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batchilla · 2 months ago

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Your new partner is Grayson.

He’s a weird guy.

Not necessarily a bad guy, but a weird one.

He’s not cold, in fact he’s rather friendly. However, when you really consider it, he volunteered very little information on his personal life. Reasonable, you suppose. So long as he has your back in the field and gets his reports done, you don’t need to be best friends.

Your new partner Grayson is a recent Gotham transplant. You’d never personally been, but you weren’t oblivious to how utterly mad the city was. You could hardly blame him for getting out.

Your new partner Grayson, tenses up whenever someone mentions the Batman, or any of the nutcases he fights. You don’t pry.

You do your own research.

Your new partner Grayson watched his parents die. He’d been taken in by Gotham’s favourite son, a man he seemed reluctant to speak of. He’d had, and lost a brother, to the most deranged man Gotham, if not the world, had ever known.

You stop mentioning Gotham around him after that.

Your new partner Grayson is a weird guy, who seems constantly surprised whenever you demonstrate competency.

At first you’d suspected sexism. It wouldn’t have been your first partner to have that failing.

After a few days though, you catch him being equally surprised when officer Jackson makes a connection on a string of breaking and entries, and realise that perhaps he’s just not used to the cops not being utterly reliant on a very scary angsty furry and a small child without pants.

Your new partner, Grayson, is a weird guy, who disappears sometimes. Middle of a chase he’ll be gone, and you won’t see him again for sometimes as long as hours, before he’s back. More often than not, somehow through some insane luck, the perp will have been taken down by Bludhaven’s new vigilante, and tied to a lamppost for you to find. You both hated and envied his luck.

Your new partner Grayson was a weird guy… and he was a damn good cop.

He made connections like no one else. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense. You’d asked him once, about how he seemed to know all he did. How he seemed to have access to a whole other database of clues you just couldn’t see.

And he’d smiled that cheeky smile of his, and told you he’d been consulting an oracle.

Your new partner, Grayson, moves like nothing you’ve ever seen.

You’d initially attributed it to his past as an acrobat. The way he could simply parkour over and around anything in his way, run faster then he had any right to, chase down a perp like a bloodhound.

It was more than that though. You’d say without hesitation that if you were in a firefight, he’s who you’d want at your side. You must’ve owed him your life three times over by now. Even in those situations though, when no one would have blamed him for the use of lethal force, he never had.

You’d been pinned down by a smuggling ring. You, Grayson, and ten of them - all armed to the teeth.

He’d been incredible. Superhuman, almost.

Someone had shot out the lights. He’d told you one of the smugglers must have missed. You’d never once believed him.

Ten smugglers. You’d managed to knock out and cuff one, unwilling to risk taking a shot blind.

The other nine? Those had been your partner. He had them unconscious in a heap by the time your eyes had adjusted.

No bullet wounds. He’d done it hand to hand.

You didn’t know exactly what he was hiding, but you knew he was hiding something. You decided not to call him out on it. Not as long as you trusted that whatever he was using his … inexplicable skills for was good.

And trust you did.

Grayson was a good man. Even knowing little about him

Which was why this betrayal hurt so badly.

“Say again?”

You’d sat in relative silence in an unmarked police car for about half an hour on a stakeout, and Richard Grayson had just said the worst sentence you’d ever heard. You’d never been so utterly horrified.

“Peeps popcorn.” He says, holding up the tupperware containing an atrocious biohazard, grinning from ear to ear.

“One more time please?” you fight to keep up your faked anger, but fail in the face of that fucking smile.

Honestly, it should be some sort of crime to smile like that. Like everything would work out in the end, so long as you could keep him smiling at you.

“Peeps. Popcorn.” He says it a third time. He’s trying and failing not to laugh at her, at the way her mouth twists and flails to maintain a frown.

He was tempted to tell her it was in vain. He’d broken Batman, and he’d make her smile too.

Honestly, she had such a pretty smile. Not that he’d say that, she was his partner, and they needed to keep things professional.

“It’s my turn to provide stakeout snacks, and so,” he lifts the lid of the peeps popcorn balls.

“Peeps popcorn.”

She rolls her eyes, and looks out the window of the passenger side. But she’s smiling. “It is one of life’s great injustices,” she huffs “that you can eat like that and maintain your… impressive physique.”

Dick feels his chest puff out a little. While he had been able to tell all along that she had a crush on him, but he’d never risk acting on it. Still, it felt nice to be complemented by her.

“Seriously, do you clock off and just do the ninja warrior course all night or something?” She muses, her head against the window, looking at him out of the side of her eye.

“Not exactly,” he replies, sitting back in his seat, bringing his foot up onto the cushion. “Try one.” he presses, poking her side with the container.

She takes one, rolling her eyes and nibbles at the neon cluster of popcorn.

“No. no.” she gags, “oh that's nasty. Oh, it's so sweet. Why? Why Grayson. Why would you do this to me?” she asks, setting the sticky concoction on the divider between their seats.

Dick just laughs “I am determined to make you a peeps convert.”

“Never, regular marshmallows are fine.”

“Peeps are rainbow.”

“How old are you?”

“There is no age too old to enjoy whimsy, Detective.” he responds, biting into his own.

“Besides, are you implying that rainbow marshmallows are irregular? In this day and age? Tut tut.”

“We are not making me out to be a homophobe over peeps!” she protests, still laughing, slightly taken aback at the audacity.

“If you say so.” he says, stretching his arms over his head and into the backseat. Stakeouts were terrible. He was not built to sit still in a confined space for hours at a time. However, this one provided a useful opportunity he cannot afford to waste.

Not to torment her with his war of attrition for peeps supremacy - though that was fun.

He needed to be sure of something else.

“Well. You being wrong about peeps aside. I … wanted to check back on a file from a few months ago. You uh… you didn’t move the Holt murder file, did you?”

“Holt.” she clicks her tongue in thought “the guy with…” she gestures to her chest.

“That's the guy.”

“Not knowingly. I haven’t had cause to reopen it. No new leads. I tried to track down the kid… He didn’t want a bar for me. Guess I can’t blame him. I offered the help I could… but well… the last time someone helped him his dad got brutally murdered. He’s staying in the tent city by the docks, best I can figure.” She seems to feel guilty as soon as she says it, but Dick doesn’t blame her.

He had paid for that room. If he hadn’t… who knows what might have happened?

“But if someone moved it?” he prompts, not wanting to dwell on that gnawing guilt.

“Wasn’t me.”

Your new partner, Grayson, was a weird guy who ate strange and terrible foods.

He blames himself for what happened to poor Mr Holt. Because he was good to the core, and somehow that had led to something utterly twisted.

He’s also standing on your balcony. On the 20th floor.

And it all makes sense now.

Your apartment isn’t particularly nice. It was small, and frequently disorganised. Especially when you got overly invested in a case.

You’d been texted many gifs of the conspiracy board meme by friends over the years.

Work life balance? Not something you’d ever seen much value in.

And now, your unfairly attractive new partner Grayson was in your apartment, in full vigilante getup.

You need to find a way to be normal about that in ten seconds or less, because he’s staring at you, and you're staring at him, and it's starting to get awkward.

“Hello.” you eek out.

He greets you as Detective, followed by your first and last name.

Unusually formal, for him. Unless… unless he somehow thinks a few inches of fabric in the shape of a wingding is going to fool you.

Unless he thinks he’s got you hoodwinked.

“Nightwing… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He leans in the doorframe, his hands braced against its top, so he is leaning into your space without touching you, and giving you plenty of ability to step back if you so chose. You don’t.

“I have reason to suspect there’s a serial killer moving though Bludhaven. And that whoever they are, they have someone in your precinct on the payroll.”

You fold your arms, bristling.

“Not sure I appreciate the accusation.” Sure, the bludhaven police department was ridiculously corrupted. But you’d hope that your partner would have at least the trust in you not to think you’d help a serial killer.

“No accusation.” he reassures “a request for help. I need someone I can trust inside the department. And my source says that’s you, sherlock.”

His source? Was he kidding?

No. No he wasn’t.

Oh this was madness.

This was hysterical.

He really, truly thinks that you can’t know him outside of his streetwear. And he’s trying to pass it off like he doesn’t know himself either.

Perhaps you should tell him you know.

But… Grayson and his peeps tomfoolery isn’t the only one who can have fun.

“So… you’re asking me to… what, exactly?” You prompt, unfolding your arms, willing to give him a chance.

Nightwing offers you a smile. It’s slightly different from Richard Graysons.

It’s just as sunny, and it makes you feel just as warm and fuzzy and giggly inside. You have to fight even harder to stop yourself blushing, given how much less this getup leaves to the imagination then his usual dress pants, shirt and tie.

But it’s a little more … brazzen. Flirtatious. More… cocky. Sure, He was always at least a bit of a show off, but as nightwing? He was one of the most capable, incredible people alive, and he wasn’t shy about it.

Oh, you were doomed. But that was a problem for later.

“I’m asking you to keep an eye on the ‘heartless’ case. Holt… he’s not the only one and I think there’s going to be more. And, to be blunt?”

He stands up straight, and puts an arm on your shoulder.

“It’s a big request. But you might be the only person in that station who I have real confidence in.”

You wonder what that says about his relationship with himself, but like so many things with Richard, you don’t ask.

“I can do that.”

“And I understand that it’s dange— I’m sorry, did you just agree?” he cuts himself off, staring at you.

You laugh then, just the once.

You owed him your life many times over as his partner. But as nightwing?

Since he’d come on the scene, you’d actually felt like something mattered. Like change could happen.

Like someone was willing to help the people of Bludhaven not to reap a profit, but because the system you’d once hoped to help restore was broken at its very core, and restoration wasn’t the solution - reformation and fundamental change was. And you didn’t know how to do that.

But then Nightwing had come onto the scene, and started kicking the asses of the worst of the worst, and you had felt like you had when you’d joined the force, bright eyed, bushy tailed, and determined to make a difference.

Before the incident. And every other day, when you’d felt that optimism slowly being crushed to death, into a fine powder and blown away in the wind.

“Yeah.” you say, and agreeing to help is one of the best feelings in the world. You get to help. To make a real difference.

“Bludhaven owes you a hell of a lot, Nightwing… seems like the least I can do is tell you if anything weird comes up.”

“Right. Thank you.” he clearly wasn’t expecting this. Maybe he’d thought it would be a harder sell.

“If I do… have anything for you, how should I alert you?”

He passes you a wingding. “Put this in your window. I’ll check in every few days.”

You raise an eyebrow “all your fancy tech and you don’t have a phone”

He shrugs “phones are traceable. Plausibly just something you picked up on a case as a trinket that you ‘forgot’ to log in evidence left on a windowsill? Lot harder to trace.”

“Fair.” you acknowledge.

“Besides.” he steps backwards onto your balcony once more “your place is on one of my main patrol routes. Can’t let anything happen to the best looking detective Blud’s got.”

You scoff, without any real offence. You know he’s only playing, and that he does, as Richard, respect your intellect more then your appearance - but you suppose as ‘nightwing’ he doesn’t know you that well.

“I think you mean best detective full stop.” you respond, and he gives a small bow of playful deference.

“But of course, sherlock.”

And then he’s gone.

That night, you don’t sleep.

You felt so stupid. He’s nightwing. He’s been nightwing the whole time.

The skills. The disappearing. The way he seemed to just… know things.

The way he tensed whenever someone mentioned Gotham.

… the timing of Robin reportedly becoming a child again.

Had your new partner, Grayson, been Robin?

Had he been using the Batman's archives to solve cases? Was that his so called oracle?

… wait.

Was Bruce Wayne the FUCKING BATMAN?

You screamed into your pillow. You were laying awake, face down in your bed, because now you had realised far too many things in one night.

The first: Your new partner is Nightwing.

The second: Bruce Wayne might be Batman.

The third: you, enchanted by that fucking perfect smile, had agreed to help track down a serial killer stealing hearts.

The fourth: Your new partner, Richard Grayson, between his stupid snacks, the Alfred Pennyworth foundation he’s been working to get off the ground, and his work as Nightwing, will save Bludhaven, you know it to your core.

And the fifth. The worst, and scariest part of your night: You may very well have fallen in love with him.

Chapter two

If you read this far, reblog?

Divider credit: @strangergraphics

Tag list:

@jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

First time writing Dick! Feedback is welcome.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dc x reader #detective reader #a tentitive part one #idk what to call this series yet #or if it’ll be more then three chapters #but here goes #reblog fics

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artteristly · 6 months ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊, 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐁.

SUMMARY, you’ve had made peace with yourself knowing that you’d be a spinster for the rest of your life, so that you could take care of your little sibling, such as because they see you as their mother. Who would have thought just because you tagged along with your twin brother to an invited vacation, you’d meet your future husband who suffered the same responsibility?

MASTERLIST , 𝓌ord count, 6.6K

𝒞andles were the main light source to guide you through the dark halls of your home when your younger brothers had nightmares. Your hand was rather larger than theirs, but you still let their tiny fingers lead you to their room. Speaking about how in their nightmare it was a night roaring with thunder and you and your twin brother were nowhere to be seen.

You hush them to sleep, raking your fingers through their hair and letting their unconscious body cling to yours. While tucking them in again, you hear the door open slightly. “A nightmare?” Oliver spoke out, making you soften your gaze on him. “It is like they were there when Mother died.” You sigh as you ruffle one of the twin's hair.

“They are haunted by the night they were born.” You frown, simply because this wasn’t the first they came crying into your room about the horrid dream they had. Oliver seemed to sense your stress and took you away from the twin's room. “We simply can’t do anything about it sister, but try to raise them differently.” He sighed.

It had been years since your mother's death, and you took the responsibility to take care of your younger brothers. Her cause of death was because of them, having no choice but to be cut open and die bleeding while hugging her causes. Your mother huffed as she gave you her final orders as a mother before dying.

Her death was heartbreaking and the one who took it to heart was your father. He died a week after from a broken heart, leaving your brother to be the new lord of the family, and you the lady of the house until your brother married.

You were presented to society as requested by your aunt, but when no suitors understood your desire to raise your brothers, you simply didn’t marry. You were a spinster to society and a mother figure to your siblings.

“I don’t know Oliver, I hate seeing them suffer.” You walk into his study and sit yourself down, him following your actions. “You seem to grow the senses of a mother, sister.” Oliver smiled and sighed until he remembered something from earlier today. “I’ve received an invitation from one of my old friends, they invited us to their countryside home, where they will host a ball soon.” He looked over, catching how this took all of your attention.

“It would be nice, you and the boys would love some vacation, especially you since you're the one who needs it the most.” You stood up and smiled, taking your shawl and covering yourself once again walking straight to the door. “So it’s a yes?” Oliver asked making you laugh lightly and then nodding. “Of course Oliver, who am I to deny you of relaxation?”

He laughed lightly before watching you walk away to finally sleep, and he returned to his desk to do his duties.

You’ve noticed it had been quite some time since you were in the countryside, and seeing Aubrey Hall was quite astonishing when you first saw it. Thomas and Richard bounced excitedly when they saw the house, blabbering about how it was gorgeous and humongous. “You must act like gentlemen while you are here, well-mannered and respectful.” You told them watching as they nodded furiously and repeated ‘Yes big sister!’ over and over.

When the carriage stopped you saw the Bridgerton family spill out of the front door, lining up to greet your family. Once you stepped out someone called your last name out, making you look up to see an older man smiling at your brother. “Clarke!”

“Bridgerton!” Your brother smiled and shook the man's hand, then hugged for a second before he introduced his family. “Dear friend, I’m quite hurt you wouldn’t invite me to your wedding nor tell me you had a family..” Anthony spoke, making you laugh at the face Oliver made. “My Lord, you’re mistaken, I’m Oliver's sister, and these are our siblings Thomas and Richard.” You smile at his bewildered face.

“My Apologies.” Anthony ducked his head, making you chuckle and dismay the mistake. “Please do join us for tea!” Violet smiled at the four of you, gladly being invited in.

You were astonished by their home, it seemed like a wonderful place to grow up in. The tea room was more beautiful as you sat with Oliver on one of the sofas. “Mother, can we go out and play in the garden with Thomas and Richard?” You learned that the youngest Bridgerton siblings were Hycinth and Gregory, somewhat the same age as Thomas and Richard. “Of course, if it all right with their older siblings.” Violet looked over for your permission.

“Sister, can we? Please!” Richard came up to you, right behind him was Thomas talking to Hycinth. You look over to Oliver, and he nods and allows it. “You may, but don’t cause trouble!” You spoke, and automatically they thanked you and promised nothing but good deeds.

Violet smiles at your motherly aura, making you smile back at her when you catch her staring. The moment was wonderful and not long after dinner was being served, that was when you separated yourself to find your little siblings. A servant leading you outside to them, you were about to call out to them until a voice behind you did it for you. “Everyone, time for dinner!”

You looked behind your shoulder to find Anthony behind you, he instantly looked at you. “Thank you, My Lord.” You bowed your head, you were about to leave until he spoke. “I hope you do forgive me about earlier.” He said, you raised an eyebrow a bit confused. “About what My lord?” You asked before turning your head and looking for Richard and Thomas, they were running straight at you. “About me mistaking you for Oliver's wife,” Anthony confessed.

You smiled softly before yelling at the boys not to run inside, again turning over towards him. “Don’t worry about it, My lord.” You laugh lightly before you watch him offer his arm, making you confused once again. “Allow me to show you where dinner is held..” He smiled, and you once again smiled out of kindness, before taking his hand.

You flinch awake when you feel someone slip under your bedsheet, making you peek your eyes open. Only to find Thomas sniffling his tears, making you well aware of what was happening. Thomas was always the most sensitive one out of the twins, he was a soft boy who was very kind. “Thomas, what happened?” You whisper, caressing your hand on his cheek, wiping his tears away.

“I had a nightmare again.” He sniffled, he was visibly shaken up. His night clothes were crinkled, his hair was ruffled and some parts were drenched in sweat. His blue eyes were puffed and his nose was snotty, making your heartache.

You turn over in your bed and light up the side candle on your night table, the dim light making everything around it glow a soft light. You push the duvets and blankets away and put on your slippers, walking inside the bathroom to the side of it. Thomas sat up and grew shy, were you mad at him?

“C’mere Thomas, we don’t want you going to bed all sweaty.” You came back in the room with a damp towel, rubbing it along his hair, trying to clean up the sweat off his hair and neck. “Lay down.” You told him before going into the bathroom again. When you came back, the towel was damp again but this time you placed it around his face, hoping the cold towel would calm him down.

You sit beside him on the bed, pulling your knees towards you. “What was your nightmare about?” You asked softly when you uttered those words, you could feel him tense around you. “You can talk to me when you’re ready if it’s too hard, for now, we can just be in each other presence.” You run your fingers in his hair, feeling him ease up.

After a few minutes he talked, but his words trembled like he was about to say something wrong but spoke. “I saw Mother, in my dream.” He said, just now leaning a bit more into your side. “She was with Papa, and you. She was cradling you in her arms, saying how you were doing a good job.” He sniffled, closing his eyes trying to remember again.

“Then everything sort of started to disappear, she kept saying how it was time for you to join them, and she disappeared again and left you crying.” Tears swelled in his eyes, trembling. “Do you miss Mother and Father, sister?” He looked up at you, making you bite your tongue, not wanting to cry in front of him. “Of course I do.” You swallow the sadness down. “Do you hate me for taking them away?”

“Thomas, never say such words.” You spoke calmly at him, making him look away. “You are my brother and I must take care of you–Mother told me it was my final order as a big sister.” You told him. “Everyone is destined to go somewhere they might return from, it was simply their time to go.” You stated.

“You won’t leave us alone, right sister?” Thomas looked at you, his gaze holding hope and fear. “Never, I’ll be by your side until you are big enough not to need me all the time.” You smiled at his foolish question. “I think, I’ll always need you here with me sister.” He murmured, finally closing his eyes.

As he falls asleep in your bed, you can’t help but sigh.

Candles were the main light source to guide you through the dark halls of the Bridgerton house, taking a peek inside your brother's guest room. Only to find the bed still neatly made, so you wandered around until you heard soft laughter in the Billard room. You peek in, seeing your Brother playing pool with Anthony. Colin and Benedict drinking on the side, chatting between themselves, and drowning in smoke.

Your soft knock on the door startles them, making their eyes stare at the door. “Sister?” Oliver looked at you confused. You smiled nervously before talking “Sorry to interrupt but I need your help.” You say. “What with?” He asked, more confused than the first. “It is Thomas.” With that, your brother is hastily walking towards you.

“He had another nightmare, he is drenched in sweat.” You whispered at him, eyeing him and the Bridgerton brothers who stood quite confused. “Did something happen, should I send for a doctor?” Anthony was the first to speak out. You and Oliver looked at each other and communicated with your eyes.

“No, our brother is simply hogging my bed.” You smiled softly at him, before pulling your brother's sleeve. “Again, sorry to interrupt, have a good night gentleman.” You bow your head down, before walking out of the room. “I’ll be right back.” Oliver excused himself.

After you left, the band of brothers looked at each other “What do you think that was about?” Benedict asked, making Colin think. “Perhaps the boy simply has an attachment issue?” The two brothers keep talking but the elder one is still glancing at the place where you stood. He knew the look you gave to your brother meant something, something he knew about.

It was simply the same look his mother gave him when she needed to carry the young ones to bed because she alone couldn’t pick them up. As he stood there in thought, he started to think more. You were similar to his mother, giving the same comfort around other people. You gave those boys so much motherly love, just like his mother did with him and his brothers.

“Perhaps she is just a mother figure to those boys.” Anthony simply said, taking a sip of his liquor. Benedict and Colin brushed him off and continued talking, they wouldn’t get it anyway. A figure will always recognize another.

The sun playfully peaked through the blue curtains, making your eyes flutter open slowly. You hum as you let your body wake up, stretching to each corner of your guest bed. You felt amazing like you just gotten the best rest of your life, instantly placing you in a good mood.

You have gotten yourself ready for today, wearing a light purple dress and placing your hair down, showing off its length. You smiled at the thought of having a peaceful morning in this gorgeous country home, simply sitting near the garden, enjoying the morning breeze and a book.

You slip out of your room and walk downstairs.

Anthony flinched, hearing floorboards creaking in his home. He could feel the house become alive but could hear someone speak to others. He wondered who it could be since he was usually the first one up. He sighed and shuffled out of his bedsheets, peaking out of his view of the backyard, only to see you sitting with a book in your hand.

He wondered what you were doing, he could only slowly start waking up while looking at you. Should he join you for tea? He asked himself, before making his mind up and doing so.

He slowly shuffled out of his trousers and slipped into his clothes of the day, then walked out of his room. The morning staff greeted him, and he then ordered him to bring tea outside where you were, they quickly did what they were ordered to do.

You got startled when a soft ‘good morning.’ spoke out towards you, making you look behind and see who was responsible. “Ah, Good morning, My lord.” You smiled while standing up, and curtsying towards him. “Please, May I join you?” Anthony smiled, gesturing to the free seat, in which you nodded.

“How was your night? Was everything to your liking?” He asked, making you place a bookmark on your book. “Everything was perfect, you shouldn’t worry.” You smiled, noticing a maid coming up and serving tea. “If you don’t mind me asking, was everything alright yesterday night?” Anthony questioned.

You looked at him as you were going in to sip tea, and you placed it down softly. “Thomas is a compassionate boy, he gets scared easily, and he has recurring nightmares.” You tell him, catching how worried he looks. “He sneaks into my room, simply seeking comfort.” After that, you take a sip out of your tea.

Anthony nodded, he could only think of how many times he had to help his Mother with Hycinth and Eloise, and sometimes Daphne. “Seems like our duty as older siblings.” He said with a soft smile, making you look at him. “How are your siblings? Are they well-behaved, or perhaps chaotic?” You smiled when he sat up in his chair.

“They are way different from yours, they are bipolar, and they switch moods mostly all the time.” He smiles, bringing his teacup up to his lips. “Especially Hycinth and Gregory, those two are always at it.” He sighed into the cup before sipping his tea. “Richard and Thomas are sweet boys, they don’t like causing trouble.” You laughed at the thought.

“Miss Clarke, I find it honorable what you are doing.” Anthony smiled softly at you, making you tilt your head. “Of what, My lord?” Your eyes glued right at his, trying to study his expression. When you get the idea of what he is saying, you place your teacup down. “My Lord, It is simply our duty as older siblings.” You smile softly. “We must provide our younger siblings with emotional and physical security.”

His breath hitched as he looked at you. You had worded his thoughts perfectly like you knew what he was thinking. “Morning.” You both turn over to see Benedict stretching as Colin and Oliver come downstairs, and you simply smile at the three. “Morning gentlemen, I hope after all the fun you had yesterday night you rested well.” Benedict nodded happily, thanking you and sitting right next to you, popping a light biscuit in his mouth.

“Do not worry Sister, after I won a game of pool against Colin, we simply went to sleep.” Oliver ruffled your hair, and in return, you smiled at him. “Yes, do not worry Miss Clarke, after your brother finally won a game against me, he quickly retreated to bed.” Colin corrected Oliver, making you giggle. Amid your conversation with the other three, Anthony kept looking at you quietly.

How was it that you clicked so easily with his siblings? You were at most a natural when it came to socializing with others, easily joining the conversation you were immediately included in. You did your duty as the Lady of the house quite easily, while you helped your brother with paperwork and money problems. You were about everything he was trying to be or be with.

“Breakfast is ready, My lord.” A maid called out, making him snap out of his thoughts. “Shall we?” He smiled and walked inside, making the rest walk inside. As he walked into the main area, he could see the boys running toward you and your brother. “Brother, Sister! Good morning.” Richard jumped into Oliver's hands, while the boy ruffled his hair. Thomas on the other hand grabbed your hand and smiled, making you caress his cheek.

During breakfast, out of the corner of his eye. He could see you acting motherly towards them, making him intrigued, and have some questions.

Then again during tea time, you were sowing back up one of Richard's handkerchiefs, touching the fabric up. Richard read out loud with you, while you corrected him on some words.

His last thought was seeing you play with them, running in the green field in front of Aubrey Hall, right in front of his study, he stretched, needing a break, and as if Benedict heard his wishes, he came into his study. “Brother, do join us for pallmall.” His tilted smile was on full display.

Anthony walked downstairs to find his whole family waiting, huddling around the rack filled with different colored mallets. He saw you crouched down, holding your finger out towards Thomas and Hycinth whose eyes widened as you told them that the insect on your finger was a butterfly.

“Sister, will you be joining us?” Oliver asked you, letting the butterfly fly away and making the children run after it. “I’m playing with Thomas and Hycinth! Perhaps another day!” You smiled lightly seeing a pout on your brother's face.

Anthony felt his hands sweat, just as you uttered those words, a gold ray of the sun landed on your skin. Making him utterly mesmerized by your image, then leaving him clenching his first tightly as you ran towards the children, making the wind an actor as it runs itself through your long hair.

It shined rightly under the sun, he could’ve mistaken you for a fairy. Benedict pushed him out of his thoughts and ushered him to play the game.

That night Anthony felt strange as he laid in his bed, absolutely devoured by the thought of you. What was going on with him? He was high with the sound of your sweet voice, your smile, and your kindness. He wanted to entangle his finger in your hair, he wanted you to caress his face.

He groaned, why was this happening to him? Just when he puts love off to the side, his heart starts to throb for someone. Was it wrong as well? You were his friend's younger sister. He huffs as he stands up once again, he shivers at the thought of you running your hands behind him, wrapping them around his waist. Was he mad? Was he insane? He shouldn’t be thinking about you.

He walked towards his study until he saw a dim light in the library that was connected to his study. “Who is in here?” He spoke out and like his thoughts were heard about someone, you stood still there, like you were deer caught while hunting. “Sorry, am I not supposed to be in here?” You went still, watching as Anthony walked in laughing a bit. “No, Do not worry, you are allowed to be here.” He chuckled as he saw your grip loosed on your shawl.

“You gave me quite the scare, My lord.” You laughed breathlessly before pushing the book back in its place. You looked at Anthony who kept looking at you, making you nervous. “You have a beautiful library, it puts mine to shame.” You grabbed a book that you recognized easily, sliding it off the shelf.

"It was my late fathers, he took pride in his collection, we say Eloise got that habit from him.” He walked towards you, a good arm's length away, looking down at the book you were holding.

“Pride and Prejudice?” He smiled, making you nod scanning the book cover. “A lovely love story, both of the characters overcoming pride and prejudice and surrendering to love each other.” You hum out, handing the book to him. “I rather think it’s quite aggravating.” Antony hummed out, looking up to see your reaction.

“Oh, why do you find it ‘aggravating’?” You asked directly giving him your attention. “It bothers me how much they deny each other, and how she can’t see he’s being a gentleman.” He mutters placing the book back, falling a bit weak in his knees when your eyes examine him. You find it amusing, and to show it you it, you giggle. “Well, it’s romantic when a man is desperate for a woman's love.” You walked away towards the window.

Anthony watched as you walked away from him, he felt the cold brush his skin where your warmth was. “Ms. Clarke, do you have a husband?” Anthony said, making you look at him surprised. “Sorry, I overstep.” Anthony walked towards the door leading to his study, what was wrong with him?

“I don’t have a husband.” You chuckled as you saw his shoulders ease, walking his way. “It is rather hard to find one who understands my circumstance.” You expressed your displeasure, making him look at you directly. “It feels like most men have one goal, and that is to expand their lineage. I, however, want to take of the family I already have.” You smiled softly as you stood there an arm's length away...

“After my parents passed, I felt a heavy burden to take care of my three brothers. Oliver might seem like the older one but I’m older by three minutes.” You giggled before sighing heavily.

“I’ve helped manage our household, managing our finances with Oliver, taught them many activities, helped with their studies, having to be there for the three of them.” You tear up just a little, never being able to dump your feelings. “I’d gladly be their support pillar, and to take care of them.” You smiled.

“I love my brothers dearly, such as you do for your siblings, but mine are still immature with no guide in their life–I’d rather raise them to be gentlemen and make other young girls happy than to find love, I’ve made peace with it and if someone understood that, I’d gladly treasure them back.” You expressed truthfully.

Anthony felt like he had overstepped greatly but he couldn’t help but feel for you. Making him look at you with understanding eyes. “How did your parents die?” He asked, regretting how your expression turned into hurt from remembering unpleasant memories.

“Um, my Mother died during childbirth, having to be cut open to get Thomas out after Richard, she died bleeding while holding him. A week later my Father died of a broken heart, he couldn’t live without my mother.” You blinked some tears away before wiping them away. You both stood there in silence until you spoke again. “How did your father die?” You asked him.

You could see him close his eyes and exhale heavily “He was stung by a bee.” He looked at you somewhat humbled. “To see my Father who was a great man, be killed by a small creature is humbling.” He sarcastically said before feeling comfortable with you.

The air took a shift as he saw you studying him more deeply, then looking at him with a gaze that allured him towards you. It seemed like the only thing you two could do was convey feeling through your eyes. He leaned in closer, making you lean in as well.

“What if I understood you?” You turn over inhaling at how close he was. You looked up at his eyes they looked at you desperately, and you looked down nervously. You flush as you see his chest through his sheer nightshirt. “I fear that I understand you far too well.” You looked so small under him, so flushed, so captivating.

“What are you saying?” You looked up at him and god did he want to kiss your lips. He cursed himself for looking at you with those thoughts, and it didn’t help when your collarbone was visible, nor the line where your breast started. Your doe eyes looking at him so confused, as your lips parted to speak again.

This time your mouth was left open as nothing came out of it, making him turn his head over lining your lips with his but not placing them on you. You felt confused, you wanted to set your lips on his but didn’t and it was eating you up alive. Your breath hitched as you felt his hands pull yours forward, it felt like he was pulling your heart making it pound.

You felt right as he showed you the most vulnerable side of his you've seen, you allowed yourself to brush your lips against his slightly. Allowing him to feel the slight texture of your plum lips, making his breath hitch. You pulled away after gaining a reaction from him. “This isn’t right, I–” You shook your head feeling a heavy feeling in your heart. “Please..” Anthony felt his cold heart begging to be warmed up.

“I-I shall bid you good night.” You turned away, breath trembling as you pulled your shawl over you tightly. You were glancing at him one more time before leaving the room hastily, feeling the cool air on your flushed skin.

On your third day in Aubrey Hall, Violet was going to a ball. It was an annual ball apparently, and you were their honorable guests. You told your brothers that they were to stay put with Hycinth and Gregory since they were still too young to be out during balls.

Your ladymaid helped you slip on a royal blue dress made of silk that complemented your figure. The dress has beautiful detailing, little flowers that trail to the back of the dress, and a beautiful bow on the back that turns into a nice small train. With a nice halfway-up hairstyle and large curls flowing down, your mother's jewelry was the final touch.

You thank the ladymaid as she smiles and begins to clean up the space, you leave the room to walk towards your brothers. You knock on his assigned guest room, which was partly shared with your little brothers, just a wall separating them. Richard whipped the door open and smiled big “Sister!” He engulfed you in a tight hug.

“Richie! What are you doing here?” You laugh as he drags you inside, making Thomas run towards you and hug you as well, “We are helping Oliver get ready!” Thomas butted in before analyzing your dress. “Sister you look beautiful!” Thomas and Richard spit out in unison, making Oliver glance over.

“I must say, Sister, the color rather suits you better than me,” Oliver muttered as he walked towards you, giving you his carvat indicating he was having trouble putting it on. “Nonsense, it looks fine on you.” You easily put his cravat on, making him huff. “My future sister better knows how to put these on or you’re going to be in lots of trouble.” You giggled as he gave you a look.

“Are we getting another sister soon?” Richard said excitedly, Thomas right behind him with joyful eyes. “I’ve told you I don’t want to get married this season.”Oliver shrugged on his waistcoat that was matching your dress, butting it up.

“Please I have a feeling you’ll meet your future bride at this ball brother!” You say excitedly, making him pout and look at you. “What about our new brother? Are you going to get married soon?” Oliver asked.

You freeze, and the thought of you and Anthony yesterday night pops up in your mind. Making you flush red and shy, and this didn’t go unnoticed by Oliver. “Sister, have you made a match?” Oliver buttoned up the last of his buttons and rushed to your side. You clear your throat, looking away from the boys who cornered you. “I have not.” You walked away, and suddenly Thomas hugged your legs and Richard your waist, making you stop in your tracks.

Oliver picked you up making you squeal at the sudden movements, then plopped you down on a chair. “Sister, do you like someone?” Thoma questioned you, making Oliver and Richard eye you. “Why are you asking me that?!” You asked a bit flushed. “We just you to be happy sister.” Richard expressed, making the other two boys nod. You looked at them sincerely, making them continue.

“We want you to be with a husband that will take care of you, just like you took care of us.” Richard told you, “You deserve a happy ending sister, you’ve done so much.” Oliver held a hand towards you, making you stand up.

“But if I do so, you’ll be alone, I don’t wish for that.” You start to tear up, making the three boys offer you their handkerchiefs, you laugh lightly, and they offer the handkerchiefs you made for them. “We are big boys sister, either way, you won’t leave us forever right? You’ll visit us!” Thomas exclaimed making you breathe out.

“I don’t think I can leave you all alone.” You told them, making them huff. Oliver finished up getting ready, and you ushered the boys into the nursery where the younger Bridgerton siblings sat. You meet Oliver at the top of the stairs, grabbing his arm as he guides you both to the bottom, where the elder Bridgerton siblings chat amongst themselves.

Anthony broke his chatter with Daphne who kept talking, looking at you with your astonishment as you walked down the stairs. You two were talking to Benedict and Eloise as they broke apart from their family to speak to you. “Sister! Let me introduce you to our guest.” Anthony smiled as Daphne nodded along.

“May I introduce you to Lord Clarke and his sister, Ms. Clarke.” Daphne smiled as she saw you crusty and your brother bow. “This is our sister Daphne, Duchess of Hastings.” Making your eyes twinkle. “A pleasure to meet you two, my brother talked about you two, all nice things of course.” She smiled.

“Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you.” You give her a delighted smile, making her giggle. “Please I have every intention of becoming friends with you, let us walk around?” Daphne offered her hand, making you smile at your brother, and walked away with her.

“You talked about us?” Oliver looked at Anthony who kept his gaze on you, then broke away to look at him. “Of course, I’m trying to find you a wife.” He told him, making him scoff. “You and my sister are forcing me to find a wife–it is like you two are meant to be with all this pushing.” Oliver walked into the ballroom.

As the ball began, you walked around talking to some ladies who gladly let you join them. You were quite the social butterfly, making you tired of talking sometimes. You excused yourself, wanting a beverage and looking for your brother. You watched as he flushed over the words of a young lady, making you smile.

“Brother, enjoy your night?” You butt in, making him look at you. “Ah sister, yes! Let me introduce you two, Miss. Blackwood my sister.” Oliver smiled at the young brunette, not going unnoticed by you. “Hello, a pleasure to meet you.” You smile, making the young girl flush. “Likewise, If you don’t mind me asking, are you twins?” She hid her face behind her fan, making you giggle. “Yes, we are a set of twins,” Oliver confirms.

“You are most fortunate to have a sibling.” She said, talking about how she had no siblings at the moment. “Are you very fond of children, Miss Blackwood?” You question her and she nods. “I love children! Whenever I’m in the country, I usually play with my cousin's kids.” She smiled.

“Then you might enjoy our other brother's presence!” You told her, making her confused. “Ah you see, just like me and my sister are twins, we also have little twin brothers, their names are Richard and Thoma.” Oliver’s smile grew fond of the thought of them. “Oh, I’d love to meet them.” She giggled.

Anthony glanced at you every time he heard you laugh, wanting nothing but to walk over there and talk to you. Although this persistent mama denied him of doing so, his mother saw his inpatients. “Anthony! I need to talk to you!” She ushered him away, grabbing his arm in the process. “Dearest why are you making that face?” Violet spoke.

“You must seem content in front of these guests, and talking about guests why haven’t you asked our guests to dance?” She scolded him before he could talk, making him frown. “Mother I was about to ask Ms. Clarke to dance but I simply got caught up with some people.” He reassured her, making her nod.

“Where is she?” Violet looked around, making him do so as well. Anthony excused himself with his mother, making his way toward Oliver who was still chatting with Ms. Blackwood. “Oliver, have you seen your sister?”Anthony excused himself for interrupting their conversation. Oliver looked at him a bit confused but replied “She is checking up on Thomas and Richard, I think.” Oliver told him.

Anthony nodded and walked away, leaving the ball unnoticed and quietly. He walked up the stairs making his way to the nursery. Just as he turned the hallway, you walked out. In your hands a tired Richard, who you struggling to carry, and a very sleepy Thomas. “Thomas love, please stay awake so we can change you for bed.” You ruffle his hair and readjust Richard on your hip.

You gasp as you feel someone grab Richard from your arms, and it shocked you when it was The Viscount. “My lord, you don’t have to!” You say as if his action were too much. “Don’t be silly, please let me help you.” Anthony smiled while crouching down to carry Thomas as well. You looked a bit worried, and he smiled reassuring you.

You both walk to their assigned guest room, and after some pushing and pulling you are finally able to tuck them in with the help of Anthony. You huff, backing up a little right beside Anthony, you looked over towards him and smiled. “Thank you once again, My lord.” You smiled kindly.

Anthony looked at your adoring lips, making him want nothing but to put his lips on them. “Anthony.” He whispered, making you look up at him once again. “Pardon?” You say, making him instantly repeat himself. “Please, call me Anthony.” He said now facing you directly. “Ms. Clarke, I’ll be honest with you–

I have nothing but respect for you.” He said looking at you sincerely, making you straighten up. “Yesterday night, I meant what I said–I understand you very well.” He expressed, resulting in your breath hitching. “I understand your so felt burden of taking care of your sibling and to be frank, I honestly relate my problems so much to yours,” Anthony whispered lightly, not wanting to wake up the children.

You looked up at him in amazement, making him open his mouth but no words came out. Your heart was palpitating so hard, that you felt like a character who was about to be confessed to. Anthony straightened his posture, as he cleared his throat. “To be honest, I fell deeply in love with your motherly intuition, I don’t know how to explain it but my heart eases up when you take care of your sibling so easily,” Anthony confessed, making him flush red.

“I must say it made me love you differently now, and– god it’s so unlike me, but I fell in love in just three nights.” He became once again flush in color.

You too were flushed with red, making you put a hand on your chest, feeling it–actually, it was beating so hard you swear you could hear it. “Anthony, I, well, I don’t know how to feel.” You look at him, then away.

“When my brother accepted the invitation, I thought of them having the necessary time off, I did not come here for my benefit.” You told him. “Though I am happy, I ended up getting something.” As you utter the last syllables of your sentence, Anthony looks at you.

“W-What I meant, I feel the same way, Anthony, I do hope you can court me the right way, once I get back to Mayfair.” You smiled fondly as you grabbed his arm. Making him nod slowly “It would be an honor to.” Anthony smiled, feeling somewhat relieved that his feelings were reciprocated.

As the two walk back down, arms linked, the whole Ton looks at the pair in bewilderment. However, Anthony didn’t care, offering his hand to you and a gentle smile. “May I have this dance, Ms. Clarke?” He smiled, making you giggled and accept his advance. “Of course, My lord.” Then the two of you dance the night away.

At the end of the night, you told your brother you retiring to bed, he nodded and you excused yourself. Your heels bore into your heel and you sighed at the sight of your guest room door. As you passed the library that held the memory of you and Anthony, you can’t help but smile. Entering the room with your heels in hand, you wander the bookshelf, ah there it was, Pride and Prejudice.

You smile at the light conversation you made between Anthony about the book. You place the hardcover book back before walking out the door, only to find the man you had semi-confessed your love to at the end of the hall, this time he was retiring to bed.

You two smile as you connect once again, this time he walks you to your guest room. That night you had kissed him goodnight on his cheek, making him still as a statue, but quickly snapping out of it as he heard your brother making him wau towards you two.

The moment felt pure and delightful, you tucked yourself into bed and after tossing and turning, you’d admit, you were far too happy about what just had happened. Tonight felt like a fever dream, and it was something you nor Anthony never wanted to forget.

Anthony laid in bed as an uttered mess, as his nightshirt was visibly discarded as he laid shirtless. Simply too hot, and was practically melting because of the action you made on him. He would lay there, dragging his fingertips on his cheek. He knew in the morning you would be gone, already on your way home, and he would be mourning, trying to hold on to the memories of your lips.

God, he is so lovesick.

So lovesick, he simply started courting you the week you had just come back from Aubrey Hall, with of course the blessing of your three younger brothers.

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ataraxiaspainting · 2 months ago

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Black and Blue.

Yan Blade x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Blade has a habit of leaving swords on his opponents’ graves. You have a habit of picking flowers near those who are dead. Unfortunately for you, those two things combined had you meet the immortal Stellaron Hunter for the first time.

Warnings: Yandere themes, descriptions of past violence, and implications of a future unhealthy relationship/stalking.

Word Count: 700.

*~*~*~*

“Why… are you staring at me?”

Your body isn’t well covered, Blade notes as he steps a bit back to take in the full sight of you. Your arms are paler than the snow here.

One of your hands grasps the stems of the flowers you had just plucked from an important resting place. It’s deep and just as old as Blade is judging by the crumbled stone bricks and withering vines yet none of the winter elements seem to cover it. Someone or some people must keep it clean to honor the dead.

Your grip is so tightly that the thorns have dug into your skin and have started to make you bleed. Aside from the roses, your wounds and Blade’s eyes are the only bright red things in the vicinity.

The clouds of Morana haven’t set in a long time. They cast over this planet like a mist so thick Blade had trouble navigating himself to the top of this mountain. The humans here have angered the long-fallen Aeon, causing her to seek revenge on her people.

It isn’t the first time an Aeon has made sure their followers have tragic fates ahead. Blade knows, and so do people that the Xianzhou have long removed from their historical records.

“You’re a thief,” He replies, his voice slow and steady – afraid that you will run if he is too harsh. “This grave belongs to the late Caterina the Great.”

“Flowers only grow here and nowhere else,” You reply, your tone less scared but more annoyed now. Perhaps you have realized that Blade isn’t from Morana. “It’s too cold down there. This is the only way I can pay for food without stealing it. Please understand…”

He only hums as he listens further, yet he only tries to make sense of his emotions in this present moment.

Is this pity he feels?

No. It’s something else.

Something not like pity, but relatability.

You have been through plenty; it is as obvious as a fact like a dog’s nature is to be loyal. Your clothes are tattered. You’re shivering from having no warm place to go. But unlike when he was a wanderer with nowhere to go and nothing to hold but his sword, you could die in so many ways here. Someone can have you executed if there are other witnesses to you stepping on a war hero’s grave so carelessly. The elements can freeze your bloodstream if it gets too cold. The mountain itself can have a tree fall on you like your fallen Aeon put all of her hatred into a singular action and positioned it at a singular person.

The old sword is pushed into the snow in front of your bare feet, and you stop speaking.

“Be more careful next time,” Blade says. “You’ll get hurt if someone sees you.”

He points and you follow his gloved finger.

“Take it.”

“What?”

“Take the sword,” He orders, and then quickly removes his gloves. He puts them in your palm. “It’s old. It should be enough for a while.”

“Do you mean… sell it?” You are bewildered.

“If that is what you wish, go ahead.” Blade then removes his jacket and sets it on your shoulders. “Or use it to defend yourself. I am not familiar with Morana culture, but you most likely are. Trust your gut when making this decision.”

He’ll follow you after, he decides. For a while. Maybe forever, if Kafka doesn’t allow you on the ship.

#trick or treat event #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #blade x reader #author aya

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fieldofdaisiies · 4 months ago

Text

A Bargain

paring: Azriel x Reader | type: angst | words: 2,2k | warnings: this story explores a little darker themes like the loss of eyesight due to fire. thank you so much for beta reading @moonlightazriel me helping me get back into x reader writing💛

Fire. Nothing but unbearable heat and blinding light, like icy spikes piercing your skin. The brightness was overwhelming until everything went dark. Blank. Plain. No colour. No shape. No figure. Only darkness. And deafening silence.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Your fingers start to tremble around the book the moment a soft breeze brushes your legs and tells you that somewhere in the Library a door was opened. Your senses, touch, hearing and scent, have sharpened once you‘ve lost your eyesight and you are immediately alerted that someone is here. In your personal space, in your sanctuary, at this time. During the night!

You draw in a deep inhale, move your feet apart so you stand in stance. Your fingers curl into a fist and then–

“Who is there?” you find yourself asking despite the unease brewing inside of you. You know that no one who could cause harm could technically enter this place, but still you always want to know who is close. Who is coming, so you can prepare yourself. Brace yourself.

Fear is rising within you because whoever is nearing you has loud footsteps — it is a male most definitely and if there is one thing in this world you almost fear as much as fire it is men. You try to steady yourself, listening closer, trying to make out if the steps sound familiar (if they belong to the general of the Illyrian armies) but they don’t. He walks slower, and his boots have a different sound when they pad over the library floor. It must be someone else and you—

Someone nears you and the words to ask again who it is die in your throat that suddenly seems so dry. You turn your front to the shelf, hoping to maybe go unnoticed, but the Mother doesn’t hear your prayers. A person halts next to you and you flinch, sucking in a sharp breath of air. Your body is trembling as you press against the shelf, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw starts to ache.

Your throat works on a swallow and some more silent prayers leave you that whoever is close just walks by and—

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” a gentle male voice says, interrupting the tense silence. The air whooshes out of your lungs, your blood chilling because you know there is no escaping now that he has seen you. But somehow, all worry and fear seems to dissipate when he speaks up again. He has no brutal voice, there is nothing harsh or hard in it – it sounds melodic. Almost like the voice of a singer. “I apologise, I really didn’t mean to scare you. I had no idea someone was still around at this time.”

You hesitate before you turn around or give the stranger an answer, but something soft, almost like a feather, brushes your lower arm. It is nothing more than a breath, like a cloud, it may be—

A shadow. And it is soothing and gives you a feeling of comfort. You have felt it before, shadows, like a cat's tail brushing your legs.

“You are the Shadowsinger, right?” Slowly, you turn to him, remembering Gwyn’s stories about the male with the dancing shadows around him who is training her now and who has sometimes come down here to collect books. You should have remembered his footsteps!

“I am a shadowsinger, yes,” the male says, “but you can call me—” His voice cuts off momentarily. And you know what he has realised. His eyes have probably landed on yours and he realised that you can‘t see. That you are blind. And that since the fateful day almost a decade ago.

“Azriel,” he eventually finishes, finally having found his words to continue.

You inhale a deep breath, and say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azriel. I am Y/N.” A smile appears on your lips. “How can I help you?”

"I am here to pick up some books Gwyn suggested to me." The shadowsinger keeps his polite distance, you can feel that, his stance broad but not intimidating and you are thankful for that. Despite his kind aura, he is still a male, a stranger, and you always have to be careful. You can’t ever risk anything again. Never again.

“Gwyn said I would find them somewhere around here, but I truly have no idea where I should start to look.”

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips at the mention of her name. Gwyn is your closest friend down here and you love her like a little sister. "She is very fond of you, Shadowsinger,” you say, voice tinged with admiration.

You can’t see the smile appearing on Azriel’s face but you can feel it, how his heart is filled with relief and joy at your revelation.

"She is quite talented," Azriel comments.

"And beautiful…" Your voice almost gains a dreamy touch, and you place the book you have been holding the entire time back on the shelf. Azriel doesn’t say anything, and you know where his thoughts have gone to.

"My eyes may no longer be able to see, Shadowsinger, but my heart can. And that’s how I know that the priestess is beautiful - she has a soul of pure gold."

"I think she isn’t the only one down here who this applies to." This time he takes a small step forward, only a little, while trying to calm his vividly swirling shadows. You can feel them brush against you and his scent fills your nostrils - cedar and night-chilled mist.

They try to stretch out while he tries as hard as he can to hold them close.

"Are you talking about Merrill?" A little mischievous giggle leaves you right after you say her name and it even draws a chuckle from Azriel. The sound is wonderful, rich and deep, beautiful.

"I think you know exactly who I am talking about."

You feel how a blush warms your cheeks and quickly avert your gaze. "Which books do you need?"

He tells you which ones he is looking for, speaking slowly, and in his wonderful, deep voice. You know immediately where to find them all, having memorised every small detail of the Library,

“Follow me.” You set out with a smile, waving at him to come and follow you. You have ventured through the corridors filled with hundreds of bookshelves and thousands of books many times and know exactly where and when you have to turn.

You can’t see it but you feel his curiosity, his slight astonishment about you and it makes you giggle. You walk swiftly, your robes swishing over the floor when you turn one corner after the other and finally arrive at your first destination. Your fingers trail over the backs of the books, touching and feeling the binding until you grab two books and hand them to him.

The next ones are on a lower floor and the last one even lower.

“Why are you here at this time of the day?” you find yourself asking him, walking down a narrow corridor. You have come to like narrower space because they make you feel more secure than wide, open spaces. “Or rather night, Shadowsinger.”

“I could ask you the same - why are you awake at this time?” You can hear the amusement in his voice about your little bantering, and a smile appears on your face, but fades when you start to answer. “It is calmer at night - no rustling pages, no shuffling feet, no hushed conversation. I can focus easier during this time of the day.”

“That’s understandable,” Azriel hums, “that’s partly why I prefer night over day. No rushing, loud people, no bright lights, no— I am so sorry. I didn‘t mean to—”

“Don’t apologise. You can see and you are allowed to be affected by light. It can be too much, I know this, I used to be able to see it once too.”

“I still should be more careful with my words.”

“I don’t want you to be. I want you to be yourself. You are a polite male and I am not made of glass. I don’t break so easily, so please, speak your mind.” You hand him a book from a shelf, after letting your fingers trail over the spine to make sure it is the right one. “I have always preferred night over day. The people are more relaxed, nothing is rushing them and they are not so loud.”

“I understand. I prefer it when it is calm too.”

“Unless there is music. Have you heard Gwyn sing?”

“I have,” he says with fondness.

“And do you sing too? You are a shadowsinger.”

There is a pause and you worry he won’t answer at all, but—

“I do. Sometimes. Only when I am alone.”

You hum in answer, not wanting to push him to sing for you although you are dying to hear it. It must be wonderful with his deep tenor and his velvety voice.

“Is there a chance one can hear one day?” Your lips quirk into a bright grin.

“No, but maybe one day in the far far future.” He blows out a long breath. “Now I have a question for you.”

You brace yourself, lifting your chin to face his face, making out nothing but blurry surroundings. You would love to reach out to trace his face, his shoulders, to feel what he looks like and try to picture him in your mind.

“Would you like to join the other priestesses, Cassian and me for training one day?”

Your heart slams to a halt, pondering. Somehow you would love it — leave this pöace for once, but training? You hesitate, the word yes burning on your tongue, but you swallow it down. It would be useless. There would be nothing you could do and you would only make a fool out of you. So instead of agreeing, you curtly shake your head and take a step back. “A kind offer, but I must decline.”

“Because of—”

“Yes, Azriel. Because of my eyes. I can’t see, which means I can’t train.”

“That’s not true. Yes, you can’t see, but for training you don’t only need your eyes. Let me put together some exercises and in return you join us for the next training. I can prove to you that you are just as capable at training and fighting as the others are.”

“Is this a promise?”

“We can make a bargain if you like.” There is a hint of amusement in his voice that makes a silly, little grin appear on your lips and erase the former worry etched upon your features. You reach out your hand.

“A bargain it is - I‘ll join you for training, and in return you will sing for me.”

There is a pause and for a moment you worry that he won’t agree. That it was a silly idea and he will be offended and just leave it. You don’t want whatever has started between you here not to end already. You want to—

“I accept.” Azriel also extends his hand and the moment your palms touch, lightning zips between your hands. It runs throughout your entire body, but it is not the only thing you can feel. There are scars. Scars that adorn his palms, most definitely his whole hands and your heart cracks. What has been down to him? How did he get them?

Your thoughts are swiftly cut off when lightning zips between your palms and then you feel it, like a warm and thin strap something curls around your upper arm and you know it, the legends are true — when you make a bargain you‘ll receive a tattoo as a testament of it.

Azriel has fallen silent the moment your hands part and you wonder if he is examining the tattoo. You wish you could see it, know what it looks like, and admire it.

“Let me describe it to you,” Azriel starts, and then you feel how he gently takes your arm, lifting it slightly. “It‘s a thin silver band around your upper arm, almost invisible, and where the two ends meet there are three small stars. The first is slightly larger than the second and the third one is the biggest.” He strokes his thumb over your arm, a natural action he probably doesn’t even notice but your hair starts to stand on end.

“Mine is almost identical to yours. It is in the same place. Only that the band looks slightly broader.”

“I think I would love it if I could see it.”

“I am sure you would.” You can hear the smile in his voice and return the gesture. “I love it.”

So can hear him shift, moving a step away from you. “I think we should both sleep now, Y/N, but I‘ll see you tomorrow for training. I‘m sure Gwyn can lend you something to wear if you only have your robes.”

“I will ask her.” You pull your lower lip between your teeth when nervousness about the following day starts to trickle in.

“Perfect, until tomorrow then.” He hums. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Shadowsinger.”

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel @berryzxx

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar #acosf #azris

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prone-to-fleeting-obsessions · 7 months ago

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Dating Aventurine hc's

At first he hates the realization he's actually falling for someone

It eats away at him every second, this reminder that he's not, and likely never will be, in a great position to just have a normal life...

He's a pawn, always has been, so why would he put someone else through that?

Especially you...

But God if it isn't impossible not to love, to keep his fluttering heart from hoping, yearning for just your warm touch

Just the sight of you is enough, he decides to himself, as if that makes any difference in the end

It's obvious he dotes on you, his teasing remarks and genuine smiles are impossible to miss...

He follows you around in his free time, happily inserting him with a smug little grin, as if it's completely normal to have a IPC executive tailing you constantly

You're entertaining, or that's his excuse

He has to keep you safe, it's not like he trusts any of these other idiots to do it, and getting to watch you huff at him paying for everything is only a bonus

In that stage he enjoys being subtly possessive

You're not his, sure, but seeing you in his hat and sunglasses, or maybe with one of his cute little calling card chips fastened into a necklace, constantly on you...

His arm around your shoulder is enough to denture most people immediately, definitely not looking to get into a scuff with the "loose cannon of a gambler" he's generally seen as

When you're finally together he's not keen on taking his hands off you

Whether it's a light arms around your waist, just securing his spot by your side with an occasional squeeze, or his hand grabbing desperately at your hair as he focuses on pressing a kiss to every inch of your face with steadfast resolve

His favorite thing is just resting his chin on your shoulder, his pretty eyes staring up at yours endlessly

It's the perfect position, of course, arms around you with easy access to your neck, and it usually ends with your face hot to the touch by his intimate little kisses pressed so lovingly to your skin

He does have an appearance to maintain, so self care days where he paints your nails, washes your hair in a joint shower or bath, and drags you out to buy expensive clothes are must

Money is meant to be gambled or spent, it's not for hoarding, and that's abundant obvious by how he throws it around

It's another form of possession, really, seeing you decked out in what he's bought you, it gives him a sense of pride

It's hard for him not to project his childhood fears onto you, too

Like if he notices you're not eating, not drinking enough, brushing off a small injuries

He's seen plenty of people die to all those, and fighting down those blaring alarm bells can be difficult at the best of times

You'll often find a glass of water and small snack with a cute little note when you wake up, if he can't be there himself to make sure your needs are met, and he's expecting a text as soon as you're up to confirm you're fine

Anytime without contact for too long will consume him, gnawing at his insides, eating him slowly until he sees you again

He hates it, it's such a painful disadvantage in his line of work, but god if he can't help it...

He's very quick to scoop you up and pepper kisses to your pulse points immediately after, nuzzling against the physical feeling of your heartbeat and your warmth

He also can't help shaking off the mindset that he's merely a chip, to be used when useful and discarded after

He knows that's not the case with you, knows it... But it's impossible to not feel a bolt of pure fear when you're unhappy with him, as if his worth is tied to his ability to be perfect for you

Pet names are obviously a must, and you might start to joke he doesn't actually know your real name with how rarely he uses it

You're his "darling love", his "perfect match", and, of course, his "adorable sweetheart"

He'll pout a bit if you don't reciprocate the absurd level of endearments on your end too

He probably won't even respond to "Aventurine" after a while, pretending not to hear you with an unmistakable smile, until you properly address him

He's left wondering how he's ever lived without you, and if he ever could again

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #my hcs #i love him your honor #i could write a literal book on hcs for him #x reader

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daistea · 7 months ago

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𝙼𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚞𝚗 �� 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

gn!reader

word count: 3,000 :o !

Mild Spoilers! Sfw-ish

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

What Do The Canaries Think?

Before you can date Mithrun, you must first defeat his five evil exes. (The Canaries.)

Depending on your background, Pattadol may either be suspicious of you or happy that you’re with the Captain. If you have her trust, she’s generally quite supportive. She cares for Mithrun like how a fresh out of highschool over-achieving kid that just got a job at the local dumpy gas station cares for their chain-smoking 40 year old manager that handles all the rude customers. That is, not quite a big brother, but not quite simply a coworker. Pattadol is one of the first to recognize Mithrun’s feelings for you. She generally stays out of his business, though, and is your savior when it comes to dealing with the other Canaries. Defeat her with the power of kindness and sensibility. Or not. She’ll respect Mithrun’s decision no matter what.

Cithis does not like you, not unless you do something to earn her respect. It’s not personal, she just sees you as a nuisance, a fly buzzing around the Captain's head; except he’s decided to keep the fly as a pet for some reason. She’s the first to notice Mithrun’s feelings and it honestly surprises her. On occasion, she’ll whisper horrible little things about you to Mithrun in an attempt to irritate him— things like “Oh look, they’re smiling so sweetly at someone else. Doesn’t that drive you mad?” Mithrun doesn’t react, simply casting her a glance. “No, it doesn’t,” he says. Cithis gives him a look and his good eye flickers away in thought. “A bit,” he corrects himself. She doesn’t push him too far, though. She will try to establish her dominance over you. Defeat her with the power of stubbornness and determination.

Fleki doesn’t care. She will make fun of both you and Mithrun and ask a lot of invasive, embarrassing personal questions just for funsies. Mithrun doesn’t mind the questions at all, but if they make you uncomfortable then he’ll tell her to stop. She thinks it's funny to interrupt your alone time and be a third wheel. However, if anyone criticizes you or your relationship, she’s one of the first to defend you. Defeat her with the power of a sense of humor and maybe drugs or an interesting toy to distract her.

Lycion does not like you. It is personal. He’s simply protective and jealous. It’ll take him a while to warm up to the idea of you and the Captain being together, no matter what you do. Just give him time. He won’t go so far as to try and break you up, but you’ll notice him sometimes watching you coolly, his face calm but his eyes analytical, observing your every move. Beneath that stare, you feel like a rabbit being stalked by a wolf. Once he warms up to you, he joins Fleki in asking invasive questions. You almost wish he still disliked you… Defeat him with the power of patience and a thick skin.

Otta doesn’t care either. If you’re part of a short-lived race, she’ll have slight affection for you and be the most understanding about your relationship with Mithrun— if you die years before Mithrun, Otta is the one who supports and pities him, rather than just being confused as to why he falls apart afterwards like the others are. If you’re long-lived, she doesn’t care about your relationship as much, it isn’t nearly as interesting to her then. Otta does not need to be defeated.

You’ve defeated the Canaries! What awaits you now?

Mithrun has been in relationships before, but not in the last forty-ish years. Not since The Incident. Before The Incident he was quite charming, a little careless, and kind of a bad boyfriend. He had so many red flags. He hid them well, though, and nobody really got close enough for him to feel comfortable dropping his facade, so the red flags generally stayed hidden. Toxic bf Mithrun was real.

He’s been in relationships. He’s slept with people. He thinks he knows what to do and for the first time in forever, he considers doing those things again. With you. The feeling may be a bit dim and uncomfortable for him, something that must be cultivated, but post-ending Mithrun isn’t about to ignore it.

Pre-ending Mithrun is a bit more stubborn, though. Most think he doesn’t feel anything, but he does. He feels empathy for dungeon lords, he can be surprised, he can be irritated, he can be desperate when it comes to his goals. Most emotions are dimmed, though, and it would take him a while to recognize what’s happening when he starts falling in love. And when he does recognize it, it kind of irritates him. It’s a distraction. It’s useless to him. But he doesn’t really do anything about it, if you want to cozy up to him then go ahead, just don’t get your hopes up. He will react physically, though, such as tensing when you touch him, grabbing you to pull you out of the way of danger, sometimes his stomach churns when you smile… He has no desire to question those things.

Can you romance pre-ending Mithrun? Yes and no. Don’t expect much. Are your feelings requited? Yes and no. Don’t expect much. Can you get physical? Sometimes. Don’t expect much.

Post-ending Mithrun is more willing to explore these feelings. The demon is dead, he’s… trying to live. He honestly planned to simply waste away once the demon was defeated— and that wouldn’t have even been satisfying, either, because killing the demon wasn’t his true desire. Now, he’s working on his view of himself and his existence. His desires aren’t going to just magically reappear in him, it will take a lot of work and patience. When a desire for you starts to grow, he closely examines it, curious. What is it about you that attracts him? It starts out in a cavalier manner, this new desire is simply there and he’s not going to do much about it. Then it starts to fester. Mithrun starts noticing more things about you, little stuff that he never would’ve bothered to see before. He starts taking note of how he physically reacts to your touch and presence. He may not have the desire to do things like eat or sleep, but he still experiences the physical repercussions of those things— collapsing from exhaustion, a growling stomach. It’s the same with your touch. A skip of his heart, heat in his stomach, his gaze lingering on you whenever you’re near.

The desire grows and becomes undeniable. That’s when Mithrun starts to get a bit more emotional, a bit more desperate, a bit possessive. When he develops a desire for something, he digs his claws in and refuses to let go.

It gets to the point where he just inserts himself into your life. He does it subtly and casually, without any passion or performance or drama. He’s just… there one day. How did his clothes get in your drawer? Don’t worry about it.

Mithrun thinks he knows what to do in a relationship since he was in a few before the dungeon. Except, he was a selfish, emotionally-closed off boyfriend. Fortunately, he doesn’t really have the desire to take the steps he used to take in relationships. He knows he should probably take you on dates, flirt with you, do the whole confession thing…

He does not do those things.

Not normally, at least. Mithrun simply figures that if you wanted a typical relationship, you wouldn’t be interested in a person like him. So he’s going to just do what he wants.

What does he want, though? He doesn’t really want much of anything but you and maybe a few other little desires he’s cultivated. But in order to have you, he has to do things. What things? It suddenly hits him that no matter how much experience he had with relationships before the dungeon, things are different now and he’s basically starting over in that area.

Mithrun decides to just simply do what feels right.

His method of flirtation? Staring at you. Subtly touching you. Grabbing your wrist or waist and suddenly teleporting you both somewhere more private even though he knows you hate it when he teleports you without warning.

Dates with Mithrun? Doing errands together. Him inviting you to his house and listening to you talk.

A confession? No. You can ask Mithrun what you are, if you want, and he’ll say, “We’re in a relationship. Did you not notice?” He doesn’t even flinch. How long have you been dating? Neither of you really know.

If you never ask what you two are, he’s never going to say anything unless the situation calls for it. You might find out randomly one day when he’s talking to a merchant and says, “I’ll buy this for my partner.”

"Who's your partner?" You ask.

Mithrun simply looks at you. He's thinking something but you can't quite tell what yet. Finally, he raises a brow, "You. Obviously."

Obviously.

Imagine that you have no clue you’ve been dating for years and one day he just slips a ring on your finger and tells you that the wedding is next weekend.

Mithrun doesn’t have as many red flags as he used to, but there’s still a few. He can be a bit unsupportive sometimes. He can be apathetic. And possessive.

His possessiveness is subtle and only really kicks in once he’s deeply in love. You’re only in Melini temporarily and have to return home? Oops your boat was destroyed, there’s chairs stuck in walls and planks hanging from the ceiling. You got another boat? Oops that one’s been mysteriously destroyed too. Another boat? Oops—

“Are you destroying my boats?” You ask. Mithrun doesn’t even glance up from his book when he answers, “Yep.”

“Stop doing that.”

He finally looks up, his face blank as he meets your eyes. “No.”

He’ll stop if you insist but he’s going to be grumpy about it.

Mithrun trusts you, his possessiveness doesn’t come from a place of insecurity. He’s just finally found a desire, another reason to keep living, and he’s not going to let go of that.

Yet, he's never really outwardly jealous. He doesn't make a scene. He doesn't start fights. But the person flirting with you feels this presence... like eyes on the back of their neck... like danger lurking from the shadows... They turn around and Mithrun is just standing there with his arms crossed.

He likes to teleport people away from you. Pattadol has asked him to stop because it's scaring the people of Melini. He just does it more subtly then.

Generally, a relationship with Mithrun is understated. Your connection runs deep but is unspoken. He says I Love You through soft touches, through the way he opens the door for you, by the way he stares, how he lingers, how he starts taking better care of himself so as to not worry you, how he gives you his cloak when you’re cold, how he gets a bit unhinged if you're hurt in the dungeon. Little things.

Domestic Headcanons

Mithrun actually has bad depth perception due to being blind in one eye. He’s learned how to deal with it, but on occasion you’ll playfully toss something at him and he’ll miss catching it by a longshot. You apologize profusely, but he doesn’t really mind. It is what it is.

His sense of direction is worse. But he carries himself with such confidence and authority that people often ask him for directions. You’re usually leading the way when you go out.

Mithrun post-canon actually cooks a bit more than one would realize. His food isn’t good at first, but Senshi teaches him a bit and he gets better! Cooking together with you, or cooking for you, is one of his preferred activities.

He’s very clean and tends to keep his house spotless. This also surprises people since they assume he would have no desire to clean. They’re right, he doesn’t have that desire, but he’s been trained to keep his surroundings clean. It’s just a habit, something he does robotically, automatically.

FUN FACT: HIS EARS TWITCH. What’s left of them is still quite soft and he will, on occasion, let you touch them. They tend to twitch when he’s annoyed, droop when he’s sad, and perk up when he’s interested or curious, like all elf ears. If you blow on them, they’ll flicker like a cat’s, but he’ll usually pull away and give you a Look if you do that.

Mithrun sleeps like a burrito. You don’t share blankets in bed, you need your own. Even in hot weather, he’s still wrapped up.

He also tends to wake up late in the morning.

He likes it when you play with his hair. If you don’t brush it for him, it won't get done and will start to tangle. On hot days, it’s good to pull his hair back into a little stubby ponytail to keep it off his neck.

Mithrun is a cuddler, surprisingly. He doesn’t like anyone else touching him, but he chooses to touch you. He likes wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, tangling your fingers together, and pulling you into his lap or sitting on yours.

If you’re smaller and lighter than him, he will not hesitate to manhandle you in certain situations. He’ll throw you over his shoulder, pick you up and set you down elsewhere, and carry you if you ask. You’re in front of the kitchen drawer he needs into? You’re getting lifted up without warning and set down outside the perimeters of the kitchen. He’s quite strong for an elf!

If you’re the bigger one, feel free to manhandle him! He’s used to it.

He teleports around the house. And his steps are light. It’s not his intention to scare you, though, that’s just what he does.

The Canaries are in your house often. Fleki likes to sleep on your couch. Lycion likes to eat your food. Mithrun kicks them out eventually.

He doesn’t really care about introducing you to his family, but once his brother finds out that he’s in a relationship, he wants to meet you! He has many stories to tell you about Mithrun's childhood.

There’s a chance that Mithrun has never met his biological father. He actually doesn’t care about that and has no desire to meet him. I headcanon that he doesn’t have a good relationship with his mother or her husband. While he’s generally let go of the resentment over being sent to the Canaries, he still doesn’t really want to interact with them.

Modern Au Headcanons

He uses three in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He used to have a hair care routine before the Trauma, but now it's more efficient to use the three in one.

He isn’t allowed to drive. He’s your passenger princess.

Mithrun would play bass. This information was given to me through a prophetic dream, soooo...

He was probably raised playing something fancy like harp, violin, or piano. But he never kept up with it.

Mithrun can ballroom dance! Does he enjoy it? Not at all. But he can and will if you ask.

He prefers cats.

Mithrun drinks seven Red Bulls a day. Fleki sometimes pours Nyquil into his can and Mithrun proceeds to see The Hat Man.

On occasion, he’ll smoke a cigarette. But he doesn’t like how it makes his clothes smell, so it’s rare.

Hoodies, baggy jackets, jeans, and slip on dad-shoes are all that’s in his closet.

You’re invited to his apartment… You walk in, and the living room is empty save for one folding chair with a television in front of it. Still, it’s spotless, clean, and smells of Windex.

His fridge is empty aside from energy drinks— they do not give him energy— and bowls of ramen he never finished eating.

Once he starts recovering from the Trauma, his fridge looks better and he cooks more often.

Mithrun’s preferred video game of choice is Fallout New Vegas. Don’t ask me why, I just know.

He also likes Legend of Zelda! His consoles and devices are old and he’s never caught up on new releases.

His phone screen is insanely cracked but he never gets around to fixing it.

He doesn’t answer phone calls. Even from his brother or the Canaries. He just doesn’t feel like it. Text him if you want his attention.

Zero social media presence. However, if he wants to stalk someone— you— he has Cithis use one of her many burner/catfish accounts so she can do it and tell him the tea.

He goes to the gym at two in the morning because he can’t sleep.

No therapist, no antidepressants, just raw dogging life.

He is weirdly good at Jeopardy.

The Canaries meet every Saturday at a dingy bar near his apartment! Mithrun’s tolerance is low, though, so he doesn’t drink much. (Before the Trauma, he would regularly get white girl wasted.)

If he does drink too much, he just falls asleep.

They also have monthly game nights! Mithrun is an absolute menace at Catan. The rest of the table is screaming, making deals, arguing with each other, but Mithrun sits there quietly, strategizing… The Canaries don’t actually care who wins, they just want Mithrun to lose.

The Canaries will sometimes drag him to concerts, parties, or music festivals. He brings ear plugs and his Kindle. (You’re on stage, singing your hit song. The crowd is going wild, girls are screaming your name, begging for your attention. But then you see him… He’s not paying attention, he’s not looking for your approval. He’s just reading Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice in the middle of the crowd, his hair in a messy bun, his converse black. This guy is different… This guy is deep… You invite him backstage afterward. He insults your music, thinking it's for preps. His friends forced him to come and he'd rather be in his room, listening to mcr and reading books. Your infatuation with this quirky senior citizen only grows.)

My Relationship Playlist for Mithrun

Never Love an Anchor - The Crane Wives

Runner - Tennis

Metaphor - The Crane Wives

Feel Better - Penelope Scott

Absence - Rio Romeo

Pearl Diver - Mitski

The Perfect Pair - beabadoobee

The Only Exception - Paramore

From Eden - Hozier

High and Dry - Radiohead

We’ll Never Have Sex - Leith Ross

How I’d Kill - Cowboy Malfoy

Curses - The Crane Wives

✧˖°

#I love this little guy #if you cant tell already by the 3000 word dissertation #he's my heart and soul #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #mithrun #mithrun of the house of kerensil #the canaries #my writing #x reader #mithrun x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #headcanons #delicious in dungeon #gn reader

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vaguely-concerned · 12 days ago

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the things it adds to both of the characters involved that lucanis used to have a thing for viago could not have been more tailor made to be for me. literally the ideal thing to come out of this game for me personally and specifically and spiritually. I mean I'm teia x viago trash until the day I die and nothing will ever change this (and with the best will in the world and even the power of lucanis' big beautiful soulful eyes, that would never have worked out even if viago DID somehow understand he was being propositioned. which I'm not convinced he did. the mutual 'so. snakes are pretty cool huh. and. knives. also' awkward energy without someone of teia's charisma and people skills involved to mitigate it... it would have been dire), but on so many levels I find it so incredibly charming for what it says about them both that the (one-sided) attraction was there once.

what's more, it means the man about whom this legendary paragraph was written:

Viago was not a typical Antivan. He liked facts—checklists, numbers, precise measurements. Heart palpitations, clammy hands, tight pants—Viago did not like these things. In fact, he would go so far as to say he hated them. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood.

has got some of the hottest coolest deadliest people in thedas down so catastrophically bad it's got them acting unwise. teia had to wait a UST-drenched decade for him to be ready to take his fucking gloves off for her. and she did!! the tetchiest most neurotic least approachable little vetinari knockoff of a man you ever saw has game for days and days and lives rent free in heads for years. in eight little talons viago consistently feels so inadequate up against dante and it's like. man I'm shaking you by the lapels you have what he'll never have. the ability to bewitch body and soul with your terrible personality and long thin legs. do not waste the gift you've been given go get her she's waiting!!!

(lucanis is really good at reading people, so I wonder if maybe he saw through all of that to some of the steadiness and incredible capacity for warmth and tenderness in specific interpersonal relationships you see viago have with teia when he finally opens up enough, and maybe that was part of it. either way it's so perfect that both he and teia have regarded viago with this affectionate intrigued amusement. lucanis still seems pretty fond of him in a 'viago continues to be exactly himself no matter what else happens or goes wrong. comforting universal constant' sort of way, he brings him up quite a lot in party banter.)

you've seen lucanis' game in this day and age, arguably or at least hopefully older and wiser -- can you imagine how catastrophically bad it must have been back when he presumably handed viago, most paranoid man in thedas all years running, a knife like this expressed everything it needed to. people give him so much shit for the cake moment being his big romantic lock-in, but considering where we started that is GROWTH and I for one am so proud of him fhsdkjaf.

also I wonder at what point vis-a-vis that whole Situation teia and viago met for the first time, leading us to ask... just how much was it a matter of lucanis simply being ignored out of a lack of interest on viago's part (tbf, not entirely unlikely). how much was it lucanis truly not managing to make himself understood. (all but certainly. literally how would one understand that. I think it says some sweet things about rook and lucanis' dynamic that they -- somehow -- DO pick up what he's putting down in a similar scenario presumably b/c they know him pretty well by then haha.) how much was it viago interpreting the romantic move as a death threat from one of the most dangerous people alive and freaking out. (1000% and indubitably.) and how much was it andarateia steal-your-girl cantori turning up and thus setting off whatever spectacular, volatile, awesome-in-the-original-sense chemical reaction between the substances of her and viago's souls that goes on to this day and makes everything else kind of a side note at best. a gentle mix of several of these things, perhaps. ...god I love all these characters so much

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #lucanis dellamorte #viago de riva #andarateia cantori #teia x viago #it's so good to see the characters from extended media get the love they deserve now that everyone is getting to know them btw #like yes hello. this is teia and viago. I would do anything for them. thank you all for joining me in being willing to do anything for them #we are in fact all Correct about this #thinking about younger lucanis anxiously contemplating how to best make his feelings known and settling on THAT.......#it fills me with such an unspeakable aching tenderness for him haha. most autistic guy in thedas truly just trying his best #his best is extremely weird but no less earnest for it #like I think he's naturally just like that and then you get the severely undersocialized aspect from how caterina raised them #and here we are. but he is everything to me still

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stllmnstr · 19 days ago

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breathing room

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung is having a hard time breathing.

Partly because he’s pretty sure he just got the wind knocked out of him. A little bit because of the year-old rib injury he had neither the time nor patience to let heal completely.

And mostly because there’s a blade being held to his throat.

Yours, to be exact.

It’s a nice one, all things considered. Despite its lethality, it’s small, delicate almost. From this angle, he can just make out the detailing on the hilt. A series of vines wrap around each other intricately, forming kaleidoscopic patterns that extend all the way from the blade to where your fingers are wrapped around the hilt, knuckles white from the way your hand is straining.

Jesus, he thinks. If it takes that much concentrated effort for you to not let the knife press any harder against his skin, draw any blood, then maybe he should start taking the threats you throw his way like extra change a little more seriously.

Lazily, he lets his eyes trace a line from your fingers to your face. Skipping over the rather boring details of the plain black training shirt you wear, he directs his attention to the way your brow furrows in concentration instead.

Under usual circumstances, a knife to the throat would encourage all of his senses to narrow in on the sensation of metal against his pulse point. Would spur his brain to work a bit faster through all the biological fight or flight mechanisms in a last ditch attempt at survival.

But these are not usual circumstances. In fact, ever since the two of you were split into separate training cohorts a handful of months ago, this has become a rarity. And the only thing Heeseung wants to do is enjoy it a little more.

Without his self-preservation instincts kicking in, his brain has plenty of room for other things. The forgiving surface of a training mat beneath him, slightly soft where he lets his body relax into it. The unusually warm air of the training room, courtesy of a busted air conditioner that no one has gotten around to fixing just yet.

The way your hair falls around your face as you lean over him, chest still heaving from your recent bout of exertion. Your eyes are pure fire, embers and ashes and every stage in between as you sit atop his ribcage, knees on either side of his torso where you pin him to the mat.

But even as the lead trainer adds another tally underneath your name for another sparring match won, your gaze doesn’t soften. Doesn’t brighten in the afterglow of victory. After all, victory only tastes sweet when it’s earned. Judging by the way your lips twist above him, Heeseung thinks the victory he just handed you on a silver platter must be horribly bitter.

Slowly, he raises his hands in mock surrender. There’s a half smile that looks a little too much like a smirk tugging at his lips when he says, “I concede.”

“No fucking shit.” You flick a strand of hair out of your face. Your knife presses a little tighter against his throat. “Did you even try?”

Heeseung maintains eye contact. “I think I’m doing us a both a favor by not answering that one.”

Narrowing your eyes, annoyance makes itself the most prominent of your visible emotions. “Interesting choice of words from someone with a knife to his throat.”

Heeseung all but rolls his eyes. “What are you gonna do? Kill me in front of everyone?” The way he wraps sarcasm up in every syllable is almost as infuriating as the way he just let you win without putting up any semblance of a fight. “You’ve got a mean streak, princess, but that’s a bit much, even for you.”

The pressure on your blade increases, and Heeseung fights a wince as he feels it break the barrier between his skin and blood. It’s a miniscule cut, surface level at most, but he hears the threat all the same. “It’s like you want to die,” you marvel.

Heeseung’s eyes betray nothing, other than the fact that they can’t quite seem to stray from your own. Does he? No matter how deep inside himself he searches, the answer is always a resounding no. Despite the effort he put into this particular spar, or rather lack thereof, his survival instincts are still kicking. His pursuit of life is still alive and well.

So no, he doesn’t want to die. Quite the opposite in fact. But if he were to explain in plain terms that he never feels quite as alive as he does in the moments when you’ve got a knife on his throat and hatred in your eyes, he has the distinct feeling you might well and truly make good on your frequent promise to send him to an early grave.

And it’s not like he means to do it, not really. Heeseung might be a glutton for punishment these days, but there was a time when he tried to get your attention in all the regular ways. As he quickly found out, sweet words did nothing but make you roll your eyes and his skills on a sparring mat were only as impressive as they could be used to hone your own.

He was a tool, in your eyes. A means to an end as you did your best to work your way up the ranks.

You never looked at him, the person behind all the hand-to-hand combat training and advanced levels of weapon artistry. At least not until he started annoying the ever-living shit out of you.

Back then, it had been easy. As new recruits, you were in the same training cohort, which meant you had the same daily schedules. As long as Heeseung had the chance to beat you to the last piece of toast in the dining hall at breakfast or tie the laces of your training boots together the night before an early morning, he was guaranteed at least one of your signature glares and a few choice words that would make his grandmother blush.

Granted, he knows that one-sided hatred is not a very stable foundation to build anything solid on, but he thinks of it in the same way he thinks of sparring.

He doesn’t need a knockout. He just needs an in.

A little bit of breathing room. Something that will have his partner lowering their guard, weakening their defenses just enough for him to strike. Once. Twice. Again. Over and over until the match is won and victory rests on his square shoulders.

Heeseung’s in this for the long haul, and he’s come to find that he doesn’t really care how many bruises he picks up along the way.

Across the room, the lead trainer heaves a long sigh.

“Alright, ___, that’s enough. You’ve earned your tally.” The most of anyone in today’s group. But you’re still glaring at him, and he knows it isn’t enough, not for you. “Heeseung, get it together. I expect better from you next time.”

You scoff. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Expectations are only met when people are held to them, and you doubt Lee Heeseung has even become acquainted with the concept of a consequence.

Releasing one final, sharp exhale, you pull your knife away from his throat, tucking it back into the sheath on your upper thigh in one fluid motion. Swinging your leg over his torso, you remove your body from his own, give your anger some space to breathe. Without looking back, you let your strides eat up the distance between you and the exit.

Someone – you think it must be Jay, or maybe Jungwon, tries to catch your attention on the way out, asking about a maneuver you pulled in the middle of the match. A tricky bit of knife work you’ve been perfecting over the last few weeks. Something that looked stupid as Heeseung did nothing but stand there, as if your blade was nothing but decorative. Made you look stupid as he stood and watched with nothing but a mildly amused expression on his face.

You hate him for it. Want to show him just how pretty your knife can be stained with the deep crimson he must bleed as surely as anyone else.

Lips pulled in a taut line, you unsheath the blade at your thigh once again, this time sending it spinning with deadly accuracy towards the line of trees that skirt the outside of the training facility.

You don’t miss. You never do.

It still feels like defeat.

…..

Heeseung notices when you’re not at dinner later that evening. Despite the fact that you no longer train together, the inter-cohort spars have shifted this week's schedule. You should be here, sitting next to Jay and Jungwon, probably, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

But you’re not. And he can only think of one other place to find you.

The training hall is dark when he arrives, but Heeseung is no fool. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he sees you soon enough. Silhouette dark against the empty expanse, he has half a mind to intervene before you shred yet another punching bag to irreparable pieces. Instead, he just watches for a moment longer.

He doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that start to simmer, that always linger. Doesn’t know if it’s admiration or longing or something far worse.

But he wants to. Wants to examine them until he knows them as intimately as the back of his own hand, until he can recite them by name and express them in ways that don’t make you want to press a knife against his neck.

And he wants to keep watching, keep looking, keep noticing.

Even from a distance, even in the dark, he can read the frustration in the set of your shoulders, sense the exhaustion in the way your legs move just behind the rest of your body.

You need a break.

He needs an in.

Across the room from you, Heeseung clears his throat.

Startled, you nearly fall on your ass mid-kick before you turn to the source. It’s dark, but you know it’s him. Who else would it be?

Chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion, you finally catch your breath well enough to tell him, “If you’re not here for a rematch, then you have exactly ten seconds to get out of this building.”

A beat passes.

Another.

Heeseung exhales. “And if I am?”

Bathed in the dying glow of moonlight, you go still. “Then you better put in your best fucking effort.”

Heeseung is across the room before you can release another breath. It’s ridiculous how quickly he disarms you. And you’re caught off guard, yes, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Your knife in his hands, he throws it to the corner of the room. And then it’s just the two of you.

Heeseung spares neither time nor effort knocking your legs out from under you, sending you careening towards the mat. Screwing your eyes shut, you brace for the impact of a training mat that never comes, the back of your head cradled in a hand that serves as a barrier between you and the ground below.

It’s a complete reversal of your earlier roles as he lets his legs fall to either side of you, face inches from your own. There’s no knife on your neck, and he was gracious enough to break your fall, but suddenly find your breath a difficult thing to catch regardless.

Above you, his eyes are dark. Your noses nearly touch. “This is what you wanted?” he breathes, and you feel his words as much as you hear them. They dance across your cheekbone, your lips. Have your bones feeling molten, all your hard edges malleable. “You want me to fight you like I mean it? To really fucking spar with you?”

You’ve rehearsed your answer too long to deviate, even as your mind screams with sudden uncertainties. “Yes.”

Heeseung doesn’t spare it a second thought. “Too bad.”

“Why? You have no problem f–”

“I was there, you know.” Unbidden, the hand that doesn’t hold your head falls to the bottom edge of your black training shirt. Heeseung pauses there for a moment, lets his fingers trace the seam. Something in the air shifts, tightens, waits. Despite the way he has you caged, your hands are unbound. You could stop this, if you wanted to. Stop him.

You don’t.

Slowly, his hand begins to track an upward journey, taking your hem with it. The air of the room is warm, choked with summer heat and the odd sensations that simmer just beneath your skin, but you suppress a shiver anyway as a sliver of skin is revealed.

You know what he’s after, where his eyes fall to. It’s his fingers that hesitate. Dangle with uncertainty a hair's breadth from the scar that sits just above your hip bone.

Heeseung inhales, eyes returning to your own for a moment. They’re searching for permission you won’t give and boundaries you won’t set. If he wants to walk this tightrope, he’ll have to navigate on his own.

It’s a challenge he rises to. On his breath out, Heeseung lets his fingers find a home on the bare skin of your stomach, trace the jagged line that’s a shade paler than the surrounding area.

It’s a scar you hardly think of, one you can’t believe he remembers. Gifted to you in your early days of training, when a fellow recruit thought the best way to better his ranking was to discard the strict sparring rules set by your superiors and draw blood as a last ditch attempt at victory.

You’d still won, even with a fresh stab wound on your lower abdomen. And he’d been shown the door, like all recruits that break protocol.

“So what?” Your voice doesn’t come out nearly as biting as you intend it to. You curse the waver in your words. “I get one scar and suddenly I’m delicate?”

Heeseung glances up, something sincere in his eyes when he matches your gaze. His hand is still on your skin. “We’re all delicate. And we all have the scars to prove it. I’ve just developed a particular… aversion to seeing evidence of it when it comes to you.”

You’re quick to school your features into neutrality. At least on the outside, you won’t give him the satisfaction of catching you off guard. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Apparently not,” Heeseung counters. “Since I’m not the one begging for a fight.” He holds your gaze when he adds, “And I have to say, princess, if you wanted me to put you on your back, there are much easier ways to ask.”

It’s as if you’ve been burned submerged in hot water, as if you’ve been burned, when you push him off of you with a speed that’s almost comical. And from the way heat rises in your cheeks, you just might have been.

Your voice is dangerously low when you tell him, “You have three seconds.”

“Until what?” Heeseung knows better than to be hopeful.

“Until I find my knife and put it to good use.”

Heeseung doesn’t need to be told twice.

#heeseung x you #heeseung x reader #heeseung fanfiction #heeseung fanfic #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #heeseung scenarios #enhypen scenarios

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saerins · 1 year ago

Text

𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖…

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 2.5k | content: fluff, pining, mentions of fake dating, jealousy, reader is kind of an idiot, sae loves to tease, best friend otoya, cussing

notes: hello hello i’m on board the sae love train once more , are you guys still with me ^_^

summary: what do you do when your best friend kind of sort of forces you to confess your two-year long crush when you’re not ready to? pray and hope for the best.

“i could just tell him for you.”

“eita, fuck no,” you throw him a warning glare as you chop the vegetables up with scary precision despite not having an eye on them. only because you know if you don’t explicitly tell him not to, that he’d think it’s no big deal and do it anyway.

and let’s say, you’d rather die than let that happen.

sure, you and sae had been closer back in high school; he sat behind you and entertained the secret notes you passed to him, he used to ruffle the top of your head whenever you pouted, he used to buy food for you during breaks.

but that’s all in the past and somehow, the both of you had drifted since then.

otoya deadpans, an unamused pair of eyes looking back at you from their spot across the island. “it’s been what, four fucking years since you graduated? grow a pair,” he retorts, attempting to steal a carrot but getting a slap on the back of his hand instead.

“bold of you to say that to a girl with a knife,” you snap at him, pointing the blade at his face.

to which he merely rolls his eyes, using two fingers to push it aside. “not like you’re that good at using it.” but he sighs when you silently turn your attention back to chopping vegetables. “does that mean i have to put up with your miserable face even longer?”

you and otoya continue to bicker, and you’re beginning to wonder how you’ve tolerated being best friends with him for the past four years. he’s a real piece of work.

“fine, fine,” otoya grumbles after you’re done with lunch, bangs over his eyes. “i promise i won’t tell sae anything, okay?”

that’s after you threatened not to let him hijack your house anymore for food. for someone who’s earning big bucks being a famous soccer player, you can’t make sense of why he won’t just get food delivered. maybe he just likes to annoy you.

“good. or else i’ll kill you.”

your crush on itoshi sae has been somewhat dormant for the past few years. and by dormant you mean that you haven’t tried making any moves because you’re too scared.

itoshi sae. one of the most famous international breakout stars in soccer. one of the most talented playmakers the world has ever seen. that comes with its own sets of pros and cons.

pros? he definitely doesn’t seem like he has much trouble doing anything he wants. he gets paid for every game. he gets paid for gigs. he gets sponsorships all over the place. which basically means that financially, he doesn’t need to give a shit.

cons? the media can be brutal. sae does something that’s remotely questionable and they’re all over it. he doesn’t thank a waiter that one time? automatically labeled as a rude brat by the paparazzi. and not to mention—the amount of girls he’s forced to fake date just for the sake of publicity.

you’re mostly pressed on that last part though, because they’re all supermodels or olympic stars or rich socialites. and compared to them, well, you’re just someone who happens to be in the same friend group and hang out together every once in a while when he’s back in japan. sae doesn’t even hang out much with the group, to your dismay.

it’s a pain, or so he says.

you wonder how you drifted in the first place. maybe it’s just the fame. you wonder if he thinks of you too sometimes.

must be your wishful thinking.

kind of makes you wonder whether he does have a secret girlfriend that he’s keeping from everyone. you wouldn’t really put it past him. it’s not like he has any super deep emotional bonds with any of you (that you know of). eita says he’s definitely single, but you think he’s just saying that to appease you. he already has his hands full having to watch you mope whenever you see news of sae and another girl and yet another dating rumor.

just as well. you think sae could do better than you, spending your friday nights at home, washing dishes at the sink and looking out at the tokyo skyline instead of out partying and living life with countless friends.

you don’t think you’re too shabby though. you’re a fresh graduate with a job at one of the most prestigious companies in tokyo you can think of. it’s not bad. but you can’t help but feel it’s worlds away from the one sae lives in.

the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, nearly dropping the white marble plate you’re washing. your eyes snap to the clock in the living room. it’s almost 9pm—right about the time when eita usually comes knocking and asking you for supper.

groaning, you wash whatever’s left of the dish soap away from your hands and sloppily dry them against the bottom of your shirt, grumbling out loud about how you really should stop coming here whenever the fuck you want, eita while you stomp over to the front door.

you open the door, messy hair and bare face and baggy clothes, fully expecting to smack some sense into otoya eita when you feel yourself freeze up at the pair of eyes looking back at you.

they’re teal and framed by pretty long lashes and definitely don’t belong to your best friend.

what the fuck is he doing here?

this is one of the rare times that you’d actually prefer to see eita at your front door instead.

sae raises a brow, giving you a once-over. of course, he’s never seen you in this state—hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, not a trace of makeup on your face. you’d made sure that whenever there was a possibility that sae would see you that you dressed yourself up as nice as possible. if you’d known he was coming over, you’d have at least dressed decently. definitely not baggy shirt and pants that you can barely see.

“uh… w-what are you doing here?” stupid, but the best you can manage.

he has his hands in his gray sweat pockets, and fuck him for wearing a black compression top. you can just make out the outline of his abs under there, the muscles on his arms already much too obvious with those short sleeves.

“dunno, eita said there was an emergency and i needed to get here,” sae says, wholly unbothered, monotonous as usual. he lets himself in, toeing his shoes off at the entryway, positioning them neatly beside your everyday sneakers.

fucking eita.

judging by what you know, sae was probably on his way for an evening jog when otoya called him. he still has his wireless earbuds in. you wonder if anything’s even playing.

sae takes it off once he catches you staring.

he’s not carrying anything. it’s just him. you wonder if anyone managed to catch him coming over. is his most recent pr stunt already over? won’t do either of you any good if he’s labeled as a cheater.

“so? what is it?” sae asks you, again, while he walks himself inside, curious eyes looking around your apartment, and suddenly you’re hyper aware. you hope to god you didn’t leave any of your inner wear lying around at random places.

in a panic, you rush over to him, blocking his path inside, both hands on his chest as you attempt to push him back to the front door. unfortunately for you, sae’s much stronger than you are, his body not budging an inch.

“it’s nothing, he made a mistake,” you sigh, giving up when you figure that sae’s only going to move of his own accord. “he’s probably just playing a prank on you, that’s all.”

you’re hoping, praying, wishing that sae will just take your word for it and go. because that’s what he does; he doesn’t hover much, doesn’t care about anything much at all. you don’t even know the last time he’s asked about how any of your lives are doing.

the world must hate you though, because sae only offers a grunt in response before looking towards your kitchen (you’re internally sighing in relief, glad that you cleaned your kitchen up before this). “i’m thirsty, you have anything to drink?”

you blink at him, stumped that sae is wasting his precious time in your apartment, but who are you to say no to sae, of all people?

“yeah, sure, juice?”

sae shrugs, “whatever.”

you turn your back on him, slowly taking your carton of apple juice and finding the nicest glass that exists in your cupboard, cursing yourself internally for not preparing for unexpected guests enough. you do this slowly partly because you’re trying to calm your stupid heart down, still not fathoming why on earth sae’s wasting his time with you.

carefully, you rehearse yourself in your head, where you’re going to step, how you’re going to walk over to him—you really are just hopeless. count it your bad luck that the moment you turn around, you nearly drop the glass because you’re forgetting a really fundamental issue here: your merch.

“no no no, uh—” you leave the glass on the countertop, scurrying over to where sae’s staring and thumbing at something on your coffee table.

sae looks at your flustered reaction, giving you way to grab your things off the table and stuff them in the drawer where they’re out of sight. he blinks at you, a slight amusement bubbling inside him.

“wow, big fan, huh?”

you don’t know what’s worse: you being your most unpresentable self right now or that sae just caught you having some of his merch.

“so you have some of eita’s merch lying around too or is it just mine?”

you could die of embarrassment right now.

back still turned to sae, you desperately search your brain for answers. thinking on the spot doesn’t seem like your strong suit right now.

“it… was a gift.” believable, right?

sae hums, as though he’s contemplating. “why just mine then? why not oliver’s or my brother’s?”

fuck.

“i don’t know, maybe yours was the only one that wasn’t sold out.”

“ouch.”

you didn’t mean to indirectly insult him but what’s a drowning girl to do?

sae sighs when you keep quiet, still staying out where you are, trembling too much to move. “didn’t know you were in love with me.”

this time, you whip your head around to face him—that same stoic expression of his unchanging on his face. “am not!”

his brows shoot up. “but you bought some of my merch.”

“i told you, it was a gift.”

you need to get paid for still standing up on your own two feet right now. your head’s way too giddy from the interaction, considering.

“even that figurine over there?” sae’s finger points to a small toy just barely visible behind the nooks of the bookshelf. it’s a small figurine; something sold a few years back when sae was just first starting out. you’d bought it because, well, you’d thought chibi sae looked cuter than actual sae. (especially now when he’s just staring blankly at you.)

“that was…”

“a gift?”

you think he’s making fun of you now at this point.

“anyway, we’ve established that there’s no emergency here so why don’t you just go?” you’re pretty sure sae won’t ever talk to you again—not after coming across what he did tonight. he probably thinks you’re a freak, probably questions why he even considers you his friend (to which you’re now wondering if that’s even true at all).

you make a mental reminder to yourself to kill otoya eita tomorrow.

sae lets you push him towards the entryway, apple juice long forgotten on the countertop, collecting condensation with water pooling below the glass.

“you must like me a lot, huh?” he ponders out loud as you continue pushing him towards the door. you see a hint of cockiness in his stare now, the slightest tug of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“i do n—”

“be careful what you say,” sae cuts you off, toeing his shoes back on, looking glamorous as ever and you nearly forget that he looks straight out of a magazine even in his sportswear. “‘cause i’ll believe you.”

part of you wants him to just go already so your knees can buckle under, but part of you wants to ask him what he means. what’s he insinuating? isn’t the answer clear enough.

but now it’s way past nine and he’s all ready to go yet he’s still standing at your doorway, waiting for your answer. you want to scream no, you want to keep your secret safe, you don’t want him to know about the crush you’d been harbouring. but he told you to be careful what you say because he’ll believe you.

“s-so what if i do?” you stutter, failing to look him in the eyes, your stare focused on the air in between you.

sae’s features soften ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in so quickly, but it isn’t one of disgust. it’s more like one of pleasant surprise.

after what seems like an eternity, sae finally opens his mouth.

“you must’ve gotten jealous a lot with all those girls i’d gone out with.”

your fist instinctively connect with his arm, his stoic finally giving way to a grimace, palm rubbing his triceps in pain. out of all the things to say, he chooses to say that? you think he deserves it.

“you know what, sae? you can go back to your fake girlfriends, i could care less,” you snap at him, pouting. you hate that despite how ignorant his words are that you can’t find it in yourself to hate him.

sae exhales sharply, chuckling softly when he sees your pout, and you feel as though it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this even though it’s not. his hand comes up to ruffle the top of your head gently, and you’re reminded of when he did this to you back in high school.

“can’t do that, can i?” he tells you, that soft disposition gone and the stoic mischief coming right back. “not when i’m in front of who could be my real girlfriend.”

your heart might’ve forgotten how to beat.

sae leaves you standing there, left to your own devices as he exits your apartment, fully aware of his effect on you.

not long after he leaves (while you’re still standing in the doorway), your phone buzzes in your pocket. you fish it out and see his name there for the first time in a long time.

you smile to yourself as you read his message. okay, so maybe you’ll spare eita’s life for now.

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