#it’s strange to me but maybe just to me!

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, bruises, and physical fighting. nyx being a cute baby. some fun introspection. reader is tired and overwhelmed. az is honest and open (hallelujah)

Word Count: 7k+

Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rhys was trying to be serious. 

He truly, truly was. 

From behind his polished desk, he looked every inch the High Lord—back straight, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as though he couldn’t decide where to start.

You shifted in your seat, your body aching in strange places from the fight. The cut on your cheek throbbed and the bruising across your knuckles made every twitch of your fingers tender. But none of it compared to the strain in your cheeks—from holding back a laugh.

Feyre was perched on the arm of a chair beside you, Nyx cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her flowy blouse. She wasn’t looking at you—refusing to, actually. Her gaze was locked firmly on her son, her lips pressed together in a trembling line, but you could see the corners twitching with suppressed amusement. You kept your gaze on her, waiting until the burn of your stare would render too hot for her to ignore. 

It didn’t take long.

Feyre’s resolve crumbled as soon as her eyes met yours. She let out a laugh—sharp and bright and loud in the too-quiet room.

Rhys’s head snapped up. “Feyre, please. Not you too.”

Not you too. Morrigan had found the situation just as amusing. 

Her laughter only grew, and Nyx joined in, making incomprehensible happy gurgles in response to his mother’s amusement. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. 

She passed Nyx to your open, offering arms, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Rhys’s neck. Her cheek brushed against his as she murmured—loud enough for you to hear, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

Rhys groaned, glancing at you. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut in, your voice laced with mock sternness as you bit back a smile. “Yeah, Rhys. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied, fixing you with a look. “It is not funny.”

You gasped dramatically, adjusting Nyx in your lap and covering his tiny,pointed ears. “Don’t teach your son it’s okay to lie.”

Another groan. A hand dragged down his face, but his lips twitched as though fighting a losing battle. Finally, with a resigned shake of his head, he muttered, “Alright. Fine. It’s funny. But—

His words faltered. 

“I am sorry,” you offered, filling the silence. You raised your free hand solemnly. “I lost my cool. That’s my bad. But in my defense, she really had it coming.”

Rhys casted a look at Feyre, who was leaning against the desk now, a smile still tugging at her lips. He shook his head again, sighing. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “But I can’t have our court’s emissary beating one of our citizens in broad daylight. It’s not a great look.”

“It wasn’t broad daylight,” you corrected, your attention shifting to Nyx as you untangled your hair from his iron grip, grimacing as the motion pulled at your scalp. “The sun was setting by the time we were done.”

Feyre let out another laugh, the sound powerful enough to pull a snort from her. 

“And,” you added, “It was, at most, semi-private.”

“Unbelievable,” Rhys muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

Nyx babbled again, his chubby hand reaching for your hair once more. 

“Okay, alright,” you said, straightening in your chair. The ache in your body flared as you moved, but you ignored it, your focus on Rhys. “You’re right, Rhys. I have a title and an image to uphold. I should’ve acted better. Tell me how to fix it, and I will.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on you, as if the longer he stared at you, the easier words would come. Then he leaned back in his chair, his attention flicking to Feyre. They were in each other’s minds, you realized, talking in that way only they could. You could pick up the signs now, even subtle—a faint twitch of her lips, the softening in his gaze, even the rhythm of their blinks syncing up. 

Finally, Rhys looked back at you, then down at Nyx, who was still babbling in your lap. When his gaze returned to yours, there was a thread of warmth beneath his voice. “You’re the most, objectively, rational of us all. If you say there was reasoning, then I believe you.”

You gave him a grateful smile.

“We just have to prepare for some damage control,” Feyre said. “It’s not exactly comforting for our citizens to see three of their highest-ranking officials fighting in the streets.”

“Three?” You frowned. “What—”

You were cut off as the door creaked open. All three of you turned as Mor stepped in, a large grin on her red painted lips. She was holding something small in her hand, and when she held it up, the light caught on the all-too-familiar jewelry.

“Don’t forget. She also found these,” Mor sang as she entered fully. She tossed two bracelets into the air, catching both effortlessly before holding them up again for emphasis. “So, I think that’s enough for a pardon.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room in a few long strides as Feyre followed. He took one of the bracelets from Mor, inspecting it carefully.

“What did you find?”

“What Y/n heard was right,” Mor said, rolling the other bracelet between her fingers. “It’s a simple listening charm. Very basic.”

Rhysand hummed. “And how does it work exactly?”

“It’s an anchored spell.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, frowning. “An anchor?” 

“It means the spell needs an anchor to function—a tether to keep it active and contained. Like a balloon tied to a string.” Rhys explained, his tone turning clinical. “It’s simple magic. The charm was designed to spy on whoever it was bound to.”

“And it was bound to who? Az?”

”Actually,” Mor said. She nodded towards you. “It was bound to Y/n.”

You weren’t paying full attention, not as you played a game of tug-of-war with Nyx and a strand of your hair. When the words finally hit you, you blinked, glancing between Mor and the bracelet in her hand. “What? On me?”

Mor nodded once more as Rhysand said, “Interesting.” 

”And this was in Azriels room?” Feyre asked, looking over at you. 

“One of them,” you confirmed. “The other Selene was wearing.”

Feyre’s gaze flicked to the cut across your cheek. “So she put it in Azriel’s room, but bound it to you?”

“No one tends to go into Az’s room.” Rhys frowned. “So she was only interested in conversations you were a part of.”

Of course. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you clenched your jaw, forcing it down. You reminded yourself of what you’d seen earlier— the insecurity, rather than the malice you’d anticipated. Still, a certain annoyance lingered. Was her relationship with Azriel so fragile that she couldn’t talk to him? Were you so unapproachable that she couldn’t come to you? Instead, she planted a charm. To spy. 

”Can I see it?” You asked. 

Mor stepped forward, holding it out, and Nyx reached for it first, his tiny fingers desperately grasping at the shiny surface.

“This isn’t for you, buddy,” Mor cooed, crouching slightly. “This is Aunt Y/n’s special bracelet from her secret admirer.”

You shot her a flat look. “Secret admirer, my ass.”

Mor grinned, but her gaze flicked over you briefly, her teasing dimmed by something else—concern, maybe. Feyre stepped forward, lifting Nyx from your lap as you examined the bracelet.

“So what do we do with it now?” You glanced up at Mor.

“I can pay Helion a visit. Break the charm.” 

“Alright,” Rhys said, the word accompanied by a considering hum. “But first, let me talk to Selene and Runa—Runa was the other one, right?”

Hearing her name sent a wave of irritation coursing through you. Your grip on the bracelet tightened instinctively as you nodded, the cool metal digging into your palm. You held it out for Mor to take, watching as she then took the second one back from Rhys. He studied you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your clenched fists.

“You’re just too great,” He said with a small grin. It was very father-like in its presentation, like he was trying to cheer up a sad child. “It’s intimidating.”

You rolled your eyes, but his attempt worked— the easy cadence chipping away at the tension in your shoulders, managing to coax a reluctant smile to your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Your attention shifted to Feyre as she rocked Nyx gently in her arms. His soft breaths had already settled into the rhythm of sleep, and something in you softened at the sight. Your smile deepened, this time warmer, more genuine. Feyre caught your gaze, then glanced at her mate.

“It’s his bedtime,” she murmured, her attention returning to you. “And maybe you could use some rest too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mor cut you off, her hand already brushing against your arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, though there was no room for argument in her tone.

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but she gave you a look, leading you out of Rhysand’s office. You gave both him and Feyre a quick goodbye. 

“Walk or winnow?” Mor asked once you were in the hall, tilting her head.

You thought it over for a brief moment. “Winnow,” you replied.

She nodded in agreement, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “Probably for the best,” she said, “Wouldn’t want you to find another citizen to fight on the way home.”

You moved to swat at her arm in mock indignation, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly as she winnowed away. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Mor was humming a small tune as she led you to your bedroom. She had a few more items in her hand since the last time you saw her, only a few moments prior.

“Sit,” she instructed, nodding towards your bed. Without waiting for a response, she pulled your chair from the small desk, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. Usually, you might've winced at the sound, but tonight it barely registered. You were too tired, too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of your surroundings. 

You lowered yourself onto the edge of your bed, hands folded in your lap, watching as Mor set her haul on your bedside table: a first-aid healers kit and a small jar with a golden lid, the faint scent of herbs already wafting from it.

“Whats that?” you asked, motioning towards it as Mor sat down.

“I stopped by Majda’s earlier,” Mor replied, grabbing the jar and offering it to you. 

You gingerly took it, running your fingers along the small glass. A healing balm, you gathered from the label, crafted and spelled to sooth the tenderness of injuries.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, fixing you with a look. She held her hand out in a silent request, and you granted it, placing the jar back in her soft palm.  “I ran into Adrin while I was there, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I think he has a crush.” 

Your brows furrowed. “On you?”

“No,” Mor laughed. “On you.” She twisted the lid off, the scent growing stronger, fresher. “This was practically free when I mentioned your name. He says hello, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, at the small quirk in her lip.  “How generous of him.”

Adrin was one of Madja’s recent apprentices, a male from the Dawn Court. Over the past year, you’d developed a sort of friendship with him—inevitable, given how often you stopped by Madja’s for elixirs, balms, or to request healing for one of your family members. Adrin was sweet in a way that stood out, especially for someone of his stature and wealth. Humble, easy to talk to. You’d always enjoyed your small conversations with him, none of which had ever felt particularly flirtatious. 

But Mor liked to do this—tease you about romantic prospects where there were none.

“He seemed very sad to hear you were hurt,” she teased, dipping her fingers into the balm. “Here. Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, you stretched out your hands, knuckles bruised and raw. She took them, her touch gentle as she worked the balm into your skin. It stung at first, then cooled, easing the ache. 

“He’s cute,” Mor said lightly, noting your silence.  “You should consider it.”

“Mhm,” you replied, not really listening. “Maybe.”

Mor glanced up at you, her hands pausing briefly before she resumed. “What are you thinking about?”

You shrugged and stared down at your hands, tracing the patterns of Mor’s thumbs as she smoothed over the worst of the bruising. “I don’t know. The whole thing, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just beat them both.”

A small laugh slipped from you, unexpected. You were quite proud of how diplomatic you’d managed to be given the circumstances— though, you were sure diplomatic wasn’t the word Runa would use.

“I think,” you began, “I just figured it wasn’t worth it. At least with Selene, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing I could’ve said to her that’d be worse than what I imagine she already tells herself. Runa just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Mor nodded with an amused smile, tilting your chin up with a finger so she could dab the balm along your jaw. On a hit you hadn’t even noticed until it started throbbing an hour later.

“Still. A listening charm is kind of insane,” she said. Her tone was measured, but you caught the edge of anger beneath it. “Can you imagine what else she could’ve heard?”

Your chest tightened. You nodded. Although not to the extent you might usually have, you had thought about it—the implications of the bracelet, the act Selene had committed, the idea Runa had planted. It was almost laughable. Your court was condemned for its supposed cruelty, led by a High Lord as infamous as Rhysand, yet citizens still felt emboldened enough to pull stunts like this. In any other court, Selene and Runa would’ve faced very different—more permanent—consequences.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” you replied after a moment. “I’ll just get angry, and I’m kind of over that. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re better than me,” Mor muttered.

“Not really. I’m just tired.” You said simply. “Selene did a bad thing. She’s lucky it didn’t cause a serious disaster. I don’t feel the need to play the Mother’s role. Rhys will deal with her.”

Mor sat back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “And in the meantime, I get pretty jewelry.”

You raised a brow. 

“What?” Her grin widened. “Like we told Rhys, it’s only a basic listening spell. If I’m in possession of both charms, and I’m not talking to you, then no one’s hearing anything.”

“And if you lose one?”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly twisting the cap back onto the jar. “I won’t,” she replied simply. And you knew that was the end of the conversation. Mor guided your head to the side, leaning in to inspect the cut across your cheek.

“That bitch got you good, though,” Mor muttered. She touched it gently, and you grimaced. “All this from that bracelet?”

“It was chunky,” you replied dryly. “And I think Runa split it open much further.”

Mor scowled. “If I see her, she's as good as d—”

“Mor.”

She sighed dramatically. “At least tell me you got her good.”

You gave her a look and her grin widened. “Gods, I love you,” she said, shaking her head. “You might be the most terrifying one of us all when you’re angry.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the faint pull of it brushing against the ache in your cheek. The sound of a laugh started to rise in your chest when a low voice cut through the moment.

“I would agree.”

You jumped, and your head snapped toward the doorway— where Azriel now stood. 

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the moment’s levity collapsing under his presence. Instinctively, your eyes ran over him, taking in every detail. He looked tense, wings drawn in tight to his back, his posture stiff. Shadows hung close to him, unnervingly still. Disheveled, too—his hair was a mess and faint bruises bloomed along his face. His hands were hidden by his shadows, but you’d bet they bore the same marks as yours. Three officials, Feyre had said. You now knew the second. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mor snickered beside you, drawing your attention just as her brows lifted in amusement. She turned away from him and faced you instead. “You hear that, Y/n? He’s sorry.”

You raised your own brows, gaze flicking back to him. “So those words do exist in your vocabulary.”

The bite didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have. It felt hollow, old. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he drew in a measured breath. After a moment, he stepped forward. His gaze lingered on you for another moment before he turned to Mor.

“May we have a moment alone?”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in her gaze dragging over him like a knife. She didn’t answer right away, looking back to you instead, searching your face for permission. Despite yourself, you gave her a small nod.

Her displeasure showed in the faint widening of her eyes, but she stood anyway, brushing her hand against yours in passing. Her touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. “Love you,” she murmured. “Let me know if you need anything else tonight.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding again as she walked past Azriel. His shadows recoiled from her, drawing a dark outline along his arm. She casted one last glare over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt suffocating, a heavy thing that settled over the room. You avoided Azriel’s gaze, focusing instead on the healer’s kit sitting on the bedside table. You reached for it, but Azriel held up a hand to stop you.

“I can do it myself,” you said. 

“I know,” Az replied softly. “But let me. Please.”

You hesitated. He looked troubled, guilt heavy in his expression, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The conversation had been inevitable, long overdue. Might as well get it over with while he tended to the cut on your cheek.

Besides, you were too exhausted to care. 

“Fine.”

Azriel gave you a small, unsure smile—grateful, almost. He disappeared to the bathroom, and when he returned, he sat with a wet rag in hand.

You tried to hold on to your anger, to avoid his eyes, but your resolve began to falter the moment his shadows began to twist around your arms. They moved languidly, curling up your wrists and brushing your fingers as you played with your hands in your lap. You focused on them instead of him— on their quiet presence, the personality in them that so few ever noticed. You’d missed the way they felt like him.

Azriel began unpacking the kit—clean cloths, antiseptic. The smell made your nose scrunch. You took in the bruising on his face—on his cheek, a split near his eyebrow, even on his lip. Strange, strategically unplaced.

“What happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Cassian happened.”

And there it was— the third official. You wanted to probe for more details, were even tempted to make a joke out of his current appearance, but your irritation held you back. You stayed silent as he cleaned the wound, as he dried it. When he soaked another cloth with antiseptic, he looked at you.

“I owe you a big, proper apology.” 

You didn’t look at him, even as his words pulled at you. “Yeah.”

He paused— like he was thinking, like he was ashamed— and took a deep breath before he said, “Many, actually.”

You didn’t respond. You just nodded, watching him from the corner of your eye. When the cloth touched your cheek, you winced. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowing in apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Another pause. 

“You were right,” he said, his focus staying on your cheek. “And I should have listened to you.”

This time, the pull of his voice was strong enough to draw your attention. As he leaned closer to begin cleaning the cut, you studied his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the crease in his brow as he worked with precision. 

“I’m always right,” you muttered, and the words had more mirth than you’d expected. You supposed that was natural with Azriel, an instinct of sorts. Even when you were unhappy with him. “You’re going to have to be specific.”

Something softened in his expression—just for a second. But you saw it. You could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips, heard a soft breath of amusement. His molten eyes met yours briefly.

“You were right about Selene.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know why, but his gaze burned. You couldn’t hold it for long and looked back down at your hands, letting the shadows weave between your fingers. You wondered what information Az knew— wondered who told him. If it was Mor who had talked to Cassian, if it was Cassian who then, in turn, had given Azriel the whole story. Had they fought beforehand? What for?

“I broke up with her,” Azriel added. “When I heard about what happened.”

You looked up, but Az’s gaze was no longer on you. “You did?”

He nodded. You tracked the bob in his throat as he swallowed. 

“There’s no coming back from what she did.”

Azriel set the cloth aside, carefully wiping away the excess antiseptic. He seemed unnervingly calm for the situation—for the invasion of privacy from someone he’d been intimate with. You’d expected something more. Anger like you’d seen with Eris, confrontation like he’d shown Lucien. But, instead, he was gentle. Maybe it should’ve bothered you, that he seemed so unphased at your current state. It didn’t. If anything, you were grateful. You would’ve been too tired to deal with anything else. 

You studied him closely. This side of him—tender, unguarded—wasn’t a side he let many see.

Your thoughts wandered back to Selene. It made sense, in a pathetic, strange way, why she might have done what she did. If she’d seen this side of him, this kindness, this care... how could she not have wanted to protect it? How could she not have gone to extremes to keep it?

You thought about it for a moment. Came to the realization that the love Azriel offered was probably worthy of madness.

“Because she spied on you?” 

It was a stupid question. But the urge to ask had persisted, so you voiced it anyway. Azriel stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“No,” he said, his voice softer. “Because she hurt you.”

His words landed with a force that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Although,” Azriel added quickly, “The spying was definitely a dealbreaker.”

He was making a joke, you realized. Or a small attempt at one. And somehow, it settled something restless in your chest.

“She didn’t mean to,” you heard yourself say before you could stop it. 

The moment the words left your mouth, you cursed yourself. What the hell were you doing? You had no obligation. No reason. It was counterproductive, if anything. Rhys was bringing her in. You had every right to trash her, right here, to Azriel himself. To tell him over and over that you told him so.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d mattered to him—enough for him to trust her despite the flaws that had undone her. Even if that truth made your chest ache, you wanted him to make his decision with all the facts.

Your care for Azriel wasn’t something led by your pride.

“Selene didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said again, more certain this time. “It was an accident.”

His eyes softened as he observed you. You swallowed and shrugged. “Runa was the one who actually did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “You were in that situation because of Selene.”

A beat.

“Because of me.”

The air between you thickened. You tried to focus on anything else, anything but the way your chest tightened, the way your heart thudded faster than it should. But you couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked with his.

You thought about the past week, how something had shifted between you. The distance that had grown, how long it had taken him to reach out.  Azriel was someone who didn’t apologize easily. You knew that. But it hurt in ways you didn’t expect because you’d always thought you were different. That your friendship, your bond, was worth the discomfort. 

You thought he’d make it right. That he wouldn't have let it fester for as long as he did, wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving you simmering in your hurt. 

“Az?”

The name escaped your lips unguarded, and his face softened at the sound of it. His wings shifted too, just slightly, like tension bleeding out. You hadn’t said his name like that—without anger, without bitterness—for days.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you actually apologize earlier?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked down, as if the answer was there, somewhere in the floor. “I—I didn’t know how.”

You let out a breath—annoyance, defeat, something too messy to untangle. “It’s actually really easy,” you muttered. “You just open your mouth and say the words ‘I’m sorry for being a dick.’”

There was a soft shuffle as Azriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, trying to meet your averted gaze.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

You let the words settle for a moment before sitting up straighter. Met his eyes once more. You raised a brow, unimpressed. “A bit late, don’t you think?”

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes meeting yours steadily. He was closer now—close enough that you could almost feel his presence like a tangible, heavy thing. His shadows stirred, curling around your fingers, then shifting toward his hand. They tangled between you both, like they were tying you together, threading through the space that separated you.

“It is,” Azriel said. He looked down the second his words hit the open air. It reminded you of repentance, like a sinner confessing to a priestess. His hands rubbed together before he clasped them into a fist, looking up again.

Even then, his thumbs kept moving, brushing over each other in a way that gave him away. He was nervous.

“I messed up,” he said. “I knew I did the minute I repeated what Selene told me. But I’d messed up so badly that I felt like an apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. I couldn’t think of anything.” He took a shallow breath. “I—I was embarrassed.”

You frowned.  For Azriel, who stood in front of you, unwavering in the face of so many enemies, embarrassment seemed almost foreign.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet as he admitted it.

“What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

Azriel’s face shifted, his eyes looking almost vulnerable, wide open, like you could see everything. Even his shadows slowed to a faint crawl. They seemed to be waiting for something. You weren’t sure what.

“That you were right. I was changing. For her. And I did it on my own.”

“What?” You barely breathed out, confused. “Why?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his eyes lowering. “I thought it might be for the better. That maybe this relationship, maybe Selene, could mold me into something else, something more…” He trailed off.

“More what?”

“Something—someone, more easy to love.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second, everything froze— like the sheer sadness in his voice was enough to freeze time. And then you were flooded with emotions, each different from the one that came before. Confusion. Anger. Pity. Heartbreak. You felt a deep, hollow ache at the idea that he truly believed he needed to change to be loved. 

For the first time, you weren’t sure what the right thing to say was. If there was one at all. All you could do, in the most genuine tone you could muster, was say, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s gaze faltered, his expression shifting as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process your reaction. You glanced at his hands, pushing the rush of emotions back, then met his eyes again.

“You should never feel like you need to change. Not like that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes softened, and you found yourself focusing on the crease between his brows. It made him look so tender. So young.

Finally, he spoke again. “I was having a bad day that night you came to talk to me. I didn’t realize how I’d hurt you. I thought I just pissed you off, that you were angry.”

“Well, you did piss me off,” you said, your anger bubbling up once more. His expression faltered slightly at that, but you continued, “I’m still angry. You were dismissive. You made me feel selfish, like I didn’t have the right to care about you.”

The words caught in your throat, threatening to stick, but you pushed them out. You’d spent centuries enduring criticism from males in Prythian politics—males who dismissed your input no matter how educated or experienced you were. You knew how to let their opinions roll off your back, not to let them settle. But you never thought Azriel would be the one to hurt you. Make you feel silly. Stupid. Small.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted away as if he was trying to find the right words. “It was all so stupid. I can’t believe I entertained her ideas—that I let my desire to be needed make me accuse you of having ulterior motives when you were just being a good friend.”

A good friend.

That was exactly what you were trying to be—and yet, the word hurt you. It made you want to wince like you had when Azriel pressed that rag to your cut. You thought back, unwanted, to Selene’s words, and your chest tightened even more. 

Was it possible for the room to be losing air? Maybe that would explain the stupid decisions you’d been making. The thoughts you could feel in the back of your mind. A lack of oxygen to your brain.

“So why did you believe her?” you asked quietly. Your voice sounded more tired now. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was cruel. It belittled you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, at the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth. He was sincere—you could feel it in every word, in the way his eyes stayed fixed on you, like nothing else existed in the room. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone apologize like this before, so open and raw.

And yet, something inside you still simmered. The anger hadn’t disappeared. Not yet.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For apologizing.”

Azriel didn’t move. He kept looking at you, really looking at you, and you felt pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. His eyes had more green than Cassian’s. It wasn’t something you usually noticed—how the colors shifted in the light, how clear and startling they seemed up close. Now, though, you couldn’t seem to stop noticing, like every detail of him was suddenly magnified.

You wanted to stay angry. You deserved to. He’d hurt you, and that kind of hurt didn’t just disappear because he finally decided to show up and say the right things. But then his gaze held yours a little too long, his voice a little too raw, and that tightrope you’d built for yourself began to fray.  A sharp sting of guilt came, and you couldn’t shake it—couldn’t shake the growing realization that maybe you didn’t want to be angry at him. Maybe it wasn’t even anger anymore.

You cleared your throat as Azriel shifted his attention back to the kit, his shadows curling and shifting behind him. He grabbed a few butterfly bandages, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“You’re better to me than I deserve,” he said, almost to himself. “I think I convinced myself that it was a matter of time until the ball dropped—until you realized I wasn’t worth this friendship. I thought I’d finally reached that point. I almost just laid down and accepted it.”

You frowned at his words. 

Azriel always carried that shadow of self-loathing like a second skin, like he couldn’t believe anyone could see him as more than his darkest thoughts. As much as you wanted to heal him, to assure him that none of it was true, you knew better. It hurt to know that, after everything, he still didn’t believe it. Because, the truth was, Azriel wasn’t hard to love. It wasn’t hard to support him, to be his friend. He had his moments, as anyone did, but he was always there. Which, you supposed, is why the way he treated you hurt in such a deep, unique way.

The thought that he’d believed, deep down, that your friendship—your loyalty—could be so easily withdrawn, made something inside you ache. Made you sad. Angry. 

“I take back what I said earlier,” you murmured. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he searched your face for any hint of a joke. His shadows perched on the apex of his wings, watching you both. Then, when his lips curled, just slightly, they began to move once more. 

“I have my moments,” Azriel said, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. He glanced at you, checking if it landed.  “Maybe one too many head injuries is getting to me.”

“Maybe,” you said, the hint of a smile brushing your lips. “In that case, we should keep an eye on Cassian.”

Azriel’s breath escaped in a quiet, almost relieved laugh.  He carefully removed the butterfly bandages from their small packs, the silence settling around you once more. But the air felt heavy, like there was something unspoken hanging between you. Like you needed to say something to rid yourself of the pressure in your chest. 

“You can’t just lay down and accept it, Az,” you said, your voice firm. His eyes snapped to yours. “That’s not what friendship is. Not ours.”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll do better.” 

You smiled faintly, nodding back. Watching as he turned his attention back to the bandages on your cheek, you took a slow breath. His scent washed over you as he leaned in, familiar and warm. For a moment, you almost let yourself close your eyes, just to breathe him in further, to let his scent linger. Had it always been like this? Or had Selene’s words made you overanalyze everything?

“I was shocked when Cassian told me what happened. I can’t believe that while I was busy kicking myself for not doing anything, you were trying to talk to Selene. Trying to be kind. Do you realize how crazy that is?”

His words weren’t disbelief—they were awe. As if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d chosen the harder path, the path of peace. You could barely believe it yourself, sitting with a scratched-up face and a mind full of unwanted revelations. But in the end, it had been simple. 

You’d done it for Azriel. 

You’d found sympathy for her because of Azriel. You’d set aside your anger, your pettiness, because you valued your relationship with Azriel more. Even after everything, after the way he’d treated you, you still believed in him. Believed in his ability to know what he wanted.

“Your happiness was worth it,” you said finally. “I didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of it. To make things hard.”

Azriel stopped at that, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel exposed in a way you’d never felt before with him. You shrugged it off, trying to play it cool, and added with a dry chuckle, “Also, I figured if I did the noble thing, I’d get to hold it over you for a few centuries.”

Azriel laughed—a genuine, rumbling sound. His shadows fluttered around him. “Yeah, well, you can. More than a few centuries, actually, because you came out with some battle scars.”

You almost spoke again, but the breath left your lungs as you felt his fingers gently press the butterfly bandages to your skin. It was almost funny to think about how angry you’d been—rightfully so. But now, with the feel of his hands on you, it all began to ease. A specific sense of healing, like the betrayal you’d felt—at least in part—was being mended. That Azriel tending to you now, with the soft touch he so rarely granted, proved that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he did care. And maybe you could give him a little grace for being a flawed male.

When Azriel turned back to the kit, you touched your cheek, feeling the cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized how long it was. Mor’s earlier reaction made more sense now.

Azriel glanced at the wound, then back at you, brow furrowing. “Is it okay?”

You nodded slowly, a soft breath escaping as you winced slightly. “Yeah, just tender. Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and moved to place the last bandage. And then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I really am.”

“I know.” You hesitated before adding, “But you’re going to have to make it up to me. You know that, right? This wasn’t enough.”

Azriel steadied his gaze on you, leaning back to face you fully. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if anyone had ever looked at you properly. Not like this. Not as he said, “I will. I promise. In ways that are better than some baked goods.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind some croissants. They looked good.”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh really?”

Soft tendrils of his shadows weaved around you as you nodded, biting back a smile at the tone of his voice. Something so lively. So Azriel. Although you were used to them, you resisted the urge to shiver as his shadows threaded through the ends of your hair. 

“That’s odd,” he said. “I seem to recall them looking untouched. Some even squished.”

The memory of how you’d grabbed the pastry in frustration, squeezing it in your hand, brought a small smirk to your face. You shrugged a little. “I was pissed. I couldn’t give in.”

“In that case, I’ll buy out the whole bakery.”

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a smile was still there. It was probably obvious to Azriel.  “The Spymaster supporting local businesses by single-handedly buying out a local bakery. How noble.”

He smiled at that, his expression lighter now—boyish, amused. But his words were sincere. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.”

“And if I told you to swim naked in the Sidra at night, when it’s cold and snowy?”

“I’d ask Rhysand to make an order for all the children to stay inside.”

You laughed at the thought, and the atmosphere shifted. For the first time in a while, it felt like the world had stopped turning its back on you. The anger, the grudge you’d been cradling like a newborn babe, didn’t feel so heavy now. 

Azriel stood, folding the bandages and packing away the medical supplies, and you found yourself watching him without meaning to once more. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly… beautiful he was. There was something in the angle of his jaw, the way the light caught his features that made your breath suddenly catch. He was always handsome, of course, but this was different. 

A sudden wave of curiosity bubbled up inside you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke.  You’d never noticed the sharpness of his eyes, the intensity in them, the way his wings twitched when his shadows curled against them.

“Can I ask you something?” 

He paused, looking down at you with that soft gaze. “Always.”

“Why did you want to change into someone more loveable? Why stay with Selene?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Azriel nodded. Something sad washed through him, made him blink, made his wings fall an inch closer to the ground. “Everyone around us is finding love. They’re starting new lives.”

Something sharp jabbed at you, a bitter feeling you didn’t quite understand. Was there something wrong with you for not feeling the same need to fall in love?

“I’m not,” you said. 

The expression that took over Azriel’s face was one you couldn’t describe, but there was a new kind of weariness in it. His lips parted as though to say something else, but instead, he simply shook his head with a small, wistful smile. “It’s only a matter of time, Y/n.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you. You’re amazing. It’s only a matter of time until you fall for one of your many suitors.”

You furrowed your brow, a bitter taste now settling on your tongue. You didn’t respond— didn’t know how to.

Azriel’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, but then his face softened. He exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I didn’t think I could handle being alone when you moved on, too.”

The way he said it, the weight of it, made something ache inside you, like a deep hollow was opening up in your chest. You swallowed hard, wishing for something—anything—to ease the growing pressure behind your ribcage.

You wanted him to tell you more, to say something that would make sense of all this. But you didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t even know what you wanted him to say. 

“Because you don’t want to be the last one standing?”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Azriel’s shadows seemed to quiet around you both.

Then, he gave you a half-smile—sad, lopsided, but somehow more real than anything he’d shown you in a long time. Not for months. Not since he began dating Selene. 

“Something like that.”

Before you could dwell on his words, on why they made you feel sad, disappointed even, Azriel finished packing up the kit and turned toward you.

“All done,” he said.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and nodded. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers brushing over the growing bruises on your knuckles. Your hair fell forward, partially hiding your face, and before you could move it out of the way, one of Azriel’s shadows darted forward, tugging at the strand. You glanced up as he gently called the shadow back with a subtle motion. 

“So... how do I look?” 

Azriel's eyes flicked over you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he reached forward, his hand brushing that same strand of hair from your face.

“Tough,” he said, slowly moving the strand back. “I think the bandages really bring out your eyes.”

And even though he’d done it a million times before, as Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear, something inside you cracked right open.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note:

tending to wounds scene!!! tending to wounds scene!! mor has both bracelets??!? az and selene are done?!?! he's being weirdly calm abt the whole thing?!?! reader is THINKINNN...

now begins the fun time of reader wanting to let az grovel (bc he has entered his groveling era) but also overthinking everything and wanting him to just....go away. also fun time of reader having to prove to everyone that despite things she may...or may not... feel, her intentions with Az were neverr driven jealousy hehe

so fun!!! i have some fun ideas guys. thank yall for reading <3 i wonder if you can guess what might happen.... there are a few hints

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[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

So, pack up your car, put a hand in your heart, sing what ever you feel, be wherever you are

We ain't angry at you love. ⋆·˚ ༘ *

The pain of the neglected soul. Under the heavy mood lingering in the manor. An architectural design that screams wealth but is never wealthy with love and laughter. well, at least not to the second youngest child of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy, the most powerful man in Gotham City. Being a product of a mistake between an infamous prostitute and a well-known, almost "celebrity"-like man was not really an ideal life. Being shunned away by the woman who you call Mom, who's supposed to whisper sweet words to you and rock your fragile body back and forth to ease you of whatever you feel bad about, instead shoves you into the arms of an unknown man who's your supposed father. Yeah, that sucks.You've always adored your mom. Despite the horrible words she casually whispers to you - "you ruined me, kid"—you turn a blind eye to her actions and act deaf to her cruel words and instead pretend that she's the mom who loves you and adores you just as much as you do for her. Because it was better. It just was. Your brain can't really process the fact that your abusive mother can be abusive. No, not when she was the one who carried you for 273 days, birthed you, and gave you your name. A 5-year-old's brain can't possibly carry the thought of having that same woman hate you. So even when it was your birthday, you waited for her all day to come home and give you kisses and maybe a birthday cupcake or present. just for once, she comes home drunk, messy, and dizzy with a man on her arms while laughing feverishly. It crazy to think that was the most happiest you've seen her; she was always scowling when she was with you. Strange. Even so you greet her with a hug. "Momma, I've been waiting for you all day—" she cuts you off and tells you to get away from her and calls you this strange name "annoying" huh. Wonder what that means. And for the next hours you spend your birthday alone, in your bedroom. Awake and hungry. But it doesn't matter at least mom came home! Sometimes she doesn't even come home for a few days, but she came home today! That means she must love you. Only for a few days she stays at home with the strange man she brought home on the day of your birthday. It doesn't bother you, it was normal after all. She always do this and then after a few days the man's gone. Yeah, this is just temporary. You say as you clean the house full of dirty clothes and empty alcohol bottles. And then one night the strange man is yelling at your mom; screams filled the tiny apartment with smashing sounds of bottles echoing around the room. You're furious, and you want to defend the woman who you oh so lovingly call "mother" You push the man away, and it angers him. With his bloodshot eyes, he grabbed the bottle and smashed it at the side of your tiny head. You soon wake up in a large room with bright lights and thick white walls. Soon you find out that you're in a hospital; its so cool, it's the size of your living room! Maybe even bigger… Moments later you found out that your mother gave you up to some unknown man who is to be called your "father.". You thrash and scream against the nurse's hold and scream for your mommy, yet she never came.A strange man came and introduced himself. He said he was "Alfred" and said from now on he will take care of you. That's silly because no one in your entire life has had someone take care of you. Soon he drives you to a gloomy big house with lots of statues as Alfred proceeds to tell you that this will be your new home now. Different portraits adorn the walls, and shiny pottery and impressive works of art fill the house. Alfred soon introduced you to your father, Bruce Wayne. Now this is where it all starts. With your new home, hope sparked through your heart, and you believed that somehow, someway, maybe you'll be able to get the love that you have always longed for, yearned for, waited for.

Wrong.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, the most powerful man of Gotham, the heartthrob, the Batman, but never the father of y/n l/n. He doesn't even know you. Doesn't even try to acknowledge you and your hard work, desperate to try anything to make him pay attention to you. To give you the attention you crave and yearn for ever since you arrived at the comfort of his home. You weren't stupid. You knew who he was and his nightly activities. You understood. But what hurts was that despite this, he managed to give every. Single. One. Of his children, attention except you. Was it because you weren't like them? Was it because you didn't fight bad guys for a hobby? Or was it because he never deemed you worthy of his time? Why? Were all the things the kids and big adults whispered behind your back true? That you were a child of a whore and you were bound to become one too over a matter of time? Was it true you'll never compare to your siblings? Being compared to your siblings, who had so much talent and had their own special abilities that yours can't compare to, was draining—and partially true. Your little ballet classes can never impress bruce over his other children's combat skills, multilingual abilities, and genius calculations. And you learned to accept that over the years as you grew up.

Richard grayson, dick, the loving big brother, the family guy. Maybe he was a good guy. After all, he managed to acknowledge you for about 6 seconds one time! He even asked you about your ballet classes! Though that was only to distract his self before Damian came. Always the big brother and Lil brother duo! .. Despite being busy with being a full-time cop and a vigilante, he still makes time for family, the ones he considers as family. Not you, never you. Who were you kidding? Dick is the star of the show, and you're just another side character in his main character life! Just a plain, old, boring bystander. That's all you will ever be to little Richard Grayson's glam life story.

Jason todd was different. He was known as someone who was brutal and full of anger. So it was no problem for him to shove you and tell you off. He had no conscience in telling you to go away, and you liked that. You like the fact that at least he had the decency to not give you false hope. Jason todd hates you, and you know it. Jason todd is jealous of your normalcy and how oblivious you are to the danger of the world. In his eyes, you were his replacement; looking at you makes the green monster of envy crawl out of him and take his anger out on you. The way you are so vulnerable stirs something up inside of him, and he realizes that your eyes look just like his when he was full of wonder and innocence. It made him restless and irritated. It reminded him of his mistakes, foolishness, and those memories he buried deep inside his mind to save him from countless nightmares he desperately ran away from.

Timothy Drake, the genius Robin, the hero by choice, the prodigy son. You would be lying if you said that you weren't jealous of Tim at all. I mean, look at him! He's a genius, a hero, a heartthrob, and a role model to several youths of Gotham. He was exactly like Bruce, and I mean exactly like Bruce. His life revolved around solving crimes, fighting bad guys, acing all of his tests, and coffee. Anything was more important other than you. Sure! He has time to cuddle with his family for movie night (without you, of course) but never has the time to play video games with you. Everything seemed to send thrills to his veins and spark an interest in him except your very existence. If you were just a mere bystander in Dick's story, you weren't even in Tim's!

Cassandra. The girl of the family. You have always envied her. Not only was she the only girl of the family and doted on by every single one of your brothers, but you and she also shared the same interest. What's even more infuriating was that she didn't even have to try. She didn't have to beg countless times to have anyone attend her performances because they were all there. Even Jason, who hid in the shadows. They were all there to support her and show her the love you have always asked for, begged for. She swooned all of them with her dancing, and you can't help that maybe her hands are more gentle, maybe her feet are more pointed, maybe her posture is more straight than yours, maybe she's prettier than you, maybe she's more worth than you.

And finally. Damian al Ghul Wayne. The youngest son, the baby brother, the scarred child loved by his family. When Damian came into the manor, you were thrilled. You thought that maybe you and he could bond over the same trauma. Maybe finally someone can understand you.You thought wrong again. Damian thought you were weak and a disgrace to the bloodline of the Wayne family clan. He called you thousands of cruel names and insulted you whenever he had the chance to. He always belittled you and showed you no mercy, going as far as to drag the blade of his sword across your neck, drawing blood, just for him to cruelly laugh in your face and tell you that you are being dramatic. You forgave him. You were a good kid. Right? So why is it that a kid who made thousands of innocent lives bleed through his sword is sitting with his father—your father—on the couch, sleeping soundly on his chest? It's not fair.

They were never fair.

As Dick was checking the CCTV footage of the manor out of boredom, he managed to catch a glimpse of footage—about 2 weeks ago—of a person packing their bags and putting things from the manor into a box and leaving. It must be a thief! But that's impossible. The manor has many securities that even a skilled assassin could not pass through the gates; it's impossible. Unless…Dick took another glance at the footage and zoomed in on the screen and squinted his eyes. And for a second, his breath hitched and his heart pumped fast, his hand trembled, and his eyes dilated.

It can't be.

[ventismacchiato]

18 stuck with you — cherry blossoms !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

MORNING AFTER

You wake up, and the remnants of last night’s drinking are still rattling around in your skull. The harsh light streaming through the windows feels like a personal attack, and the dull throb in your temples only adds to the misery. You almost don’t remember everything from the night before. Almost.

The kiss. The sight of Mona kissing Scara. Heizou’s arm around your shoulder. Scara’s eyes, watching. The way you rushed to defend yourself.

You try to roll over, but everything feels off. There's this weight in your chest, a weird, almost sticky feeling in your gut that you can’t shake. The weirdness is because of him.

After dragging yourself into the living room, hoping for a bit of quiet before leaving for breakfast, your eyes find the culprit of your headache. Scara. He’s standing by the door, looking entirely too unaffected by the chaos of last night. The cool indifference he always wears is almost infuriating. You were hoping he’d be feeling just as lost as you. 

You’ve always known Scara was beautiful. It's one of the reasons you hated him. It’s why the jealousy burned so fiercely inside you for all those years. His sharp eyes and how they managed to cut through everything, the way his features seemed too perfect to be real, it always made your stomach twist. It made you question why he had to exist in your orbit at all. 

But now…now, as you watch him, you feel that old jealousy resurfacing. But this time, it doesn’t feel the same. It feels different. 

Maybe it was never jealousy at all. The thought makes your heart skip, and before you know it, you’re staring at him.

Your gaze lingers for too long because all of a sudden he looks back at you. His usual detached expression softens for a split second, and you swear a flicker of something crosses his face. A jolt runs through your spine. Heat floods your face. You can’t help it. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

Remember. Be flirty. Show him you don’t hate him.

"Good... good morning," you stammer.

He gives you a strange look. “Morning?” he says, before walking past you.

Thankfully, the others arrive, and the group starts moving toward breakfast, leaving you in the dust. Your eyes flicker back to Scara briefly, but you immediately look away again, hoping your face isn’t burning as much as it feels. Lumine, who must’ve noticed your awkwardness, grabs your arm and pulls you back. 

"Okay, that could’ve gone better," Lumine starts, voice light but teasing, "I thought you liked him? Why were you glaring at him like that?"

You freeze, mortified. “Not so loud!” you hiss, wincing at the noise in your head. “I wasn’t glaring. I was just… staring. I tried being nice.”

Lumine raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Right. Just staring like you wanted to murder him. I thought you were going to flirt?”

You groan internally, the embarrassment already creeping up.

“That was my attempt,” you say weakly.

Venti, trailing behind, chimes in unhelpfully. “You’re hopeless, Yn. How did Xiao’s awkward ass get a man before you did?”

Xiao, walking beside you, frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

Venti flashes a mischievous grin. “I mean, come on. He can barely string a sentence together, and yet, here we are... take some notes, Yn.”

Xiao crosses his arms, scowling, but you roll your eyes, tuning out the back-and-forth. There’s something heavier on your mind.

"I know I’m awkward," you mutter, glancing down at your shoes. "But I don’t think there’s any point in flirting with him. He doesn’t like me, and honestly, I’m just hoping this feeling… goes away."

Lumine gives you a sympathetic look. 

“Even if that were true, there’s no harm in trying,” she points out, her voice gentle but firm. She doesn’t press further, though. Instead, the group continues toward the kitchen, the chatter from the other group filling the silence.

As you enter the kitchen, you scan the room. Mona’s already there, looking completely at ease, her eyes bright and unbothered. It’s a little strange, considering she was absolutely hammered out of her mind last night. You glance at Heizou too and he greets you with a smile, but there's a tiredness in his eyes that makes you pause for a moment. His usual carefree demeanor seems worn.

Because of you.

Before you can speak, a voice pipes up from underneath the table. It’s Yae’s voice, muffled but chipper, and she sounds far too cheerful for the morning after what was a particularly chaotic night. 

Childe, who was sitting from where she popped up shrieks and practically jumps from his chair. “Don’t do that!”

Yae ignores him, her voice still carrying across the room. "Guess what I just heard? Apparently, last night, Scara and Mona kissed!"

You freeze. Your stomach does a strange flip. Your eyes instinctively snap to Mona, who is sitting across from you. Her face pales as she blinks at Yae in confusion. “We what?!” she exclaims, her tone high with disbelief.

Meanwhile, Scara, who’d been silently sipping coffee, seems to shrink into his seat, his usual stoic mask barely holding up under the weight of the accusation. He looks like he wants to disappear into the floor.

“There was no ‘we,’” Scara mutters, his voice sharp with irritation. “She kissed me. I’m not an asshole to take advantage of a drunk girl.”

Mona slaps a hand to her forehead, groaning in embarrassment. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face flushed crimson.

You thought you were done with this, but hearing it said aloud still manages to send a strange ripple through your chest. You knew the kiss hadn’t meant anything, especially with Scara’s angry words from last night. It stings, even though you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

Your eyes move back to Scara. His usual guarded expression is there, but you can see the frustration beneath it. He’s trying to act unaffected, but it’s clear that he’s anything but. You wonder if that’s how you’ve always made him feel. Unreachable.

But Mona’s outburst fades, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should. You catch Scara’s eye again, and this time, you don’t look away. Neither does he. For a moment, he raises a brow at you, and you swear his lips curve ever so slightly.

“Well, that drama was short-lived,” Yae says, breaking the tension. “Can we milk it any further, or are we done here? What about you, Heizou?”

Heizou, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, speaks up. “We actually discussed how Yn holds no feelings for me.”

Yae sighs dramatically. “Why did we bring you three here, then?”

Diluc, who’s been quietly watching, finally speaks up. “I’m having a swell time.”

“Fuck, finally,” Yae huffs, rolling her eyes. “Alright, whatever. We’ve got another activity, and I’m sure it’ll land you all a place in Paradise.”

“Is this one rigged?” Aether pipes up.

“A little,” Yae grins. “I’ll reveal it at the end. Anyway, we’re doing a Scavenger Hunt! Pairs, but since we’ve got an odd number... Heizou, you’re going solo.”

You wince at that, already guilty for rejecting Heizou’s advances all this time.

“You each get an item to collect. Shells, flowers, rocks, etcetera. Nothing too athletic. Go out and explore, and bring back as much as you can,” Yae continues, casually ignoring the obvious tension.

“But you assigned us flowers,” Scara interrupts, “All the flowers are in the woods.”

“Yes, and?” Yae smiles, unbothered.

“And the woods are up in that mountain,” Scara points out, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You want us to climb that?”

Yae simply smiles.

“I don’t like you,” Scara grumbles.

“I love you, too,” Yae laughs. “Moving on, we’ll meet back before lunchtime! Get going!”

୨୧✧

You get paired with Scaramouche, obviously, but unlike the other times you don’t find yourself too mad about it. You both knew no matter how good or bad you did at the game they’d rig it around you both, so you take your time making your way up the trail. Or what you both assumed to be a trail.

You both stood at the foot of the raging path ahead of you, mentally preparing yourselves to walk up it. Scara digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a handful of gummies.

“I didn’t take you for a sweet tooth,” you murmur.

He scoffs, grabbing your hand with his free one and letting a few fall onto your skin. You try, and fail, to ignore the warmth of his skin upon yours.

“It’s not candy,” he says, walking ahead of you. You stare at the not candy in your palms and then at his retreating back before throwing them back. Anything to help the swirling pit in your stomach.

You don’t talk much. The silence stretches between you, both of you awkward in your own way. You’re searching for something interesting to say, but the words won’t come.

It’s not until you reach a fallen tree that Scara climbs over and reaches a hand out to you.

“Careful,” he says simply.

You take his hand, letting him pull you over, but as you do, your foot catches on a branch. You find yourself pressed against his chest, and for a moment, neither of you moves. He doesn’t pull away until you shift, pulling yourself off him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, already embarrassed, but then his fingers brush against your cheek.

“You’ve got dirt on you,” he says, his tone surprisingly soft. “Walk slowly.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch him walk ahead, hoping the shade of the trees is doing a better job than your body at hiding the blush creeping up your neck.

Eventually, you both come across a small meadow filled with flowers. You kneel down, picking a few, letting the petals twirl in your fingers. You hear a rustling beside you, and when you look up, Scara is crouched next to you, holding a flower in his hand. 

“Here,” he hums, and before you can say anything, he tucks it behind your ear. A gust of wind carries the petals, some of them landing in his hair, and for a moment, the sight takes your breath away.

“I didn’t think sunflowers grew here,” he mutters, pulling the petals from his hair.

“Leave it,” you say, almost breathless. “It’s pretty.”

He stares at you for a long second, his eyes unreadable and a fistful of petals in his hands. He ‘s silent before he lets the petals fall into your hair. “Have them,” he says, his voice low. “They’re like you, anyway.”

You blink, unsure what to say.

“How?” you manage to ask, voice shaking slightly.

Scara eyes you for a beat before answering.

“You follow the sun,” he says, standing up and brushing off his pants. “And people can’t seem to get enough of you.”

He doesn’t look back as he speaks, his gaze fixed ahead. After a beat, he adds, almost offhandedly, “Sunflowers aren’t too bad to look at, either.”

You’re left standing there, watching him walk away, his words hanging in the air like a soft, lingering echo.

Maybe you weren’t a sunflower. Maybe you were a cherry blossom instead. Cherry blossoms fall at five centimeters per second, and you’ve been

falling

…falling

……falling

since the day you met him. Even if there wasn’t any gravity on Earth, you’d probably fall for him eleven times out of ten.

୨୧✧

You both reach the peak, breathless. Neither of you were exactly built for this. “Rock,” you manage to say, sinking onto it before Scara can even respond. The sweat trickling down your neck probably isn’t doing your attempt at flirting any favors.

He sits down beside you, letting the flowers you picked tumble to the ground. The sun filters through the trees, but you still get a decent view of the ocean. You glance to your left. Scara’s staring at it, the wind ruffling his hair.

Your head spins, but you can’t tell if it’s from the lack of oxygen or because of him. “Sorry about your mom,” you say, trying to break the silence. It’s also a way to make up for not checking in on him last night. You never did see if he was okay. You probably should’ve. He chuckles softly, the sound surprising in its warmth.

“Not your fault.” You fall quiet after that, the words you want to say stuck somewhere in your throat. “Just spit it out,” he says, leaning back on the rock, eyes still on the horizon. He always knows when you’re holding back. “If your mom hadn’t paid Mona off, would you have kept dating her?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. You expect him to scoff or brush you off, like he usually would. But his answer comes quickly

“It wouldn’t have lasted anyway,” he says, voice low. He picks a flower from your discarded bouquet and twirls it between his fingers. “We weren’t suited for each other. She hated how much I focused on work, and said I was too much. I just wish she’d broken up with me herself, though.” You nod, his words strangely comforting. “Besides,” he adds casually, “All we ever did was have hate sex.” You choke on a surprised laugh, coughing at the suddenness of it. And then…he laughs. Actually fucking laughs. The sound is so rare, you find yourself wanting to drown in it. “Prude,” he teases, watching you with a sly grin. You compose yourself, shooting him a glare. “Not a prude.” “I beg to differ.” You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat. Another question bubbles up, one you can’t resist asking. “Was she your first?” He’s silent for a beat, then answers with a firm, “Nope.” “Was she your only?” He glances at you, brows raised. “Why do you care?” Because you like him. Maybe it’s something a little more than that. Something you haven’t dared to admit to yourself yet. The answer is right there on your tongue, but you swallow it down.

 “Just being nosey,” you say, trying to brush it off. “Didn’t think you could pull anyone else.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “She wasn’t. But after her, I stopped having casual sex.”

You scoff. “But I heard you’ve hooked up with half the industry?”

“What tabloid did you read that in?” he smirks. “You know there’s shit other than sex, right? Or do I need to give you sex ed?”

His words hang in the air, the implication making your cheeks flush with heat. You must’ve looked taken aback, because he doesn’t hesitate to press on.

“Half of them were just blowjobs backstage.”

You choke from his words again.

“God, you are a prude.”

“Shut up,” you muster out before continuing, “Don’t you miss it? I thought you liked…sex?” 

His smirk is there before you even have a chance to respond. “Well, yeah. Who doesn’t?”

You stop, unsure why you even care enough to ask. Well, you were pretty sure. You’d thought he’d just shut you out.

“What, spit it out,” He presses, and you almost want to avoid his gaze, but you can’t.

“Wouldn’t someone like you get...?” you murmur, barely above a whisper, feeling the heat rising in your neck.

He stared at you. Then he shifts, almost as if to tease.

“Do I need to explain to you what self pleasure is? Ever heard of mastur–.”

“Shut up!” You cut him off, shoving his shoulder, your heart pounding in your ears. But he just smiles, grins, really. And you can’t help but notice how that smile hits you harder than it should. 

How had you gone so long without seeing it?

By the time you and Scaramouche make it back down, your heads are clearer, and the afternoon sun is already at its peak. Lunchtime. Scanning the scene, you both realize you’ve managed to collect more of the required items than anyone else.

“We got distracted,” Venti mutters, holding up the single, sad shell he and Aether managed to gather.

“It’s no matter,” Yae waves him off with a dismissive flick of her hand. “This whole thing was rigged anyway.”

Lumine, ever observant, scans the group. “Aren’t we missing a few people?”

“Oh right, I completely forgot,” Yae laughs lightly, tapping her chin. “Heizou and Mona took off while you were all busy with the game.”

You’re a little taken aback by the news. You’d been hoping to talk to Heizou again before he left, but now... you’re not so sure. Maybe it’s better left unsaid. You’ve probably hurt him enough as it is.

Scaramouche’s reaction to his ex leaving couldn’t be more different.

“Thank the Archons,” he mutters, clasping his hands together in exaggerated relief, causing Kazuha to shoot him a bemused side-eye.

“Anyway,” Yae interrupts, snapping the group’s attention back to her, “Back to the show. Let’s see the results.” She glances around at the gathered group, raising an eyebrow. “Good grief, did any of you actually try? The one couple we rigged was the one that won.”

Xiao speaks up dryly. “You told us to collect rocks.”

“Yeah, and those,” Yae hums, tapping her chin and gesturing toward the small pebbles in Kazuha’s palms, “Are definitely not rocks. Never mind that, though.” She raises her voice slightly, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “The pair who collected the least will be spending the night on this island, while the rest of you get to go to Paradise.”

She feigns a gasp, dramatically sweeping her gaze across the group. “Congratulations to everyone except Scaramouche and Yn! You two will be spending the night here on this hell island, while the rest of us head to Paradise... including the crew!”

The others around you celebrate, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

Tonight, everyone will be gone.

And it will just be you and him.

Alone.

[00:00:00] GOODBYE INTERVIEW ONE 

YAE: So, how does it feel to go home empty handed?

HEIZOU: Honestly, I got the closure I needed.

YAE: But not the lover you wanted?

JEAN: YAE!

YAE: Sorry, sorry!

HEIZOU: [LAUGHS] It’s alright. I get it. But yeah. 

YAE: Anything you would’ve done differently?

HEIZOU: [QUIET FOR A FEW MOMENTS] Probably have gotten to know Yn a bit more. I would’ve saved a lot of money on snacks they didn’t actually like.

YAE: What a gentleman! Great send off. We’ll miss you, Heizou!

HEIZOU: [SMILES] I’m sure you will, bye.

YAE: And cut!

[00:32:10] GOODBYE INTERVIEW TWO 

YAE: So…how are we feeling girl?

MONA: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GUYS LET ME GET SHITFACED ON TV!

YAE: [LAUGHS] It made for great television, how are you feeling?

MONA: So embarrassed. But I’m glad I came and put on a show. Any publicity is good publicity.

YAE: And what about the ex you left on that island? Any regrets about him?

MONA: Oh believe me, a lot. But, I shall just carry on with my life! I’ve embarrassed myself enough on this hell island.

YAE: [LAUGHS] Fair enough. Any jealous feelings towards anyone else on the island?

MONA: [ROLLS EYES] You know what you’re doing. I’ve lost enough fans from trying to kiss Scara. I’ll say no comment.

YAE: Well, I tried folks. Goodbye, Mona!

MONA: Mwah!

YAE: CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

me googling where sunflowers and cherry blossoms grow and then realizing it isn’t that deep so just pretend for me okay thanks

scara taking an edible to try and flirt he’s so real

peep the lyrics in scaras story like YN OPEN UR EYES but yeah at this point yn is coming to realize scara might like them back 🤭

kinda insecure about this chapter so pls lmk if u liked 😣 pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — i’ve gotten like 8 hours of sleep in total last week i’m lowk goin thru it guys i hate college 😭 pls send me asks about swy or anything i need motivation i’m bashing my head into da wall as we speak

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

[alltheprompts]

Dp x DC prompt #13 (yay lucky number!)

What if Danny is introduced to the family not as a gremlin, but as his friend from community College and he is so freaking normal that it makes the entire family suspicious. The only reason Jason decided to bring him along is that he knows Danny seems too normal for their cohort and it will utterly freak out Bruce and Tim, confuse Grayson and set off Damian. Jason though, he knows Danny is only normal for the first few times of interaction, then he starts getting weird even by Bat Family standards.

Jason: Hey. I brought my friend from campus tonight.

Danny: Hi! Nice to meet you!

Bat family: *suspicious eyes* Nice to meet you.

Danny: I totally didn't believe Jason when he said he was one of 5 kids but he proved me wrong. Lol.

Bat family: How'd you meet Jason?

Danny: OH! He's been tutoring me in English class and I've been helping him with Calculus. We met at the library when I was trying but failing to type a paper and ended up irritating him with my groaning. He walked right over asked me to shut up and I apologized and said I was having difficulty *insert English homework here* and he had a look utter disgust and surprise and said "how the fuck are you having problems with that?"

Jason: I was disgusted. That was such an easy topic.

Danny: For you maybe! Anyways I said "Well if it's so fucking easy, explain it to me. And he did! With way better clarity then my professor. So I thanked him and asked what I could do in exchange for help. He then told to stay fucking quiet o he can work on his stuff. And we went on about our business. A week later we were both back in the library again and he was banging his head, so I went over and asked if he was okay and he yelled to leave him alone and he just as I was about to leave I noticed he was working on calculus and told Jim I could help if he wanted. He looked at me like I was insane.

Jason: I was cause you are. Most people don't ask to help after being yelled and cursed at.

Danny: But you had helped me on my english paper! I wanted to return the favor! This happened a few more times before it became normal to meet at the library and work together!

The batfamily is reeling at this strangely normal and meet cute type story and the fact that Jason was going to college and nobody knew somehow (Alfred knew).

After meeting Danny, they stalk him to see if he was acting normal or trying to mess with Jason or Jason manipulated someone normal to mess with them. The first while Danny seems perfectly normal and innocent but after a while they start getting a feeling of something off about Danny like he was both him and not. They also notice that Jason tends to stay calmer when he is around Danny. As they realize he is weird and they slowly figure it out, they actually get less anxious about Danny. As someone not quite normal or human in Danny's case was far more comforting for them then anyone of them managing to befriend an actual normal civilian with no apparent baggage or extreme homelife. A

[hcneymooners]

⋆ you pull my hair, you call me.

jinx x mermaid!f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you are a mermaid living in a hidden grotto of the undercity. one day, jinx wanders into your territory. or more accurately, the ruins of her old haunt.

cw: mermaid!reader, canon divergence!au, discussions of trauma, discussion of child loss, mental health issues, non-sexual intimacy, sfw, however, there are suggestive themes, age gap, girl you are literally thousands of years old.

notes: in these coming days, i hold on tightly to fantasies. they become stronger, more intricate. i feel it is my only way to survive. this is dedicated to @s-4pphics, the only person who makes me feel like a real life mermaid.

The water remembers everything. It's why you were born into it. Your mind is a steel trap, a lattice of love and loss.

Water does not coddle the memory, but it soothes. When your mother crawled into the reservoir to birth you, it did not coddle her naked body as it twisted and expelled you. It did nothing to lessen the sore peaks of her nipples as her breasts swelled and hardened with milk. But it soothed.

Your birth was similar to the experience of having birds flutter out of one’s chest. You came into the world with the rush of wind and at the peak of death, eyes big and your silence even larger. You were a beautiful baby with a delicately scaled face, and from the beginning your mother knew you were different.

She holds you, tells you her name—a name that means one thousand flowers. It fits her; you understand this even one minute fresh into your life. Your mother was one thousand flowers both blooming and decaying at once.

You were born in the winter, snow touching the tender skin of your forehead. It is also winter when your mother, a woman of a thousand flowers, dies.

Her body seems to flutter and pulse until it shudders into foam. The water soothes you as you sink. You stay on the ocean floor for what is close to forever. The years pass, but water remembers.

It remembers the screaming, the fire, the way the undercity shattered like a dropped mirror. The shards spun out and out. You never braved the world, then. You would come close to the surface, float backward and bent as you watched the sky smear into green gas and heat. The water—and therefore you—remember the taste of ash and gunpowder, the iron-rich flavor of blood and revenge.

But mostly, you remember her—that odd girl with chaos pumping inside of her like a second, third heart who came stumbling through the wreckage of her old workshop, trailing ghosts and grief like a burial shroud.

You've been watching her for days. Your kind has always been drawn to broken things, to the places where pain bleeds into water until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. She fascinates you with her paleness, with her long body that is painted and bared by the shoddy work of her pants and the cut of her top. You hide behind large chunks of driftwood, eye the swivel of her hips as she paces and turns. Her eyes are strange, too pale ghosts colored silvery blue. She closes them, opens, closes.

She is like a small bird, this woman. She carries destruction in her hands but cradles it like a wounded animal at times, afraid to hold too tight, afraid to let go. The first time she breaks, it's like watching a star collapse.

She falls to her knees at the water's edge, her wail echoing off the mineral-crusted walls of what was once her sanctuary. Her hands tear and tug at her braids as if she could rip the memories right out of her skull, like plucking loose the weave of a tapestry. The water around you shivers with her anguish, and your body preens; it tells you that you cannot stay hidden any longer.

You rise from the depths like a dream, your hair carrying traces of phosphorescent algae that provide a lazy glow as it swirls around your face. Her eyes fix on you, fever-bright and wild, but she doesn't run. Maybe she thinks you're a hallucination. Maybe she's just too tired to be afraid. 

You understand this.

The silence lasts for a while. The two of you exist across from one another, your face settling on your hands as you inch forward. She has yet to notice the flutter of your tail, but it's only a matter of time. You can see the light refracting off of it into a million sparks of light, dancing across the ceiling as you near her.Her mouth parts and you feel your own hinge open. You are trying to remember, trying to make yourself just like her if only to assuage her fear. Your tongue unfurls, neat and a deep blue. She blinks in surprise, which allows you to speak first.

"I am [Name]," you say, and your voice is a gentle purr like someone has stumbled over the strings of a harp. You are learning, thinking of how humans relate to one another. You don't tell her your real name, your name birthed by ocean and the melt of your mother's scale in the middle of your tongue. You are a woman of a thousand white waves, because every woman in your family has a thousand of something. "This, here, is my home."

You reach out now, because you have seen this before. Her people hug and grasp at one another in welcoming. The woman jerks, falls with a sick crunch on one of those pale hips in an effort to get away from you. You are hurt, and alarmed, and retreat further into the water. Your hand is still clawed as if to hold hers.

"Get back," she warns, voice raw and hoarse. Her eyes repeat their pattern. Close, open. Open and close. You close yours to see what she sees. Your eyelids are thin, translucent. The world can still be seen. She is right in front of you. "I'll hurt you. I'm a curse; I hurt everything.”

You open your eyes now, reach for her anyway. Your scaled hands catch hers, gentling them away from her hair. You smooth the strands, like your sister would do to you when the poachers came.

"My kind cannot be cursed," you tell her. This close she can feel the vibration, the way that your voice carries echoes of tidal pools and deep-sea trenches. "We are older than magic, older than pain. A different kind of creature."

She laughs, and it sounds like breaking glass. "Yeah? Well I bet you've never met anything like me before."

But you have. You've seen the way trauma can twist a soul, how it can make someone forget the shape of their own heart. You've watched your own kind waste away from grief and pollution, watched your bloodline dwindle to almost nothing. You recognize the look in her eyes—it's the same one you saw in your sister's before the toxic waste claimed her, before disease took your mother.

"Do not tell me what you think I know," you answer and she fidgets within your hold.

You are unsure of how to calm her, so you rummage deep inside of your long memory. You think of your mother. Now, you know. You pull her into the water with you, and she thrashes at first—all spinning limbs and desperate gasping. She is much like a fish at the end of a hook, you think. But you hold her, humming an ancient lullaby that vibrates through the water around you both.

Your singing voice, your Melody was always more unsightly than the others. So much higher and almost dissonant, like the cry of a whale during its migration. You mostly Sang alone, while others Sang together. But it winds around Jinx; maybe she is dissonant too. Slowly, so slowly, she stills.

"This is my body," you murmur, pressing close, your scales catching the ethereal light. "And this is yours." Your hands trace her tattoos like star maps, feeling the stories written in ink and scar tissue. You pause at her stomach, feeling an old grief there. You cast your Melody again, and it falls like a net over the skin underneath your fingers.

"You had a child," you say softly, and she goes rigid in your arms.

"Yes.” She admits this truth as if it hurts her. “She was not—not mine.”

“What was her name?”

“Isha,” she chokes out. “She was... I was supposed to protect her." 

“Mmm,” you say. “She was yours. I can feel it. She was yours, and you lost her.” 

You adjust your embrace, thumb at her bottom lip to reveal her blunt teeth. You have no understanding that this is not normal, that this touching and holding and avid tenderness is not of their culture. This woman, this bloodless weeping woman gazes at you. 

“Your motherhood,” you murmur, “sits inside you like a stone. It is closed, like an oyster. You must name it to begin to release the pain.” 

You press down on her lip. 

“What is your name?”

“Jinx,” she whispers.

“Good,” you tell her. “So, you are Jinx. Jinx, mother of Isha.”

The words seem to break something loose in her, and suddenly she's crying—great, heaving sobs that shake her whole body. You hold her through it, letting her tears mix with the mineral-rich water of your grotto. Strange woman, you think. She is a strange, sweet thing.

Her stomach tenses and releases, over and over. You never once stop your Song.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

Days blur together after that. Time moves strangely here. The two of you are a jigsaw puzzle of connection, platonic or maybe familial. You do not ask, preferring to preserve what you have. 

Jinx is shy in the first few moments, a trait you suspect is unfamiliar to her. She builds herself a nest above the waterline: a chaos of stolen furniture and salvaged tech that somehow fits the space perfectly. You watch her work, fascinated by how her hands can create as easily as they dismantle. Sometimes she catches you staring and explains things to you—human concepts that make little sense but delight you anyway.

You measure progress not in days but in small victories: the first time Jinx falls asleep with her head in your lap, fingers curled trustingly around your scales. The morning she lets you rebraid her hair, your webbed fingers gentle against her scalp as you weave strands of luminescent crystal through the blue. The day she shows you how to make paper boats and sets them afloat with tiny lights inside, until the cavern ceiling reflects a mirror image of the stars she remembers from her brief childhood.

You offer up knowledge in return. You speak the thick language of old, born of trench sand and sulfur cracks. She loves when you sing, when your mouth unhinges to show your blue tongue and slightly jagged teeth. She wades into the grotto, standing in the shallow water that barely reaches her ankles, and closes her eyes. She sways as your Melody flows over her, shivering as if touched by cold.

You usually finish the performance by swimming to her, carefully holding her ankles between your extended claws and calling directly to her. This is your favorite—a secret you keep close. You adore how she gazes down at you, how her eyes trace the curve of your slick breasts and torso as you rise to meet her.

You climb until your noses brush, and then you laugh, a sound like the gentle puff of a flute. When you laugh, your gills seize and flex, and Jinx places a hand against them, tracing them until you crook your neck and trill. (That's her favorite.)

"[Name], you can't just walk around topless all the time," she tells you one day, trying not to laugh as you examine a shirt with obvious confusion. The fabric flutters strangely in her hands. "Humans are weird about bodies."

"But they're just bodies," you say, running a webbed hand over your scales. Again, her eyes follow. She closes her eyes, thinking of how your breasts are round and soft like the moon in her hand. You reach out, drawing her closer until she's touching you. "See? This is just flesh. The body is only a  house for our soul."

She grows quiet then, thoughtful in a way that makes her look younger. "Maybe that's why I'm so messed up. My house is... kind of a disaster zone."

You pull her close, letting your tail manifest and wrap around her legs. "Then we'll build you a new one. Piece by piece."

The trust comes in fragments, in stolen quiet moments. Some days she can't bear to be touched, and you give her space, watching from the depths as she paces and talks to ghosts you can't see. Other days she's almost peaceful, letting you massage her scalp or teaching you human games with cards that always seem to explode at exactly the wrong moment.

One night, the voices in her head were particularly loud. You hear it from beneath the water—you sleep closer to the surface since meeting her—and rise to find her jolting in her sleep. You don't think, only move, remembering to rid yourself of your tail only when it scrapes against a sheet of metal jutting from the sand.

You hum agitatedly, distressed by her furrowed brow and trembling body, then take her deeper into the grotto than she's ever been before. Here, crystal formations pulse with bioluminescence, casting rainbow shadows on walls that have never known sunlight. Schools of blind fish dart around you both, their scales glowing like fallen stars.

It takes her a while to wake, but you stay suspended and curled around her. You keep watch, eyeing the murky kelp forests that tease at your fins. There are other, older ways into this grotto that never bothered you before. But now, you're too aware of all the ways someone could reach the jinx resting in your arms.

You see bubbles snort from her nose as she begins to stir, and you move quickly to pluck a shell from the rainbow-dusted walls. The inside is sticky and suctions to her mouth, threading a tendril inside to loop around her lungs and better facilitate her breathing underwater. You don't understand why it works, but you've seen the surface swimmers use it before.

Jinx makes a horrible rasping noise before the shell's work settles in, and then breathing comes easier. The shell is now translucent and attenuated. She cups your side as she shifts in your hold, her unbraided hair thick around her face.

"This is beautiful," she whispers, and for once there's no edge to her voice, no great waiting catastrophe. You know she means you.

"Thank you," you respond, smiling with all your teeth. She smiles crookedly back.

"This was my mother's sanctuary," you tell her, leading her to a cave where ancient glyphs cover the walls. You see her back bend with the water's pressure, and you slow your pace. "There used to be many of me, my bloodline. But the surface world's poisons reached even here." You trace one of the symbols—a spiky, spherical rune that you think means 'confession'. This glyph is older than you, part of a complex language no surface dweller nor merfolk of this time has spoken in millennia. "Now there are only three of us left."

She's quiet for a long moment, her hand finding yours in the glowing water. "Does it ever get easier? Being the only one who survived?"

You think of your sister's last days, of your mother's fading voice. "No," you answer honestly. "But it becomes... different. The pain changes shape, becomes something you can carry without breaking."

She leans into you at that, and you feel the tremors that always precede one of her episodes. But this time, she doesn't fight it. She lets you hold her as the chaos revisits her, trusts you to keep her head above water—in a manner of speaking—as she shakes apart and slowly, slowly comes back together.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

It doesn’t simply disappear. Jinx is one of the spirits’ favorite souls to torture and possess.

Most nights, the past continues to crawl up through the cracked floors of the grotto like a cadaver, its saccharine breath seeping into Jinx's dreams until she wakes screaming. And on most of these nights, you find her in her nest of blankets and broken things, her skin fever-hot and her eyes seeing horrors you cannot share.

But after you take her down, beneath the surface, it is different. Now, most nights, she comes to you.

The pattern is the same: you hear her bare feet on the stone before you see her, padding toward the water's edge like a sleepwalker. Her hair is almost always loose, falling around her face in a cascade that reminds you of the sharp stretch of evening sky across the Arctic Ocean. Then she reaches the pool's edge, but she doesn’t stop.

The water accepts her like a lover, closing over her head in a gentle baptism. You rise to meet her, your form shifting in the dipping waves. You cup the nape of her neck and insert the shell. Your skin takes on its natural sheen, scattered with scales that catch the light like opals. Your hair moves as if still underwater even when you break the surface, glistening tendrils floating around your face. Your eyes are all pupil and hold the depths of the ocean, ancient and knowing, utterly without fear. You reach for her, and, like in the beginning, she still tries to pull away; you simply shake your head.

"Your curse cannot touch me," you remind her, your voice like water over stones. "I am not of your world." Your hands move to cup her face, thumbs brushing away tears that roll from the puffy cliff’s edge of her pale eyes. "I am of the deep places, the dark waters. We recognize our own, remember?"

Remember? You always ask her this. It’s all she ever does.

You rise fully from the water then, your form shifting like light through waves until you stand on human legs, naked and gleaming. You pull Jinx to her feet and begin to undress her with the innocent purpose of a child, unbound by human conventions of modesty or shame. She allows it, trembling—not from cold or fear, but from the overwhelming sensation of being touched without consequence, of being seen. She has yet to confess how much she needs this.

"This is my body," you murmur, pressing close, your scaled hands tracing the bridge of her spine. You are reminding her. "And this is yours. We are both such difficult creatures."

"I don't understand you," she whispers, but her hands come up to trace the patterns of your scales, mapping the places where your skin shifts from human to something else entirely.

You catch her hand and press it flat against your chest, letting her feel the strange rhythm of your heart—beating in time with the tides.

"Fear is for those who have something to lose. My kind has already lost almost everything. What's left is..." You pause, searching for words in a language not made for shadowy creatures like you. "What's left is precious because it survived. I am surviving. You are surviving with me.”

Something shifts in her expression then, understanding blooming like oil across the top of a gulf. Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch.

"Show me again," she breathes, begging. Her breath smells sweet, like candy under the tongue and behind the teeth. "Please."

You take her deeper into the grotto than before, past the engraved walls and into the true heart of your domain. Here, the water is almost desperately alive, swirling with colors that have no names in any human tongue. Your tail manifests fully, lashing out. You seem to be made of living jewels. You are a terrible, beautiful monster; your body twists like a snake as you duck and dive. Jinx watches, transfixed, as you dance through the water, showing her your true way of living.

You do what your kind does when in love. You Sing. You Pull her.

"I've been trying to fix my machines," she says when your last note fades. You are shaking. You have never Sung that hard before. Your Melody has undone you, and you swim weakly back to her. She touches your face, dusts your cheeks with her pruned fingertips. "To make lights that look like this." She gestures at the bioluminescent display around you. "But I keep fucking it up. Everything I touch turns to..."

"A mess," you finish for her. These thoughts are not new. "But a mess is not always born of destruction." You guide her hand through the water, watching the way the disturbed bioluminescence creates new patterns, new constellations. "Sometimes it's just change. It is new, without guidance. You are trying again, relearning. This is only necessary disorder."

She laughs, but it's softer than usual. "Is that what I am? Disordered?"

You pull her closer, letting your tail wrap around her legs as you float together in the heart of the sea. "You are what you choose to be. Here, in these waters, you don't have to be anything but yourself." You pull back so that you can see your hands as you sign to her, curl your fingers into the symbols she’s seen on the walls.

You have changed me. You mouth the words so that she truly understands. You sign it again, across her naked chest so that she can feel the drag of your claws and the pump of her blood in response.

"I don’t feel changed, and I don’t want to ruin you. What if I am still broken?" Her voice cracks on the last word.

"Then be broken here with me," you tell her, pressing your lips to her temple. "The water remembers everything, but it also cleanses. It changes. It heals."

She turns in your arms, and for once, her eyes are clear. No fever, no muddle—just Jinx, looking at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. Her hands find your face, thumbs tracing the almost invisible scales at your temples. You raise your hands, fingers contorting as you sign once more.

We have changed each other. It is a symptom of love.

Jinx says nothing, then she moves. You forget how agile she can be at times. With a few spritely movements, she is holding your waist and treading water. One hand comes up, cradling your face. There is a pause, and you glance at her, eyes wide with confusion and anticipation. This is new. She studies you, and you belatedly realize she is waiting for something. Permission, you think.

“Yes?” you ask. She smiles; it’s the right answer.

She slips out the shell, and you startle. This is dangerous, but she doesn’t care. She stops you.

Her hand nestles thoroughly in your hair, tilting your head until your flesh is exposed to her lips. Again and again, she presses her mouth to your neck. She suckles, nips, until your tail flicks. She is kissing you. You’ve never been kissed before—not like this.

Her teeth dig in, needling at the meat of your throat until it’s mottled and bruised. Then her lips come up to yours. At first, you breathe into her mouth to give her oxygen. Jinx pulls back, grips your jaw, and shakes you slightly. Then her lips return to yours, applying pressure until you open your mouth and allow her tongue in. She licks at your teeth, tracing the points as she holds you to her.

You feel lightheaded, disoriented. You feel good; you want more of her. After a long while, she breaks the contact. Her thumb settles at the base of your throat, slipping to the side to play with your gills. You trill sharply, and she laughs. You don’t want to say it, but you know—you want it to stay this way forever.

Jinx takes her shell from where she had placed it on her stomach. She allows it back into her throat, breathing in deeply. Then she lifts her hands and signs to you—clumsy but earnest.

Yes. You have changed me. It is a symptom of love.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

"I used to think I had to be loud," she tells you one night, floating on her back in the shallow parts of the grotto. Her hair fans out around her head like spilled ink, and you can't help but run your fingers through it, watching the way it parts around your hands. "Had to be crazy, had to be Jinx, because if I wasn't, then I'd have to be... her. The girl I was before. And she was weak. She got left behind."

You hum softly, the crystals below resonating in harmony. "Perhaps she wasn't weak," you suggest, tracing the constellation of freckles on her shoulder. "Perhaps she was just unfinished, like a pearl before the ocean completes its formation."

She turns to look at you then, the emotion in her eyes making your heart beat in that strange double rhythm that only happens when she's near.

"Is that what you're doing?" she asks. "Finishing me?"

You shake your head, pulling her closer until she's cradled against your chest, her back to your front, both of you suspended in the gentle current. "No one can complete you but yourself. I'm just... holding the space for you to do it.”

She's quiet for so long you think she might have fallen asleep. Then: "I’m in love with you." Her voice is barely a whisper, as if the words might shatter the peace.

Instead of answering, you press your lips to her shoulder, right where a new tattoo is healing—a pattern of waves and crystals mirroring your own scales. You helped her design it, watching in fascination as she used her clever hands to create the automaton.

"For us," you tell her, "it is different. We don't fall in love the way humans do. There's less emphasis on choices. It’s more like... finding a current that matches your own, something that pulls you in the same direction for the rest of your life. I've been swimming in your current since the day you arrived. There’s a vibration you release, deep inside me. You set it off, again and again."

Your mouth works oddly around the word "belly." She smiles at your struggle, turning in your embrace to press her forehead to yours in the way she knows you love. Her hands find your face, and you press a kiss to her fingers, grazing your teeth over her thumb. She shivers, captures your mouth briefly, then tucks herself back against you. Drowsy, she begins to dream and you let her, drifting your body lazily along the stretch of water to rock her.

It is then that you hear them—footsteps on stone, careful and measured. You recognize them instantly: the heavy tread of the enforcer, the lighter step of her companion. They've been searching for months, following rumors of blue hair seen in the Undercity's depths.

Jinx doesn't hear them, not yet. She’s drifting in that peaceful place between wakefulness and sleep, her body trustingly pliant in your embrace. She’d had an episode before this—memories of fire leaving her shaking for hours. But now she's quiet, her breathing synced with the gentle lap of water against stone.

You sense her presence before you see her, a disturbance in the air that makes the algae pulse brighter. The Sister. Her presence feels much like Jinx’s but more weathered, carrying the weight of blood. It catches in your throat unpleasantly, making you want to cough. Her footsteps falter at the grotto's entrance. The other one—Caitlyn, you recall—steadies her with a touch, but neither makes a sound.

They stand frozen at the sight before them: Jinx floating in the ethereal water, her hair unbound and threaded with living light, her face peaceful in a way they've never seen. Your tail curls protectively around her legs beneath the surface, scales catching and reflecting the cavern's natural light until it seems like you're both in some unreachable heaven. You bare your teeth to shatter the fantasy.

The Sister’s sharp intake of breath echoes off the stone. Jinx stirs slightly, but you soothe her with a soft hum, reworking her lullaby until the water itself vibrates in harmony. Her fingers tighten briefly on your arms before relaxing again.

When you meet the Sister’s eyes over Jinx's shoulder, you see tears tracking silently down her face. There's recognition there, and grief, and something like hope. You see the moment she understands what you are—not just a creature of the deep but a guardian. Her sister’s keeper; her sister’s mate.

Caitlyn moves forward as if to speak, but Violet—yes, Violet—stops her with a gentle touch. They watch as you shift slightly, letting them see how Jinx's newest tattoos mirror your own patterns—not random splashes of pain and memory but flowing lines that speak of partnership, of flesh and form meant to slot into one another.

A soft noise escapes Violet’s throat, something between a sob and a laugh. Jinx stirs again, and this time you let your gaze drop deliberately to her face, your webbed hands smoothing over her shoulders in a gesture that couldn't be more clear: She is safe here. She is loved here.

You raise a hand, your eyes slipping into their true state to make your threat clear. You know the Piltover girl will understand; her home is the home of poachers. Safe, you sign. Then, Go.

The Sister nods once, tears still falling. Her hand finds Caitlyn's and squeezes hard. You watch understanding pass between them—the recognition that sometimes healing happens in strange places, that sometimes love wears unfamiliar, frightening faces.

They turn to leave, but at the last moment, Violet looks back. Her lips form words you can read even across the distance: Thank you. Only when their footsteps fade completely do you press a kiss to Jinx's temple, tasting the salt of tears that aren’t your own.

"Are they gone?" Jinx's voice is quiet, still heavy with sleep.

"Yes," you answer honestly, because you've never lied to her and won’t start now.

She turns in your embrace, pressing her face into your neck where your scales fade into skin. "I'm not ready," she whispers. "Not yet."

"You can stay here," you promise, letting your tail wrap more securely around her. "For as long as you need. But you will not lose me. I will not lose you.”

She lifts her head to look at you, and her eyes are like silver dollars. You mimic her blinking for what must be the millionth time. Open, close. Close and open. She smiles at this. You smile, hollowing your throat to coo, mimicking the call of a bird of paradise. She laughs now; you are pleased.

 "Tell me again," she murmurs. "About your promise."

Your tail flicks as you nod.

“I will never leave; I will only follow,” you begin. The words are heavy, sacred mating rites belonging solely to your tribe. “The water flows across the earth; it is immovable. It is the human that will fade, not the earth, not myself. We will both replenish. Where you go, I will be there—past death and beyond.

Jinx rises, cupping your face firmly, her touch restricting your movement.

“Promise?” she asks, her voice dipping low, laced with danger.

“I promise.”

She presses her lips to your neck, her teeth sinking in as always. You let out a high, trembling sound, your control slipping. Suddenly, you’re human, treading water. Jinx hooks an arm beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as the water renders you weightless.

“I promise.”

You repeat it, over and over.

IpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseI promiseI promise—

Jinx drags you from the grotto, positioning herself over you. Your words are still spilling out like a mantra.

“I know,” she murmurs.

Her warm, sugary lips cover yours, silencing you. She swallows you down.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ special taglist: @thatgrlnany @bubblestrbls @iluvwomensm @so-calledstr8 @the-record @blackdykegirlblogger @bugsinmypantsono @drgnflyteabox @montmorencys @rottngrl3 @vifilms @stupendousbananasharkcop @vminswrld @sevslefthand @fleshunger @soniiyi @sunhurtz @shootingc @diorblusher @nightlyconfusion @darkerstarsstuff @dollinin @16novvs @reign-azzz

[des2dream]

"Wait....mirrors were made with silver? Wouldn't that make a lot of people rich back in the day? What if I had silver on me right now? How old are you? Were you around during the 1950s? Can you turn into a bat? Please tell me you can turn into a bat! Wait, aren't bats blind? How can you hypnotize me if you're blind?"

"Ugh! Gods! What are they teaching you in these modern day schoolhouses? You'd think they'd be giving you accurate information in this day and age!"

"Can garlic kill you?"

"NO! That's just a bloody myth!"

"Is it true that you have this ongoing rivalry with vampires?"

"I wouldn't say 'rivalry'. Our clans don't interact that much."

"Do you sparkle in the sunlight or in the moonlight?"

"Uh...."

"Are there any more of you? Have you come to suck the blood out of every human on Earth, but you're also fighting with a beautiful vampire slayer who vows to save the world?"

"What?"

"Are you a high school student? Do you go to school with other vampires, skeletons, werewolves, ghosts, mummies, and gargoyles, but you wear fashionable outfits so good it'll make boring ordinary wardrobes cry?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're going on about!"

"Oh!...OH!....I know why you're here! But....Maybe....I shouldn't say! I wouldn't want to spoil your plans."

"No, please. Tell me. I can't wait to see how you figure me out."

"You sly devil! You're here for a lover, aren't you? You were just minding you own business looking for your next victim until you saw me and suddenly, you feel this strange feeling you've never felt since....umm...since you last felt love. So you came to my window here to claim me all for yourself! I'm very flattered, but I already have a whole line of suitors asking for me so maybe I'll consider if you behave. Then again, a human dating a vampire is pretty spicy..."

"My dear, you couldn't be more wrong even if you tried."

"Really? Jeez! Twilight, Monster High, and Buffy The Vampire Slayer made it sound more interesting."

"Do I need to know what any of those are or what they even mean?"

"Hmm. I guess I'm not the only one who needs to be educated in this day and age."

"You're a vampire?! Why can I see you in the mirror then?!" "You idiot, mirrors haven't been using silver since the 1950s!!"

[captain-huggy-bear]

A Little Misunderstanding

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lil' angsty at points, but ends sweet, lots of mutual pining and two idiots not realising the other is also in love with the other, meddling mothers (for the best this time)

Summary: Your parents assume that Quinn, the man you mention over the phone all the time, is in fact your boyfriend. He's very much not, but Quinn thinks its funny to pretend he is...until it gets a little too real and maybe some truths are told and feelings are aired.

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested fake dating to lovers with Quinn, I had this idea which is a little different from the usual fake dating so I hope its okay and you still like it 😊

Tried to keep it ambiguous as to where the reader originated from so that us UK girlies can relate as well as anyone else not from Vancouver and/or Canada.

Reminder I typically use UK spellings because I'm English so...don't come at me if you wish I spelt it the US away. If I have to read US spellings all the time, you can handle the odd UK spelling

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"When does your flight get in?" You balance your phone between your shoulder and ear, picking up a stray sock that had fallen out of your laundry basket as you attempt to tidy your apartment.

"7am your time, sweetheart, remember?" Your mother's voice rings clear down the line, familiar and warm. It's been a while since you saw either of your parents. You having moved all the way to Vancouver, more miles than you could count from your birthplace and hometown around two years ago. You were excited to have them finally able to come out and stay with you for a week, they'd never been to see you, and it had been a while since you'd been able to see your parents, not having time to fly to see them. While you were glad for the move to Vancouver, living in a completely different place away from your family wasn't always the easiest thing in the world. You so often felt like you were having to fend for yourself without much of a support network. Luckily you'd made some good friends in the time you'd been in Van.

"Quinn offered to come with me to pick you and dad up, we'll be there waiting for you so don't worry about getting an Uber." You dropped Quinn's name casually because that's what it was, he was just another part of your existence. Your friend, who admittedly you had a small crush on, but just your friend nonetheless. Just because you thought he was beautiful and wanted to kiss him didn't mean you were allowed to kiss him or that he'd even want to kiss you. He was a friend who happened to be a man and you both happened to be single. This had not changed for two years and wasn't likely to any time soon.

"Oh, Quinn'll be there?" Your mother's voice was suddenly more upbeat, excited. She'd been eager to meet Quinn for months now, you're not sure why she finally took an interest in one of your friends but you can't help but be glad. Quinn had become a massive part of your life, a support network you very much needed when you'd first come to a strange new place all by yourself. He was part of the fabric of your life now, and you knew he'd charm your parents without even thinking about it. It shouldn't matter to you that your parents like your friend, its not like Quinn was your boyfriend, but it did matter to you. You wanted them to like him as much as you did because you wanted him around for the foreseeable future.

"Yeah, I mentioned you were coming to visit the other day and his car is bigger than mine, so he offered to come along, he has to get up early most days anyway so he's not too bothered by it." It helped that Quinn had a couple of days off, but still you were thankful. He could have spent his rare enough free time doing something much more enjoyable than helping you pick your parents up from the airport.

"Your father and I look forward to meeting him, we've heard so much about him, darling!"

There's something about your mother's tone that makes you stop for a second suddenly feeling a little awkward about the whole thing. Maybe it's just how eager she is or maybe it's something else, but there's a little red flag waving in the back of your mind with some small print on that you just can't quite read yet.

"Right...um, look I'll see you tomorrow morning then? I gotta get everything ready for you guys."

"Of course, of course! We love you!"

"Love you too, mum."

"You're sure you don't mind?" You look over at Quinn from the passenger seat, the two of you look exhausted, big bags under your eyes and even bigger hoodies to hide in because a 5am wake up to get to the airport in time was just a little much for both of you. This early in the morning it's still dark and the streetlights do something to Quinn's face that makes him even more handsome than usual, even as he looks like he might fall back asleep at any minute. It doesn't help that his scruff has grown out or that his hair is in those perfect waves he always seems to get even when he's just taken his bucket off.

"I wouldn't have offered if I did, besides the amount of time we spend together isn't it about time I met your parents? You've met mine." He smiles over at you, cheeky, the sort of Quinn most people didn't see. It's silly that it makes your cheeks feel warm, he's just your friend. You shouldn't be flustered by him.

"Your parents are at as many of your games as possible, of course I've met them."

"So are you. Sue me for wanting to meet the parents of one of my best friends."

"I'm your best friend?" You lean your head back on the headrest, tilting slightly to grin at him all silly. Quinn can see it from the corner of his eye and as much as it's ridiculous, that little grin makes you even more beautiful than normal.

"One of." He rolls his eyes at you, partly because of your silliness and partly rolling his eyes at himself. You're his friend. He shouldn't feel this way about you, men can have female friends...he just can't seem to have you as a female friend without wanting to kiss you at any given opportunity. It's becoming difficult, even more so in the early morning when the low light level puts your face in stark contrast and your hoodie, one of his, makes you look so cozy and sweet.

"That's just your way of avoiding admitting how much you love me and need me in your life."

Quinn's cheeks flush bright red, so bright that even the low light can't hide it nor hide the way he bites back a smile at you, eyes fixed on the road and the last few miles to the airport.

"...Shut up."

The silence that fills the car is comfortable, the sort that comes about from spending so much time together. You have friends that aren't Quinn, of course you do, but Quinn had been your first friend in Vancouver. He'd shown you around and made time for you in his incredibly busy schedule. You were often the first person he saw when he came off a roadie and the last person to see him before he left for one. There were nights when you stayed round Quinn's after a game or vice versa. You spent so much time together that you simply coexisted, being around Quinn was as easy as breathing. You rarely argued or disagreed and when you did it was always resolved properly. You simply worked. There wasn't ever much to think about with Quinn. You could just...shut off.

"Thank you, though...seriously." You take a moment, thinking how to word your next few thoughts, your warning as the signs for the airport come into full view, "Just, my mum seems really eager to meet you so...just brace yourself."

"Eager?"

"You know when your parents are excited to meet a new partner?" You think back to the few times you'd introduced a boyfriend to your mum, the excitement that she exuded...it was starting to concern you that she was that excited to just meet your friend. Because that's all Quinn was. Your friend. Not your boyfriend. Your friend, you remind yourself, even as he looks so good smiling over at you with his beard. He'd let it grow out just enough that he looked rugged and mature.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she's that sort of excited which is really weird...she normally doesn't' care that much about my friends. Just, sorry, if she's really weird about it?" It's awkward enough talking about, you and Quinn have always stayed firmly platonic, you didn't talk about the fact that people assumed you were dating or even the concept of it. Talking about it felt...it felt like you were opening the curtains up, letting him see in a little too far.

"You didn't tell her we were married or something, did you?"

"Quinn! Shut up!" He laughs so loud that you can't actually be that mad at him, not when he's grinning at you like that, not when he's been so stressed as of late about the performance of his team. Even if it's at your expense.

"What? Just checking! For all I know you could have told her we got married in Vegas during one of my games or something?"

"If I'm telling my mum I'm married to you, it'll be because I'm actually married to you, you idiot." You roll your eyes at him, arms crossing over your chest as you turn to look out the window.

"Oh, so you do want to marry me?" He's joking, but he's not...he's thought about it. There's not a day that Quinn hasn't thought about what it would be like to be yours and you be his, not since he met you...and then promptly managed to land himself so far into the friendzone that he was scared to crawl his way out lest he leave you behind in the process.

"...I hate you."

"No you don't." His voice is singsong in intonation and sweet and he's right because you love him and it hurts...god, it hurts how much you love someone you can't have. Someone you see every day, someone who is so deeply ingrained in your life that removing him would be like carving a hole into your own chest.

You just sit and glare at him, even as a heavy sort of sadness hits, as he pulls up into one of the parking bays for collecting passengers.

It's okay that he's just your friend, you remind yourself as you get out of the car. It's okay because he's the best friend you could ask for, he's here at 6.45 am in the morning to collect your parents from the airport, not because he was asked or because he had to, but because he wanted to. You can live with loving him in silence, so long as you always have him around.

"I think they're over this way, probably, near gate 1?" You're just getting your bearings, trying to figure out roughly where your parents will come out at after they find their things from baggage claim when you hear it.

"My baby!" The squeal of a middle aged woman who hasn't seen her daughter in far too long pierces the air. You barely have time to brace yourself for impact before your mother is wrapping you up in a gigantic hug and pressing as many kisses to your face as possible, you know without a doubt her signature mauve lipstick is smudged all across your skin.

Your father stands behind her, rolling his eyes in amusement but the smile he gives you is no less warm, "Hey there, princess."

"Hi, mum, hi, dad," You pull yourself free from your mother just long enough to get a long awaited hug from your father, big and warm and so familiar that you almost feel like crying. How long has it been since you last hugged your dad? Half a year? Nine months? Longer? You sometimes don't realise how much you miss something until you get it back.

When you turn back around your mother is already pulling Quinn into a hug that he accepts, if a tad awkwardly, his hands patting her on the back like he's not quite sure how hugs work.

She has his face in her hands before you can intervene, overly familiar and friendly as she grins up at him like he's made her day just by existing. "You must be Quinn, Y/N's boyfriend..."

"Oh, he's n-" You're pretty sure your eyes bug out of your head, startled by the suggestion because at no point in the last few years of living in Vancouver had you ever called Quinn your boyfriend. Ever.

You're cut off by Quinn who's grinning at you wickedly over the top of your mother's head like he's just been giving the greatest Christmas present he could ever ask for and in that moment you know...you know that he is going to make your life very difficult with this tiny piece of information.

"Yeah, hi, nice to meet, the boyfriend, that's me." God, he wishes it was true. There's nothing more he wants in that moment than to be able to say to your mom that you are 100% his girlfriend, but he can't...he can, however, enjoy the roleplaying while it lasts. He can't really stop himself, not when you look so aghast at your mother calling him your boyfriend, not when he can use this to tease you for at least the next 30 years. He grew up with 2 brothers, sue him for taking advantage of the situation.

"Quinn!"

"What? Am I not allowed to call myself your boyfriend anymore?" He sidles up to you, slipping out from your mother's grip to pull you into his side. His arm rests naturally over your shoulder, yours finding his waist, and it is natural...because you've done this a million times before. The kiss he presses to your hair is new though, different and as much as your mum clearly believes the ruse, you can see your father just looks amused. Something tells you he knows this is all an act, but he finds it enjoyable to watch. Typical. No support from him when you need it most. Dads.

"Oh, she's just grouchy in the mornings, has been ever since she was a baby!" Your mother looks at the two of you with such pride that you're certain her heart actually might break when she finds out Quinn isn't actually your boyfriend. You've never seen her look so happy with your choice in a man before and you're certain she won't be able to cope when you have to inevitably tell her that it was either a) a lie or b) that Quinn just wasn't the guy for you (another lie just to make your life more complicated).

"Mum!"

"Oh don't worry, I know just how grouchy my baby can be in the mornings." This time he presses a kiss to your cheek and when he does, you hiss lowly in his ear, 'I'm going to kill you.' and Quinn can't help but laugh at you, biting his lip at how much fun he's having riling you up.

"Here let me take your bags, Mrs Y/L/N," Quinn's bending down before your mother can even begin to protest, her carry on backpack being slung over his shoulder and pulling up the handle of her suitcase to wheel it behind him.

"Oh, you don't have to, Quinn!"

"I insist." He knows he's making it harder on you, can see the look you give him because he's just going to make your mother fall in love with him. But, even as he enjoys riling you up, he was also raised right and he's not letting your mother carry her own bags.

Your mother hangs back with you while your father and Quinn start walking ahead with the suitcases. She slips her arm through yours walking with you to keep up, as she does so she does a very bad attempt at whispering. The sort of whispering that means you know Quinn can hear every word and is probably enjoying it immensely.

"He's such a gentleman..."

"Yeah, a real gentleman." You mutter sarcastically, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall in a silent laugh that he's no doubt doing his best to swallow down.

"Don't be grumpy, he's just being sweet on you. You should be glad for such a loving boyfriend..." Your mother scolds you before raising her voice back to normal, Quinn and your father slowing down slightly to help keep the four of you together, "So, Quinn, my daughter tells me you're a hockey player?"

"Yeah, you talk about me, baby?" Quinn's grin is wide, and you can't help the warmth that fills your entire face because you can't actually deny it. You talk about Quinn all the time, he's your best friend and whenever your mother phones, you inevitably talk about him. Whether it was a game of his you went to or a coffee place you'd visited together or gala he'd invited you to. Maybe, you talked about him too much? Maybe, it was obvious in the way you talked about him that you loved him? Maybe that's why your mother had made such a large assumption about your relationship status. Maybe this was your fault, why wouldn't she assume you were dating?

"She talks about you all the time. Quinn this, Quinn that...did you know that Quinn did this today and broke this record?"

"Mum..." You groan out, looking to your dad for help but all he does is shrug his shoulders at you, amusement bright in his eyes. Even if he could do something you know he wouldn't because he's clearly enjoying your torture.

Quinn can't help it, the tables seem to reverse. You're embarrassed still, but now he is too, bright red in the face, ears flushed the colour of a fire engine and a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. All because you talk about him to your parents...you talk about him when he's not around...he feels like a twelve year old, giddy because his crush smiled at him for the first time.

"I play for the NHL."

"Vancouver Canucks, wasn't it?" Your mother asks as the four of you step out into the cold Canadian air, her attention making Quinn squirm and you smile, enjoying the discomfort being swapped around for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm the captain of the team." He smiles at your mother awkwardly as he opens the boot of the car and starts to pile in the suitcases, organising them in just the right way that they fit without hassle.

Your father chimes in as he lifts his own suitcase into the back, Quinn helping him shove it back further, "That's impressive, I used to play field hockey myself, never got out of the amateur league but got a few bruises in my time. You had an injury recently right?"

You still remember phoning your mum to talk about it, at first worried and then over time growing more and more frustrated with how sullen Quinn was being. He'd grown restless from not being able to play hockey and you'd been his distraction, a distraction that had grown fed up with his moping no matter how much you loved him.

"I've had a few this year, most recently my hand." He raises his braced hand, the brace a point of annoyance to him at this point in time. He was itching to be done with it, but put up with it because it meant he could still play hockey at the moment.

"Oh, you shouldn't have been carrying my bag then, Quinn!" Your mother fusses over him, flapping about as if she might have a miracle cure for his hand injury.

"Honestly, it's fine! It looks worse than it is, I promise. I wouldn't get away with it otherwise, this one would kill me." He nods his head at you as he closes the boot, opening one of the backdoors for your mother to slide inside.

"Damn right I'd kill you, I cannot take more days of you moping that you can't play hockey and that you're bored despite my amazing company."

"You know I enjoyed spending time with you, sweetheart...but..."

"But, you can't live without hockey, yeah, I know..."

He follows you round to the passenger side door, opening it for you like a gentleman and letting you slide inside. You find yourself enjoying the attention even as you catch your mother's eye in the rear view mirror, a little smirk reaching her lips as she watches Quinn buckle you in. Something he does from time to time when he's feeling particularly sweet...because he was a good friend.

"So, Quinn, how did you meet our daughter? I'm not sure she ever mentioned it?"

The entire ride home is filled with your mother peppering Quinn with questions, encouraging him to talk more and more about your 'relationship'. Everything from when you first met to the first date you went on (which Quinn told her was the first time he took you ice skating, you were under the impression that that was a friendly family skate event and most certainly not a date).

The conversation lulls while you set your parents up in your spare bedroom, helping them settle themselves and showing them around your apartment. They hadn't ever seen it in person and they spent half the time cooing over your choices, the photos of family and friends on the wall, the ones of you and Quinn, as well as your mother checking your fridge and telling you to buy more vegetables.

It's as you're sitting down to a breakfast of pre-bought croissants and pain au chocolat that your mother restarts her question. This time even more invasive than the first.

"So Quinn, when did you know?"

"Mm? Know what?" Your best friend looks at your mother with furrowed brows, taking a sip of his orange juice and almost choking on it when she proceeds to clarify her question.

"When you loved my daughter."

There's a long beat of silence where your eyes stay fixated on your plate, watching your own hands intently as you spread Nutella inside your croissant, far too focused on that to be anything casual or calm. You're certain you're going to be sick because he doesn't love you but you love him and your poor mother is so oblivious and this...this is going too far, it feels like it's gone too far.

"Expected answer or honest answer?"

"Honest answer."

"The second week I knew her." Your head snaps up with a start only to find Quinn looking directly at you, green eyes crinkling softly at the corners. "She heard that I had been hurt on the ice the night before and she stormed round my apartment with a bunch of food, medicine and a blanket. Spent the whole day looking after me and making me watch 90s movies I hadn't watched growing up. No one outside my family had ever done that for me before...it made me realise that if I wasn't already in love, I would be pretty quick." You almost believe him, the way he looks at you, the way he speaks so softly. Almost.

You look down at your plate, tears welling in your eyes because you know he doesn't mean it. He's spinning a yarn for your mother and it hurts that he would go that far when you both know this is all some ruse he's decided to pull. You swallow hard and take a bite of your croissant, refusing to look at him for the rest of breakfast.

You won't meet his eyes until he goes to leave after breakfast, your parents hanging back so you can say goodbye to your 'boyfriend'.

"Mind if I come over after dinner? We could watch a movie with your parents?"

"Quinn..." You go to challenge him on his behaviour today, but the words won't come out.

"What?"

"Nothing...uh, sure, after dinner?"

"After dinner, baby."

You want to tell him off as he says it, as he presses a kiss to your cheek so your parents can see because you aren't his baby and he's hurting you. He's hurting you without realising it because you so desperately want to be his baby. But, you don't. You just watch him walk away down the corridor of your apartment building and out of sight before getting ready to show your parents around Vancouver for the day.

You try to put the whole thing out of your mind throughout the day, showing your parents the sights of Vancouver, including the arena...but it's hard when they keep bringing Quinn back up and asking about your feelings. They probe you for half the day and it's emotionally exhausting balancing the truth with the half-truth, even more so knowing that they're going to be just as disappointed as you are when they realise your relationship with Quinn is just a sham, a charade, a fake.

Eventually they seem to grow bored of talking about the topic, however, and dinner goes relatively smoothly, you taking them to a nice restaurant Quinn had shown you back in your first couple of months in Vancouver. Even that feels bittersweet though, filled with memories of the two of you dining together. You can't help but feel like the whole issue needs addressing as you get them back home and pop a film on ready for Quinn's arrival.

When he arrives he continues the act as if it isn't one, greeting you at the door with a kiss to the cheek and pulling you down onto the loveseat opposite your parents, curling one arm around your shoulders and urging you to lay against him, your cheek pressed into his chest. In some ways it's familiar, not an act, because you cuddle for movies all time, completely platonically of course, but both of you are touchy feely and it's always been part of your dynamic. In others though? The way he talks to you, the pet names, kisses to your hair, that is all new, all a way to show your parents he's the 'doting boyfriend', even though he's not your boyfriend at all.

Your parents lap it up, every now and then you catch them smiling at each other and then over to the two of you and you can't help but feel heavy with it. With this feeling of unrequited affection. You love Quinn, you've known that for a while now, but it was easy to be around him because you didn't need to address it. You could love him in silence and from afar...you had never considered how hard it would become when what you wanted most was being dangled in front of you like a carrot on a string.

Quinn has a similar dilemma going on in his own head. He's always known he loved you more than a friend, even when you barely knew each other...had he been braver he would have asked for your number for a date that first day, not so that he could show you around a new city as a 'friend'. But, he'd been a coward and since then he'd continued to be. He enjoyed every ounce of affection he got from you, every hug, every cuddle, ever time you held his arm at an event, all while feeling like that had to be enough...now he's had more? He's not sure it'll ever be enough, he's greedy for you. Greedy for your affection, your attention, greedy in the way he wants to keep kissing you, keeping calling you sweet names and greedy for the way you grow bashful. Greedy for more than just being your friend...he's given himself a taste of what life could be like and now he can't forget it.

It's halfway through the movie, your legs slung over Quinn's lap and his fingers carding through the ends of your hair when your parents stand with a groan from the other couch.

"Princess?" You lift your head to look at your father, who's stretching out his back after sitting for so long.

"Yeah, dad?"

"Your mother and I are getting a little tired...we're going to go to bed, if that's alright with you two?"

"Of course, don't let us keep you up." Quinn confirms your own thoughts as well, telling your parents it's not problem at all. It's all so...so domestic.

Your dad presses a kiss to the top of your head, as does your mother, before yourself and Quinn wish them goodnight. You wait until you see the door to the spare room start to close, not waiting for it to do so fully, before turning to Quinn. You pull out of his arms, the missing warmth of you an immediate loss to him, but it has him sitting up straight and taking you seriously.

Your face is sullen, sad, eyebrows pinched, mouth turned down into a frown and he's alarmed to see that your eyes are glassy like you might cry.

"Why on earth would you let my parents think we're dating? Why would you tell my mother you're in love with me?" You're certain you're going to cry, angry, frustrated and sad all in one. Lovesick because it hurts to hear him tell your mother he was in love with you when you know he's not.

"Why not?" He frowns at you, hands reaching out but you keep just out of reach as if touching him is the last thing you want. You've never shied away from Quinn's touch and he recoils, breathing a little heavier out of anxious worry that he's upset you, that he's fucked this up. Maybe you've been uncomfortable with his touch all day? Has he been making you uncomfortable all day? Is he one of those guys?

"Because we're not dating and you're not in love with me, Quinn. My mother is certain we're going to get married and I'll stop being an old spinster! You're getting her hopes up." The unspoken words lay heavy on your tongue, 'you're getting my hopes up', you want to say.

"Who said I didn't love you? Who said I didn't want to marry you?" The look he gives you isn't the cheeky one he's had all day, it's not joking or silly, it's dead serious. He scoots closer to you, but doesn't reach out for you this time. But, Quinn can't help but want to be close to you, to be drawn into your orbit, into your gravity.

"Quinn..."

"What?"

"You're being mean..." Your voice is filled with tears, wet, pathetic sounding and you choke back a sob as a tear falls down your cheek because he's being so mean...he can't dangle that in front of you, everything you've ever wanted, not when he doesn't actually mean it.

He realises in that moment that you don't believe him. You believe he's spent the entire morning and evening telling lies, saying that he loves you when he doesn't, that you're that important to him when you aren't. You believe he's being mean because you don't believe him, that the tears are because you think he's holding this thing, this idea out in front of you, only to snatch it away.

"Look, I said a lot today...but none of it was a lie." He can't help himself this time, hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away that pesky tear that shouldn't have been there in the first place. It's the way you lean into his touch that brings him a sense of confidence, of relief, you wouldn't do that if you didn't want him touching you.

"I know our first date wasn't a date, just a stupid family skate I was too scared to ask you out to as more than just a friend. I wish it had been a date and I wish I had been brave enough from the start to tell you I didn't just want to be your friend."

"Quinn..."

"And I was telling the truth...when your mother asked me when I fell in love with you." He tugs you closer, until your legs are back over his lap and your practically sitting on top of him, arms wrapping around your lower back and pulling you closer. The way he stares up at you is nothing short of reverent.

"Q..."

"The second week we knew each other you came to look after me when no one else did...and I knew...I knew that I was going to love you and that I was stupid for not asking you out in the first place...but I was...I was too scared to say anything. I didn't want to lose my new friend...I thought..." He hesitates, tongue coming out to nervously brush against his bottom lip, capturing your attention like a magpie with a shiny button.

"You thought?" You're whispering, quiet as if to speak any louder might scare him, might disrupt this little bubble you've found yourself in.

"I thought having a tiny bit of you...any bit, was better than having none of you at all." Quinn confesses, shifting you on his lap as your legs fall either side of his hips until you're so close your noses brush.

"Is it?"

"It was...for a bit..." It's self-deprecating, sardonic, like he finds himself ridiculous, foolish.

"And now?"

"And now I've had a taste of what it's like to love you, to be able to kiss you and hold you...call you mine...and now I'm greedy and it's not enough...Baby, it'll never be enough."

"You...you love me?" It's like even after all of this, everything he's said, every tender touch, you still don't quite believe him. It's hard to believe that everything you've ever wanted is sat in the palm of your hand just waiting for you to capture it, to take it. That your feelings, the ones you believed were unrequited for two years, were actually returned all along.

"I love you...and...um, if...if you'll have me, maybe I could be your real boyfriend this time?" His face is bright red, so warm to the touch when you're fingers reach out to trace his cheeks that you're surprised he doesn't combust.

"I'd like that...I...I love you too,"

"So...I'm your boyfriend?" He says it like he doesn't quite believe it, the beauty mark on his cheek moving as he grins up at you giddy like a little kid getting his first bag of sweets.

"You're my boyfriend." You press a kiss to that beauty mark without overthinking it...because you can now, because now it's not a lie when you tell your parents he's your boyfriend, because now you're allowed to kiss him and hold him and tell him how much you love him.

"Fuck...that sounds good."

He can't help but just stare up at you from where you're straddling his lap. The healthy glow to your skin, the soft smile directed down at him, the way you seem to curl into him like you're not close enough even now. God, you're beautiful and you're his...you're finally his and he's yours and...and he can't comprehend that the thing he wanted to happen for so long has finally happened. What had he been scared of all this time? He could have been with you for two years, instead he'd squandered it out of fear...

"Quinn?" Your voice is soft, melodic, so so sweet that almost closes his eyes at the sound.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Kiss me?" You whisper as if it's shameful to ask, as if you've asked for something more sordid than a simple kiss...your first kiss together at that.

"Anything for my girl."

He's gentle in the way he cups your neck and jaw with one large hand, thumb pressing just below your jaw bone as he pulls you in. There's nothing rushed about the way Quinn presses your lips together, the smooth glide of his bottom lip against your top. Even the way his tongue brushes against your lip until you open up for him is slow, steady, adoring. You can't help the way you sigh into him, fingers gliding through dark chocolate strands, eyes closing shut with the sense of home, sense of relief that you find in him.

The two of you lose yourselves in each other, slow kisses, wandering hands, nothing too extreme, but a new found intimacy that you're finally allowed to indulge in before you curl back up together to watch the remainder of the movie. Watch being a loose term for what you're really doing.

"Did you know?" Your father turns his eyes away from the scene outside the spare bedroom, the way you're curled up in Quinn's arms like you were always supposed to be there. Neither of you realising that the spare bedroom door had never fully closed, both your parents eavesdropping like Samwise Gamgee.

"That they weren't actually together, dear?" Your mother looks sly and devious as she looks over at her husband. The face of the woman he loves, but also fears in equal measure.

"Yes."

"Of course I knew...but I figured they could both use a shove in the right direction, I mean, look at them?" Your parents both turn to watch the two of you, the way you curl up together on the couch is the epitome of young love. There's no real watching of a movie happening, instead Quinn's fingers are rubbing circles into your shoulder, while you look up at him lovingly from where you're curled against his chest. Every now and then he dips his head down to press a kiss against your forehead, and each time you giggle, face pressing briefly into his neck. The giddy feeling of a new, fresh love, making film watching the least of your interests.

"They just needed a little push." Both your parents smile at each other even as your father playfully scolds his wife, "You're a meddlesome woman."

"And you love me for it."

"Yes, yes I do."

Perhaps it took a bit of meddling, a fake misunderstanding, but that would be their little secret...at least for now. Your mother was rather looking forward to seeing you squirm in the future as you reveal the truth, that you hadn't actually been dating Quinn as long as you said. Yes, she certainly was happy to help, but she also was still your mother and lying to your mother was certainly not the done thing. A little squirming was good for you sometimes, but first, she'd let you enjoy the fresh bloom of love...and she'd go easy on you.

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

how do you find public spaces to fuck (re:the rooftop + dyke)?

sincerely, horny lez

Good question, I will answer it in this response eventually, but first, you have to sit through me intellectually jerking myself off for a moment because I think it may provide some useful perspective.

Public sex has been part of my life for as long as I've been having physical sex at all. As an adolescent it was mostly out of necessity, but these days it's mostly out of convenience. The vast majority of the sex I've had in the last year or two has been public.

I think it's important to clarify that for me at least, public sex is not an act of exhibitionism. If there's any sort of philosophy behind it besides sheer utility, I'd say it's something like not allowing our society's mores and hangups around sex and privacy dictate the terms on how and where we (especially as gay people) engage with our sexuality.

I think there's this gut impulse many people have--including many gay people--around public sex, and I think it speaks to the reactionary view of human sexuality that is unfortunately the stock standard in these times. For many, the idea of people having sex in public gives them some sort of 'ick' that they can't seem to articulate.

Often discussions around public sex are framed like this: "if I walked in on people having sex, it would make me uncomfortable, I didn't consent to that, so people should not be having sex in public." It would be fairly reasonable to experience discomfort in this imagined scenario--in fact, I think most people probably would--and that discomfort isn't a problem. The problem is that the premise assumes a few crucial points, notably that 1. Walking in on public sex is a common occurrence and/or the desired outcome for those engaging in it 2. Discomfort is a form of harm 3. Exposure to (non-hegemonic) human sexuality is capable of causing some kind of nebulous psychic damage to the witness.

To the first point: in my decade or so of regular public sex, I can only think of one instance where I was actually walked in on. It was an alley off of a major road and probably only at around 1030p. I mention this because we absolutely would have chosen a different, more secluded location/time if we were doing anything other than fully clothed kink and maybe some kissing, because again, the goal for most is not exhibitionism; no one really wants to be walked in on, so we choose locations where it is less likely that we will be.

To the second point, I have little to say besides that it simply isn't. Discomfort is an everyday part of life and is something all people experience regularly without calls to stop every potential source of it. So what is it about this topic that makes people react this way?

This leads us to the third point: non-hegemonic modes of sexuality are treated as degenerative and caustic and therefore must be hidden (or eradicated) entirely from the public sphere. It is the classic double standard; think of things like the "Don't Say Gay" or "DADT" laws or more broadly the attempt to remove even the mention of the existence of gays from curriculum. Most of the people who fight for such measures likely don't take the same issue or action with a 48 foot billboard for the local strip club or with a heterosexual couple kissing on screen.

And while the spot that people place the line may differ greatly, this ire against public sex still draws from the same well of reaction against perceived degeneracy that the fascist draws from. If this is not self evidently a negative thing to you, I have little I can say to convince you.

Some may be thinking 'okay, even if it is not harmful or degenerate, why do public sex?' To me, it is just as strange that so many keep their sex lives confined to the home and I could posit the same question. Neither way of doing things is any more natural or unnatural than the other, one is just the societal default. If it would bring you joy, why not engage in public sex?

The world is large, and if you know where to look, there are countless spaces you can carve out and stake the pervert's claim to. Alleyways, parks, bathrooms, rooftops, and beaches are the first to come to mind for me. To answer your question directly, you find them by making them and taking them.

Time is a large factor here as well. A given spot in a park at 9p may not be suitable, but might be more so by 11p, and even more so by 1a. My experience is that the later it gets, more spots become viable with less heavy precautions.

Another factor is coverage. An open field is riskier than behind a tree. The middle of an alley is riskier than behind a dumpster. You want to limit the amount of vectors through which you could be exposing yourself. I value coverage from sight lines over seclusion.

Something else you want to think about is whether or not you are on private property. If you are, it's possible that there are security personnel sitting in a car somewhere nearby or a resident who notices you. At that point, the issue is not even the sex, it's the fact you're there at all.

Finally, you always have to be ready to dip. Be aware of your surroundings as best you can, listen for cars and people, don't get too caught up in the moment that you're blinded. You gotta be ready to pull your pants up and walk quickly away. I'd rather be safe than sorry. If something's not right, get outta there. If you can't, well, don't have your dick out at least.

Anyway, all that to say go out and have fun. Good luck and enjoy yourself. The world has room for you to fit yourself into.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 8, A moment of bliss

Masterlist Word count: 3.5 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Hi everyone. Enjoy Sylus being a switch/bottom for this one. He won't be for every chapter, but he's desperate and you've been waiting for this sooooo... I do want to remind everyone that this is my first time writing a smutty story. I hope it makes sense. <3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

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'And then he slept over,' you tell Zayne over the phone and quickly add, 'we just cuddled. It was nice.' He doesn't need to say anything for you to know he disapproves. Just wait, he'll tell you that you shouldn't invite men you don't know over to your apartment. Especially not types like Sylus. 

'That's nice. He deserves something good in his life.' "What?!" 'Are you still there?' You probably stayed silent with your jaw on the floor a little too long. Maybe you shouldn't be too surprised. When you showed Zayne a picture of Sylus he looked physically pained, but not in a fearful way. It was empathetic. 

'Yes, yes, I'm still here, sorry. I expected you to lecture me on inviting strange men into my apartment,' you admit. 

'I would, but I know this man. I think he's a good one,' Zayne admits, 'I'm glad you ran into him. Seems the type for you.' Fair enough. Zayne has listened to you whine about men often enough to be glad you're finally actually like one. There's a knock at your door and a rush of nerves goes through your system. 

'Oh, that must be him,' you tell Zayne, 'I'll call you later, okay? We still need to set a date for our annual trip.' 

'Sure. I'll talk to you later.' His voice sounds amused, almost like he's smiling through the phone. You feel a little flustered. He probably picked up on your tone change when you heard the knocks on the door. 

'Bye.' You put your phone in your pocket and walk towards the door, stopping in front of the hallway mirror to check yourself one last time. Outfit, comfy but cute. Hair, eh, good enough. Makeup, minimal but nice. You pull the door open to reveal Sylus in a barely buttoned black blouse and slacks. Now you feel awfully underdressed in your jeans. Are you sure you agreed on dinner and a movie at his place? This looks like he's taking you to a 3-star dining and rented the whole cinema. 

But, you should have known he was going to be dressed like that. After all, it was the same outfit he wore in his newest video. The one he posted today, earlier than he usually does. In a way, you feel like he did it to tease you. Especially since it wasn't all that erotic. It was just him sitting back against the headboard of his bed with a book in his hand, reading the most utterly horny smutty chapter you've ever heard in your damn life. It nearly made you fall off your chair running to your room to masturbate, but you decided against it. The night's still young after all. 

The chapter stuck with you though. Because it wasn't all that horny because of the actual sex happening, but more because of the love between the characters. To be desired so carnally, to be loved so openly, is a fucking turn on. 

'You look beautiful,' he notes, taking all of your thoughts away with one look. The way his eyes rake over you, you feel like you're a marble statue in a museum. Loved, admired, valued, but most of all, beautiful. A blush spreads on your cheeks. 

'Thank you. You look nice too.' 

'Just nice?' 

'Stunning.' The nerves don't calm down and you're not sure why. You've already had him in your bed, you kissed him, cuddled him, let him... Why are you blushing at the thought of it now? Is it because this is a proper date? It's not even that serious. It's just dinner and a movie at his place. 

'Ready?' He offers you his arm. You nod and place your hand on his forearm. It's awfully proper, but it does feel very nice to be treated so respectfully. 

'I have to say, I was expecting a kiss,' you admit. He grins and leans down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Nothing special, just a gentle greeting from a lover. 

A lover? No, more than that. It feels like home. Like you've been kissing his lips for years, but the spark is still there. Like this is how it's meant to be. Like he is completely and utterly in love with you, and you feel the same. 

Shit, you're in love. 

Sylus leads you into his apartment. The one time you were in there, you didn't really take in his decor. It's very much him. The whole place is made up of black, white, some dark wood tones, yet it still feels warm. It might be because he has taken a page out of your book with all the candles he's lit around the apartment. The dining table is set beautifully. There's red wine on the table already, along with a beautiful bouquet of deep red roses that look almost velvety. There's some music playing that feels slightly suggestive but not enough to comment on. 

'Wow, you really went all you,' you note. You feel his arm slip from your grasp and around your waist to pull you closer against him. He looks down at you with the lightest flicker of a big smile. 

'For you, I'd rearrange the stars if you asked me to. Now go sit down. Food will be ready in a bit.' 

Sylus stands behind the stove while you take a seat at the table. Of course, you take the seat across from the kitchen so you can watch him work. The way he slightly is swaying and softly humming along with the music is truly a vision to behold. A domestic vision. A vision of a future you'd like to live. 

He looks over his shoulder, seeing you leaning on your palm, elbow on the table, staring at him. You feel your cheeks heat up again but no urge to look away. Instead, you smile at him and he smiles back. He picks up the pan and walks over to the table, setting it down in the middle between the two plates.  

'Pasta alla Norma. Say when,' he says as he starts dishing out the food on your plate. You nod your head to him after a bit, having a very generous portion of pasta on your plate. He does the same for himself and grabs the wine to uncork it. All of it goes so smooth, so fluent, like every motion of his is perfected. 

And so is the food. It's not that special of a pasta dish but it's made so damn well. 'Is there anything you can't do,' you joke, 'I might just have to marry you right here and now.' His lips quirk into a smile. 

'Are you sure, sweetie? We barely know each other,' he teases back, 'what if I turn out to be a serial killer?' 

'Then I'd die a happy death.' Even though you are joking, somewhere in the back of your mind you know that it's true. You've never had a connection to anyone before like you have with him. It's new and exciting, but most of all it feels right. 

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The dinner is mostly uneventful, except that Sylus got some sauce on his clothes. He claimed it was because he was admiring you, but you saw him struggle to get the bite on his fork properly. However, this one time you decided not to tease him because you do want to cuddle up to him during the movie. 

At least, that was the plan. Pure innocent cuddling.  

Seems Sylus has different plans. You're sitting leaned against him, knees pulled up onto his lap, his arm around you, but for about ten odd minutes now his free hand has been tracing figured on your thigh. Each passing moment he seems to get a little bit closer to your inner thigh. 

The teasing gets you hot and bothered, which only makes Sylus smirk. You don't have to look up at him to know. He moves his other hand from your shoulder to your waist, his thumb gently rubbing your skin so that your shirt starts riding up until you feel his touch on your skin. 

That's when he shoves his other hand between your thighs, so close to your core, pulling a gasp from your lips. As you smack your hand in front of your mouth and look up, you can already feel Sylus’ laugh rumbling through his chest. You won't stand for that shit. 

With one swift movement, you sit yourself on his lap. Hands gently draped over his shoulders; hips so close to his but not quite close enough. He hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls you right on top of his bulge. The friction makes you gasp, but you try to keep a straight face. 

'We're not watching the movie, are we,' he asks suggestively. You move your hands to the buttons of his shirt and start undoing them slowly, one by one. In response, his hands start roaming over your hips, your thighs, they grace your ass and lower back. You feel yourself start to grind against him ever so slightly. It's almost involuntarily and gets more intense when you see how much Sylus is blushing while trying to keep a straight face. 

'Don't know why you're asking me. You're the one who started it.' Your hands get to the bottom button that you can still see. Instead of undoing it, you splay your hands out over his stomach, exploring all the skin you've freed as you rake your nails over the lean muscles on his stomach. 

'Mmm, I know sweetie, but consent is sexy,' he groans, moving his head towards your shoulder, he presses a kiss under your ear, 'do I have your consent?' 

'You do,' you say breathlessly, moving your hands behind his neck, entangling your fingers in his hair as you grind on him a little harder. He gently bites the spot he just kissed as a reply and grips your hips roughly, guiding you over him while he bucks up at you. His breathing becomes labored as you two dry fuck like a bunch of horny teenagers. 

He moves his head to kiss your lips. It's all tongue and teeth, desperately chasing a high. Somewhere in your mind you had expected Sylus to be cool, calm, collected when it comes to sex, but seeing him this excited because of you gives you confidence the likes of which you have never experienced. 

Suddenly, he drops his head back to your shoulder and bites down as his movements become less rhythmic. He stops moving all together and looks up at you with big eyes, staring up at you like you're made of pure stardust. 

'Did you just-' 

'Yes.' 

'Because-' 

'Because an angel was riding me.' A grin spreads across your face. He came in his pants like a fucking teenager because of you. That's so fucking hot. If he starts praising you any more you might just become a nightmare to deal with. 

'Wanna do it again without clothes?' 

'More than you could ever imagine.' He grabs your ass and stands up with you in his arms. A yelp slips from your lips as you quickly grab his shoulders. There's that smirk again. Shit, this could be the switch Olympics at this point, that way that you keep flipping. 

Being in Sylus’ bedroom is slightly strange. You've seen it from all angels before, even though you've never been there before. He lays you down on his bed and you see yourself looking back on the ceiling. For a second, your mind is completely lost until you realize that there's mirrors on his ceiling. Strangely, that doesn't surprise you in the slightest. 

Then, you see Sylus taking off his shirt. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him as he undoes the button on his jeans. A devious idea pops into your head and you grab his hand to stop him.  

He watches you intensively as you switch places with him so he is seated at the edge of the bed. His eagerness to touch you has a hold on him but he's trying so hard to let you do whatever. You take his hands and guide them to the hem of your shirt. Then, you slide them up. He quickly catches on and helps you take your shirt off, revealing a beautiful black lace bra. 

'Shit,' he cusses under his breath, tossing your shirt somewhere in the corner. His hands move to your jeans and undo the button and zipper. One peek at your matching undies has him groaning. He helps you step out of your jeans and grabs your hips gently, pulling you towards him. You put your hands on either sides of his face. His eyes are on yours, but they keep flickering down to your lips while his thumbs gently rub your hips. 'All this for me?' 

'All for you.' Your voice comes out sultry, seductive. Nothing you've ever sounded like before. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against him, and kisses you slowly. 

'You look beautiful,' he mumbles against your lips, drunk off your body and the lingering thought of being inside it. He finally peels himself off your body and switches sides with you again. 'Lay down. I'll be right back.' 

'Don't leave me,' you whine as you grab his hand. He stops for a second, physically restraining himself. 

'Condom,' he says and lets go of your hand, disappearing into the bathroom. You decide to sit on your knees in the middle of the bed, eagerly awaiting his return while you soak through your panties. It takes him less than a minute to come back, and when he does his jeans are already off. You eye his bulge with your mouth slightly agape. Sure, you had seen it before, but everything looks smaller on a phone screen. He catches the worry in your eyes as he puts one knee on the bed to be closer to you. 'We don't have to-' 

'Shut up,' you quip, 'I'll be fine. Just go slow.' There's that grin again. With one hand, he reaches behind you and unhooks your bra with ease, with the other he hands you the condom, then he guides you onto your back. You try to take off your bra as you lay, but he grabs your hand and guides it to his hair. For a second, you don't understand but then he dips his head down and starts kissing your chest, slowly making his way over your clothed nipple and kissing it, leaving a wet spot on the lace. With his other hand he pushes the straps off your shoulders.  

Within seconds you are reduces to a whimpering, moaning mess. Your legs spread to make room for him and he gratefully takes his place between them. Sylus finally grabs the bra and removes it, joining it with your shirt and pants on the floor. His hand returns to your breast quickly, his hand gently massaging it while his lips make their way down lower. 

Slowly but surely, he reaches your panties and places lingering kisses just above them. Your hips buck up towards him and you hear the rumble of his rich chuckle. 'Sweetie, you know what you do to me. I fear I might not survive if I spend all my time between your legs.' 

'And I fear I might not survive if you don't fuck me right now,' you groan, giving a firm thug on his hair. You hear him gasp and it goes straight to your pussy. You cuss under your breath as you look down at the smug smile he wears. His fingers hook under your panties and pull them off. They join your other clothing on the floor. 

'You're soaked,' he notes, satisfied. 

'And you're not inside me yet.' Another rumbling laugh as he reaches for his own boxers and pulls them off in a swift motion. Shit, he's big and... are those- 

'They'll feel good. Trust me,' he promises as he watches you look at the two piercings making up his frenum ladder. You reach out to touch it and he lets you. He shivers under your touch as you run your hand over the metal beats on the underside of his dick. 

'One of these days I'm going to make you fuck me raw,' you say, not really realizing what you're saying as you're completely enamored with his dick and piercings. 

'You can't say stuff like that. I'm trying to go slow,' he almost gasps for air with every word and snatches the condom from your hand to quickly roll it on. You watch him lean over you, one of his hands firmly planted next to your head, the other guiding his cock towards your entrance. 

'Fuck slow.' You wrap your legs around him, pulling him towards you. He slips inside easily but goddamn it's a fucking stretch to say the very least. All you can hear is a mixed chorus of groans and gasps. He doesn't move his hips as his eyes study your face, fearing the discomfort he sees might be too much for you. However, you could care less. You feel so incredibly full and ecstatic to be spending the night with him that you might just burst right now. You reach out for him, grabbing his shoulders to pull him down for a kiss. 

'Are you alright,' he asks, holding off the kiss until he has your ok, 'I'm all the way in.' 

'I'm fine. Just kiss me and please move. I need it so fucking bad,' you beg. He does as you say, crashing his lips on yours as he sets a painfully slow tempo to get you used to him. You feel like you're going to snap if he keeps this up. 'Please move faster.' Your words sound more like a moan. 

'Are you sure, sweetie? You seem to be enjoying it just fine.' He looks down at you with pure amusement. Seems he's in a mood. You quickly shove his arm and manage to turn him on his back, not that he puts up much of a fight. 

'I thought you wanted me on top,' you tease back, sheeting yourself on his dick in one motion before he can even respond. Sylus lets out a low groan, throwing his head back and clawing at your hips for something to hold on to. 'Are you going to be a good boy for me and let me ride you?' 

'What happens if I say no.' 

'You'll have to find out.' He nods in response and makes himself comfortable on the pillows. You take that as your go ahead and set an absolutely feral pace. He was right about those piercings. They feel amazing.  

The horniest gasp you've ever heard slips from Sylus’ lips as he turns bright red in the face. His hands move down to your thighs, nails digging into your skin. You'll certainly have bruises tomorrow. 

'Does that feel good,' you ask him as you lean down a little, planting your hands on his chest, nails raking over his pecs. 

'Yes,' he moans, looking absolutely beautifully drunk on you. You feel your high approaching, as does he from what you can tell. He's so close to unraveling and it's beautiful. You wish you could capture this moment, keep this feeling bottled up on your nightstand.  

His hands move back to your hips as he suddenly plants his heels against the mattress and starts trusting up into you, hitting new highs deep inside of you. Highs that no one has ever hit before. Highs that you want him to hit each and every day. He's addicting. Your whole body is tingling as you lean closer towards him, trying to keep up with his pace while you kiss him. He seems too focused to kiss you properly. It's a mess of spit, biting, teeth clanking, and it's so fucking hot. You lick down his neck as you feel your high approaching so fucking fast. 

And there it goes. You hear an animalistic groan next to you, feel it rumble through his chest as his motions become sloppier. Your body topples over the edge and in a moment of absolute bliss, to suppress the absolutely vile sounds you make, you bite down on his shoulder. Hard. Sylus moans at the pain, grabbing your ass to push your body down against him, holding you in place speared on his cock. 

Waves of pleasure shake through your body as Sylus presses sweet kisses on top of your head. His hips move ever so slightly, helping you ride it out. Your eyelids start feeling heavy, your body is aching, your pussy is clenching up. 

'Are you alright?' Sylus voice is different now. It sounds almost worried. You release his shoulder from your bite and prop yourself up on his chest. 

'Peachy,' you reply with a hazy smile, 'wanna take a nap and do it again in a few hours?' 

There goes that rumbling laugh of his again. His hands start rubbing your back as he leans up to peck your lips. It's such an innocent gesture if you don't think about the fact that his dick is still inside you, twitching with every single tiny movement you make. 'As much as I would like that. Let's give it a few more hours and do it again in the morning. Deal?' 

'Only if we take a shower together.' 

'I'll do you one better. I have a tub.' 

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[smolavidreader]

I got animal portal creator. I’d say I’d probably win cause animals are well everywhere. I could just bring a turtle around with me. I could use a bug. Ocean might be a bit strange. Maybe we’d end up in a tie.

generate a random power here

Don't forget to put the power you get in the tags!

(If you're reblogging from me, I got Mixed Martial Arts Mastery)

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[blood-smiles]

𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐎 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀࣪ ִֶָ☾✴︎˚｡⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 - MDNI TW!! suggestive thoughts and actions coming from yandere . yandere character . defo unprofessional behavior from reader . TO BE CONTINUED!!

╰┈➤ the white flashing of your camera lit up the room, capturing a perfect moment in time inside your device.

Scrolling through the pictures with your thumb, you nodded wordlessly at the various pictures. Perfect and beautiful.

Just how you liked it.

Packing up your gear, you decided it was time you went home, you were tired. Really tired from taking so many pictures, you felt a migraine coming from a mile away.

The soft patter of rain met your eardrums, letting you know it was drizzling and would probably last for a while.

You walked slowly, umbrella in hand, staring at the moon above while rubbing the sides of your head. The soft crashing of the waves hitting the rocks nearby.

Plugging in your headphones and playing some soft music while you walked to your house.

You counted the stars in the sky as you walked along the beach.

“ ♪ Luna quieres ser madre?.. y no encuentras querer que te haga mujer, dime Luna de plata.. Que pretendes hacer con un niño de piel.. ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.. Hijo de la luna.. ♪ “

You came to a stop, seeing a taller (wo)man (?) leaning against the railing, strange that they were out so late. It was so dark already, what could they possibly be doing out here, in the rain of all places?

Their heterochromatic eyes gazed up at the sky too. Their face solemn and distracted, the rain pouring down over their head and back, their light blue—almost white, wavy hair dampened and forming beautiful coils.

They were so pretty, looking like an angel under the moonlight.. Were your spidey senses tingling right now? You just felt like you should approach them.

“Excuse me.” You interrupted softly, holding out your umbrella over their head, stopping the rain from dampening them even more.

“..What?” Oh, they had a deep voice.. you were caught off guard, they had very feminine traits and flowing long hair, so you just kind of assumed..

“Here.” You handed him your umbrella, which he accepted hesitantly, his hand shaking as he held the handle of the umbrella.

His eyes snapped towards your face, looking deeply into your eyes, looking for a sign of deceit or malice, but only finding kindness and genuine empathy.

His cheeks flushed a little, his ears turning red as he admired your features… how would it feel like if he ran his tongue along your cheek?—What. What was he thinking?!

His fingers slightly grazed your own, sending shivers down his vertebrae and sending his heart into overdrive. 

Snatching the umbrella, holding it close to his chest as he stepped back a little.

“You know, I hope this doesn’t sound creepy but, you’re stunning— You should try modeling! Who knows, maybe one day I’ll photograph you.” 

You joked lightly, putting your hands above your head to shield yourself from the water.

His free hand shakily lifted to cover the bottom portion of his mouth, pupils blown wide as he stumbled back a little. 

..That was the cutest interaction he had ever had up to this point in his entire life. That bashful smile— The twinkle in your (e/c) eyes— everything about you had him in a trance!

“G-Get lost!” He yelled, tightening his hold around the umbrella and running away, his heart beating in his ears, heart swelling and feeling the wings of a swarm of butterflies nicking his guts.

You were left standing under the rain, rethinking your wording and kicking yourself in the stomach  internally for scaring off a potential client.

And… that was the last time you saw him, or so you thought.

Oblivious to you, he just ran off because his heart was in over drive and might have exploded from a cuteness attack.

He glanced down at your umbrella, his eyes zeroing in on the small writing on the handle, ‘Y/n L/n’? That was the name of the cute idiot he met?

Looking up the name all results showed up, your face everywhere! He shakily touched your “face”,  staring into your eyes for an alarming amount of time.

A famous photographer, huh?.. He thought about what you said.. A model? Him? Well, wouldn’t hurt to try.

3 years later…──★ ˙📷 ̟ !!

You had been hired, a big shot model was coming to your studio to get some magazine pictures done.

You opened the models portfolio, checking out some news about him too, he had gone viral lately. 

“Son of the moon’? Huh, interesting.” You mumbled, taking in the model’s proportions, his face rung a bell in your brain. But as hard as you tried to get your synapses to connect, you just couldn’t form a coherent memory..

‘Mikhail White’ …

You chalked it up to seeing him in magazines or social media.

Putting the portfolio aside, your feet pushed you on your own feet, walking over to your setup and making minor tweaks to your studio.

“(Y/n), they’re here.” The voice of your assistant interrupted your movement, nodding your head you put your hands over your professional camera and looped it over your neck.

You stepped back, letting the makeup artist enter with their big box of makeup supplies, then came in the manager of the model, eyes sharp and analytical as she clasped her clipboard in her arm.

And finally, the model entered. The star of the show, Mikhail, A pretty average sized person, for a model, that is. He stopped in front of you, staring you down with those uniquely colored eyes.

You got that feeling again, was it Deja vu, perhaps? Their eyes hit a chord in you, yeah. You had seen them before.. Just where?

“Welcome, thank you for hiring me.” You smiled warmly, turning your gaze to the manager, extending your hand out for a friendly handshake.

The woman scoffed softly, shaking her head “No thank you, I don’t do handshakes.” The tall woman gently replied, although it sounded more like a mother scolding her child.

“O…Okay.” You laughed nervously, letting your hand begin to drop to your side.

“Thank you for having me here, (Y/n).” The model suddenly spoke, gently taking your hand and shaking it before it could totally fall.

“Oh, um. Yeah, for sure!” Taken off guard you reciprocated the hand shake before letting go, his hand not letting go completely.

You pulled your hand free with a soft tug, turning to sit down on your chair as you wait for the makeup artist to doll up the male.

You stared at him from a distance, you felt like he had curly hair, but instead were met with silky, straight hair running down his back.

Mikhail was shaking, his hands quivering on his lap as he looked through the mirror on the vanity. He stared at your form through the reflective surface, watching how you scrolled through your phone or opened the portfolio with his pictures.

Did you think he was attractive? Did you like his hair? He decided to try something new for you, he hoped it caught your eye…

He gently bit down on his bottom lip, looking down to let the artist work on his eyeshadow, he wanted to physically recoil from the person’s hands, wishing it was yours instead.

He had worked up to this point for three whole years, all just to be photographed by you, one of the best photographers in the whole industry.

Ever since that night, under the pouring rain, he couldn’t wipe you off his brain, you were like a drug,the image of you gnawing at his sanity. It hurt so good though, so good he couldn’t stop and soon found himself addicted.

You indirectly changed his life, he went from being a pathetic nobody to one of the most popular and influential models of his time, and honestly.. It was all thanks to you, even if you don’t remember him.

Mikhail dressed in a lacy attire, showing off part of his stomach and most of his thighs, his hair decorated with small silver clips and silk bows, beautiful diamond earrings hanging off his ear lobes.

His face sparkled with glitter, long white eyelashes fluttering, his visage was that of perfection. Comparable to an arctic fox nestled in silks and diamonds, you could see why the media called him the ‘son of the moon’ more clearly now.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” You complimented, leading him to the middle of the shot, he looked up at you, not saying anything, however the flush of his ears said different.

Now, if you remembered correctly, the theme was ‘wedding after-party’ although you didn’t know it was going to be this suggestive..? You did agree to it so no backing out anymore, you suppose.

You had something in your mind already so you just ran with it, the manager agreed with your idea too, you expected her to spit in your face and tell you no in all honestly..

He gazed at the camera with a sultry gaze, imagining it was you he was looking at, he did as you asked, allowing you to brush some of his hair or to position his soft strands as you wished.

He peered up at you through his eyelashes, looking almost desperate, leaning into your touch subconsciously. This had been a fantasy of his for a long time, a real wet dream for him.

In fact, he had pressed for the theme to be more suggestive, wanting you to see him in a more intimate scenario.

In the last shots of the session, everyone came to an agreement to put some false cake frosting pieces over Mikhail, leaning more into the wedding cake aspect.

You dipped your hand in the substance, grabbing some in your hands and leaning down to smudge some over his face, dropping some here and there strategically.

You took your camera back in your hands, positioning it perfectly for it to capture the scene’s beauty and allure.

The ice blue haired man bent and arched his body any and all ways you desired, placing his hands on his lap as he took some of the frosting on his finger and brought it up to his mouth, licking it, sending you the most loving and passionate gaze he could muster. 

Wordlessly hinting with just his sharp eyes how much he wanted something other than a few pictures, something that was spelled with four letters, D-A-T-E.

That..wasn’t scripted, but you just went with it and snapped a few pictures. You leaned back in your chair, stretching out the knots in your back and listening to the pops in your spine.

That was the last of the shots, all you need to do now was transfer the pictures to his manager and get a sweet sweet wad of cash back.

You smiled at the thought, sighing pleasantly.

You bid the trio of workers goodbye, although the rosy cheeked model stayed back, approaching you and putting a small piece of paper in your hand shyly.

Right before you were about to say something he shut you up by pecking your cheek gently.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, his voice soft and heartfelt, it was more…intimate, more meaningful than a simple ‘thanks for taking my pic’, he made it sound like you had just swooped in like Superman and saved his life.

He clasped his hand over yours, making sure you kept the paper in your hand as he began leaving hastily, not lingering for a moment more or less.

‘Go out on a date with me..? XXX-XXX-XXXX ♡’

Well shit. Things just got a whole lot interesting.

[mfelewzi]

You know, I'm not a supporter of polyamorous relationships, for some personal view, but how I always said: your story, your rules. And we can see different form of relationships in this story, and if the author doesn't exagerate, a lot of things can work.

And a more important thing: in a society inspired by Asian, Austronesian and Native American Cultures, It's possible that polyamorous relationships and other not Classical European form of relationships would exist. And even with more influenced by middle eastern cultures It would happen, from the stereotypical polygamy and harem to the temporary marriage typical of muslim shi'ite Iran, or some reversed form of poligamy as in Tibet and the Turks countries. So, It makes sense, whatever could be my tastes.

Ah, just to Say: a friend of mine, a writer, wanted to do an AtlA fanfiction when Zuko is more similar to a chinese and khmer emperor, and in his Plan Mai and Jin would be his concubines, cause they could never become more than that for the reason that Zuko was bethroted to Azula from their birth (It was his idea for his fanfiction). Ah, he is a Buddhist and bi guy, with a Incredible passion for big tits (ok, maybe It could sound a bit strange, but he has an artistic view about it), and he studies Ancient Greek and Indian stories. Ah, he supported an Azula's Redemption Arc too, and the possibility of a Fourth Book (from what I remember, he accepted an Azula as a sellsword/mercenary with many lovers).

And especially about the development of Sokka as a character, as a fan of Yuekka he thought that he needed to become more mature.

So, your ideas are familiar to me.

Anyway, I have my ideas, but I Will never stop your plans, especially if my views would stop you.

And anyway, I'm Just me, not everybody in this world (man, a Place full of a 29 Years old bald italian guys with a black beard: It sounds very boring to me).

Good Luck and Good Life!

And thank for the Song. Man, I'm Happy to discover new songs, cause I was a fanatic of Epic, Power and Doom Metal in my days as a teenager.

Reblog if you're in the 'My ship isn't canon but we got dope fanfiction' club

[kaivenom]

Hey same person who asked for OP DILF x MILF reader

How about them reacting to MILF reader having a kid? (Even funnier if it was like luffy or zoro lol)

OP DILFS dating a MILF who has a kid

Characters: Mihawk, Doflamingo, Crocodile, Smoker,Shanks.

A/N: Two things. First one: i love this, i really had a good time writing it, you have great ideas my dear anon. Second one: exams are finally oveeeer, so i would be trying to update more than usual to get all the requests out of the hoven for everyone.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

After taking care of Zoro and Perona, he thinks that he is ready for everything.

One day you were both on the kitchen and he like ussual is reading paperwork.

"It looks like the new generation it's going strong, this kid seems a good swordsman." he shows you the picture.

"Drac, i think it's time for us to talk." he almsot felt fear for a moment, "that kid it's mine, not like you and Zoro, literally that is my son." his mind exploded, you never saw him that concerned.

"And when will you have said this to me?"

"I am telling you now... you know how difficult it's to date at our age, especcially being a woman who already has a kid?" he nodded and pushed you closer, "i planned on telling you soon, i just, didn't know how, i was expecting something like this to happen to have the oportunity to tell you.

"You are lucky i already have practice with that green haired boy... call him, we can set a dinner and i can meet him formally, maybe even bond?" you coudln't help but smile and kiss him.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He already has experience with children since he literally adopted a lot of them.

One day someone robbed on the royal treasure chamber of Dressrosa and he was furious, he was looking for you to help him relax.

"My dove, i need some of your assistance on my d..."

"And when i tell you i date someone your best idea it's to rob him? you are lucky i found you and your stupid friends before he did? and.... " you finally became aware of his presence, but his eyes were already glued to the teenager.

You grabbed your child by the collar of the shirt and went to the door, your previous angry look bacame softer seen how Doflamingo's eyebrows were frowning.

"This is my son... i called him to Dressrosa so you could finally meet him but he decided to 'prove you'... i dont know what was on his mind. I have the treasure located and coming back to the chamber."

"You have a child." Doflamingo looked at the verge of an aneurysm, gritting his teeth.

"I do, please, don't punish him... i thake the responsability." his lips curled in a strange smile, like he was trying to fake it.

"I am honored to meet your son, it's impressive to know how skilled he is, maybe he can join court..." clearly Doffy was having a hard time trying not to kill you son.

Sr. Crocodile

Experience 0, oblivious 100%

He was on his office, doing work and you appeared with your son.

"Croc..." he turned the chair and looked at you both, "dear, i told you i don't need more agents... i don't know how you contacted someone with such a high bounty but i don't need it." and he turned the chair again.

"This is my son..." Crocodile was thankfull for being backwards to you cause he choked on the cigar.

"Your what?"

"SIr Crocodile, i am (Y/N)'s son, i was hoping to meet you and bond a little, i wasn't expecting a job... but if you give it to me i am not going to complain."

"You already have a job as bounty hunter, don't try to take advantage of this." you poked your son's cheek under Crocodile's surprised look.

"I..." he cleared his throat, trying to sound serious and prepared, "pleasure to meet you child, i would have appreaciate it a warning."

"I warned you, i left a note on the fridge that said 'special meeting today, i have a surprise'" your son started to laugh.

"That sounded like a booty call, jajaja, maybe he was expecting you to come here in lingerie." you punched your son on the head to make him shut up.

"I can make a reserve on the restaurant we both like and i can know you better." he tried to sound profesional but your son was right, he tought you would give him a sexy surprise, not this.

Smoker

He was really tired of dealing with teenage pirates.

He spent the last week chasing and fighting agaisnt a new supernova, he was tired and just wants to get home to you.

"Hello love." he said while hanging his uniform, then he got to the living room and saw that same supernova playing cards with you, "i don't know what you are doing here bastard but you are not going to hurt my..."

"Relax old men, i was just paying a visit to my mother." Smoker got his mind reset.

"Smoker sweetie, this is my son."

"How couldn it be your son? you are a marine."

"Same happens with Garp, but he is a grandfather.... i think maybe this is a nice time for you two to meet." you were really nervous but tried to sound chill and smooth.

"Oh mother, we already know each other, thi sis the man that has been chasing me all week." the moment got worse every second and you wanted to hide, but you felt Smoker sat next to you and put his arm on your should, "noooo, cut the romantic things, i am going to throw up."

"Don't talk to us like that, yesterday i was furious that you were so childish but right now, i wont tolerate you talking to your mother or me with such a disrespectful tone." you had to hide a laugh, he clearly was getting his frustations out but at the same time trying to be nice. "so tell me, how can a son of a marine officer become a pirate?"

"Well..." and you knew that this would be a long night.

Akagami Shanks

Since Luffy and Uta, he was out of the parenting thing, for now.

You were sleeping and suddently canons started to burst on the ship, you got dressed and prepared to a new day at board.

"I am xxxxx, and i will defeat you, Red Head SHanks."

"On your dreams, child." canons were still bursting when you got on the ship and saw the attacker of the ship.

"Mom?" "Son?" you both said at the same time, Shanks mouth touched the ground.

"Come here you little prick, how could you blow the ship of your mother's fiancee."

"You are engaged? i didn't got the letter nor invitation, you don't love me or what? i know we don't live together anymore but..."

"I sent it yesterday, it should get to you in a couple of hours but... we took the covers of various newspapers, how could you not saw it?"

"You know i don't read that bullshit..." you both were yelling at each other from the ships, until Shanks decided to finally talk.

"And when i was going to know this?"

"Today!" he coudln't even talk, his mind was going to fast, another problematic child.

"Boy, stop blasting canons and get on the ship... i love your mother and i want to marry her, i can kill you."

"You are not going to kill me, i am going to defeat you."

"You can try, after the wedding and only if i am looking." you yelled at him and went to Shanks, "leave him, he is excited in reality to meet you."

"I must recompose myself, i must make him see i am a good stepfather."

[wands-natsthing]

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

HEYYYY HIII HELLOOOO long time I KNOW IM SORRY LSKDKD AND I KNOW I SAID THE WEEKEND BUT I GOT SICK

buttt just to give a lil info, since it has been so long since I updated I put the last bit of chapter 2 at the beginning of this just as a refresher I guess!! And more overall story info (R=23) (W=30) (N=34)

I also wrote kinda like a Wanda’s POV of what happened in the janitors closet so let me know if you want that!!

Feedback is more than welcome!! I love reading all your comments they make me feel like my writing isn’t shit 🤓 and they make me smile :)) I also tried to make this as open as possible this is for everybody!! (I hope I worded that right) I mean as in there rlly no descriptions of r

Warnings: I really don’t think there are any besides maybe it starts to seem a little homewreckery BUT ITS NOT I PROMISE!!

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: You guys come out the closet and have lunch idk

"Who's the woman standing outside the door with you?" you asked.

You can tell Wanda hadn't been expecting your question by the way her eyes widened.

"Oh um, that's Natasha, After you graduated I started teaching a co-taught English class and well she's the co-teacher." She paused before confirming the suspicion you had earlier. 

"She's also my wife…" 

Your heart dropped. 

“Your- your wife…You got married? You ask with a tremble in your voice. 

“Yeah, I did um just a few years ago…” 

“Oh- that's uh, that's cool. Um, congratulations.” 

Wanda’s smile faltered slightly as she sensed the mix of emotions swirling inside you. The joy in her eyes seemed to dim ever so slightly, replaced by a hint of concern.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said quietly, her voice softening. "Maybe we could talk more about everything over Lunch?"

Your eyes snapped up at that. The thought of having lunch with her again all these years later was just too enticing to pass up, no matter how many messing feelings it brought again.

"Lunch? Are you- are you sure?" You asked with a hopeful smile on your face.

"Yes, I'm more than sure. I am positive." She reassured you with a gentle touch of her hand running up and down your forearm.

"Okay, then yes I would love to."

"great! What about this weekend at 1:00 at the cafe we saw each other last week? (a/n: Its Wednesday)

"That's perfect!"

"Okay good then it's a date." She said scrunching her nose up in a way that always made your heart melt.

Date.

"I am so sorry, but I better get back, can't leave Natasha by herself for too long with all those parents and kids out there, But I can't wait for our lunch date!"

Date. There goes that word again.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry for keeping you for so long,” you replied, trying to shake off the rush of emotions swirling in your mind.

Wanda smiled warmly, as if she could sense the turmoil within you. “No need to apologize. It’s nice to catch up, I've missed you."

You both stood there for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. The bustling sounds from the school faded slightly as you locked eyes.

“Alright, I better get going,” she said after a pause, and you could hear the softer undertones of sadness in her voice. “But I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it,” you replied, offering her a genuine smile.

Wanda gave you one last look, her expression revealing a mix of excitement and a hint of uncertainty before she opened the door of the janitor's closet.

You took a deep breath, calming your racing heartbeat. You had so many thoughts swirling through your head but at the same time, you felt as if you couldn't think.

As you finally turned to head out back to your car, you felt a strange sense of hope take root inside you.

You couldn’t help but replay the moment in your mind, the surprise of learning she was married mixed with the thrill of the upcoming lunch. It was complicated, but one thing was clear: you wanted to explore this. No matter how much it might hurt in the end.

The rest of the week felt like an eternity. You replayed snippets of conversations you had shared over the years, moments of laughter, and even the unspoken feelings that had lingered in the air. Each thought made the anticipation for the weekend grow stronger.

Finally, Saturday arrived. You stood in front of your mirror, carefully selecting your outfit for lunch. The end of summer's warmth lingered in the air, but a hint of fall was beginning to whisper in the breeze. You chose a lightweight mustard-yellow sweater, perfect for the transition between seasons. Its soft knit hugged your figure comfortably.

For pants, you chose a pair of high-waisted, olive-green corduroy pants that offered both warmth and style. The slightly flared legs provided a retro vibe, making them an ideal choice for early autumn. On your feet, you wore your black Converse. Always a staple in your outfits.You topped everything off with a silver chain that went slightly past your collarbone and small gold hoops that reflected off the light.

Never understood the big deal about mixing silver and gold.

And a light spritz of your favorite fall-inspired perfume, with notes of vanilla and sandalwood, completed the look, a warm scent perfect for the season.

As the clock ticked closer to 1:00, doubts and anxiety started creeping in.

What if she doesn't show?

Is my outfit bad?

Does my breath smell? You make sure to brush your teeth one more time before leaving.

When you arrived at the cafe, a wave of shyness washed over you. You spotted Wanda almost immediately. She was sitting at a cozy table, her reddish auburn hair catching the sunlight, and you wondered how someone could look both familiar and new after all this time.

You exchanged hesitant glances. The soft murmur of conversations around you felt louder than usual, amplifying the butterflies in your stomach.

As you approached, her face lit up, the warmth of her smile easing your nerves.

 “You made it!” she exclaimed, standing up to greet you with an embrace that felt both comfortable and electrifying.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, taking a seat across from her.

For a moment, the air was thick with unspoken words. Both of you are unsure what to say.

Fortunately, as if sensing the tension in the air, a waitress approached to take your order.

"I'll have a hot caramel latte and a turkey and cheese sandwich, please," Wanda said with a soft smile. You returned her smile, appreciating the familiarity of her order.

Both Wanda and the waitress turned to you, waiting to see what you'd chosen.

"I'll have the same, please. Thank you."

*****************************

You sipped your coffee, the warmth seeping into your hands, trying to ground yourself. Slowly but surely the conversation began to flow just like how it had all those years ago.

It was as if nothing had changed. 

As if neither had gone through drastic changes.

Yet, even as the conversation deepened, the thought of her marriage lingered at the back of your mind and the fact that they worked together. Soon within a day, they both would be your coworkers.

Curiosity nudged at you, and you found yourself leaning in.

“What’s it like? Teaching together, I mean? That must be… interesting.”

Just like in the janitor's closet, she was surprised by your sudden question.

Though she laughed softly, easing the tension. “It is, we balance each other out. She’s all about structure, while I tend to go with the flow. It makes for some creative lesson plans."

Though you were more so wondering if they shared any lunches like the two of you did; 

You'll take it.

Gathering up as much composure as possible you try to sound as "mature" as you possibly can. “Sounds like a great dynamic,” you replied, picturing the two of them in a classroom full of students, bouncing ideas off each other.

"Yeah it is, we make a great team." Wanda smiled, her eyes lighting up.

 "You know, I would love for the two of you to formally meet."

Your heart raced and your mind went blank.

What the fuck?

"Wait...I'm sorry, what?"

Wanda repeated herself slowly, not sure how to take your response.

“Oh, um, really? Your wife?” You stammered, shocked from the sudden/not so sudden twist in conversation. "I mean are you- are you sure that is a good idea? You know, me being me?"

Wanda smiled at you comfortingly. "Of course, it's a good idea, I mean besides you were gonna meet her soon anyway with school starting Monday-"

She stops mid-sentence playing with the necklace adorning her neck, a telltale sign 

She's nervous.

"Natasha also already knows exactly who you are to me." 

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎

𝐨𝐨𝐩 🤓

𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯!!

@nebthetautora @esposadejoyhuerta @w4ndsversew0nder

@skz-xii

[fangdokja]

Yoo, can I ask a question? - yandere (of course) tartaglia, wanderer (or scaramouche) and kazuha, with a reader who has.. a slightly interesting temper, that is, the reader has an unconventional, sarcastic, extremely cynical sense of humor) humor is the reader's protective reflex, maybe.. The reader is constantly trying to turn everything into humor,often makes sarcastic little comments even if at the wrong moment.. (but reader still manages to make people laugh) Maybe this is a bit of a strange request, but why not? (I just often see how in yandere fics the reader is assigned almost the same behavior, I would like to read something new, and besides, you are one of my favorite yandere writers!) I hope my request complied with your rules, because there are SO MANY OF THEM.. I don't even remember some of them lol.. I'll be glad if you accept my request! thank you 💋

Too many thoughts, not enough brain cells. Let’s see what happens.

❤︎ Synopsis. A chaotic whirlwind of sarcasm and unfiltered humor, you—channeling the energy of Gojo Satoru—navigates life like it's a comedy show. Nothing is too serious, and everything’s an opportunity for a joke—even when the world’s falling apart.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Genshin Impact Males (Tartaglia, Wanderer, Kazuha) x Fem. Gojo (?)! Reader (separate?)

♡ Headcanon. Humor First, Consequences Later - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 12,339

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, angst + tragedy, sexual themes

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N #1. This turned out longer than it was supposed to be......... but it was necessary for the build-up. So waha. And, this definitely has a different formatting and plot development style from all my other works (especially formatting), but that was done on purpose. And, yes, I'm putting this story in WITD, despite it's length, because of the formatting. Well, either way, hope you all enjoy :))

♡ A/N #2. Thank you for the support and reading so far, I appreciate it and also for taking the time to read the RULES. But, I have to inform you all on some important rules especially. As mentioned in my rules, requesters aren’t allowed to assign behavior towards the reader. For only MY works particularly, I agree that most of the behavior of reader is generally the same. Why? Well, simple, I hardly encounter self inserts with apathetic, actually not emotional readers. I lack book food. There are SO MANY emotional readers inserts. And even sarcastic sassy ones. I have no food. So I cooked my own food instead. I’ve read so many over the years, that honestly? The ones close to my personality are ALWAYS original novels with male characters. Literally Fang Yuan from Reverend Insanity cooks hardest, and even then there was that stupid part in almost Chapter 3k mark that I hated. Because they added emotions and shiz. And here I thought I found a true villain character. Small rant. But even then only he cooks really, both intelligence wise and even personality wise. No one has even beaten Fang Yuan in terms of strategy and intelligence from books that I haven’t created.

♡ A/N #3. I get it. Females are emotionally built, even biologically. But, I’m not overly emotional. I can act it, but feeling it? No. I can create other personality readers. I’ve literally written a lot of OC’s from thinkers to feelers so I can. But. Guys. I also self-insert myself in these stories whahaha. It’s not exactly my personality, but it’s still part of me. However, I’ll make an exception this time since I just released a new book, “Whispers In The Dark” for short stories. Since I’m actually a person who dislikes reading self inserts with mean readers of any kinds. This does not sound humble at all, but I’m not a mean person at all if it comes to commentary. I just keep to myself or keep my mouth shut. And I also HATE reading main characters with tempers. Probably because, I have a very mellow personality in reality. And emotions? Hardly feel anything tbh.

♡ A/N #4. Anyways so I won’t get mad when writing this, here’s basically a Gojo inspired Reader. Most ENTP’s (especially 8w7 and 7w8) are relatable to me, and I relate to Gojo a lot. Never simped, but I relate. But, next time, to anyone. I will NEVER be writing content that assigns a personality to reader. It’s one of the few things I have freedom in to just enjoy writing. I would honestly just get really irritated if I had to follow a set personality to reader. Yeah, I may write consistently the same reader, but that like genuinely makes me happy to write a reader that I can finally relate to. I hardly find stories like that. Much more in reader inserts. I hope you all understand. Kind of pathetic to say “I just wanna have fun”. But, it’s true and foundational to me. I have a difficult time writing if I’m not having fun.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia (Childe) who first noticed you in the midst of a chaotic battlefield, blades clashing and blood splattering in all directions. He was there for his own mission, but your laughter—loud, sardonic, and downright inappropriate—caught his attention.

You’d just disarmed one of his men with a sarcastic comment and a flashy spin move, only to remark, “Well, that’s one way to make him stop talking.” Tartaglia’s first thought was: This one gets it.

The two of you had crossed paths before, but this was different. You fought with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a long time, and the fact that you seemed entirely unfazed by the danger surrounding you only intrigued him further.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who you clashed blades with in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. The air was thick with violence and the sound of metal, but there you were, laughing through the chaos.

"Well, this is fun! Is this your idea of a date, or should I try harder?" you joked, dodging his ruthless strikes with a grin that could only be described as wicked. Tartaglia couldn’t stop himself from grinning back, impressed by your chaotic energy and your apparent lack of fear.

"You're bold, I'll give you that," he quipped, flipping his spear expertly. "But I gotta ask—are you always this insufferable, or am I just lucky?"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who first noticed you during a chaotic battlefield where chaos was your language, and you spoke it fluently. You both crashed into each other mid-fight, swords clashing in a brutal rhythm, but the moment his eyes locked with yours—amidst the blood, the screams, and the madness—he felt a jolt of recognition.

Not of fear, no, but of pure chaotic understanding. "Well, well, well, looks like you're not just another pretty face—you're a disaster in the best way possible."

You didn't miss a beat, "Flattery will get you nowhere, buddy. But I’ll take it. You really should work on your aim though."

Despite being enemies in that instant, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way you threw yourself into battle—your sarcasm as sharp as your blade. Every strike was a witty remark wrapped in bloodshed. You were an unfiltered storm of energy, and he couldn’t help but think, “This is the kind of chaos I want in my life.”

After the battle, despite the blood and sweat, you both shared a laugh as if you had just finished a light sparring session, not a life-or-death duel.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who being the chaotic soul he was, immediately clicked with you, and your shared irreverence made it impossible for him to hate you, even if you were technically enemies.

Tartaglia spoke with a handsome boyish grin, "I’m gonna need a drink after that, how about you?"

"Nah, you’ll need a bottle, pal. But we both know you’re a lightweight."

"You wound me."

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer (Scaramouche) who hated you immediately. The moment he met you, you gave him the most obnoxious smirk and made some comment about how “intense” he looked, like a lost kitten trying to be menacing. You couldn't help it—his dramatic aura was begging for a punchline.

“Oh, look. A robot with an existential crisis. What’s next, a lecture on how you’re misunderstood by the world?” The sheer audacity of your sarcasm sent a shockwave through him, one that made him freeze for a split second.

“I’d ask you to smile, but I’m pretty sure that would crack your face,” you quipped, and the cold, calculating expression he wore only made it worse. He stared at you with thinly veiled contempt, his distaste for your flippant attitude and sarcasm immediate.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who hated you even more when you opened your mouth. During a tense moment of political intrigue, Wanderer was deep in a conversation with some high-ranking officials, trying to manipulate them for his own advantage, when you interrupted with a perfectly timed comment.

"Wow, these people talk more than my grandmother at Christmas dinner. Do they even hear themselves?"

The room went dead silent. Wanderer’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at you, trying to figure out who this... jester was. Your irreverent attitude was a sharp contrast to his own cold, calculating nature.

"Are you always this... unbearable?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"Well, only when I’m surrounded by such charming people like you," you replied, not a hint of fear in your voice.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who didn’t know how to handle your complete lack of respect. He saw you as an irritating fly—one he couldn’t just swat away because of your sharp tongue and unpredictable nature. But that didn’t stop the twisted curiosity that started to bloom in him. Maybe he hated you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching you twist every interaction into a dark comedy sketch.

“Do you always treat people like this?” he sneered, but you only shrugged.

“Nah, just you,” you replied with a wink, “but don’t feel too special. I hate everyone equally.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who, unlike the others, didn’t immediately form an opinion about you. You met him on a peaceful evening, sitting by the fire as you shared a drink.

"Nice music, but tell me—do you ever sing songs about decapitations or revenge? You know, the classics," you asked, leaning against a tree with a mischievous grin. Kazuha blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by your unexpected question.

He chuckled, albeit nervously. "Ah, well, I do tend to favor more peaceful melodies. The world has enough violence, don’t you think?"

You shrugged dramatically. "Sure, but I think it’s just a matter of perspective. You’ve never heard a good ‘revenge ballad,’ have you? Something with blood, guts, and a sweet vengeance story?"

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who was calm, collected, and in no hurry to make judgments about people.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue," Kazuha remarked with a soft laugh, sensing the tension you carried beneath your humor.

"Sharp enough to cut through all the nonsense in the world," you replied with a smirk. "It’s a survival tactic, you know? Get too serious, and people start thinking you’re a threat."

Kazuha chuckled, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. Unlike Wanderer, who despised your sarcasm, Kazuha found a strange comfort in it.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who spent hours talking with you—half serious, half joking—and by the end of the night, you couldn’t quite tell if Kazuha had warmed to you or simply found your humor amusing. He was neutral, calm, but there was something about your cynicism that tugged at his heart. Not in a romantic way—more like a curiosity about the darkness behind your jokes.

Despite everything, Kazuha found himself oddly protective of you, even if you were too much of a loose cannon for his liking.

"You really know how to push people’s buttons," Kazuha mused with a faint smile, sipping his drink.

"It's a gift," you replied with a grin, letting the conversation fade into the night.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who didn't dislike you. It was more that he didn’t quite understand you. He found your humor bizarre—borderline morbid, really—but at the same time, it made him appreciate the way you could maintain your composure in the face of things that would send anyone else into a frenzy. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something magnetic about your wit, your sharp tongue, and the way you saw the world.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who couldn’t get you out of his head after that battlefield encounter.

At first, it was your audacity that stood out—who cracks jokes while fighting for their life? But as you two clashed more often, he found himself genuinely entertained by your wit. Each fight became less about winning and more about trading barbs.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia purposefully pick fights with you just to hear your comebacks. One time, mid-battle, you yelled, “You gonna twirl that spear all day, or are we actually fighting?” He almost dropped it because he was laughing so hard.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who invites you for drinks post-battle as if you’re not enemies. “Come on, you’ve earned it,” he’d say with a grin. “I’ll even let you pick the bar. But if you poison my drink, we’re gonna have a problem.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia becomes your unofficial sparring partner. The battles become a game of who can outwit the other with sarcastic comments.

“You call that a strike? My kid brother could hit harder,” you’d say, dodging his attack.

“Oh yeah?” he’d reply, smirking.

“Maybe I’ll let him fight you next time.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he eventually starts treating you like one of his comrades. He shares stories about his family, asks about your past (you deflect with humor), and even brings you snacks during downtime. “You fight better when you’re not hangry,” he claims.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer despises your existence but can’t seem to avoid you. Every time he’s working on some secretive plan, you pop up with a sarcastic comment.

“Wow, plotting world domination again? Don’t forget the evil laugh—it really sells it.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer tries to ignore you, but your presence grates on his nerves. “Do you ever shut up?” he snaps one day, glaring at you.

“Not if I can help it,” you reply with a smirk. “What’s the point of silence when your misery is so much fun?”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer reluctantly teams up with you during a mission. It’s strictly business, but you make it nearly impossible for him to stay professional.

“You know,” you say, “if you smiled more, people might actually like you.” He glares, but the faintest twitch of amusement betrays him.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when for the first time he lets his guard down, it’s accidental. After a long, grueling day, you find him staring at the stars.

“So, what’s the brooding about tonight?” you ask, sitting beside him. He doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually, he mutters, “Nothing you’d understand.”

“Try me,” you challenge, and for once, he indulges you.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer begrudgingly respects your intelligence. Despite your flippant attitude, you have a knack for solving problems in ways he wouldn’t consider. He won’t admit it, but he’s impressed.

“You’re not as useless as you look,” he says one day.

“Thanks, I’ll embroider that on a pillow,” you reply.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when your sarcasm starts to grow on him.

When someone else insults him, you’re the first to step in with a cutting remark. “Hey, I’m the only one allowed to call him insufferable, okay?”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha meets you on a quiet evening, and your energy is a stark contrast to his calm demeanor.

“Do you ever stop being so mellow?” you ask after he recites a haiku. “What’s life without a little chaos?”

He smiles faintly and replies, “Perhaps you bring enough for both of us.”

Traveling with Kazuha feels like a comedy routine. You constantly try to bait him into arguing, but he just humors you.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy this,” you tease.

“Perhaps I do,” he replies, eyes twinkling.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha is the only one who sees the cracks in your humor.

Late one night, you sit by the fire, unusually quiet. “Even storms have calm moments,” he says softly, offering you a drink.

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, smirking, but there’s gratitude in your eyes.

Your dark humor doesn’t faze him; if anything, he finds it endearing. When you jokingly suggest writing a song about a gruesome battle, he actually considers it.

“A ballad of bloodshed and bravery?” he muses. “Sounds poetic.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha subtly encourages you to open up. He never pries, but his quiet patience makes it easier for you to let your guard down.

“You’re oddly calming, you know that?” you admit one day. “Like a weirdly wise fortune cookie.”

He laughs and says, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, despite his gentle nature, doesn’t hesitate to protect you. When a fight breaks out during your travels, he steps in without hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” he says, drawing his blade. “You’re not facing this alone.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who realizes he’s falling for you during one of your sparring sessions. You’d taken a hit—nothing serious—but enough for him to notice. After the match, he grabbed your arm, inspecting the wound with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Relax, Childe, it’s just a scratch,” you said, smirking through the wince.

“Stop joking for one second,” he replied, a little sharper than usual. As he wrapped the bandage around your arm, his hands were surprisingly gentle.

You tried to lighten the mood. “What, worried you’d have to explain this to my ghost?”

He didn’t laugh this time. “No, I just—” He stopped himself, his usual cocky grin faltering.

“You’re reckless, you know that? I can’t always be around to patch you up.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who finds himself watching you more carefully after that, his playful facade slipping every time you brush off an injury or laugh in the face of danger. It’s in those moments he realizes your humor hides something deeper—a pain he’s desperate to understand.

When you finally catch him staring, you raise an eyebrow. “What’s with the puppy-dog eyes? You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you?”

His grin returns, but there’s a softness behind it. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

For once, your usual quip dies on your lips, and the silence between you is louder than the battlefield.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who starts noticing your distant stares during quiet moments. He catches you gazing into the horizon, your usual smirk replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“What’s wrong? Forgot your punchline?” he asks, his tone biting but not cruel.

“Just thinking,” you reply, your voice softer than he’s used to.

“That’s new,” he mutters, sitting beside you. When you don’t snap back with a retort, he frowns. “What’s going on with you?”

You shrug, deflecting with humor. “Guess I’m out of jokes for the day. Mark your calendar—it’s a historic moment.”

But he doesn’t let it go. “You can’t fool me with that act. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t push you to open up but finds himself frustrated by your reluctance to trust him. He hates that you make him care this much, but the thought of you being hurt—physically or emotionally—makes his chest tighten.

When you finally let out a small, dry laugh and say, “You really don’t know when to quit, huh?” he feels an odd sense of victory.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who finds you one evening, hunched over a journal he gifted you long ago. You’re scribbling furiously, completely absorbed, and he can’t help but smile softly at the sight.

“You’re quite the writer,” he comments, startling you.

“Geez, give a person a warning next time,” you grumble, closing the journal instinctively.

Kazuha tilts his head, amused. “What are you hiding in there? Plans for world domination?”

You smirk. “Nah, just embarrassing poetry about how much I love chaos.”

But when he gently reaches for the journal, you hesitate before handing it over. Inside, he finds sketches of places you’ve traveled together, snippets of conversations, and little notes about your adventures.

“You kept all of this?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah, well, don’t get a big head about it,” you reply, trying to downplay the sentiment.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the way your humor becomes softer, almost shy, when you talk about the memories you’ve shared. It’s in those moments he realizes how much you’ve let him into your life—even if you don’t fully trust him yet.

“You’re more sentimental than you let on,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Don’t spread that around,” you reply, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes that he treasures.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who catches you off guard one evening after a particularly intense sparring session. You’re both sitting on the ground, exhausted but grinning. He hands you a flask of water, and as you take it, your fingers brush.

“Careful, Childe,” you tease. “I might think you’re getting soft on me.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are serious. “Maybe I am. Around you, anyway.”

You pause, your usual smirk faltering as you look at him. “Don’t joke about that,” you say, your tone unusually soft.

“I’m not joking,” he replies, his voice steady. “You’re more than just a good fight to me. I care about you.”

For once, you don’t deflect. Instead, you lean back, staring up at the stars, and mutter, “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

But the way your lips twitch into a small, genuine smile doesn’t escape his notice.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he’s walking you back to your camp, and you stop abruptly. “Hey, Childe?”

“Yeah?”

You turn to face him, your grin replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. “Thanks. For putting up with me.”

The warmth in your eyes is something he’s never seen before, and for the first time, you seem completely unguarded. Before you can say anything else, he cups your face with his hand, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re worth it,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. And when you don’t pull away, he closes the distance, his kiss surprisingly tender.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who finds you sitting alone under a tree, the sun setting behind you. There’s an unusual stillness in your demeanor, and he approaches cautiously.

“What’s with the brooding hero act?” he asks, sitting down beside you.

You snort. “Maybe I just like the dramatic lighting.”

But he notices the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your sleeve, a telltale sign of your unease. “You’re terrible at lying,” he mutters.

“Only to people who can’t take a joke,” you quip, but your usual bravado lacks its usual spark.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you until the silence becomes comfortable. Eventually, you speak again. “Do you ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

The question surprises him, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. “All the time,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual.

You glance at him, your eyes searching his for something you can’t quite name. Then, with a small sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when the gesture catches him completely off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts slightly to make you more comfortable, his hand twitching at his side as though debating whether to touch you.

“You’re warm,” you murmur, your voice tinged with amusement.

“And you’re annoying,” he replies, but there’s no bite in his tone.

For the first time, there’s a genuine warmth in your smile, and he can’t help but feel like he’s finally starting to understand you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the change in you during a quiet evening by the campfire. You’re holding the journal he gave you, flipping through its pages with a soft expression.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You glance up, startled, and then shrug. “Just… how far we’ve come, I guess.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who smiles, sitting beside you. “It’s been quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice unusually quiet. Then, after a pause, you add, “You’ve been… really patient with me. I don’t think I ever said thanks.”

“You don’t need to,” he replies, his eyes searching yours.

“No, I do,” you insist, looking at him with an intensity that takes him by surprise. “I’m not… easy to deal with. But you stayed anyway. That means something.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when the vulnerability in your tone is something he’s never heard before, and he feels his chest tighten.

Without thinking, he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “You mean more to me than you realize,” he says softly.

You stare at him for a long moment before lacing your fingers with his. “Maybe I’m starting to get that,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time, your smile is free of sarcasm or deflection. It’s warm, genuine, and utterly disarming.

“I’ll take that as a victory,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Don’t get used to it,” you tease, but there’s no bite in your words.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when the firelight dances in your eyes, and he looks at you, he knows he’d follow you anywhere.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who surprises you one evening with a quiet dinner set up near a cliff overlooking the ocean. When you see the setup, complete with lanterns and freshly caught seafood, you raise an eyebrow.

“This is new,” you say, smirking. “What’s the occasion? Did someone die?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t I just do something nice for you?”

“You? Nice?” you tease, plopping down onto the blanket. “You’re setting a dangerous precedent, Childe.”

As the evening wears on, the atmosphere becomes more intimate. The way he looks at you, with a rare softness in his expression, makes your usual bravado falter.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, at one point, he leans closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You snort, your cheeks warming. “You need to work on your pickup lines.”

But when he cups your face and kisses you, slow and deliberate, your witty comeback dies on your lips. His touch is both tender and possessive, a silent reminder that he’s already decided you’re his.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer drags you out of bed one morning, much to your annoyance. “I promise, if this isn’t life-threatening, I’m going back to sleep,” you grumble, rubbing your eyes.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of your wrist. “Just shut up and follow me.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where he leads you to a secluded hilltop just as the sun begins to rise. The view is breathtaking, but you’re still half-asleep and unimpressed.

“You woke me up for this?” you ask, stifling a yawn.

“Ungrateful as always,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

Despite your sarcasm, you sit down beside him, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. After a moment, you glance at him and say, “Thanks. For this, I mean.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer smirks, but there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Don’t get used to it.”

Later, when you’re lying back in the grass, the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable. He leans over, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilts your face toward his.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Good,” you reply, grinning. And then he closes the distance, his kiss as intense and consuming as his feelings for you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha invites you on a late-night stroll, the two of you wandering through a quiet forest illuminated by moonlight. He stops at a clearing where fireflies dance in the air, their glow reflecting in his crimson eyes.

“You sure know how to set a mood,” you say, half-joking.

He chuckles, stepping closer. “It’s not the fireflies setting the mood.”

You raise an eyebrow, your trademark smirk in place. “Kazuha, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when he takes your hand and pulls you closer, the teasing remark you were about to make dies in your throat. His hands rest on your waist, his touch featherlight yet grounding.

“You’re the most captivating person I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Instead of replying, you pull him down into a kiss, slow and deep, the world around you fading away.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when It’s been a year since he first confessed, and while you’ve spent most of it poking fun at his intensity, tonight feels… different. He’s pacing around your shared campsite after a mission, looking oddly nervous.

“Spit it out already,” you say, lounging on a log and stretching like you don’t have a care in the world. “You’re giving me secondhand anxiety.”

He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s time we made this official.”

You blink, sitting up. “Official?”

“You know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Us. Together. Permanently.”

“Oh, that kind of official,” you reply, your smirk widening. “You really know how to charm a person, Ajax.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, before he can get defensive, you saunter over, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Relax,” you murmur, your voice dropping an octave. “I’d be stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

The relief in his eyes is quickly replaced by something darker, more possessive. “You really mean that?”

Your grin is wicked. “Why don’t you make me prove it?”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who doesn’t need to be told twice. Before you know it, you’re backed against a tree, his hands roaming your body with an urgency that sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re mine now,” he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Completely, utterly mine.”

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t already,” you quip, though your voice trembles as his hands slip under your shirt.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous. “Oh, I’m going to make sure there’s no doubt left.”

The next thing you know, you’re stripped bare, pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. His mouth is everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your hip—leaving marks that scream possession.

“You look so perfect like this,” he mutters, his voice thick with need. “Completely at my mercy.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” you manage to say, though the tremor in your voice betrays your bravado.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he finally slides into you, slow and deliberate, your sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement he needs. His pace is relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge as he whispers possessive promises against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, over and over, his grip on your hips bruising. “No one else will ever have you.”

And as your nails rake down his back, pulling him impossibly closer, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, when It’s late, and you’re lying together in his makeshift tent. The air between you feels heavy, charged with something unsaid. Finally, he sighs and sits up.

“You know,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically soft, “it’s been a year.”

You hum, not bothering to open your eyes. “And?”

“And I think… maybe it’s time we stop pretending this is casual,” he says, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Your eyes snap open, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. “Wanderer, are you seriously confessing again?”

He glares, but there’s no real bite to it. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you reply, sitting up fully. “I didn’t think you were the type to get sentimental.”

“Only for you,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing.

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing—for tonight.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses you—it’s desperate, hungry, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You’re infuriating,” he growls, his hands sliding under your shirt to explore your bare skin.

“Good,” you breathe, grinding against him. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy for you.”

His response is a low groan as he flips you onto your back, his body pressing you into the soft fabric of the bedroll. His eyes are dark, his expression utterly unguarded as he looks down at you.

“You’re not getting away tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you reply, smirking.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he enters you, it’s with a roughness that steals your breath, his movements erratic as he chases both your pleasure and his. His hands pin your wrists above your head, his lips tracing a heated path down your neck.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with intensity. “No one else.”

And as your moans fill the air, his grip on you tightening, you realize there’s no point in denying it.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where he's sitting beside you by the fire, the two of you wrapped in a comfortable silence. Kazuha leans toward you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“You’ve stayed with me for a year,” he says quietly. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you by my side.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile is genuine. “Are you trying to propose or something?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Maybe I am.”

The teasing remark dies on your lips as he reaches for your hand, his touch featherlight. “I want this. Us. Forever.”

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Well, I’m not exactly in the habit of saying no to you, am I?”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who kisses you then, slow and deliberate, his hands cradling your face like you’re something precious.

When he lays you down by the fire, his movements are unhurried, each touch a silent declaration of his devotion. His hands roam your body, mapping every curve as his lips press heated kisses along your skin.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Show me,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

And he does.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when he finally joins with you, it’s slow, almost reverent, his movements guided by the need to make you feel every ounce of his love. His hands never leave your body, his lips pressing soft kisses against your neck, your shoulder, your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with sincerity.

And as the firelight dances across your intertwined bodies, you realize you’ve never felt more adored—or more his.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he stands on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean, his mind races. He’s been with you for over a year, and it’s been nothing short of perfect, even if you’re still your usual teasing self. But he knows, deep down, that he can’t wait any longer. He’s made up his mind.

Marry me, he thinks, the words swirling in his mind. It’s not a question, not really. It’s an inevitable conclusion. You’re his. You’ll always be his. The only thing left is to make sure you understand that—completely.

“You’d be the perfect wife,” he mutters to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. He envisions you, sitting next to him by the fire, laughing, living, thriving beside him. He imagines it all, and it feels… right. It’s what he deserves.

But the question is: How?

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as his eyes scan the horizon, searching for inspiration. The right setting, he thinks. It has to be memorable. Something personal, something only the two of you can share. Not just some grand spectacle that’ll make you feel overwhelmed—something that’ll make you want to say yes without hesitation.

Or maybe I should take you by surprise, he contemplates, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. A more intimate, private moment. No distractions. Just the two of you, alone, with nothing but his love wrapping around you.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his mind races through countless scenarios—by the water, under the moonlight, with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing at your feet. Or maybe in the heat of the moment, when you’re both caught up in your passion, when the connection between you two is raw and undeniable.

But one thing is clear: Tartaglia knows you’ll say yes. You’ll have to. You’re already his.

He just has to make sure you see it, too. That you realize how deep his love goes. That you understand the intensity of what he’s offering. This isn’t just a ring. It’s a lifetime of devotion and passion.

After a long silence, his eyes harden with resolve. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine forever.”

The plan is set. Now all he has to do is wait for the right moment to make you his wife.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where two months have passed since that night in the tent, and Wanderer can’t stop thinking about how perfect it is between you two. It’s a strange thing, this feeling in his chest that grows stronger with each passing day.

You’re mine, he thinks, but now, it’s not enough to just claim you. He wants more. He wants you by his side forever. He wants you to carry his name, to have no other but him in your life.

There’s something about you, the way you challenge him, the way you fight him. It stirs something inside him, something primal, something that says, this is the person you’ve been waiting for.

“Marriage,” he mutters to himself. The thought comes to him like a sudden revelation, like the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. He doesn’t even blink. It just feels right.

But how? How can he make sure you understand that this isn’t just a casual decision? That he’s serious?

♡ Yandere! Wanderer rolls over in bed, staring at the ceiling. A ring? A symbol of ownership, of course. Something that marks you as his. But how does he make it clear to you that he wants this—wants you—forever?

His thoughts are a whirlwind. He knows that he can’t just come out and ask you. Not like that. You’re too clever, too observant for something so simple. No, he’ll have to make it special.

Perhaps somewhere secluded, just the two of you, far from anyone who could interrupt. He’ll show you his commitment, and then, in the silence of your shared space, he’ll make his declaration. A vow, a promise.

The problem is, he doesn’t trust himself not to just take you right then and there. The idea of you in a white dress, standing beside him, gives him a rush of desire so intense it nearly overwhelms him. But he knows that’s not what he wants.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer wants you to want this, too. Not out of obligation, but because you feel it, because you understand the gravity of what he’s offering.

But how can he make you feel that way? How can he show you that, even though he’s never been one for sentimentality, with you… he’s willing to change?

Wanderer sits up, his eyes narrowed as he thinks it over. He’ll need to be patient, let the moment come naturally, and then when it does…

He’ll claim you forever.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where it's been two months after that night by the fire, his feelings for you have only deepened. He’s spent hours thinking about how to make the moment special, wondering how best to express his love. The idea of forever with you fills him with a warmth he can’t quite put into words.

You’ve been his muse for so long, and now, he wants to make you his in the most meaningful way he can think of.

The problem is… he’s never been good at this. How does one ask for someone’s hand in marriage without sounding cliché or desperate? How can he ask you to be with him forever when everything about him feels so transient?

♡ Yandere! Kazuha watches the wind rustle through the trees, lost in thought. The answer isn’t obvious, but it’s there, in the quiet moments he shares with you. He needs it to be personal, a reflection of the time you’ve spent together, of the bond you’ve created.

A small, intimate setting—a secluded beach at sunset, perhaps. The two of you alone, just like the first night you truly opened up to each other. He’ll ask you when the moment feels right, when the connection between you is so palpable it fills the air.

A simple question, but with everything he is.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha chuckles to himself softly. It doesn’t need to be grand. What matters is that you’ll be his, and he’ll be yours, forever.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when the world slows, and his heart stops for just a moment, realizing that the blow meant for him has fallen upon you instead. You stand between him and the Abyss, your eyes wide in pain as the deadly weapon pierces your body. His breath catches in his throat.

"No..." he whispers, his voice broken as he crawls toward you, blood seeping from your wound.

Your lips curve into a sad, knowing smile, but it’s sharp. "Go," you command, every ounce of strength focused on keeping him safe, even as the life begins to drain from you. "Get out of here. I’ll hold them off. You have to survive. It’s not your time yet."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia where his entire world crumbles. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. "I won’t leave you," he growls, trying to rise, but the weight of his own failure pulls him back down.

"You will," you say, your voice steady, but you can feel the darkness creeping in. "You will, Ajax. I love you... I always have." Your eyes lock, your gaze filled with such quiet resolve that it nearly breaks him. "I’m yours... but you have to keep fighting... For us."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia before he can protest, before he can beg, you make your move. With every ounce of your strength, you grab the closest enemy and pull them down with you into the depths of the Abyss, dragging their weapons into the chasm alongside you. You force them all to fall, ensuring they can’t escape with you, ensuring that Tartaglia gets the chance to survive.

"Go!" you scream one last time. "Now!"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, with every fiber of his being, refuses. His body trembles, his heart splintering into pieces as he watches you disappear into the darkness. He screams your name, his voice thick with despair and rage.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, when you’re gone, when you’ve been consumed by the Abyss and he’s left behind, alone with the silence, he’s never felt more hollow. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since you vanished—days, weeks, or mere minutes. Time has no meaning when you’ve lost the only thing that has ever mattered to you.

But he will find you.

His eyes darken with madness as he stands, his entire body burning with fury. He will never stop searching for you. You think you can escape him? He will tear apart the world, the Abyss, and everything between him and you. If it takes years, if it takes an eternity, he will find you.

The ring in his pocket feels like a weight he can’t carry without you, but he will find a way to make the promise real. The promise he made to you. To love you, forever.

He stands, his fists clenched. The hunt begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, as his eyes narrow. "Stay close," he commands. The two of you fight side by side, effortlessly synchronizing your movements as you’ve done countless times before. You’re unstoppable—until today.

Suddenly, the world tilts. A strange force pulls at the very air around you. The weapons they wield are like nothing you’ve seen before. A barrage of magical projectiles rains down from every direction, each one more powerful than the last, each one seemingly tailored to exploit your weaknesses.

You’re fast, but not fast enough. Your energy wanes. Wanderer's face flickers with concern as he fights to protect you, but the odds are overwhelming. Then, one of them moves too quickly, too precisely. They strike at Wanderer with a vicious blow that sends him flying back. His body crashes to the ground, and you’re the first to rush to him to take the killing blow.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where you’ve fallen, your body slipping into the darkness to protect him—Wanderer watches in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as you’re consumed by the Abyss. His voice is raw, lost. “No… no, this can’t be happening.”

He rushes toward you, but the wave of enemies, their weapons tearing at the air, blocks him. His hands are shaking as he tries to reach you, but the moment is slipping away, too fast, too cruel. His mind is screaming for him to do something, anything, but the power of the Abyss pulls you further from him.

As the last of the darkness claims you, you look back. Your eyes are filled with pain, but also love, and the last words you whisper are enough to break him.

"Live, Wanderer," you say. "Live for us…"

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where his knees buckle, his world imploding in on itself as he screams your name. There’s no escaping the agony that claws at his heart. His mind turns dark, fueled by rage and desperation. How dare they? How dare they take you from him?

He grits his teeth, his hands shaking as he rises to his feet. “I’ll kill them all,” he growls, his voice hoarse with rage. “You won’t be forgotten. I swear on everything… I will make them pay.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer stands, a man possessed, and the hunt for vengeance begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where, just as he’s about to finally put his plans into motion, to ask you the question that’s been burning in his mind for months, everything shatters. The campfire crackles behind him as he watches you, your eyes catching the last light of the setting sun. He’s so sure, so certain. The ring hidden in his pocket, the words ready to spill from his lips—but then the ground shakes.

A flash of darkness tears through the sky, and Kazuha's instincts scream that something’s wrong. He turns to find you, standing beside him, your hand brushing against his as if fate has already decided. But the moment is shattered, ripped away by the sound of swords clashing, the sudden pressure of cold, calculated death.

A figure in the shadows, their weapon gleaming with deadly precision, lunges at Kazuha. A dozen more emerge, surrounding you both, their weapons crackling with malicious energy. Their presence feels wrong. Their faces are hidden behind cold metal masks, and their movements are unnatural, almost mechanical.

Everything goes wrong too fast, too quickly. You don't hesitate to protect him with your very life, shielding him from a fatal blow, from an injury that could've killed him.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the moment he sees you fall—your body consumed by the Abyss—he’s frozen, unable to move. He’s never felt fear like this before, the way it twists his insides, cold and sharp. You, the one who’s been his light in the darkness, the one who’s made him believe in something worth fighting for, are now gone.

His eyes are wide as he reaches for you, his heart breaking in his chest. “No… No, this can’t be real. You… you promised…”

But the Abyss has claimed you, and he’s left standing in the dark, the world crumbling around him. His hands tremble as he drops to his knees, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll find you,” he vows. “I swear I will. I will bring you back. I will make them pay for this.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha stands, a storm brewing within him, his resolve hardening into something unbreakable. He will find you. And when he does, there will be no place that will ever be able to hide you from him again.

The hunt has begun.

────────────

The world feels like it’s crumbling around him. His heart pounds in his chest, and his hands tremble as he moves through the shadows, eyes searching desperately for any trace of you. He’s been hunting for days—no, weeks—losing himself in the search for the only person who’s ever truly mattered to him. The Abyss took you. They took his light, his love.

He’s driven, possessed by the desire to find you, to bring you back to him, to make everything right again. No obstacle is too great. No danger too perilous. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat is a reminder that he’ll stop at nothing to have you back.

And then, there he is. The Abyss Prince.

His blood runs cold, as he sees Aether standing there, his icy gaze locked onto the battlefield. And in the distance, he sees you—slumped, bloodied, barely conscious. His heart skips a beat.

“No,” He growls, his voice low and dangerous. His every instinct screams to run to you, to hold you, to protect you, but there’s a force that stops him. Something deeper, darker, something unnatural. He knows who’s responsible. It’s him. The Abyss Prince.

His hands curl into fists. His fury surges, but before he can make a move, a chilling, unbearable presence stops him. The world seems to slow.

Suddenly, a blade pierces his chest from behind.

He gasps, his breath catching in his throat as pain explodes through him. His hands shake as he tries to reach for the hilt, but his vision blurs. He looks over his shoulder and sees a familiar face—a face he never thought he’d see in this moment.

It’s you.

A mad gleam in your eyes, a cruel twist to your lips. Your posture, your expression, everything about you has changed. You’re no longer the playful, teasing soul he once knew. You’re cold, calculating, your emotions absent, as though the person he fell in love with is gone. All that remains is someone dangerous.

His heart shatters. His voice trembles as he gasps, “No… No, you—”

But before he can finish, the Abyss Prince steps forward, his cold gaze locking onto him. “You’re not allowed to kill him,” Aether says softly, the command in his voice undeniable. “Not yet.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his confusion swirls into a storm. He stumbles back, watching as you step away from him, the blade still lodged in his chest, before the Abyss Prince gestures for something to happen. You don’t just leave him wounded—you restrain him, binding him with chains, powerful and unyielding, until he can’t move, can’t even see. His head is tilted back, his vision completely restrained completely by the thick, suffocating darkness of the chains.

He struggles, his breaths shallow, his heart racing. He can feel the cold weight of his situation—the desperation, the helplessness that’s taken root inside him.

“You…” Tartaglia’s voice is raw with fury, with disbelief, and with pain. “What did you do to her? What have you done to my wife?”

But you say nothing. You only scoff, as though the situation is beneath you, as though the man you once knew no longer matters. There’s no playfulness, no warmth, just a chilling, vacant emptiness where your love once was.

Tartaglia’s mind races. This can’t be happening. His wife—his wife—has been manipulated. He knows it. This is all the Abyss’ doing. You’re not like this. They’ve broken you, twisted you, made you into something else. They’ve taken you from him.

His frustration boils over, but he’s helpless. “I’ll kill him,” he growls through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill the Abyss Prince for what he’s done to you.”

But even as the words leave his mouth, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong—everything is wrong. He can’t focus. His mind is too clouded, too confused. All he wants is you back. And he’ll stop at nothing to have you again. Even if it means destroying everything in his path.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where the madness is overwhelming. It’s all so much—the pain, the frustration, the confusion—as he watches you in front of him, cold and emotionless, blade in hand, ready to kill. His thoughts spiral in a frenzy. This can’t be real. He refuses to believe it. You… you’re supposed to be his. You’re supposed to be with him. Yet here you are, ready to snuff his life out.

The Abyss did this to you, he knows it. They’ve taken his love and turned her into something else—something cruel, something empty. Something unrecognizable.

His hand shakes as he tries to reach for you, but the chains binding him keep him stuck. His vision is obscured. Every move he tries to make is futile, a cruel reminder of how powerless he is in this moment.

“Why?” he chokes, his voice thick with emotion. “Why are you doing this? I know they’ve manipulated you. I know you’re not like this.”

But you don’t speak. You just look at him, your eyes cold, devoid of any warmth. He can’t reach you, can’t get through to you.

The Abyss Prince stands by, silent, his eyes as cold as ice. He’s watching this—he’s letting this happen. The rage within Wanderer swells to a point where he can hardly breathe.

“No,” he snarls, pulling against the chains. “I will kill you. You will answer for this.”

But you just smile at him, that same cold, emotionless smile. And all Wanderer can do is watch as his love slips further from his grasp, bound by the chains of the Abyss.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the world shatters around him as he watches you fall, as he watches you change into something that he no longer recognizes. The blade that once threatened his enemies is now raised to him, your eyes cold, indifferent to the pain he’s in. He’s unable to stop you, even as he feels the weight of the chains binding him, constricting him. You’re too far gone.

“Kazuha…” you murmur, but the words don’t feel right. They sound empty, distant. His heart cracks as he watches you, the woman he loves, standing before him, her emotions stripped away. You are a stranger now.

He gasps, trying to break free, trying to make sense of the situation. “What happened to you?” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, just… just come back. This isn’t you. This isn’t who I fell in love with.”

But you don’t answer. You only watch him, the gleam in your eyes nothing like the playful light he once knew. It’s cold, calculating, and it freezes him to his core.

And then Aether steps forward, his voice a soft command that stills Kazuha’s frantic mind. “You’re not allowed to kill him, not yet,” Aether reminds once more, his presence suffocating.

Kazuha’s breath catches, and his thoughts spin wildly. This can’t be real. You—you—you’ve been twisted. But Aether has the control here. The chains bind Kazuha tighter, his vision clouded by darkness, and all he can do is sit in silence, trapped, powerless.

“Why?” Kazuha chokes, frustration and fear flooding him. “Why are you doing this?”

Still, you don’t answer. You only step back, leaving him to face the Abyss alone, the chains around him tightening with every heartbeat.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield is chaos, Tartaglia’s vision locked onto you. Aether stands at your side, the Abyss Prince exuding an otherworldly menace. Yet, Tartaglia doesn’t care. He’ll cut through anything and anyone to save you, his beloved, from the darkness that has ensnared you.

“Let her go!” Tartaglia snarls, voice cracking with desperation. His body screams from the injuries sustained in his relentless pursuit, but his heart burns hotter. His eyes flick to you—the source of his pain and salvation. “You don’t belong here! Come back to me!”

For a moment, his words seem to falter against your icy gaze. He knows you hear him, knows that somewhere in your heart, the person he loves still exists. But instead of the warmth he longs for, a cruel, mocking smile spreads across your lips.

“Come back?” you repeat, your tone dripping with false innocence. “Oh, Tartaglia, you poor, stupid fool.”

His breath hitches, confusion flashing across his face. Aether glances at you, silent but visibly amused, as though he’s watching a particularly entertaining performance. You turn to the Abyss Prince, patting his shoulder with an air of camaraderie that shatters Tartaglia’s world.

“He’s SO dumb,” you say with a cackle, tilting your head back to laugh. “Did he really think he was that special? That I cared? Oh, this is too good.”

Tartaglia stumbles back as if struck. “What… what are you saying?” he whispers, voice trembling.

“Everything, from the very beginning…” you start, pacing in front of him like a predator toying with its prey. “The teasing, the affection, the nights we spent together, the ‘sacrifices’ I made to protect you. All of it. A lie.”

He shakes his head violently, refusing to believe it. “No! You… you almost died for me! You saved me!”

You roll your eyes, brandishing the very blade you once used to fight by his side. “Please, Childe. That was just part of the plan. You were so much fun to manipulate, though. I’ll give you credit for that. Getting through your walls wasn’t easy.”

Tartaglia’s hands clench into trembling fists. His heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart. “You’re lying. This isn’t you. This is the Abyss! They’ve done something to you!”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, stepping closer to him. Your blade tilts his chin up, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I’ve always been like this. You were just too blind to see it.”

Aether’s voice cuts through the tension. “Enough.” The Prince’s command is calm, almost bored. “He’s served his purpose.”

You sigh, turning back to Aether. “Fine, fine. But can we please kill him now? This melodrama is getting tedious.”

Tartaglia’s vision blurs as the weight of betrayal crashes over him. He can’t reconcile the love he felt with the monster before him. Even as his body fails, his heart stubbornly clings to the hope that this is some cruel illusion.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer’s indigo eyes are wide with disbelief, fixed on you as you stand beside Aether. The Abyss Prince’s presence is oppressive, but it’s your cold smirk that steals the breath from his lungs.

“Why are you doing this?” Wanderer’s voice cracks, his usual sharp wit replaced by a trembling vulnerability. “I trusted you. I… loved you.”

You tilt your head, feigning surprise. “Loved me? That’s sweet. But did you really think someone like me could love someone like you?”

The words hit him like a blow, but you’re not finished. You twirl a dagger in your hand, your movements lazy and confident. “Let me guess. You thought we were kindred spirits, two broken souls finding solace in each other? How… adorable.”

Wanderer’s rage flares, his chains rattling as he strains against them. “You liar! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the Abyss Prince and get you back, no matter what it takes!”

Aether chuckles softly, and you laugh along with him, the sound grating against Wanderer’s raw nerves. “Kill him?” you echo. “Oh, darling, you couldn’t even touch him. And you think I want to be ‘saved’ by you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Wanderer freezes, the weight of your words sinking in. He studies your face, searching for any trace of the person he thought he knew, but all he finds is a stranger wearing your skin.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Why would you do this?”

You shrug, tossing the dagger into the air and catching it effortlessly. “Because it’s fun. And because Aether needed a little help with a certain someone.” Your gaze sharpens, and for a moment, Wanderer sees the madness in your eyes. “You were just a pawn, dear. A very entertaining pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels, his hands bound by unyielding chains, his soft crimson eyes filled with betrayal as he looks up at you. The gentle breeze that usually follows him is eerily still, as though the world itself mourns his heartbreak.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “How could you… why would you do this?”

You sigh, as if exasperated by his naivety. “Oh, Kazuha. Always so poetic, so trusting. It’s almost endearing how much faith you put in people. Almost.”

He flinches at the derision in your tone. “You saved me. You risked your life for me. Was all of that a lie?”

You kneel before him, cupping his face with a mocking tenderness. “Not all of it,” you admit. “Some of it was necessary. After all, how else was I supposed to gain your trust?”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, his heart shattering into pieces he can hardly comprehend. “You used me,” he says, more to himself than to you. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”

“Bingo!” you chirp, pulling back and spinning on your heel. “Took you long enough to figure it out. Honestly, I was starting to think you’d never catch on.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow that looms over Kazuha. “Are we done here?” he asks, his tone bored.

You glance at him with a pout. “Almost. Just let me have this moment. Watching him break is the best part.”

Kazuha’s head hangs low, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of your betrayal. Yet, even as despair overtakes him, a small ember of hope remains. He vows, silently and fiercely, to free you from the Abyss’ clutches—no matter what it takes.

You, however, have other plans. As you turn away, a cruel smile graces your lips. The game has only just begun, and you’re already thinking of your next move.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield reeks of blood and fire, the aftermath of Tartaglia’s relentless pursuit of you. His breaths come ragged, his body battered, yet his gaze remains locked on you. Aether stands beside you, radiating the chilling authority of the Abyss Prince.

“You think this is over?” Tartaglia spits, his voice raw with determination. “I’ll tear apart this entire Abyss if I have to—just to bring you back.”

You laugh—a sound that is anything but warm. It’s a sharp, maniacal cackle, filled with scornful glee. “Back? To what, exactly? Your pathetic little life of lies and delusions?”

He flinches, but you’re already closing the distance between you. Your hand shoots out, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground with unnatural strength. His vision swims, yet he refuses to look away from you.

“You’re nothing without me,” you hiss, your grip tightening as his struggles grow weaker. “Do you honestly believe your love could save anyone, Childe? That I needed saving? How quaint.”

He gurgles something incoherent, but you only tighten your hold, leaning in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. “The only thing you’re good for is bleeding. Look at you, all this power, all this loyalty, and for what? For me to spit in your face?”

You release him suddenly, letting him collapse in a heap at your feet. He clutches at his throat, gasping for air, but you’re not done. Your boot presses against his chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t look so shocked,” you sneer, tilting your head like a predator savoring the kill. “Did you think I was some damsel in need of rescuing? No, darling. I’m the monster your nightmares warned you about.”

Tartaglia’s eyes blaze with despair and determination as he chokes out, “I’ll… I’ll kill him… take you back…”

Your laughter erupts again, wild and unhinged. “Kill him? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t even stand. You’re nothing but a pitiful fool—a fool who thought love could conquer someone like me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer thrashes against the chains binding him, his indigo eyes burning with fury and disbelief. His usual sharp tongue fails him as he stares at you, standing beside Aether, a wicked grin plastered across your face.

“You’re insane,” Wanderer growls, venom dripping from every word. “Let me go, and I’ll make you regret this.”

You clap your hands mockingly, the sound echoing in the cavernous Abyss chamber. “Regret? Oh, sweetheart, regret is for people who make mistakes. I’m having too much fun watching you squirm.”

He lunges against the chains, his strength formidable but useless against the Abyssal restraints. “You lied to me!” he snarls. “Everything—you lied about everything!”

“Of course I did,” you say with a sing-song lilt, stepping closer. Your hands trail lazily over his face, your nails scraping just enough to hurt. “Did you really think someone like me could ever care about someone like you? A discarded puppet, a useless little doll?”

His expression twists with rage, but the vulnerability behind it is unmistakable. “You’re wrong,” he bites out. “You cared. I saw it. I felt it.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo mockingly, before your voice drops, sharp as a blade. “Feel this.”

Your knee slams into his gut, forcing a pained gasp from his lips. You grab his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look at you. “I never cared about you. You were just a stepping stone, a toy for me to break when I got bored. And guess what? I’m bored now.”

Aether chuckles behind you, his voice cold and amused. “You’re cruel,” he observes.

You flash him a wicked grin. “Why, thank you, my prince. I do aim to please.”

Wanderer’s voice is hoarse, filled with hatred and anguish. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill you. You’ll regret this.”

Your laughter is pure insanity, ringing out like a bell of doom. “Try, little puppet. Try and fail, again and again. It’s the only thing you’re good for.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels in chains, his crimson eyes filled with sorrow as he gazes up at you. The stillness of the air is suffocating, the calm before a storm that will never come.

“You…” he begins, his voice a broken whisper. “You were my compass. My home. How could you betray me like this?”

You crouch in front of him, your eyes alight with malevolent joy. “Betray you?” you echo, your tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, Kazuha, don’t flatter yourself. You were never that important to me.”

His breath hitches, but you don’t stop. You lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you murmur, “You were just a convenient tool, a way to pass the time. A pretty little plaything for me to use and discard.”

Kazuha flinches as if struck, his spirit cracking under the weight of your words. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but the tremor in his voice betrays his doubt.

You laugh, the sound a haunting melody of madness. “Oh, but I do. Every word. And do you know the best part? Watching you break, piece by piece.”

Your hand grips his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You thought you could save me, didn’t you? That your love could heal whatever darkness you saw in me. How utterly pathetic.”

He trembles under your touch, his chains rattling as his hands ball into fists. “I’ll find a way,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll free you from this darkness.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back in pure delight. “Free me? Oh, Kazuha, I am the darkness. There’s nothing to free me from.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow beside you. “He’s done,” the Abyss Prince says. “Let him wallow in his failure.”

You stand, casting one last mocking glance at Kazuha. “Goodbye, my little storm. Try not to drown in your tears.”

As you walk away, Kazuha’s head hangs low, his heart shattered—but the fire of his resolve burns on.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The kiss you share with Aether is cruelly deliberate, a deep, searing display of mockery meant for the man crumpled at your feet. Tartaglia’s battered body trembles, his fists digging into the scorched ground as he watches, his chest heaving with a suffocating cocktail of pain and rage.

“Don’t look away,” you taunt, your lips still wet with the evidence of your betrayal. “This is the truth, Childe. This is all you ever were to me—something to laugh at.”

Aether scoffs, shoving you away, irritation flashing in his Abyssal gaze. But you only laugh, twirling back to face Tartaglia, your grin stretching wider as your gaze locks with his. Gone is the warmth he clung to, the person he thought he loved. In its place is a madness so stark, so twisted, it shatters whatever hope remained in his heart.

The realization crashes into him like a tidal wave—you never cared for him. Not once. Not even in the smallest, fleeting moment. His breath hitches, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips.

“I see it now,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but laced with a dangerous calm. “You don’t deserve kindness. And I’ve been far too kind to you.”

Your grin falters, if only for a second, as he rises to his knees, his gaze blazing with something new—something unhinged.

“It’s too late to turn back,” he says, his tone eerily even. “I don’t need your love, or your lies, anymore. You’ll be mine, no matter what I have to destroy to make it happen.”

As Abyss subordinates drag him away, his eyes never leave yours, his smirk dark and foreboding. “Run, hide, laugh while you can. I’ll be coming for you. And when I do, you’ll regret every breath you ever stole from me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Your lips crash against Aether’s, an act of derision that sends a violent shudder through Wanderer’s restrained form. His chains rattle as his whole body tenses, the burning in his eyes consuming what little humanity he’d clung to.

“You’re a fool,” you whisper against Aether’s lips before pulling away, your laughter slicing through the silence. The Abyss Prince wipes his mouth with a look of disdain, but your amusement only grows. You whirl around to face Wanderer, your grin a feral slash across your face.

“You never saw it, did you?” you sneer, your voice dripping with venom. “All that time, all those stolen moments—and you never noticed the madness in my eyes. You’re not a victim, Wanderer. You’re just another broken thing for me to play with.”

For a moment, he’s silent. Then, the corners of his lips twitch upward, forming a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his tone soft yet laced with something chilling. “You think this is over, don’t you?”

You tilt your head, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor.

“Go ahead,” he continues, his voice gaining strength. “Laugh, mock me, pretend you’ve won. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The Abyss soldiers begin to drag him away, but his eyes stay fixed on yours, unyielding and terrifying.

“You’ve taken everything from me,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “So now, I’ll do the same to you. Love? Hate? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll strip you bare, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but me.”

And as he’s pulled into the shadows, his final words echo like a curse: “You’ll never escape me, not even in death.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Your kiss with Aether is theatrical, exaggerated, designed to carve deeper into Kazuha’s shattered heart. The Abyss Prince shoves you away, muttering something under his breath, but you laugh, spinning to meet Kazuha’s gaze.

“Did you think you were special?” you ask, your voice lilting with mockery. “That your poetry and promises could bind me to you? Oh, Kazuha, you were always chasing a storm you could never tame.”

Kazuha doesn’t respond, his crimson eyes fixed on yours with a quiet intensity. But the light in them has changed, twisted into something unrecognizable.

“You’ve lost,” you declare, turning away, but his voice stops you cold.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his tone so calm it sends a chill down your spine.

You glance back, and the sight of him—the once-gentle warrior now smirking with a darkness that rivals your own—sends your pulse skittering.

“You think you’ve won,” he continues, his voice soft but deadly. “But this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.”

The Abyss guards move to haul him away, yet he doesn’t resist. His gaze remains locked on you, his smile growing as he speaks his final words.

“I’ll break you,” he says, his voice like a whispered promise carried on the wind. “Not with anger, not with hatred—but with love twisted into something you can’t escape. And when you’re mine, when you’re begging for the freedom you so carelessly destroyed, I’ll remind you of this moment. I’ll remind you who truly holds the chains.”

And as the shadows swallow him, his presence lingers, a storm on the horizon waiting to strike.

────────────

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❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.