#and its not even something that i hope in the distance to achieve even

[deus-ex-mona]

ok yk what. now that i’ve had some time to process nghy canon, considering the current pacing of gen retcon, i think their next step is as ✨clear as day✨

i really like seeing them happy together, but i truly do think that they should divorce and either live the rest of their lives as single besties; partners in hero/heroine-isms, but better off as just friends, or go their separate ways for a bit and get back together when they’re a little older and wiser, staying together for good this time around, as each other’s first and last boyfriend/girlfriend

[millerscoffee]

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals.  It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it.  So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front.  He hands out papers, hovering by your desk.  Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down.  You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings.  “Shit,” you say to yourself.  That was it.  That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course.  You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling.  You failed.  Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind.  What were you to do?  How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it.  The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller.  Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes.  His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns.  He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve.  A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt.  Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him.  “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?”  Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl.  Proving not to judge a book by its cover.  The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff.  Predicates and imagery?  I’d rather be learning about biology.  But I need this course, you know.  And I…,” you swallow hard.  God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher.  He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,”  Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table.  He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms.  Keeps his distance.  “It happens, you know.  There are things we can do to accommodate.  You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail.  You have options.  I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final.  Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare.  You know the workload of this university.  Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?”  You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it.  The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help.  You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all.  I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though.  You’d have to come by my house…,”  he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course.  If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it.  You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did.  Though, that was neither here nor there.  His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing.  Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place.  But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay.  Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race.  Tonight?  Tonight?!  Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.”  How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively.  “Here’s my address.  7 o’clock.”

“Seven.  Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.”  His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat.  You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers.  It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar.  Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach.  It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home.  Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans.  His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted.  His stomach, soft at the bottom.  You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks.  You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too.  Charismatic as he invites you into his home.  Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks.  His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower.  What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home.  It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time.  His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures.  Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children.  He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right?  When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too.  Fuck, this feels so easy.  But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language.  He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that.  You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally.  Plump and ripe for the taking.  Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you.  What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression.  You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him.  And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen.  You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?”  When you take the water from him, your fingers graze.  The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind.  He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead.  The two lines between his brow.  “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table.  Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree.  You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop.  All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down.  You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster.  You dread it, you really do.  Going over your failures?  You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,”  Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift.  The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head.  “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought.  You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax.  Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself.  “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything.  See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.”  Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format.  This citation works for your research papers, right?”  He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day.  You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper.  “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs.  You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it?  You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly.  If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format.  Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting.  An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse.  You shift your gaze to look at him.  The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest.  The freckles that splayed over his aged skin.  “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement.  And a pointed one, it seems.  Someone to tell you what to do.  And Joel wanted to be that person?  Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it.  Maybe he did that just because this was his house.  That must’ve been it.  He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next.  He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either.  What?  I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart.  Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap.  You deserved better than that.  He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself.  He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes.  He felt for you.  And he was a bit lost in your eyes.  You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit.  Joel could see that.  He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted.  You threw him off without even trying.  The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise.  You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly.  “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay.  You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.”  He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.  The candor, the nerve.  A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were.  Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain.  They look soft, and… willing.  You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else.  You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming.  He’s not married?  You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this?  So close?  Backed by the glow of his house?  It was so different from the boys you were used to.  In their dorms or disgusting apartments.  It smelled as nice as it looked.  You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself.  You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster.  Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway.  I know I didn’t at that age.”

There.  The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?”  You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee.  Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers.  “Forty-six.  You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion.  How will this land?  What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa.  He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out.  Do you fake it?  Do you give it to them straight?  Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you?  N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you.  It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp.  But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge.  It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you.  Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone.  No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet.  He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day?  You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing.  Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans.  His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that.  All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things.  That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready.  His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing.  Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually.  He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination.  “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses.  Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does.  On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat.  You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this.  You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.”  Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request.  “I – what?”

“No?”  Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood.  It’s just, straddling his face?  Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?”  His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural.  But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school.  Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today.  He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you.  “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?”  You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place.  And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures.  His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor.  “Fuck,” you mutter.  This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does.  You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest.  Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand?  All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening.  “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.”  Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told.  Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart.  Then, it’s incredibly palpable.  His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him.  You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself.  There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too.  Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt.  “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks.  Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do.  Has so much to teach you, if you let him.  Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much.  Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him.  An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much.  It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt.  Delicious, deliberate.  Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was.  Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last.  Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you.  A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained.  “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly.  Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery.  Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips.  Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there.  Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you.  The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you.  Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too.  He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin.  Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally.  Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone.  Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar.  You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was.  Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly.  Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor.  His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons.  “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had.  You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm.  And everything else.

“You know what you did?”  Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand.  You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress.  “What was it?”  You ask, curiously.  Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you.  His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

 “Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance.  “What is it?”  You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him.  “No.  No.  I want to feel you.  It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that.  At how gone your brain is.  Here he was, thinking he was the only one.  “Okay, okay, darlin’.  I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion.  But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head.  You were everywhere.  His mouth, his glistening chest and beard.  He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation.  Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock.  “Such a needy little thing, now,”  it’s as if someone else is talking.  This isn’t the Professor Miller you know.  This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it.  “So fucking wet.  Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock.  Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it.  “Take my cock.”

And take, you do.  Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock.  Clenching around the head and he growls at that.  “You dirty thing.  This how you fuck all your teachers?”  It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you!  Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you.  It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him.  “Just me, show me then.  Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over.  Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once.  Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

 It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own.  The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else.  His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole.  You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected.  Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore.  “Fuck me, Joel!  Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?”  Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first.  Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this.  When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you.  How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now.  His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow.  The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on.  The way it sounds.  Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you.  Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake.  You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs.  Over your own stomach.  You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your.  His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it.  I know you can take it.  Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby.  That’s it, that’s good, darlin’.  Shh, easy.  Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat.  Come for me, I know you can be so good for me.  Good for – fuck – fuck.  Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit.  “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop.  Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come.  Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore.  You feel too good.  Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves.  “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!”  Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms.  You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out.  So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear.  He doesn’t want to any more than you do.  But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out.  Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you.  You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back.  But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle.  When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too.  He’s just as disheveled.  The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?”  He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender.  More playful.  More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.”  he’s finished enough for you to roll over.  You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop.  He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant.  “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow.  “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,”  Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now.  “You will pass by your own volition.  I meant it – you are bright.  You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.”  He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave.  And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.”  You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue.  Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

[its-avalon-08]

do u write for logan? im sorry if not but if yes can u please write a fic where he’s training and focused on not losing his seat so much that he’s neglecting y/n a little and she tries to understand but ends up felling sad and hurt anyways so he notices she’s distance and tries to fix things?

she's fading (ls2)

✦ pairing - logan sargeant x female!reader

✦ genre - neglecting, logan is stupid, comfort, tears, angst

Logan Sargeant was entrenched in his training, pushing himself to the limit every single day. The pressure to keep his seat was mounting, and his dedication was unwavering. Unfortunately, this dedication often came at the expense of his relationship with Y/N.

One evening, Y/N sat alone at the dining table, a small, decorated cake in front of her. The candle's flickering flame cast shadows across the room. She glanced at the clock, its hands marking another hour that Logan was late. Today was their anniversary, but it seemed Logan had forgotten.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message with a heavy heart.

Y/N: Hey, are you coming home soon?

She hit send and waited. Minutes turned into an hour with no response. Her disappointment deepened, but she knew this was becoming the norm.

Logan finally walked in, drenched in sweat and looking exhausted. He barely glanced at the table before heading to the kitchen.

"Hey, can you get me a coffee? I'm wiped out," he called out, oblivious to the cake and Y/N's somber expression.

"Logan…" Y/N began, her voice trembling.

"Just a coffee, Y/N," Logan repeated, not looking at her.

Y/N bit her lip, fighting back tears, and went to the kitchen. She prepared the coffee with shaking hands, feeling a fever starting to burn within her. As she handed him the mug, Logan finally noticed her pale face.

"Thanks," he said, taking the coffee without a second glance.

"Logan, can we talk?" she asked weakly.

"Can it wait, Y/N? I'm really tired," Logan replied, already heading towards the shower.

Y/N watched him go, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. She knew he was under immense pressure, but his constant neglect was taking a toll on her.

A few days later, Y/N lay in bed, shivering under a thick blanket. Her fever had spiked, and she felt too weak to move. She had called in sick from work, something she rarely did, and had hoped Logan would notice her absence.

Logan, however, was too absorbed in his training schedule. He came home briefly during lunch, rummaging through the kitchen for something quick to eat.

"Hey, Y/N, where's the protein shake powder?" he called out.

"It's… in the pantry," Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan found the powder and quickly made his shake. As he was about to leave, he noticed Y/N's flushed face.

"You look terrible," he said bluntly. "Are you sick?"

"Yeah, I have a fever," she admitted, her eyes pleading for some acknowledgment.

"Oh, that sucks," Logan said, checking his watch. "I’ve got to head back to the track. Take some medicine, okay?"

Y/N stared at him in disbelief as he rushed out the door. She felt a tear slip down her cheek as the door closed behind him. She had never felt so alone.

Days later, Y/N's fever has reduced. She managed to get out of bed to attend an award ceremony for her work, where she was being recognized for a significant achievement. She had hoped Logan would come, but as the evening progressed, it became clear he wouldn't.

Standing on the stage, holding her award, Y/N scanned the audience for any sign of Logan. He was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank, and she forced a smile for the cameras, feeling the weight of his absence acutely.

That night, Logan came home late again, his mind still on his training sessions. Y/N sat on the couch, the award placed prominently on the table.

"Hey," she said softly as he walked in.

"Hey," Logan replied, barely glancing at her. "How was your day?"

Y/N gestured to the award. "I won this today."

Logan finally looked at it, his expression showing brief recognition. "Oh, wow. That's great, Y/N. Sorry I couldn't make it. Busy day."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears. "Logan, I needed you there. I need you now."

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, Y/N. I'm sorry. I just… I have so much on my plate right now."

Y/N scoffed and walked away.

time skip

One weekend, Oscar and Lily stopped by for a visit. They all sat in the living room, catching up on life. Lily turned to Y/N with a bright smile.

"Congratulations on your award, Y/N! That’s amazing! I am so so so proud of you! I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed.

Y/N smiled, grateful for the acknowledgment. "Thank you, Lily."

Logan, sitting beside her, nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, congrats."

Oscar shot Logan a look. "Mate, don’t you think you should be a bit more excited for Y/N?"

Logan glanced up, confused. "Huh? Oh, yeah, of course. Great job, Y/N."

Y/N’s smile faltered, the hollowness of his words cutting deeper than any outright neglect. She excused herself, retreating to the kitchen where she leaned against the counter, trying to hold back her tears.

Lily followed her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"

Y/N shook her head, the tears finally spilling over. "I just… I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Lily."

Lily hugged her, offering silent support. "You deserve better, Y/N. Don’t let him make you feel like you’re not important."

Y/N nodded, wiping her eyes. She knew Lily was right, but her heart ached with the weight of loving someone who seemed to be slipping away. Her silent sobs shook her gentle frame and Lily hugged her.

Back in the living room, Oscar nudged Logan. "You really need to step up, Logan. You’re going to lose her if you keep this up. Look at her Lo. Her spark, it's gone."

Logan frowned, glancing towards the kitchen where he could hear Y/N’s muffled sobs. A wave of guilt washed over him, but the realization of what he needed to do came too late. The damage was done, and he could only hope it wasn’t irreversible.

After Oscar and Lily left, Logan sat on the couch, his mind racing. He couldn't shake off Oscar's words or the image of Y/N's tear-streaked face. He decided to observe her behavior, needing to understand just how much his neglect had affected her.

Y/N moved around the apartment with a practiced grace, tidying up after their guests. She brought Logan a plate of dinner without a word, a habit formed from countless evenings eating alone. Logan watched her, noticing the way she quietly went about her routine, her eyes distant and sad.

"Thanks," he said, his voice breaking the silence.

"You're welcome," Y/N replied softly, sitting down at the other end of the table, her plate already half-eaten.

They ate in silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. Logan's heart ached as he realized how accustomed she had become to his absence. She no longer looked at him with anticipation, no longer waited for him to initiate conversation. She was used to being alone, even when he was physically present.

After dinner, Y/N washed the dishes while Logan sat at the table, his mind spinning. When she finished, she walked past him to the bedroom, pausing at the door.

"Goodnight, Logan," she said, her voice void of the warmth it once held.

He watched her go, a lump forming in his throat. He followed her to the bedroom, standing in the doorway as she climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Logan took a deep breath, stepping inside. "Y/N?"

She turned towards him, barely visible in the dim light. "Yes?"

Logan took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts as he sat beside Y/N. The weight of his neglect and the pain he'd caused her pressed heavily on his chest, making it difficult to find the right words. But he knew this was his moment to lay everything bare, to show her just how much she meant to him.

"Y/N," he began, his voice trembling. "I don't even know where to start. I’ve been so caught up in my own world, in my career, that I’ve completely neglected the most important person in my life. You. And for that, I am so deeply sorry."

He looked into her eyes, seeing the hurt and the longing there. "You’ve been so patient with me, so understanding, and I took that for granted. I thought that just because you were always there, I didn’t need to make an effort. But I was wrong. So very wrong."

Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision. "Every time I missed an important moment in your life, every time I put my career before you, I was chipping away at the foundation of our relationship. I see that now. I see how much I’ve hurt you, and it tears me apart. I see that now. I see how you’ve had to get used to eating alone, how you’ve stopped waiting for me to kiss you goodnight. And it breaks my heart.""

Logan took her hands in his, his grip firm yet gentle. "You are everything to me, Y/N. You are the reason I push myself so hard, the reason I want to succeed. But I lost sight of what truly matters. I thought that by focusing on my career, I was doing it for us, for our future. But what good is a future if I lose you in the process?"

He paused, his voice breaking with emotion. "I miss you, Y/N. I miss your smile, your laughter, the way you light up a room just by being in it. I miss the way we used to talk for hours, sharing our dreams and fears. I miss holding you close, feeling your heartbeat against mine. I miss us."

Logan's tears flowed freely now, his heart laid bare. "You are my rock, my anchor, the person who keeps me grounded. Without you, none of this means anything. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to me because I was too blind to see it."

He tightened his grip on her hands, his voice filled with desperation and love. "I promise you, Y/N, I will change. I will make more time for us, for you. I will be there for every important moment, every small victory, and every tough day. I will show you every single day how much you mean to me, how much I love you."

Logan took a deep breath, his voice steadying. "I know it won’t be easy, and I know I have a lot to make up for. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Because you are worth it, Y/N. Our love is worth it. And I will never, ever take you for granted again."

He looked into her eyes, his own filled with sincerity and devotion. "I love you more than words can ever express. Please, give me the chance to prove it to you, to show you that I can be the man you deserve. I promise you, with all my heart, that I will never let you down again."

Logan held her gaze, his heart pounding with the hope that she could see the depth of his love and the truth in his words. This was his moment of redemption, his chance to make things right, and he vowed to never let her slip away again.

Y/N couldn't hold back her emotions any longer. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Logan, burying her face in his chest as tears streamed down her cheeks. Logan held her close, his own tears mingling with hers, relieved and overwhelmed by her response.

"I love you, Logan," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Logan held her even tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you so much, Y/N. I’m so sorry."

They stayed embraced for a long moment, finding solace in each other’s arms. Finally pulling back slightly, Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face.

"I believe you," she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips through the tears. "Let’s make this work, Logan. Together."

Logan nodded, his heart swelling with gratitude and determination. "Together," he repeated, brushing a stray tear from her cheek before kissing her gently.

In that moment, surrounded by their shared love and the promise of a renewed commitment, Logan knew that their relationship was stronger than ever. They had weathered a storm together and emerged with a deeper understanding of each other’s needs and a renewed sense of purpose.

[thelovehypothesis]

Part 2.2 : Between the Pit Walls and the Heartbreak - 43

part 1

Franco Colapinto x fem-engineer!reader x friend!Max Verstappen

+2k words

a/n’s: lastly! full credit to @afterglowsainz go read their fic “don't smile” its amazing, and this is the long awaited part 2 on my take of their fic! BUT here is and alternate ending... Part 2.1, I really enjoyed wiriting this, hope you like it!

warnings: angst-fluff

Summary: Two hearts, one racetrack, and a love that no team can control. When love collides with ambition, can they find a way back to each and if they can, can they learn to forgive?

Start line, finish line, at the end it's the same 

It had been nearly four since you walked away from Franco, since you’d chosen your career and dreams over the love you once thought would last forever. Life had changed in ways you could never have imagined. The moment you accepted the position at Red Bull, everything shifted. The high-intensity world of being Max Verstappen’s race engineer consumed you, leaving little room for reflection, which was how you preferred it.

You were good at your job—great, even. From the very first race weekend with Max, you felt the rush of adrenaline, the electric tension of every decision you made behind the mic, and the weight of contributing to a world championship. It was thrilling, everything you’d ever worked for, and yet, there were quiet moments when your mind drifted back to what you had left behind.

But you didn’t have time for what-ifs. You stood in the garage, headphones around your neck, watching the pit crew scramble as they prepared the car for qualifying. Max was a machine—focused, relentless—and the two of you had developed an easy rapport. He trusted you with critical decisions, and you trusted him to deliver on the track. It was a partnership built on mutual respect and shared ambition.

As you stood there, watching the screens, you felt a familiar tug of emotion—memories of race weekends with Franco, late-night strategy talks, and the way he used to smile when he nailed a lap. But you pushed those thoughts away. That chapter of your life was over.

“Y/N, we’re ready,” Max’s voice crackled through your headset, pulling you back to the present.

“Copy that,” you replied, all business again. “Let’s nail this one, Max.”

The next few minutes were a blur of data, radio calls, and fast decisions. Max was flying, setting the fastest times in each sector. By the time the session ended, he had secured pole position, and the garage erupted in cheers. You smiled, proud of the work you’d done and of what the team had achieved together. This was where you belonged now—at the heart of the action, right on the edge of greatness.

But as the celebration in the garage began to die down, you caught sight of a familiar figure across the paddock—Franco. He was there, leaning against the railing, watching you. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, everything around you seemed to blur, the noise of the team fading into the background.

He looked different—older, somehow, more serious. But that same magnetic energy was still there, the pull between you undeniable, even from a distance.

Franco was back in the paddock as a reset driver for Williams and Mercedes in the 2025 season. It was bittersweet seeing him there, a constant reminder of the past and what you had left behind. His presence felt heavy, especially for him when he started to believe Max had feelings for you. Franco noticed every subtle interaction—the way Max’s eyes would linger on you during quick debriefs or the soft smirk on his lips after a race. Franco was convinced there was something more, but you didn’t see it. To you, Max was just being friendly, and you never thought to question it. Yet, Franco couldn’t shake the feeling, and each time you were near, the tension seemed to grow.

You quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. It had been so long since you’d seen him. You didn’t know what to feel—anger, sadness, or relief. You had moved on—or at least, you convinced yourself you had. But seeing him here, now, was like reopening a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

Later, after the garage had emptied out and the team had retreated to prepare for the race, you found yourself wandering the paddock, lost in thought. You didn’t expect to bump into Franco, but as fate would have it, there he was, standing by the entrance to the hospitality suite, waiting for you.

Y/N," he called out, his voice soft but urgent.

You froze, torn between walking away and confronting the emotions you had buried. Slowly, you turned to face him.

"Franco," you said, your voice steady though your heart was racing.

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. "I work here now. This is my job."

"I know," he said quietly. "I’ve been following you this season. You’re doing incredible things."

There was a brief silence, filled with unsaid words and memories. Finally, Franco spoke again, his tone softer, less guarded. “I’ve thought about you a lot. About us.”

You swallowed hard but kept your emotions in check. "Franco, that part of my life is over. I made my choice."

"I know you did," he said, his voice strained. "I’ve made mine too. But I don’t want us to keep being strangers. We shared too much to walk away from each other like this."

You hesitated, not expecting this direction. "What are you saying?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration mixed with something softer. “I don’t want us to end on bad terms. We were friends once, Y/N. I don’t want to lose that, too.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of the past heavy on your shoulders, but his words reached you. "You hurt me, Franco. We can't just pretend like none of that happened."

"I know," he said, his voice thick with regret. "And I’ll carry that. But maybe we could start again. Not like before, but as friends. You’ve moved on, and I need to accept that."

You studied him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was the boy you had once cared for, now standing before you, trying to make amends.

"Friends," you repeated, testing the word.

He nodded, hopeful but cautious. "Yeah, friends."

A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips. "I think I’d like that."

Franco’s shoulders relaxed as if a weight had been lifted. "I’d like that too."

For the first time in a long while, the air between you felt lighter. You knew it wouldn’t erase the past, but maybe it was a step toward healing it.

"I’ll see you around, then?" you asked, taking a step back toward the paddock.

He smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah, I’ll see you around."

As you turned and walked away, the knot in your chest loosened. Maybe this wasn’t about choosing the past or the present—it was about allowing both to coexist in their own space.

Heading back toward the Red Bull hospitality, you felt a sense of closure. You were ready to move forward, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were leaving something behind.

For the next few races, something began to shift between you and Franco. Slowly but surely, your interactions felt less heavy, less tied to the past. You started to talk more during race weekends, sharing little jokes or catching up between sessions. It wasn’t forced, and for the first time in a long while, it felt easy.

As the weeks went on, your friendship began to mend. The conversations that were once filled with tension now carried a lightness, and the lingering pain of what had happened between you both faded. You found yourself laughing with him again, and before long, you were falling back into the familiar rhythm of being really good friends—just friends this time you promised yourself. There was no pressure, no unspoken feelings. It was just you and Franco, rebuilding something new.

The next  race,  you once again crossed paths with Franco again. 

“Hey,” he called out, taking a step closer. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “What’s up?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “I think Max likes you,” he teased, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s like you’ve got him all flustered.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on, Franco. Max and I? It’s nothing like that.”

Franco crossed his arms, still smirking. “Sure, sure. But I’m telling you, he’s definitely interested. You just don’t see it.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling at his playful tone. “Trust me, it’s all professional. Max and I work well together, but that’s as far as it goes.”

He raised an eyebrow, not quite convinced. “Really? Because he seems to hang around a lot when you’re around.”

You nudged him lightly, amused by his teasing. “Don’t worry, Franco. I’d never see Max that way. He’s my driver. That’s it.”

Franco chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. “Alright, alright. Just don’t be surprised if he starts asking you out for coffee or something.”

You laughed again, feeling the tension between you both ease with each joke. “I’ll keep that in mind, but seriously, it’s nothing to worry about.”

He smiled, and for the first time in a while, it felt light between you two. “Good to know. Just looking out for you.”

You nodded, grateful for the lighter moment. “Thanks, Franco. I appreciate it.”

As you turned to leave, Franco called after you, still with that teasing tone. “But if he does ask you out, you owe me an update!”

You laughed over your shoulder. “Deal!”

After the race, as you and Max walked toward the team hospitality, he glanced at you with a grin. “Hey,at this point I just need to tell someone, when I head back to Monaco, I’ve got a date lined up,” he said, his tone casual but playful.

You blinked in surprise, then smiled. “A date, huh? Good for you,” you replied, nudging him lightly. “I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks,” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved. Whatever tension had been there between you two, it seemed Max was focusing elsewhere. It was a reminder that everything between you was purely professional.

Later that night, back at the hotel, you found yourself thinking about the past few weeks and Franco’s teasing remarks about Max. Pulling out your phone, you shot Franco a quick text: "You were wrong. I was right 😏 Max has a date, so nothing to worry about!"

Moments later, your phone buzzed with his reply: "Told you I wasn’t worried 😉 Wanna grab ice cream and celebrate your victory?"

You hesitated for only a moment before responding with a quick, "Sure, see you in a bit"

It didn't take long for the two of you to find a cosy, well-known ice cream shop nestled in the heart of town, far enough from the hustle of the paddock to feel peaceful. The shop had a retro charm, with colourful decor and the scent of freshly made waffle cones filling the air. You both grabbed your favourite flavours and found a quiet corner by the window, the soft hum of chatter around you.

Sitting across from each other, you fell into easy conversation—old memories, upcoming races, and life outside the paddock. The laughter came naturally, and it was as if the tension of the past had melted away. The familiarity between you felt comforting, like slipping back into something that had never really been lost.

As you looked over at Franco, you realised something you hadn’t expected. Despite everything, despite moving on, there was still a part of you that loved him. It was buried deep, hidden beneath layers of time and distance, but it was there, undeniable and real.

The finish line?

A week later, when the F1 circus rolled into the summer break, you found yourself spending a few days together with Franco. It wasn’t planned, but it felt natural, falling back into a familiar rhythm. You wandered through small towns, shared meals at local cafes, and simply enjoyed each other’s company. The past no longer felt like an anchor, pulling you back; instead, it was something you both acknowledged but didn’t dwell on.

The moment you sat down during one of those quiet afternoons, Franco reached over and took your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. There was no pressure, no unspoken expectations—just the comfort of being together.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice calm, yet filled with concern.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. Everything’s fine now.” And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed it.

The weight of the past no longer held you down. You were moving forward, and maybe, just maybe, there was still something between you and Franco worth exploring.

(abu dhabi grand prix)

The Grand Prix was electric,charged with tension, adrenaline, and the weight of the championship. Max was on the verge of winning his fifth world title, and every decision you made felt like it could either secure or break the season. The pressure was immense, and everyone in the paddock knew what was at stake. The intensity of it all was almost overwhelming, but you were laser-focused, guiding Max through the race.

On the final lap, a risky opportunity appeared—one that could win both the drivers' and constructors' championships in one brilliant stroke. You had mere seconds to make the call. Your heart raced as you pushed the radio button, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Box, box, Max. Trust me on this.”

There was a heartbeat of silence before Max’s calm voice responded, “Copy. I trust you.”

And that trust was everything. As Max executed the strategy perfectly, crossing the finish line first, the Red Bull garage erupted in celebration. The screams of the team echoed around you, but for a second, you were frozen—still processing the magnitude of what had just happened. Max had done it. You had done it. Together, you had clinched the championship, securing not just his fifth world title but the Constructors’ Championship for Red Bull as well.

The team started racing toward the barricade to greet Max as he pulled into the pit lane, his car surrounded by a sea of red and blue. As you ran alongside your teammates, you were suddenly jostled in the rush of bodies. The next thing you knew, you bumped into Franco—completely by accident—but before you could even apologise, his arms were around you.

He caught you easily, lifting you up, and in one fluid motion, he kissed you. The world seemed to stop, the noise around you fading into nothing as his lips met yours. Franco pulled back just slightly, his voice filled with emotion as he whispered, “Congratulations. That call was amazing.”

You were stunned, the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming you, but you smiled through the tears that suddenly welled up in your eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered, before leaning in to kiss him again. This time, it was slower, more intentional, as if you were both grounding yourselves in the reality of the moment. The past, the pain, all of it seemed to fade away.

When you finally parted, Franco set you down gently, his hands lingering at your waist, and you gave him a soft smile. "I guess you owe me some ice cream later,” you joked, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere.

He chuckled, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. “Definitely."

With a quick glance at the roaring celebrations ahead, you squeezed his hand and ran toward the podium area, where the ceremony was about to begin. Max was already there, grinning ear to ear, waving to the ecstatic crowd. You stood beside him, watching as he was crowned world champion again, but all the while, your mind drifted to Franco.

From your place on the podium, you spotted Franco standing quietly off to the side, watching you with a look of pride and something deeper. And in that moment, as the confetti rained down and the world celebrated around you, you realised the truth that had been tugging at your heart all along—you still loved Franco.

You found yourself falling in love with him all over again.

---The end---

I'am really happy with the outcome! hope you are too.

Once again my request are open for all your request!

-lots of love, Em.

[earthtooz]

baby, would i still be your lover?

fluff with angst, 1k words, gn!reader celebrates their bday bc it's my bday today, reader likes pearls, childhood friends to lovers (?), ooc!al-haitham, conflict and resolving it, al-haitham's grandmother is featured.

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's friendship is... unusual.

Having known him since childhood, you cannot say that he has changed much over the years. When your parents brought him to his grandmother's house to hopefully give the young boy a chance to socialise with something other than academic journals, befriending him was not easy.

He dodged all conversation you tried to make, ignored all attempts you made to play tag with him, completely evaded your childlike innocence. He always was more mature than everyone else his age, or rather, always acted like it.

Most unusually, he had an uncanny streak of pushing everyone out of his life, and you were not immune to the imaginary lashes he strikes, eventually removing yourself from his life too out of frustration.

At seventeen, when an unforeseen tension had lodged itself between you and al-Haitham, it deteriorated your friendship. One day, he had taken his opinions too far and sharpened his words too much, you left the House of Daena tearful and too wounded to see him for a while. It creates a distance between you two, one that lasts for three years.

At twenty, you visit al-Haitham's grandmother for the last time, and she makes you promise something. She pleads you to take care of her grandson, that for years, he has been hoping for the rekindling of your friendship, and she asks of you to make his wish come to fruition.

You reach out to him a month later on impulse. He invites you to dinner and drinks at Lambad's Tavern, and for the preceding week, it mentally drains you to think about being alone with him again.

He is already there when you arrive, sitting with crossed legs and arms at an empty booth. Showing up later than him gives you time to admire how he has grown. Now freshly turned twenty-one, time has served him well. He has grown into his sharp, taut features, and the way his grey hair falls accommodates his features well, and his build is impressive for a scholar. You've heard from others that he's graduated with the highest honours, and has already been offered a job at the Akademiya.

When the conversation begins, you're relieved to find out that nothing has changed from when you were both seventeen and fumbling teenagers.

As the only person who has stayed in his life since his youth, there is a bond that somehow cannot be severed. You apologise for what happened at seventeen, he does too.

As dinner passes, one thing becomes abundantly clear: al-Haitham does not need someone to 'take care of him' like his grandmother asked. What he did need, however, was his childhood friend that always knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps that was your way of 'caring' for him.

"Y/n." al-Haitham's broad figure looms over your desk, causing you to pause the scribble of words and numbers that you were in the midst of writing. "With your birthday coming in less than a month, I went to review our personal channel for gifts you'd like."

"Have you now?" You rest your chin on your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

He completely ignores your question. "A sango pearl necklace? From Watatsumi Island? Is that your only desire?"

"I am easy to please," you shrug.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me. Is there no other gift that you'd appreciate?"

"Is a pearl necklace not possible?"

"One from Fontaine would be more achievable. Watatsumi Island, however, given our geographical distance and the fact that Inazuma is only just beginning to open up its transnational-"

"-So it's not possible? Even for the Grand Sage?"

"Acting Grand Sage, and whilst it is not impossible, I came to review with you possible alternatives for gift ideas that would provide the same marginal benefit."

"I suppose I could think of something else," you tap your chin. "One day I'll get my hands on those pearls, do you see the way they shine so clearly? You could use them just to fix your makeup! Cold to the touch and a clearer reflection are what make pearls high quality."

"How fascinating," he responds flatly and you pout. "In other news, it's lunch time now, and you promised you'd pay for my next meal at Lambad's."

You huff, compiling your papers together and clipping them together. "I was hoping you'd forget."

(As always, when the meal is said and done, he doesn't actually allow you to pay.)

A month later, when the clock strikes midnight on the day of your birthday, there is a series of knocks at your door. Unsurprisingly, you're greeted by al-Haitham's handsome face, now softer without the makeup he wears to enhance his features, but still beautiful nonetheless.

In his hands, he holds a gift.

"Happy birthday, Y/n." He declares, straight to the point, and hands you the box. "I hope it is to your liking."

The unassuming packaging only adds to your shocked delight when you see the contents inside.

"Sango pearls, from Watatsumi Island! You got me a necklace and bracelet set!" You squeal in pure excitement, treating the jewellery like fragile little things when you feel them. Cold to the touch, and you can see your reflection in them.

Pride shines in his eyes and a small smile pulls at his lips. He doesn't say anything except watch you freak out, satisfied with the hoops he had to jump through for this present.

"al-Haitham, I am so happy I could kiss you."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's relationship is unusual. You would do anything to get on his last nerve (without overstepping), and he would do anything for you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[theunsinkableship1]

CRAZY ABOUT THEIR LOVE

"There's love there" dixit Nicola.

Yesterday, Nicola received a BAFTA nomination for her work in Big Mood, which has been renewed for a second season. She is a talented actress with a good heart and an agreeable personality. I hope that she’ll win and if she doesn’t it’s ok. Whether she wins or not, there are likely more opportunities ahead for her to achieve further successes. There have also been discussions regarding her private life, which is unfortunate on a day that marks a significant milestone in her career.

Was it unfortunate? Yes! Unexpected? No!

Her talent and beauty are widely recognized, but much of the interest in her online is centered around her private life. She may not be comfortable with this aspect of her popularity, and public figures often have limited control over how they are perceived. I’ve never been a real fan of a person before and certainly not to the point of knowing as much as I know now about lukola. The fact is that I’m just a casual fan of both actors and normally I wouldn’t follow their activities that closely and wouldn’t be much interested in their private lives, this why I restate that I will not follow their other relationships as I am not fully aware of the dynamics or background information necessary to form a conclusive opinion and what has transpired to this day isn’t appealing to me and to be fair can’t really be because we don’t have years of interactions and the deep dive with world tour like background knowledge .

Luke and Nicola have already recognized that a significant part of their public appeal stems from their dynamic together. This could be one of the reasons why they’re creating distance, whether for personal reasons, professional positioning, or external pressures.

By stepping back, they control the narrative, preventing their careers from being overshadowed by speculation. It allows them to establish individual identities beyond their joint appeal, ensuring their work is taken seriously on its own merit.

It could also be a missed opportunity , their bond is a force that transcends standard co-star dynamics. Instead of resisting it, embracing their unique impact could elevate their legacy beyond just a TV show. Some connections aren’t meant to be hidden; they become cultural moments that inspire, move, and even change people’s perspectives on love and human connection.

Ultimately, while they may try to control the perception of their relationship, the way the world receives and resonates with them is beyond their control. And perhaps, that’s not something to fight, but something to embrace.

Yesterday, someone, not a close friend called me crazy because I asked them to listen to a Lukola clip I had posted on my Tumblr. Some people could hear what I was pointing out, while others couldn’t, even after I boosted the audio to make it clearer. My immediate test some of my audience couldn’t hear anything, and one person went so far as to call me crazy. I didn’t appreciate it and struggled to understand why they were unable to hear it. Was I really imagining things? Was there truly nothing there?

The answer is simple: No, I wasn’t imagining things. And yes, there is something there.

Human perception is far from uniform, especially when it comes to hearing. Just as some people have sharper eyesight or better spatial awareness, hearing ability varies greatly from person to person. Factors like age, frequency sensitivity, past exposure to loud sounds, and even genetic predisposition affect how we process audio.

In my case, I didn’t just rely on my own ears. I took the clip, and had it analyzed through audio spectrum tools that visually display sound frequencies. The analysis confirmed that the frequencies of the words were indeed present in the audio file, proving that I wasn’t "hearing voices" or imagining things. AI tools, interestingly, also struggled to transcribe certain parts, just as some humans did. This is similar to the well-known "blue and gold dress" phenomenon, where different people perceived the same visual input in vastly different ways. Just as with color perception, auditory perception can differ dramatically based on how an individual's brain processes sound.

This extends beyond just hearing. In general, people interpret reality based on personal biases, past experiences, and even subconscious conditioning. Some are more attuned to body language, micro-expressions, and emotional undercurrents, while others need more explicit confirmation to recognize what’s right in front of them.

In the case of Lukola, shippers often see and feel something an energy that transcends mere friendship. Yet skeptics, for various reasons, might dismiss these same moments, either because they aren’t looking closely enough, don’t want to see it, or simply don’t have the intuitive ability to pick up on subtle dynamics.

If Lukola were just a projection of wishful thinking, then why does the same pattern of interactions, glances, physical closeness, and emotional depth consistently appear? Why do so many unrelated observers, across different cultures, backgrounds, and levels of analytical skill, pick up on the same chemistry? And why does every attempt to disprove Lukola rely on external factors rather than what’s actually happening between Luke and Nicola?

Lukola possesses unique and exceptional qualities. Their interactions, reactions, and ability to reconnect despite adverse circumstances defy conventional understanding. It is not possible to simulate the level of ease, tension, or emotional resonance they exhibit. For those who can observe and interpret the details, the patterns become unmistakable.

So no, I’m not crazy. And neither are the countless others who perceive what’s right there in front of us. Some may not hear it. Some may not see it. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

Luke and Nicola's dynamic appears to go beyond a typical co-star relationship. This level of interest is absolutely unusual for me, and others in the Lukola community have reported similar feelings of attachment to their bond. Whether this relationship is romantic, deeply intimate, or something else, it seems to resonate strongly with many observers. The reasons behind this strong resonance remain unclear.

Humans are wired to seek patterns, to make sense of connections that may not be immediately obvious. Lukola shippers aren’t just indulging in wishful thinking; many of us sense undeniable chemistry, subtle moments of tension, and contradictions in their public narrative. This sparks an instinct to analyze, to decode, to uncover something that doesn’t quite fit into the "just friends" framework.

Additionally, the longer one observes and collects evidence, whether it’s body language, micro expressions, or the apparent shifts in behavior when they are together, the deeper the emotional investment grows. The brain seeks to validate what it already suspects, reinforcing the belief that there is something real happening beneath the surface.

For many, the draw toward Lukola feels intuitive. There is a gut feeling, an unshakable certainty that their bond holds more meaning than what is publicly acknowledged. Some might describe it as an energetic connection, a frequency that people unconsciously pick up on.

Carl Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious suggests that groups of people can tap into hidden truths before they become widely accepted. Could it be that Lukola shippers are picking up on an unspoken reality that the world hasn’t fully acknowledged yet? It would explain why so many independent observers arrive at the same conclusion despite official narratives trying to steer them away.

There’s also the idea of twin flames or fated connections, relationships that seem destined, even if obstacles stand in the way. Many Lukola supporters believe that what they see in Luke and Nicola is more than just friendly affection; it’s the kind of deep bond that challenges both people involved.

Lukola stands out in today's media for its authenticity, countering the trend of PR-driven relationships and polished celebrity personas. People crave something genuine and unique. Their potential is intoxicating.

There’s also a subconscious rebellion at play. The media tells us one thing, but the evidence and our instincts tell us another. Lukola shippers challenge mainstream narratives by trusting their own observations over curated publicity.

Here lies an interesting paradox: should we accept the public version of events while continuing to ship Lukola? The answer for me is yes because the two are not incompatible. If Luke and Nicola (or their teams) are actively presenting a certain narrative, it means they want us to believe it. Respecting that choice doesn’t mean we have to stop believing in what we’ve already seen and felt.

Lukola, in a way, is a submarine ship, it moves beneath the surface, unseen but always present. To the outside world, we might nod along, acknowledging what is being presented, but deep down, we stay steady in what we know. The Three Wise Monkeys philosophy applies here: see no truth, hear no truth, speak no truth…until it is time.

Despite external narratives, Lukola remains afloat. Luke and Nicola are the ones who can steer it into harbor, let it drift, or sink it, and they have kept it sailing so far. Watching Lukola sometimes feels like you're in a theater, being trapped and forced to watch a mix of romantic comedy and a horror movie, where you want to yell—_ “Don’t go there! Stay safe!” _—but you’re just a spectator. It’s not your story to steer or your choices to make. You can only watch, hope, and brace for what comes next.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

02 Jealousy

Zhongli x Reader / SFW but suggestive at the end / Mentions of Childe / Set at the beginning of the Liyue archon quest / Reader is unaware that Zhongli is the Geo Archon

"My dear, is something on your mind?"

Perceptive as he was, Zhongli couldn't figure out what it was that was upsetting you. That pout on your lips had been plastered there for a while now and as many times as he had questioned you if anything was bothering you, you simply brushed it off.

"I'm fine." You were, or so you thought you should be.

Zhongli was a bit of an attention magnet, which was not surprising with the meticulous way he dressed, his exceptional knowledge, and the way he carried himself. He delighted in it, smiling and going about his day as if he were simply soaking in sunlight. You often found the consultant lost in long-winded conversations with random people on the streets. While you found the person's advances a bit pushy, Zhongli didn't seem to think much of it.

Suspicions prickled underneath your skin when Zhongli mentioned that the individual had paid him yet another visit at the funeral parlor, this time insisting on taking him out to dinner. Zhongli was certainly not giving the eyesore any reason to stop encroaching by entertaining their whims. There was definitely something going on between them, outside of whatever business dealings the funeral parlor had with the Fatui. The more you thought about it, the surer you became.

Zhongli could tell something was amiss with you. Perhaps you were worried for him, maybe even a little bit possessive of him. It was a silly sentiment to have when he was so devoted to you.

"Darling, please tell me what is bothering you. It worries me that it may be my doing." He asks yet again one afternoon.

The way he tenderly gazes at you should assure you enough that there was no space in his heart for another person. Every time he calls you his dear, his sweetheart, or darling, you can hear the sincerity spilling over in his voice. It'd be cruel of you to keep him guessing, wouldn't it?

"You know that pair of chopsticks you got Childe when he arrived in Liyue? The dragon and phoenix one..." You brought up something that seemed irrelevant save for the person mentioned.

"Oh, yes. I remember them well. Their craftsmanship was quite exceptional." His eyes lit up the way they always did when he speaks about a particularly striking find he happens upon during his strolls through the city. "I gifted them to him as a gesture of welcome since he was learning to use them."

"I think he misunderstood your intentions."

Being the most learned person in Liyue regarding its traditions and customs, Zhongli didn't need to be reminded exactly what kind of intentions you were alluding to. The consultant's brows immediately furrowed in contemplation.

"While I do see how such a gift could be interpreted in other ways, I am certain that they don't apply to our particular circumstances."

"You gave him something that lovers give each other to pledge their love! Aren't you going to explain yourself?" You pouted, crossing your arms.

The consultant gave you an aggrieved yet amused look. "Traditionally, the dragon and phoenix symbolizes harmony and prosperity, something both Liyue and Snezhnaya hopes to achieve through steady trade. While it's most commonly given between couples, it may also be given to a friend or business partner to convey longevity."

Zhongli's reasoning was sound, however you refused to be convinced. You shook your head in frustration. "Don't you see? He's coming onto you too strongly for someone who just wants a diplomatic relationship!"

You couldn't just outright tell him to keep his distance from the Fatui harbinger since they were business acquaintances. Liyue harbor has its fair share of flirtatious people, the shopkeeper at Scent of Spring for one, but there was just something about the redhead in particular that unsettled you. The way Zhongli unabashedly spends his money also left much for you to think about. It wasn't all that different from the way Director Hu allowed him to leave tabs under the funeral parlor's name, but he wasn't as close to the Fatui harbinger as he was with Hutao. There was just something off about the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli. It didn't sit well with you at all.

"Either he has a thing for you or he's up to something. I'm sure of it."

The consultant stifled a chuckle. He was beginning to piece together the reason for your strange behavior lately. "Dear, I assure you that he is not interested in me in that way. Even if he were, I only have eyes for you."

"So you're just going to let him keep chasing you?" You frowned. "You know, I can spoil you too."

"Hm.... Where is this competitiveness of yours coming from?" Zhongli mused.

"Isn't that why you're giving him so much of your time? Because he's opening his wallet for you?" You pointed out. That redhead was hogging too much of your lover's time. You wanted it back.

"The Fatui have agreed to pay for Rex Lapis's Rite of Parting. I've been given a considerable sum to purchase all the necessities for the rites and to cover any expenses arising from the preparations, with the remaining funds to keep. So yes, if you must put it that way, he is indeed giving me his wallet to spend as I please."

"I might not be the Northland Bank, but I can buy you nice things too."

"I'm sure you can, my sweet." Zhongli stroked your cheek, distracting you momentarily. "I may only be a mere funeral consultant, but I too find it rewarding to spoil the one I treasure in pleasantries. If the Northland Bank wishes to further subsidize my spending, I shall not decline if it will allow me to do so."

"I don't know if I like the idea of my lover having a sugar daddy." You tried to keep a straight face as you said this.

"A sugar... daddy?" Zhongli's brow went up again. He understood the two words but put together, they obviously meant something he was not yet exposed to.

"A sponsor, but you have to entertain them romantically."

"I have no intentions of entertaining anyone but you in that sense." Zhongli chuckled as leaned in close, breath tickling your skin.

You begrudgingly accepted his kiss and his carefully placed touches.

"I want a pair too." You panted when his lips finally parted from yours.

"Very well. I will pay the shop a visit tomorrow morning to ensure a new pair of chopsticks will be made ready in time for your birthday. I will make a reservation at the Liuli Pavillion as well. If there is anything else I need to do to put your frustrations behind you, pray tell. I cannot stand that constant pout on your face." Zhongli grumbled, but it only made you giggle uncontrollably with the way he was nuzzling your neck while he spoke.

"Spoil me good tonight and maybe I'll consider letting you off the hook." You challenged.

"You test me."

Zhongli hummed in satisfaction, wasting no time in scooping you up in his arms and whisking you away to your bedroom amidst your feigned protests. If anything good came out of your pouting, it was his willingness to please. The consultant was on his knees, doing everything in his power to get back in your good graces.

[venuszn]

☆ : Open When

Summary / In which Bada writes you letters to read whenever you miss her presence

Cw / Angst, Fluff, Smut, Dom!Bada, Fem!Reader, Phone sex, ummm probably missed some, MDNI

Wc / 5.3K words

Open when you’re sad

“Hi princess,

I’m sorry that you’re feeling this way right now and that I'm not there to hold you and tell you that everything will be okay. But I can and will tell you that with the words in this letter. You know that I love you and I will keep saying it till the words dry up my throat.

I wish nothing but happiness for you but I’m also aware that bad days are inevitable and that sadness is a human emotion, which like happiness, you should be allowed to feel in all its entirety. I know it's hard right now, but allow yourself to feel sad. You’re allowed to cry, you're allowed to scream and maybe even throw something (like a pillow or teddy - don't hurt yourself). You’re feeling down and that's ok, you’re human.

I know I always say that you're perfect (to me you are, you’re literally heaven sent you’re my angel) but to the rest of the cruel world perfection isn’t possible and so you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. I like to remind myself that sadness is an emotion. Its power is not absolute. It will come and it will go making room for other emotions such as relief, happiness, hope . . .

There will always be hope.

You are strong and you can take back control of your emotions. But allow yourself to feel them first, it doesn’t make you weak. It takes a lot of courage to face the raw and uncomfy feelings we have and I know you can do it. Go at your own pace and remember that your feelings are valid and that you are loved.

Especially by me, your loving and maybe a little bit obsessed girlfriend.

Lots of love,

Bada.”

A tear dropped onto the paper. You blinked and quickly wiped your eyes, not realising that your girlfriend's heartfelt expressions had triggered an earthquake of emotions within you. Bada knew that you had a tendency to repress your emotions. She knew that when you were sad you skillfully put on a facade, a mask, and played the ideal role of the happy easy going girlfriend. You didn't want to burden anyone with how you felt. You were used to dealing with it alone and so you always did.

But Bada showed you that it was ok to not always be ok. That you didn’t have to bear it all alone. You weren’t perfect, some days you fell back into old habits and distanced yourself from her as the exhaustion from faking happiness would overwhelm you. But she was always patient and waited for you.

She showed you that you could still be loved even on your bad days.

Sobs thundered in your chest. You gripped the letter as if the words themselves would slip between the cracks of your fingers and drift away into the night. Your face grew hot with tears and you allowed yourself to be. To simply be.

Bada wasn’t here with you right now but you knew her love was.

Open when you miss me

Gentle rays of sun shine through your curtains. It illuminates your skin as it kisses it with its warmth. You sit up and raise a tired hand, attempting to shield your eyes as a loud and unflattering yawn rolls from the back of your mouth. Your hazy eyes drift towards the empty space beside you. If you stare long enough you can still see the outline of her presence, hear the whispers of her slow words thick with sleep as she would pull you closer by the waist and join her lips to yours - the sweetest of good mornings.

But now those mornings were not a reality but a memory.

Mornings like this weren’t foreign to you. It had been a couple months now and you had grown used to waking up alone. You missed Bada and this was the first time you were both spending months apart from each other. You were caught between sadness and pride. Of course you were sad but at the same time you couldn’t help but admire the achievements of your girlfriend. Bada’s popularity had skyrocketed beyond the heavens themselves and many artists and idols were reaching out to her for collaborations and such alike. You had never seen Bada glow the way she did. Joy seemed to radiate from her and your chest could barely contain the swell of your heart as it pumped in pride for her.

That is why you smiled and swallowed the lump in your throat as Bada said she was leaving behind her favourite sweatshirt, “because I know it’s your favourite too”. It is why you insisted on driving Bada to the airport and it is why the both of you held each other a little tighter that day and allowed your lips to linger a second more. Bada knew you were trying to be brave for her but that wasn’t what she wanted.

“I’ll see you real soon. Four months will fly by.” Bada said as she gently rubbed your cheek with her thumb.

“I know it will. Have the best time won’t you ? I mean, you’re touring with an idol. That's amazing.” Your voice betrayed you as a slight quiver slipped through.

Bada’s gaze saddened. “I’ll try. You know I'll miss you right ?”

A sob threatened to rise from your throat and you tried to swallow it once more.

“I’ll miss - I’ll miss you more . . .” You choked out.

Bada wrapped her arms around you and brought you to her chest, your arms locked around her sides and you swore you would need to be pried away from her. Her head rested comfortably on top of yours and she squeezed you gently.

“I’ve left you something.”

You pull back and look up at her, confusion knitted your brows. “What do you mean you’ve left me something ?”

“It’s under the bed in a shoebox. And no, it's not shoes.” She smiled down at you.

When you got back to your shared apartment you searched under the bed and immediately found the shoebox. You scoff lightly with a small smile, not believing that you didn’t notice it earlier.

You remove the top and your breath catches in your throat.

A library of letters sat in two neat rows, filling the four walls of the box. You gently run your fingers over the edge of them, sneaking glimpses of the words written on the envelopes.

‘Open when you’re sad.’

‘Open when you need reassurance.’

‘Open when you want to punch your annoying coworker.’

You choke out a laugh mixed sob and tears threaten to spill. You wondered how you got so lucky to have someone like Bada in your life.

The morning sun had shifted slightly, its rays now painted your room walls a warm golden. Bada’s words stared back at you on the envelope as you traced the curves of her letters with your finger, following the path of ink as it journeyed into words.

‘Open when you miss me.’

And so you did.

“Hello my princess,

I miss you too. Very much. I know you’ll see me on social media smiling and dancing but just know that I'm always thinking of you. I wish I could be there with you right now, to hold you and kiss you. I’m writing this before I leave but I just know that I’ll miss your kisses. Of course I will. Kissing you feels like home and I’ll miss my home. Even now as I’m writing this I’m wishing that I was kissing you. But they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. My heart will probably explode from the overflow of fondness. However, I want to apologise in advance for how busy I might get. But I promise I will do my best to talk to you. I have no idea what to expect but I imagine there will be days where our communication is sparse. But always remember that I still love you and miss you.

Please take care of your health, make sure to eat your meals and go to sleep on time. I need you to be happy and healthy when I get back.

I love you and I am counting down the days till I see my baby again.

Lots of Love,

Bada.”

Open when you’re happy

The chime of the doorbell danced through the air and you perked up.

Your lips stretched into a smile as you bounced toward the front door, almost running. You were expecting this as it had become a weekly routine and truthfully, you were near enough befriending the delivery man who you were now seeing more frequently than some of your friends.

You swiftly swing open the door and your eager eyes meet the familiar smile of the old man but you couldn’t stop your gaze from jumping to the brightly coloured item that sat in his arms.

“Good afternoon to you.” He greeted warmly.

You smiled and returned his warmth, “Good afternoon to you too.”

He chuckled and outstretched the item toward you and you took it from his hold.

“Today's flowers are pink asters.” The man said with enthusiasm.

“They represent love and sensitivity. They're also the emblem of Venus - the goddess of love. Your girlfriend is putting all of us to shame.” The man chuckles and you watch as his crows feet deepen. You remember the way he praised Bada, saying that he has never seen such heartfelt dedication from a person.

Bada had scheduled flower deliveries each Monday because she knew that you loved flowers and also because she knew that you loathed Mondays - the man was slightly speechless. He called it young love and made a comment about how some people go through their entire lives unable to find love and that if you find it with someone - anyone - then that's a blessing you should cherish.

And you truly did. You now sit in front of the vase of flowers and you admire its beauty. If the stars themselves fell to the earth and sprouted seed this is what the result would be - vibrant hues and an explosion of petals. They were truly beautiful and your heart pulsed with love for Bada. She was your happiness.

Your gaze shifted back to the opened letter on the side and you read it once more.

“Hi baby :) Happiness looks beautiful on you.

You’re always beautiful but I love the way you gleam and radiate when you’re happy. I especially love your smile. I feel like everytime you smile a fairy is born. I hope to one day meet one of your many fairies.

But I digress, I’m happy that you’re happy. I wish I could see you and be happy right there with you. But feel free to send me pictures of your smile (many of them) and tell me in detail about what made you happy ! You know I'd love to hear all about it. I hope you continue smiling and I know that there are more happy days ahead for you. There definitely will be - you are an attractor of everything pure and joyful (and of me).

I love you lots my angel,

Bada.”

Open when you’re in the mood

You remember when you first saw those words on the envelope. You remember scoffing at your girlfriend, not taking it seriously. She was oceans apart from you, there’s not really much that she could do when you were feeling needy and missing her touches.

You thought wrong.

You also remember the way your brows twitched in curiosity and how you felt a subtle rise of intrigue within you at the two words written on the paper.

“Ring me.”

Though you never thought that you would find yourself in this position. The position being your legs spread apart, your two fingers stretching out your dripping cunt and Bada - on speaker phone listening to the entire thing.

“Keep touching yourself for me, princess.” Bada breathed through the phone. She had been instructing you on what to do, how fast and how slow, ordering you to not hold back your moans because she ‘wants to hear your pretty sounds’.

“Add a third finger.”

You’re not sure if its because of her words or because of how fucked out you were but you nearly come right then. You let out a shaky breath and slide your free hand down in between your legs, you spread yourself a little more, giving your third finger room to enter. The dull sting mixes with the sensitivity and pleasure and you hesitate.

“It only feels good when you do it.” You whine as you slowly push further, your tight hole sucking your fingers in.

“Imagine that those are my fingers. You like it when I finger fuck you, don’t you ? The way you cry out my name and grip onto me as I pound your hole.”

You grew wetter at Bada’s words.

Your fingers slide in and you begin thrusting in and out. A thin layer of sweat glistened your skin as you lay half naked on the bed with your eyes fluttering up at the ceiling. You did as Bada said. You shut your eyes and imagined that your girlfriend was there - above you with her slender fingers stroking your pussy walls. You imagined her kissing the side of your neck as she usually did, and then slowly making her way down to your chest. You imagined her taking your hardened nipple into her warm mouth, her tongue sliding against it as she licked and tasted your tits. Her free hand would then join, playing with your other mound of flesh as her mouth busied itself with the other. She would start off by teasing your nipple by ghosting over it with her thumb. She would then gently tug at it before rolling it between her fingers. You imagined her hushed words, saying something about how beautiful you were and about how good you were being for her before she would mercilessly thrust her three fingers into your cunt, her thumb teasingly brushing over your swollen clit ever so often.

The tightening of the knot in your stomach pulls you out of your fantasy and a loud moan falls from your lips. Your breaths pick up speed and a chorus of whines and whimpers flow from you as you begin to chase your climax. Your back arches and your fingers move faster, curling up as they rub against the top of your walls.

“Fuck - Fuck, Bada.” You cry out as you feel your legs begin to shake.

Bada lets out a breathless curse and you hear shuffling in the background and then a door shut.

“You coming, princess ? I wanna hear you moan my name.”

You nod your head, forgetting that she can't see you, coherent words fail to leave your mouth. Your body tenses and your walls contract around your fingers. Pleasure rushes through you and for a moment you swear you see stars. Your body trembles and your legs shake as cries and moans for your girlfriend fall from your tongue.

“You’re so hot. Fuck. I wanna see you, princess.” Bada says, voice dripping with want.

You lay breathless, fingers still nested in your aching hole as you slowly guide yourself down from your high with slow thrusts. “But you’re not - you're not in your hotel room.” You breathe out.

“I’m farther away from everyone now.” Bada said as she reassured you. “ I’m in an empty room. It's okay baby . . . Plus, this makes it hotter.”

You let out a light breathy laugh, “You’re such an exhibitionist.”

Bada chuckles, “So are you. Now let me see you, princess.”

You reach for your phone and accept the video call request. Bada emerges onto your screen and your heart flutters. You smile and bite your lip slightly. She was wearing her glasses and you had always had a thing for her in her specs. You gazed at her and the lazy smirk that sat on her pink lips.

“Hi baby.”

“Hey princess.”

Your cheeks grew warm and you looked away for a moment.

“Now don’t get shy on me. We’re just getting started.” Bada says with a slight raise of her brow.

“Prop your phone up against something. I wanna see you properly.”

You obeyed and you positioned your phone on top of the bedside table, angling it toward you as you sat with your knees together on the bed.

Bada drank in the sight of you, she licked her lips and you saw her gaze deepen.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my shirt. You fingered yourself in my clothes ?” Bada said as she leaned into the camera slightly. “You’re so dirty aren't you princess, such a slut for me.”

You nod and fiddle with your fingers in your lap. Your body burned with both desire and slight humiliation.

“Go and get my strap.”

Your breath caught and your eyes widened. “What ?” You say, unsure of if you were now experiencing auditory hallucinations.

“I want you to fuck yourself with my strap. Go get it.” Bada stated coolly.

You now found yourself in another position. That position being your legs spread apart, once again, but now with Bada’s thick strap rubbing against your pussy lips, your wetness coating its length. And Bada sat watching through the camera as she once again instructed you on how she wanted you to touch yourself.

Bada stared at you hungrily with pupils blown.

“Keep rubbing your clit with it. Just like that princess. Don’t stop until you’re dripping and desperate, just how I like you.”

Your mouth hung open as you sang soft moans. You guided Bada’s strap against your clit, now swollen, as you rubbed yourself along the length of it in desperate motions.

“Bada - Bada, fuck.” You whine. “I’m close - gonna come . . .”

Bada’s smirk stretches. “Stop.”

Your eyes snap to the screen and you blink furiously. “Pleas-”

“I said stop, princess. Be a good girl for me, hm ?”

You reluctantly come to a stop, your hips slow its pace and you remove the strap from in between your legs.

“As much as I love seeing you touch yourself in my clothes, I want to see your pretty tits. Take your shirt off.”

You do as she says and pull the shirt over your head, your chest now on full display to Bada’s eager eyes.

Bada lets out a breathless curse as her eyes roam your body. “You’re heavenly.”

Your heart flutters at your girlfriend's words.

“Now spread your legs for me and fuck yourself with my strap.”

You moved closer to the camera and positioned yourself in front of Bada’s waiting gaze. You leaned back on one arm and parted your legs, your aching cunt now on show. You guided her strap along your pussy lips coating it with your juices. You hum slightly and a whimper leaves your lips as you gently push in the tip of the strap.

Your eyes flicker back to the screen and you swear you've never seen Bada’s gaze as intense as it was.

“Just like that. Stretch yourself out good for me.”

You sink onto Bada’s strap and your cunt clenches around it. You begin slow motions of gentle thrusting and then throw your head back as you feel the tip hit a particular spot within you walls - cries falling from your lips.

“Fuck. I wish I was there, baby. Gonna fuck you into the mattress when I get back.”

And you knew that was a promise she intended to keep.

Open when we fight

It had been nearly a week since your last proper conversation with Bada. You were both busy and had been adjusting to the constant changes of time zone differences. It was becoming a little draining for the both of you but the daily little check ups and good morning and night messages cushioned the pain. It was the little things that kept you going all this time but you were beginning to crave a little more attention from your girlfriend.

Bada, on the other hand, was becoming stressed. Rehearsals were tough and the jetlag exhausted her. Simultaneously, Bada was also worried about you. She was aware that the communication between the both of you had dwindled recently and she knew you did your best to work with her schedule but she also knew that deep down you were hurting because of it. Bada was beginning to feel inadequate and she carried the blame.

That is why she regretted it as intensely as she did when those harsh words flew from her mouth that one evening.

“You’re suffocating me. You know how busy I am and honestly right now I need some space.”

Bada’s words were like ice to your ears and you felt the frost of her tone bite and sting you. You shivered, slightly taken aback by her words.

“Oh . . . Okay then. No worries, see you.”

You hang up the phone.

You stared into space for a moment. Numbness spreading over you as you swallow your sorrow.

Your phone vibrates and you force your heavy eyes to look over to it. You see Bada’s contact flash on your screen. You scoff and deny the call before putting your phone on do not disturb.

The moon peers at you through your window and you only hope that she’s gazing at you with empathy. She too was worlds apart from her lover, unable to meet. Tears brim in your eyes and you blink them away.

The sun rises and you soon follow. You turn on your phone and then turn off do not disturb only to find countless missed calls and messages from Bada pleading for your forgiveness. Your heart pangs and you decide to respond.

“I just woke up. Went to bed early last night.” You type and hit send before tossing your phone onto the bed.

You were still a little sad. You felt dejected and you felt unwanted. Perhaps you were a little pushy, but all you wanted was to speak to your girlfriend. You sigh as you stare into the mirror at your deflated reflection. A small box under your bed then catches your attention and you find yourself kneeling to pick it up.

Bada’s letters.

You had gone though nearly half of them by now but you had yet to open this particular one.

“I’m sorry.

I don’t know what we fought about but that doesn’t matter because I apologise for making you upset. I would never intentionally hurt you but sometimes I can be a dummy and I make mistakes. So I'm sorry baby. I hate seeing you upset or angry and especially if I'm the cause. I want to thank you for still staying with me all this time regardless. Everyday I'm still learning and growing and everyday I'm thankful that I get to do that by your side. We are two imperfect people but we make a perfect pair if you ask me. I know sometimes you also make mistakes but I forgive you. I will always forgive you. When we fight we showcase our room for growth as a couple and as individuals. We disagree sometimes but that is normal. There’s nothing wrong with you and nothing wrong with us. I still love you baby. I always will.

Lots of love,

Bada.”

Just as you finish reading your phone vibrates and you look to see Bada's name on the screen.

“Good morning baby. I’m sorry about last night. You’re not suffocating. I'm just really stressed right now but I promise it’s not because of you. It will never be you.” Her message read.

Your lips pouted slightly and you typed back, “I'm sorry too. I know I can be extra clingy sometimes. But please don’t feel pressured to always respond. Take out time for yourself too, it’s okay. I’ll always be here.”

On the other end Bada let out a small breath of relief and finally allowed her body to relax. She read over your words and her heart yearned for you.

Another message pings through and Bada breaks out in the first genuine smile that week.

“Btw your letter was cute. I’ll always love you too.”

Open when it’s our anniversary

The chime of the doorbell rang through the apartment and your brows twitched in puzzlement. You double checked the day - it wasn’t a Monday - so weren't expecting any deliveries. You also were not expecting any visitors. Regardless, you make your way over to open the door.

Before you stood none other than the delivery man. Who boasted the widest of grins as he held out a wonderful arrangement of flowers toward you.

You stand, mouth slightly agape as you take in the beauty of the blossoms before you. The sweet aromas danced through the air.

Today was your anniversary with Bada and you had both planned to video call later that night. You knew Bada was busy and that she was gearing up for the finale of the tour later that week, so you were grateful that she cleared out a few hours of her schedule to spend with you. But you had not expected anything like this.

“Your girlfriend really outdid herself with this one.” He chuckled as you took the bouquet into your arms, its sheer size competed with the top half of your body. You poke your head around the bouquet and you smile back. “It’s our anniversary. I had no idea she scheduled flowers for today - and flowers this big. I’m so sorry you had to carry this.” You say with a meek laugh.

“Nonsense. It's my pleasure.” The old man waves his hand, swatting away your words. “You have grown to become me and my wife's favourite customers - both you and your girlfriend. We’re honoured that she chose our small flower store and made all those orders. So please, it’s not a problem my dear. I hope to see you both around sometime and feel free to stop by, my wife would love to meet the lovely lady that she picks flowers for.”

Your heart warms and you nod your head, “Of course. I’d love to stop by. But I'll see you on Monday won’t I ?”

The man shakes his head, “This is my last delivery dear.”

You frown slightly and you feel your mood dampen. “But why ?”

“Because I’m back.”

That voice.

You step out into the hallway and your head spins to the direction it came from.

Bada Lee.

Bada walked toward you. Your eyes scanned her tall frame, her oversized shirt that draped around her body, her grey baggy sweatpants that hung from her hips and her wide and comforting smile that plastered her face.

That was your girlfriend. And she was home.

You ran towards her and she met you halfway, scooping you and the large bouquet into her arms before spinning you around. You laugh and you cry. Trails of tears fall as happiness overtakes you.

“You’re back ?!” You exclaim as you hastily wipe your face.

Bada gazes down at you with the fondest of eyes. “For now, yes. Happy anniversary baby.”

She leans down to gently press her lips to yours.

The old man chuckles in delight, “Congratulations to the both of you. I expect to see you both at my shop very soon.”

You and Bada grin and you wish him well after agreeing to pay him and his wife a visit.

Your head remains in a daze and you squint your eyes at Bada, unsure of if you were now experiencing visual hallucinations.

Bada laughs as she puts down her suitcase, “What ?”

You fold your arms, “You’re really here ?”

“I am.”

“You said next week.”

“I might have told a little white lie . . .”

You whine and gently smack her arm causing her to laugh even more.

“And all those flowers you’ve been sending . . . and the letters ?” You pout slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

Bada steps closer and takes your chin between her thumb and index. “You deserve everything and more. There was no way I wasn’t going to see you on our two year anniversary. I planned to be here from the very start.”

You look up at her and you hold her gaze. “You did ?”

Bada hums. “I did. However, I'll be catching a flight back tomorrow but by the end of the week I'll be home for good.”

You nod your head in understanding and Bada smiles down at you before leaning in to bridge the gap between your lips. Your arms rest around her shoulders and hers on your waist, her grip firm as she gently caresses your skin with her thumb. You part your lips and tilt your head, Bada hums against your mouth before slipping her tongue through your lips - deepening the kiss.

Moments pass and you are forced to come up for air. Bada then rests her forehead against yours.

“You read today's letter yet ?” She mutters softly.

You gently shake your head, “Not yet. I was about to but then the doorbell rang.”

Bada smiled and took your hand into hers.

“Perfect.”

Bada now sat beside you on the bed with the letter in hand.

She began to read.

“To my princess, my baby, my best friend and to the love of my life,

Happy Second Anniversary <3

Happy 730 days of us and of our love. These 730 days are just the beginning because I know that we have a lifetime ahead of us. Thank you for staying with me, for being with me despite my shortcomings. Thank you for being my best friend, my confidant and thank you for loving me back.

You truly are an angel walking this earth and I sometimes wonder if heaven misses you. I’m prepared to put up a fight because now that I have you - not even Zeus himself could pry me away from you. Nothing on earth nor in the heavens above could taint the love that I have for you. Know that my heart belongs to you and that I am ready to cross whatever seas that may lie between us.

I’ll see you soon my love.

Bada.”

You were at a loss for words and watched as Bada neatly folded the letter and placed it back into its envelope. She then looked at you and gently took your hand intertwining your fingers.

“I love you so much.” You whisper, afraid that your voice would fail you.

“I love you more my princess.” Bada pulled you closer and then set you on her lap.

You gaze down at her and she peers up at you, her fingers ghost over your thigh, tracing lazy shapes over the fabric covering your skin. Sparks of electricity shoot through you and you lick your lips slightly. Bada’s gaze intensifies. Her hands now slowly creep up your shirt, your warm skin under her fingertips.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathe out, gravity pulling you in.

“I’ve missed you too.” Bada’s hands lingered as they explored the familiar territory that was your curves.

You shudder and your breath picks up.

“Wanna show me how much ?” You say softly.

Bada’s lips stretched into a slight smirk but her eyes overflowed with love.

“Of course baby. I’m gonna take my time with you . . . Missed you so much.”

Bada kept her promise and she took her time with you, exploring the work of art that she swore had no price.

Your body, your soul - you.

Author’s note / Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed <3 Feel free to send me requests of letters that you’d like to see Bada write . . . Totally down to do more of those :3

Tag list / @princhii , @lil-elliesgf , @wiselight , @nimxie , [Open]

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

"I wish you could have met her before."

It is Vivec's first time seeing Sotha Sil drunk. He's been working on Mournhold's court wizard for weeks, slowly winning him to their cause, slowly learning from him the ways of the city and its royalty, but only tonight has he finally succeeded in getting Sotha Sil drunk.

"Before Nerevar…?"

"No, before--"

He looks out of place in the shabby inn-room Nerevar and Vivec have been sharing for the past month, like a stolen artefact propped up in some thieves den. He's at the foot of the bed, leaning back against the wall, his artificial legs splayed before him, his hair loose and falling into the mug of sujamma he's clutching desperately to his chest. His big thoughtful eyes are lost in the distance.

"Oh, Almalexia," Sotha Sil says to himself. "What have you done?"

"Before what, Seht?" Vivec inches closer to him on the bed. It's just the two of them, after all, old friends sharing secrets.

"Before that-- everything. I mean, if you'd met her as a child, and after her coronation…" He barely seems to notice Vivec.

"What was she like?"

"She was bold. Arrogant. A little reckless, if I'm honest, but relentlessly passionate." He finally focuses on Vivec but his gaze is soft. "Your Nerevar reminds me of her. How she truly-- how she used to be."

"Just like Nerevar."

His eyes go back into the distance. "And then she overplayed her hand and got herself into the most foolish situation and handled it so badly and…" there's a bitterness in his voice, "Yes, she threw out the Nords from Mournhold and it was a great achievement, but look at what she had to do to herself. The pain she put herself through, and for what? Nobody asked her to sacrifice herself-- she just sacrificed herself! Her… herself."

Through the thin inn walls they can hear an argument in the next room. Sotha Sil focuses on Vivec again.

"It's as if there's less of her now." He says it as if he's pleading with Vivec for something. "Sometimes I hope it's still there, she's just buried it deep down, but I think it's gone. I wish you could've met her before."

-

"I wish you could've met him before."

It's the first time Almalexia's sat down for something unrelated to duty in over a month. Vivec has to wonder if she's even slept in all that time; the Nords have been recently vanquished but there's a wedding to plan and Ald Sotha is in ruins and it seems as if Sotha Sil will just drop dead from the grief of it, if his injuries don't do him in first.

"I did," Vivec reminds her. "I've known Seht forever."

"No," Almalexia shakes her head, "I mean before."

They're in her favourite hiding place, on the palace roof, staring out at a starry sea of city lights, wrapped in rugs that are too thin for the nighttime chill. Almalexia looks perfectly at home there, the Queen surveilling her empire of sky-lights, but while the light cannot reveal the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the lines that have appeared in her face, the exhaustion in her voice paints its own picture.

"Before what?" Vivec lays a hand upon her knees.

"Before all of it. I wish you'd met him when he was a child."

"What was he like?"

"He was so annoying." Her face is hidden in darkness but affection makes her voice thick. "He could be arrogant, and he didn't always think through how his actions might hurt people. But he was also so, so sensitive, and he hated to hurt people, and if you told him he'd done so, he'd cry. And he was brilliant, even then, he had a way of understanding the world…"

"Just like now."

"He's still brilliant, yes. But--"

Vivec can feel Almalexia looking at him, even if he cant see it. His hand feels cold upon her knee.

"He's just different now," Almalexia sounds resigned to the idea. "He's so cynical, he hates people, he has no faith in anyone. He wasn't always like that. He used to love, so much that it hurt him, he wanted to help everyone and he felt their suffering like it was his own." Her voice is quieter when she adds, "Sometimes I hope that, if he has more time to heal, he'll come back. I want you to meet him as he was before."

Vivec pulls his hand away. Mournhold's darkness betrays so little, spread out before them, but in every window a light gleams.

"Dead things don't come alive with time," Vivec tells her gently, "They just get more dead."

[komoboko]

𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

ft: kokushibo Tsugikuni, douma hashibira, akaza soyama, demon!reader

I’ll probably make a pt 2 for the rest of the demons + the clones ! Banner by @mmadeinheavenn

# kokushibo ! ☆

KOKUSHIBO takes time to learn he adores you, he starts off with simple admiration. He attempts to convince himself he's just inspired by your talents, your strengths and your skills. He'll even attempt to train or spar with you as his body hopes to get close it you but his mind tries to deny it.

Surprisingly, Kokushibo can be the most self aware about his feelings, once he finally brushes off the denial stage he actually understand how he feels about you. He's been in love during his years as a human, he thinks he knows how to go about this.

Kokushibo is a very traditional man, his skills and knowledge of love are centuries old but he will still go about it the same way he does as a human. He'll watch from afar seeming to get to know you in silence before going after you face to face. He starts off as some sort of admirer of some sort, gifting you roses in secret seems to be his favorite tactic.

Once he's able to approach you face to face, he'll put up an act per say. Trying to get you to like his presence claiming Muzan wants him to train you, in reality he just wants to be close to you. Take in your presence until he finds the comfort into charming and courting you into adoring him as well.

# douma ! ☆

Poor people who are apart cult, because DOUMA is insufferable when he falls in love. While you can’t directly blame the demon as he never experienced such emotions. Even so, he annoys one to many people around him.

Douma ask one too many questions once he finally begins to feel something. His questions are oddly specific and he spits so many out like rapid fire. Some people may not even understand what he's trying to explain, as his descriptions are so abnormal. Don't be mad, he just has so many questions! He needs to know how he feels! He needs to know how he feels for you!!

"Is it normal to feel like the phrase where a certain insect is in your stomach?" or "What do i do when my cheeks rise above the 32 degrees Fahrenheit and become a shade of pink" once he saw a couple in his cult kiss and had bugged them with so many questions.. "what did you both just do with each other? Why do I yearn to do that with name as well?

he clings onto much more then he would originally. He complain once you have to go do missions and will try to accompany you no matter what. the only time you will get some peace is if muzan calls upon one of you. Even then he'll whine having to depart from each other even if its only for a couple of minutes. He's attached to you by the hip, at one point you're going to be annoyed by his antics. if the people in his cult are right about what he feels about you. Maybe being close to you will make you adore him?

# akaza ! ☆

At first AKAZA finds you as a nuisance. His mind tries to push you out of it but he can't help how you invade his thoughts and he can't get his mind off of you! It's not his fault your so intoxicating!

At first, he distances himself from you as he believes your the main problem. he's supposed to be focused on become the strongest and training himself to achieve his goal. he shouldn't be focused on the thought of being by your side and the chance to hold your hand! It's only then when he comes to his senses to realize he's fallen in love with you.

Once he realizes that distancing himself from you isn't the right way to go, he'll approach you.. slowly. It only starts from his commenting on your blood demon art, them commenting on your fighting skills. He even asks for inspiration or for guidance which is something he never say a word about around any other demon. It takes him a while to open up to you and actually begin to fluently have a conversation with you. Once he does get there, you've sure earned a place in his heart.

Douma bugs him about this, he never hears the end about it once the uppermoon knows. He'll pester Akaza about anything about you knowing it gets under his skin, he'll even go as far as to bother you about it. This only lands Douma a missing jaw and an embarrassed Akaza

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Hii!! I really really adore your hyunju fics and I appreciate your hard workk, keep it up🫶🫶!! (AAAA IM GIGGLING😭). Can I request for a hyunju fanfic like, when she said she wanted to go to Thailand. But let's say reader is Thai, and it's your choice on how the scenario goes!!:))) (I'm half Thai too actually!!)

aaa ill try for you pookie❤️❤️

A trip to Thailand

Character: Cho hyun ju X Thai!reader

Summary: Hyun ju opens up to you about her dreams for Thailand, which you happily listen to.

Warnings: none🦑🦑

The games were brutal, and Hyun-Ju had already seen enough of its twisted cruelty. She never meant to play, but the opportunity was too tempting to pass up. It wasn’t the money that called to her most; it was the dream she’d always held close to her heart, a dream she knew she could only achieve with the right resources.

She had always wanted to go to Thailand, to undergo gender-affirming surgery. It wasn’t just about the procedure itself—it was about the freedom, the chance to finally live her truth, unburdened by the shadows of self-doubt that had plagued her for years. She had been saving for it, but life always found a way to drain her savings. When the games came into view, she saw it as her one shot to escape.

You were sitting across from her, quietly observing the game’s chaos unfolding in the distance. Your fingers traced the outline of a small, tattered picture you had of Thailand—your home country, the place where you were born and raised. Your roots ran deep in the soil of Thailand, a country that meant everything to you, even if you had left long ago.Hyun-Ju shifted beside you, her eyes heavy with thought. "You know," she began softly, her voice barely rising above the noise, "I came here for the money, but... it’s not just about that."

You turned to her, meeting her eyes. There was a vulnerability there that she didn’t usually show, a side of her that you cherished, even though the games didn’t allow for much softness.

"I’ve always wanted to go to Thailand," Hyun-Ju continued, her gaze drifting away, as though she was seeing something far beyond the walls of this hellish place. "To finally get my surgery... to be who I really am. I’ve heard that Thailand is one of the best places for it."

Your heart tightened in your chest. You had always known that this was her dream, but hearing it spoken aloud, in the context of these games, made it feel more real, more desperate. It wasn’t just about money for her—it was about freedom, the same freedom that you, as a Thai person, had taken for granted all your life.

"You’ll get there," you said quietly, squeezing her hand. "You will. I’ll help you."

Hyun-Ju looked at you, her eyes wide with surprise. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because," you said softly, your voice filled with quiet confidence, "I’m Thai. I know what it's like to be in a place where people understand you, where you can live freely. Thailand... it’s waiting for you. And when this is over, I’ll take you there. You don’t need to fight for it alone anymore."

Hyun-Ju’s eyes softened, her lips curling into a faint but genuine smile. "Thank you," she whispered. "I want to believe that more than anything."

The sounds of the game around you became a distant hum, almost muted, as you two shared a moment of peace amidst the chaos. For once, it wasn’t about surviving the next challenge. For once, it was about hope—hope that someday, the two of you would be free.

"I don’t know if I’ll make it through this," Hyun-Ju admitted after a pause, her voice barely audible. "But I’ll do everything I can to survive. If I make it out, I’ll go to Thailand. I’ll get the surgery... and maybe... maybe I can finally start living."

You took her hand in yours, your grip firm and unwavering. "You will," you said. "And I’ll be there with you every step of the way."

She smiled again, this time a little brighter. It wasn’t much, but in that fleeting moment, it felt like enough. Together, you could dream of a future—one beyond the blood-soaked floors of the game, one where Hyun-Ju could be herself, and you could be there, holding her hand, as the two of you walked into the freedom that Thailand offered.

The game would try to break you both, but it couldn't take away the one thing that truly mattered.

🦑🦑🦑

[cheriecoke]

carefully, i was going to live

FEATURING. past nanami kento x f!reader, gojo satoru x reader — wc: 2.9k

SUMMARY: you and gojo realize you share the same kind of pain.

CONTENTS: shibuya arc / jjk s2 spoilers, death, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts, references to disordered eating, implied satosugu, platonic gojo x reader, anger, angst, gojo isn’t sealed

note: reader & gojo’s relationship for the future is up to your interpretation. title is from a mitski song <3

The world was bleak outside your window.

With November came the death of all things beautiful. The trees grew barren, flowers wilted into dreary puddles, the sky turned a muddy shade of grey, and your house transformed into a tomb.

It was almost evening now. The streets were busy with people commuting home from work, children skipping along sidewalks after a tedious day at school. Each expression became the epitome of human nature, and through all their ups and downs, there they stood, alive.

You blinked at the scene, just enough to wet your eyes, trying to ignore the spiteful hatred that bubbled up in you against cheerful strangers.

When the women had a smile on their faces, your mind easily morphed them into miserable frowns, weaved a story of how their partners treated them terribly. Children’s loud giggles turned into wretched cries, sobs from spoiled complaints of not getting their way. Men’s casual conversations on their cell phones became a long-winded rant of how their job was slowly destroying them.

There wasn’t anything left for you in the world but misery. It should only be fair that other people received the same.

Perhaps that was an evil thought, but you didn’t care. The bed was cold, and it had started to smell of something awful from the sheets that housed your own grime and sweat. You shivered, bundling yourself up in the blankets more.

An ache increased in your stomach before it grumbled, breaking the silence. Though, it suppressed its own pleas, knowing better than to suspect sustenance after so many evenings of emptiness. Over and over, you ignored your hunger, a part of you hoping that your body would begin to devour itself from the inside out.

Perhaps, then, you’d finally achieve the peace that you’d been longing for.

From the world inside your mind, Kento scolded you, begged you to pull yourself out of the darkness that you’d crawled into. He’d be unhappy, that much was certain. One look at your unkempt hair would put a crease between his eyebrows. He’d recoil at the piled trash that you’d been too exhausted to take out.

Still, you knew better than to believe he’d be anything but kind about it. Stern, maybe, but uncompromising words would never leave his lips without soft eyes and a sad smile.

You swallowed down the nausea that erupted from within you, and buried yourself deeper into the pillow, wishing the couple in the distance would cease their affectionate embrace.

A tear collected on your lash line.

For a moment, you let yourself fall into the painful peace of delusion. A phantom touch rested on your skin, comforting fingertips dancing along your hip. Kento Nanami’s love pressed into every subtle graze. Please. Let me help you.

His voice was raspy, unfamiliar, and you wondered if you were starting to forget the sound of it, the exact inflection of his words, even though you listened to his painfully short inbox message every day, replayed the voicemails he left you more often than music.

A dry sob forced its way up, though no sound released as you squeezed Kento’s pillow tighter, digging your nose into the cotton. You were desperate for his lingering scent, but it had been two weeks since he’d been killed, and there was nothing left of him.

Still, you sprayed his old cologne on every surface, left everything as he had, and pretended that he was still around.

Grief hugged you tight, trying to embody the embrace that Kento had once given you. You didn’t hear the knock at your front door, muffled from two rooms away and the constant swirl of your heartbroken musings.

No one had visited you in two weeks. Itadori had tried, but you’d screamed far too cruelly at him, even though he was just a kid, and none of this was his fault. The list of guests had been shortened since then.

You didn’t blame them.

Someone said your name, though it was distant, and it was easy to chalk it up to your imagination. Though, the plea became a whisper through a grisly storm, then a scream over the fierce winds in an attempt to reach you.

You opened your eyes, shifting to face the noise. 

Satoru Gojo stood at the edge of your bed, his large frame towering over you with every ounce of power he’d been born with, his slack jaw unable to hide his horror at the mess you’d made of yourself. Blindfolded eyes flicked across the room, then, his lips curled into a grimace.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he said. Another sound but your own breath was so unnatural in the stale room. It took you far too long to understand him.  

You blinked back once, before rolling over to return your attention to the window once more, the scene beyond it still playing like a television series. Kento had always hated that your bedroom had a view of the city, some illusion of privacy gone now that he could see the world outside. Though, it was the only thing you could be grateful for now, as that square panel of glass became your salvation.  

“Sorry.” Your voice was hoarse, raspy. You weren’t sure when you’d used it last. “Phone’s dead.” It had been for days. The slender device rested useless on your nightstand, and you wondered how many people had died since Kento; jujutsu sorcerers didn’t stop fighting just because you had.

Gojo shuffled around the room. You peered over your shoulder to see him sliding the charger into your phone, the screen lighting up later with a bright logo and a ding.

“Everyone’s been calling.” His back was to you, muscles taut with exhaustion and strain. “There aren’t enough sorcerers. We’ve lost so many people.”

You tensed and considered blocking your ears, humming a song like a petulant child. No part of you wanted to hear about Jujutsu. Satoru Gojo could manage on his own, and you didn’t give a damn about saving the world anymore.

“I can’t help you,” you said, realizing just how true that was. There wasn’t an ounce of energy within your body.

Though you had let yourself rot, you had grand plans of finding a curse you could never defeat. You would never be strong enough in your current state, and that was alright. You just wanted to go out with some semblance of a purpose, as Kento had. Maybe that way, it wouldn’t feel so much like a suicide.

“I know,” Gojo sighed, and you waited a minute before he spoke again. “That’s not why I came.”

You breathed; the process was no longer subconscious. “Then why are you here?”

Gojo came around the bed to stand in front of you once more, so close that he blocked your view of the window. His icy irises had been revealed, somehow warning you just how serious he was about this intervention.

The laugh you couldn’t muster up came out in a shaky exhale. You weren’t scared of Gojo, and you certainly weren’t impressed by him enough to listen to whatever wisdom he wanted to bestow upon you.

“I just want to help my old friend.” A twinge of pity in his voice irritated you, even though it was warranted. The scene before him couldn’t evoke any sort of emotion except for pathetic despair. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No.” Your muscles were weak as you maneuvered your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I just don’t care. Not even Satoru Gojo can fix everything. I thought you’ve learned that by now.” It was cruel, you knew that, but you spat the words without regret, rolling onto your back.

The stiffness in your hips alleviated, and finally, he couldn’t pin you with his gaze. You could only imagine the way he’d flinched at your comment, wondering when the shy, sweet girl from his youth had become such a bitter woman.  

Your eyes glued to the ceiling, and you imagined Kento there beside you, staring at you with a wistful smile while you merely blinked up at the white walls.

Gojo said your name again. Then he was tugging on your arm, and the clench around your heart unfurled, bringing you away from the desperate fantasy.

“Look at me,” Gojo said, and his words were harsher, exasperated, and you realized he’d been talking this entire time, minutes of one-sided conversation flowing in one ear and out the other.

“No, Satoru,” you growled, trying to resist, even though you didn’t have the strength. He pulled you to a seated position easily, forcing you to look at him once more, and never let go of your wrist. “Get out of my house.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“Get out.”

“No.” Satoru stared at you, his eyes cold and unflinching, and for a moment, you realized just how fearsome he could be, why so many curses looked him in the eye and remembered that they didn’t stand a chance. Then, he blinked, and that image was gone, left with the picture of a broken man who had lost too many friends, and was trying not to lose you too. “You won’t talk to anyone; you won’t see anyone. You’re destroying yourself like this. I won’t let it go on any longer.”

The sympathy and disappointment in his voice disgusted you, and you recoiled with a renewed strength, slapping his hand away. “I don’t care if you want to be a hero now. You couldn’t help Kento, and you can’t help me. What good is being the strongest if you can’t even save the people that you care about?”

Gojo tensed, his jaw clenching like you’d slapped him across the face. That, at least, gave you some sort of satisfaction, even if it only lasted for a moment. A twinge of regret started, burning brighter and brighter until the weight of your comment came down on you.

There was a point to being angry at the world, to projecting your suffering onto strangers. They would never bear witness to every ounce of your misery. But Gojo had known you since you were a child, had cared about Kento too, and you were treating him no better than the curses that had killed the man you loved.

“Fine,” Gojo said more tersely. “I can’t help you. You have to want to help yourself, too.” He raked a hand across his face, revealing dark, purple circles, and sallow skin. The two of you were an ugly picture—the perfect personification of every struggle a jujutsu sorcerer could experience. “I just thought you’d want to know you still have a friend. Nanami and Haibara may be gone, and…” He looked away, mouth pulling down further. “Suguru, but I’m still here, you know?”

You swallowed, even though your lips were too parched to produce any saliva. They were cottony and stuck together as you spoke. “Don’t come back here, Gojo.” Though you swayed, lightheaded, you didn’t lay back down, only curled your knees into your chest, feeling small. “I don’t want to be a sorcerer anymore. I don’t want to remember any of it.”

Gojo hesitated, disappointed that his previous comment hadn’t hit as hard as he’d intended.

“What will you do, then?” he asked, his hands helplessly dangling by his side before he moved to sit beside you.

“Nothing.” The word felt like a punishment to say, even when that’s all you’d been doing, for days. Your life meant nothing anymore, so there was no point in trying. “I’ll forget I ever loved Kento Nanami and then I’ll disappear.”

Gojo’s face turned, his eyes narrowing, lips curling down. “No, you won’t.”

You almost came back with a childish retort—but it no longer seemed worth it. You turned back towards the window, wondering if it would rain soon. The sky looked like it might.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the only person still alive who knew Nanami exactly as he was. There are people out there who cared enough about the both of you to not let you throw that all away.”

Guilt gnawed at you. Kento may not have ever respected Gojo for his decisions as a sorcerer, but deep down, he’d always known that he was a good man who tried to do right by everyone.

“What am I supposed to do, then?” you said, quietly at first, swallowing back the heavy emotions that weighed on you. Satoru watched you, never interrupting, though your pause was long and burdened. “I just want it to stop. It hurts so much, Satoru.”

“I know.”

“Everyone moved on like Shibuya never happened.” You twirled the ring around your finger as the heavy tears returned, ones that you’d thought had long been expelled. It seemed impossible that someone should be able to cry without end, yet, your grief was unrelenting, and your cheeks grew wet once more. “Everyone kept going, and I can’t do that. I can’t pretend like I didn’t lose my entire future. I’m never going to get married, Satoru. I’ll never be able to—”

You stopped, choked by your own emotions as a lump rose in your throat, sour like bile. It was the first time you’d said the words out loud. They tasted worse than they felt in your mind. You’d never be able to call Kento Nanami your husband.

Gojo’s eyes softened, and though he reached for you, you flinched away, swallowing over and over to bury your tears. Heaving breaths came, unsteady.

“Nanami wouldn’t want this for you.” It was cruel, too close to mockery to make you feel anything but anger.

You already knew that you were disappointing the man who loved you with every fiber of his being. The sight of you so weakened would wreck Kento, but you couldn’t get yourself to move out of the house. Not even when your skin yearned for a ray of sunlight, or your body screamed for something other than the stale convenience store snacks.

“Don’t say that. Kento’s not here anymore.” His name came out choked on your lips, the first time you’d said it since screaming it in misery. The word didn’t feel so much like love anymore. It was sorrow, wrapped into two tiny syllables. “What he’d want doesn’t matter.”

Satoru lowered his voice, treating you as fragile as you’d become, uncertain how to speak to someone who would never want to listen. “It does matter. He loved you so much.”

You covered your ears, squeezed your eyes shut. “Satoru, please. Stop it.”

“He’d want you to be happy—”

“I don’t care.” You spoke over his ramblings and pushed him away until you were certain he’d fall off the bed. Though, it did nothing to move him, strong and steadfast Satoru Gojo who would never be toppled. “You just don’t understand. I replay it over and over in my head, wondering why I wasn’t there, why you weren’t there.” You dropped your head in your hands, breathing into your palms like a paper bag. “It’s not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair.” Satoru said, the age-old cliché, a hand hesitant on your wrist. He was quiet when he said your name again. “I know how you feel.”

“No you don’t.” You slapped him away, even when he held strong, even when he let you see the anguish he usually hid away, let it erase the warmth from his expression.

You remembered dark long hair, kind brown eyes, a young man who had once held such a promising future. Two best friends that perhaps had been more, never sharing the secrets of their ill-fated bond.

“No, you don’t.”

Gojo was scooting closer, pulling you into his arms, the embrace tight, protective.

He was serious and sullen in a way that you hadn’t seen since Geto died. Gojo was a master at veiling his emotions in laughter, but it seemed now that your own emptiness was reflected back at you, the sheer desire to stop existing all at once.

“I know it better than anyone.” Nothing more than a whisper. The tears were too heavy and hot; there was nothing you could do to stop them. “You’re not alone.”

You were quiet for a moment, then another, before everything that you’d been feeling for the past two weeks crashed upon you like a wave, drowning you, and you were unable to breathe, clinging to Gojo like he was the only thing holding you above water.

You’d known Kento for ten years. You’d been strangers, friends, lovers parted by death before either of you had turned thirty, and though you weren’t the only person who had lost someone in Shibuya, you felt like the only one who was too weak to recover from it.

“Satoru.” Your voice broke. “I don’t know how to live without him.”

Gojo smiled. “You find a way.” Said so confidently, a man who’d been through it all before, and your heart shattered with sobs that came out uncontrollably, soaking Satoru’s shoulder.

Desperately, you clawed at his back, wishing you could wear his skin as a protective shield, could tear his heart out of his chest and trade it for your own, if only to gain an ounce of his strength. He held you tight in his arms, but nothing about him was the same, right down to the very blue eyes that had lost all their arrogance. Both had dimmed, and even the infinity within them seemed to end.

He didn’t smell like Kento, didn’t feel like Kento—but no one else had comforted you since he’d died, so you let him. Satoru kissed your forehead with an affection you’d already forgotten, reminding you to move on.

You never would.

[teamsasukes]

Was Itachi's forehead poke to Sasuke a sign of distancing himself and not wanting Sasuke to get involved, rather than just a mere sign of affection? I saw a few people talk about that and how it's weird that Sasuke does that to his family considering the original meaning.

yes, you've got an accurate handle on the original meaning of the Forehead Poke. fundamentally it is an expression of distance that itachi wields at times when he cannot be with sasuke. and it seems to be a throughline of his childhood: sasuke asks itachi to do something as mundane as train together but itachi continually refuses on account of his duties as a shinobi.

it is not a gesture devoid of love -- it's not as though itachi ever delights in dismissing sasuke (on the contrary, he is always regretful). but there's a cruelty in the uncertainty of it all: the most direct translation is "maybe next time", so itachi fails to provide even an assurance that they can, like, hang out next week or something. this chasm between them is then widened by itachi promising, on the night of the massacre, that he might allow a final battle between them if sasuke ever proves competent enough to bother fighting, leaving sasuke in protracted pursuit of the looming specter of his older brother.

this distance is really only bridged (barely) in their final scene when itachi lays bare the truth of his motives, his regrets (which are lacking, to put it mildly, but for sasuke this is nonetheless momentous), and his unconditional pride in and love for his little brother. the Forehead Poke is notably absent here because textually, the enforced distance wrt sasuke is framed as itachi's greatest wrong. (seriously, itachi says something to the effect of: i shouldn't have done All That because maybe you, my 7-year-old brother, could have brought change to our clan... thereby reducing inconvenience for konoha, of course. the paucity of virtue in massacring the uchiha doesn't really register for him even during this reconciliation, and it's deliberate... because the author doesn't see it as much of an issue either!)

anyway, it might seem odd for sasuke to repeat this gesture with sakura in chapter 699, then, particularly because it seems to be invoked in a manner identical to itachi in his neglect. kind of an odd way to signify a happy ending for these characters, right...?

well, it works for me solely because it is not identical! and naruto's english dub is my worst enemy. i would grab a couple of manga panel screenshots in the original japanese to prove it, but it's easier for me to just plug these scenes from the anime. here is an itachi Forehead Poke (0:51) and here is sakura seeing sasuke off at the konoha gate (0:33). there's a subtle but meaningful distinction in the phrasing: "mata kondo da" vs. "mata kondo na". which, in effect, alter the meaning from "maybe next time" to:

(there's an excellent tumblr post from years ago which performs a substantive analysis of the japanese in both contexts, but eludes me now. pls send if any of you have a link to it!)

so personally i adore its inclusion in chapter 699 specifically. it obviously carries a great deal of weight for sasuke and it's meaningful he chooses to express it to sakura specifically despite leaving the entire team behind -- in lots of ways, and more than any other character, i think for sasuke, sakura is the anti-itachi. (that would require another post to elucidate.) so not only is it an expression of regret at unintended distance, but, more crucially, it's a promise of return. i think it's incredibly sweet that sasuke can repurpose the gesture from something soul-rending to something hopeful.

(also deserving of another post lol but this scene also achieves a neat and, crucially, subversive callback to sakura's foundational insecurities... it's like poetry it rhymes)

all that said, i understand why it reads as something different once we are then given the context of chapter 700 and gaiden... i dislike both of these installments, primarily for the implication that distance becomes a love language, so to speak, between sasuke and sakura/sarada. these relationships are ruled by distance and sasuke accepts it. it's disappointing! his journey to learn about more of the world in chapter 699 jibed with the character's arc until that point. this does not.

my unpopular take is i think this has just about nothing to do with sakura or the sasusaku relationship and everything to do with authorial outlook on sasuke's actions in part 2. and for the record, i maintain that these crimes ultimately amount to very little -- violence and death are occupational hazards if one is a shinobi. konoha is also foregrounded by a cold calculus on the worth of human lives; i'm sure sasuke's indispensable role in saving the world outweighs the killing of a few samurai. i just think kishimoto needs sasuke to atone, somehow, forever, via endless service to the village. and he also cannot sensibly write a kakashi- or naruto-headed government that would impose any meaningful punishment, so sasuke is relegated to a state of permanent rootlessness in some dumbass quest. it's a sacrifice on his part, but contrived for a number of reasons, chief among them being that the sasuke we came to know in the original series would literally never internalize konoha's ideals in this manner. so even though the Forehead Poke in gaiden and boruto retains the elements of promise and anticipation of eventual reconciliation, it feels kind of... lame and weightless. there is a superficial signal at growth but materially, for the parties on the receiving end of the Forehead Poke, very little seems to change.

frankly, i think we are meant to view sasuke's love as noble (and sasuke himself as penitent, suggested by the ascetic quality of his life). sasuke is still doing things differently than itachi, insufficient though it may be: he is honest about the reason for his travels, he does not rush to dismiss sarada when she needs emotional support, his motives are selfless rather than selfish (sasuke guards against the threat of the otsutsuki; itachi... wanted sasuke to kill him, in no small part as a desperate ploy to end his own suffering, notwithstanding the subsequent damage that would be inflicted on his thoroughly traumatized little brother). gaiden is surprisingly candid about the distance as a source of distress for sarada, sakura, and even sasuke, but by the end everyone understands why it must be as it is. the state above all! (you'll notice even itachi's apology to sasuke held this precept intact... there is a reason the series closes with sasuke accepting his old hitai-ate.) it is admittedly vexing, considering the totality of evidence here, to see sasuke's nomadic status in boruto pinned on how much he hates his dumb bitch wife and not, you know. the shockingly bad politics underpinning the narrative.

i appreciate the attempts of sasuke enjoyers to explain his distance as natural aversion to konoha, but this isn't canonically backed by any interiority (which seems to be absent in boruto-era team 7 at large) and moreover it requires miscommunication between sasuke and sakura (or even naruto) so great as to be unbelievable. i've accepted that post-pt2 sasuke is an unfortunate victim of kishomoto's nationalist views. his weird takes on how a man like sasuke would behave in a loving relationship and likely desire for a continued revenue stream don't help either. yes i will weep forever...

TLDR: i think the Forehead Poke fits in chapter 699 precisely because it diverges from itachi's. i resent its recurrence suggesting distance from loved ones is an inevitable condition of sasuke's life to which he's stoically acquiescent.

[portgasdwrld]

Hello! I read older posts where you mentioned you weren't a fan of your writing. I think you're awesome though! Love your work. c:

I have a suggestion, if you happen to like it. Could we get Zoro (and any other characters) with a shy and aloof female reader who can't figure out they're being flirted with, even though they share the same feelings?

👩🏻‍💻Hey!! Thank you so much for your sweet words it means a lot to me🫶🏻✨ I’m super happy you love it! And yes ofc no problem!! I love the idea 🤭

📂 Zoro+ oblivious shy/aloof reader to his flirting

Featuring: Zoro+ f!reader Warning: none, fluff Note: I rewrote it and very much prefer this version, I hope you do as much as me

Zoro was never the type of man to be outspoken about his feelings

His flirting is somewhat a bit clumsy and he gets frustrated with himself easily. He gets embarrassed by being open with how he feels.

It doesn’t help when you are clearly not reading in between the lines...

He even wonders if you are doing it intentionally to mess with him, but when you just give him a confused look or go on about your day like nothing happened, he questions himself 😭

A sigh leaves the swordsman's lips as his back leans against the railing of the deck. His thoughts wander and they always come back to one thing bothering him: you.

He starts to doubt himself as most of his flirting attempt were fails. A week ago, he complimented your outfit ,but you simple threw a short thanks with a smile as you walked away. Wednesday when he sat next you for dinner and brushed his arm against yours, you just apologized with a blush and slightly took your distance. Yesterday, when he asked to talk to you, but you stuttered a bunch of words and got away from him by grabbing Nami's arm.

He knew better than abandoning. In fact, ever since his feelings for you were revealed to him, all he could think of, was you. You occupied his mind when it wasn't focused on training, he found himself longing to hug you and smile when you do. Although, he thought about not pursuing you, scared it would ruin his focus on his goal. It was in vain, as he realized you were always very supportive of his goal and even cheered him to train harder and achieve his dream. He appreciate it a lot.

The sun is slowly setting on the Sunny, the golden light illuminating the boat. He looks far away, a hand on his swords and his head turns in your direction as your laugh echoes through the ship.

You are playing a card game with Robin, killing time before its time for supper.

His lips naturally curve into a discreet smile as he observes you complain about some move Robin did. You were accusing her of cheating with her ability, sulking over your lost as she quickly denies it with a chuckle. As he watches you, he notices that you did something different with your hair and decide to use it to his advantage.

He approaches you with his usual blank expression, but he slightly hesitate in his steps which caught Robins attention. You smile noticing his presence.

-What brings you here! Wanna play?

You ask him as you show him quickly the pack of cards in your hands with your infamous grin.

-Nah, I’m good. You..you did something new with your hair?

-Oh, yeah! You noticed? Robin said it looked good.

You reply in an excited tone as you touch your hair.

-Yeah, you’re pretty.

-Thanks! I appreciate it

You say with a slight blush due to the compliment, but an awkward silence falls. Zoro stays silent for a moment as he thinks of what he could ad to the conversation but you open your mouth first.

- By the way,..umm I'm sorry about yesterday, i hope it wasn't something important?

You trail avoiding to stare at him as you remember how you embarrassingly ran away too nervous to talk to him. When he pulled you to the side, his eyes staring deeply into yours, you felt like you couldn't breath for a moment. You didn't want him to obviously figure out you like him...

Robin gazes at Zoro before looking at you a small teasing smirk appearing on her lips.

-Oh...Yeah...I was hoping to talk to you, but...uh.

He says as his face gets red. He clearly hates the facts that Robin is here enjoying the little show while you are still oblivious to his advances.

-It can wait

-We can talk now if you want. We were done with our game anyway.

-I have to do something first, but you can meet me in the crow-nest in about 5 minutes?

He lies trying to give himself some time to think about what he's going to say. You nod agreeing with your usual smile that he loves so much.

-Alright then see ya

You watch him leave, curious about what he wants to speak with you. You shrug your shoulders ready to leave too, but Robin is looking at you with a small teasing smirk.

-What?

-Nothing~

She retorts sweetly before waving you off.

++++

The dark sky slowly sets over the head of the Strawhats as the delicious smell of the food fills everyone nostrils. You enter your room to put away your card and as you are about to leave, you take a moment to breath. You didn't notice how nervous you are until you felt your breath getting a little shaky.

Arrived at the location, you open the door and see him sat not too far from the window. He’s looking away but as he notices your presence, he invites you to sit besides him.

-The food smells good

You say breaking the silence. He nods and looks outside again. At around the same moment, an insect fly inside and run directly in your face, making you panic a little. Zoro is quick to catch it and throw it away, making sure you are fine at the same time.

-You’re okay?

-Yeah, it’s just a small insect, I'm good.

-Wait

He gets closer to you and clumsily fix your hair with the use of his fingers.

-Cool

He concludes with a small satisfied smile as he finishes placing your hair. You look up at him with a blush, eyes connecting with his. Zoro clears his throat as he leans back while you stare at your nervous fingers. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you stare now at your friend.

-So, what did you want to talk about?

You see him hesitate as he opens his mouth but close it quickly. His gaze shift from you to the view outside. He sighs and with a blush spread on his tanned cheeks, he finally speaks.

-I like you

Your eyes widen at his sudden confession, not expecting this at all. You furrow your eyebrows as your hand naturally covers your pounding heart.

-What??Since when!?

You ask completely confused. He chuckles a little astonished to your true shock to his confession. You really didn't notice his flirting tactics.

-I thought I made it obvious

-No?? How??

-Uh...with compliments.

-Zoro...

-I don't compliment anyone like the cook, I genuinely think you are pretty.

You gasp a little hiding your face in your hands, half of you not believing this is real and half of you realizing the cause of his strange behavior. You let your hands fall on your laps as you giggle.

-You're so bad at flirting

You joke to try to calm yourself down. Both of you start laughing as he admits it with a nod.

-You are so dense though

-Pfff, not at all

-You clearly can't take a hint

-Wha-

-Y/N SWANNNN, It's time to eat!

You are interrupted by Sanji's scream that startle you a little.

-Look like dinner is ready

Zoro concludes as he prepares himself to stand up, but you quickly grab his forearm pulling him down. You close the distance and give him a quick kiss on his cheek. He looks at you surprised, but he slowly start to smile.

-I like you too

[forgotteneithne]

eithne's card pull

so i was just going to pull things and then probably take a nap, haha, but then i got way too into this sooooooo... i also pulled these with the idea of the spread being 'past present future' mostly because the internet said that was an easy beginner spread but as kate mentioned in her comment, these could really interestingly be interpreted in so many other spread intentions! additionally, pretty sure i was just terrible at shuffling which is why there is a progression of numbers w/ the cups cards so... i am just deciding not to read into that TOO much ;) though i do love that the ten of cups was reversed so maybe it DOES mean something! IX CUPS wishes coming true, contentment, satisfaction, success, achievements, recognition, pleasure The emotional journey of the cups is starting to come to a close after the volatile ups and downs you faced in the earlier numbers of this suit... This is also referred as the wish card, which means that the things that you desire for, or your most perfect dream is bound to happen. The Nine of Cups is normally associated with extreme happiness and satisfaction. Pulling this as Eithne's 'past' card feels so correct because before her father's death/Roderick, even with Valentina in the house now, she was still on track for getting everything she wanted! She was going to be the lady of one of the most important counties in Astaira, she'd be working alongside two of her besties as the queen and lady of calleary... honestly everything was TOO perfect!! even though she'd lost her mother, there was still this high happening in her life when she saw this bright future and knew her path was set... until it all came crashing down. X CUPS REVERSED unhappy home, separation, domestic conflict, disharmony, isolation​ honestly i feel like this description from labyrinthos is just... perfection in terms of what is going on in house malconaire at present re: the wedding, her relationships with her step family, and also with how its affecting her sisters as well! The Ten of Cups is truly the most 'happily ever after' card, but somehow this idealized image of domestic peace and comfort is broken, or was unrealistic all along. Instead of connections, you may find distance. Instead of coming together, you may be pulling apart. this feels SO real! eithne herself is realizing that the hope/vision she had of possibly having SOME sort of decent life marrying cassimir is crumbling and that everyone was most likely right about how things would be if she married him! (side note: in @forgottencassimir 's defense-- correct me if i'm wrong lizzy!-- but i don't think it was his intention to deceive her! and maybe he's not even doing the best he could but... i really don't feel like he has as malicious intentions as some people would believe?) i think this also plays in with the relationships with her sisters & friends bc she HAS been pulling away/distancing herself from everyone because of the stress of both everyone (rightly) telling her what a terrible idea this is AND somehow feeling like she's failing them by making this choice. More from labyrinthos... As the Ten of Cups reveals itself, you should focus on redefining your personal happiness and emotional fulfillment. This card indicates a disconnect in relationships or unmet expectations, urging you to reassess what truly brings you joy.

This is DEFINITELY something Eithne should do/possibly will start doing soon! going back to the ever present theme of burden of duty, smth that she really needs to evaluate is if being the lady of malconaire is what would make her truly happy OR is there a way to still be fulfilled (by serving malconaire) but not at the expense of her own life/happiness! X PENTACLES REVERSED family disputes, bankruptcy, debt, fleeting success, conflict over money, instability, breaking traditions

In the presence of the reversed Ten of Pentacles, you are encouraged to reassess your values and priorities regarding family and legacy. This card indicates a need to break free from traditional expectations or material concerns that may be holding you back. 

so kind of like i had mentioned above, eithne will obvs haved to start facing/evaluating a lot of her priorities regarding malconaire/her family, etc! the mention of breaking free from traditional expectations sort of hits the nail on the head-- she has this vision of how to care for malconaire as lady m in a very established and traditional way but both because of cassimir/valentina having so much control now PLUS the inevitable need to flee into the woods after the whole witch thing... she' going to have to figure out a different way to fulfill being lady m/not letting down her father. X showing up again def could indicate that there's an ending to her previous vision of her life (as lady m specifically, but also i think just her life in general) and this new life both on the run & without her home that has been such an important part of her life/security.

also the symbols of family (legacy, heritage, tradition) and dogs (loyalty, companionship) in this card definitely play into a lot of what she is/will be grappling with!

[crsssie]

heard the risk is drowning, but i'm gonna take it

word count: 10k || banner art by @wr0wn

warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood

summary: it is just admiration. it should get you nowhere (surely?)

It’s a bright day in summer when you first meet Leon Scott Kennedy.

Titled one of the best knights in the academy with an unparalleled aura, you can only observe from the distance during the few times you stop by for the crown prince. Sir Leon Scott Kennedy, knight of the royal legion, best knight that the academy had to offer. You seemed to pale in comparison to him. What use is it to excel in multiple talents when you love none? You find the passion that bleeds from every cell of his body to be far more attractive then the thousand accomplishments you have achieved. If you are honest, not many of them are even accomplished by you. Most of the accomplishments hooked under your name have been done by those around you, other that of the title of Grandmaster. Nobles will never have to work as hard as the commoners when it comes to receiving titles.

When you pass him in the hallway, he does not stop. You do, however.

You stop to stare, watching as he walks off, the aura from his swordsmanship breathtaking, your eyes brimming with excitement as you pass him. Had you been completely honest, you would have let your father know that you do not wish to be crown princess. Rather, you'd like to be the duke on its own, and you would like the liberty of marrying whomever you wish.

And truthfully? You would have told your father you'd wish to marry Sir Leon.

How childish of you, though.

So you turn on your heel, stepping away from Leon, sure that even if you were to proclaim your admiration for him, it would end up nowhere. So, you bury your beating heart, footsteps battering against the marble as you rush to make your next class. Sir Leon could stay a childish crush. You have no time to entertain such thoughts of infidelity. You belong to the nation — to the crown prince. That is your role as the future duke, so that is the role you shall keep.

Your friends dream of marrying knights, they dream of getting whisked away into the sunset on a horse, and you are stuck listening and not joining as they do, a smile that holds everything back, holding everything back from breaking a dam of emotion, knowing that even if you were to entertain such thoughts, you would not get to experience it. You are not in a position where the luxury of marriage is something you can hope and cling to.

"And the princess?"

"I have not the luxury."

"Surely you have considered a candidate."

You look down at the tea which you hold up perfectly, and you close your eyes. "A knight as well, perhaps."

"She talks of Sir Luis!"

"Surely she talks of Sir Leon!"

"I beg to disagree. The crown prince is a knight."

The other two girls groan, and you offer them none else but a smile.

You wonder if it is a choice to just bring it up to your father — that you wish not to be wed to the crown prince. The role of crown princess is not an easy position to hold, and there is none else in the nation that is more suited for the role than you. You are told that from start to finish, and you are more certain of it than anyone. Yet, yet the opportunity arises when a new scholarship student stumbles right into the crown prince's arms at coronation, and a hypothetical shot is wedged into the crevices of the crown prince's heart. You know that look of adoration more than anyone. The crown prince has fallen.

He may not be aware of it, but you keep it in the back of your mind.

The rumors floating around only seem to further solidify your point.

"Princess."

"My fiancé is out frolicking in the field with some commoner girl, I am aware." You hum happily at the taste of the tea, and the girls at your table fret.

"Do you not worry?"

"What if that witch steals her from you!"

"There is none else more suitable for the position of crown princess than you, your highness."

"Mm." You hum. "Well, if push comes to shove, there is nothing I can do about it. I shall only see how it unfolds with time."

It unfolds messily with time. The crown prince keeps you as the crown princess yet declares that he would have none else but his pretty commoner lover as his queen, and you hear left and right all about how foolish the prince has become. You care not for their words, and even when you are slandered for not being a proper crown princess. They would never understand the weight of the title, so you don't take any of their words to heart. See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil.

You listen to the crown prince on the mandatory dates from the emperor, doing your assignments as he brings along the commoner girl to flirt back and forth, and when the crown prince is told to leave the girl immediately, the crown prince fights and argues that he loves not you, but the woman in his arms at all times. You give not a reaction, opting to watch the expressions of the commoner instead, watching as he chews on her thumb when the emperor turns to ask of your opinion.

"Your royal majesty, with all due respect, I too would appreciate the breaking of the engagement. It is damaging to the reputation of the duchy for me to wed with a man who commits adultery." You argue. "My duchy has been known for purity. It would anger the gods."

You believe in no god, but the emperor does, and you are told he will consider it.

"What sick ploy are you playing this time, woman!" The crown prince accuses you, finger pointed in your direction, and you raise a brow.

"Ploy? Your highness, you know better than anyone that the white of my duchy represents purity. How am I to still be the heir if my own fiancé can not stay pure? You want the commoner to be a princess, do you not?"

"I know your lackeys have been targeting her behind my back!"

You blink at the crown prince, trying to recall all of the news that you had heard.

"She fell down the stairs herself."

"Your lackey poisoned her tea!"

"The tea was simply hot? You are to blow or stir before you drink." You blink. "And bring up not the deal of her dress being ruined. That was because she had angered a girl from the gardening club by ruining her precious daisies to pick them for you, Your Highness. She is a student with a scholarship, she is not stupid."

"You are simply jealous."

You raise a brow incredulously.

"Your Highness, I wish not to marry you." You turn on your heel, door to the throne room opening, your heart lodging into your throat as you stare up at the one who had the displeasure of pulling the door the same time you push.

"Sir Leon." You nod.

"Princess."

You leave him behind you, embarrassed that the knight had to see you in such an agitated state.

Good heavens.

Instead, you are caught by the wrist, Leon's breath slightly heavier as you blink at him.

"Are you... alright, princess?"

"Yes." You force.

"Positive?"

"Yes, Sir Leon." You muster up a smile.

"I... may not know you, but I assure you I am here if you are in need of assistance."

"Y..es." You nod, rushing off, fighting the embarrassment that has replaced your agitation. Oh, god. Oh, goodness. Leon? Sir Leon the knight himself? Telling you that he is there if you are in need of assistance? Is this what it feels to be a maiden who is free of the burden of a betrothed? You must be dreaming. There is no way the knight would know of you or even develop such strong feelings for you. Yes, this must be a dream. After all, there is no way the knight could know of you.

You receive the news that someone new has joined the ranks of the dukedom's knighthood, and your heart soars at the news that it's none other than Sir Leon. It makes your heart full, and you blink back every ounce of foolery as you report to your father, notifying him of the new knight in the knighthood, watching as he furrows his brows and hums. Your excitement is hardly concealable, a sparkle present in your eye not there previously.

"Sure it is not for a chance to court you?"

"With full certainty." You assure him. There's no way he would join a rank just to approach you. "Has the emperor responded?"

"That old bastard is still thinking." Your father grumbles. "At this rate, you might as well start looking."

Yet, you stop by the training grounds in the academy, arguing with the general that it is for "moral support" as though the moral support you were offering was not simply just to get a peek at Sir Leon. Surely it is not a sin? Your engagement may not have been broken off yet, but it stops you not from starting to eyeball people. It just so happens that the people you eyeball include a certain knight, and it just so happens that said knight would make a great personal knight. Perhaps it is a little selfish, but you are in the right. Who knows what the royal family will do in order to tarnish your reputation now that you have requested the breaking of your engagement?

"Sir Leon, was it?" You greet the knight in the hall, and he bows.

"Young duke."

"Dare I make a suggestion?"

"If not you, then who?"

"Then, please excuse my rudeness." You dare not to look anywhere but his eyes when you ask. "May I propose that you become my personal knight?"

You watch as Leon goes quiet, and you panic.

"Are you opposed to it?"

"Is there a reason it is me, princess?"

"Is it wrong to appoint the best knight in the rank as my personal guard? I fear the only one who rivals your swordsmanship is me." You reason. Surely he would not turn you down?

You find that he thinks of another way out.

"Perhaps a recommendation from the general himself? A recommendation from anyone that is not you, princess. With all due respect. I have vowed to protect your purity until it is time, for it is my duty as one of your knights."

"I see." You tap your cheek. "Then, from my father would suffice?"

"Perhaps."

"I shall let the duke know of my idea." You bow. "If the duke appoints it, you shall listen?"

"Of course, your highness."

You turn on your heel, nodding at him before sprinting down the hall. You shall attain this. You shall make Leon your personal knight, even if it tarnishes your name. There is none else you trust as much as you do with the knight, and his loyalty lies with you, even if he may claim the opposite. You shall convince the duke to let you have the young knight, and you shall stay by your knight's side, foolishly enamored with him. Your role in the narrative is shifting, so it is only fair that you take advantage of such a point.

"Father."

You make a convincing argument, and it takes only one incident in which you are stabbing through the jugular of an assassin for your father to agree to let you take in a personal guard, one that would stick close and act as a ghost. In the academy, they would be a friend, and at night, a ghost to haunt your room, clearing out any and all threats. You suggest Sir Leon just for reference, and your father takes your word. You do not expect him to take you so seriously, but you are sure your father has his reasons.

"He excels in stealth." The duke agrees. "We may use him for the time being. The crown prince is wary to be on his bad side as well, quite fortunately for you."

You hide the giddiness that you can only describe as an enthusiasm previously unknown to you. How exciting. To be in the vicinity of the man you admire? The man who deserved the title of Grandmaster just as you did? You swoon at the thought, barely catching any sleep in your dorm as a result, rubbing your eyes in the morning when you get ready. The seems to be brighter, and the blue of the sky shines brilliantly. Even when the door to your dorm is knocked on, it only adds to your anticipation.

You let Leon in while adjusting your tie. It is not indecent for you to do so, you believe.

"Princess."

"Good morning, sir." You smile. "Has the duke summoned you?"

"Yes."

Leon pauses, and you take it as a chance to explain why you had needed a knight. It was relatively well known that you were a capable knight, but the recent attempts on your life was not out yet. It would be damaging to the royal family, so the emperor had your father keep it on the low. You found it pointless, but it was not your place to question. You were simply wishing that your engagement would be broken off quicker.

"I got ambushed two nights ago, you see." You pause to think about it. Perhaps that was a little blunt of you.

"...Pardon?"

"An assassin had tried throwing a potion at me." You sigh. "It wasn't much, but it was annoying as is since I had bloodied my nightgown, so I was moved to a single rather than my old room. I miss my roommate terribly, you see."

"I trust you miss Princess Ashley very much."

"I do."

"Perhaps you should go visit her in the morning?"

"I cannot, you see... It would put her in danger. Until I am no longer the crown princess, I can not risk anyone... other than you, of course. But then again, you have become a knight of the house, so you are... to be used?" You frown at yourself in the vanity mirror. "That does not sound quite right."

"My body is to serve you, princess."

You purse your lips in amusement, holding back a laugh.

"Oh... your words are easy to misunderstand, Sir Leon." You laugh, hitting the loose powder off.

"I... did not mean that kind of use. My apologies, princess."

"It is nothing. Worry not." You finish up, smiling at Leon as you start towards the door.

You find it interesting to have a personal knight. Leon sticks by you at all times, watching you even when he is not next to you, and it feels a lot like having an overgrown puppy by you at all times. You're sure the duke would disagree, but you can't help but think that it doesn't feel nearly as invasive as you thought it would be. You tell Ashley about it, to which she whispers back that she is sure that granted you are allowed the engagement to break, you should pursue the knight (it earns her a light smack on her arm to which she fakes a whine over). Ada offers you the same advice, lip quirked up in amusement when you flush impossibly warm and fan your face, telling them both that it would be impossible. You dare not dream of it until you are in a position to do so.

"Surely you find him attractive, though?" Ashley tries. "I have not the luxury of looking at others, but it is not infidelity to call someone else attractive."

"I suppose he is." You mumble.

"You'll be single soon. There is not a soul in the academy that does not know you wish to break the engagement." Ada hums. "It will be fun."

"I am sure it will." You mumble. "It'll be—"

Ada grabs the back of your chair and pulls, sending you back as you watch water splash and steam where you had been sitting. You don't react much to what happens next, Ada's sword out and Leon's name called as the girl is tackled to the ground by your knight, all of which happens too quickly. When you turn to glance at Ashley, she's got a visible frown on her face, which you can only assume has to do with the commoner girl her brother's decided to covet.

"Princess?"

Leon's voice breaks you from your thoughts, and you sigh. This girl was by no means foolish, so why did she insist on playing the role of the antagonist all for a crown prince that would not hold the crown once your engagement would be broken off? It mattered not to you anymore. It is not your problem to consider. This girl was losing herself all over a man — one that was not even worth the time.

"She tried pouring hot water on me." You place a hand on Ada's shoulder, stepping past her and next to Leon as you smile at the girl. "What would the crown prince think? If he were to find out that his beloved was out bullying the crown princess?"

You place a hand on Leon's shoulder, and he listens, stepping off of the girl as she coughs and sputters excuses.

"It was an accident!"

"Quite the opposite." Ashley raises a brow from the table. "Both Dame Ada and I saw you sneak up behind her to pour the water. Perhaps be more discreet if you decide you do not value your life."

"P-princess—"

"Save it. If my foolish brother wishes to squander his position for some commoner girl, then so be it. It is not as though we do not have other siblings." She waves her hand, and the girl rushes off. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You smile. "Ada reacted quite efficiently. Perhaps you should be my personal knight instead?"

Ada shakes her head. "Unfortunately, I am tied to my current house. I have taken the oath already."

"I see." You feign your disappointment. "I forget that you are our senior oftentimes. You will be gone soon."

"You make it sound as though I will pass." Ada rolls her eyes. "Sir Leon, thank you. You're free to return to dine."

"Princess?"

"Please dine, kind knight." You smile. "I must as well."

"Then, with pleasure."

You settle into dodging traps and Leon standing in front of you for the next period of your life. The attempts only rack up with each time that your knight protects you, and you find it quite cowardish that the crown prince would resort to such tactics to have you tell your father you no longer wish to break off your engagement with the crown prince. It seemed the duke was starting to reconsider his decision of which prince to support. You wonder if you should tell your father that you'd much rather have another prince sit on the throne. He seemed to be listening to you much more.

"How have you been, princess?"

"The crown prince seems adamant of keeping me as his crown princess despite his beloved's pleas." You blow on the tea. "Quite selfish of him, if I dare say."

"Who would not want you as their betrothed? A duke's heir with the education of a crown princess. There is no one else quite near your standing."

"Except the princess." You smile, winking at Ashley as she shakes her head.

"An education for an empress is still different from that of a princess." Ashley shakes her head. "We all await the news of the breaking of your engagement."

"I do hope the emperor makes up his mind soon."

"As do I." Ashley presses the tea to her lips, and your eye twitches in annoyance as she spits it out, blood fresh on her tongue. "Good god."

You sigh, pushing your chair back as you call for Leon to take her to the infirmary, your knight furrowing his brows slightly before following your order. You have the rest of the ladies follow him since they serve both the princess and you, and you're left alone in the garden. You understand that it's for that exact reason Ashley was poisoned and not you, and so, by leaving you alone without a knight, it would make you a visible target. After all, what can a poor, frail princess do without her knight? Surely not much. Which is what would happen to every other noblewoman, but your father had the decency to hide your accomplishment as Grandmaster from the general public, so one could only imagine the surprise on the assassin's faces when you had casually unsheathed a blade from your thigh and stabbed one in the face.

Mother may be absent, but Father didn't raise no bitch.

You steal the blade of the original assassin before turning to face the other three, and you wonder when the last time you had gotten to let off some steam was. Well, you better thank that useless crown prince for sending you free stress relief during one of the worst months of your life, no doubt. You think the only situation that could put the month in second was when you first started posture training. Your first tutor was hell on earth to you. The thought of her alone is enough to make you sick. Had you known some girl would come and ruin all of your education for the crown, then you would have cared far less of how you carried yourself.

You take the third assassin down before Leon returns and takes care of the final one.

"You got blood on your clothes, princess." Leon fishes out a handkerchief for you, and you try wiping it from your face before you just huff and tell him to do it for you.

His hand is rough against your skin as one cups your cheek and the other wipes, and you relish in the attention your knight gives you. You hum happily as you blink up at him, smiling as he clicks his tongue and wipes you clean. His fingers may be rough, but his tough is gentle, and when he finishes and pockets his handkerchief, you give him a polite nod to thank him for his help.

"Are you alright?"

"I am quite alright. Nothing a little knight training could not handle." You grin. "Dare I say, it was cartharic."

"My apologies for leaving, princess. I shall stay next time."

"Those ladies in waiting could not have taken care of the princess in the time that it took for you to carry her over. I sent you off. It was not your fault." You huff.

The princess getting poisoned is enough to cause the emperor a migraine, and the crown prince's engagement with you is broken that very night. Your father had made a very convincing point or something, and the emperor had signed a contract to break it in public once the knighting competition was complete. To the public, you are still the crown princess, but to the private, you are free. Sure, you are expecting the assassination attempts to slow, but much like the annual knight competition of the best knights in the empire, it never quite stops. That very night, you awake to a bloody Leon at the foot of your bed, catching his breath as the room reeks of blood, and you blink slowly.

He looks as though he is praying to a saint — as though he is praying to you.

"Did I wake you?"

Even now, your heart flutters at how he insists on making sure you are well.

"Knight, are you alright?" You reach for your handkerchief on your bedside, motioning for the knight to look up at you, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as he exhales, nuzzling into your hand. Your heart races at his affection, daring not to move.

"My duty is to guard, princess. It matters not whether or not I am alright. Though, I thank you for cleaning my face. I can not leave you even for a moment."

"Perhaps I shall assign a second knight? It is exhausting to be like this, no?"

"Just let me rest my eyes once the magicians arrive. I will be alright."

"Rest on the couch, my knight." You whisper, stepping out of bed and through the blood to help him lay down, sitting on the one next to it, watching both the window and the door until the magicians come in. Your knight seemed to have taken care of all of them, so you thank the magicians that come in and repair the broken forcefield that should have been activated in your room. You warn them not to make the same mistake, calling in a maid to help clean up the knight without moving him, watching the prince as you settle for sleeping on the couch opposite to his, the two of you out until the morning.

"Princess, you'll be late to class."

Your knight's voice wakes you from your slumber, and you roll to face the wall of cushion rather than your knight, who leans above you and forces you to open your eyes to get a full view of him. That wakes you. Perhaps it is the information that you are no longer betrothed to anyone, or the fact that something awakened in you after seeing your very own knight bloody with the red of the people after you, but that causes you to jolt up in the couch, pulling at your nightgown to cover yourself, startling Leon as your forehead nearly knocks his chin. Your knight is attractive. You can't believe you forgot and it took him being bathed in literal blood for you to remember.

"My apologies, princess. You were not stirring."

"..." You stare down at yourself and then at Leon, groaning. "I need to change."

"Of course."

You need to see Sir Leon naked— who said that. What in heaven's name were you saying? That's preposterous. You're the heir of a dukedom, not some teenage girl who's got some crush on her own knight... well, you take those words back. You are. The whole reason you had wanted Sir Leon to guard you was because you looked up to him, after all. You may be the same age as him, but it did not mean that you were as mature as him. Surely you need to go back to training over such preposterous thoughts.

Yet, you act not upon it. Your father tells you he'll have you select your own betrothed this time, under the circumstance that he is of a noble family. You wonder if your father seems to have understood that you found Sir Leon attractive, but it was not as if you would ever act upon those feelings. You have a role to uphold, and it just so happens that Leon would not fit into the narrative that you are left in. Perhaps he would be titled as a noble if he were to reach the title of grandmaster like the other knights. It would be a worthy effort if he decides to do so.

The death of twelve assassins by the hand of your knight is more than enough to scare the rest of the threats. You're grateful you get to go back into a relatively normal life, and you're even more grateful to get to return home rather than stay in that awful dorm. The freedom to go in and out at will was preferred to your education in the academy. You wish you had the luxury of graduating with Ada, but you have not the choice. If you graduate early, it only means you would have to start taking over the matters of the dukedom, and you preferred a boring education to that.

"Are you all packed, princess?"

"Yes." You take one final look at the room, tilting your head at Leon. "And you?"

"I have not many belongings." He nods.

You nod slowly, thanking the maids for their service as the butler brings everything to your carriage.

"You graduate the incoming year, correct?" You try to make conversation with Leon. You have a feeling that he had been trying to keep a distance from you since that night. Was he tired? Maybe he found that it was too hard to guard you after taking out so many assassins. You chew on your bottom lip, waiting for Leon to give you an answer. Perhaps you should let him go? He might not want to guard you specifically, but moreso the duchy. "Sir Leon, if you'd like, I can—"

"Yes, princess." He smiles. "My apologies. I've been lost in thought more and more often lately. You were saying?"

"I was just going to say that if you no longer wish to guard me, I can let the duke know to return you to the knight's quarters. I imagine it must be hard guarding me at all times." You scratch your cheek.

"I... it's quite alright, princess. I do nto find that it is a burden. Rather, you make it so that I am comfortable guarding you." Leon assures you. "Though, if you wish to change guards, I am not against such a change."

"I would not dream of it, Sir Leon. I am glad that you do not find me a nuisance. I was worried that night had made you change your mind, you see."

"That would not happen with such ease."

You take his hand and step into the carriage with a nod of gratitude.

"You would not rid of me that easily."

"Oh, how romantic." You laugh, sure that your cheeks are warm, heart warmer in your chest at how sweet he is.

You wonder if he is like this with everyone.

Yet, you afford not the luxury of romance, stuck staring out the window as you brainstorm over which nobleman to be engaged to instead. Not many people would covet you, yet it would be a shame for the bloodline to end with you. Your father had not been fortunate to have a son, and your mother had passed before she could give him one. You wonder if it truly would have worked out if you had become crown princess. Perhaps the dukedom would be given to a distant relative, and your father's bloodline would have faded.

Does nobility truly matter to your father? Or was he only saying such a thing to keep up appearances? You wonder. Your father had married your mother for love, so you find it strange that he would force you to marry for legitimacy. A blood daughter is never worth as much as a son, huh? You're not legitimate enough, so it only was fair for you to wed and become someone even more powerful. Had your father wanted a son, you wonder why he had not just decided to marry again and have his son.

Maybe if he had a son, you'd be able to run off and marry Sir Leon. Well, not that your knight would have let you do such a foolish thing.

It seemed like child's play to him, after all.

He follows you around the mansion for the most part, stuck by you whenever you are to finish certain tasks, management of the mansion something you're responsible for while your father lies in the capital by the academy. It isn't too much to handle, but it sucks the majority of your free day during the day away. You find no complaints. You prefer this a little more to teatime on the daily with the ladies. You wonder how your friends are doing. It's a shame that both Ada and Ashley are still in the capital. You can not even wander without an excuse now that they are gone.

Instead, you are cooped up in the duke's office, stuck signing papers and checking supplies, learning of the maids and hearing all about the latest gossip in the capital. The commoner girl was undergoing the crown princess training, and you have the privilege of hearing all about it when the maids dress you in the morning. It matters not to you. You no longer care all that much. The title of crown princess is no longer something that you must carry around when you are in private.

Though, the title of Young Duke is another tale.

"Princess." Leon nods, delivering the papers your father's aide had told you needed double-checking. The stack seems as though it could swallow you whole. Truly, there seems to be no end to your work.

You grumble into your hands, starting at the top of the pile. "Will you go out with me tomorrow?"

"What for?"

"I need to take a walk before I become a pile of paperwork myself." You sigh. "It would be a nice change of pace."

"And not in the garden which you so willfully manage?"

"I want not a breath of air down in the streets while I can still afford it. One day I will be cursed to stay inside at all times." You sigh. "I can go alone if you do not wish to."

"Princess, are you planning on sneaking out?"

"Perhaps..." You try and change the subject. "Is there a reason you insist on calling me princess? I am the young duke, you are aware?"

"I am, but it changes not that you are a princess until the official title of duke is given to you."

You raise a brow. "Am I your princess, my knight?"

"Who else would be?"

You pause to consider. "Perhaps your lover? You are getting to that age, after all. Have any of the knights caught your eye?"

"It would be improper to court anyone in the same house as I, but it would be concerning to court someone from a house that is not mine. Time will tell."

You sigh, going back to the paperwork. "I find Dame Ada quite attractive."

"It changes not that she has no interest in anything other than her blade."

"Reasonable." You sigh. "Ugh, I must start considering the noblemen again. Father sent letter to make haste."

"Princess, what would make a man a nobleman?"

"Noble blood, or someone who holds a title of Grand so and so. Grandmaster knights and Grandmaster mages are both considered nobility under the law." You pause. "Perhaps you should go become the new Grandmaster in the knight competition later in summer. I'd let you go for that reason."

"And for what reason would I have to become a grandmaster?"

"Oh, my apologies." You laugh, scratching your cheek. "It was just a suggestion. It would be nice to tell my father that I'll decide after the knighting competition, after all. You made it quite far last time."

"You have the title of Grandmaster as well, no?"

"I do." You hum. "Which is why it would be nice to be guarded by one."

"I see."

You dare not tell Sir Leon that you'd like to get betrothed to him.

The thought alone is foolish, and it would occur only in your dreams. You admire the knight, but you are not selfish to the point that you would force the knight to become a grandmaster in order to betroth yourself to him. You're not that desperate, and you yearn not that much. Though, you find that you have already forced him to become your knight in a way, so maybe you are desperate enough. How saddening. Perhaps he found you annoying.

"Will you reward me if I win?"

You blink up at him in surprise, tilting your head as you pause. "If there is something I can give, then of course. It would only be fair for me to reward my loyal knight, no? Then, I shall arrange for someone to take over your role after tomorrow."

You run errands with Leon the next day, a quick upgrade to his sword given, and a change in dagger for you. The shop owner doesn't question anything much to your gratefulness, and you tell him to put it all on the family ledger. You know Sir Leon's gotten close to the title of grandmaster multiple times. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to win with a stroke of luck by fighting one of the weaker grandmasters, but you refuse to rely on luck when you feel as though you're tossing your future into the tournament.

If Leon doesn't come out victorious, then you'd have to find someone to actually get betrothed to.

The thought occurs when you are out, biting into your skewer as your knight scans the area for potential dangers. You could train him since you are a grandmaster, and it was not out of the question for grandmasters to have disciples and followers. If he were to come out victorious, it would be a boost to your name as well— oh, but goodness, this skewer was good. Oh, right, the issue of who he would train with.

The thought of your knight all sweaty tempts you, blue eyes under a sun-kissed back, hair glowing gold under the rays of light.

How dare you have such improper thoughts.

"Have you considered who to train with?" You tilt your head, tossing your skewer into a bin.

"I have not, princess." Leon shakes his head.

"Shall I train you?"

You find that Leon doesn't have enough endurance... or whatnot. You find that he tires easily after swinging his sword unless adrenaline-fueled, and it would come to haunt him. If he fought Krauser or you, neither of you would be able to go easy on him. You're sure that Krauser might even go harder on your knight, so there was no such thing as overpreparation. You would simply prepare Leon to the best of your ability so that he would be able to fight with or without his ability.

You still wonder what it is occasionally.

"Princess, do—" He heaves. "do you not tire after the runs?"

"Nothing is as unbearable as the endurance training I received for the title of crown princess." You hand the paper to your father's aide, and he rushes off with the last of the paperwork. "Now, shall we do another lap?"

"Princess. Please let your knight rest."

"One might get the wrong notion at your words, Sir Leon." You hum. "Take a break. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just air." He mumbles, and you watch as he collapses onto the stone ground, heaving.

You glance down at Leon, blinking slowly as you wonder what has him so motivated. It should not matter that you must get engaged to a nobleman if he is only your knight, but perhaps something more? Perhaps he has cravings of the flesh. You would not care. Your purity had only mattered in the context of a successor so that you would not have bastard children, but if you have no engagement, then perhaps you would only have children that lack legitimacy.

You wonder if Sir Leon likes you with the same heart that you love him with. You are clear with yourself, but he is not clear with himself. Perhaps, you will be stuck waiting if you take too long, but you care not. If your knight wishes to hold a title, then so be it.

Krauser asked to be captain of the royal knights.

You wonder what Leon would ask for.

The two of you step onto the carriage, and your blade is carried with you, your paperwork done in advance so you can take a small break. You mention that your father was rushing you for marriage, shaking your head when Leon asks if you will give him a response. You talk to Leon after it, pondering over whether or not your training would truly help Leon at all. He had been busy with the commander of the duchy's knight as well, but you still worried. If you fight him, he would not last. Even if he fought Krauser, you wonder whether or not he would be able to hold him off.

Yet, it matters not to you, much of your early days in the arena made up of resting and discussing with the rest of the grandmasters. You watch from the seating area, tea served and dessert on your table alone, tossing biscuits to the rest of the knights as you watch people fight. It's always a thrill, but you find that there isn't much to look forward to this year. Leon takes out the vast majority of the early battles with ease, a knight's set of skills drilled into his body through the exhaustion of your training.

"Your pupil is one of them this year, no?"

"Sir Albert, I heard yours is as well."

"Well, it is a shame. He is not my pupil, but rather my comrade. It is always amusing when I remember that I work with regular knights."

"Do you believe he will be able to win?"

"He lacks the desperation your knight carries." He hums.

You look up as Krauser takes a cookie from your plate, glancing down at the knights in battle.

"Dame Ada did not participate?"

"She'll return next year." You hum. "She wanted a break from her duties."

"It is not easy to be a master, nonetheless. Most knights are satisfied with such a title."

"I heard your engagement will be broken in public after the tournament."

"Correct." You hum, staring down at another one of the family knights. "Oh, that one's made it quite far."

"And who will you wed with next?"

Your lip quirks upwards on one side, clicking your tongue as you smile and wave down at the knights. Ideally, you'd get betrothed to Leon once he wins the tournament, but you were not guaranteed that luxury, so you had already backlogged who would let you get away with the most as a noblewoman. You wonder if Sir Albert would consider you someone worthy.

"Sir Albert, perhaps?"

"I would not be against it."

You glance back down as Leon is declared as victor.

"I do not appreciate being a second choice, grandmaster."

You smile back at him. "Then pray my knight would win."

The remaining grandmasters join the three of you the next day, table much more lively when you grin and wave at everyone, dessert on the table finally shared. You're spared no questions regarding your knight, and you manage to avoid the majority of them. Leon had joined because you suggested it. There was truly no more to it. The topic of your removal from the title of crown princess was far more entertaining to the table. You don't mind it. If anything, it's a welcome topic.

"The emperor made the mistake of removing you after the ceremony and not before." Jill hums. "What if your knight wins? Swearing loyalty to you would imply that he is not swearing loyalty to the royal family."

"I'm surprised the royal family did not amend such an issue even after your knight had done the same." You hum.

"Well, they are always slow." She hums. "Especially with the crown prince."

"Thoughts on the new crown princess?"

"I did not understand why she had to take the role of antagonist in my life. I would have given her the title had she asked. Though, I understand her need to seduce the prince first. Truly, there is no other way."

"WIthout support from the ducal family, surely it shall become a battle for the crown once more."

"That is not to do with me. The crown prince had simply gotten too bold." You click your tongue.

"Your knight as progressed once more."

You stare down at Leon, smiling as you do.

"How long did he last against you?"

"Forty." You hum. "His longest was forty minutes of continuous fighting. Though, I have confidence that he will last longer if his opponent is also on the offensive."

"You are always the agitating one." Krauser clicks his tongue. "You exhaust and then feast."

"It is the thrill of the kill." You smile. "It is also for entertainment. I dare not to do so on the battlefield."

"Your loyalty lies with the princess, correct?"

"Yes." You nod. "I am fortunate to have chosen her. I fear, had I chosen the crown prince, I would have lost my life long ago."

"Well, it is always a welcome change."

By the latter half of the tournament, you have started warming up with the grandmasters in the training ground, clashes of blade loud as your body thaws the reflexes that you have honed over the years. You can not win against Sir Albert regardless of your own skill, so you settle for dodging his attacks until you can not, his exhaustion never visible. You're sure that if Leon were to fight him, he would have to break the blade rather than fight with endurance. Your title was received because you had defeated Krauser. You would not have received your title had your luck been on the lower side.

"You've improved."

You gasp for air, resting on your knees as you glance at the knight. "Sir Albert, you do not feel exhaustion from your ability. I dare not guarantee that anyone could win against you."

"Your knight's ability is blood, no?"

"I am not aware. I have never seen him use it."

"It does not work if there is no fresh blood. His ability is a final counter while fighting." Krauser mentions, bowing at Jill as she fetches water. "He has never been that desperate, though. I doubt he will use his ability. Focus on exhausting him."

"And your pupil?"

"My pupil must be exhausted."

"It seems that the goal is always to exhaust." You sigh. "Jill?"

"I am sure the knights are all hoping to fight you."

"Well, they better be ready to fight." You huff. "They'll be more exhausted than us when they finally compete for the title itself."

You spend the final day watching semifinals, learning all of the knights' moves and calculating how you would have to fight each one. You are automatically voided from people that Leon would have to fight to avoid bias and going easy, so you settle with drawing sticks with the rest of the team, drawing again when you pick up Leon's stick on accident. To the vast majority of the arena, it would seem that you all are discussing, but you knew better. There was no discussion if it was truly just pulling out sticks to determine who would fight who.

The title of grandmaster was truly a title of luck oftentimes.

When you draw a knight from another ducal house, you find that you'll be fine. You have warmed up to your blade, and it has become an extension of your body, moving with you naturally as you prepare for your fight. You were last, so it would be understandable that your opponent would have plenty of recovery time from the battles of the previous day, but you understand that it would still be harder than usual. You hope to make it quicker than the previous times.

Your goal is to simply exhaust the knight.

Your battle is last, a gentle nod is all you give before your opponent charges at you, the knight swinging his blade and kicking for your legs as you swing over him, ducking as he thrust his blade, kicking upwards from the ground to force him backward and retrieve your blade. You take two steps back to avoid the next swing, blade meeting his on the third, holding the sword up as the knight stumbles back from your strength.

Was Leon watching? You hope he was. You had spared no effort to fight him, but you had overwhelmed him by the end of it. You do not feel that same exhaustion yet, but you keep an eye on the time. Under an hour was perfectly fine. Even when you feel your wrist crack from the strength, you just shake it back into place, taking two steps back and to the side, spinning and forcing the blade to twist. You land on the ground with a thud, aiming to split the blade to end the fight, but your opponent manages to take it at the last minute.

You check the time.

Fifty minutes.

You take a further two steps back, heart hammering in your chest as you flip backward, forced into the wall.

You have to recover. You must start fighting.

The wall is hard against your sole as you boost over the knight, taking the chance to kick at his helmet, forcing it into the wall as you take the moment to breathe.

Two.

Three.

The next swing is blocked out of instinct, and you breathe, ability causing the knight to blink twice.

Finally.

Your blade loses its visibility, and you change to the offensive. You must wear down your opponent, swing after swing after swing as you feel the knight's knees weaken, no longer able to hold his ground against your swings. His knees give out and he falls to the ground, blade dug into the dirt as he heaves, eyes wide and then closed, breathing labored as he struggles to get back up. You glance up at the timer to read the time aloud like you are to. The knight has made it impressively far.

"You have made it to the fifty mark." You hum. "You are too exhausted to continue. The journey to knighthood is not done overnight. Congratulations on reaching so far."

The knight takes your hand as you help him up, and he bows.

You step to the back, tended by the medics before you must make a return to the stage. You sit still as your wounds are tended to, gentle glow of green on your skin as the soreness is cast out from your body. It's still something you aren't used to, but you don't have much of a choice when this is the role you play. You're let go of only when you are free of all wounds and scratches, and you join the remaining grandmasters on the podium, standing near the back as you wait for the announcement.

Well, you already know who won.

You glance at the noted times for each knight, and you visibly brighten at the news that Leon has lasted the longest and broken a sword. No one brings it up, but the atmosphere visibly lightens as you hum and chatter with the remaining grandmasters. The mental exhaustion from fighting may still be present in many of them, but it is not present in you. There is a certain air of giddiness that you emit, inadvertently soothing the remaining grandmasters of the exhaustion.

"Congratulations."

"Sir Albert, did you even try?" You tilt your head, glancing at the envelope in his hand.

"I did. Your knight outsmarted me. That is all." He hums. "Your knight has won by default. He may have barely scraped by with his time, but he had broken my blade. That is an automatic title according to the rules of the tournament."

"How nice." You smile. "Looks like our engagement will not be happening."

"Arguably for the better." He hums.

"Agreed." You sigh. "I am sure your disciple will win the following year."

"And you have the boldness to say this because?"

"He seems to have found that desperation that my knight carried this year."

"Grandmasters! Positions!"

You step back to where you are to be, staring at the knights as you smile, humming as you close your eyes to smile with that also. You are sure Leon is aware that he can no longer do anything. What else is there to do but wait? Surely not grow excited over nothing. So, you wait for his name to be announced, watching as he collapses to his knees and stare up at you. You smile and wave, watching as he falls to his knees into the position of a prayer.

One step closer, one leap bolder.

You watch as he mouths words at you, your own heart rattling in your chest.

You deliver the final speech, congratulating all of the knights for their efforts, titles of master handed by each grandmaster with a wreath. You participate, well aware that you'd be with the royal family the next morning as someone who was... still the crown princess... or whatnot. You no longer cared. Quite frankly, you care so little that you could break a couple rules at night.

"Did you visit your knight at night?"

Jill raises a brow at you in amusement, and she nods. "Take the hidden corridors."

You wink at her in response, blowing a kiss in thanks.

It's fairly simple to sneak to your knight's room. If anything, it is all the more obvious, the blade of the victor on his door, and you wait behind the statues in the corridors to knock on his door, rocking on your feet as you grin. You're sure you'll give him quite a fright, but it matters not anymore. You've been patient, and well, your knight has been too.

The door to his room swings open, and you watch as he blinks twice before pulling you into the room, panic all over his face as you blink slowly at his lips.

Oh, who cares anymore.

You pull Leon in by the collar, lips crashing against his as he winces, confidence faltering as you start to pull away, worried you might have read the knight wrong—

You're left with no space as Leon chases your lips back into the kiss, hand flying to the back of your head, eyes half-lidded as he forces you against the bed instead, tongue desperate against yours as he drinks up every single one of your movements, lips leaving yours only for quick gasps for air before he's back on you again. It overwhelms you. Your head spins deliciously with the lack of air, body turning lax against the sheets and chest pressed to his, nails digging into the cloth still, fingers clinging onto whatever you can of him, the knight practically engulfing you as you finally throw your head back for air, letting him rest his head on your collar.

"I'm sorry."

You have to be honest. Honesty. You have to be honest.

You're tired of denying yourself.

God, you love your knight to no end.

"Don't be." You gasp, eyes closing to focus on catching your breath back.

The silence that ensues is something that you could only dream of experiencing.

The moon paints your skin pale, and you stare back at him, breathing labored as you whisper.

"Who will you swear your loyalty to tomorrow?"

Grandmasters' loyalties lie with the royal family, yet Leon forms a sword from his wounds, hand red from the ability, handing it to you as you blink at him.

"My knight." You mumble.

"Knight me, so that the emperor may not do so tomorrow. My loyalties lie with you, not with the king."

"My knight, I cannot—"

"I beg of you. If you knight me now, the king can not knight me in the morning. You need not to get up, just... please."

You comply, red of his blade staining your hand as you stare, eyes closing as you whisper a prayer to the stars.

You close your eyes to start the chant, gold engulfing the blade of red as you hold it out to one shoulder, moving it to the other after, the gold swallowing the room whole as you close your eyes from the brightness. When it subsides, the red of his blade has puddled at your feet, and your knight rests his head in your lap, eyes closed as you hesitate to touch him. You worry that he would be called a traitor by the people.

"Thank you."

"What will you tell the emperor?" You whisper, heart racing in your chest at the thought of him being executed.

"I need not anything else. This was my request." He mutters back. "Stay the night."

"I cannot do that." You push his hair back, and Leon closes his eyes.

"I know."

"The emperor will have you executed for this."

"I'll run off with you. Divine intervention. Bribe a priest."

"I can not do that, my knight." You laugh. "And the regulations?"

"I will survive." He hums. "Clause twelve states that they are to swear their loyalty to anyone in the royal family. Considering the knowledge that you are still crown princess until the end of the competition, I have sworn my loyalty to the royal family by proxy."

"Ever the sly one, aren't you." Your fingers scratch at his scalp gently, and he hums.

"I have to. It is for you, after all."

"Then, will you have me?" Your voice shakes.

"Only if you would have me in exchange."

You watch as Leon requests of you to knight him, and you hide the amusement on your face as the emperor's face twitches and frowns at the request to be knighted by the crown princess. You are not the crown princess after Leon receives his title, but you do so anyway, his actual blade in your hand as you press it from one shoulder to the other, same golden haze erupting in the colosseum. You fear what it would have been if Leon had not requested for you to knight him, and when he is asked what he wishes to receive, the title of Marquis was only fitting.

You bow to the citizens as the emperor announces your removal from the title of crown princess, and you watch as the commoner girl who had wanted to be the crown princess receive the title she had longed for for so long. You try to ignore the way Leon's eyes stay stuck to you the whole speech, and you also ignore the way the crown prince glares at you when you finally get to exit the stage for the emperor to make a final speech. There's a certain excitement that you allow yourself now that you are no longer the crown princess to the public.

You're given no time to feel it, Leon lifting you into his arms as you yelp, eyes wide as he beams at you. Your heart rings in your ears, sure that your embarrassment is spelled out on your face, but you ignore it all. Your knight looked elated to finally have you in his arms, smiling ear to ear as his blue eyes soften at you. You find that he looks enamored with you. Perhaps you are risking it, but it seems to be fine. You find that this is a tale of devotion, not purity or whatnot.

"You smile so brightly, my knight." You mumble, fingers reaching for his cheek.

"You are free from the shackles of the crown, princess." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. "I am yours at last."

"And if I would not have you?"

"I am at your disposal regardless."

"What will the people think?" You close your eyes as Leon hums. You can still hear his smile.

"Do you care? Must you care? What is there to consider when I am by your side?"

"You are right, my knight."

You glance down at Leon, sun in his face as he brushes noses with you, your own heart full in your chest. You've waited long enough, and you wonder if you would have known so long ago, but without the title of crown princess on your shoulder and knowing that your knight was yours, you cherish the knowledge. He was yours to use, but you would be his to cherish. The knighting ceremony was more than a testimony that he was yours. And now, you would know peace.

You could finally be his.