like aggression completely gone as she waves at him sweetly. “hello, aki,” he deadpans.

“did i do good?”

“you crushed their spirits,” he says approvingly.

“yay!”

the duality is terrifying.

toji’s american football team

if gojo is about style and flair, toji is about pure, unrelenting rage. “alright, listen up, you little punks,” toji snarls, pacing up and down the field. he has the kind of presence that makes even the stadium lights feel dimmer. “you wanna throw that ball? you wanna make it count? then stop thinking like soft little kids and start thinking like warriors.” the team stares at him, waiting. he stops, narrows his eyes. 

“who here has an ex?”

silence. then, one of the older girls, yuki, hesitantly raises a hand. “me.”

“he cheat?”

“…yes.”

“good.” he gestures to the ball. “that’s him. throw him to hell.” 

she blinks, then flings the ball so hard it nearly breaks the goalpost.  “holy shit,” one of her teammates mutters.

toji smirks. “next.”

one by one, the girls line up, channeling heartbreak into sheer destruction. passes become bullets, tackles become acts of war. by the end of practice, the opposing team’s coach is watching in terror as toji laughs darkly from the sidelines. post-practice, toji sits on the bleachers, grinning as his players gather around. he knows his power. “so,” he says casually, leaning forward. “what’s the latest?”

“mai said rena kissed her ex at the pep rally,” one of the girls whispers.  toji nods solemnly. “truly disgusting. use that next practice.”

nanami’s fencing team

nanami does not play games. he does not deal in nonsense. fencing is about skill, precision, discipline. unfortunately, fencing is also mental warfare, and sometimes, nanami indulges.

“focus,” he tells one of his fencers before a match. “your opponent is skilled, but you are better.” she nods, shifting her grip. then, nanami leans in slightly.

“also, i overheard her coach say she doesn’t think you’re fast enough.”

the fencer freezes. her head snaps toward him. “she said what?”

“mm,” nanami hums, adjusting his watch. “just a passing remark. perhaps she was right.”

“she wasn’t.”

the match is over in seconds.

nanami watches as his fencer destroys her opponent, a quiet smirk forming as the referee announces the win. he nods once when his student turns back to him, eyes burning. 

“i knew you had it in you.”

she exhales, looking down at her foil. “…was that even true?” 

nanami checks his watch again. “does it matter?”

choso’s basketball team

how choso became a basketball coach is a mystery, but no one dares to question it. he is too pure, too kind. the girls adore him. even the referees, who should remain unbiased, get emotional when they see him cheering. “you got this,” choso tells his team before a match, his voice soft but certain. “i believe in you.”

his team believes in him. they run faster, shoot cleaner, steal like their lives depend on it. when one of his players gets a foul and has to step off, she almost cries—not from the penalty, but from the fact that she has disappointed choso. “it’s okay,” he says gently, kneeling beside her. “you did your best.”

“…i’ll do better.”

“i know you will.”

by the time the team gets back on the court, they are playing with a vengeance. it is not about winning. it is about making coach choso proud. when they clutch the game-winning basket, choso pulls out a homemade banner. he made it himself.

the girls almost start sobbing.

“you guys did amazing,” choso says, smiling. one of his players full-on cries into his shoulder. 

“he’s too good for this world,” one of the opposing players mutters.

[covenofagatha]

A Helping Hand

You're helping your Professor gather ingredients for a potion she's brewing when you accidentally knock over a jar of sex pollen and need help.

Word count: ~3100

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, fingering, Top Agatha, magic cock, blowjob, magic cum, pure filth, teacher x student, age gap (everyone's legal)

Your brow furrows as you stare at the open spell book in front of you. You have a Potions test tomorrow for Professor Harkness, and evident by your lack of understanding of any of the words on the page, you are not going to do well. 

“What’s wrong?” your roommate, Wanda, asks you. The two of you are the top witches at the Academy of Dark Arts, and yet, neither of you has a strong suit in potions. 

And of course, the Potions teacher, Agatha Harkness, is the hardest teacher you have. 

“This is impossible. How am I supposed to remember that, for the Wolfsbane Potion, you have to stir three times counterclockwise, say this incantation, and then stir four times clockwise, all while making sure I’m continuously pouring in Dragon’s Blood?” Your head hurts just from reading it from the book. 

Wanda snorts. “Agatha doesn’t expect it to be perfect.”

You give her a look. You both know that’s a lie. Agatha is the teacher that makes you redo written homework assignments if you leave too much space between the words. 

The Academy of Dark Arts was a home for witches like you and Wanda: witches that did not have a coven, or even a family. The Academy was supposed to teach girls to harness and understand their powers. 

You have been here the longest, ever since you were twelve. You are almost twenty now. You had always put off taking Potions until you could no longer avoid it, mainly just because of how hard everyone else said it was. You had briefly interacted with Professor Harkness before the class, passing her in the corridors or making eye contact at meals. 

And maybe, just maybe, you had developed a bit of a crush on her once you were in her class. 

Who could blame you, though? She was the definition of perfection, with the way power just exuded from her, and the way her long, dark hair tumbled down to her lower back, and her piercing blue eyes that you suspected could see right into your soul. 

But your little infatuation was not what you needed right now – no, right now, you need to study. 

“I just don’t know anything,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t even read my notes.” Agatha often went so fast in class that you had no other option than to just scribble down everything you thought she said as quickly as you could. 

And now you just had pages of illegible chicken scratch. 

“She’s probably still in the green house, why not just go ask her for help,” Wanda says noncommittally, too engrossed in sketching a picture. How she is so calm with this test hanging over the both of you, you have no idea. 

But you nod. That’s a good idea. You can go see Agatha, ask her to clarify a few things, and then stay up all night cramming ingredients and directions into your brain. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promise, and then scoop up your book and your notes. 

You pass by some younger witches in the hallway and you give them a tight-lipped smile. Wanda was really your only friend at the Academy, the other girls too boy-crazy or too self-absorbed for you to really connect with them. 

Other than those girls, though, the Academy is quiet. No sign of any of your other teachers, and you’re sure they’re either in their private quarters or still grading papers in their classrooms. 

You have to leave the main house of the Academy to get to the greenhouse, where Potions takes place. The cold November air stings your cheeks and makes your eyes water, but luckily, it’s a short walk. 

“Hello, Professor Harkness?” you say timidly, knocking on the door as you push it open. She’s sitting at a stool, cutting plants with a sharp knife. Her hair flowing down her back and she's wearing a tight white button-down shirt on that’s tucked into high-waisted purple pants, and a long, navy coat.

She glances up and smiles when she sees it’s you. “Y/n, what can I do for you?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to come see if you could help me clear some things up for the test tomorrow,” you say, a little flustered by how good she looks. 

“Sure thing, hon. First, I need your help. Hand me those powders from over there?” She points the knife over to the counter by the sink and you oblige, grabbing the four vials and putting them down next to her. She picks each one up and examines the label closely. “Ah, shoot. Sorry, dear, could you find the jar with the powdered root of asphodel? It should be in the pantry somewhere. I thought I took it out, but I guess I forgot.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You repeat the powder name in your head a few times so you don’t forget it and then go search for it. 

You finally spot it on the fourth shelf, sitting in the middle of some other jars, and you reach up on your tip-toes to grab it. As you’re pulling down the correct jar, you accidentally knock it into another and it falls to the floor next to you. 

“Shit!” you mutter, immediately crouching down to assess the damage. The jar of some unknown powder has broken and its contents are spilled everywhere. Without even thinking, you start to sweep the powder into your hands so you can try to put it back in the bottom half of the jar that’s still intact. 

You didn’t even notice Agatha coming over after she heard the noise. “Everything okay – don’t touch any of that!” she exclaims, seeing the bottle that broke on the floor.

You drop the mound of powder in your hands and whirl around, eyes wide open. 

“What is it?” you ask, afraid of the answer, but she doesn’t give you one, instead opting to pull you by the sleeve over to the sink. 

“Wash your hands now,” she demands and stands there watching you scrub your skin until it’s red. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel fine,” you say, but as you say that, you notice something. There’s an unmistakable heat growing in your stomach. And it only gets worse when Agatha places a hand against your forehead. You lean into the touch and have to forcibly bite your tongue so you don’t moan. 

She looks you up and down and you can feel yourself getting hotter. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

“Um, just out of curiosity, what was that powder?” you ask, wetness pooling between your thighs. The ache between your legs is becoming hard to ignore. 

Agatha meets your eyes. “It’s called sex pollen.” Your heart skips a beat. “I honestly forgot it was back there. I came across some a few decades ago and wanted to study it.”

You swallow hard. “So if someone gets some of it in their system, do they just need to touch…” You feel yourself blushing, not quite believing you’re asking Agatha Harkness if masturbation is the key to get this heat inside you to die down. 

She smirks. “You can’t get it out of your system by yourself.”

Well, fuck. “There’s no other way?” 

“Where would the fun in that be?” She winks playfully, and you wonder if she’s ever used it, or used it on someone else. “But you said you feel fine so you shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Right,” you reply shakily. Her fingers brush a strand of hair out of her face and you literally clench at the sight of them. You feel so empty, so needy, so desperate for her. 

“You said you had some questions for the test tomorrow?” She takes the root of asphodel that you had forgotten you were holding and beckons you back over to where she’s working. She pats the stool next to you and you sit, the pressure on your clit making you jump. 

You just have to make it through this, go back to your room, and then drag Wanda out with you to a club or something so you can get fucked. 

The only problem is, you’re not sure you can wait that long. Your hips have started squirming on the stool beneath you and you can’t control it. 

“Um, so,” you start, opening up the textbook to the Wolfsbane Potion you were studying earlier. “The directions for this potion are–”

You’re cut off by her putting her hand on top of yours and you literally whimper at the contact. You stiffen and see her turn her full body towards you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, your darkened eyes, the way your hips are moving on the seat. 

“Oh, you poor baby,” she taunts. 

You give up the pretense of being unaffected by the pollen. “Professor, I’m so…I need…please…I think the pollen...” 

She laughs. “Yes, dear, I think the pollen got into your system. Do you have anyone who can take care of you?” 

You blush at the implication of Agatha asking if you have a fuck buddy and then shake your head pathetically. “I was gonna go out with Wanda and try to find someone,” you mumble. “I’ve never…” You trail off, not wanting your incredibly hot professor to hear you say out loud that you’re a virgin. 

“Honey, you can’t have your first time with a random person from a bar,” she tuts. “Plus, sex pollen amplifies feelings you already have. Getting fucked by a random person won’t help as much as by a person you already want.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” you whine. “Can you…will you…please?” You can tell the pollen is affecting your ability to think straight because there is no way you just asked your centuries-old professor to fuck you. You’re about ready to run out of the room and die of embarrassment when she grins. 

“You want me to help you?” 

Your breath catches. “Professor, please, please, I need it. I need you. I just feel so…hot.” 

“I’ll say,” she says appreciatively, this time letting her eyes wander over you slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you regretting this when the pollen wears off.” 

You shake your head. “I won’t. I’m sure. I want you so bad. I have for a while. And you said it has to be someone you already want.” 

Her eyes darken. “Get on the table.” 

You’ve never moved so fast in your life. She takes your shirt off and throws it somewhere else in the room, and then her hands are cupping your breasts and her mouth is on yours. 

You moan hungrily into her hot mouth, feeling her tongue against yours. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling it gently, and she groans into your mouth. Agatha quickly undoes the clasp of your bra and finds your nipples, tugging at them. She kisses down your neck and your fingers leave her hair to hike up your skirt. 

“So eager for me,” she whispers against your clavicle. You gasp when she bites down. 

“Please, professor, touch me.” 

“I am touching you,” she teases, fingertips lightly skimming down your stomach. You tense at the touch as she gets lower. 

Your moan is downright pornographic when she first slides her hand into your underwear, sliding through your folds. She makes a sound as well. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” she says. 

“All for you,” you say weakly, hips grinding up and down against her fingers. She’s yet to touch your clit, but you fear the second she does, you’ll cum. 

“My dirty girl.” Agatha finally pushes her middle finger into you and you clench down immediately, needing more. She easily finds the spot that makes you squeal, and her thumb brushes against your clit. “Do you think you can take another finger?” 

“Oh my god, yes,” you enthusiastically agree and she slides in her ring finger as well. It’s a bit of a stretch but you’ve never felt better. 

“Your cunt feels so good around me,” Agatha says, grabbing your chin with her other hand so you meet her eyes. “So wet, so warm. I want to stay here forever. You can’t get enough of my fingers, can you?” 

“No, Professor, I love your fingers,” you babble, right on the edge. She knows it too. 

“Be a good girl and come for mommy,” she whispers right into your ear, her hot breath warm, and the name, coupled with the way she twists her fingers and roughly strokes your clit, sends you climaxing. 

“Fuckkkk,” you moan, your nails digging into her shoulders. She fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and then slowly pulls her fingers, which are drenched, out of you. You can’t help but feel empty and the heat inside you isn’t completely gone. 

Before you can say anything, she slides her wet fingers into your mouth and you lazily lap at your juices. She bites her lip at the feeling. 

“How are you feeling now, baby girl?” 

Her fingers leave your mouth with a pop. “Better but I still think I need more.” 

Her eyebrow raises playfully. “My fingers weren’t enough to quell your thirst?” 

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed. 

“I think I know something that might help.” She waves her hand and a poof of purple smoke appears. You’re not quite sure what she did, but she gives you a wicked grin and unzips her pants, pulling out a purple strap-on. 

Your mouth falls open. 

She grabs a hold of the base and starts to stroke herself, groaning. 

“Wait, can you-” 

She looks up at you. “Feel it?” She nods. “I wanna feel you clench around my cock. Wanna fill you up.” 

You let out a small gasp. “Mommy, please, I need your cock.” 

She steps back over to you and runs a hand up your slit, collecting your wetness, which she then rubs on her cock. “You’re plenty wet already, but why don’t you get on your knees and show me how much of a good girl you can be.” 

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You practically fall to the ground in front of her, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees. You look up at her, awaiting instruction, and she bites her lip softly at the sight of you. 

She puts a hand on your head and pushes you closer. “Put a hand around the base and then run your tongue up and down the length.” 

You do as you’re told and you delight in the loud moan that tears from her mouth. Her hand just rests on your head as you then experimentally suck the tip of her cock between your lips. 

“Good girl,” she says gruffly, and her praise drives you to test the waters and go down further. You bob your head on her dick, never breaking eye contact. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so hot.” 

Meanwhile, the need inside you is growing so much you can barely fight the urge to slip a hand up your skirt. But you don’t. You figure Agatha won’t like that, and also, you want to focus all your attention on making her feel good. 

“Such a dirty slut on her knees for mommy. So desperate for this cock,” she says and you groan around the strap-on, making her hands tighten in your hair. She pulls you back and a string of saliva connects your lips to her. “Get up.” 

Once you’re standing in front of her, she flips you around and bends your front over the table so she’s standing behind you. She pushes your skirt up and traces your pussy with her cock, sliding it up your slit to your clit and then back. You’re grinding against her, trying to get some stimulation. 

“Are you ready?” Agatha asks. 

“Yes,” you answer, voice hoarse with anticipation. You feel her line the tip up with your hole and then slowly start to push in. 

Both of you moan. She is so big but the stretch is exactly what you need. Once she bottoms out, she holds still for a second, letting you adjust to her size. 

“You take my cock so well.” And then she’s pulling out and thrusting back in, picking up speed and intensity. You lift a leg up so she’s able to get deeper and you can feel her hips stutter. “You pretend to be so innocent but look at how desperate you are for me. Just a little slut, needing me to fill her up.” 

“Yes, just a slut for you, mommy.” 

Her nails dig into your hip and her other hand comes down to rub your clit. You clench around her. 

“You’re so tight, so hot, you feel so good squeezing my dick,” Agatha murmurs, saying the filthiest things right into your ear. You’re so close and it’s only been a few minutes of her pounding into you. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. Her hand leaves your clit and you gasp. 

“Not yet, baby, wait for mommy. Do you want me to fill you up?” 

“Want you to fill me up, mommy, wanna feel you dripping out of me,” you babble. 

“Oh shit, baby, gonna cum in you. Cum for me,” she says, and you do. This orgasm is even more intense than the one before and you feel her give you one last hard thrust before warmth spreads through your cunt. She stills for just a second and then gingerly pulls out. You can feel her cum dripping out of your hole and down your leg and it almost makes you cum again. 

Agatha turns you around and spreads your legs so she can watch it better. She takes two fingers and lazily smears her cum mixed with yours all over your pussy lips. She raises her fingers to your lips and you eagerly taste both of your juices, moaning around them. 

“Do you feel better now?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes. 

You sigh dramatically. “For now. But who’s to say I won’t get into more sex pollen some other time?”

She chuckles and matches your smirk with one of her own. “Well, I guess I better keep a careful eye on you then.” 

[luveline]

jade!! I come on hands and knees begging for more rockstar!remus with shy!reader. I LOVE THEM. how are they doing?!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

You fit the part, tonight. Marlene has dressed you in her clothes —you wear a dark jacket covered in gothic, skeletal linework, a skirt barely long enough to show beneath it, with black tights and tall shoes. 

Remus isn’t sure what it is about the slightly too big jacket that he likes so much. Maybe it’s your thighs on show, shadowed flanks of softness he knows too well. It could be your eyes, their ringing of dark kohl, your lengthened lashes. Perhaps it’s none of those things. After all, Remus has always loved to watch you laugh. 

James thrusts his pint against yours, a splash of his cherry cider lapping the end of the cup to seep into your lemonade. Remus is unsure if there’s anything in it of substance, but you sip it through a breathless laugh and confirm that it hasn’t changed. No harm, no foul. 

Remus taps his cigarette carton against the table out of habit. Sirius reaches for him before Remus has even split the seal, fingers pinching, pale hand expectant. Remus knocks into them with the carton and turns so Sirius can’t see him opening the box. “Thought you were off them?” Remus asks, quiet with the slower atmosphere at the table, so far from the bar. 

“Can anyone ever really be off them?” Sirius asks. 

He pressed himself into Remus’ arm, all the overfamiliarity of a best, best friend. Searching for comfort and selfish vices. 

Remus hugs him suddenly, a rough arm around the back of his head in a hold that tugs curls as he uses the other hand to slide a cigarette between his lips. “Here, you baby.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius says around it. 

Remus takes his own cigarette and shoves the box back in his pocket. Sirius lights his own, lights Remus’, and together they tip their heads back, getting a glance at the oranging ceiling and the upstairs drinking pit. 

“She’s sweet, letting Marl dress her up a bit.” 

“Makes Marlene feel better,” Remus says. 

“Yeah, it does. Reckon she and Mary will mend it?” 

Remus shrugs. The love triangle between Mary, Marlene and Dorcas is confusing. He loves them, though, so it’s a confusing he understands. “It won't be long before we find out.” 

You, James and Emmeline begin to make your way back to the table. You have two drinks each, too many for the amount of people, though none of you seem to have noticed. You’re just giggling and meandering around low chairs until you get there. 

James slams his drinks down and grabs you from the side. “My sweethearts, I return the sweethearts.” 

“Can I have one?” Emmeline asks. 

Remus passes her the cigarette carton dutifully. 

“Can I–”

“No,” Remus says. 

You squint at him. “Don’t be weird,” you say, embarrassed, taking the box when Emme passes it, sliding it between painted lips, “I’m not a baby.” 

You talk around the cigarette with the ease of practice. If there’s one thing life on the road gives, it’s addiction. Remus is thankful that you and all of your friends chose nicotine. 

“You’re trying to quit.” Remus feels the funny burn of smoke as he inhales again. “And I’m trying to help you.” 

“Same help you gave Sirius, clearly,” James says. 

“C’mere,” Remus says, opening his arm for you. “Come on.” 

You grin and weave around Emme to his side of the table, propping a drink in front of him. “For you.” 

“Thank you.” He blows smoke as far from your face as he can manage and tucks you under his arm. 

The makeup on your lips is rubbing off, a darker outlining with light insides, but it’s enough to express Marl’s taste. Remus will be happy to kiss the rest of it away later on, when James and Sirius are drunk enough to become openly obsessed with one another and leave him alone, carving out some rare alone time. 

You smoke as Remus taught you to. He remembers the day, your shaking, his chest pain, not wanting to corrupt you and yet enlivened by the way you looked trying to foster the flame at the end of it. Nicotine helps calm your nerves, which you’re often in need of, but Remus never meant for it to become a crux. He snuffs his cigarette in the ashtray and catches yours to do the same, barely two puffs in. 

“Wha–”

“Let me have a look at you,” he says. 

Your friends scoff and jeer but quickly move on. Remus catches your chin between his fingers. 

He’s not like Sirius. He couldn’t do this to any girl, can’t seduce like that, but it’s not any girl he touches. Your eyes go to swimming pleasure as he pulls you forward, edging downward to kiss you. You both taste of smoke, of drink, and it would put him off if there wasn’t something sweeter to be chased in your mouth. He kisses you like there’s no one at the table but you.

He’s had more to drink than he thinks. 

“You taste like jaeger,” you say, pulling away with cheeks he’d find hot if he were to cradle and a shy smile. 

“Do I?” 

“That’s a thousand times worse for you than those, you know.” You point at his quickly dwindling pack of cigarettes. 

Remus curls an arm behind your neck and kisses you again. James cheers, says, “Fuck, I wish Moony kissed me like that,” and Remus tries his best to ignore him, but you’re laughing. The kiss breaks.

“Just ask him nicely like I do,” you advise. 

“You know that doesn’t work!” James says, tipping his head back with a hand to the forehead. “I always ask him nicely, he just doesn’t want to kiss me. Must be something about you…” He gives a huge smile as he lifts his cider.  “Something I don’t have?” 

“Impossible,” Sirius says blithely, “you’ve everything, gorgeous boy.” 

“Something about you,” Remus echoes. 

You shake your head minutely, a silent warning. Don’t flirt with me, it says. Don’t torture me. 

“How do you want the answer?” Remus asks, sliding his arm back behind your shoulders, pulling your burning face against his neck. “I can give it to you in an essay or a list, but it’s an extensive explanation.” 

“Write it down for me.”

[jaylalolz]

❛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❜ p2 . . . charlie mayhew

INNOCENT!reader x PRIEST!charlie 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

PART 1

SUMMARY, after ignoring charlie for a week after the incident, he finally gets her close in the bathroom.

A/N, sorry i took way too long to make a p2. if you want a p3, leave some recommendations of what i should do for that part in my inbox bc i have no idea how to keep it going 😂 anyways, have fun reading, angels. 🪽🪽

WARNINGS, smuttyyyyy

Charlie had noticed the change immediately after their last conversation—the one where Maddy had admitted, with a tremble in her voice, that she had thought about him in ways she knew weren’t right. He had been shocked, then flattered, and finally, filled with guilt after everything. But what troubled him the most was her absence.

For a whole week, Maddy hadn’t spoken to him. She didn’t show up at mass, didn’t linger after church like she usually did. Every time he tried to reach out, she brushed him off with curt messages or avoided him entirely. She wasn’t just distant—she was actively ignoring him.

At first, Charlie tried to give her space, assuming that she needed time to process what had happened between them. But as the days passed, his concern grew. The gnawing guilt inside him—the feeling that maybe he had crossed a line, that maybe he had hurt her more than he realized—began to fester.

It wasn’t until late one evening, after most of the congregation had already left, that Charlie spotted her. Maddy, rushing down the hallway, her face flushed, disappeared into the restroom. The church was quiet, the echoes of footsteps fading, and Charlie hesitated for a moment before following her.

He knocked softly on the bathroom door. “Maddy?”

There was no response, but he heard a faint sniffle, the kind that comes after holding back tears for too long. Charlie’s heart clenched. He hesitated, not wanting to invade her space, but the sound of her pain pushed him forward.

“Maddy, please talk to me,” he said gently. “I know you’ve been avoiding me, but I can’t help you if you shut me out.”

There was a long pause, and then the door cracked open. Maddy stood there, her eyes red and puffy, but there was something hardened in her expression. She looked exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally.

“Why do you care so much, Charlie?” she asked, her voice thick with frustration and hurt. “I’m trying to keep my distance, like I’m supposed to. Isn’t that what you want?”

Charlie frowned, stepping closer. “What I want is to understand why you’ve been avoiding me. After everything we talked about, I thought we could work through this together, but you’ve been shutting me out completely.”

Maddy let out a bitter laugh, wiping at her eyes. “Work through this? Charlie, you don’t get it. I’m embarrassed. I told you something I never should have said, something unholy, we did something for which I will never be forgiven. And every time I look at you, I see the judgment in your eyes.”

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat, realizing the depth of her shame. “Maddy, no,” he said, stepping toward her, his voice softening. “There’s no judgment. I promise you that.”

“Then why does it feel like there’s a wall between us now?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Why did it feel like I crossed a line that I can’t uncross?”

Charlie closed his eyes, fighting the turmoil in his chest. He had wrestled with his own guilt all week, and now hearing hers, it was clear they were both lost in their own pain. He opened his eyes and met hers, his gaze steady.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly. “What you told me… it was honest. I do not regret what we did together, i am not ashamed of it.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face for any hint of dishonesty. When she didn’t find it, she exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

“So, why does it matter so much, Charlie? Why did we both make it feel like the end of the world?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Charlie ran a hand through his hair, taking a breath. “Because it’s hard, Maddy. It’s hard to admit that something’s there, something we both feel but can’t have. It’s hard because I want to help you through this, but I also… I’m fighting the same thoughts, the same distractions.” His confession hung in the air between them, heavy and real.

Maddy’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly. “You mean…?”

Charlie nodded, looking down. “I’m not immune to this. But I’m trying to stay strong for both of us. And ignoring me won’t make it go away. We have to figure out how to deal with this together.”

Maddy wiped at her eyes again, this time with less urgency, as if the weight of their shared secret had lightened slightly. “I don’t know how to make it stop,” she admitted, her voice small.

“Neither do I,” Charlie said quietly. “But I can help you, Angel.”

He stepped closer to her, trapping her exit from the restroom. His fingers interlocks with her hair as he pulls a strand behind her ear and grabbed her face and pulled her closer. “Tell me you don’t regret it, please” he says eagerly as he places his forehead on hers.

“Just Let me worship you”

Her head spins from the thousands of negative possibilities but her body just wants to surrender to him.

Without kissing her, he trailed his lips up her curve and exhaled till the heat tingled sensuously across her delicate skin. She closed her eyes, sensing his hands running up her sides over her white button-up blouse. He clasped his hands over the cloth, tracing a line up her hips and down the sides of her chest before finishing at the collar of the weightless material.

He made two hard fists out of the blouse collar and tore it open causing her to gasp in shock as the shirt split open to reveal her white lacy bra.

He turned to face her and grabbed her hips once again, the moment the door was locked. Before her thoughts could register, his lips dropped hungrily to her neck and her back collided with the wall. He brushed his teeth on her flesh right away, pressing his body against her while groaning.

Her hands instinctively gripped his hips, tossing her head to one side. They kissed for a long time, his sensual lips breathing heavily into her neck in between, making her eyes drift close. He thrust forward, bringing his hips to meet hers, offering whatever kind of pleasure he could. Her hands clenched around his hips over his pants, and she let out a sigh of pleasure.His hands trailed down her nude thighs, extending to her behind to seize it above the dress. He pulls her hips against his harder.

"I can't wait to take this dress off you." He graveled.

His words cause her core to ache and she arched her back further off the wall to feel his body against her even more. He takes the motion and decides to just pick her up instead. His hand reaches behind her thighs, where he raises her and surrounds her weak legs around his hips. Her back against the wall as their hips collided, she took a deep breath at the abrupt change.Now at eye level with her, he planted a kiss on her jaw and positioned himself between her legs. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she held him in place. She felt weak as a result of his forceful hip thrust between her legs.

She dug her hands into his hair and let out a cry through a pant. When she pulled it, he gave a grunt. He clamped down harder on her neck, and in response, she let out an uncontrollable whine.

He tightly clamped his teeth into a single area, creating such strong suction that she was certain it would leave a mark. She almost lost consciousness when she separated her lips in response to her aggressive action, arching her back. Feeling him rough on the pale skin, she reflexively jerked her hand to the back of his head. She got mild pain spikes with it, but other than that, it was enjoyable.

She pulled at the roots above his neck, and he whispered into her neck. She knew immediately that he enjoyed it when she yanked his hair. His moan provided the necessary stimulation between her legs. He drags out every motion so that she begs him to keep going.

With her bra and panties on, she arched her back, feeling the tight fit of his jeans pressing on her inner part. she could feel how hard he was becoming quickly, he was absolutely bottled up in those tight jeans. Suddenly, he sets her down on her two feet and goes on his knees. He lanced down at her stomach, licking his lower lip with his tongue before lowering his head to give her abdomen a moist kiss. Her whole body trembled at the light touch.

He reached her panties and raised his head, gazing up into her eyes all the way up her body. Grabbing the edges of her lace panties, he sits up between her legs and pulls it up off her hips and down her thighs right away. She tensed slightly as he took off the final piece of material covering her body. She raised her legs into the air and he pulled the thin material away from her ankles.

He tossed the last piece of clothing to the floor, leaving her completely vulnerable. “Now, you’re gonna be a good girl and stay quiet. we don’t want anyone to hear you”

Just by feeling his tongue running up her center, her stomach lurched and her entire body flexed. He forced his mouth against her tightly and rolled his tongue straight to the cluster of nerves before she could even begin to grasp the strange sensation of his sharp tongue sliding up her slit. "Charlie-" her back curved off the wall before she could even complete her statement.

Without holding back, he went straight into her clit with a wonderful rhythmic roll of his tongue. Her eyes narrowed as she closed them.

Her hips twitched with the intensity of this wild new feeling right away. "Charlie, oh my god," she said, rolling her eyes inside her head. He maintained a death grip on her thighs, keeping them forced open to give him complete access to enjoy her in any way he pleased. She was unable to regulate her sensitivity, and it would make her body twitch.

His wet tongue rolled in the perfect place at different rhythms and at a steady pace, making her experience things She have never felt in her entire life. He just started, and she was unable to catch her breath.Her hands would be death grasping his thick hair right now if she could control them.

He placed her legs over his shoulders, reaching lower and squeezing a firm grasp around her outer thighs and hip bones. With a deep inhale through his nose, he caressed her with his tongue, sending a surge of ecstasy up her neck and into her veins. With a moan, she chokes and throws back her head, putting her legs across his long back.

She wasn't prepared for the kind of pleasure he gave her when he slid his lengthy tongue inside of her and ran it down. He was an expert at what he was doing and was doing it very well. Then the knot in her stomach turned to give her trembling thighs. Before returning to her clit, which she could now feel pulsating, he slid his tongue in and out of her a few times. The pressure burning inside of her intensified as soon as he made touch with it once more.

She flinches and draws in a short breath as he flicks the tip of his tongue up and down on the bundle of nerves. "I need it so bad.. charlie..." She could not be silent in the room; she was a mess of heavy pants. She was unable to stop herself from breathing heavily and was always accompanied by whimpers and whines that were concealed in the back of her throat.

He looks down between them, his ring and middle fingers digging deep into her. He instantly coiled and shoved them at the same moment, making her gasp. She was taken aback by the furious action. He was panting as well, so she arched her back and let out a whimper into the thick air. The two fingers he didn't have rings on, his fingers rocked into her mercilessly.

She let out a cry, tightly clenching her eyelids and contorting her hips. He coiled up and compressed his fingers, striking a sensitive area within her which she had no idea contained so many nerve endings."You're so fucking tight-" In his deep voice, he whispered.

Her legs trembled as she yelled out, “please." "Does that feel good?" He rasps into the burning air while simultaneously caressing her clit with his fingers. Shutting her eyes tightly, she gave a nod. Her stomach felt like it was about to burst; there were no words to express the feelings she was experiencing.

"Do you feel that knot in your stomach, Angel?" He whispered, reading her thoughts.

She groaned and nodded once more, her chest heaving in a need for breath. "Use your words." More forcefully, he remarks, It was so difficult to focus on anything other than the euphoric rush coursing through her blood. “Y-yes." was her stutter.

"I'm adding a third." Before striking a third finger into her, he muttered. She let out a gasp as he pushed past the line, his third finger descending in unison with the other two. She let out a cry, her back automatically arching off the wall.

"Oh my god!" The pressure between her hips immediately increased as the third finger was thrust in, causing her to cry. her body came out in another sweat, her hips suddenly having a mind of their own when they bucked.

He glanced up at her face, saw how shaken she was getting, her legs trembling with her inability to remain silent. He pulled his hand away from her clit and instead brought it up to cover her lips because she was extremely loud. When the build started to get more tense, he began to shove his three fingers deep into her.

"Everyone is right next door." He smirks.

"You can yell into my hand."

With her eyes squeezed shut, she yelled into his big palm that was placed across her mouth. Her back continued to arch off the wall as the condition grew progressively deeper. She felt as though she were on a cloud and was at a loss for words regarding what was occurring to her body.

"Cum for me baby-" He encouraged, drawing his eyes into hers. He knew she was close.

She whimpered into his fingers, her body's gears shifting like a moving train. Her thighs trembled as though she was freezing, her stomach was drawn in, and her chest pumped fiercely. She kept screaming into his palm at the crushing strain that was killing her, and his fingers kept jamming into the same area.

Her entire body was tight; she was too weak to continue in this state for very long. She let out his muffled name in a scream and then abruptly stopped moving. Everything—shaking, arching, breathing—stopped abruptly.

She undid herself on his fingers. She moans at the feeling of emptiness as he pulls away. He puts a kiss on her forehead and adds, "I knew you would be such a good girl for me." She was still trembling from what had happened, so he gently placed her clothing and underwear on her.

She slid to the floor, tears spilling down her cheeks. The shame she felt was suffocating, wrapping itself around her until she could barely breathe.

“Maddy,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She shook her head, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice broken. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know why i’m crying”

Charlie was kneeling beside her before she could finish, his hands gentle as he reached for her. “Maddy, stop,” he murmured. “You don’t have to apologize”

She shook her head, tears still spilling down her cheeks. “It feels wrong, Charlie. All of this. I feel guilty for even wanting this.”

Charlie sighed, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. “I know. I feel it too. But guilt isn’t going to help either of us right now. We need to be honest with ourselves about what’s happening, and we need to figure out how to move forward.”

Charlie’s thumb gently wiped away one of her tears, his touch comforting but careful.

Maddy closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, even though part of her knew they shouldn’t be this close. But in this moment, she needed the comfort, the reassurance that she wasn’t alone in this guilt. That they would find a way through it, together.

[elalfywhore]

could you write a paige x reader with the brother's best friend trope?

•you guys didn’t never not like each other, it was your typical older brothers best-friend thing.

•you guys shared awkward “hi”s whenever you ran into each other at the store. when she came over to hang out with your brother there was never more than 20 words exchanged between the two of you.

•you always found her attractive, she was tall, lean and had a pretty face but, you were sure she hadn’t felt the same way considering you were just her bestfriends little sister to her.

•you would hear your brother and her talk about whatever fling she had, you didn’t try and listen too hard but you couldn’t help yourself.

• “bro you don’t even understand the brain this girl gave me.” you could hear her smack her lips with a laugh, the provocative words dripping from her mouth. your parents were gone for the weekend, and your brother had invited paige over to watch the game. you could hear them talking from the kitchen as you made dinner. “might’ve been good but she’s still not a ten” your brother fired back, “whatever bro, i’m gonna go grab another beer. you want one?” you can’t hear your brother respond but you can imagine he nodded at the blondes words.

•paige could always make you nervous, she always had this effect on you to where no matter what was happening you always looked like a deer in headlights when you saw her.

• “smells good.” her voice is softer than normal as she walks towards the fridge. “ ‘s just spaghetti.” you whisper, barley able to make eye contact. “that’s my favorite, y’know?” she opens the fridge, pulling two beers out. “yeah, it’s good.” you try and concentrate on the pot of sauce in front of you but when she doesn’t leave and her stare is intense on you, you can’t help but slightly turn your head towards her. “do you need something, paige?” she steps closer to you, getting close enough that you can feel her breath on her ear as she steps behind you. “you’re a real pretty girl, know that?” your breath hitches, she uses one hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, resting her head on your shoulder for but a second to whisper in your ear, “i would give anything to fuck you.”

NSFW BELOW!!!

•that night kinda blurred. your brother had one too many beers and passed out on the couch, you were already up in your room. paige saw the opportunity and took it.

•the hard part for paige wasn’t convincing you to spread you legs and lay back for her, the hard part was getting you to be quiet.

• “shhh, don’t wanna wake him up.” paige whispered from between your thighs. your ass was pulled to the edge of the bed and she was on her knees on the floor. she had your legs pushed back as far as they could go, leaving your dripping, warm, wet pussy on display for her. “mm’ sorry, just feels s’ good.” you whine, slapping your hand over your mouth as she licks a stripe up your pussy. you watch as she spits on your pussy before sticking her tongue out, rubbing it up and down your pussy and shaking her head in it. “oh-oh my god baby, feels so good.” you whimper, “feel good, princess?” she teases, sticking two fingers in and taking your clit into her mouth.

•there was something fun about sneaking around with paige, she made it clear after that night it wasn’t a one time thing but she couldn’t risk your brother knowing yet.

•you guys sneak in little kisses and make out session whenever you can.

•if your brother gets up to go to the bathroom while you guys are watching tv, she’s defiling you for the few minutes he’s gone. shoving her tongue down your throat, her hand grazing your pussy under your pj shorts, the other hand groping your tit.

•the first time you ever fingered paige had been about 2 weeks since your guys’ first hookup and it happened on your couch while your brother was showering to get ready to go to some party with paige.

• “that’s it, pretty girl.” paige bites her lip, one of her hands buried in your hair, slightly pulling and the other hand teasing your nipple that was exposed from your tank top being pulled up. you moan at the sight, your middle and ring finger being swallowed by her, her jeans and boxers pulled down just enough for you to be able to do this. “you’re so hot.” you whimper, the sound of her wetness reacting to your fingers being drowned out by the tv. “you’re the hot one, baby.” she mumbles, pushing your head towards hers, putting her lips to yours. she moans into your mouth as your fingers speed up. “i’m gonna cum baby, keep going.” she bites her lip, your noses touching and eyes staring into eachothers. “cum for me baby, wanna taste you please.” you talk her through it. her body twitches as she bites back a moan and you feel a stickiness start dripping from her, a tall tale sign. you pull your fingers out, shoving them in your mouth making her throw her head back with a smile, biting her lip watching you.

• when she does go out with your brother, she’s texting you like the whole time, reassuring you she’s not talking to other girls.

•she’s super thoughtful, she always sends you cute texts, she holds doors open for you, buys you things even when she doesn’t have too.

•it felt like a dream being with paige, and you had never intended on your brother finding out. especially not so soon, knowing it could put an end to things with paige if he knew.

•paige was killing your shit from the back. when she texted you to come over you weren’t expecting her to have a plastic dick attached to her but it was a pleasant surprise. “that feel good, huh? little fucking slut.” she moaned at the sight of your plump ass clapping against her hips. “feels s’ good, fuck daddy don’t stop.” you feel yourself becoming more wet when she puts one of her legs up on the bed, foot planting on it. her grip tightens on your hips and she fucks into you, her stamina and athleticism showing. “you love. this. dick. huh baby, you love it pretty girl?” her thrusts match her words. “love this dick so much daddy, fuck me harder, please.” you moan, face shoved into the pillows, looking and sounding like something out of a porn. that was until the door opened.

•it was an embarrassing moment as much as it was quick. the door opened and closed in a flash. you and paige rushing to get ready. you weren’t sure what was worse, your brother seeing that for a split second or having to explain how your sexual relationship with his bestfriend started.

•it took him a while, like months to come to terms. once the secret was out paige and you made things official after some back and fourth, considering the circumstances. things got better after that, he accepted things for what they were as long as you guys promised to lock the door.

[wearysparrows]

My First, My Only, My Last

ao3/masterlist

Summary: With the passing of time, your dragon has grown to expect your touch. He is like clay in your hands, and you mould him.

CW: fluff, cuddling & snuggling, some suggestive themes, you caress your dragon, very touchy feely, dragon Sylus, no use of pronouns or Y/N 1K

As of late, your dragon had begun to change.

Not of his physicality – he still radiates an imposing heat, sharp edges ready to eviscerate anything that comes too close. Lives shudder and end tremulously under his claws.

Well, all except for yours.

No longer was he wary of your approach. He welcomed it, pulling you closer with the powerful muscles of his tail, as if he could crush you to himself and make two into one. His gifts, too, changed with him. Instead of gold – flowers whose blooming you had never known, the songs of birds, delicacies from far away lands. Things you knew he desired to share and understand, together.

You approach him, now. He was lounging much the same way he did when you had first met – on a throne cast in stone. Since your arrival, however, it had been covered with the softness of furs and silks to aid in your comfort. The only light in the cave came from flickering sconces adorning the walls. His shadow flutters underneath them.

He supports his head with one hand, and the tip of his tail twitches to and fro at the sound of your approach. He turns over to face you. The mark of his teeth on your neck stutters with the briefest of pains. As you come within his proximity, his tail slips around to the small of your back, and bids you come closer, as if your pace wasn’t quick enough for him. It stays there, caressing your spine with its heat. In the flash of his eyes you see his barely concealed amusement, excitement at your encroachment on his space. His youth.

“Approaching a dragon with nothing to defend yourself? How bold.”

His voice, bereft of malice, and full of tender warmth. You kneel onto the throne beside him, notching yourself between the gentle curve of his legs and torso. He makes room for you, and his tail follows your movements, now curled possessively around you. You feel the scales of it touch the soles of your bare feet.

“I have no fear.”

His quiet laugh reverberates through his chest and into you from where your forms connect. You take one of his hands into your lap. He lets you.

“Are you certain that’s wise?”

His hand uncurls and curls around nothing in your lap. The collective warmth of your bodies pools beneath you through the furs, warming your calves.

“I have no need for wisdom. I know you as I know myself.”

You massage the soft web of a junction between his thumb and index finger, encouraging the muscles there to loosen under your touch. The same motion is repeated between each tendon – index and middle, middle and ring, and ring and pinky. The scaley pads of his palms were like leather softened with age and use – well loved. His fingers twitch reflexively as you maneuver them. He carefully avoids puncturing your skin with the sharpness of his claws.

“What is the purpose in this?”

You hear the ingenuousness in his question. He doesn’t pull away.

“Pleasure.” You say.

A word he understands. This seems to compel him, and he rolls onto his back. His hands wrap around your waist, and deposit you into a straddle on top of him. His hold on your middle doesn’t cease. His back is supported by the stone arm of the throne behind him, and only a few inches of space is left between your faces. Gone were the usual slits of his pupils, now blown wide with a blackness that nearly dwarfed the ruby of his eyes entirely.

“Like this?” He accentuates the statement with a roll of his hips into yours, eliciting a responsive heat from your body. You steady him underneath you, hands splayed on his chest. You had grown to understand that you were the first to touch him in a capacity that was free from violence. By his admission, he had only known the sensation of suffering, even by his own hand. You reach up, letting your palms drift over the grit of his horns. Black, and wrought like iron. You rubbed them at the base with your thumbs where they met his skull, disappearing into the softness of sterling hair. He rattles out a purr of surprise underneath you, but doesn’t stop your attentions. His neck bends towards the touch, and you slip your hands up, up, wrapping your fingers around the bony protrusions. They fit perfectly, like the spaces there were made for your hands alone. You feel his hands around your wrists, then, and he directs them from his horns to his face. You cup it. Barely restrained heat colors his cheeks.

“Only you would dare to tease a fiend.”

There’s breathlessness in his words that he tries to conceal. His grip drops from your wrists and returns to your waist. He presses you into him again. You laugh brightly, feeling his interest make itself known underneath you.

“It’s not teasing. It’s adoring.”

You drag your nails up and down the plate of scales on his jaw, and the muscles underneath it flex in response. His nostrils flare at the combination of your words and your touch. You drop your hands to his chest again, and drag a finger around the contours of the gem that thrums with his lifeforce. His blood rushes in and out of it there, a tiny microcosm of life. He shudders, a quiet gasp escaping him. His purr continues to rumble, and though you know it comes from within him, the sound is so inhuman that it's hard to believe he produces it. His tail wraps around your entirety, replacing his hands at your waist. He sits up, his breath just a ghost against your lips.

“It’s my turn to adore you now, then.”

Your dragon learns that there are pleasures of all kinds. Those that excite the senses, invigorate the mind, and electrify the skin. He learns the pleasure of the mundane, too – the crunch of residual volcanic ash under foot, the ground warmed by its activity. The radiant flash of a fish in deep waters. A name that can’t be pronounced, given anew. He learns to share in pleasure, to become one in all ways. The arc of two souls no longer separated by flesh. He learns and merges, and the place where he begins and you end ceases its existence, and there is only the one song left behind in its wake.