#The proof is left as an exercise to the reader

[nerdymemes]

[makirinawa]

.

[rabbiteclair]

love to deploy something to production while telling the head of engineering "listen, when you guys built this thing about a decade ago you didn't make it capture any metrics, so I had to really guess about the throughput, and if I got it wrong then it will explode horribly in the morning, but the good news is that I'm the one on-call so it's ultimately my problem if that happens anyway"

[podcast-hemocytoblast]

Spiral Leitner but it’s just a university mathematics textbook where every single proof is “left as an exercise for the reader”

[evil-jennifer-hamilton-wb]

To be honest, I don't think this proof is very trivial, Karl.

[i-iii-iii-vii]

[incognit0slut]

Devil’s advocate

Softcore Spencer doesn't feel any remorse when it comes to this strange arrangement involving sex. Neither do you.

Category: Smut (18+) Word count: 3.6k Content: fem!reader, dom!spencer, bratty reader if you will, implied age gap, unprotected p in v, spit kink, overstimulation, squirting, and kinda fwb or (more precisely) not-exactly-friends with benefits a/n: it took me more than 3 months to post again and it will probably take me another for the next post (kidding) (maybe not). try to imagine this spencer for a better experience

-

Spencer isn’t a good man.

A quiet verdict, a fault line.

A truth etched into the grain of his being that is unmoved no matter how many times people say otherwise.

He’s made a habit of the dissection — words, meanings, intent. A lexical autopsy, combing through every definition in the dictionary if it meant finding just one that could give weight to the well intentioned affirmations spoken by those who’ve shared his life through fourteen years of cases. From friends to mentors. From people he considers family. Even his mother has taken part in the exercise in her own way, quietly revising the definition of goodness to fit the shape of her son.

His love for her isn’t enough to convince him.

And he loves her, deeply, enough to bear the fragmented reality she clings to without complaint. Still, her confidence sounds like a desperate attempt to defend a virtue that, as far as he can tell, simply doesn't exist. Her faith in him is stubbornly rooted in wishes rather than proof. Pretty, fragile things wilting from reality. She doesn’t see the cracks hidden behind the glassy surface of his supposedly endearing charm.

Like most people never do. The brilliance of his brain blinds them. They think his mastery of facts or ability to weave information into careful answers is a reflection of some deeper moral foundation. Assuming that the man who can recite obscure case law from memory and deconstruct a lie with nothing but tone and syntax must also be someone incapable of harm. That someone who thinks in algorithms surely knows the difference between right and wrong and essentially follows it. Articulate, therefore righteous.

What lazy math that they run.

The truth, however, is far less romantic.

If there’s anything genuinely good left in him, he likes to believe it’s the act of waiting. Patience still sounds noble enough. It casts him as a silent benefactor, gifting others the space to sketch their own truths while he quietly collects their misconceptions and spends them like counterfeit bills.

He’s getting good at it, too.

Exchange his intelligence for wisdom.

Detachment for strength.

Emptiness for depth.

Little trades, so small and constant they almost feel natural now. As long as he keeps showing them the version they’ve come to accept, no one pauses to wonder if those long months locked inside his own head have carved him down to something less than whole. Selfish, perhaps, letting them cling to these illusions. But it’s a comfortable deception. They get the man they want, he keeps the truth to himself, paying nothing but time and silence for whatever reward comes from that carefully preserved silence.

After all, waiting is nothing more than delayed gratification, isn't it?

And this right here is what he’s waited for, to have you like this — warm and wet and dangling precariously off his bed.

A decadent reward for every second of restraint.

Purely carnal. Blasphemous in its perfection.

Your body curves at an angle that looks uncomfortable, a leg hooked over his shoulder, another barely hanging onto the edge of the mattress with the cool air licking your calf. Common sense tells him a complaint is warranted, yet not a murmur of discomfort escapes your pretty lips. You seem perfectly content to let him mold you into whatever shape he wants. Harmless, he insists, just a mutual indulgence between two consenting adults.

But morality has a way of souring sweet things — and maybe he should be ashamed.

Should be embarrassed at the way he finds satisfaction in this.

Should feel something other than pride watching your brows pinch together in pleasure.

Should care that he’s reduced to fucking you with all the desperation of a man who likes being selfish. It’s statistically uncommon for someone with his level of empathy, yet he stitches hunger into the tender curve of your body, scoring endless sensation with needles that prick and sting but never draw enough blood to slow him. Only if he distanced himself from you could he see the cruelty he’s gouging into the very seams of your skin.

He does no such thing.

He can’t. Not when he’s buried inside you like this, when your breath splits apart into fragile little pieces with weak fingers clawing at his back. Not when his selfishness feels bottomless, a craving so raw and wide and insatiable he's never dared give it a name — but somehow you seem to understand.

Understand what, though?

That he can’t help himself? That despite all the logic, all the reasons why he shouldn’t let himself have you, he does?

That he doesn’t regret it, not even a little?

No.

Good men don’t do this.

But you’re no saint either.

Innocence wears your face, but never fit so poorly. You’re trouble in its finest form — beautifully packaged, masterfully delivered with a smokey laugh that glides over the fine shiver pebbling across his skin as you offer a sly, “You’re getting sloppy.”

The smug little curl of your lips has his heart leaping in his throat, and he would have joined in your laughter if it weren’t for the way your breathless tone slithered into his ears. His brows draw together, sweat dripping down nose as he shakes his head to free the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.

“Am I?”

“Mm.” You tip your head back against the bed, exposing the lovely curve of your neck. "Your age is starting to show.”

He finally huffs a laugh, lowers the leg hooked over his shoulder and trails up the inside of your thigh. “That’s not very nice.”

Your teeth briefly catch your lower lip.

“Neither is slowing down right when it’s getting good.”

“You think I’m slowing down?”

You faintly nod. “It’s actually cute how you’re pacing yourself. Should I be worried about your knees?”

That earns a sharp, almost affronted look before his palms grip both your inner thighs, followed by a sudden thrust that sends you back against the mattress. He thinks he’s regained some semblance of power over himself, until you let out a breathless little moan and continue to taunt him, arching your back with full insolence but only half the mockery. Docile in appearance alone when you’re flaunting your nipples in blatant invitation.

“That the best you can do?”

A hand flies to your breast, curling around the supple meat as he catches the stiff bud between his knuckles. “You’re acting brave tonight.”

“Sexually frustrated,” you admit with an exasperated sigh, rolling your hips. Urging him to move again. “Spent the whole day picturing you fucking me stupid and got exactly nothing.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

Nothing feels almost insulting considering how easily he coaxed you through his apartment.

He tries to bend lower, and sure enough, there’s something that feels suspiciously like age nipping at his lower back. A dull throb he quickly swallows as his mouth find your nipple. And toys with it, rolling the taut peak between wet tongue and wetter teeth, each slow suck a deliberate rebuttal that the way he’s been driving his cock into you for the past twenty minutes is anything but nothing.

Your fingers slip into the softest surface of hair.

“Fuck me harder.”

He turns his attention to your other nipple. “That still wasn’t enough for you?”

“If you have to ask, then clearly not.”

His mouth closes around you again, laps slow, teasing circles, all the while you grind your hips, shamelessly trying to fuck yourself with every delicious tug of his lips.

Instinctively, he starts rutting his hips in response. Little thrusts of his cock easing inside you inch by inch. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I have every intention of finding out,” you counter, pulling him by his curls. “I know you can do better.”

His gaze touches yours.

You smile lazily.

“Go on. Show me.”

His eyelids dip in a slow, dangerous blink, and lets his nose brush the soft swell of your breast. Lingers. Smells the powdery scent of jasmine and honey consuming his senses.

What part of himself can he exchange this time? What currency of half-truths still has any value left?

The answer, adamantly, is etched in the narrow space of his mouth and your skin, a hush too charged to disguise. He doesn't think he owes you anything in counterfeit tonight. No borrowed patience. No repurposed kindness polished thin by repetition. The second you ask for more when he’s been giving you nothing less is the moment every polished veneer he’s spent years perfecting shatters like chipped glass.

So he gives you the one thing he’s never bartered — himself, stripped of caution.

Because no matter how many labels others slap on his name, you’ve never bought into a single one.

Not entirely. You catch the edges that don’t quite align, the rougher layers hidden beneath his careful composure. You see past the softness everyone assumes is the entirety of him, the reputation they’ve stitched together from fragments pieced carefully since he was an innocent young boy with oversized glasses and a penchant for knowledge.

Rationally, he is soft. He’s spent a lifetime wrapped in the belief that his gentleness is his sole trait. That it’s all he can embody.

But not with you.

With you, he's whatever he needs to be.

He's whatever he wants to be.

He pulls back just enough to watch your body seize around him, and drags his tongue over his chapped lips, tastes the salt of effort and the musky smell of sex before channeling what’s left of his energy into his core. Then fucks you harder. Shoving every inch back with a strangled noise of his own, savoring the tight pull of your dripping cunt. Relishing the slight roll of your eyes as he pushes deeper, harder, with a savagery that rips breathless whimpers from the back of your throat with each jarring thrust. 

Your moans ride every groaning hinge of the mattress, too, then linger, fogging the dark walls of his room as the wet slap of skin bounces off every surface. Stepping three beats out of time with reason, maybe more, for the way his eyes chase that music down the slope of your belly, following the trail of his thumbs over your mound, over your stretched folds, and pulls the soft skin apart.

His throat rises and falls in time with the motion of his cock — in, out, in, out. For someone so famously averse to germs, the streaks of your slick smearing across his skin outweigh every compulsion, so much so he pries you open even wider and lets a hot ribbon of saliva pool in his mouth. Watches it dribble over your clit. He’s nowhere near coherent enough to care about cleanliness when he can tell how much the slow trickle of his spit sliding down your swollen flesh — a foamy mess now resting heavily on his cock — only seem to intensify your thirst.

You squirm when he moves closer, fingers clawing around his wrist like you’re on the verge of asking for more but can’t bring yourself to say.

Stubborn, he's not surprised.

But he knows you well enough to understand the subtle shifts in your expression. He takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a plea for him to give you what you need, so he smears the extra coat of lube over your clit and rubs frantically. Doesn’t bother to be gentle with it too, not when he’s seen how much you like it under rough hands. He’s proven right when he notices your muscles tensing up.

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

He rubs your clit with more pressure. “Good enough for you?”

You swallow thickly, blinking up at him through heavy lids. “Still—fuck—”

“What was that?”

“Still—think you can—do better,” you retort, hiccupping through your words. 

It’s beyond him that you’re still functioning. Your hair clings messily to your forehead, damp strands caught in a tangled halo around your face. Your cheeks are blotchy from where his stubble scraped across your skin, lips kiss-bruised and swollen and somehow still trying to get the last word.

You should be done by now. Boneless, reduced to little more than trembling limbs, yet you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. There’s a spark of energy left to bait him. Foolish, he decides, but if there’s even a sliver of you left untouched, he’ll gladly take every fragment that dares to surface.

He wrenches off your body just long enough to fist his cock, dragging his bulbous tip through the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath, then slaps himself through the mess. If it weren’t for your hips bucking shamelessly, he’d think he was wrong for indulging such filthy impulses he’s never dared to overstep. You can’t seem to discern whether the sharp throb is pain or pleasure, but your cunt flutters around emptiness and aches like it's grieving the loss of him.

One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s right back where you need him, hammering into that devastating spot that sends your pupils scattering upward, leaving nothing but the whites of your eyes. He pulls out and does it again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until he’s certain all your senses have braided into one indistinguishable pulse.

“Oh God,” you moan, trying to press your thighs together out of reflex, but his grip tightens as he pries them open once more.

You feel lightheaded. Your belly rolls, your cheeks burn, drool slips from the corner of your mouth. You’re so far gone you don’t even notice. Too wrapped up in the desperate drag of breath through your parted lips, too busy chasing the dizzy spark bursting behind your eyes. You’re nothing short of raw nerves, lost in the punishing rhythm that keeps tearing you open and stitching you together in the same brutal stroke.

It doesn’t take long for a high, agonizing squeal to wrench free from your throat as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Steals your breath away, leaving behind only a splintered string of gasps and trembling cries that fall recklessly from your lips as his pelvis hammers into the curve of your hip bone.

And he catches every fractured syllable and synchronizes his thrusts to the quiver of your voice, or maybe he’s simply addicted to the jagged rise and fall of your moans — like a direct stroke to his ego, trophies he hoards greedily.

He ponders how many more of those rewards he can coax from you tonight, how many more heights your body can scale before it finally gives way. He assumes it’s too much to ask, yet the greedy pulse in his veins insists there’s always more shiver to claim, another breathless note to add to his growing collection.

It turns out to be unnervingly easy.

Your second climax arrives in the span of a single heartbeat.

The third steals in like an electric stab, splintering along your spine as he pins you down and pounds hard into you.

By the fourth, your cunt swells and clenches around him in frantic pulses, yet he’s still fucking you relentlessly as if one more keepsake will finally satiate his greed.

Your hand shake when you lift one to trace his bicep, though it ends up as more of a twitchy pawing than anything resembling grace before you blindly scramble up his shoulder, finding his damp mess of curls again. Its wild, humid knot of heat tangles between your fingers as the most wrecked little whine trembles in your throat.

“P-Pee.”

He blinks, straining to pluck your voice over the rush in his ears. The words barely register at first, but when they do, his own pulse comes apart in a hot scatter mess.

“Need to pee,” you fluster again.

And if that doesn’t unravel him to his bones, he doesn’t know what will.

He tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs. “‘S not pee.”

“What?”

The confusion in your voice is almost cute for someone who usually acts like they know everything. Adorable how you’ve been nothing but provocative all night, only to falter gradually.

“You don’t need to pee,” he rasps. The grip behind your knees tightens, fingers digging into soft flesh as he drives deeper with all the focus he can muster. He’s holding back by sheer will alone now, even when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut creeps up, but that ache is a small price to pay when he’s painfully aware of what your body is capable of giving.

His cock strikes a deep, delicious spot inside you.

Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck,” you croak. “I’m gonna piss your bed.”

“It’s not pee.”

His words barely register when your whole body winds so tightly that your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. Eyes unfocused, spine bowing, throat bared. The muscles in your neck tighten like cords that it’s clear you’re still trying to fight whatever pressure you’re under.

“You need to relax,” he urges, finding your clit once again. Wide eyes flutter over intense brown orbs.

“Wait wait wait—gonna pee—”

“You’re gonna come again,” he corrects. He sees you puff out a long breath, which is nothing less strained than his own. “Female ejaculation, different glands. Less than—”

His words catch in a groan as your cunt flutters around his thickness.

“…less than ten percent of the fluid is even related to—to urine.”

Annoyed, you tug on his curls and whine, “This isn’t the time.”

“No better time than now.” His hips continue to buck into you with a sharp, hungry rhythm. “You’ll understand if you stop fighting it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can.” Thwack-thwack-thwack. “You will.”

The sound of his balls slapping against the wet cradle of your ass is making you delirious. Even more so when a warm, buzzing sensation sparks in your core and rushes outward, blooming into this intense prick that spreads across your lower belly with startling speed.

“Oh—shitshitshit—”

“That’s it, just breathe through your nose.”

His words falls on deaf ears. “I-I can’t hold it any longer.”

“You’re not supposed to hold it in.”

"I—wa—wait—Spencer!”

“Let it out,” he frets, and closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads nearly touching, brows pulling together in quiet frustration. “Need you to trust me for once.”

“I don’t—fuck! I am NOT pissing on you—”

“Do it.”

“I can’t—”

“C’mon,” he prods. “Give it to me.”

You sniff a strangled sob.

“Do it.”

You claw at his hair once more, and any semblance of control that you clung to shatters immensely.

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding. A passage of whines pitches upward as his thumb swipes side to side over your tight nub while he slams into you. Once, twice, over and over — until a concentrated surge of pressure around his cock urges him to pull out.

Warm bursts of liquid splashes onto him. Streaks down his damp thighs, the flushed skin of his skin. Seeps deep into the cotton fabric of his sheets with muffled sounds as your heart thunders wildly in your chest. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile that pulls at his mouth the second your eyes flicker with disbelief, or the lazy circle his thumb traces around your sensitive, overstimulated clit. He’s too focused on the way your release continues to mark the bed he intends to sleep in.

"There it is,” he hums proudly, "knew you could do it."

He did. He knew this would happen the moment your breath stuttered into helpless little gasps, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. His lust blooms unchecked, a fever behind molten eyes, something his vision can’t seem to outrun. Even as his gaze blurs over your dripping hole puckering around nothing, over the tiny bead of precum trickling down your cleft, he’s stunned into silence.

You’re a ravishing mess, and he’s never seen anything so pretty.

You’re on another level of divine that it makes something in his head tick just from the sight. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously inserts himself back through the warm puddle of your flesh, and swears he can still feel you fluttering. Feels the tremor in your sweet, sopping cunt. Hears the faint splatter of droplets beating the sheets with every deliberate stroke of his hips.

He’s long since fallen behind in being a good man, but you certainly deserve something in return for listening to him. So he reaches out, cradles your face between palms that have never claimed to be gentle, and drinks deeply. Tries to steal back the breath you robbed from him.

Kiss, taste, repeat.

Touch, grab, repeat.

But it’s not enough.

He doesn’t think it ever will be.

The dopamine surge won’t last, a notion as clear as the haze of your sweat gluing to his skin. He’s even sure he could rattle off half a dozen papers about reward circuits and compulsive behavior, recite the exact millisecond window in which the pleasure centers will spike and fall. None of it matters when your mouth parts for him and your breath warms his cheeks.

He tries to catalog the way your pulse thumps beneath his thumb, the microscopic tremor in your lashes, the sweetness of carbon dioxide exhaled against his tongue. It becomes another unsolved equation, a tangle of variables his doctorate never prepared him to parse. There’s only the thunderous beat of his own heart and the simple, staggering fact that you’re here, giving when he has taken so much.

But there is no safe dosage of you that will let him step back unscathed. One hit becomes two, two becomes habit, soon habit feels indistinguishable from necessity. An addiction he can’t refuse when it would only mean denying himself the only thing that makes him feel alive.

And if that makes him weak, he might as well be weak for you — again and again until there’s nothing left of him that doesn’t carry the imprint of your name. To ruin or to worship, it makes no difference to him.

He’ll fall to his knees just the same.

Your pulse begins to settle into a calmer rhythm in the hush that follows, and he scatters small kisses along the corner of your jaw, up the sweep of your cheekbone, pausing at the hinge of your lips. The gentle weight of his mouth has you shifting along wet sheets, every muscle tensing at the unexpected softness threaded through his touch.

Tenderness, in your world, feels foreign. Unfamiliar. Ill-fitting. And truthfully, he isn’t much better when it comes to you. Sharper tongues seem to be the better fit for two people who know how to fight more than they know how to surrender.

His lips skate beneath your chin instead, slides along the sweat slick column of your throat and hums, “Think you can do that again?”

Avoidance. It’s the language you both speak fluently.

The stiffness in your body bleeds out with your next exhale.

“…depends on your skill, old man.”

That's it. He can take another one of your barbed little comments. Another sly jab delivered with that pretty pout of your mouth. In fact, he finds himself almost craving it. Your taunts fuel the heat beneath his skin as much as they test his patience, and patience is something he's mastered after all. So he continues to grind his hips. Rubs the tip of your clit with the fine coarse of hair dusting his belly before you’re writhing again.

Peculiar, how easily his selfishness devours reason. Logic. Decorum. How quickly a man who’s built his life on discipline can find himself unraveling for something as simple and devastating as the way you gasp his name.

A good man would’ve stopped at the soft mist pooling in your eyes.

Spencer keeps going.

"If a God is a dog and a man is a fraud then I'm a lost cause." Devil’s Advocate—The Neighbourhood

[playg0d]

about you | a carmen berzatto x reader songfic

summary: you’re the one carmen can never let go of, no matter how hard he tries. based on the 1975 song.

wc: 8k

warnings and tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, swearing, claire mentions, some spoilers for s4

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first work in a long long time so i took it as a pen exercise, trying to write for the biggest tv crush i've had in a while to one of my favorite songs. i got so carried away with it beware 💀 i had to get my feelings out after watching s4 y'all!!

i know a place. it's somewhere i go when i need to remember your face.

he opens his eyes in the middle of his dark room. just like that. no reason, no sound. just awake.

it’s been happening a lot lately. so often that he doesn’t even get annoyed anymore. waking up before the alarm, his body already heavy with the weight of the day ahead. tired in a way that no sleep seems to fix. his muscles ache from another late night at the restaurant, a few hours of rest never enough to undo the strain. and he hasn’t even moved yet.

carmen blinks hard, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes, gaze settling on the window. it’s still dark out. only the orange streetlights casting vague shapes across his room, giving the shadows some kind of meaning.

his brain starts doing that thing again. jumping ahead, building the day's list before he can stop it. the stress creeps in before he even leaves the bed. he’s already forgotten something, he knows it. already late for something, even if the clock says otherwise. he can hear sugar’s voice in his head like it never left: did you check the budget i sent last week? how are we supposed to keep paying all these people if you won’t even sit down and read it? did you know jimmy’s supposed to come this week to talk about—

his alarm cuts in.

too loud. too sharp. especially in all this quiet.

he grabs the phone from the nightstand, silences it before it can ring more than a few seconds.

once the room goes still again, a bit of clarity returns. not peace, exactly, but something close. he exhales slowly through his nose, thumb still resting on the phone, and unlocks it. his fingers move without thinking. open messages, scroll down. the screen lights up, casting a cold glow across his face. it’s your thread.

this. this is another thing he’s been doing too much lately. and he doesn’t really know how to stop. at this point, he’s pretty sure it’s veering into something unhinged. obsessive. like he’s clinging to something that’s not there anymore and pretending it is.

you: the future looks bright chef!

that was the last message. weeks ago.

he frowns, but scrolls anyway. because this small, digital space, this ghost of a connection, is all he has right now. and somehow, it brings him a weird kind of comfort. not the real thing. not even close. it’ll never be the same as seeing you walk into the restaurant every day, laughing at something richie said, your perfume hanging in the air like a memory he doesn’t know how to let go of. but it’s something. and he’ll take something.

he stops on a selfie you sent from that birthday party. friend-of-a-friend. he remembers you whining about it the day before, pouting in that way that always made something in his chest loosen. you’d told him you didn’t want to go, that your friend had begged you to come so she wouldn’t be alone.

trying to hang on to any kind of connection outside of work, he’d boldly and very stupidly, asked you to send a selfie. for proof, he’d texted. he cringes now just thinking about it. what the hell was he doing? trying to be smooth? that wasn’t him. it never would be. he’d freaked out for a full half hour, especially when the word read sat quietly under his message, taunting him.

until your reply came in. a photo of your face. cheeks flushed, a mischievous smile aimed straight at him, eyes shining.

you looked so pretty. all dolled up for your night out with your friends. and he wanted to say just that. god, he almost did.

but he didn’t.

too much of a coward. too afraid of saying the wrong thing, of being rejected. of crossing a line. because at the end of the day, you were still one of his employees.

so instead, he reacted with a thumbs-up emoji and went to bed, heart racing, already half dreaming of you.

he keeps beating himself up in the shower, replaying everything he could’ve done differently. wishing he’d kept the conversation going. asked you what the hell you meant, talking about the future like you weren’t planning to be in it. it follows him through the morning. into the chill of the city streets, the L train, the walk to work. chicago isn’t fully awake yet and neither is he. just noise in his head and cold in his lungs.

he tries not to think too hard about the fact that you’re still on his mind.

but you are.

we get married in our heads. something to do while we try to recall how he met.

if richie knew, he probably would’ve laughed and called you a dumbass. after having a heart attack.

you knew richie loved carmen. despite all the shit he talked, all the complaints about his insane work ethic and the new way he ran the restaurant. you knew it. but you also remembered the way he used to go off about how carmen needed to get a fucking grip if he ever wanted to let someone close. because no way in hell that was gonna end well. not with how he was. that person would probably end up running for the hills. 

so yeah, you did start to feel a little worried when you noticed how your palms got sweaty anytime carmen leaned in to talk to you about something completely mundane at work. how the tiny hairs on your neck would stand up when he passed behind you, muttering “behind,” and placed a light hand on your back. 

you’d always felt so far removed from all the mushy romantic shit, so it was kind of shocking how your body kept reacting to this guy. it made you feel ridiculous, like some schoolgirl with a silly crush.

until time passed. and you started noticing how carmen watched you just as much as you watched him. how his voice would soften when he talked to you, how he’d leave his bad attitude at the door whenever he had to face you. how that hand on your back? it started lingering a little longer each time.

it didn't take long before you started to realize just how much carmy was your type. you hadn’t even known you had a type. but there he was. hard-working. completely focused on his craft. someone who actually cared about people. you saw it in the way he kept pushing syd, little by little, to be her best. in the way marcus lit up just listening to his stories about the insane dishes he’d worked on in those spectacular restaurants before he came here. how he was trying to turn that run-down sandwich shop into something meaningful for the sake of everyone who showed up every day to keep it alive.

and, yeah, it didn’t hurt that he was hot as all hell: wild curls, strong arms, that whole constantly-stressed-out genius thing. and those eyes.

falling in love with carmy had been so easy. you hadn’t meant to. richie’s voice echoed in your head from time to time, but honestly, you didn’t really care to listen. not once the two of you started to talk. really talk. 

he opened up about his brother. someone you only knew in pieces, through the fragments richie had shared. his own memories.

but one night, carm gave you his memories. he told you how much he looked up to mikey. how much he missed him.

to this day, you’re still not sure why he told you what he did, but he said it anyway. that he did go to mikey’s funeral. something richie never lets go. he’s always throwing it in carmen's face: you weren’t there, you fucking baby, you didn’t show up when it counted.

but carmen had shown up.

and you never told anyone.

he was intense, sure, but he could be so sweet. charming in that unintentional way that made it even worse. like how he thought you didn’t notice when he started changing up his schedule. taking breaks when you did. hanging around just long enough to keep the conversation going from the day before.

or maybe just to be there. to have those rare, quiet moments where it was only the two of you. no yelling, no tickets, no chaos. just silence and the way it wrapped around you both like it knew something neither of you had said out loud.

he made you feel too much.

and what made it even harder was how he kept responding to you. bar for bar. matching every glance, every shift, every subtle move. like he was just as caught up in it as you were.

you didn’t realize it until you were in too deep.

a night you still carry with you, when it was just you and carmy, the restaurant quiet after everyone had gone home. you were so drained from the long day, you couldn’t help flopping down on the bench in front of the lockers. carmy came out of the office and found you there, eyes closed, still sitting.

you thought he would grab his things and call it a night. but he didn’t move. maybe he didn’t want to disturb your peace.

when you opened your eyes, he froze.

you felt him watching you. of course you did. but you didn’t want him to stop. you wanted his eyes on you. always. you wanted him.

so when it was just the two of you, sitting in that quiet, feeling the tension like it was something alive between you, you reached out and took his hands.

his hands. god, how often had you thought about them? in passing, in silence, in the lonely hush of nights you didn’t want to spend alone. you ran your thumbs gently across his tattoos, the ink marking him with stories you hadn’t heard yet. you wanted to ask. you wanted to know all of it. but not now. not if it meant breaking the spell of this moment.

carmen looked down, confused at first. then he shifted, taking your hands this time, his fingers curling around yours.

but he didn’t say anything. just looked at you. his eyes held something you couldn’t read, like he was trying to tell you what he didn’t know how to express with words.

your heart was pounding so loud you swore he could hear it. 

and when he reached up, touched your face with the hand inked with the chef’s knife through the palm, you forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

you shouldn’t have let it get this far. shouldn’t have let it consume you like this.

you should’ve listened to richie.

you and i (don’t let go) we’re alive (don’t let go). with nothing to do, i could lay and just look in your eyes.

it started as a little comment here and there. a name you’d never heard before slipping out of fak’s mouth.

then came a conversation you overheard while working alongside richie, with fak buzzing around the place like always. they were talking about an old family friend. a girl. how she turned out amazing (“a doctor, can you believe it, man?”). how fak saw her again recently. how he wished things could go back to the way they were. back when all of them had the best times. the bestest times. with claire.

claire.

you had no idea who she was. you’d never seen her around the restaurant, and sugar had never mentioned her. neither had carmy.

if you hadn’t been so intrigued, you probably would’ve felt annoyed. all this talk, putting her on a pedestal. it couldn’t be that deep, right? still, you couldn’t deny the jealousy creeping in as you listened to richie go on about claire as well. how she’d helped him through… something. honestly, you’d tuned out halfway through. something from back before he and tiff split.

you didn’t want to care. you really didn’t. but eventually, curiosity got the better of you. you even asked sydney if she knew who this claire person was.

she didn’t. she was just as lost as you.

meanwhile, carmy was in peak stress, trying to transform his family's restaurant into a high-dining establishment. you could see how much it was weighing on him, so you did what you could to be there, even in that weird, undefined place where you both were. trying to see through the fuzzy lines of your relationship. you didn’t know what it was and how to call it. but you remained supportive, in the form of listening to him rant or go to the nearest home depot when the paint ran out.

he still gave you butterflies, even with everything he had on his plate. the pressure, the stress, the weight of trying to rebuild something from the ground up. it never kept him from making you feel seen. important. like you mattered.

you could still feel his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking and that alone was enough to set your heart racing.

and your conversations, they didn’t just continue, they evolved. they became deeper, more intimate. he wanted to know you, really know you. not just the surface-level stuff, but your dreams, your fears, the things you’d kept tucked away for years, unsure if anyone would ever really want to hear them.

so you let him in. slowly, carefully. and with every shared secret, every charged late-night exchange, you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something real growing between you. something worth holding on to.

it happened on a random day. nothing special about it. syd walked in with that look on her face, the one you’d come to recognize: frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, begging for a place to land. she didn’t even say hi before diving in, words spilling fast like they’d been waiting to escape her all morning.

“i finally figured out who claire is,” she said, tossing her tote bag onto a stool. “turns out she’s carmy’s sort-of childhood friend slash first love, which, by the way, i don’t even know what the hell's going on with them and they're already getting on my nerves. because now he’s distracted and i need him focused on this right here.” she waved her arms around the empty space to drive her point home.

you blinked, trying to process her words, but it felt like they hit you all at once.

you just stood there, frozen in the middle of the gutted kitchen, stripped bare for renovations.

your heart dropped.

you hadn’t seen that one coming.

wait (don’t let go) and pretend (don’t let go). hold on and hope that we’ll find our way back in the end.

he curses himself for telling fak he ran into claire at the grocery store. like fak was ever going to keep that to himself. now everyone knows. and everyone’s being weird. asking him a million questions about her, like he’s supposed to have some kind of plan. but he doesn’t. he hasn’t seen her in years. people expect him to pick up where they left off, but he doesn’t even know what that was, let alone what it’s supposed to be now.

carmy was painfully shy back then. when claire was around, always orbiting, always close but just out of reach. he never acted on how he felt. he just… pined, like a stupid kid. kept it all to himself. mikey used to tease him when he found those sketches in his notebooks. half-finished portraits of claire he never meant anyone to see. sugar would roll her eyes and tell him to man up, tell claire how he felt.

but he never did. and now, all these years later, people are acting like nothing’s changed. like he's supposed to feel the same. be the same. like some nice story about rekindled young love, which sounds great in theory, but in his case? those memories are laced with chaos. with the noise and mess of his old life. his life, period. it doesn't feel like something worth revisiting. he's not sure.

seeing claire again was nice. she was happy to see him, she remembered things he hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten. that part felt good. he won’t deny it. but this whole thing? it’s just one more thing added to the pile.

the renovations are behind schedule. jimmy’s breathing down his neck about the money. he can’t seem to get on the same page with syd. sugar’s riding his ass about everything from schedules to invoices.

and then there’s you. drifting further away from him every single day.

and that is what really stings. more than any of the rest of it.

he feels it all the time. in the little things. the small gaps where you used to be. the way your breaks never seem to line up with his anymore. how he used to find you already outside when he stepped into the alley, and now he just runs into you at the door, your break already over. he tries to catch your eyes in those moments, but you look down and walk past him like it’s nothing. like he’s nothing.

he watches you throughout the day, desperate for a sliver of connection. trying to catch you in conversation, even if it’s just something small. but you’re always busy. always somewhere else. always anywhere but with him.

and it’s killing him. he wonders if you’ve already figured it out, how fucked up he is. if you’ve seen too much and decided to back off before it’s too late. or maybe he overwhelmed you with the way he felt. crowded you, hovered over every little moment the two of you had. like he was one of those gross dudes who only came in to try and chat you up, get a peek at your ass and pretend it was about the food.

yeah. if you ever saw what was inside his head, you’d probably run.

because he craves you. constantly. and he’s done lying to himself about it. he likes you. likes being around you, likes how your mind works, the way you talk about things that matter. he loves that you don’t take yourself too seriously, but always seem to have the right words when someone’s in need. how you show up for your people without hesitation, no questions asked.

he loves your voice. your laugh. the way you look at him when you’re teasing, or when you’re serious. your silky hair, your pretty eyes, those pouty lips, and yeah, your body. that incredible body.

fuck. he’s lost count of how many times he’s imagined you underneath him, imagined how you’d sound, how you’d move, what it would be like to make you feel everything he’s been feeling.

he wants to give you that. all of it.

carmen hasn’t felt this way, this deep, this insane about anyone since… claire, maybe.

and he knows you felt it too. the something between you. it wasn’t just him. even if it was unspoken, it was there.

if he’s this wrapped up in you, then why did he catch tina and his sister talking like it’s obvious? like it’s real? 

“have you seen him? he follows her around like a lost puppy,” he remembers sugar laughing, sounding embarrassed.

“she’s not far behind,” tina has said, not missing a beat.

so why were you pulling away?

the answer became even harder to grasp the afternoon you walked into the office, clearly expecting to find just natalie. you startled slightly when you saw him sitting there too, then quickly masked it with a polite smile and a too-casual tone. said you had something to tell them both.

you were quitting.

a new opportunity had come up. sudden, unexpected, but too good to pass on. you said it aligned better with your professional goals, that it made more sense for where you were heading. your voice was soft, almost apologetic, sweet in that way that made it sting more. like you were trying to spare them, spare him, but still walking out the door.

his mind stopped registering your words after that. his body went still. mind blank. he kept his eyes down, too afraid to look up and see whatever expression was on your face. he just stared at the floor while you and sugar kept talking like everything wasn’t shifting underneath him. everything in him had gone still, cold.

he wanted to speak. to ask why. to understand. but the words sat heavy in his throat, unmoving. and as your voice trailed off and you turned to leave, his face flushed hot, his hands began to tremble. those early signs of panic tightening around his chest.

he should’ve followed you. should’ve asked what changed, what went wrong. why it suddenly wasn’t enough.

but he didn’t.

instead, he ended up in the back of the restaurant, alone, heart racing and breath caught in his lungs, trying to keep it together. hoping, praying, you’d show up like you always did. like you always had.

but this time, you didn’t.

and there was something about you that now i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.

you couldn’t forget the restaurant even if you tried.

richie had been on your case for days after you quit. texting, calling, refusing to believe it. it blindsided everyone, but it hit him harder than most. because it was you. you had each other’s backs in there. if something had been off, why hadn’t you said anything?

you did your best to ease his worry. said there was nothing wrong, nothing dramatic. gave him the same explanation you’d given sugar. and carmy, though you weren’t sure how much of it he’d heard.

you were moving on.

the restaurant had been good to you. more than good, sometimes. you met people who felt like family, and for a while, it really felt like you belonged. but you had to think about yourself too. your goals, your growth. and the new job? it was a step forward. a better fit for the direction you wanted to go. you kept reminding yourself of that.

still, you couldn’t ignore the way things had shifted in those final days. how often claire’s name came up. how often you saw carmy tense at the mention of it, even if he tried to hide it.

fak, richie, even people you’d never seen in the restaurant before were suddenly showing up, nudging him toward her. pushing him to give it another shot. telling him she was good for him, that he’d be crazy to let her go, that this was his chance.

and every time you heard it, something in you sank.

because no matter what you and carmen had shared in the quiet, in the glances, in the almosts... you didn’t have a history like that with him. not old memories tied up in childhood and old neighborhoods. maybe that’s what it came down to.

syd and marcus were still your friends, even outside of the restaurant, and you thanked the heavens for that. you’d found something real with them: true friendship. if the restaurant left you with anything, it was that.

they kept you updated, told you everything with bright eyes and proud smiles. how the new place was coming together. how different it all felt from where you started. not just the food, but the energy. the ambition. the chaos.

you loved hearing their stories. the quirky guests, the impossible nights, the small wins that made it all worth it. you could tell how much they loved it, even when it was hard. and you were happy for them.

they told you about richie too. how much he’d changed. you told them you’d seen it too, because you still saw richie. he was too special a person to let go of.

then they’d mention carmy. how his meltdowns were getting more frequent. how things had shifted. you didn’t know much about him after you left. you hadn’t asked. they told you how he was seeing claire more seriously now. how marcus had casually dropped the word girlfriend when talking about her.

it stung. more than you let on. but you didn’t flinch. you nodded and smiled. you told yourself you’d moved on. you’d removed yourself from that world.

still, every time they talked about the bear, its struggles, its wins, the people inside it, it felt like hearing about a life you no longer lived.

and it was particularly hard because the bear wasn’t just a restaurant.

it was carmy, and after all this time everything still felt like him.

you might’ve felt completely defeated by that thought if it weren’t for syd.

over coffee one afternoon, she said it like it was nothing.

“he asked about you,” she uttered, her words cutting deep. “wanted to know if you were okay, if you’d ever come by.”

and i’ll miss you on a train. i’ll miss you in the mornin’. i never know what to think about.

carmen still wakes up before the alarm, long before the world stirs. the sky outside is dark, the streets quiet. that part hasn’t changed.

but he’s not alone in his bed anymore.

claire has started staying over sometimes, says it’s easier after her shifts, more convenient. he tells himself he doesn’t mind.

he slips out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her as he begins the ritual of getting ready. his movements automatic.

lately, the days have felt heavier. long, restless weeks stacking on top of each other. he’s been going through the motions, but the certainty that once drove him, the feeling that he was building something meaningful, has started to fade.

he used to believe that cooking was his purpose. that the kitchen was where he belonged. but now he isn’t so sure. maybe it was never really about the food. maybe it was just his way of holding onto mikey, of staying close to the memory of someone who once made him feel like there was something worth chasing.

and now that he’s here, with everything he thought he wanted, it still feels like something’s missing.

he’d had a really tough conversation with syd about it. one of those that left him feeling raw, exposed. richie had walked in halfway through and joined in, adding his own thoughts, his own frustration. by the end of it, carmy felt like he was letting everyone down, yet again. stepping back from the restaurant felt like the right call, perhaps the only way the bear could truly thrive free from his constant micromanaging and inevitable screw-ups. maybe, just maybe, he could rediscover the spark he'd lost, the part of him that used to love this.

he takes the train like he does every morning. the platform’s nearly empty, and when the car doors slide open, he steps into a quiet space with only a few scattered passengers. it's a small relief. no eyes on him, no one who knows his name or expects anything from him. just a few minutes of anonymity. a little room to breathe. maybe even think. maybe relax, though that's a stretch.

he had hoped that being with claire would help. that now, finally with her by his side, he’d start to feel more like himself again. like the younger version of him. that the shy, quiet kid who once thought having her would fix everything—was finally getting what he’d dreamed about for so long. but it doesn’t feel like that. not really.

and carm hates himself for it. because claire is wonderful. kind and patient. she jokes about the heavy things, tries to lighten the weight he carries, even if just for a second. she’s trying to help him heal, to pull him out of the worst parts of himself. and he knows that. but still, something feels off.

and that’s when he wonders… does that last message in the thread need a reply from him? should he beg richie for his phone again, like some desperate teenager, just to sneak another look at your instagram profile? should he face sydney, after everything he’s put her through, and ask once more if she’s heard from you? i think about you.

sometimes he lets himself imagine it. running into you. what he’d do. if he could get past the initial punch of seeing you again. really seeing you, after all this time. would he shrink back like he always used to, hide behind silence so he can keep pretending your absence hasn’t hollowed him out? or would he finally say something? ask for the truth. demand it, maybe. not to make you feel bad, but just to know. to confirm that it wasn’t all in his head. that everything you shared, everything he felt, wasn’t just one-sided. that thinking about you this much still means something.

as if that could ever actually happen. still…

he’s been secretly holding out hope all this time. clinging to the stupid fantasy of a chance encounter with you. on the L. on the street. some accidental moment that would change everything. he’s even taken the long way home more than once, just because he knew it passed near where you used to live. just for the slim chance of seeing you. but it never happened.

and as much as he tries to keep moving, your absence still lingers in the spaces he exists in.

tina still sighs about not having her dance partner during breaks and how no one laughs at her neighborhood gossip like you did. natalie wishes you were around so she could finally introduce you to sophie, her voice going soft every time she says your name. and richie? richie never shuts up about you, still clinging to the version of life where you and he had each other’s backs in the thick of it. he holds onto that chapter fiercely, and part of him is just waiting for you to walk back in and see how far he’s come and be proud.

but for carmy it’s different.

he didn’t just miss you.

he fell in love with you.

(don't let go)

he never said it, but it’s the truth.

it’s in how he still checks the door without realizing, expecting you to walk in. in how your voice still echoes in his head during the quietest parts of the day. in how nothing has felt right since you’ve been gone.

you didn’t just leave the restaurant. you took something with you when you walked out. and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to get that part of him back.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

carmen’s no stranger to guilt. it’s been living inside him for years, settled deep in his bones. he remembers the feeling in new york, thinking of sugar and mikey, how he left them to deal with their mom and all her turmoil and unpredictability. remembers the guilt curling in his gut when he got that phone call, sugar barely able to get the words out between sobs: mikey's dead. guilt again, heavy and paralyzing, when he couldn’t get out of the car at his own brother's funeral.

and now it’s back. except it’s different. not the same restaurant stress that eats at his stomach on the regular. it’s outside of that. beyond it.

it’s every time he looks at claire.

it shows up in moments that are supposed to be soft. like when claire’s curled into him, warm and willing, tracing her fingers over his chest. saying something sweet, being provocative. trying to love him. telling him how good he is, and all he can think about is how much of a lie that is. how he doesn’t deserve this version of her. 

because his mind drifts, like it always does.

to you.

he’s not proud of it. he hates himself for it.

she’s here, she’s trying. she’s giving him something real. and you’re still in his head. still there when he closes his eyes, still the one he wishes he could see when he opens them.

he’s tried to snap out of it. thrown himself into his new role in the kitchen, started mending his relationship with his mom, tried being the kind of boyfriend claire deserves: one who listens, who shows up, who holds her when she falls asleep.

but none of it’s working.

and it’s not fair to claire. she doesn’t deserve to be the one holding the weight of something that was never hers to carry. so he did something he’s never really done before. not like this.

trying, really trying, to follow through on this whole doing things differently thing, carmen sat richie down and told him the truth. about how things with claire had started to fall apart. how it wasn’t her fault. how he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

richie, being the closest person he had left, felt like the right one to tell, to get it out. and carmen took responsibility, fully. said it straight: he was the one messing things up. he’s the reason it’s falling apart.

but richie wouldn’t hear it.

“what the fuck are you talkin’ about?” richie’s already pacing, eyes wide, hands flailing. “you’re done with claire? now? jesus christ, cousin.”

“i didn’t say i was done, i just–i don’t know. it’s not working,” carmen shifts, trying to stay calm. 

“not working?” richie snaps. “what the fuck does that even mean? you finally got her and now you’re just what–bored?”

“it’s not about that,” carmy mutters, jaw tight.

“bullshit,” richie throws back. “you know how many guys would kill to be where you are right now?”

“i-i’m tellin’ you, it’s me. it’s not her,” carmen tries again, voice low.

richie scoffs, shaking his head. 

“you already pulled this shit once, carmen. you already broke her heart. and now you’re doin’ it again?!”

carmen looks away, but richie doesn’t let up.

“you serious right now? after everything she’s done for you? you’re the problem? oh wow, man, what a revelation.”

“i am the problem, richie. that’s what i’m saying!” carmen’s voice rises a little, frustrated. 

“then fix it!” richie shouts. “don’t throw her away just ‘cause you’re all fucked up inside.”

richie was pissed, and not in the loud, joking way he usually was. no, this was different. this was a disappointment he felt deeply. he looked at carmy like he couldn’t believe he was watching him do this all over again, backing out the moment something good got too real.

he started pacing again, running his mouth about claire, about how she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “she’s claire bear, man,” he muttered under his breath, like that should mean something holy. and it kinda did, to richie. she’d been around since carmy was a little kid. familiar, kind, safe.

but carmen just sat there, bent over at the edge of the table, elbows digging into his thighs, hands locked at the back of his neck. guilt was burning through his stomach like acid. and not just for claire. for richie, too. for not being able to live up to the version of himself everyone kept hoping he’d finally become after getting with claire.

he didn’t fight richie on it, didn’t throw words back, because he knew richie was only half wrong.

the older man, never one to back down when carmy got quiet, leaned in with a little bite in his voice.

“you know i even told her once, right? about this?” he said, almost casual, throwing your name in there. “funny thing is claire wasn’t even in the picture yet and i already knew you were gonna pull this kind of shit.”

carmen froze. his lips thinned into a hard line and something dark settled behind his eyes.

he looked at richie, really looked at him, like he was trying to figure out if he was serious or just pushing buttons like he always did. but richie held firm.

a bitter wave of heat rose in his chest.

“did you–” carmy’s voice cracked, low and strained. “did you fucking say something to her?”

his words came sharp, like they’d been caught in his throat too long. 

“richie, what the fuck did you say to her?”

richie visibly flinched. his mouth opened and closed again. then he let out a laugh, humorless, almost stunned.

“you gotta be kidding.”

something in carmy’s face had changed, the shift in his voice when your name came up stopped him cold. he stared at him for a long second, piecing it together.

and it hit him like a ton of bricks.

“you motherfucker,” richie’s voice grew louder, half disbelief, half something else. anger, probably. or disappointment.

“you were into her and you didn’t say shit?” he pointed at carmy like he was trying to trace the outline of this massive mistake. “you let her walk outta here when you–”

he stopped himself. dragged a hand down his face, pacing, fuming.

“you know what? don’t even answer that,” he snapped, his anger visibly flaring again. “wanna know what i told her, jagoff? i didn’t tell her anything that she couldn’t tell by sharing space with you, you little fuckin' narcissist bitch.”

carmy finally looked up at him, teeth gritted, throat working like he was swallowing glass. richie’s eyes were hard now. protective and furious.

“she’s not just some second act of claire, cousin. she didn’t come around to fix you, that's not what she’s about!”

it came after a beat of silence, after richie had already seen through every layer of bullshit and nailed him to the wall.

“i know–i know that,” carmy finally said, voice low, almost strangled.

it sounded awful, even to his own ears. pathetic, but it was the truth.

and even though richie looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like carmen had just handed him the messiest, most out-of-pocket confession, he felt something shift in his chest. relief, even if just a little.

finally someone else knew. someone understood the depth of what he was carrying. how much it wrecked him. how deep it went.

no more burying it behind routine or the bear or claire.

and now richie knew.

god, now richie knew.

so much for doing things differently.

he hadn’t really talked to richie much after that. things still felt off and he didn’t have the energy to untangle it just yet. instead, he tried focusing on getting back on the right foot with syd.

she’d asked for help with a new dish she was developing for the menu: something deeply personal, something that reflected the people she held closest to her heart. her family and her friends.

she told him she was stuck, unsure about the final flavor profile, and though he didn’t want to meddle too much (this was her creation, not his), she kept nudging him for input. said she trusted his instincts.

so he thought about you of peaches.

he said it lightly, almost offhand, but it stuck.

he didn’t know if syd would connect the dots, maybe she wouldn’t even ask. but if she did, if she ever wanted to know why, he’d say something about the brightness of the flavor, the way it lingered, felt right.

peaches were your favorite. 

he can’t help being taken back to that night again, when it was just you two alone, the restaurant emptied out, you sitting on that bench looking up at him with those beautiful eyes that haunt him still.

he’d been completely transfixed by you, by everything you were. by all the things you made him feel without even trying. your beauty, somehow untouched by the long day behind you, still shining through in the artificial light.

and when you reached for him, your fingers brushing his with a touch so gentle it felt deliberate, he swore he died right there. your touch… delicate, intentional, reverent, hit him harder than anything else had in years.

your hands were so soft, so careful, like you were learning him by touch alone, tracing every part of him without rushing. he remembers how it made his skin come alive, how each stroke of your digits lit him up. how much he wanted more. 

he wanted to pull you in, let you keep exploring all the parts of him no one else ever got to touch. he wanted to kiss you, slow and deep, to finally know if your lips tasted like peaches, just like he imagined.

carmen wanted to give himself to you completely in that moment. mind, body and whatever was left of his soul. and he’s never really stopped wanting that since.

that’s why he did it, why he reached out and cupped your face, unable to stop himself. it wasn’t instinct or ease. it was pure need. there were too many feelings rushing through him, building up after everything you had shared, everything left unsaid.

he wanted you. not just in that moment, but for longer than he could admit to anyone, maybe even to himself. and still, even now, after all the time that’s passed and after everything that’s changed, he hasn’t stopped wanting you.

he hasn’t stopped thinking about that night or stopped regretting the way he pulled back, how he let the moment slip through his fingers because he was too afraid of ruining it, of being too much and scare you off.

but now, looking back, all he can think about is how real it was. too real to pretend otherwise. undeniable. and how foolish he was to walk away from something so honest, so rare.

he wonders if you recall that night as often as he still does.

it’s a thought that’s lingered for what feels like forever now, something quiet and constant at the back of his mind. 

but tonight, it’s louder than ever. 

especially after hearing the buzz of surprise and excitement ripple through the kitchen when richie, halfway through reading the night’s guest list, said your name. 

carm tried to play it cool, to keep scrubbing down his station like his lungs weren’t suddenly constricting.

tonight was a new friends and family night. syd’s idea. a soft reset, she called it. a chance to breathe a little, reconnect with the people who mattered and quietly debut a few changes to the menu.

he could feel richie’s eyes on him all day: watchful, heavy, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. richie wasn’t subtle when it came to the people he cared about and carmy knew that look: apprehension. concern. maybe even a little warning.

and carmy got it. richie had watched him fall short more times than he could count, he’d seen carmy spiral, shut down, push people away, so of course he’d be on edge. especially tonight. especially with you.

pepto bismol had become his closest companion through the day, sipped like water in between prep and the minutes before doors, just to keep himself upright.

as the the guests began to arrive, he stationed himself near the window overlooking the dining area. just waiting.

eyes scanning every new arrival.

heart pounding harder with each one.

waiting for the moment you’d walk through the door.

he’d spent the whole day bracing for this, imagining it over and over, but when you finally appeared, all that careful anticipation crumbled in an instant.

because nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared him for the reality of you.

a familiar, dizzying lurch hit him in the gut.

how could you still look like that? like everything he’d been missing without even fully realizing it. like a punch straight to the ribs and a lifeline all at once. like something too good to be real.

you looked beautiful. god, you looked so beautiful.

and it wasn’t just the way you were so exquisitely dressed for the occasion or how your hair caught the light. it was the way you looked happy to be there, genuinely. like no time had passed. it knocked the breath right out of him.

the smile on your face when you greeted sugar and pete made his own mouth twitch up, he caught himself mirroring it, dumbly, before he could stop it. then came richie, arms out, wrapping you into a hug, whispering something in your ear. he guided you toward your seat, and carmy quietly sent a thank you into the universe when he realized your seat was directly in his line of sight.

you sat facing the kitchen.

richie turned around just before disappearing back to the floor, and their eyes met. that usual don’t fuck this up look was still there but now something else flickered underneath. something softer. protective. understanding. a silent: i see you.

and carmy, even in his nerves and with his stomach a knot of regret and adrenaline, gave him a small nod. a quiet thanks.

you being here, sitting where you’re seating tonight, was richie’s move.

he told himself to stay focused on service, especially tonight. he owed that to sydney. she had put her trust in him, asked him to show up and get it right. and he was trying, really trying, to keep his head down and stay sharp. but the longer the night went on, the harder it got.

you still hadn’t looked at him. not once. and it was slowly unraveling him.

you knew he’d be here, right? 

you knew this place. you knew the setup, knew exactly where he’d be standing. was it on purpose? he couldn’t tell, but watching you laugh so easily, catching up with syd’s dad and chester, it made him feel disoriented, like he was watching a version of you he didn’t have access to anymore.

every second that passed without your eyes meeting his made his chest feel tighter, heavier. he was falling apart in real time, trying to keep it together behind the pass.

and then came the dish.

fak had announced it a little too loudly, of course, but it landed. 

“new to the menu,” he said, “from chef sydney and chef carmy.”

carmen stood there, watching you the whole time, heart hammering, barely breathing.

you leaned in, tilted your head, examined the plate like it was something that really mattered, eyes soft and focused. you took in the smell first, then a bite.

and then, like gravity itself shifted in the room, you looked up.

right at him.

peaches.

and he knew, in that split second, you remembered too.

do you think i have forgotten about you?

the tension of all the conversations that veered too close to something real. the breaks you shared, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the quiet between the chaos. you remembered the glances, the ones that lasted a second too long, the ones that said more than either of you ever dared to say aloud. you remembered that night when it was just the two of you.

you remembered what it felt like.

he could see it on your face. the recognition, the weight of it all. the way you held his gaze, steady and certain, made something in him shift. and he took it as a sign.

no more hiding behind glances, no more waiting for the right moment that never came. carmen was done being the guy who only looked when you weren’t looking, the one who kept everything to himself out of fear.

because the truth was, he felt so much for you. still. all of it. untouched by time.

still in love.

and now he was ready to say it, to show you, to fight for you.

he finally understood everything had always been about you.

and as service wound down and the restaurant quieted, all he could think about was finding you before the night ended–

to tell you that.

 ₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading. please reblog or comment. or both ☻

[meiguicha]

3.30 A.M

Phainon x Reader

While the rest of the world sleeps, you remain awake as you realise it's all too easy to love Phainon.

//i will be on the news if i dont get him that is a promise not a threat. no angst im kissing him on the forehead and holding him like a plush toy in my arms. also no proof read its phainon loving hours

It's quiet now. The revelry and chaos of the waking hours have long since died and yet here you are, far too awake and confused to even consider slumber as an option.

Looking off to the side, standing tall on your nightstand is a small vase carrying a bundle of flowers in its embrace. Light falls onto the soft powdery blue petals, revealing the veins of life beneath its gaze. Yet it isn't the flowers that has enthralled you so but rather the vessel that holds them. A note lays in your palm, neat handwriting scrawled across, the very source of your sleeplessness signing it off.

For the past months, you've been eyeing it at Theodoros' place and yet could never bring yourself to get it.

And perhaps you haven't been the most subtle about your longing for it, you're certain Theodoros had more than just noticed and has even started leaving it out for you to stare at like a soggy wet cat left out in the rain.

Yet still, the reason for this very vase being in your house is not one borne from your own action. Simply, you found it on your doorstep with this very note. Though some would exercise some caution in accepting random gifts off their doorstep, the moment you saw those flowers, you knew who it was from.

The pads of your fingers ghost over the note once more, trying, attempting to discern a deeper meaning from such an action.

'I noticed you kept looking back at this vase when we went out earlier this week, and you've been mentioning wanting to get some flowers for your room so I thought you would enjoy these!!

Don't worry, I checked the authenticity and it's a genuine artifact!! Looking forward to hanging out tomorrow <3

Phainon'

He even signed it off with his name, as if there's anyone else in the whole of Okhema who would even do this. As if there is anyone else in the whole of Amphoreus who would even think of ending a letter with a heart so casually.

Seriously, getting things for you like this, writing cute notes like this, it's almost like he wants you to fall in love with him—

It's weird. You don't understand what this feeling in your chest is.

Staring at the flowers, at the forget-me-nots, at the vase and the note, something in your ribs turns. Maybe it's always been there and maybe all this time, all it needed was a little push for you to realise.

How long you've felt like this, you don't know, you don't have to know. Merely the thought of that smile you have always loved, decorating his face in that boyish joy as he totes around the vase, hands so carefully placing such longing blooms into it, even a fool would be lovestruck.

Your head buzzes with static, instinct pulls at the tendons of your form; lets you reach for your teleslate and type out a message.

'Can I see you?'

A text bubble pops up immediately before disappearing, the three dots blink at you, almost taunting as it once more disappears. It's clear he's read it, but the teetering and tottering between response and absence is driving you crazy.

You spend who knows how long merely staring at the screen, bright light searing into your eyes watching the bubble pop in and out. Until eventually, it disappears altogether.

Tomorrow, all you can do is reassure yourself. Tomorrow, you'll figure it all out.

Turning off your teleslate, you're ready to resolve yourself for a restless slumber when there is a soft knock on your door. Hesitant, as if afraid, knuckles lingering on the wood before it comes again, just as cautious.

Your gaze shifts to the device by you once more, nothing. And for a moment, you almost wonder whether the knocking is but a delusion of your mind. Yet still, no matter your doubts, you make those tentative steps closer, closer, bring yourself to the door if only to cast away the doubt on your shoulders.

The sight that greets you, that welcomes you, is no one else but the very person in your thoughts. His hair is disheveled, face slightly flushed as he leans against the frame.

"Did you—" Dumbly, all you can do is ask, pretending that the dumbfounded look on your face is not at all there. "—did you run here?"

"You asked whether you could see me," He smiles, voice wavering ever so slightly.

To have come all the way here, in such short time, and what is clearly home wear, he seriously dropped everything just because you asked.

With a breathless quality to your already soft words, you just manage to shyly meet his gaze. "Thank you, for the vase. And the flowers."

Phainon's eyes, his gaze and regard are warm. When they bask over your form, a sensation perhaps only similar to that great star fills your very form and guides your veins. It makes you almost shy, nothing more than a teenager scribbling the initials of their crush and their own onto their homework.

"I love—" You have to catch yourself before your clumsy mouth spills what you can't handle. "I love them."

"That's great! I'm glad."

The corners of his eyes crinkle together, cheeks flushed ever more as he rubs the back of his neck. A small laugh even escapes his lips, and more than anything, you can't understand how seeing him like this can make your heart feel so full.

It is simple. So, so simple.

And as here he stands in front of you, real, whole, these emotions you have barely processed feel as though they are seeping out of your every orifice the more you dance around them.

As if sharing an illicit secret, quietly, you step closer, reach for his hand as you murmur, "Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?"

"Because— what you make me feel, how you make me feel, is not something I feel like I can ever explain." Squeezing his hand tighter, your eyes naturally meet his.

In this very moment, there is nothing else but you. Reflected in those sky-blue eyes, that which hold the greatest joy of them all, there truly is nothing but ardent and ever-devoted beholding.

"I don't know when you've become irreplaceble to me, whether as a friend or..."

Before you can finish your sentence, you're scooped into an embrace, arms wrapped tight around you as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against the tender skin, and yet so gentle that you can feel that organ in your ribs shudder. All you can do is return the gesture, to snake your arms around his form and feel his response through your chests.

""You don't know how happy I am to hear that from you," Radiant and hoarse all the same, Phainon's very words are sung into your skin.

A wet feeling tinges your nerves, and as he holds you tighter, until you can feel his heart knocking on the doors of your own, he whispers against you. "I was grateful I could be your friend but knowing that you feel the same..."

"Let me see you, please,"

He listens, and just as you suspected, tears dew at his lashes. Bringing a hand to cup his face, you meticulously wipe away his tears and even as his very breath splinters at the base, he lets you do so with no complaint or qualm.

Despite the tears, the joy on his very being is unmistakable, shining through everything.

And now, as Amphoreus sleeps, you smile knowing that it really is that easy. What's there to understand?

"Let's be happy together, Phainon."

[natural-blogarithm]

my proposal for how to handle surnames when getting married

Definition 1: Let S be a string. We call T a weak substring of S if it is possible to delete any number of characters of S to obtain T.

Example 1: Given the string 'donald knuth', we can obtain weak substrings 'donald knuth', 'dad u', 'nanth', ' ', or even '' (the last being the empty substring).

Proposition 1: Given a string S with length n, there at most exist 2^n weak substrings. Proof: Left as an exercise for the reader.

Definition 2: Let T = {T_1, ... T_n} be a set of strings. We say that S is a containing string for T if T_i is a weak substring of S for each i.

Definition 3: Given a set of strings T = {T_1, ... T_n} and a containing string S for T, we say that S is a minimal containing string for T if for every character in S, there is at least one such T_i for which it cannot be removed to form T_i as a weak substring from S.

If two people get married with surnames T_1 and T_2, then their new last name should be a minimal containing string for {T_1, T_2}.

Question: How do we characterize the minimal containing strings for a given set of weak substrings? What kind of equivalence would we need to define to consider it unique?

[lucysstoryworld]

The Tormented & The Unforgiven | Azriel x Reader

Summary: What happens when one of Azriel's most trusted spies, someone he is beginning to care for, betrays him?

Warnings: This is dark and quite graphic. Abuse, torture, waterboarding, death. MDNI. Angst.

Word Count: 7,558

Masterlist

This wasn't happening... this was all just a sick nightmare. You'd wake up at any moment now, tangled in the sheets of your bed. The sun rising over a cool winter morning and trickling through your window would lull you from your slumber at any moment, you were certain. You tried to pinch yourself and were met with a tug. As if on cue, a dull yet deep ache permeated from your shoulders to your arms. A tingling feeling vibrated your fingertips, chained above your head. Oh... yes. Breaths rattled through your lungs, a crackling filling the dank space.

Definitely not happening... surely not.

Opening your eyes was a chore. They stung, the faelight from the hallway burned your retinas. A low hiss and another attempt later, your eyes remained open. The ache in your neck felt insignificant compared to that of those pulsing at random points in your body. The gorsian shackles choking your wrists and ankles ensured the pain would last. An low, agonised moan escaped your lips.

Definitely is happening. The agony that spread through every nerve of your body was all the proof you needed. Raising your head, you desperately tried to clear the fog. You were suspended from the ceiling with gorsian shackles, with matching chains gripping your ankles. The smell of damp and mould was almost as distracting as the cold that nipped at your body and heightened the ache of your injuries. There were small puddles on the floor beneath you, a leaking roof too - high risk of infection to the wounds that were littered across your body. Your mind was still lagging behind reality, your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Breathe. Remember your training.

A deep breath in, you focused on filling your lungs to their capacity. Pursing your lips, you blew the breath out slowly. Your focus remained solely on controlling the exhalation, all the way until there was nothing left. You repeated this twice more, just as your boss had trained you. Our job can be terrifying at times, this technique can help you focus and bring your heart rate down. Make our decision making more rational, he had said. He was right, you had come to realise. The breathing exercise had allowed you to calm down on more than a handful of occasions. That being said, it did not make your current situation any easier to understand. You remembered how you got here now... and you still couldn't wrap your head around it.

***

It was a normal day, for you at least. Returning from a mission a day previous, you had today to report your findings to Azriel and to rest. Exhaustion laid heavy on your body, the mission had been a long one with little reward. Although every mission had been similar to that as of late. While Eris was to be somewhat trusted, as Azriel had put it, it would be unwise to not send his own spies to make sure the High Lord and Lady were not being blindsided. So that was your detail. Stake out the Autumn Court and High Lord Beron along with his family. Figure out what was occurring behind the curtains and try to discover Beron's motives... at least so Azriel didn't have to rely on the word of Eris Vanserra. Though your boss had warned you to keep as much distance as you could, with all the Autumn Court soldiers being bewitched he did not wish that fate on you or any of your colleagues... yet you couldn't help the flutter in your heart when he had expressed this concern while looking directly into your eyes. You allowed yourself the small comfort (or delusion) of believing he told you this because he cared about you.

You used to have a rendezvous point with the Spymaster. Yet, after a rough mission in which you were too incapacitated to move from your bed, it soon became the routine for you and Azriel to debrief at your home. Not that you were complaining. You lived a solitary life being in your line of work. There were no records of your existence anywhere, no family to remember you nor any friend to seek your company. A truly invisible female. Apart from Azriel of course, though you were sure he did not see you as a friend or even acquaintance, just his employee. Not even his second in command. Though it did not stop you from feeling excited by his visits. They reminded you that you were alive. That you, at least, had one person who knew of your existence. So, with the butterflies of a youth in your stomach, you prepared for your visitor. You had already written out your report and left it sitting on your living room table. You had dressed in your usual style, and waited for Azriel to come to your door. The rushing of the Sidra filled your living area through the open window. Your generous salary as a spy allowed you to build this house, along the youthful stage of the river where it raced downhill and eventually through Velaris. You had not yet laid your eyes on the city that was only a depiction in your mind from how Azriel had described it. You knew he trusted you at least that much, to allow you to know where he resided. He had once offered to bring you there. Then the war happened and it became the last thing on either of your minds.

A series of knocks pulled you from your wandering thoughts. The seemingly nondescript rhythm of taps on the door made sure you knew who was on the other side. You fought back the slight grin that threatened to widen. You chided yourself, you were acting no better than the human females in the tales of princesses and knights you had read as a teenager. Your teenaged years had been rough, you had travelled up and down Prythian five times over, stealing and tricking to get by. You knew you wouldn't live as long as other fae did back then, your way of life bound to end you sooner rather than later by means of starvation or by disgruntled merchants. The books you nicked from time to time allowed you to fall into a different reality for a short while where life was much simpler. Where life consisted of whether or not the stars would align and let the princess remain with her true love. A moment later, you opened the door with the signature smile stretching across your lips. As quick as your smile appeared, it disappeared. Azriel was not alone.

Standing beside your boss was another Illyrian male few inches shorter though no less intimidating. For every blue siphon Azriel possessed, this male had just as many red ones. This must be Cassian, the General. You glanced at your boss warily, feeling slightly betrayed by him as your privacy was breached. Though from the look of his amber gaze, you knew it was not a good time to tackle him on it.

"Come in," You mumbled confusedly and widened the door. They stepped in and you watched as Azriel guided the warlord to sit at the table you had just been daydreaming at moments ago. "Would you like anything to eat or drink?" Careful, you warned yourself. Something wasn't right about this situation. Instinct had you scrambling to gain control of the unfolding events.

"No. Sit down," Azriel ordered. This was not the male you were accustomed to. While one could never describe Azriel as flamboyant, he was also not usually this cold toward around you. Quiet yet caring, not cold and calculating.

"Yes, sir," was your reply and you settled in the seat opposite the two males. Your heart was beginning to thump in anticipation. Your tendencies had you wishing you at least had your dagger nearby. You trust him, you always have, the voice in your mind whispered. Reaching out to open the report between the three of you, you did not miss how the General tensed ever so slightly. It was a movement so slight that, to the untrained eye, it would have been unnoticeable. Meeting Azriel's eyes once again, you allowed the confusion to show on your face. "I assume you want the report of my previous mission in Autumn." You weren't sure if it was a question or a statement.

A few beats of silence passed and both males stared you down. You waited, staring back. If there was something amiss, you would not allow them to think it was something to do with you. "Go ahead." Azriel's tone was so... cruel. Like you were a mouse caught in the claws of a street cat. Like he was toying with you.

You would not bite. If there was an issue, they were more than capable of speaking plain to you. "As you know, this mission spanned a period of four months," You began. As you continued to debrief your mission, you felt as though you were speaking to brick walls. While both sets of eyes remained solely focused on you, they seemed to be looking through you. As though what you were saying was insignificant. You tried to make sense of it. There was no major outcomes of your mission, so perhaps that was the reason for their demeanour. "I observed a member of High Lord Beron's spy circle enter and leave fairly often. I could not get close enough to determine why or what was the reason for these visits. I dug as much as I could but could only ascertain that it had something to do with Eris. If he has been absent then it is likely because he is being watched closely." Closing the report, you slid it across the table to Azriel, "Anything I may have missed will be in my report like always." You never missed out on any detail, though you always said it to Azriel.

You sat back in your chair. There was usually some discussion after you finished your report. Azriel would question you on various parts of your account in order to try make a connection that you could have missed. When you were new to the world of being a spy, it annoyed you to no end. You did not enjoy being second guessed. Azriel had explained to you that all he wished to do was brainstorm with you, try to figure out the puzzles together. A problem shared is a problem halved. So the lack of conversation after only added to uncertainty and began to grate on your nerves.

"Anything else?" The General pressed. Your head shot to him. He looked ready to pounce on you at any moment.

Heckles raised, your brows furrowed, "No?"

"Are you sure?" Azriel bit. If Cassian looked ready to pounce, Azriel looked ready to kill.

"Yes, I'm sure," You snapped back, heart beginning to race. "Can you cut it out? Get to the point!"

You cursed yourself for slightly jumping when Azriel's fist slammed against your wooden table. Your mind ran in circles around itself trying to decipher what it was that you had done to have your boss so visibly angry. So visibly struggling to control his fury. "I am being more than patient with you. You have one final chance to reveal what you have done... I cannot and will not refrain from extrapolating it through any means necessary." His voice was a vicious growl that seemed to make your very bones tremble.

Your stomach felt weak, your cool and calm spy demeanour a thing of the past. Sweat accumulated along your brow as your eyes frantically darted between your boss and the General. "I-I..." You hesitated. You were drawing a blank and a curse quickly followed from your breath at just how guilty you looked, especially to one so keen as the Spymaster of Night himself. "I truly do not know what this is about... please I'm sure whatever has happened is some sort of miscommunication." You nearly fell over your chair as you stumbled out of it, trying to create some distance between yourself and the hulking Illyrians who were beginning to stalk towards you in a strange unison. They didn't appear to be doing it consciously though that did nothing to ease the terror snaking up your spine as they drew nearer. "Azriel please... you must believe me. I don't know what this is about. You know me!" It was true. Azriel was the only living soul on The Mother's land that knew you through and through.

A cruel snort from Azriel seemed to dash any hope from you. "I thought I did, though that was my mistake," Azriel replied. In an instant both males grabbed your arms and forced you to your knees. You hated to admit it, but the feeling of betrayal had tears beginning to line your eyes. You hated it even more when you began to plead with him, beg him to believe you. However neither Cassian nor Azriel replied. They only secured chains around your wrists and ankles and a charmed sack over your head. The sack blocked all sound and sight, not even a crack of light. Your panic created a lump in your through as the only noise to greet you was your own laboured breaths. The tears finally dribbled over when your felt the hands of Azriel and Cassian roughly push and shove you to and fro. You knew where you were headed. You had delivered a target or two to the dungeons of the Hewn City -- well you had delivered them to Azriel's second in command, or Azriel himself, to bring there.

You knew that those targets never left those dungeons either.

***

You remembered now. Some time had passed from then... a few days... a few weeks... you weren't sure. It was so desperately, desperately dark down here. You had been rendered unconscious a number of times. Whatever information Azriel believed you possessed translated to him using all manner of force to squeeze it out of you. He allowed other members of his spy circle... your spy circle to torture this mystery information out. He knew the betrayal would cut deeper than any blade or whip ever could. Despite the kindness within Azriel, he was a talented torturer. He seemed to know that mere flesh wounds wouldn't break someone like you. You had known cuts and bruises long before you ever came into Azriel's employ. And he knew that. Seeing the quiet rage in your former colleagues eyes, seeing your own betrayal reflected in their gazes, tore something in you. You had worked with each one of them on one mission or another. Now they were taking their pain out on you... traitor had been imbedded onto your torso by Alyia in her native tongue from the continent. Elijah had pulled out your molars, his knife tearing strips from your gums in the process. Oscar ripped three fingernails from you. You screamed and wailed that you knew nothing. That this was a mistake. Though your pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

So you hung there, despair your only company until the next barrage began. No one would believe you, that much was painfully obvious now. They would not allow you a quick nor painless death... so you stopped eating and drinking. You would at least keep your dignity in controlling your own death, even if your mouth had the consistency of sandpaper and hunger pains were a torture in their own right.

Footsteps began to echo toward your cell. They were light, but making themselves known. Azriel. He had not shown himself since you had been dragged here. A strategic move on his part. He was saving his presence until it was absolutely necessary, you were sure. He allowed your colleagues to begin chipping away at your presumed resolve. Allowed them to begin cracking you, so he could deliver the final blow and reveal all your secrets. You raised your head, waiting for him with half lidded eyes. Seeing him standing there, wings flared and a tray in hand, brought a rush of emotions. Anger, rage, despair, betrayal, injustice. You wanted to scream at him, to curse his name and his existence. The urge bubbled in your chest. However, when you laid your eyes upon him, it all died on your tongue. What use had screaming gotten you thus far. Thus, you dipped your chin once again.

You closed your eyes and listened as he passed through the door. Listened as he placed the tray on the table that had held pliers, daggers and whips in the prior hours. You felt his shadows snake and slither over your aching body. They seemed to bite and nip at each of your injuries. You twitched at their barrage, it felt like tiny needles poking at your mangled body. Even so, you would not raise your head. As silent as a mouse, Azriel moved to stand before you. His shiny boots were all you could see. A groan erupted from you when he grabbed your cheeks and forced your head upright. His amber eyes burned with hatred, though they wandered all over your faced. Lingered on the swelling on your left eye that would soon become too large for you to open and close.

"Hunger strike, really?" He questioned unimpressed, squeezing your cheeks so hard that the cuts inside your mouth reopened and dribbled out of your lips onto his gloved hand.

You stared through him, forcing your mind out of that dingy cell and back to your peaceful home. If you thought hard enough, you could hear the flowing Sidra over the noise of your own agony. If you thought hard enough, you could smell the breads you used to make more than the smell of your blood. If you thought hard enough, you could transport yourself to a reality where this wasn't happening.

A harsh slap reeled you back into the dungeon. Stars danced across your vision. The lack of food and water made that slap feel like a punch. When they cleared, you gazed upon the cruel beauty of Azriel Shadowsinger. It seemed like eons ago that this male set butterflies afloat in your stomach. Now all he did was set led weighing on your stomach. "Keep your eyes on me." You hated the way you obeyed. You were terrified of the horrors Azriel could release unto you. It was no secret to anyone in Prythian the creativity he possessed in the arts of torture. He raised a cup of water to your lips. No. You jerked back, clenching your teeth together. He struggled with you, holding the back of your head. Shaking your head, you dodged his attempt to hydrate you by any means necessary. His fingers curled around your blood-matted hair, and he yanked with all his might. You shrieked at the pain and Azriel used the excuse to pour the water in. You choked and sputtered until you expelled as much of it as you could.

"Fuck you!" You coughed out, your throat raw and breaths heaving.

An impatient snarl passed through Azriel's lips. He walked back to the small table to where the tray rested. You watched this time, and saw that the tray consisted of three jugs and some rags, along with the cup in his hand. One of the jugs slammed back onto the table, its contents spilling over the edged. "Let's try this again, agent," Azriel spoke steady. "You will drink and then you will eat. You will not get out of this the easy way. Is that clear?" His tone promised violence.

"No," You voice was low but defiant.

A humoured chuckle escaped the Spymaster as he returned to your front. "I was not requesting," Was all he said before he grabbed your head again and attempted to force the water down your neck. You thrashed and shook, though a couple drops managed their way past your protests. You detested that the cool water felt nice on your raw throat. The struggle continued until the remanets of the glass dribbled down the rags that covered your battered body.

Wordlessly, Azriel returned the table again. This time, he abandoned his cup and picked up the jug. And a rag. "I gave you two chances to drink properly," He began and immersed the rag into the jug. Your heart began to race like it had many times over the last while. Taking the rag out of the water, Azriel held it over your face. His hand slid to the back of your head and held your hair so tight that you couldn't move an inch. Before you had a chance to take a breath, Azriel began to pour the water slowly over the rag. You tried to gasp, though the water made you splutter and choke. Your mind went wild with panic, your chest heaving in attempt to draw in enough air. Trying to scream only resulted in weak groans and more choking. "This will go on for as long as you wish to protest," Azriel began. "I will have the water topped up regularly. You will not know more than a moments peace until you either confess what you have done or until you have decided to eat and drink." Dread swirled in your guts. You had enacted this very torture on a male before, it really could go on for hours. For as long as was necessary.

"I-I-" You tried to choke out. The water halted for a moment. "I don't know what I must confess! Azriel please-!"

"Don't. You. Dare!" Azriel roared. You body trembled and your head pounded from his grip on your hair. "Cut the shit!"

For the first time since you had been brought here, a loud sob ripped through your throat. You had screamed and wailed from the torture before, but you hadn't outright cried like this. Your pride had prevented it. Now, you couldn't control the sobs that shook your body. It had seemed to pause Azriel for the moment, for he did not move or speak. He just let you cry. Your eyes burned from the tears and your tears burned the gashes on your face. Your heart weighed heavy in your body, hopelessness withered your soul. Your jaw clenched as you heaved. "This is some sick joke," You whispered to yourself. "Please just tell me if it's a joke, I'll forgive everyone I promise."

"This is no joke," Azriel spoke softly. Softly like one would speak to a lover. You wished that were the case. But instead, the water began to trickle over your face again.

***

It had been a few days since Azriel had returned to Velaris. Your silence troubled him greatly. He must've waterboarded you for at least five hours, only stopping when you had passed out from hyperventilation. Troubled, yet impressed. He had never known another target to last that long. They either cracked, confessed or passed out much earlier. Azriel chalked it up to your hard upbringing. You had only revealed bits and pieces, more being divulged the longer he knew you... if those stories were even the truth anymore. Though you were beginning to crack, that much was certain. It had been about three weeks since Azriel and Cassian had dragged you into those dungeons. His spies reported the actions they took in order to extract the information from you. Some of it would make even the toughest males cringe. As much as Azriel loathed you for what you had done, the descriptions of your torture and the results of which he had seen decorated on your body was a tough pill for him to swallow. Especially when it stretched on so long with no result. Was all the pain and suffering worth it when it yielded nothing? Whatever information you possessed must be worth such a fate.

A knock on Azriel's door pulled him from his depressing stream of thoughts. He called for his visitor to enter and lifted his head from the paper on his desk, it was not like he was really reading it anyway. Rhys walked through the door and sat on a chair in front of his Spymaster. It seemed funny for his High Lord to be before him rather than the other way around. "What is it, brother?" Azriel questioned. Rhysand had been disappointed when it was revealed that one of Azriel's more trusted spies had turned traitor, or been a traitor all along. Especially when it had gone unnoticed by the Shadowsinger himself, only to be unveiled by said Shadowsinger's second in command. Rhysand had held his tongue then, seeing how blindsided and angered Azriel had been. He wasn't completely sure, but Rhysand suspected it could have had something to do with some feelings developing between his brother and the traitor.

"How has it been coming along? Do we have any idea how much intel has been passed onto Beron?" Rhysand asked carefully. It was a silly question really, Azriel would've come to him straight away with that kind of information. He just wanted to check on his brother.

With a grimace, Azriel answered. "She has been a tough one to crack. Not even a sliver of information that I can make anything of."

"Perhaps it is time for a change of strategy?" Rhysand suggested.

Azriel's eyes met his brother's. He knew what he was suggesting, the power swirling throughout his High Lord's gaze could extract the truth in a matter of moments. But the idea sickened Azriel. Not only because he knew it turned Rhys' stomach to do so, but also because he wanted to avoid that end for you if at all possible. It confused the Illyrian really. On one hand, he wanted to rip you to shreds for betraying his trust. On the other, he wished he could go back in time and relive those peaceful moments of your friendship and his blooming feelings for you. Azriel clenched and unclenched his jaw. "That is our last resort, brother. I wish to try one more thing, if that does not work, then..."

Rhysand dipped his chin. "Of course, Az." He would probe Azriel later for his true thoughts. The shadows twirled around Azriel in a frenzy. They were typically a good indicator of when was a good time to talk to him.

***

You had been lowered to the ground, your ankles remained chained. Lying on the cold damp floor, tears dripped steadily down your cheeks. You did not sob and you tried to stop the flow, but it did not halt. Maybe you were going mad because the tears did not reflect the emptiness you felt eating a hole into your soul. It was horrifying yet comforting. You did not feel like the host of your own body, you felt like an outsider. Your assailants stabbed and whipped, you screamed and groaned. Yet you felt nothing on the inside. You did not beg or plead. You no longer protested when they forced food and water down your neck. You did nothing. There was nothing left in you. The lack of reaction had gained you no mercy. Large, deep gashes scored your arms. So lethal that the healer had advised that you be lowered, or else the wounds would stretch and you would bleed to death. Of course you could not die yet. The news must have made it to the boss because he stood before your cell for the second time since you arrived. You expected your heart to race, for fear to rattle your bones once again. Yet you remained still. Unbothered. They truly had broken you beyond repair. In walked Azriel. Your eyes followed each of his movements. His slithering companions remained by his side, as though they were on a leash.

"What have they done to you?" Azriel's voice was so soft as he hunched down before you. He reached out with an un-gloved hand to take your own. Red-stained bandaging covered two gaps where fingers had been. The gorsian shackles had been doing their job, along with the drops of faebane in your water. The healing was slow... but still healing. Was this what it was like for the humans?

You remained mute, still staring at your former friend. He met your eyes once again, not holding back his troubled face. If Azriel was being honest with himself, your silence was jarring. That look on your face was scary. You were slipping away before him, before the job was done. He replaced his grip on your mangled hand to wipe the tears from your cheek. You did not so much as flinch. Instead, your eyes closed. This was the only soft touch you had received in what felt like forever, and with your end drawing near you would enjoy it. Even if the one that would order your execution was providing you with that warmth. For a moment, you slipped into a reality stars away. A reality in which you were lying beside this male, his hand not wiping tears but caressing gently. A world where you could open your eyes and see Azriel's loving expression. Not this world.

"Let's try this a different way, sweetness." The nickname startled you. It had been a joke between you and him before all this. He had teased you for the amount of sugar in your tea. "Can you sit up for me?" Azriel spoke to you like he had before this nightmare began. You shook your head. It was only now that Azriel realised that your hands were clutching your stomach... no guarding it. He lifted the rag-like shirt that covered your top-half. Another inscription had been cut there. No, burned there. The spymaster's own hands twitched at the sight. For how depraved he was, he had never been depraved enough to enact this specific torture on anyone.

"It means snake," Your voice cracked. Raw from both disuse and screaming, Azriel was sure. "Alyia promised for every day I do not reveal my treachery, she will brand me with names through different means. You would be proud of her," You chuckled. The chuckle soon turned into a mixture of groans and coughs that spattered blood into your hand.

"I am not proud of this." It was the truth. As much as it was necessary at times, Azriel did not delight in torture. Much less yours. "Why are you keeping the information then? Surely you do not wish for this to continue."

Another laugh filled the room, the tears still streaming from you. The laugh turned to a cackle this time, loud and crazed. It lasted a few moments and all Azriel could do was watch. He had seen this many times before. The emotions of a tortured soul were not to be understood. He waited until your giggles died down. When they died, your arm wiped the tears. "You must think me stronger than I really am! I would've confessed long ago if I was a traitor. I've even thought of fabricating a confession so it would mean I would be put out of my misery but you would see through that and you'd keep me alive even longer." Your words struck a cord in Azriel. It was a strange thing for an old friend to wish for death at his hands, particularly when he knew your guilt to be fact. A fantastic actress you were, your performance was weighing greatly on Azriel's moral compass.

"How can you possibly think I will believe that?" He demanded incredulously. "I have seen the facts with my own eyes, through the work of someone I trust more than you."

That meant that Elijah, his second in command had either framed you or been fed false information so strong that it could not be refuted. "I don't think you will believe me," You replied dryly. "You have shown me that. So how about you tell me what you know."

Azriel rolled his eyes. He had trained you very well, your performance had tugged on even his heartstrings. "I know you are feeding intel about this court and my actions to Autumn," He growled and stood. He began to pace back and forth in front of you. "I was wondering why you kept requesting missions to the Autumn Court. I stupidly thought it was because you wished to help me with the unfolding business and please me. Because I believed you cared! That was my mistake. So now all that remains is to find out exactly what you have fed to Beron. So please, sweetness, tell me what you know and I will gladly put you out of your misery!"

Another humourless cackle erupted from you. "Let's be real, Azriel. You won't believe the truth even if it slapped you in the face. You have been tricked, but not by me. The truth will reveal itself one day, old friend. Whether it is in a few days or a few years, it will come out. Just know that when it does and I am dead, I will never forgive you. You have done wrong by me more than anyone else in my life."

With that, Azriel left your dungeon. This was his last attempt at extracting the truth. He had hoped that showing you kindness would give you enough hope that the truth would come out. He was wrong. So as he winnowed home, he mentally called for a meeting with Rhysand. Azriel's heart thumped painfully in his chest at your words. They resonated with him for some reason, the hard look in your eyes would be something he would never forget.

***

Elijah kept your hands bolted to each arm of the chair with two knives. They pierced all the way though your palm and at least a few inches into the wooden armrests. The pain that came with it was among some of the less severe you had become accustomed to. It was downright trivial compared the burning agony of the large screw being slowly twisted into your foot. Out of anyone, his punishments were the most painful. Elijah held a crazed look in his eye, a corner of his lips quirking while he inflicted his torment. It made sense to you now. For him, it was a sick delight. He enjoyed making you scream, making you beg for death. He wasn't trying to extract any information from you, he was merely toying with his spoils.

"You," A series of deep, laboured breaths ensued. "You're sick. I know what you've done."

The Cheshire-grin that slinked across Elijah's face was terrifying. "Oh how clever of you. Unfortunately for you, it is your word against my own. You are a pawn in a game that was created long before you let the Shadowsinger into your home for the first time. However, a happy coincidence it has been, girl. I could've never imagined the enjoyment I could get out of this. A dull affair turned an excess of excitement." You bowed your head. He was right. No one would believe you now, not that Azriel had revealed who had damned you. How convenient it would be for you to reveal Elijah's treachery so soon after your former boss had told you he was involved in your capture. Not to mention that whatever evidence the second in command had procured was enough to convince your boss and colleagues of your unwavering guilt. A terrible hybrid of a groan and scream ripped through your already raw throat as Elijah twisted the screw another full turn into your foot. It wouldn't be long now. Your end was in sight, Azriel's patience would not stretch much further. The only things you had left to fear was the method that would kill you and The Mother's grace to allow you back into her arms.

As if on cue, a group of footsteps echoed down the halls. You had come to recognise Azriel's. The other two you weren't sure of, but you assumed The General was in tow. The final pair were a mystery. Elijah spun on his heel, ready to greet his boss. In an instant, he was down on one knee, bowing so low he looked as though he could kiss the bloodstained ground. "High Lord, it is an honour." Your blood ran ice cold. Your head shot up and beheld the three Illyrians, each one just as petrifying as the other. Though, the High Lord's power blanketed the cell, seeping into every crack and corner. High Lord Rhysand stared right into your fear-filled eyes. There was whispers and rumours as to exactly what this male had done. He could turn your brain to mush and leave you living. He could rip your mind to shreds, give you the most agonising death with little effort. The horrors of his victims had never been far from your ears. The male's stare promised the same fate for you. It had you scrambling to ensure your own mental shields were intact, as though you could resist the might of the most powerful High Lord in history.

Rhysand called you by your full name, full of authority and reflecting the power that lurked behind his eyes. Raising your head, you looked anxiously at Azriel. You did everything to portray your fear and terror into that look. "Eyes on me." Rhysand bit. With a heart beating loud enough that everyone in the room could hear it, you met the eyes of your High Lord.

"My lord, please. This is a mistake," You begged one last time. One last chance at freedom. He would see the truth in your mind, but there would be nothing left of you to save.

"You have one final chance to reveal what you fed to Beron. Otherwise I will rip your mind apart until I find it myself," He promised viciously. You felt a razor-sharp claw make a long, uncomfortable pass over your mental shield.

You flickered your eyes to Elijah, who looked pale. This was it, your chance at justice. Even if you wouldn't be alive to witness it. Then you slid your gaze back to your old friend... your old love interest. Azriel scanned your body, holding on the knives in your hands and the screw in your foot. Cassian watched the exchange, though he had a harder time at hiding his expressions at the various horrors littering your body. "Remember what I told you," You spoke as you held the stare of Azriel. "I know nothing, High Lord. I have not fed any information to Beron or anyone from the Autumn Court."

Rhysand breathed a deep sigh when your eyes met once again. "Very well. May the Mother punish you justly for your sins." The feeling the followed was unlike anything you suffered before. You could not move, you could not scream. He was right there, in your mind. You could feel his essence cleaving your consciousness apart. Through each memory he watched, he destroyed it as he went. It felt like time had been slowed to a fraction of what it had been. The last few weeks of your torture felt inconsequential to these moments passing at a snail's pace. The blood that began to ooze from your nose, eyes and ears trickled slowly and took your mind with it. Everything you had ever been, would be and could've been was dribbling into a puddle in your lap.

You tried to push him out, tried to reinstate the shields and get him out. Give it up, his voice was a ripple of night. It was the voice of the High Lord, but also something more. Something demonic and beastly. It demanded you, and your mind conceded. The end was drawing near, you found yourself trying to remember your life and were met with nothingness. There was nothing left of you, only this pain and suffering. Why was this happening? You could not recall. Just let it end, you willed it. You repeated it like a mantra, begging whatever demon was inhabiting you to just kill you. The blood tickled your face as it now poured from you, but you could do nothing about it. Not as you heard ringing in your ears and your world fade to black.

Azriel watched in horror, having never witnessed this side of his brother's power in person. Dread weighed on him as your mouth hung open in silent horror, blood and drool pooling into your lap. Your fingers had curled and eyes clenched shut. Despite what you had done, Azriel would never wish this fate on his worst enemy. The image before him was something that even the most graphic horror novel could not depict. Azriel watched as the life drained from your body. Your hands relaxed first, then your expression relaxed and lastly, your upper body drooped and slumped over itself.. It was strange, you looked like you were sleeping peacefully despite the carnage you experienced. Rhysand's eyes focused once again and he quickly whipped around. Azriel jumped forward putting his hands on his brother's shoulders. "What's going on?" Cassian shouted.

"Where is he?!" Rhys bellowed, ripping from Azriel's grip.

"Who? Where's who?! Talk to me!" Azriel snapped.

"Elijah!" Both remaining brothers whirled around to where the spy was previously. An empty corner was all the remained.

Azriel's heckles raised, nothing was making sense. Cassian seemed to catch on partially. "Why do you want him?"

Rhysand looked solemnly at Azriel and Cassian. "It wasn't her, Elijah set her up."

Azriel froze, his heart pumped loudly in his ears. This couldn't be happening. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, his hands shook by his side. Carefully, he looked at where you were slumped in the chair. "No..." He barely whispered. Azriel's words seemed jumpstart Rhys and Cassian into action. Cassian ripped from the room, his feet stomping down the hall in pursuit of the real traitor.

Azriel approached you slowly, hoping there was some of you left to save. To save so he could repent. Tentatively and more gently than anyone had been with you in weeks, the Shadowsinger raised his fingers to your neck and waited. Waited for something, anything. "She's gone brother, I made sure of it," Rhysand stated, shame and regret thick in his tone. The Spymaster collapsed to his knees beside you, his mind replaying all the times you had begged for him to believe you. Replaying all the times his gut had told him there was something amiss. Sobs began to rack through his body, his heart had cleaved in two. In that moment, Azriel felt no better than his step brothers. An innocent female, an innocent and amazing female dead by torment he had ordered.

***

Azriel took charge of arranging your funeral himself. Guilt and shame had plagued him in the days since your death... no your murder. You laid on the pyre outside the home you had made for yourself. The Sidra rushed aggressively, as though it had been angered by your demise. The healers had cleaned your body as best they could, covered you with the finest silk Azriel could buy. But, he could still see the characters engraved on your skin. The holes in your hands where Elijah's knives had been were visible as they laid criss-crossed over your heart. Your cheekbones jut out in a sickly manner from your face. You looked clean, but nothing like the female Azriel had fallen in love with. He knew that now, that he had fallen in love with you. And he had destroyed you. A shell of the female you used to be laid dead on the pyre, all because of him. Azriel wished he could awake from this hell. Awake and see your face full and happy. Instead, he saw the eternal rest before him. Despite the peace on your face, all he could see was the image of your freshly dead body; mouth hung open with blood spilling from it, tears still trickling down your cheeks. With a flaming torch, Azriel set the pyre ablaze. He had attended this on his own, despite the protests of his family. He would attend this alone. Though Azriel was sure that the thought of him being the only attendee at the ceremony of your untimely demise would disgust you.

As your body burned, along with your most prized possessions, Azriel vowed to never forget what he had done to you, his friend and lost love. He would walk every day with the thought of you whispering in the back of his mind. For everyday he would remember what he did to you with the most crushing guilt, it would never account nor excuse the turmoil he put you through. Would never amount of the betrayal and injustice he unleashed unto you. Azriel Shadowsinger would never allow himself a moments peace again. Because you had never gotten yours. You had never even gotten so much of a chance at peace. Azriel knew it was a fitting punishment, he even smiled dryly at your burning body as he recalled your final words to him.

I will never forgive you. You have done wrong by me more than anyone else in my life.

I would appreciate any feedback that you have! Let me know what you think! :)

[s4nniebe4r]

the roommate

part two: growing pains

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: learning to live with him, it’s proving to be difficult

wc: 1.4k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance, a little suggestive content (if you squint hard enough) in this chapter

etc: part two for the series! i’m working on a masterlist as we speak! reblogging, leaving comments, and liking the story always encourages me to write more, so… as always, not proof-read!

previous part next part

Living with San is truly an exercise in patience. 

It starts small. A jacket draped over the couch instead of hung up on the rack. A dirty coffee filled mug was left in the sink despite the dishwasher being right there. Water droplets on the bathroom counter that he wipes down. None of it is too much, but it’s enough to set yourself on edge. 

You tell yourself it’s fine. You’re an adult. You can handle minor inconveniences like these without losing your mind. 

Until the first time you find his damp towel on the floor. 

You stare at it for a long, hard moment, irritation bubbling and rising over in your chest. It’s such a simple thing—hang up your towel after you use it. But apparently, that’s just too much to ask for. With a sharp exhale, you pick it up and place it back on the rack, your movements are oh so rigid and stiff. 

The next morning, you find it on the floor yet again. 

San is in the kitchen when you walk out, casually scrolling through his phone while eating cereal straight from the box. His hair is a fluffed mess, sticking up at odd angles, and the sleeves of his hoodie are shoved up to his elbows. He looks comfortable, like he belongs in this space. Your space. It irks you in a way you can’t quite explain. 

You take in the scene—San standing there like he has all the time in the world, his gaze still fixed on his phone, completely oblivious to the mess he’s leaving behind. A small pile of crumbs litters the counter beside him, and the milk carton is still out, condensation pooling beneath it. Your fingers twitch ever so slightly. 

You glare at him, eyes burning, though, he doesn’t look up. 

You consider saying something Just a simple ‘Hey, could you hang up your towel?’ But the words are lodged in your throat, stuck somewhere between pride and annoyance. 

Instead, you slam the cabinet a little harder than necessary when you grab a mug for your morning tea. San’s chewing slows for half a second before resuming, but he still doesn’t acknowledge you. 

If this is what he wants, you can play along. 

And so, it begins. 

It’s a series of minor assaults, neither of you willing to admit you’re knowingly doing it. 

You wipe down the bathroom counter with unnecessary force, scrubbing at the water rings he never bothers to clean. San walks in moments later and sets his toothbrush down right in a fresh puddle of water. Your eye twitches. 

You adjust the thermostat because it’s freezing, your body is always running cold. Later that night, you realize it’s been turned back down. 

Another time, San writes down on the mutual grocery list to pick up his favorite chocolate biscuits; Binch. You would, but they’re out of stock. When you get back, he barely glances at you before muttering, “Never mind.” 

You blink back at him. “Never mind what?”

“Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. You know it’s not nothing. He’s fuming over it, his mood just a shade darker than usually. But if he’s not going to say anything, you certainly won’t either. 

Still, something gnaws at you. It wasn’t like you forgot on purpose—you actually went looking for them, scanning the shelves for an extra five minutes, even checking with an employee. But they were out. What were you supposed to do, conjure them out of thin air? You huff, tossing the bag of groceries onto the counter with more force than necessary, earning the smallest glance from San. If he cared so much, maybe he could have gotten them himself. 

You tell yourself you don’t care. But later, when you hear him sigh as he reaches into the pantry and grabs something else, something he obviously doesn’t want, irritation prickles beneath your skin. You clench your jaw and look away, as if ignoring him will make the frustration disappear. Yeah, right. 

The silence lingers, a thick unspoken challenge. You stare at each other a beat too long before turning away, the tension weaving itself into the very atmosphere between you. 

Two days later, you find the towel on the floor again. This time, you don’t pick it up. You just glare at it every time you walk past, willing it to disappear out of sheer frustration. 

And as the days go by, the apartment begins to feel smaller and smaller with all the unspoken tension. The walls seem to press in, like the walls keep adding a layer of paint, only further amplifying every little minor annoyance. The sink constantly has stray dishes, the coffee table in the living area is cluttered with San’s random belongings—headphones, a half-empty water bottle, a single sock he never bothers to pick up. Your already small living room, feeling even smaller. After all, it was just the TV and a single two seat couch. It’s chaos. And you can’t breathe in chaos. You never have been able to. 

At night, you can somehow hear him moving around in his room, the walls were not as thick as they seemed, you noted. The sound of the drawers opening, the soft creak of his bed as he shifts, you could almost make out the rustling of his sheets when the heater stopped humming. It annoys you more than it should, the sheer awareness of his presence making it impossible to fully relax. And yet, when the apartment falls silent again, you find yourself still awake, staring at the ceiling, listening. 

The unspoken tension simmers beneath the surface, neither of you actually addressing it outright. Conversations are kept short, words clipped or laced with sarcasm. 

“San, do you actually plan on washing your dishes, or are they just for decoration to you?”

He barely looks up from his laptop. “I’m trying to conduct a long-term experiment. I’ll see how long they can stay in the sink before they clean themselves.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, bring the tips of your fingers up to pinch the bridge of it. “Fascinating.” 

He smirks. “I thought so.”

You leave the room before you say something you know you’ll regret. But the irritation follows you, clinging to your skin like static. Even when you’re not in the same room, you can feel his presence, lingering at the edges of your awareness, like a song stuck in a loop in your mind. It was deafening. 

The worst part? It’s that you’re both acutely aware of each other in a way that has nothing to do with the irritation. It’s the way you notice when he walks out of the shower, his hair damp, towel slung low around his waist, his skin just glistening under the soft glow of the bathroom light. Your eyes linger for too long, you know this. Just a second too long, before you force yourself to look away. You try to be nonchalant, pretend you’re unfazed, but your breath hitches slightly, unconsciously, when you catch the way droplets trail down the ridges of his stomach before disappearing beneath the towel. You tear your gaze, cheeks warming with something you refuse to acknowledge.

And San, he isn’t blind either. 

It’s in the way his gaze flickers to you when you stretch in the morning, the hem of your shirt lifting slightly, exposing a sliver of skin. His jaw tightens before he returns to his phone like he saw nothing. But you notice the way his fingers pause on the screen, gripping a little tighter than he should, how he exhales before resuming whatever it was that he was pretending to be focused on. 

The way that the air feels thicker when you pass each other in the narrow hallways, shoulder nearly brushing, your breaths momentarily syncing before one of you steps aside. The slight pause before movement, as if you're both aware of the proximity, and maybe of the tiniest of heat that lingers between you. 

Stolen glances that neither of you fully acknowledge. The way your stomach tightens when he murmurs something under his breath that you’re not sure you were supposed to hear. The moments where annoyance and something else blur together, tangled into something, almost dangerous. 

The tension stretches thin, taut like a wire ready to snap, but neither of you makes a move to cut it. Because neither of you will admit to it. 

But it’s there. Waiting. 

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Indelible kiss.

König x Fem reader.

König insists he wants to keep your relationship in secret, what a surprise when someone catches a glimpse of your lipstick on his neck.

Warning: grammatical and spelling errors. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

It was supposed both were training at the same hours, just a coincidence, no one would dare to think about something else, after all, König is your Colonel, he's so serious and professional all the time and he never showed any kind of affection or favoritism for you. He treats you in the same way he treats the rest of the team.

So, why would someone suspect you and him? No one would imagine what happens in those late hours of the night, the gym is actually empty, no one is exercising at these hours.

In fact, no one was awake, except for you and him.

- Don't leave König, stay here.

Both are in your dorm, the door is closed and locked, you prefer to prevent, he doesn't want to be caught.

König leaves every night, just in case someone goes to his dorm and doesn't find him there.

- You know I can't stay Meine Liebling...

He's laying on the bed while your body rests over his. His bare chest is warm and always smells good, you love his perfume, it is addictive, you're looking at him with pleading eyes.

- Soon or later someone will know about this, please just for tonight my love!

- Nein, mein kleiner Engel (my angel) we can't let them know, not yet.

He caressed your body with his big hands, you love to feel his hands on you.

You would like to let everybody know about what happens between you and König, but he insists he prefers to keep it in secret, he thinks it's better when no one poke up the nose, he always has the feeling that people will try to separate you from him because he's probably not good for you.

On the other hand, you think it's better and more enjoyable if everybody knows about it, they will be happy for both of you, your team is like your family, you think it is unfair to hide your relationship from them but since König refuses you've been thinking about other ways to let them know love is in the air.

You already tried, you accidentally forgot a shirt in his dorm, you also left your underwear mixed in his dirty laundry, you put your perfume in his clothes, you even gave him innocent compliments in front of the team, you stole some of his clothes and wore them around the base. You don't know if some of those ideas have worked because no one has tried to ask you.

So this time you will try something else, everybody knows you always have lipstick on, wine or cherry, those are your colours. You're sure everyone knows it.

One of the things König loves the most about you, is that too, your beautiful lips always with those pretty colours.

- Ahhh... Okay, but before you leave can I show you something?

- Of course you can, go on.

You stood up and walked to your desk, you took the lipstick and went to the bathroom, then you went back to the bed and turned on the lamp of your nightstand.

- Do you like it?

- Schatz, you look beautiful, is it new?

You nodded in silence, the way he stares at your lips causes you something hard to explain in words but the feeling between your legs and the butterflies in your stomach are proof enough of how much you enjoy this moment.

You started to plant kisses over his chest, escalating to his neck and face.

- Schatz, I love when you kiss me like this but I really have to go back.

*a kiss on his lips* - okay, go *another kiss* - sleep well baby *another kiss* - I love you...

He kissed you once more and he got out of your bed and dressed up quickly, then he left.

König always gets up early and runs to the shower, this time he was really tired, he woke up a little bit later than usual, he tried to be quick but then, he had a problem, your lipstick is hard to clean.

He tried hard, his skin was irritated.

- Scheisse (shit)

He muttered while looking at himself in the mirror of his bathroom when a familiar voice calls him out of his dorm.

- König, Man, are you ok? We're late... Can I come in?

Horangi always goes to knock at his door and both go to the common area together.

König ran to put his shirt on and unlocked the door.

- Ja, come in.

Horangi opened the door and closed it, König is pretending to be busy fixing his hair and his belt, until he remembered he doesn't have his hood on.

Horangi already noticed the absence of the hood and handed it to König

- Where's your head today colonel?

- I don't know, I got up at the wrong side of the bed.

Before he could put the hood on Horangi noticed a red spot on his friend's neck, that's not a mosquito or spider bite, it's a kiss, a red kiss, the lipstick colour looks familiar to him but he can't remember where he has seen it before.

- What the...? (He muttered)

- What?

- No, nothing, are you ready?

- Ja, let's go.

Both left the room. You were in the common area talking with Roze and other people who were there, nothing special or interesting, you were thinking about how silly you were, you planted kisses all over and forgot that König is always hiding his face and always wears long sleeve shirts.

König and Horangi appeared a few minutes later, you noticed Horangi was observing you a lot, König was giving some instructions for the day when Horangi went to your side and spoke almost in a whisper.

- I know what you did last night.

- What are you talking about?

- I saw your lipstick on König's neck.

You blushed, you really weren't expecting it could work, you looked at him as if you saw a ghost, you obviously couldn't see his face but Horangi is smiling with mischief, you didn't say a word and neither did him, the day continued normally, it was until the meal time, as soon as you appeared in the dining hall's door, all eyes were on you. You sat at the usual table with Horangi, moments later König arrived too, all eyes on him, you feel guilty you know his anxiety will increase thanks to you and your mulishness. Poor könig, he sat and instantly asked why everyone was observing him.

- What's going on?

- Nothing colonel, I think everyone wonders why you have a very familiar red lipstick on you.

You hit horangi down the table, König didn't say nothing, but you can see his eyes, he's shocked.

- Sorry Man, perhaps I mentioned it to the wrong person, now everyone knows about you and y/n.

König sighed and continued eating a piece of apple under the mask. At night you weren't expecting him, you supposed he would be angry, but then he opened your door.

You were looking for your pajama pants, you felt too guilty, you didn't want to see him angry. Then a pair of hands were placed around your waist, warm kisses were placed on your shoulder then your neck.

- Are you not angry?

- Nein, I can't be upset, it was an intelligent move, you knew someone would notice it.

- I'm sorry König, In my defense I never expected it worked.

He laughed, you love when he does it, for you It's a reminder of how happy he is when you're around.

- It was also my fault, I forgot to put my hood on.

Did he... what? You looked at him, you can't believe what he said.

- How is that possible?

- Meine Liebling, you left me exhausted last night... I admit I like the fact that now everybody knows you're mine.

You're blushing, your face looks like a red apple, he doesn't say anything else and kisses you. This man will be the death of you.

[bisexualiteaa]

No Life Queen

Alucard X Fem Reader

SMUT! MDNI

CW: vampires, established relationship, secrecy, reader is a vampire, reader has hair, brief mentions of canon typical violence/gore, cursing, pet names, praise, biting, brief mention of alcohol, bl00d drinking, mentions of bl00d, p in v, unprotected seggs, cream 🥧, mention of 0ral (fem receiving), reader works for Hellsing Organization, slight ooc Alucard, smut with fluffy ending, p0rn w/o plot, p0rn with feelings, possible grammar or spelling errors, HEAVILY proof read

A/N: I know this will likely be for a niche audience, but in my opinion there isn’t enough about this lovely man on this app I don’t think. In the spirit of Halloween (and for being down bad for him for an entire decade) I felt it was appropriate! I hope you all enjoy. Happy spooky season to you all! ♥️

The sounds of your joyous laughter and sweet voice could be heard from the dimly lit lair, resonating from deep within the winding depths of the vast Hellsing estate as you laid next to your vampiric lover. Your body lay bare, save for the silk red sheets wrapped around you to afford you a semblance of decency and warmth from the bitterly cold air. He had no need for a bed, he spent so long sleeping in the dank, dark depths of the basement which he calls home, or within the confines of his well built, ornate coffin but it was a luxury you loved, so without hesitation he had one placed there for you. All under the guise of him simply “being curious” as to how modern beds feel. He knew well how they felt, he’d taken on his fair share of lovers in the past, and those nights where he would sneak into your room to be with you during the fleeting beginning stages of your budding romance. So he wasn’t ignorant to how they felt, but he felt it was a good enough excuse to give should anyone dare ask why. Your hair sat pooled against the well-decorated pillowcases for the pillows he only kept around for you, freed from its usual ties whilst on duty. You hummed lightly and happily as your hand rested against his broad chest, looking up at him with all the love in the world as a smile danced across your sweet, kiss swollen lips. You regarded Alucard with your whole heart, and never anything less. You knew well that your lover was a man that possessed unfathomable amounts of power, and harnessed the capabilities to slaughter those whom he wished in the mere blink of an eye. Yet with you, he was anything but those terrible things that others knew him for. With you, the vampire king was no longer the monster others claimed him to be. With you, he was no longer a creature to be feared, no longer a servant to exercise his master’s bidding. With you, it was the closest he’s ever felt to being human again in centuries because in your presence, he was nothing more than a man who was so emphatically in love with the woman that was lying before him. And in your eyes, you could never see him as anything less than perfection, for he’s never afforded you anything less.

He delighted in the sensation of your soft, gentle touch that only you could offer him in such a pleasurable way. Longing to feel your much smaller hands pressed against his cold, pale, and unblemished skin. Yearning for the way your fingers stroked through his long, raven black locks with such affection that left him like putty in your very hands. He enjoyed how your hand, despite its now cold nature compared to the warmth you once held when you were human, would cup his cheek with such gentle serenity. How you would handle him as if he were made of porcelain, as if he was the one that was easy to shatter. No one had ever held him in such a gentle way before, touched his skin with such feather-light placidity, knowing only what it’s like to have held others in such a fashion but never had the sentiment been returned to him in kind until he’d met you. He was downright addicted to the tender caress of your thumb stroking his jaw, as if tracing his edges like he was chiseled from the finest but most fragile stone. You looked upon him like a work of art, as if he were crafted skillfully by the hands of a master artisan then given the gift of life. He was breathtaking, and to think that you were the one lucky enough to have enthralled him, to have captured his heart, was truly remarkable. He would argue however that he was the one truly fortunate enough to have earned your respect, to have earned your love and praise. He needed it from no one else aside from you, anyone else’s thoughts or opinions be damned. His servitude may be to Integra, but his true fealty was to you.

Your crimson eyes stared into his vermillion ones as if he were the man who hung the very stars that freckled the night sky. He cherished you, adored you, worshipped you even. You with your undying love and most pure of affections. You were unreal to him, ethereal almost. Like a goddess who descended the heavens and was somehow captivated by such a pitiful creature such as himself. Granting him such unwavering kindness, such unrelenting generosity that he felt as if he did not deserve. He could hardly believe at times that someone as kind, someone as gentle as you existed in a world that had always proven so cruel, let alone that you could ever fall in love with a fiend like him. Someone who held so much bitterness towards the world, someone with such an affinity for danger, violence and gore. You were polar opposites, yet strikingly similar all the same. He would never take it for granted however, because even on his worst days, you were always there. You were always the comforting light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. The grounding anchor to his ship that sailed an unrelentingly raging sea. You were his peace, his serenity, sitting with your arms outstretched for him to rest between, and ever ready to listen and share in his burdens whatever they may be.

No one knew of the romance you and the vampire king shared, not even Sir Integra herself knew about it. It was a well guarded secret that lay only within the confines of his room, and the rare but fleeting moments you were granted when you were alone and away from any prying eyes or ears. Your meetings always started out the same, and even remained the same to this day. A routine of you sneaking off from your room and into the halls at night, under the guise of delivering to him his meal. No one ever suspected it to be a rouse. Much less an act to allow you to get closer to your lover, using the sanguine nectar as a means to spend time with him where you would have the utmost privacy. In fact, the guards who were normally placed on that duty thanked you for taking their place, unable to bring themselves to make the cold, unsettling trek down to the depths where he resided. Therefore you had no one to send you questioning glances, or overhear any suspicious whispers. To them, you were a vampire who simply wasn’t afraid of him or his capabilities. No one else dared get close to his chambers however, some even going as far to tell tales of those who never made it back alive from the treacherous journey, or of his ravenous hunger to scare anyone who may be new to the estate and don’t quite know of him yet. Many complained that they felt as if there were eyes in the very walls surrounding them, watching as they made their descent into the darkness that was his place of rest, or even just through out the day during their shifts and as they would wander around through the vast hallways. He struck fear into the hearts of many, especially into those of mortal kind, but to you, he was just Alucard.

“You are a most delicious sight like this, Draga mea” he praised as the sheet you lay beneath began to slide down just a tad, revealing some of your bare frame to the frigid air of his den. His eyes raked across your body each time as if it was the first time he was seeing you, making you hum appreciatively at the compliment and the term of endearment spoken in his native tongue. You felt as his large hand began to glide along the curvature of your hip and the dip of your waist with a feather light touch, sending goose flesh to raise along your skin. “If you wish to feed from me, you know you need only ask” you teased with a grin, knowing his compliment came from a genuine place, but your romance was built on humor and trust. He knew better than to think you’d only regard his words in a manipulative manner. “Well if my queen is offering herself to me, how could I say no to such kindness?” He quipped in return, making you chuckle as he placed strategic, searing kisses along the column of your neck, being sure to strum each sensitive spot before kissing down your shoulder and trailing down your arm. You giggled softly as he made his descent, grabbing your hand in his much larger one before turning it over and placing a soft kiss to your wrist just above your pulse point. “Is a whole bottle no longer enough to sate you, my dear? I can have them procure more for you, you need only say the word” You asked, half teasing, half genuine. Your tone filled with concern and playfulness in a harmony that only could ever come so blissfully from you. A melodic language only spoken between the two of you and the two of you alone. “Shall I frighten them with the tales of your insatiable appetite? Perhaps that would persuade them to donate more” you volunteered, making him give a hearty laugh in reply. “How I cherish the thought of you frightening them with such a tale” he responded, making you giggle as you pictured the horrified facial expressions and terrified trembles you would receive in reply. “But in truth, bottle proves nowhere near as appetizing to me when compared to the taste of you at the height of euphoria. The adrenaline coursing through you, the sweetness of its taste is better than any wine could ever offer. Even the most decadent ambrosia pales in comparison to you, Draga mea” He continued, sweet talking you in that deep, baritone voice that always left your heart racing and a fire dwelling within the depths of your core. He always knew just the right words to say, both a blessing and a curse in its own right. His response earned a hum of amusement from you. “I was too caught up in the fire that was in your gaze to have gotten a taste of you. I was afraid should my attention falter, the beast within you would relinquish” he added, his lips finding their way to the column of your neck, his nose brushing against the sensitive spots there to rise gooseflesh to your skin, his lips just barely ghosting where your pulse would typically reside. You tilted your head to the side to allow him better access, allowing him free rein of your throat to do as he pleased. “Suffice to say, our shared feast left me quite…distracted” he finished, laying more searing kisses to your neck, making you hum and moan softly in approval, telling you all of his reasons why you should allow him to feed from you. His eagerness made you giggle as you recalled the way you were seated on his lap just moments ago, warming his cock and soon riding him as you both shared in feeding one another glasses of the sanguine liquid that once filled the now empty bottle. Your hands found their way to the back of his head and neck, keeping him in place as a show to continue his ministrations as your eyes fluttered shut with bliss. “Perhaps I should speak of your insatiable hunger” you teased, making him groan and chuckle into the crook of your neck as he kept himself pressed tightly against you.

“Have you another problem needing resolved already, my dear? We’ve hardly had enough time to enjoy the afterglow yet” you teased, making him grin as he detached himself from you to defend himself. “I hadn’t heard you complaining whilst you were seated on my tongue, or how quickly things carried on from there after I brought you to such dizzying climax twice from it” he bit back playfully, his fangs peaking from his wide, cocky grin. “And why ever would I? There certainly isn’t anything to complain about” you replied, flashing your fangs in a grin that mirrored his own making him hum in reply, satisfied with your response but amused all the same. How cute those fangs looked nestled into your already gorgeous smile. Something so perfectly wicked entwined with someone so preciously sweet. How it brought him such joy that you now carried a piece of him with you wherever you went, and would for the rest of eternity. Knowing that anyone who dare step to you with harmful intentions, would see a bit of him in you. That they would see his power radiate from you, feel his threatening aura travel along side you like an omniscient deity. He couldn’t help the pride that swelled within him to know that he was not only your lover, but your protector. How it pained him to know that you would have to share in his agony of having to watch those around you that you cared about parish while you remain the same, that you would outlive those who held no super natural persuasion to stop the onward marching of time. Yet a slightly twisted, much darker side that resided deep within him, felt almost prideful in the way that his dark corruption snuck within you, tainting the otherwise pristine purity you usually carried. Like a white dress being stained red from the scarlet shades of blood pooling beneath its fabric, one could argue you were tainted, besmirched, ruined even. He would argue that you were even more beautiful than you were before. His perfect little love.

His no life queen

“You may indulge in me, but only if you ask nicely” you replied playfully, making him grin at your response but he would always heed your word for he never wished to displease you. He was a gentleman after all, where were his manners? “Would you kindly allow me to have my fill of you, dearest?” He asked, making you hum as if you had to actually give it any thought. You never did. The answer would *forever* be yes. “You may” you responded kindly, a giggle leaving you as you leaned closer to him, your noses brushing together before turning your head to allow your lips to intertwine once more. Your hand came to cup his cheek tenderly, in that oh-so-loving manner you always did. He could truly never get enough of you. Your lips danced upon each others with sensual warmth, tongues tangling together, fangs nicking lips with playful bites. Before long, his mouth descended upon your throat once again, his nose ghosting the sensitive skin and catching whiff of your intoxicating aroma before his tongue glided along his favorite spot. You tilted your head back to allow him more access, your eyes falling shut blissfully as you felt his tongue circle the junction between your neck and shoulder. The sheet by now had slipped from you fully, revealing your bare chest to the gelid temperature of his chambers, feeling your pebbled nipples pressed against his bare chest as your hands weaved into his hair. You waited for that moment with bated breath, for the icy prick of his fangs to pierce your skin, but instead were greeted by the distraction of his fingers diving down to your aching cunt. The pad of his finger worked slow, rhythmic circles against your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as a sweet sigh left your lips. “Alucard…” you moaned, making him groan deeply in response, the sound almost feral as it rumbled within his chest. He found himself salivating at the prospect of your flavor, at the overwhelming scent of your arousal mixed with his distinct musk. His hunger was hitting a fever pitch, finding it harder as the moments passed to contain himself and play with you to the full extent he wished to. You are his most delectable treat after all.

He groaned as your nimble fingers tangled within his long black hair, moaning and squirming from the pleasure being brought to you by just one of his fingers alone. It was pathetic almost, the way you were rendered to such madness, such utter hedonism with so little being offered to you, but it was nearly overwhelming all the same. “My precious queen, how deliciously sensitive you are for me” he remarked, a deep chuckle and a grin following his words as you gasped from the feeling of his fingers dipping inside of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head once more, mouth agape in a silent wail as the tips of his fingers located your most vulnerable spots with practiced precision. “Alucard…” you sighed blissfully as he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet, intimate kiss. You moaned into it, your fingers dragging along the sinew of his back leaving behind angry, red marks that you knew would only remain for a very short period of time. He groaned into your shared kiss, working his fingers into you with practiced expertise, being sure to tease that bundle of nerves deep inside of you with the pads of his long, nimble fingers. As his fingers would curl against your walls, his thumb was rubbing tight, methodical circles along your clit to bring you even closer to your release. “Fuck…” you moaned into the kiss, feeling that knot in the pit of your stomach begin to grow tighter with each stroke. Your hips began to buck against his fingers, riding them, chasing the euphoric friction that sent shock waves of pleasure through you. “Doing so well for me, fucking yourself on my fingers” he praised, looking down at the sight of you spread on his digits, listening to the sinful sounds of your slick granting him access to your very core. “Feels…s’ good” you managed to get out, making him chuckle at your pathetic reply. It didn’t take much to reduce you to near delirium, whether it be from his fingers, his tongue, his teeth or his cock, he was quite skilled in the many areas of your pleasure. “Cum for me, Draga mea. Sing for me” he encouraged, his lips once again finding that spot on your neck that always sent you reeling, waiting for the perfect moment to sink his teeth into you. Waiting for the telling signs that bliss was just around the corner for you.

Once his sharp fangs finally sank into the tender flesh of your neck, it was electric, sending you toppling over the edge into the most intense, nearly all-consuming orgasm. Pain and pleasure melded together in a wonderful memory of what it had felt like the first time his fangs pierced your skin, gulping down your sweet essence as he turned you. Electric pulses soared down through your spine, lighting your every nerve ending on fire in a sadistically sensual way that you only craved to feel from him. His eyes rolled beneath shut lids at the taste of you, gulping down your dulcet ichor yet remaining mindful enough to savor its flavor. He groaned into you at the taste, feeling the ache between his legs throb with vigor as your orgasm pulsed through your body. How he craved you so desperately in this moment. To be intertwined with you, lost in you and the woes of passion that entwines you. It appeared that he could wait no longer.

In the blink of an eye, the sheets were ripped from your grasp, exposing your body to his view once more. He needed you, and it was evident by the ever growing wetness in your core that you needed him too.

Once he’d had his fill he released his jaws from you, cleaning up the mess of your shoulder, and his lips, the best that he could with his tongue alone. You watched as his long, almost pointed tongue cleaned the remnants of your blood from his lips, but what he hadn’t noticed was the small trickle that cascaded from the corner of his mouth. Your fingers grasped his chin softly, allowing you to tilt and move his face as you needed. You smiled at him before you leaned up to collect the trail of crimson that dripped from the corner of his mouth onto your tongue. You hummed pleasantly before pulling him into a passionate kiss, wishing to taste more of your sweet decadence from his lips. You felt the grin rise to the corners of his mouth before you could see it, but upon drawing back, you saw the smeared red mess left behind. “How succulent you are” he stated, breaking the silence between you. “Only the finest for you, my king. Would you grant me an indulgence of you in return, dearest?” You asked, lying on your back beneath him now, making him laugh at such a meek question being asked in such a seductive tone. “As if I could ever deny you, my love” he replied, lining himself up to your entrance before slipping in slowly, allowing you to acclimate to his size. He watched your face twist with both pain and pleasure as he sheathed himself within you. It didn’t matter how many times you would share intimacy with him, his sheer size alone always left you with that bittersweet stretch as if it were your first time taking him in. He adored how your hair fell around the pillow beneath your head like a halo, how your chest rose and fell with each labored breath brought about by the pleasure he brought you once a pace was set. You were ethereal. He swore it. Perfect in ways he thought were impossible. Yet here you lay before him, scarlet eyes gazing up at him with wonder and lust but above all else;

Love.

His hips pistoned into you as he lowered himself to hover just above you, his large hands splayed out by the sides of your head. He watched you litter his skin with feather light kisses as you ascended up his arm to his neck, soon hovering over the same spot that he enjoyed feeding from you so often. His hips seemed to roll on their own, almost desperate, accord as your tongue dragged along the favored spot, leaving him to shiver with anticipation of when you would take from him. Much like Alucard, you had a tendency towards playfulness, enjoying the delightful shivers, and hedonistic groans as you would tease him, working him up to the blissful moment. One might say you like to play with your food. Your eyes flit to his own that rest behind shut lids, basking in the tightness and wet feel of your cunt wrapped so snuggly around him. You gave a grin before finally you sank your teeth into him, feeling his girth twitch and throb within you at the sounds you made as you fed from him. “That’s it, take from me. Take from me everything you need, my love. I am yours as you are mine” he rambled through his groans of pleasure, rutting into you deeply and reaching those spots within you that left your head spinning. He groaned at the mix or your moans that lay in harmony with the feral sounds of you feeding from him only working to further turn him on. The searing pain of your sharp fangs buried into his neck, mixing with the pleasure of your delicious cunt wrapped around him so perfectly left him nearly delirious.

Once you had finally detached yourself from him, he understood the appeal of the sight he had graced you with before, finding himself following your previous actions. His tongue traced the small stream of his blood that leaked from the corner of your lips, collecting it all before tangling his tongue with your own in a frenzied kiss. His hand grabbed at your thigh, propping your leg up against his hip to reach deeper within you. As if he wasn’t deep enough already, his tip bullying the apex of your cervix with each thrust. Had you a fertile human womb still, you’d worry about leaving his chambers pregnant from just how often you found yourselves tangled together within his sheets. “Draga mea…” he whispered lovingly against your lips as you gasped and moaned, your mind hazed and nearly blank as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the depths of his chambers. He watched as you writhed beneath him in ecstasy, how your breasts bounced in time with his thrusts. He simply couldn’t get enough of you. “You are perfection, my sweet” he praised, making you whimper as the familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach began to grow tight, already so sensitive and worked up from him playing with you before. “Cum for me, my love. Delight me with your ecstasy” he cooed, watching you bite your lip and your face contort as you reached closer and closer to your breaking point. It was as his fingers reached down to toy with your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves that pushed you over the edge. Your body arched against his, a cry of bliss leaving your lips as your climax washed over you mercilessly. Your every nerve ending wrecked and body alight from the pleasure as you dug your nails into his back with a cry of his name. “How delicious you are” he replied, watching as your breaths grew labored, your chest rising and falling in tandem with each deep inhale then exhale as you made your descent from cloud nine. His movements began to lose their rhythm, signaling to you that his release was just around the corner. You smiled up at him, hand resting delicately on his cheek as he looked down upon you. “I love you” you whispered in declaration, earning a smile from him before causing him to lean down and take your lips in a heated kiss. He groaned into it as his seed painted your walls with each thrust, his hips moving with much more softness now than they had before, much slower, as he worked to bury every last drop within you, effectively marking you his. “I love you too, my queen” he replied, making you giggle happily as you shared in the intimate moment and passion filled kiss. You wrapped your arms around your vampiric lover, keeping him as close to you as possible, wishing to revel in the sacchar of your still conjoined bodies.

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from deep within you as he collapsed on top of you, his full weight baring down on you. You wriggled and fought to free yourself of his weight, yet try as you might, you also couldn’t help but find comfort in it. Peace in knowing that he felt safe with you to be this way, that he could be vulnerable and playful with you in ways he has never shared with anyone else. You ran your delicate fingers up and down the expanse of his back, effectively granting him a moment of much welcomed tranquility in your arms. If there was one thing in this entire world that he wished for most, he wished only to spend the rest of eternity this way, with love in his heart, and you to share it all with. With you, forever no longer felt so bleak. With you, eternal life felt as vivacious as mortal life, and he wouldn’t dare to dream of it any other way now that he had you beside him.

[autlantic]

BREAK (PART 2)

iwaizumi x reader , oikawa x reader

1.3k words

this is NOT proof read my bad guys.

and i’ll break for you baby, cause you make it feel so good

Snow fell over the next few days.

The thick white blanket was a blessing, trapping you in the warmth and comfort of home- and away from the situation you soon had to face. Eventually, the roads were dug up and coated in salt, your perfectly timed refuge coming to an end.

You could hear Tooru calling your name, knocking impatiently at your front door. Usually the sound filled you with excitement, but today his preening voice just brought you closer to facing school- to facing Hajime.

You pulled the front door open, plastering a smile on your face. Tooru tutted at your appearance, pulling at the thick scarf wrapped round your neck with his brows furrowed.

“You’re supposed to be making it up to me, you know.“ He pouted, shovelling the soft material into your bag.

You attempted to enjoy the walk, listening to Tooru’s usual rambles as Aoba Josai began to emerge in the distance. You shivered, heart beating faster as the two of you approached the gate. Snow coated the ground and greenery, twinkling under the morning sun like little fragments of diamond.

“You’ll meet me after practice later yes?” The brown eyed boy questions, gazing down at you expectantly.

“Yeah, sure. See you then Tooru.”

—

Tennis practice is exhausting. The whole team are practicing in matching blue and white tracksuits, refusing to be affected by the weather when winter matches are so close. Towards the end, a second year with short blonde hair and flushed cheeks approaches you.

“Good work out there! Are you alright?” You question kindly, noticing the way her eyes dart around nervously.

“I was just wondering..” The girl starts off, still avoiding eye contact. “Seeing as you’re Oikawa’s girlfriend and all…”

You freeze at that. Were you Oikawa’s girlfriend? The two of you had made up, yes, but the dynamic felt different this time. The topic of labels hadn’t been brought up yet, which you felt surprisingly thankful for.

“Does- does Iwaizumi san have a girlfriend?”

The second year looks hopeful, pink now trailing down her neck and up to the tips of her ears. She was cute. She made an angry feeling build up in your throat.

It’s not like you had any right to care- you’d had your chance with the short haired ace, and completely thrown it back into his face.

“Oh… I don’t think he does no.” You forced out, suppressing the green monster as the younger girl grinned, thanked you and ran off in a fit of giggles.

-

You hovered nervously outside the volleyball gym, waiting for Tooru, when the door slammed open.

Iwaizumi was slightly damp with sweat, sports bag slung lazily over his shoulder as he eyed you with surprise. He looked handsome, tanned skin flushed red from the exercise, athletic jacket left half zipped as if he was in a hurry to leave.

“Oikawa’s getting changed. He’ll be out soon.” Hajime spoke, voice monotone and eyes burning into yours. Usually you’d reel back at the intensity of the eye contact, but something about him still felt safe and comforting.

“See you around.” He added on, walking away before you had a chance to respond. You winced at the interaction, something sharp digging around in your chest.

hold me down, and maybe i’ll quit if you stick around

The winter tennis league had crept up quickly. Your nails were bitten red raw with nervousness, your future in the sport reliant on the few hours that lay ahead. Tooru had rang that morning, reminding you that he would ‘try his best to come’, but that exams and volleyball had him busy. You weren’t that disappointed at this, it wouldn’t be the first time he hadn’t made the time to come and watch you.

Walking onto the court, you refused to look towards the crowd and risk ruining your focus. The match was intense, but after a final hit you emerged victorious, the rest of the tennis club running to embrace you and screech out excited congratulations.

“Your friend came to watch, you should go find him!” One of your beloved friends mentions.

You see him by the water fountain, broad shoulders leant against the wall as he watched you approach.

“You came!”

Iwaizumi nods, a softness lingering in his hazel eyes. “Yeah, I told you I would. You’re still my friend.”

For some reason the corner of your eyes sting. You blink the sensation away.

“I’m really sorry, Hajime.” You offer genuinely, trying to read his usual stoic expression. “I miss you. A lot.”

He smiles softly. “I know, and I forgive you.” Iwaizumi couldn’t stay angry when you look like that; all soft and sweet and pretty. God he loved you. You looked even more perfect when you gazed at him with that curious hopeful look in your eyes. He couldn’t quite place it, but it made him feel good.

You had made such a mistake. You didn’t know how to tell him.

keep quiet, it’s the only place i know but it’s my favourite.

You’d seen Hajime every day since the match. Staying up late studying, eating lunch together, discussing what you wanted to study university. Your friends began to pick up on it, asking why you weren’t with Tooru- the captain in question always had an excuse of plans or exhaustion that meant you barely saw him.

Whilst you were at practice, Iwaizumi and Oikawa were catching up in the boys locker rooms.

“Can I let you in on a secret, Iwa-chan?” Tooru grinned, head cocked to one side. “If you wanna be successful with girls, you should at least read their confession letters before rejecting them.”

Iwaizumi grimaced, recalling his possibly too harsh rejection of a blonde second year earlier that day. He wasn’t interested in reading the letter, as he knew he wasn’t interested in anyone other than you- as painful as that was.

“Suki wrote me a real cute letter. And bakes me things. That’s why I keep her around more than all the others.” Oikawa grinned, waving a little package of cookies wrapped in a pink ribbon.

“What?” Hajime stared blankly at the friend he’d had for years. “You can’t seriously still be seeing other girls?”

“Of course I am. It’s not like i’m tied down. No labels, no loyalty.” Oikawa smirked.

Hajime lost it.

Without thinking, his calloused fist made contact with the merciless smirk on his friend’s face, the bang echoing as Oikawa stumbled into the metal lockers behind him.

Tooru lifted a hand to his face, bringing it back down to see the smear of red blood from his now split lip.

“Coming to her rescue isn’t gonna make her want you.” The bleeding boy sneered.

Iwaizumi stormed out.

-

After practice, you wandered off towards the school gates. It was late, and you doubted Tooru or Hajime were still around at this time. However, to your surprise, you could hear voices coming from the open window at the back of the volleyball gym.

“It’s not like i’m tied down. No labels, no loyalty.”

You weren’t surprised at the whose voice was speaking. It still hurt though, your first relationship coming to such a failure of an end right in front of your eyes. What was more surprising was the loud and unmistakable bang of your ex boyfriend being punched in his charming face.

The next words spoke by Tooru broke your heart more than his disloyalty.

Hajime stormed out of the gym, and you chased after him hurriedly.

“Hajime!”

“Haji, wait, please-“

He span round, fists still screwed up so tight his knuckles had gone pale.

“Not now, y/n, please. I’ve had enough of this little game you two are playing with me.”

“He’s wrong.” You pleaded, grabbing his shoulder as he went to turn away. “Tooru, he’s wrong. I do want you. More than anything.”

He stared at you. Your heart was beating in your mouth.

Hajime’s arms reached for you, pulling you against his firm chest and smearing his lips against yours. The kiss was warm, his large hand at the back of your neck to hold you close, tongue running against your lower lip. You gripped at his shirt, panting as he pulled away, foreheads touching. Iwaizumi felt right.

and i’m sick for you baby, and it’s never gonna go away

[puddlestories]

Body Swap AU Extras + Four/Colours Kissing- Head-canons

Four x GN Reader (no gendered pronouns or description)

Idea: some bullet-points based on my previous writing, some reasonings for what happened and some simple writings on an alternate scenario; featured are: the original writing, if you both kissed (as well as featuring the colours), and if you both hid the swap from the group.

CW: talk of allergic reactions (no actual harm caused); pre-marital kissing /lh. Just a small post as apology for part 2.

3.9k words; not proof-read

The original story:

You and Four were originally both stationed at the outer circle of the camp, Four attempting to buff a deep scratch out of his shield, engraved deep within the cosmetic detail and you sat watching, occasionally staring into space.

It was once Twilight and Legend went to patrol that you both began a small conversation, discussing different sights you’d seen along the way, occasionally asking questions as to certain meanings of plants or their uses as well as the popularity of areas to Hylians- Four explains that most people don’t really travel so most areas are okay to inhabit.

Camp had not yet been set up, waiting for an all clear from the two lads who’d left for safety reasons, giving the ability to quickly retreat- though obviously that didn’t happen.

Only a few tarps had been hung between branches to block the sweltering sun from you all; the open area causing a slight divide between the groups as the tarps became separated between different areas of trees

Despite the scouts not yet giving the signal of safety, people like Time, Warrior and Hyrule began to remove some armour- the weight too much after a long tiring walk, or the leather far too uncomfortable in the heat for Hyrule.

Exhaustion from walking and heat exhaustion, combined with the strategy of the monsters left the camp unaware of the severity of the impending danger, they’d fought with less equipment before and been in more dire situations.

The fight wasn’t easy, strong monsters combined with overwhelming numbers and a strategy to boot- they were victorious, but it took time, enough time for you and Four to become separated from the rest.

As for the others after the fight, Sky was able to have his wound wrapped and a red potion poured within to decrease the chances of infection, his wound needing stitches with the potion not being enough to fully heal him since it went too deep. Luckily enough it wasn’t positioned to hit any nerves, meaning that whilst he’d be out of commission for a week or two, he’d be approved to fight again once his stitches could be removed.

Wind was the worst injured, others mostly were just exhausted and with cuts and many bruises.

Wind having seen slashed through his gastrocnemius muscles, would have all of Hyrule’s remaining magic poured into him, as well as two red potions, him unable to stomach a third. The wound would take even with proper healing at least a month for all the muscle fibres to reconnect and he’d need daily stretches and physiotherapy to ensure he didn’t walk with a limp.

Though being younger he didn’t fully grasp the consequences, sometimes skipping his exercises and straining himself too much when the group was forced to move onward- he later walked with a slight limp the rest of the journey, ironically only fixing itself two years in when he broke his ankle climbing a slick rock in Wild’s world.

Now, differing from the actual chronological order here’s where we start skipping and getting to Four:

To start with, when you both swapped, Four awoke from the spell first, he was still extremely groggy and out of it, because of that he didn’t initially notice that Blue was gone.

Usually after a portal the colours become a bit muddled, each experiencing the transition differently, some becoming sick, others dizzy and some sometimes passing out.

Red was extremely dizzy, Green feeling like he wanted to vomit, their body lurching and curling forward, eyes tightly closed.

Vio was still only just waking up, and because of that, they originally thought that Blue was unconscious, that’s why he didn’t respond to any questions or mental probing.

Once they, saw you approach them, in their body and they realised the situation they immediately panicked, thinking about how this magic could possibly effect you both- he’d already been impacted by the magic of the four sword as well as the Minish, his shorter stature and separated mindset, the colours, it had changed him permanently; for that, he feared you’d both be stuck.

As soon as they discovered Blue was with you the fear doubled, this time it was a different fear.

Would you be terrified of someone who had multiple people within them, inside their mind- would you think they were crazy or dangerous?

What would happen to them, to Blue- would they lose a part of themselves, would Blue fade without the magic of the four sword, would they fade since they weren’t in their original body?

In an attempt to not fully panic themselves with unknown outer scenarios (that they had zero influence over), they focused on you, their surprise, you were okay with it,

You accepted them without question, a confusion fading into an uneducated understanding, one based purely on trust.

Just that moment shifted their understanding of you, placing you as a safe space, someone trustworthy with their entire being.

Their secret exposed without their consent, unable to plan who it was revealed to and how, no time for physical nor mental preparation- they were vulnerable.

They were vulnerable in a way others wouldn’t understand, placing them in front of you, placing them within your own personal space too, within your head; both of you being shoved into each other’s space and privacy with no intention to do so.  

However, you accepted them all, and it truly was them all, once Shadow revealed himself, Vio mentally kicking Green at the time he said that, still extremely out of it when they first saw you.

Shadow was a lovable menace through the dungeon, curling around your ankles as you walked, a cold breeze up your back and his dark fog stretching and shooting across the floor and walls as you went around corners acting as a look-out.

You struggled at times going through the dungeon, feeling separated within the body, struggling to control alongside Blue, but most times you both worked as a pair.

You both bonded through struggles, as well as the other colours through teamwork and guarding each other; the acceptance of his secret and greatest friend increasing your relationship from a friendship, formed by mutual understanding with you being misplaced into Hyrule and Four feeling separated from his family; unable to split around the others.

After the fight within the dungeon you comforted the colours, all overwhelmed with the situation, the possible loss of their brother and friend… someone they possibly consider as more than a friend, someone they want to know more.

How would they live without their other piece?

Would they be a broken puzzle and morn his loss, or would they all fade away, no more Link meaning no more colours?

You comforted them, wiping their tears and holding them close.

In that moment he could have held you tight, held you for longer, but he had to pull away, a small voice whispering about your possible discomfort, another stating about being vulnerable, not negative but if you’d want someone more stable, more masculine another voice whispered only to be shut down by the others. They were plenty manly even with tears down their face, besides, you wouldn’t think like that.

If anything you found them quite cute, you would say pretty but saying that to someone in your body did feel a bit weird, but despite your eyes (which you could admit sparkled in quite a pretty way in the orange glow of the fire rod) looking back at you, their mannerisms were very sweet.

During the fight with Link in the orchard, and Blue later merged back with the others that they all saw and heard about the ultimate trust you placed in them all, allowing Blue to take control, your lives on the line during the fight.

He wanted to return that trust placed in you once you were all merged back together, you protected them, accepted them, and they will protect you.

Returning to the forest, they were relieved that there was no immediate damage or side effects to either of you aside from your headache and his fatigue.

What he didn’t appreciate was the interruption.

If you did kiss (Four):

Your first kiss together would be extremely shy and awkward. (I love all other content regarding Hyrule having different courting rituals, so I’d love to write a separate post on that and all the boys.)

Four had never kissed anyone before, originally too proud as Link to kiss anyone, he was going to be a knight, he had to focus; then after the spilt they had been both far too absorbed in their work as well as far too insecure with their new development to engage with anyone else- their grandfather and father both knowing this and trying to encourage him outside at times and to maintain relationships.

The kiss was angled and soft, lips lightly brushing, the occasional push of lips from Four, noses bumping and chin brushing foreheads, his hair framing you both behind a thin curtain.

He was warm, lips chapped and his upper lip slightly thin, but lower lip plump and encased against yours.

His ears flapped lightly afterwards, a large grin on his face and bright red spread across his cheeks, ears and neck.

After the kiss he just continued giggling, lost in his own word, grin held tight on his face.

Blue:

To start, he has a slightly malformed hand, the bones within once broken from a forging incident, his hammer dropped onto his hand; luckily, he still has all movement, just hand cramps occasionally from strain where the muscles didn’t reconnect and heal properly due to a lack of proper medical care.

His injury relates to how he shows you his affection, acts of service and showing off occasionally, however he has to be careful of his hand.

He wishes he could hold your hand 24/7, but his muscles cramp if his fingers remain interlocked with yours for too long; he did try simply cupping your hands together but even that didn’t work, hands getting sweaty so he would wipe them constantly worried of grossing you out.

The type of guy to lift you up as he kisses you, height be damned, though not always possible with his hand.

Rests his hand on the back of your neck as you kiss, pulling himself up and you downwards into him.

I’m convinced he’d be the most likely to let you pick him up instead but you can’t say a word to anyone else.

To see vs to say is his ideology- if someone saw you both kissing he’d be the proudest guy around, chest puffed in pride that he has you and that you’re willing to kiss him, that you enjoy kissing him and love him.

Will praise you to the moon and further, Blue is lost in space.

However, if someone were to be told of you both sharing a kiss, even if just a light tease or remark from another in the group he’d become extremely flustered, eyes wide and glittering, cheeks puffed and ears wiggling.

He’s too cute really.

You’d eat him up if you could, well and maybe you did.

Deep passionate kisses and would kiss for an hour if you’d allow it.

Honestly, I’d place money to say he’d kiss you until he passed out if it was possible.

Green:

Another passionate kisser.

Most likely to learn what the term “making out” means, and will hold to that standard, honestly his favourite way to kiss you.

The more passion, the better, the more heat and movement the better- he’s got to show you his prowess and dedication to the task!

It’s like neither of you can stay still, stepping back, brushing the desk, back to the wall, his back to the wall, walking back across the room etc. just leading each other around, pressing into each other and the kiss itself creating a dizzying dance of movement.

Your first kiss I see him as someone who kept his eyes open, hands by his sides until a few seconds in, hands lifting but not touching you.

Poor boy was in shock that this amazing person who he has had the largest urge to court has kissed him?!

Yes, you had to kiss him, not the other way around, he would be far too shy to initiate anything with you- a brave honoured knight who can’t even stutter out his feelings, though he does make them quite obvious in his actions, allowing you to know to act first.

If you’re too shy to initiate, then the other boys are taking the lead for you both.

Tripping either of you (though they are most likely to trip Green instead, they wouldn’t want to hurt or embarrass you, their brother in arms though is a free sacrifice).

Setting up dates, whether planned together or on both your behalf, neither of you have the confidence.

During trips out around Castle Town or the local woods and hiking trails, no kiss shared.

The boys tried many scenarios, from different outfits planned for you both by stealing other clothes out of your wardrobes, to planning different dates and environments; they even involved other people such as restaurant owners or local shopkeepers to make comments to you both- a psychological attempt, to “plant a seed” Red stated.

Once there was a close call- Green falling onto you, knocking you both to the floor, his arm behind your head to protect you, chests pressed tight together, sharing each other’s breathe, and… your lips not touching.

Vio was one nerve away from walking over and shoving Green’s head down into yours /lh.

In the end, you both shared a kiss away from the others, likely after a knight dual that Green won, a shy reasoning of a reward for his victory.

Red:

A man who knows what he wants.

Zero anxiety and zero shame- judgement from others is nowhere near his radar, and even if the idea passed his mind, it was quickly brushed away with no care.

Definitely more aware of his surroundings; the most likely to kiss you in public or in front of the others.

If you’re embarrassed, it makes him feel even better, maybe even a bit risqué, though if you were ashamed, it’d hurt him.

All you need to do is tell him of your discomfort and he’d be more than willing to leave any kisses, especially the more feet sweeping passion at home, or at least as close to home as he can hold back.

Forest kisses, hidden corners, by the fountain, inside the forge, out front of the house etc. he does not care, all he cares for is you.

Known as passionate in his interests by the locals and seen as a valuable knight but this new side certainly reinforces and makes his label as a minx widespread and known by all.

Pulls you place to place hand tightly held by his own- if you’ve asked for more privacy, you only partially win, others won’t see your acts of love, but they will certainly know when they will occur, Red always pulling you away, the signs written far too big and bright for others not to know.

Especially after he came back one day, a massive dorky grin on his face.

Want a man who will sweep you off your feet metaphorically or literally? This is your man.

Always armed with a surprise bouquet of flowers where possible, a stray wildflower when out on the road, or sometimes even just brings a flower home from his walk to or from the knight’s training grounds on his days away from the forge.

Immediately blabbed to his grandfather the second you got together.

Laid on the floor on his stomach, feet kicking in the air behind him style, Grandpa Smith and Red having a gossip session, grandpa wildly excited to see his boy’s happy; he can’t wait to meet you.

Vio:

Someone others see as quite stoic and reserved, seen as the one without emotion or care, in reality he’s just much more reserved in comparison to Red and Blue, both the boys much more outward in their emotions.

He’s quite a romantic, originally thinking of himself as someone who no one would like, especially not romantically.

At times he’d go back and forth, questioning himself as to whether he was even interested in relationships, if he cared to talk to someone everyday and share so much time or possessions, whilst other times he craved affection and someone to be so close to, someone who would understand and accept him.

Definitely head-cannoned as autistic and possibly ace(sexual), and no, the autistic isn’t because he likes books and is smart, it’s in reference to his emotional understanding and experience.

Whether he is ace or truly someone just unsure of himself, that’s for him to decide, either way it doesn’t make him any different or take joy from relationships any less. He feels his autism doesn’t help his difficulty with his emotions and wants, feeling his emotions more “flatlined” and mellowed, but still there.

In a relationship with you he would always make sue to reassure you of his commitment and affection for you; you make him comfortable, to sit in silence together or to share interests and physical affection.

However, please do reassure him too, he gets self-conscious that he isn’t enough or isn’t pleasing you in this relationship, having read too many relationship stereotypes in stories, far too curious for his own good, hoping to see himself within books to prove he wasn’t broken.

Also takes far too many stories to heart, gossip from customers within the shop or even within dark corners of the library, harmless advice and good meaning discussions hitting a more negative space in his mind.

Kisses are always private but someone who will always brush his knuckles against yours in public and sit close to your side.

Likes to jokingly refer to them as smooches to see you smile, will passionate kiss you, head tilted and using his height to his advantage, standing below you and pressing upwards, preferably pinning you in place by your hips or lightly pressed against a wall- this man will stand on his tip toes if need be, he has no shame when it comes to seeing that adorable shine in your eyes after a kiss.

Shadow:

The epitome of a pigeon- seen as dirty trash by many but merely misunderstood by those who used and abandoned him.

He’s soft and sweet hiding behind a mask of cocky indifference.

Seen as unable to do simple tasks and always marked down to be an evil or unwanted presence, but despite his three sticks of a nest he learns fast, adaptive to everything he sees and is told- his actions may seem stupid or unneeded to others but he’s from a different place and had to learn and adapt to different threats and environments.

Admittedly a bit gullible, but you would be too if fed lied all your existence and isolated to a dark realm.

Fiercely loyal, and I do mean fierce, if anyone were to approach during any of your meetings, not just your kiss he’d growl and snap his teeth their way, eyes reflecting a glistening red.

He’s one to hold you close when you’re intimate, whether sitting and reading (to him, he hasn’t learnt his Hylian yet), or sharing a hidden kiss.

He has major abandonment issues and a big case of imposter syndrome, whether he deserves to be in your life; if he’s good enough.

Shadow claims that he’d kiss you in front of the others to assert dominance or as a “prank” to make them uncomfortable but the poor body is a bit too shy for that often, though he did do it once- the others teasing you both but he didn’t understand the sarcasm, stating he wouldn’t kiss you before your wedding, Shadow misunderstanding that as  bad thing, he kissed you, lips pursed and harsh against yours, a long peck, eyes scrunched tight. Afterwards he was panting from adrenaline and stress, glaring at the others with an extra huff of how he loves you and the others are simply jealous.

Regular kisses on the other hand, are often hidden away behind trees or in building alcoves, soft pecks and the rare long smooch, face completely flushed dark but maintaining a sly smirk- just don’t tease him, let him think he’s smooth (he is) and in control (he isn’t).

Alternatively, imagine if you stayed in the field but still got swapped?

If you both became swapped and only left at a distance with Four, then chaos would ensue.

You’d both originally be shocked, of course, but soon great ideas, and chaos, would ensue.

The idea shared between you all would be how long until others would notice, or what tricks you could both do and if you could pull them off in each other’s bodies.

The prank was Four’s idea- at least that’s what you’d claim as defence.

He’d take all the blame without question, finding the situation far too hilarious.

It was those tricks that left Four folded to the floor, a failed backflip, laughing loudly, voice loud and unmuffled. It was nice to see him so free and happy.

Honestly, it’d take a few days for the others to notice.

Four not as loud or boisterous in the group and you with your slight confidence issues of fitting in we’re always on to be the centre of attention.

You were both able to sit together and lay your bedrolls close, your previous friendship not raising any flags of suspicion.

It was only during the dawn of the third day that they finally realised, during dinner you were all eating a meal of meat and mixed vegetables, Wild adapting different bowls to the needs of others, placing fish for Wind and removing radishes from Warrior.

During this dinner it was when you grabbed a bowl with green peppers, taking a bite before Wild could turn around, only to send him into a panic.

Wild freaking out about upsetting Four, whether through a dislike of taste or texture would be a blow to his dedication as the group cook, his worst fear of a possible allergic reaction being the main catalyst.

At that point you both confessed, feeling awful for pushing Wild (he pushed himself, to be fair) to the verge of a panic attack, stating you were fine, Four commenting it was a hatred for the pepper, not an allergy to try placating him.

With the knowledge now spread around camp in the chaos, it was Legend who immediately moved to your side, gripping your wrists and twisting, eyes flittering over your body and locking to your eyes.

With Legend’s vast experience with magic and spells (and curses), he was able to share his findings with Hyrule and Time to find a possible cure or reversal spell to your ailment.

If you could say so yourself, the headache after was killer.

The magic, yes, but the lecture you received from the others for keeping it a secret was far worse- to be fair, they had a solid argument, what if you’d both gotten stuck?

All I can tell you with that, is that Four wouldn’t have complained.

---

Thank you to those who read my original post, thank you to those who liked/ hearted, and massive shout out to those who followed me and my friend Silver especially for re-blogging.

I will be writing some more simple ideas for romantic pairings, especially Four and Shadow, so worry not, there will be romance, hopefully actual good romance /lh.