#lbc cael x reader

[romance-rambles]

modern* cael | a guide to handling your girlfriend's amnesia

Whilst attempting to recover your memories of your father, you end up losing your memories of the past few years instead—including the part about how you're on your way to be the future Mrs. Anselm.

8.1k, mostly fluff + slight angst + some suggestive stuff, flashbacks + amnesia, takes place sometime after hot springs event, reader is mc, series: none

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I lost my memories?"

A question, innocently asked. Cael thinks nothing of it at the time—thinks nothing at all, actually. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you love him, and he loves you. Therefore, there's only room for one answer, the same one as yours.

"I'd help you get them back," he says. Gently. Patiently. Though you seem to have come to terms with the fact that the amnesiac Cael you saw was your own doing, the experience seems to have to left you clingier than normal. "I'd tell you about all that we've seen and done together. The good, the bad, and—"

Even in the darkened room, he thinks he can see you grin.

"And the weird?"

He chuckles softly. "It sounds like you have ideas."

You start exactly where he expects you to, with the man who was once Darya's lover. An orb-shaped third wheel that gave relationship advice—and pestered Cael every chance he got. When it came time to part ways with him, you were rather sad.

As if, to you, Darya's lover was no different from a friend you made on one of your own journeys.

Next on the list is the time they both spent in White City, as beautiful as it was when it stood tall and proud. But rather than the cleansing ritual that demanded all travelers leave their negative emotions behind, or Darya coming to destroy the city, having lost her mind after the loss of her lover, what sticks out to you is—

"And you were so young! And this tall." you exclaim, gesturing in the dark. A dreamy sign gives way to a fit of giggles. "You were so cute."

Trying to fight back a smile in your presence is a fool's endeavor. It spread across his face anyways, warm and fond—and though you likely can't see it either, he feels as if you simply know. You snuggle closer and hum in satisfaction.

"I see," he says, amusement dripping from every syllable. "So, in your eyes, I'm no longer cute."

A muffled protest escapes your lips, though undoubtedly half-hearted. From your voice alone, he can tell you're pouting, happily unhappy—an oxymoron, if he's ever heard one—that he's derailed the conversation.

"You're always cute," you murmur, and he takes his victory with a faint laugh.

MEMORIES ARE A FICKLE THING, fragile yet everlasting—it takes great skill to painstakingly manipulate every element of someone's past to offer them a coherent illusion. To this day, Cael isn't sure how his senior managed to wipe your memory so thoroughly that no traces of your father remain. Even he, arguably an equally skilled prefect, cannot manage such a feat.

And yet, here he is, against his better judgement, fiddling around with your memories in hopes that he can undo Prefect Crimson's finest work.

Fitting for such an endeavor, a pile of notebooks containing information he compiled on the subject sits nearby, on the floor beside your bed. The pillow cushioning his knees, though unnecessary, deflates as he stands up, wiping the sweat of his forehead awkwardly. You insisted upon it, though he's half-certain you were teasing him for his age, and he found he couldn't deny you in that moment.

The thing is, one hand rests on top of your forehead, though the ritual has long since concluded. The other hand holds onto yours, having never given up your warmth for even a moment. Even when he felt his ponytail loosen, he merely gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

As he watches your peaceful form, he can't help but sigh.

When you brought up the possibility of re-tampering with your memories, he'd been hesitant. You did not remember the times your heart could not forget Godheim, but he did. And from then on, he simply had no reason to mess around like that.

All this to say, he, Prefect Silver of the Thousand Empires, is afraid of messing up—not for the first time, in these past few months.

"Cael…?" A groan—and the faint squeeze of your hand—draws him out of his thoughts. You blink blearily, your free hand coming to rest on your forehead as well. "What…"

"That's right," he says, squeezing your hand back, "How are you feeling?"

"My head…" You complain. "Where exactly did I fall from?"

Almost immediately, you attempt to sit up. Cael presses down on your forehead gently, quietly reminding you to rest for a bit longer. You comply, without complaint, though a frown tugs faintly at your lips. In his heart, he harbors no doubt on whether you consider him fussy; still, he accepts your silence gratefully.

"Cael—" After a few minutes have passed, you call his name again. "—where are we? This doesn't look like my room. It doesn't seem like a hotel either."

And with that, his heart drops.

If you aren't pulling his leg, it means something definitely went wrong. The fact that you remember him at all is a good sign. That narrows the amount of explaining he'd need to do by a lot. There's also the simple fact that he's not sure he'd be able to keep a straight face if you forgot him.

"What's the last thing you remember doing?" he asks.

You frown, watching him as though he's the one who's lost his mind. "We were about to go to France for the summer. For Van Gogh, remember?"

"What year do you think it is?"

"2022…?" This time, you actually do sit up, your hand removing his own before he can make a move. It goes back to where it sat on your forehead, your grimace saying much about the state of you. "Did something happen? You look…pale."

Cael bites back a grimace.

"I'm fine," he says reassuringly. "I simply…wasn't expecting that answer."

Raising one eyebrow at him, you joke, "How hard did I hit my head? What is it, 2035?"

Somehow, it manages to pull a weak smile out of him.

YOU'RE STILL A GIGGLY MESS, by the time you let him go.

And if someone is to assume that phrase implies that his limbs are no longer bound, they would be incorrect. Though his hands are now free, you waste no time in throwing your legs over and in between his own. He thinks he should snap a photo of this moment, for the next time you complain that Beanie feels more like his cat than yours.

Like owner, like pet seems to ring true in this situation.

"You know—" The words come out with a gasp, a brief prelude of silence before you devolve into another fit of giggles. You're laying on your back, and the start of your next sentence is marked by the sound of your hand hitting the mattress. "—I think the first thing you should do is tell me that we're dating."

He quirks an eyebrow, well aware of your motives. And though you can't see his expression, he knows you've read him correctly when you shift your head onto his shoulder. Your hair is soft, and tonight, it smells the same as his own.

These days, he can understand your shy mood during hotel stays when the two of them would use the amenities offered, instead of bringing their own.

"After all, I used to write Mrs. Anselm on the margins of my notebooks."

Cael snorts, shifting his arm to accommodate the way your hands insist on wrapping around it. "And now you scribble it every else."

And he does mean that.

He's seen his last name traced on napkins at a restaurant and on the base panel of your laptop. On the fabric of your tights underneath a table—and on the smooth pages of your textbook during class. Your phone case is not immune to the treatment either, and by now, half the student body must be convinced you're in a tragic love that will never be reciprocated.

"Well, it's not like we can let anyone know!"

The vision of you, with your lips pulled into an angry pout and your cheeks puffed, comes to him easily. It becomes the catalyst for his laughter, soft and gentle—enough to disarm you completely. Yet, by then, you've already pinched the inside of his arm.

You rub at the spot gently, as though a pinch from you has ever left him wounded.

"In a few years," Cael promises.

CONTRARY TO YOUR WISHES, CAEL does not start with the part about their relationship.

Understandably, you have questions, and many of them center around your college of choice. From the day you learned of his workplace, St. Shelter Academia became the school of your dreams—you were hardly subtle about it, and perhaps you never intended to be.

For the you facing him now, the thought of them going their separate ways may as well have be a nightmare. One carefully concocted to attack your worst fears, head on. So, Cael softens his tongue the best he can, hovering somewhere between the man he is now and the man he once used to be, and you look at him as if he hung the stars and the moon.

And in the middle of his detailed explanations, which he suspects you've half-tuned out, you notice something tucked away in your desk drawer.

You've been fluttering around the room in a daze for a while now, thoroughly enraptured by the design sense of your future self. It was only going to be a matter of time before the topic began shifting towards Godheim—and all that entails.

"What is this?" you ask, flipping through the pages of volume three of your manga. The curiosity in your eyes dims the more you make sense of its pages, until you look upon your creation with dread. "Is this…my manga? Why is the heroine with the emperor?"

Cael is sitting on the edge of your bed, his legs crossed neatly at the ankles. He lets you run through your thoughts out loud. Some of them are borderline conspiracy theories, and others make his smile falter, though not enough for you to be able to see his grimace.

His favorite one, in a dark humor sort of way, is mind control.

You—the one from 2025—would find it quite funny.

"No to all of those," he cuts you off.

You've been pacing around the room, with your hands in your dark hair. They form little pigtails, the kind you always complain you can never get right. He worries for your hair. For you, and the headache you'll have later.

"Quite a bit has happened in between," Cael says calmly, as the memories of that time flood his mind. What he remembers most is that meteor shower, the moment when the cracks seemed to begin repairing themselves. "There was a period of time when you and I did not speak to each other."

You bite your lip.

"But we're fine now." There is no question in your words. Only a statement, spoken in a distressed tone. And the answer you seek is a resounding yes. "Or you wouldn't be here."

As if sensing his owner's emotions from downstairs—or perhaps Beanie is simply tired of being excluding—a meow sounds from outside the door. A question, and the sound of his paws scratching at the door.

Let me in, a voice that sounds remarkably like your rendition of the cat's human voice yowls in his ear.

"Is that…a cat?" you ask. Your earlier worries seem to have disappeared, replaced with pure, unadulterated excitement at having a furball of your own. "Do I get a cat?"

With an exasperated sigh, he opens the door for Beanie.

The spoiled cat walks in, rubbing his chubby cheeks against Cael's leg. To him, the scene feels not unlike the first time you met Beanie. You crouch down beside the cat, eyes sparkling in delight. This time, Beanie does not spurn you.

Instead, he merely looks at you curiously, as if he can sense that you aren't quite the same human who feeds him every day.

"Hi kitty," you whisper, your hand hovering in the air, above his fur.

"This is Beanie." As he introduces to you the second love of your life, Cael mimics your sitting position and smooths over Beanie's fur. "He's yours."

FOR A FEW MINUTES, THERE is silence.

Then, the discussion begins once more. The subject, this time, is Beanie. A long-running joke in their relationship is that Cael happens to be the favorite parent—and you are simply someone who feeds Beanie every so often, with startling regularity.

Every time you bring it up, he becomes more and more convinced that it's perhaps rooted in an actual insecurity. Like now.

"Do you think Beanie will still like me?" you ask, a yawn interrupting you halfway.

Cael suppresses his instinct to mother you in favor of answering your question. Telling you to go to sleep has never actually worked—he's not so much of an idiot that he can't figure out why you're always tired in the morning, even when he's not staying over.

"I don't see why not," he says sincerely, remembering how despondent the little guy was when you were in the infirmary for three days—all thanks to Cael's most obnoxious colleague. "He adores you."

"Mhm, I know." Your voice is soft. He thinks you might be thinking of the same thing, or the other times you returned from your long journeys. "I won't make him worry."

The silence that follows tricks Cael into thinking this is the end, once again.

But you still have more to say, and he wonders how much of your own worries have yet to be revealed. You must've worried about how to break the news to Beanie—that perhaps Cael wouldn't be in his life in the same way as before.

"I won't make you worry either," you promise.

His gaze softens. "I know."

WHEN YOU REPEAT HIS WORDS back at him, it becomes easy to see why you're skeptical of the truths he's revealed to you. The first time around, when he informed you of your mother, you had already witnessed the depths of his cruelty and learned of his mission. Your travels through Godheim—through its past and its future—also lent him much credibility.

Right now, Godheim is simply the nameless otherworld of your manga. And its trio of protagonists—the maiden, the emperor, and the knight—exist only in its pages, as a mimicry of the love triangle that actually existed.

Or, from the perspective of someone stuck in 2022, the love triangle that will one day exist.

"So, you're actually an alien," you repeat slowly, as though it may make him reconsider his words. It's the same tone he used on you when you mixed up the laundry detergent with dish soap. "I'm also an alien, but only half. And I tried to stop you from destroying the world?"

Unfortunately, as he happens to be very correct, it does nothing to hinder him. Rather, he feels a childish part of him that once went dormant with the fall of White City quietly urge him to be, in your words, a smartass.

"A world," he corrects.

You shoot him a withering glare before proceeding to match—and perhaps exceed—his energy. "Right. A world. The world of my manga, which I wrote."

Cael nods thoughtfully, ignoring the way your glare transforms into the most incredulous of expressions. "That sounds right."

"I'm starting to wonder if you're the one who hit your head."

"LET'S SAY THIS DOES HAPPEN, and you do lose your memories," Cael says, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Would you believe me if I told you about what transpired in Godheim?"

You've wrapped yourself around half of him like an octopus, in such a way that the only comfortable place to put his other arm is over you. The digital alarm clock to his right reads 1:00 AM, but the only symptom that can be attributed to your sleepiness alone is your vaguely nonsensical declarations.

Like the one you shoot off in response to his question, one paired with a snort and, he imagines, a roll of your eyes.

"If I can land you as my boyfriend—" Taking a moment to nuzzle into his shoulder, you pause. "—aliens kind of seem…more realistic, don't they?"

Raising an eyebrow, he parrots your words back at you, in a tone that makes it plainly obvious what he thinks. "Aliens. More realistic?"

To the average human living on Earth, aliens are fantastical creatures of all shapes and sizes—some with, and some without, the intelligence they themselves possess. The most common are colored green, with a penchant for shapeshifting. And if not, then it means they usually do not possess a humanoid body.

Cael, as someone who might be considered an alien himself, would argue that you getting a boyfriend is a far more realistic option for a girl who knows nothing of travelers and prefects—and the empire they belong to.

"Trust me on this one," you say, your voice half-muffled. "It might come in handy one day."

He thinks of his own devastation in Godheim, when the timeline would renew, leaving only the memories of a past that no longer existed in his mind alone. That must be the closest to what you felt when the Cael of your own creation could not recognize you. If he never witnesses such a thing again, it might still be soon.

"I hope not," he mutters.

You laugh. "Me too."

There's a joke at his expense waiting to be made. And you're hardly one to disappoint. Your voice pitches higher, taking on a distinct quality that can only be described as baby talk. You let go of his arm and lay your head down on your hand, propped up by your elbow.

"Can you imagine forgetting about the cutest—"

The positions flip.

As he pins you in place, you giggle, unaffected by the implied threat. It takes kissing you—on the lips, on the cheeks, on your eyelids, and anywhere else he can find—to get you to abandon your train of thought, but even so, his hard-won peace is only temporary.

The moment you pause to catch your breath, undoubtedly smiling up at him with a mischievous grin, is the moment it goes away.

"Sometimes, he even gets jealous of himself."

AFTER FORCEFULLY CHECKING FOR ANY bumps on his head and finding nothing at all, you observe him suspiciously. Beanie has already left by now, having realized that there's nothing of importance for him in the room. It's just the two of them, and whatever dialogue that must be going on in your mind right about now.

At some point, the two of them had swapped positions. You sit on the edge of the bed now, and Cael stands nearby, one hand in his pocket. Every so often, you remember to kick your legs in the air aimlessly.

In this way. an eternity seems to pass.

Cael waits for your verdict with all the eagerness of a man heading out to the battlefield, one wrong move away from losing a limb. He's taken back to the months when the two of them were only cordial, hardly as close as they once were—and definitely not as close as they are now.

Finally, you seem to reach a consensus with yourself.

"What else?" you ask, with a sigh. "I've never known you to pull my leg. Any other riveting stories you have for me?"

By his calculations, the next time that he can fix his mistakes will be a week from now. The cooldown has nothing to do with any energy exerted on his part, but rather, what your body is able to handle. In theory, the procedure itself should be a quick fix.

And, well, he did promise you he would tell you about your relationship status, if you ever happened to forget.

"You have a boyfriend," he says carefully, keeping a close eye on your expression.

"Oh," you say, sounding disappointed. He wonders about your reaction to his next words—if you'll perk up like a dying flower exposed to magic. "That's nice. I'm sure he's nice."

"It's me," he adds.

The current expression on your face speaks much about the state of your mind. You blink rather forcefully, and your tense smile seems to be permanently frozen onto your lips.

"…It's not nice to pull someone's leg like that, Cael," you chide him. "Aliens, I can believe—"

He quirks an eyebrow. "You can believe aliens?"

"But this is—" Sputtering, you begin to gesture wildly in the air. "Is this April Fools' day?"

Your words from before echo in his head. Aliens kind of seem…more realistic, don't they? To think you would be right about that—Cael watches the current you comb through your hair and wonders, not for the first time, about your priorities.

By now, you've started searching for your phone. It occurs to him that perhaps you weren't joking when you asked him that. But, by the time he opens his mouth, you've already learned that it's actually March right now.

"It is not," you mutter, sounding shocked. You don't even seem to have the strength to point any more. "You—we—we're dating."

"That's right," he says gently. "If you're curious, I—"

"Prove it." You cut him off, all of a sudden, your words carrying an intensity he doesn't often see. "If we're dating…then you've probably kissed me before, right?"

"HAVE I EVER TOLD YOU that you're a good kisser?"

"A few times," Cael says, sounding faintly amused. "What brought this on?"

You have your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. From where his hand rests just below your shoulder, he can feel your chest rise and fall. Every so often, a small exhale escapes your lips, when you remember that holding most of your breath in is bad for you.

You shrug. "I was just thinking, if lost my memories, I wouldn't know you were a good kisser."

He waits for you to continue your train of thought. But you offer him nothing more in regards to your stray thought—instead, you're oddly silent. Still, he knows better than to assume the discussion's end.

Burying his face in the nape of your neck, he waits.

"I think—" Your hands assume a more comfortable position on his back. "—that might be the first thing I check."

Cael raises an eyebrow. "And nothing else?"

It's said that a person's personality is often tied to their memories. So, upon losing their memories, it's entirely possible for them to act like a different person. Assuming the premise of the situation you've put forth involves you entirely forgetting him, he can't help but doubt the validity of your claim.

If you retain your memories of him, however—that may be a different story.

"You can be the responsible one." As you giggle, your hands curl into fists. And as you begin to count, you put down a finger for each number. "One kiss. Maybe two."

"I can't imagine that an amnesiac faced with a man claiming to be her boyfriend would be so quick to jump into my arms," he says dryly.

You hum one of the love songs that have been playing everywhere recently. It's your politest way of telling him that he may be correct, but he is also very wrong. On his back, your thumbs and index fingers form the shape of a heart, after a few clumsy attempts at drawing one instead.

"Why not?" you say finally. "As I recall, someone else we know seemed to really like me."

Cael can point out that it was his adult self, with his adult self's feelings, all he wants. The truth is, he isn't really sure if that's the case. It's evident that there's much he doesn't know about his life before the Empire—and then there's the complicated matter of you traveling back in time to meet him.

If the day comes where it turns out his younger self was somehow involved with you, Cael doesn't think he'd be surprised.

"I think I'd really like you too," you murmur. "If there's such a thing as soulmates, I'd like to think that's us."

LUNCHTIME SEES HIM IN THE kitchen, his hair still tied up and an apron tied at his waist.

Yesterday, you said you would want something unhealthy and easy to cook. Something greasy and fried, so thoroughly awful for your body that it would help you cope with what you'd lost. So, he bought a frozen pack of fried chicken and french fries—and he decided against getting buns, just to keep things simple.

He's in the middle of frying the first batch of chicken—having gotten himself out of the previous situation by half-jokingly instituting a one kiss per day limit—when you poke your head into the kitchen.

"So…boyfriend." You step out from behind the wall. "Can I help in the kitchen?"

The gleam in your eyes only promises disaster upon him. It's almost as if you never lost your memory at all. Muscle memory prompts you to tie your hands behind your back and lean forward, the very picture of innocence—in a few minutes, he suspects your arms will be wrapped around his waist.

Your definition of helping tends to be loose at times, but you've spent enough time in the kitchen that he feels comfortable assigning you to the chopping station.

It is then he remembers once more that this simple moment of domesticity is all too new to you.

There's a smile on your face, giddy and uncontrollable. Ordinarily, you'd feign a pout. Insist there are other ways you can help—ones that involve holding his hand, leaving you to grab whatever is he can't at the moment.

His lips thin into a straight line, a compromise to the frown that wants to come out instead.

You don't notice. You're already reaching for your designated apron. Once you've tied it around yourself, you flash him a bright grin, and he can hear your thoughts—the very same words you said the first time you wore it.

We match.

A week, he reminds himself.

Soon, lunch is fried. The unhealthy aroma of frozen fast food wafts through the first floor of your house, and he suspects the same is true for half of the second floor. He did make sure to close all the doors in the house so the rooms, he figures, should be fine.

And as he's setting up the table, you seat yourself in your chair and stare. More of that muscle memory, Cael thinks. He's used to being stared at—you've never hidden your thoughts on his beauty.

And yet, somehow, a simple compliment leaves him at a loss.

"Have I ever told you," you whisper, as he walks away to grab something, "that you look beautiful with your hair tied up?"

There's a lump in his throat. It stops him from offering you a snarky Often. So, he smiles faintly at you and hopes you don't notice what it's meant to hide.

EVEN WITH GREASY FAST FOOD in front of you, you can't seem to take your eyes off of him.

There's something almost reverent about the way you watch him. It takes him back to a time when you knew nothing—and believed wholeheartedly that Cael would always be there, no matter what.

Enough time has passed that the knowledge of how the next week will play out has begun to settle in. Part of it still feels like a dream, as though he might wake up and you'll chase the faint ache in his heart away with a steady stream of kisses.

When he vowed to be his most authentic self in front of you, you had already seen the worst he had to offer. The only place to climb, at that point, was to climb up.

In the present, Cael isn't sure how much of the world-destroying alien part of his explanation has stuck.

"Cael," you speak up suddenly, setting down a half-eaten piece of chicken down on your plate. "Are you really my boyfriend?"

Upon finishing up the piece in his own hand, he asks faintly, "Is it that hard to believe?"

You snort. "You've seen yourself in the mirror, right?"

At the end of the day, you are his girlfriend. It isn't so much of a surprise that the you in front of him and the you locked away in your memories are so painfully alike. Even down to the way your gaze changes, a hint of incredulousness swimming in your purple eyes.

He regrets not asking what he should do if you remember him—just not as your boyfriend. It should be fine to treat you normally, right? You've only lost your memories, and nothing else.

And in the event that he can't get your memories back, it might be a good idea to start getting used to this.

"You're beautiful," Cael offers, his longing evident in every syllable of his confession.

Scarlet blooms across your cheeks. Suddenly, you're a bit shy, tucking a strand of dark hair behind your ear. For a moment, normalcy seems to return to the household.

Coughing politely, you mumble, "I wasn't fishing for a compliment."

The thanks that follows your words comes out as a whisper, almost imperceptible, if not for the fact that he knows you so well. He feels himself relax a bit as he bite into a singular fry.

He's not giving you enough credit—you've already proven you're willing to love his flawed self. More than that, you seem to take an immense amount of glee in finding out that he is, in fact, not perfect. Even now.

And then, you open your mouth, and it's enough to startle him into forgetting what it is he was worried about.

"Does that mean I get an extra kiss?" you ask eagerly, your earlier shyness having vanished in only a moment.

Almost automatically, in a bland tone, he answers, "Ask me tomorrow."

"Okay!" you reply cheerfully, as if you didn't believe, for a moment, he'd say yes.

WHEN NIGHT FALLS UPON HARP island, and you begin to yawn, it becomes increasingly obvious that they must discuss living arrangements. And the opportunity comes when you rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.

For most of the day, he helps you familiarize yourself with your current friends and acquaintances—and lets you mourn the loss of your old ones. And then, there's the matter of your tstudies. You deliberately chose a weekend after your midterms, when your load would be the lightest.

But you need to know where your classes and what they're for, with only a day in between today and Monday.

Needless to say, you're incredibly spent.

If the expression on your face is not enough to sell it, the way you cling to him does.

Affection has always come easy to you. And when your walls are at their lowest, it comes pouring out of you, aimed at the nearest you hold any ounce of affection for. When Cael first properly entered your life, he deduced that allowing such a thing would increase your trust for him.

So, for you, his only boundary was meant to ward off any romantic pursuit.

It worked spectacularly—that is to say, not at all.

"Cael…" you mumble. "I'm sleepy. Can we stop?"

The clock reads 11 PM. Though you act differently, he's aware that this is perhaps the earliest you'll be sleeping in a while. Holding back a sigh, he turns off his laptop, then turns to you.

"You've had a long day," he says, finally, his tone gentle.

"Mhm, can you carry me up? And…" You yawn, cutting off his exasperated response. "Can you stay?"

Cael wonders what might be going through your mind right now. Without his deduction abilities, he feels oddly vulnerable—a notion he hasn't related to in months.

"Alright. It might be good for you to have someone familiar with you tonight," he says, painfully aware of how much he misses his own version of you. "I'll sleep on the couch. So, come get me if you need anything."

"No…" The noise you make vaguely resembles a whine. You wrap your arms around his neck, hands grasping at the fabric of his collar. "Stay. A little longer…"

He can only smile weakly. "Just for a little bit."

"Mhm…I'm not gonna—" A yawn cuts off your words. "Don't wanna wake up."

In the end, Cael must concede to you and your vice grip.

When he sets you on the bed, you cling to his shirt and refuse to let go. You've done this before a few times, mostly after you began dating him—and he, a Prefect of the Thousand Empires who could easily remove himself from your grasp, has never had the heart to escape.

In the week that follows, all his nights happen to follow a similar pattern.

HERE ARE THE FACTS: CAEL goes to sleep with one girlfriend and one cat. He wakes up with one of them laying on top of him. Given their distinctly human-shaped form, it is definitely not the cat. In addition, he locked Beanie out, in case it could be overwhelming to wake up to that.

Therefore, Cael's girlfriend is, for some reason, laying on top of him, their legs tangled together and her intense gaze boring holes into him.

"Good morning." You've stacked your hands on top of each other—and on top of him—which is the base upon which you rest your chin. "…boyfriend."

Bleary violet eyes blink up at the woman trapping their owner in place. Cael's arms, however, are the only part of him that can freely move. And move they do, of their own volition, gingerly wrapping around your waist as they do every morning.

"Good morning," he croaks out, vaguely aware of the troubles awaiting him for the next week. Liore will almost certainly know that something is wrong with you, as will the paragons. That, however, is for future him to worry about. "Go back to sleep."

You ignore him, and the very clear message his closed eyes send. Poking his cheek, you tell him, "Let's go on a date."

Cael cracks one eye open. "Right now?"

"I have to get used to things at St. Shelter, don't I?" Your eyes are sparkling. They're beautiful, like amethysts in the sun. You're beautiful. He wants to sleep. "You're the only one who can help."

He has to be responsible.

With a sigh, he opens his eyes. "I'll make breakfast. Give me a minute."

The world immediately goes dark. Cael is, of course, aware of the dangers of leaving you unattended when you're brimming with energy. Tiredly, he drops a kiss on your forehead and tightens his grasp on you.

Not another word escapes you for the next hour.

THE CUP OF COFFEE IN HIS hand is still warm, by the time the two of them find a bench to settle down on. To call the whole experience a date, in Cael's opinion, is pushing it—interrogation is, perhaps, the better word for it.

For example, on the way to the park, you asked him about how he slept in today.

In your memories, he wakes up as the sun rises, and he's at your house before you even wake up. You once told him that you sometimes pretended he stayed the night. That if you came down at 3 AM, you would find him snoozing on the couch.

You never did, because he never stayed.

In some ways, at that time, you were a nine-to-five and he wasn't keen on working overtime. And when it did become appealing, he justified his distance with the impending goodbye. Wendy would soon no longer need Peter Pan.

Another thing you seemed to be curious about was his suddenly snarky personality. He was still the same gentle Cael you remembered, but different. Even now, as Cael analyzes your words, it seems clear you didn't mean different in a bad way.

Just different.

"So, what else do we usually do on a date?" Although your coffee is already on the cooler side, you still blow air into the cup. "Lunch?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Maybe a movie that's playing right now."

You hum. He wonders if you're remembering the time you tried to scare him by taking him—or, more accurately, begging him to take you—to a horror movie. What happened instead was that Cael had to check the backyard for any serial killers and groggily comfort you at 4 AM via the phone after you woke up from a nightmare.

"That movie would never have scared you, huh?" you ask.

He grimaces, thinking of all the inaccuracies he could've pointed out back then. "I've seen much worse."

At this point, the only horror story he can't tolerate is the thought of losing you. Not through a break up, or even in this way, with you having lost your memories, but through death—something so permanent he would have to take over the Empire to bring you back.

He thinks you—the 2025 you—have caught on, especially after the fiasco that was Spirit World.

You bob your head up and down rather seriously.

Birds are beginning to gather near their bench, likely recognizing you from all the times you've fed them before. Before leaving the house, Cael made sure to grab some breadcrumbs for your bird friends, knowing how you tend to be. Even before coming to Harp Island, this was a habit of yours.

Having taken a sip of his coffee, he's about to start digging through his bag when you ask a different question. Predictably, one that he chokes at, already anticipating how you might tease him.

"Am I the only girlfriend you've ever had?"

BARRING A FEW INCIDENTS, MOST of the week goes by quietly.

The threat of being possibly exposed leaves you hesitant to leave the house more than strictly necessary. So, although Cael went through the specifics of an average week in your life, you make use of approximately a quarter of that information.

You pass half the time by going through your stuff. The other half is devoted to pestering him for dates, usually in remote places, where the chances of running into someone are nil.

You seem to really like Greece.

You tell him it'd be nice to have the time to hunt down a flight and sit tight for hours—and there's a wistful tone to your words when he allows himself to scrunch his nose. It makes you laugh too.

And, three days before the deadline, Cael is in his office, preparing a few things for his next lecture, when a familiar ring tone cuts through the silence. Right now, you should be on your way back from your last class of the day.

The contents of your call could be anything from being "kidnapped" by Lars to actually being in trouble to having no explicit purpose at all.

"Hello?" he answers, glancing distractedly at the email from his TA about a question from one of the students. "Is something—"

"You're Emerald?" a familiar voice half-shrieks in his ear. "The award-winning artist Emerald? My favorite artist ever, Emerald?"

As usual, he lets you run through your thoughts out loud. Your chatter serves as the backdrop to his prep work. He catches the words idol, boyfriend, and dream crop up a few times. It's only when you drop Liore's name that he pieces together what might've transpired.

The local art gallery is hosting an event where they'll be showing off some of his newer works, post-hiatus. It isn't for another month, but the tickets for it were given to him in advance—a fact that you mentioned to the older woman when she offered to buy you the tickets.

You did, of course, exclude the part about it being a date.

"It slipped my mind," he responds apologetically. "I'm sorry."

And it was, in fact, a genuine mistake on his part. Given that his identity as an artist rarely cropped up in his day to day life—unlike, say, the fact that he was a Traveler—he hadn't seen the need to bring it up.

You're silent for a few minutes.

"I'll forgive you," you finally respond. "But only if you give me another kiss."

"You know I made that up, right?" he asks, unable to contain his amusement. Cael pulls his phone away from his ear. "You don't have to barter for a kiss."

Your silence soon turns into sputtering.

That's the only response he gets out of you for the next five minutes.

SOON, THE PROMISED DAY COMES, bringing with it a light drizzle.

You settle down on the bed, eyes closed, with all the bravery of a soldier going to war. Your only request is a kiss—and whatever thoughts are swirling in your head, you don't say. And as for holding his hand, you don't ask; your fingers simply grasp his hand tightly, like they had week ago.

The next time you open your eyes, Cael gets a sense of deja vu.

"Cael…?" You blink blearily, your free hand coming to rest on your forehead—where, once again, his own hand sits. "What…"

Squeezing your other hand tightly, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"My head…" You complain, attempting to sit up. Once more, he gently forces you back down. "Where exactly did I fall from?"

As you grumble about being able to sit up and that you're absolutely fine, Cael breathes a sigh of relief. At the very least, you still remember him. And given how freely you can complain about him, he suspects that you might've recovered all of your memories back.

"What year do you think it is?" he inquires carefully.

You look at him like he's an idiot. Cael doesn't budge on requiring an answer. Instead, he squeezes your hand encouragingly, the expression on his face quietly asking you to humor him. A long-suffering sigh escapes your lips—and that's when any doubts about your memories wither and die.

"It's 2025. We were—" As a realization dawns on you, the blandness in your tone transforms into disappointment. "It didn't work."

"What do you remember about the last week?"

The expression on your face implies much about your thoughts at the moment. You open your mouth, undoubtedly prepared to give him the wrong answer, and then you seem to realize something.

Eyeing him warily, you ask, "What happened last week?"

It's as good a confirmation as any that you don't remember losing a few years worth of your memories. Cael settles down on the edge of the bed and recalls how clingy you were in that time.

As it so happens, you often tend to be all bark and not bite—until you're so used to the action in question that it becomes instinct.

"Well…" he starts, a faintly amused smile on his face. "For starters, you really liked calling me your boyfriend—"

THE NIGHT BEFORE IT ALL ends, you ask him a question—one he suspects you've been holding onto for a while.

The two of you are lying in bed, separated by the eternal third wheel that is Beanie. And if ever there's a reason to stop sneaking him treats, it would be for this. But, for a destroyer of worlds, as you like to point out often, Cael is surprisingly soft-hearted.

One distraught mewl, and it's game over for him.

On the bright side, you no longer have the twin bed he prepared for you, back when you first moved into this house. After the first couple of sleepovers, it became evident you needed a bigger bed, especially if Beanie would keep crawling into bed halfway through the night.

So, you went out and bought yourself a bed—and when Cael came over the next time, the layout of your room had changed drastically.

Never let it be said that feeling shy about something has ever prevented you from doing said thing.

"Cael…" you whisper, and rustling sounds ensue. In your attempt to shift onto your side, he hears your elbow hit the backboard. "What if—what if my memories don't come back?"

His gaze is fixed onto a point in the never-ending darkness, where the ceiling should be. In the silence, he can clearly hear your soft exhales—small reminders that you seem to have forgotten how to breathe. He shifts onto his side, and sure enough, his hand finds yours, curled loosely into a face on top of your pillow.

"Then you'll still be my girlfriend," he says carefully, then pauses. "Just—with a few holes in her memory."

Cael has pondered that same question as well. Many times, in fact; whether over a cup of coffee or in the middle of a lecture, the reminder that you've lost your memories has a tendency to creep up on him.

How will they explain it to everyone, knowing that you haven't left Harp Island in quite a while?

What would be the easiest way to help you relearn the basics of your life, knowing that you nearly fell asleep the first time?

Going forward, will living together—as addicting as it is—be the new normal? Should he start looking for an apartment the two of you can share? How would they explain it if anyone asked?

And sometimes, a little voice creeps into his mind, and it asks, What if you change your mind?

But you haven't yet. In fact, Cael suspects those same thoughts have been running through your head as well, down to the little insecurities that he can't seem to shake.

"More than a few," you murmur softly, squeezing his hand.

He closes his eyes and squeezes your hand back. "Hopefully, not more than right now."

"I think you'll be fine," you say, your words succeeding a nervous giggle. "You have a very pretty face."

A sense of deja vu washes over him and, along with it, a familiar kind of sadness. He's reminded of your previous predictions—and of the way he has to remind you of them. For as long as their relationship grows, the number of inside jokes they accumulate will grow as well.

But the ones they already had might be lost.

He can't imagine his mocking impressions of his past self will land quite as well. This, in a nutshell, perhaps describes perfectly the answer to your next question.

"What's it like to have someone forget about you?"

"Strange," he says, condensing his rapid fire thoughts into only a single word.

It is neither a good thing nor a bad thing. Except it is a bad thing, because this whole fiasco occurred due to his mistake. But that's not your fault. If anything, the blame lies with him. But if he said that, you would deny until your face turned blue.

When you ask him to qualify his single-word statement, Cael naturally struggles to describe his feelings—in a way that won't make you feel bad.

Eventually, he settles on:

"You still remember who I am, don't you?"

In your voice, he can hear the slight downward curve to your lips and the way they flatten every so slightly into a straight line. And with a sigh, you flop onto your back loudly, sending a shockwave through the mattress. Your hand slips out of his grasp and makes room for its twin instead.

"I'll put that down as 'undecided'," you say, and sigh #2 soon follows.

But silence does not.

You call his name once more, still in that fretful and plaintive tone. "What if I get my memories back, but I don't remember this past week at all?"

"Then I'll tell you all about it," Cael answers easily.

For a moment, you ponder his words. If he could look into your eyes, as though the room was illuminated by the lamp in the corner of your room, what sort of emotions would he see?

"Okay. Don't let me forget about it, okay?" you tell him sternly. He's about to ask what that entails, in a teasing tone that's sure to have you reaching for a pillow, when you add, jokingly, "I can live without the embarrassing stuff."

He smiles and lets his silence do the talking.

You acquiesce to your fate rather easily, with a sigh. "Then, let this be the last time we have to deal with any memory shenanigans…"

"Indeed," Cael says, and hopes for it with all his heart.

— happy (very belated) birthday to the local caelmc art dealer, @nekonyaniii!

[mello-bee]

An Outside Prespective

this is for a weekly prompt thingy on another site!! my prompts were "underrated game" and "abandoned place" (and "genre change" but i didn't have much ideas for that)

[gepazu]

“well aren't you the prettiest thing the sun's ever seen.”

cael turns his head — almost comically so.

rivets of soft intrigue holding the tiniest of smiles on his lips as he lets out a gentle laugh, ribbons of silver sparkling in the sunlight, contouring his face so delicately it makes your heart stop.

“why thank you, my dear.” he moves to slip his fingers under your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “but.. i must say; you are more refined than any star i've ever come across.”

for a moment, his touch burns; and you're further drawn into it, like a moth to the flame. “how charming, my sun.”

his fingers glide down to your chin, turning your head a bit to his left — eyes flickering to yours in amusement. “my sun? how darling can you be, hm?” a sigh runs and falls from your lips at his words, cupping his hand in yours as you lean in and let the sun kiss you softly.

“as much as you need me to be.”

✩ love notes — thank u nics ( @.thenyxsky ) for proofreading 'n giving the go sign for posting !! love u pookie <33 <3

✩ lovebrush chronicles taglist — @nordicbananas, @lovebrushed, @alexisomnias, @xyoonx, @tsukishiro-yue2402, @norieoncrack ♡ send in an ask if you want to be added !!

ⓒ GEPAZU 2023 — 2024.

[dangopango00]

After Last Night

Waking up with him after a hookup

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 |

FAT/LBC men x gn reader (William Included for all my Aris out there)

CW: very suggestive, maybe dubcon?? (Mentioned that Lars and reader were both drunk in his)

A/N: waking up with cael is waking up behind bars thats croomf, groomf even 😭😭😭 im jp u dk him since ur childhood here ok this is a safe space

Edit: Alkaid rewrite 🥶🥶

more utc

LARS / LUO XIA (罗夏)

- SCENARIO: You’re in a similar or complementary industry to him and he’s had his eye on you a bit, admiring how you present yourself but you never really became too closely acquainted. One crazy night of drinking during a negotiations meeting later and two lonely busy old people get busy (30 isnt old sorry. Uncalled for)

- You wake up first; he is KNOCKED OUT

- He wakes up with the wildest bedhead normally and even moreso today. He’s drooling and sprawled out across the couch with a loose hold on your body (Just his arm slung around you as he sleeps)

- His grip on you tightens if you try to leave the couch but if you’re insistent he’ll just let you go; whine grumbles about it in his sleep

- He has work and he’s very busy so he’ll have to leave soon but he wants to make it up to you because he wasn’t being professional; he makes the effort to at least chat or have breakfast with you before leaving which you don’t mind since you’re busy as well

- He usually doesn’t do hookups since he’s busy, doesn’t want to lead anyone on and knows he’ll get attached too easily so he rlly dk what happened, he was lonely but ayayay this is a mess. He does his absolute best to make things less awkward for you

- This scenario would actually be so wild bc if you wanted to do it again while sober I don’t think he’d say no LOL as soon as you had breakfast/chatted he started to like you even more I think and remembers last night being really great so

- I don’t think he’d initiate it if you did do it again though because he feels really bad about being unprofessional but ever since that night if he ever sees you his eyes are glued to you, your body and all its curves and/or edges; he’s so distracted help him 😭😭

- It’s even worse if he’s pent up, he actually will just. Avoid you if you don’t assure him it’s alright he doesn’t want to be weird and he knows he wont be able to focus so he gets a little nervous around you from then on

ALKAID / LU CHEN (路辰）

- SCENARIO: You’re his classmate and more importantly, his film dealer. You’ve been selling him film and camera repairs for a pretty good price compared to how high the quality is from a small shop that doesn’t get too much traction because it’s more of an antique shop but you do offer more. He was usually standardly polite and short maybe with an extra question out of curiosity here and there before becoming a regular over time. You eventually started tacking on a few more comments and questions than necessary but not so many that it’s noticeable, chatting him up a bit im class as well until you started actively seeking him out, being curious about him and you two became friends. Since this is an edit I’m gonna say like Ayn, you’re probably already in a situationship by the time you hook up but unlike Ayn you haven’t kissed yet (he’d at least ask you out or vice versa before kissing i think) You were over at his apartment to study and help bathe Sparkle; just generally hang out and after a PAINFUL amount of tension building with playful comments and little touches so much so that you ended up kissing him and one thing lead to another !!

- You wake up first but likely go back to sleep and he wakes up during that time tbh. I feel like his home is cozy as hell not to mention Sparkle climbing up and cuddling with you

- He let you wear his clothes to bed since yours got messy and he noticed that you were shivering, freezing from wearing. Well. Nothing. So he let you borrow something and his entire face is red including his ears an neck, it’s quite a view— both you and him

- He ghosts his thumb over your features, his gentle touch almost unnoticeable as he notes each unique thing about you as if trying to identify different stars in the sky

- You had already cuddled up to him in your sleep and he lays in bed with you in his loose embrace for an absurd amount of time until he decides his heart has had enough and gets up to make you both breakfast, you stirring a bit in your sleep in the process

- He kept trying to find an opportunity to get up before but you clung to him so he couldn’t find it in himself to leave you gn but when he did eventually get up he just kissed the crown of your head and gently pulled your arms off of him, then laying you down

- His bed head is just his normal hair honestly and he doesn’t move too much, just snores a little bit and slightly drools

- He’s embarrassed the rest of the day, his usual charismatic persona failing on him when he needs it most and he’s a bit nervous not knowing if you’d felt the same as him or if it was just lust. Though all that is quickly nipped in the bud when you give him a kiss on the cheek and confess properly, holding his hands in yours

- Deciding he’s wasted enough time being a dork He offers to take you on your first date in a nearby cafe since it was pretty impromptu but he still says it with a helpless smile and slight blush. On this date he def took pictures and has them pinned on his wall; they’ll quickly become some of his most prized photos

CLARENCE / SI LAN (司岚）

- SCENARIO: You two went to the same high school all four years and maybe even the same middle school at some point but you never really interacted because he was busy with schoolwork and so were you so you really never felt the need to bother him. Little did you know Clarence had the biggest crush on you since you met and after being acquainted through the student council you became friends. Upon growing closer and some worrying about how little he relaxes later and you mayyy have accidentally made out with him a little in the council room after hours 🥺 then took it back to your apartment 🥺🥺 and ended up sleeping together 🥺🥺����

- He wakes up first and just stares at the ceiling. how did this happen oh my god. Not in a bad way but oh my GOD. -Clarence

- He’s so embarrassed by last night especially with his own behavior. Just remembering the sounds he made and the words he said has him reeling; he must’ve told you he loved you 100,000 times

- he just stays completely still hoping you’re still asleep and once you wake up he shuts his eyes so fast kind of trying to pretend to be asleep but with how tightly his eyes and lips are shut you know he’s awake

- You give him a little kiss on his eyelids and lips and he knows he’s caught; he blushes but then kind of just lets a small exasperated smile wash over his face; he really doesn’t know what to do

- His bedhead is basically the same as his normal but more messy around the bangs also he snores a tiny bit but thats pretty much it

- He’s pretty happy and normal when he isn’t thinking about the specifics of last night’s events

- He even goes ahead and makes breakfast for you and him as well as his cats (they’re probably the ones who woke yall up lol)

- He doesn’t do hook ups and he’s liked you so long so he reaalllly realllllllllyyyyy hopes you’ll consider getting to know him more and let him take you out on a couple dates because even if his hands are clammy the whole time he’d be so happy

WILLIAM / CHEN ZIHAN (陈子涵）

- SCENARIO: You two have always been best friends with no question of whether or not your feelings were platonic. Well he had no question. You on the other hand had been crushing on him for a while now but didn’t want to ruin the friendship. That was until college. He started noticing you more and your qualities: how you’ve matured and how you’re there when no one else is, so his feelings have gotten a little bit more than just platonic. He justified it as appreciation and normal friend things all the way up until you two suddenly decided to “test out” what kissing and making out would be like. Platonically of course. Since neither of you had ever been in a serious relationship. The sex part was just testing too, trust 🙏

- You wake up first but that doesn’t stop him from having an existential crisis when he wakes up

- You’re excited although a bit nervous from anticipation honestly since you already knew your feelings were not platonic but you didn’t know what he’d think so instead of worrying you just poke his face and admire him sleeping

- His bedhead is crazy, some of his hair sticks up and he has a pool of drool under him. He snores too— finally getting to release his feelings has him K.Od it was tew good

- You go to make breakfast or shower or something and he’d probably wake up during that time bc he doesn’t feel your warmth anymore

- Like Clarence, Liam wakes up perplexed and embarrassed and he’s worried he may have crossed a line doing what he did last night since you were supposed to be just friends! He’s freaking out so bad! come back he needs reassurance 😭

- When you get back he’s so apologetic and is just so nervous around you until you broach the subject, reassuring him that you don’t mind what happened

- After you sort out your thoughts on what happened and have a loooong talk about it you’re pretty much back to being normal and you even hang out for a bit longer, watching some movies and baking together although he does still blush and fumble his words around you a little

- He’s scared to tell you he would rather be yours than be your fwb (friend with benefits) bc this is his first hookup but considering he’s been your best friend and crush for so long you feel the same way so you end up dating pretty soon after

[floxtingdrm]

𝙊𝙣𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙭𝙞𝙖

(𝙽): 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Fluff

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Alkaid McGrath, Lars Rorschach, Clarence Clayden, Ayn Alwyn, Cael Anselm.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞: On

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: Headcannon.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮����𝐬: They/them.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You called them by a weird nickname.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: ooc characters, please note I made this for shits and giggles and is not meant to be taken seriously, thank you.

𝘼𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙞𝙙

♡ “Hm? Is there something you need, darling?”

♡ Was a bit confused at first but recovers fast.

♡ He might have already guessed it was going to happen at some point in your relationship, however didn't think it would be so soon.

♡ Would tease you back for the weird nickname and potentially use a weird nickname as well.

♡ If you used the weird nickname in public he won’t really mind, however as your punishment for doing so you’re sentenced to cuddles and headpats.

♡ “You’re so cute, my little gremlin with a pencil~” you called him garlic bread.

♡ Nicknames that were used: star stalker, garlic bread, rocky mountain oysters, garden hoe-

𝙇𝙖𝙧𝙨

♡ “Really? Goldie locks??”

♡ He doesn’t hate it, he likes it but he usually pouts when you call him by a very random nickname out of nowhere.

♡ He doesn’t mind the more “tame” versions of your nicknames if you used them in publics, the others? He’s gonna sulk.

♡ Will get revenge by calling you with weird nicknames as well, however is not very creative with them.

♡ Your punishment for these nicknames will usually be no cuddles nor kisses until you comfort him out of his sulking phase.

♡ “That still isn’t enough for me to get out of my sulking phase, snail eggs.”

♡ Nicknames that were used: Waffle fries, baby with a wallet, Goldie locks, w a l n u t

𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

♡ “B-Buffalo wings?? What makes you say that?”

♡ Flabbergasted, shocketh, his reaction would probably be the funniest.

♡ Will never get used to you calling him nicknames out of nowhere especially when you call him “buttery croissant”

♡ Do NOT try to call him any of the weird nicknames when he’s at an important event because if you do, I hope your brain has the mental capacity for the extra tutoring from him.

♡ He will try to call you with a weird nickname but will end up snickering to himself when he sees your face and in the end laughs to himself quietly.

♡ “Your answer is wrong, hairless cat.”

♡ Nicknames that were used: Rubiks cube, eight grade math teacher, cat dad, paralysis demon, buttery croissant, buffalo wings.

𝘼𝙮𝙣

♡ "Call me Tsundere one more time, I dare you"

♡ The most unamused out of all of them, he doesn't entirely hate it... later on but it is a nightmare when you started calling him all sorts of things.

♡ He will ignore you in public if you try to call him with any of the names, if you provoke him hard enough consider dodging lessons with the number of times he's gonna shut you up with kisses, or not-

♡ You think he might not call you with weird nicknames but don't let your guard down too quick, he's going to make you regret calling him "short king" (he's not short compared to the average height but since he was the shortest out of everyone on the list I thought it would be funny)

♡ Once you're done and finish with your weird nickname shenanigans it's his turn to attack with the list of weird nicknames he's compiled in secret.

♡ "Where are you looking at, hagfish~?"

♡ Nicknames that were used: emo vampire, batfish, scaramouche kinnie (no offence-).

𝘾𝙖𝙚𝙡

♡ "Breakfast is Crepes with whipped cream and strawberries"

♡ Out of of all the people, he's the one who doesn't seem to have a reaction at all to your nickname shenanigans, he took care of you, of course he's prepared for your chaos.

♡ He doesn't even care what you call him in public, he's that unbothered by it it almost makes you feel bored, however...

♡ Cael seems to frown and has this annoyed look on him, even if it was brief every time you call him by a certain nickname.

♡ He won't treat you out of the ordinary even when you use the nicknames that make him frown a bit, though don't expect to know how he's planning to teach you a lesson in his own way.

♡ "You're drink is bitter? Perhaps I should just give you milk, fetus~" safe to say the war is far from over.

♡ Nicknames that were used: Marinated wine, dinosaur's cousin, princess, great great great great great grandfather.

Au notes: I was bored.

[belovedfedya]

Who's your favorite character from each fandom you write for? Why?

Hiii ! thanks for the ask ! from bsd I like Fyodor the most cause I tend to really like characters who give off a mysterious vibe, but I also just generally think there’s a lot of potential with his character, and I relate with him cause he has anemia and so do I !

For blue lock choosing a favorite is hard but I think I’d go with Bachira ! Either that or Ness, Bachira because I relate to him a lot and I love the way he interacts with the other characters, Ness because he’s very well written and I have the tendency to like characters the fandom dislikes and he’s so cuteee !

for lovebrush I choose Cael, Caels character is very well thought out, and I like it a lot, they don’t show him to be very morally good and he acknowledges that he doesn’t have any morals, it’s like he has an internal conflict going on inside himself with his urge to protect and love mc vs the cold hearted emotionless nature his species had taught him since he was brought into existence, oh and I like his long hair LMAO sorry for the mini ramble Cael is a very misunderstood character so I have like all his lore engraved in my brain to defend him ! That’s all, thanks for the ask again !

[lovebrushed]

hi lovebrush chronicles community! this is a cry for help

would any of you guys mind helping me out with the content in the Fandom Wiki? i'm already in a discord server where people are working on the technical game aspects (event rewards, leveling up cards, etc.) but from what ik i'm pretty much the only person working on the actual descriptions for the wiki.

there's a lot of content i need to cover so pls! if any of you guys would be so kind to give me a hand it would be very much appreciated

feel free to send in an ask or dm me and we'll work from there

[dreamofjoys]

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

— Act like an Angel, Dress like crazy

Participating fandoms: Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail (HSR), Twisted Wonderland (Twst), Ikemen Prince (IKEPRI), Ikemen Villain (IKEVIL), Lovebrush Chronicle (LBC), Wuthering Waves (WuWa), Love and Deepspace (LADs)

Please read the whole post before proceeding!

RULES

NO MINORS allowed, 18+ only ; I have said this many times and I will say it again. I do not want minors in this blog reading my fics / interacting with me. I am uncomfortable with it. I will be blocking blank blogs or blogs with no age indicator in their bio.

READ WITH CAUTION. Some kinks/content may not be for you. Content warning will be posted on every fic. Make sure to read them carefully (lmk if i miss out anything!)

DO NOT REPORT my fics! This happened in 2022 & majority of my fics got hidden away, I had a hard time tracking them back as people were requesting for it. If you don't like what I write or hate seeing my content, simply block me and move on. I will also be deleting and blocking hate comments.

THIS YEAR'S KINKTOBER SPECIAL / NOTES:

♡ Event will be divided into 4 series

- Short fic series (short headcannons of 2 characters per day) - Full fic series (more words + features 1 character per day) - Threesome series (you read that right, threesome. enjoy 2 men fucking/fighting over you. or maybe they will cooperate together to make you feel good) - Gangbang / Dragon series (heavily demanded lmao if you have read my fic 'The Dragon's Beloved' then yeah same lineup same characters // expect to be f by multiple dragons // this is for my followers who have been waiting for a long time)

♡ All fics are strictly character/characterS x afab/fem reader

♡ Expect content such as Noncon, Dubcon, kidnapping and etc. They apply to certain fics only

♡ Fics will be posted at 6pm sharp (GMT +8) basically 1hr slower than jp/kr timing - queued posting

♡ As I am typing this, I have yet to finish writting all fics. There may be delays (I hope not because I really want to finish this) Please forgive me if you don't see the full list of fics.

♡ I will not be doing taglist. As mentioned previously, the fics will be queued for posting. I may not be available at that timing to do tagging

♡ To navigate this year's kinktober fics, you can refer to this post for the full masterlist OR search #dreamofjoyskinktober2024 on my blog (in the event that the links on this post does not work)

KINKTOBER SCHEDULE —

SHORT FIC SERIES (separated)

Day 1 ➤ Gun Play ♡ Boothill (HSR) , Gilbert (IKEPRI)

Day 2 ➤ Mirror Sex ♡ Dr Ratio (HSR) , Prefect Luminary (LBC)

Day 3 ➤ Hate Sex ♡ Blade (HSR) , Alhaitham (Genshin)

Day 4 ➤ Masochist ♡ Sunday (HSR) , Geshu Lin (WuWa)

Day 5 ➤ Manhandling ♡ Danfeng (HSR) , Chevalier (IKEPRI)

Day 6 ➤ Clothes Grinding ♡ Zayne , Sylus (LADs)

Day 7 ➤ Somnophilia ♡ Ayato (Genshin) , Malleus (Twst)

Day 8 ➤ Thigh Riding ♡ Nanook (HSR) , Chevalier (IKEPRI)

Day 9 ➤ Aphrodisiac ♡ Jiaoqiu (HSR) , Neuvilette (Genshin)

Day 10 ➤ Degradation ♡ Cael , Prefect Luminary (LBC)

Day 11 ➤ Breeding Kink ♡ Zhongli (Genshin) , Lilia (Twst)

Day 12 ➤ Face Sitting ♡ Sunday , Nanook (HSR)

Day 13 ➤ Cock Warming ♡ Neuvilette (Genshin) , Malleus (Twst)

Day 14 ➤ Mutual Masturbation ♡ Chevalier , Gilbert (IKEPRI)

FULL FIC SERIES

Day 15 ➤ Bondage ♡ Blade (HSR)

Day 16 ➤ Vouyeurism ♡ Jingyuan (HSR)

Day 17 ➤ Orgasm Control ♡ Gilbert (IKEPRI)

Day 18 ➤ Somnophilia ♡ Chevalier (IKEPRI)

Day 19 ➤ Body Worship ♡ Zayne (LADs)

Day 20 ➤ Corruption ♡ Sunday (HSR)

Day 21 ➤ Monster Fucking ♡ Malleus (Twst)

THREESOME SERIES

Day 22 ➤ Public Sex ♡ Jiyan & Geshu Lin (Wuwa)

Day 23 ➤ Shower Sex ♡ Cael & Prefect Luminary (LBC)

Day 24 ➤ Oviposition ♡ Neuvilette & Zhongli (Genshin)

Day 25 ➤ Deepthroating ♡ Jingyuan & Blade (HSR)

Day 26 ➤ Spanking/Mating Press ♡ Chevalier & Gilbert (IKEPRI)

Day 27 ➤ Overblot Smut ♡ Leona & Malleus (Twst)

Day 28 ➤ Daddy Kink ♡ Victor & William (IKEVIL)

Day 29 ➤ Oviposition ♡ DanHeng & DanFeng (HSR)

GANGBANG / DRAGON SERIES

Characters involved for both fics: Neuvilette, Zhongli (Genshin), Malleus (Twst), Danheng, Danfeng (HSR)

Day 30 ➤ Sex Toys

Day 31 ➤ Hunter & Prey

I do not own any of the above characters. Please do not repost/translate/plagiarize any of my works. I do not condone any irl actions of my fics. I made the banners myself. Please do not save/copy.

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | red dress, white dress

After Cael picks up a new hobby relating to your latest work, the two of you discuss weddings and wedding dresses. It ends with a proposal, from you to him.

1.8k, set after qixi [+ some spoilers for his whisper], romantic fluff + super self-indulgent, reader is mc, sequel to this cael fic [but you don't have to read it in order], series: none

IN THE TIME SINCE THE night of the QIxi festival, Cael has discovered an amusing new hobby with which to occupy himself with, when he's with you.

The words that the painter and the spirit speak—particularly towards end of your oneshot—are, evidently, not unrelated to your relationship with him. That much is obvious. And it'd be rather difficult to claim otherwise, given the faces they wear.

You haven't tried to, either.

Between the two of you, there is an acknowledgment, implicit, that they are a reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires. That they are the kind of daydreams that even someone eloquent as him would find difficult to describe, domestic and loving—just tumultuous enough to describe their standing, with the sort of fairytale ending most would wish for. That they are memories, transformed only in setting and time—only this time, they are not newly acquainted or on a time limit.

He thinks of the quaint little moment where the painter promises to make sure that no one will bother his lover. Had he not done the same for you, once, long ago?

He remembers the casual affection the spirit showers upon her love too, the way she finds herself with her head on his lap underneath the wisterias, and if that ever stops feeling familiar, it must be because he's lost his mind.

After all, you've always been an affectionate person. How can he miss it when the evidence remains in the lingering heat left by your touch? Through the way you so easily take his hand, or throw your arms around him—

When your lovesick gaze isn't boring holes into his body, that is.

He's no better in that regard. In some ways, he thinks he might be worse, with the way his loving gaze seems incapable of following anyone but you. But you might turn it into a competition if he brings it up, so Cael—well aware it won't end well for him—keeps his mouth shut.

Still, it's clear that you never expected him to start quoting your dialogue back at you.

It reminds him of one of the first times he'd properly let his mask down. The way the gears turned in your head, your deer-in-headlights expression betraying your panic before he'd clarified his joke. You'd stared at him—half-relieved, half-surprised, sitting in the silence a bit longer before you laughed.

Today, when you stare at him, there is a hint of defiance peeking through from underneath your flustered mien.

You're dressed casually, in a yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt with one of your favorite cartoon characters. Jagged lines run across the drawing, signaling its age. Some parts of the design have entirely vanished, but it remains one of your most faithful companions still.

With your head on his lap and legs thrown over the armrest, you're sprawled across the couch. In your hand is your phone, and before he dropped his line of the day on you, you'd been showing him a red dress that you really liked—one you intended to buy with your next paycheck.

"Thank you." The effect of your haughty tone is greatly lessened by the scarlet hue painting your cheeks. You clear your throat. "Does that mean you'd like to see me in a red dress?"

Cael chuckles, brushing your hair gently. "To me, it seems like you're the one who wants to be seen in a red dress."

"Of course, I do," you reply, your hand reaching out to play with his hair. "But red or white, it's not the dress that matters. As long as there's a certain someone waiting for me at the end."

For a moment, his quick-thinking mind betrays him, offering him nothing but static. He puts down the book in his hand down and carefully adjust the bookmark until it looks neat. His attention had left its crisp pages when you'd sat down beside him, but it remained in his hand still.

Occasionally, he would flip to the next page, then remember that he had absorbed none of the words on the previous page. So, he would go back, a fact that had not escaped your keen gaze—you'd teased him plenty for it, and who was he to stop you?

"I wonder who that certain someone is," he murmurs.

"I think he knows who he is," you answer, holding onto the end of his now braided strands. After a moment of digging around in your pockets, and the sofa as well, you managed to find a hair tie. "Or, he should, by this point."

"Indeed," Cael says, earning himself a wry smile from you. "It would be difficult to miss."

Enamored by your smile, he sifts through his memories, searching for the line that had left every single reader in desperate search of their own painter.

You'd been rather pleased when you went scrolling through the comments, with a smile so big it bordered on evil. So pleased, in fact, that you made sure to show him every such comment. The underlying meaning to your words was clear—you'd already found your painter, after all.

You'd have a big ego if you were dating someone so pretty too, you'd said, when he'd commented offhandedly on it.

He remembers responding with:

Then I'm certain I have the biggest ego out of anyone.

Though, his words ended up only disarming you for a brief second. It wasn't long before you were throwing your arms around him and calling him a liar ". But for the time being, the comment section was forgotten, and it was just you and him—and Beanie, watching you both from his favorite spot underneath the round table in the corner, seemingly miffed at being excluded.

He had snuck in a few extra treats for him.

Then, all was well in their relationship once more.

"'If that day ever comes, no matter what you want—'" Cael smiles helplessly, remembering the way you'd so easily captured his expression on the painter's face. "'I'll do everything in my power to bring you the most elegant wedding in the entire world.' Though you said the dress itself doesn't matter..."

You inhale sharply, seemingly forgetting—for a moment—that you're in the middle of braiding another section of his hair. When you look back at him, having looked away, your eyes are shining with poorly-disguised affection and your voice is painfully soft.

"When," you correct. "When that day comes. That's what I should've written down."

Letting go of his hair, you pull yourself off his lap and draw your knees closer to your chest. You rest your head on his shoulder. And as loose dark hair begins to tickle his cheek, his hand seeks out yours, pinky finger brushing against the back of your hand.

"When that day comes, we'll get married."

His gaze softens when he looks at you, in the midst of murmuring his agreement. Your wedding is something he's thought about often—his own is not. But now, the groom at the altar is no longer a blurry figure, devoid of any recognizable qualities and having only an aura of happiness that befits a day so celebrated.

It is something he'll ponder over until the day comes, all so that you're the happiest bride to ever live, whether on Earth or any other world.

"Good." You squeeze his hand gently. "Consider it a proposal then."

"It's the first time I've ever been proposed to," he comments offhandedly.

"Really?" For some reason, you sound surprised. And though your words sound like they could pass for a joke, the thoughtful note to them makes it clear that they are not. "Alright, I'm taking it back. I'll make sure to come back with a ring next time."

Cael smiles helplessly at you. "I'm not sure if you can take something like that back so easily."

His breath catches in his throat when you lift your head slightly to meet his gaze. Because in that moment, you're smiling at him brightly, It is blinding. While he's distracted, you lean in close and steal a quick kiss from his lips.

"Temporary measure," you respond, squinting at him in faux annoyance. "You're not getting rid of me so easily."

In a voice so soft that he's half certain you'll miss it, he says, sincerely, "I would never dream of it."

Judging by the way your smile widens into a grin, you don't miss it at all.

+extra

"YOU KNOW, YOU MISSED IT BEFORE," you point out unexpectedly, long after they've moved on from the topic of weddings and wedding dresses.

Cael catches onto the context immediately.

It's past dinner time now. The dirty dishes in the sink wait for you and your yellow rubber gloves patiently for their turn. He'd been the one to make dinner, something quick and easy, per your request. Your wish for the day had been "a lazy day together", so your initial intention was to order to takeout.

But halfway through the day, you began to crave his cooking.

Once he'd made sure the ingredients were there, getting them both out of a trip to the supermarket, you had no reason to refuse his offer. So you'd scrapped your plans and followed him into the kitchen to help.

"I'm not sure it would've been very appropriate to point out," he says, from where he sits at the dining table.

He'd expected nothing to come out of it, so he simply never brought it up. There were more important things to worry about at the time—your presence in Godheim, and all that came after that. His heart aches at the memory of your tears, particularly because he'd been the one to cause them.

They'd never properly spoken of it—of the day Peter Pan understood, but could not bring himself to make peace with, the fact that Wendy would have to leave him one day.

"After all, you were a teenager," Cael adds, remembering what he'd told your friend Natalie. "It would be no different than taking advantage of you."

His words, however, go in one ear and go out the other. You're rather specific about what you choose to pick out from his words, your next words discarding all but the subtext.

"So, you did know about my crush on you."

Though your words are undeniably a conclusion, a statement and not a question, they carry with them an expectation of a response. You crane your neck to fix him with an equally expectant stare, as if the weight behind your words isn't enough.

"Yes, I knew about your crush on me," Cael admits wryly. A helpless sigh accompanies his words. "What brought this on?"

You hum strainedly, returning to your dishes. "Nothing."

For the time being, he leaves it at that.

It is only when the two of you happen to encounter Lars while on a date that he discovers the truth, after some coaxing on his part. That you'd been under the impression that your crush on him was a secret kept carefully under wraps. That it'd been Lars who'd guessed otherwise—after some advice on how to handle Cael's new hobby—and subsequently been proven correct, leaving you to sulk on your own.

Unsurprisingly, Cael does not manage to stifle his laughter before you notice.

[romance-rambles]

au - hogwarts+same age!cael | what if she's written mine on my upper thigh

A sixth year at Hogwarts, Cael and his classmates have just recently been exposed to the qualities of Amortentia, the potion of deep obsession. Somehow, it helps him win a kiss from his crush.

1.9k, alternate universe - hogwarts (ft. young cael), fluff + getting together, slight jealousy, reader is mc, series: none

THOSE WALKING INTO THE SLYTHERIN'S common room have long since grown accustomed to the sight of you sprawled across the carpet, with a hefty textbook protecting your pretty face from the light that shoddily illuminates the area. They spare you no more than a glance before they disperse, readily seeking refuge in the comforts of their dorm room.

Certainly, despite wearing a Gryffindor's robe, most would consider you an honorary Slytherin. And no one in the history of Hogwarts has ever transferred houses, but that has not stopped some from their cohort from attempting to make you the first to do so.

Cael has, on occasion, been one of them.

Neatly, he folds the corner of the page, his gaze lingering briefly on the ingredients for Amortentia—the potion that had spurred most of his classmates into a frenzy. Every year, when the sixth years soon approached this particular subject, the result was the same.

Though ingesting the potion is quite dangerous, what most have a tendency to seek out is, instead, one of its unique characteristics. The scent reflects that which the person smelling it finds most attractive, and for a class consisting of mostly seventeen year olds, the prospect of being the lucky few who could find themselves a partner in this way is exciting.

That, or watching a relationship crash and burn, when the scents inevitably do not match.

Cael, for one, has no interest in the drama. Yet, for all his aloofness, even he isn't above such curiosity. The day the Potions Professor quizzed the class on the characteristics of potions they'd need to know for their NEWTs, you simply said:

"It smells nice."

Try as he might, he can't shake the image of your flushed cheeks and the pleased smile tugging at your lips. He was certain his own cheeks did not fare much better in that moment. It was a matter confirmed by your teasing, another unsubtle push to force him to confess first.

In yet another moment of pettiness, he responded in kind, leaving the both of them at a stalemate once again.

When did their habit begin? When had they come to notice the ways in which they could not live without the other person? When had they decided, quietly, that they would not be the first to take the fall?

There are times when Cael wonders if it would be worth it to lose. Then, you make his heart race faster than it has any right to on a Tuesday afternoon with only a smug grin—and he realizes, no, it would not be worth the lifetime of teasing.

Putting his Potions textbook atop the coffee table, he glances at his study partner for this evening—and for every evening after.

From the moment the two of you were introduced—by your mother, no less—you seemed to have decided he was the greatest setback you would ever face. So, he too had returned the favor. But had either of those second years ever considered a different nuance to the word "adversary"?

Cael nudges your shoulder gently with his foot. "I think that's enough of a break."

You roll over with a groan. The textbook in your hands slams shut, narrowly missing the chance to trap the tip of your nose in. Already, he's bribed you with food. With a trip into the nearby town, a denial of something more couched into his words. With a bet designed to stoke your competitive spirit, and more.

Nothing has stuck.

As his lips purse and a sigh threatens to escape from his lips, a thought strikes the young prefect. He bends over, one hand pushing up his bangs before the back of his hand gauges his temperature. The other repeats the same gesture on you.

"You're not sick," he says, the blandness of his tone masking his relief.

You hum. "No, just lazy."

In the absence of something to hold, your fingers take to doodling patterns on the stiff carpet. Each stroke disappears into the dark green surface and leaves nothing behind. Dimly lit as the carpet beneath is, Cael can still make out your words—written in cursive, the looping letters reconstructing your previous response.

With his hands clasped in front of him, he watches more of your doodles disappear into the green. NEWTs. Amortentia. The shape of a heart. The beginning of a phrase, starting with a cursive I. Its seamless stroke twists into an ever running spiral, up until you slice it cleanly through the middle.

"Move over," he soon finds himself saying.

Your hand stills. Then, as soon as you process his words, you erase your already blank canvas before pulling your hands closer to yourself. Cael settles down beside you, drawing his knees to his chest.

The edge of the coffee table sits dangerously close to his forehead. He pushes it away, back to its original position, before he moved it closer for his convenience. His other hand comes to rest on the ground.

Your fingers find a new canvas in it. As he curls his hand into a fist, the space afforded to you by the back of his hand shrinks. But it does not deter you from resuming your doodles.

A star. A flower. A bundle of leaves.

"Not going to study?" you ask absent-mindedly.

Cael snorts, combing through his hair with his free hand. "Hard to study when my partner is slacking off."

You ignore his words entirely. Years of hearing his snark has granted you a layer of immunity to it—on what amounts to a good day for him, he can tear it down with ease, leaving you to huff and puff your way through conversations. Today is not one of those days.

"Guess what I'm writing," you say instead.

An L follows an E, which follows an A, which follows a C. He's written the name enough times over the years to recognize the strokes blindfolded.

"My name."

The next is one that's haunted him over the years.

It's on the corners of his notebooks' pages. It sits interchangeably with his own, between the first and second places, whenever their grades are posted. In the forest when he visits their pet dragon, it's the name that slips out of his mouth with a sigh—whether Beanie is well-behaved or not.

"…Yours." He leans back comfortably, eyes closed as he waits for his next trial. The next one is a drawing, in two parts. You've only finished your haphazardly-drawn strawberry when he asks, "Hungry?"

Humming, you sit up. "Not yet."

Sitting shoulder to shoulder like this, he can discern the faint, sweet scent of your shampoo from the smell of fresh paint that has a tendency to follow you wherever you go. Those were two of the scents that the Amortentia potion had adopted for his sake.

The third took the form of a freshly-baked vanilla cake, overlapping with a lavender-scented candle. A memory from two years prior, the first year neither of them returned home—to your home—for the holidays.

Cael could've gone away on his own. Your mother would've been happy to have at least one of them at home. But it was his own choice to stay.

For Beanie, he said out loud.

For you, he said, in the quiet of his mind, where his childish secrets resided.

He opens his eyes, craning his neck ever so slightly to watch you. You're gazing into the distance with a blank look in your pretty eyes. At some point in the silence, you had copied most parts of his sitting position—the difference lays in where your hands rest. They clasp tightly in front of your drawn-up legs, as if to keep them in place.

"I give up," you whisper, turning your head to look at him.

"That's been the state of affairs for a while," the young prefect says wryly.

In your eyes, he counts a multitude of shades of purple. Hidden among them, he realizes too late, is a vulnerable sort of honesty he's only seen once before. Annoyance replaces it briefly. You sigh and tuck the loose strands of your hair behind your ear.

"I'm not talking about studying."

Cael stares blankly in response. He's no better off when you close the distance between them and pull back just as quickly. What lingers on his lips is the taste of your lip balm—and when he wipes the sticky residue away, a pinky nude stains his thumb.

By now, a few of the Slytherins who had escaped to their dorm rooms earlier have started taking space up in the common room. Most hover at the edges, finding their seats on the sofas that line the walls. It is usually only Ambrum, from his fellow housemates, who sits in as their third wheel, but he has errands to run today.

Your lips twitch into a faint smile, oddly smug for having become the loser in their little war.

"You win," you say, but he thinks the flush creeping up his cheeks might tell a different story.

extra: a few hours ago - the reason why you confessed

FRESHLY-MADE STRAWBERRY TOAST, THE scent of broomstick handles, and lavender—those were the three aromas that the Amortentia potion presented you with in class. As it turns out, Natalie, one of the many admirers that Cael somehow has garnered over the years, happened to land two of the three herself.

You learn this while hiding in the bathroom stall, waiting for her and her friends to leave so you can too.

On an ordinary day, you wouldn't be so cowardly. But when her conversation with her friends begins with what is essentially a declaration of war, you think it might be just a little awkward to walk past her on your way out.

This is the story of why you decide to give in, a secret that stays with you until a random late night years later, when it slips out in the middle of a play argument.

"I can't believe you're going to confess," one of her friends repeats for the nth time. Frankly, you can't blame her. You'd be doing the same thing in her position. "Doesn't he have a thing with that Gryffindor girl?"

Your ears perk up at the mention of yourself. For the past few years, most of Cael's admirers have left him alone for that very reason. You have a claim, however implicit—one that rivals the kind a girlfriend might have.

For the reason that you will, one day, be his girlfriend, just as soon as he gives in and asks you out.

"It isn't official, though." Natalie digs through her pockets for something. From the crack in the stall, you realize it's lipgloss. "I've never seen them kiss or go on a date."

"Still…" Her other friend says, in a hushed tone. "What if he turns you down?"

"What if he doesn't?"

It isn't until Natalie speaks up again that you realize how fervently you hoped the question would deter her. Realistically, you have nothing to fear. Even so, the messy emotion known as jealousy burns away at your rationality, leaving you to gnaw at your lip in silence.

"Well, good luck then." This time, it's the first friend who comments. She seems to adjust her hair before clasping her hands together. "We should get going. Lunch should be almost over."

They leave just as loudly as they came, the conversation easily shifting to the hows of Natalie's plan. You sit there in the bathroom stall, for longer than you should. Your knuckles turn pale; your long nails dig into the palms of your hand.

You wonder—if the only thing spurring her to confess is that the two of you haven't officially defined your relationship, then would doing so lead her to change her mind?

— happy birthday to my very awesome birthday twin, @xcerizex!

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | should've said it to my face

After reading Cael's response to your comment, you eventually give into your impulsive thoughts and call him. It turns out to be a misunderstanding

2k, takes place during qixi event [minor spoilers for the card], misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

DINNER TIME SEES YOU SCROLLING aimlessly through Lofter, in search of something to do.

You're sprawled across the couch on your back, knees bent, with a plate—stacked with airfryer dino nuggets and french fries—balanced precariously in front of you. The hand not occupied with your phone holds onto a half-empty soda can. When you remember to eat, you stick it in the gap between you and the sofa's backrest and pray it doesn't spill over again.

In the background, a movie you'd seen multiple trailers for in your spare time runs on the TV. For the first thirty minutes, it was rather entertaining, actually—for reasons beyond the absolutely stellar writing. It was, and is, filled with so many cliches, all dragged out and played entirely straight, that it makes you wonder if the writers had a checklist.

Then, your editor texted you around the time the couple had their first date and—well.

Though it turned out that the phone call she was asking for had nothing to do anything that would make a perpetually tardy artist quiver in fear, Beanie can attest to what a disaster the fifteen minutes before said phone call were.

Your shirt is still sticky from the spilt soda, and worse, the water you splashed on the stain has left you soaked. And on top of that, your shirt wasn't the only victim in this mess. Now, some of your nuggets carry with them a hint of sweetness—one that can't be attributed to the ketchup.

They're still good, you think stubbornly, glaring at someone imaginary sitting opposite to you.

You pull your legs closer, clearly disgruntled, and sit up straight. The artifacts of your makeshift party for one change positions with you, making you look less like a slob after work hours—even if that is what you were going for.

Because that someone imaginary looks suspiciously like Cael, with that close-mouthed smile that reeks of barely-disguised amusment. A menace with good publicity, though you'd take this Cael over the "old" one any day.

After all, this one is yours—to have, and to hold, for as long as you live.

You think of the characters in your latest manga, and of those last few pages; of the red dress the painter had picked out, and of where the spirit's—and yours—thoughts had gone. The ones you'd added as a bonus after dicussing a much happier ending with Cael. Frankly, it's the most self-indulgent thing you'd written since In Passing, except this time, you didn't bother holding back on your fantasies.

"Wait," you mutter, squinting down at an artwork from one of your mutuals on your phone. The poor dinosaur that gets offered up to your hungry belly this time is thankfully not one of the soggy ones. "Has he seen it yet?"

The answer to your question, once you regretfully pull your gaze away from the beautiful man you drew, and pull up your latest post on Lofter is yes.

hubby: This drawing is great.

A simple compliment, yet your spirits soar to never-before-seen heights. With your free hand, you cup your cheek; your pinkie finger can only partially hide the curved end of your lips. Then, like a thick veil, your hair falls over half of your face, prompting a small laugh from you.

As you tuck your hair behind your ear, you can't help but think it adds to the scene. The lovesick smile. His comment. The affection swelling in your fluttering heart.

You imagine the soft smile on his face when he saw your post and wonder why he isn't here to tuck your hair back for you.

Truth is, you'd never learned how to stop missing Cael, even after he'd returned to being a permanent fixture in your life. The only time you don't miss him is when he's in front of you—when you can wrap your arms around him, in a carefully struck balance of spoiled and loving, and hear his exasperated chuckle as he pulls you in closer.

Maybe that is why the words you write in response lack any double meanings.

you: @hubby But I feel that the person in the drawing is better than the drawing itself.

Tracing the silhouette of his hair, you think this is the Cael that comes closest to showcasing his ethereal beauty. All that practice through drawing the Silver Knight has left you as the most qualified person to make that judgement. It is with this thought in mind, and a puffed chest, that you wait for his response.

And Cael could be busy, for all you know. It could take a while for him to respond, for all you know.

Still, if you play your cards right, when you tell him how long you waited, he'll pat your head. And on your forehead, the heat from his loving kiss will linger for long after he pulls away.

You grin at the thought and scroll down.

hubby: Me too.

At first, you can only blink.

Me too, you repeat dumbly, tilting your head to the side. You must look like quite the catch, with three nuggets and countless fries stuffed into you face. ME TOO?

The vision of his faint smirk transforms your previously lovesick demeanor in an instant. Swallowing your food down, you glare at the snarky comment, thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard without a reply in mind.

It would've been better if he'd said it to your face. You could tackle him—maybe kiss the smirk off his face. Countless letters are typed out and erased within seconds of each other, simply because you can't settle on anything to say. The scowl on your face deepens as you swipe out of the app.

And you're not sure what happens after that, but when you come to, you find yourself staring at half of an objectively terrible selfie you'd taken with Cael—

And Ringing... written underneath.

When he picks up, the first thing Cael says is your name.

"What a coincidence." Your boyfriend chuckles softly. "I was thinking I wanted to hear your voice."

You fear the psychological damage is irreversible. Why did you call him again?

Oh, rig—wait a minute.

"Did you miss me?" you ask, not so much curious as you are delighted. "Wait."

Never let it be said that you don't have your priorities straight. You're sure anyone in your position would do the same thing. So, with a giggle—both at your snarky comment and at the prospect of being missed by Cael—you pull your phone away from your ear and make your earlier wish of seeing his face come true.

"Let me—" You adjust your bangs, knowing well the futility of doing so. "—Let me turn my camera on."

When you finally catch sight of his beautiful face, as the camera turns on, Cael is smiling gently.

Upon catching a glimpse of your current, haphazard appearance—the pile of hair tied up in some kind of half-bun, half-ponytail, the ratty old t-shirt that's simply too comfortable to part with, and, you realize embarassedly, the ketchup stains and nugget crumbs plastered all over your mouth—he shakes his head. Out of habit, his free hand hovers in the air for a moment before he puts it down. Even before he shoots you a helpless look, you can tell he's wishing for the same thing.

"You should—" Gesturing at his own mouth, free of crumbs, he tries to help you out. "Mhm, you got most of them."

For a party of one, you didn't find napkins to be a necessity—so, instead, you have to make do with your oily hands. It's hardly the most elegant side you've shown him, but you also know he's seen worse. And if he can still watch you fondly, frankly, you don't think you have a need to be concerned.

With a grimace, you brush the fallen crumbs off of your lap and onto the couch. You're going to have to vacuum it, unless you want it to be teeming with ants. The thought makes you shudder.

Cael's lovely voice cuts through the horrific visions of an ant takeover and replaces them with much more pleasant imagery. "What are you thinking about?"

"Ants," you say, without skipping a beat, then laugh. "Well, that and I have a bone to pick with you."

He blinks, looking as though he's desperately trying to surpass a laugh. "Alright. What is it?"

Upon studying his expression, you find that it's rather reminiscent of the one that'd pushed you over the edge. This time—perhaps because of the way the amusement glittering in his violet eyes makes them pop—you smile softly. Laying back down on the sofa, with your head comfortably resting against the armrest, you grin and start describing your dilemma.

"The truth is, I was fishing for another compliment," you tell him, as if offering him a carefully-guarded confession.

Your voice is suitably dramatic, with a sliver of faux mournfulness coming through. Unfortunately, you're not particularly good at faking tears—so it is all you have in your arsenal.

Cael looks down at you from the phone's screen, clearly exasperated. You bring your arms down to a more comfortable position and adjust some of your bangs. With the plate of nuggets still on your lap, you can't bend your knees as you'd like. As a compromise, you cross your legs over one another.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

"I'll make up for it, but—" Your boyfriend hesitates. "Nevermind."

Even though the hamsters in your brain have started sounding the alarms, even though you're certain he's messing with you, you still fall for it—hook, line, and sinker. It leaves you incapable of saying anything beyond but.

With an elegance you might've admired at any other time, he ignores your minor break in coherency. But the smile on his face is, for all intents and purposes, a grin, genuine but unfortunately tinged with amusement, and you can't find it in yourself to be too upset. You still remember his lighthouse comment.

You wonder if he'd notice if you took a screenshot. He did say he didn't like to use his deduction abilities on you.

Humming a song you'd texted him without explanation, he begins to ask, "How would you like me to make up for—"

"But."

"I was talking about the girl in the painting," he relents finally, softly smiling at you. You like to think your glare broke him down.

But the person in the drawing...

True, you'd never specified who you were talking about. Neither had he. It really is true what they say about assumptions, you think, aware that you can't quite think of an accusation that won't backfire on you.

So, like a gaping fish—maybe one swimming in warmer weather, if your warm cheeks are any indication—you gawk at him.

"Is that surprising?" he asks.

Deliberately, you turn your head away. To make yourself feel like a productive person, you pretend you're searching for your beloved cat, who must've slinked away at some point. Then again, you're pretty sure bribery goes a long way with Beanie—and no one's better at it than Cael.

Maybe Beanie would side against you instead.

"Maybe I haven't said it enough. That you're the most beautiful person I know."

As your mind slowly registers the words, you blink. Clearly, Cael hasn't spent enough time staring at a mirror. If he'd said woman, you might've debated for a bit before folding. You might've even seized the opportunity he's presented you with immediately.

Instead, you squint at him.

Surely, he hasn't forgotten how the students of St. Shelter Academia hold his beauty in high esteem. Or the many, perhaps unnecessary, compliments to his beauty in In Passing, even after you'd returned to Godheim. Sure, he might not have registered your unsubtle crush on him back then, but surely, now—

Surely.

Maybe I'm the one who hasn't said it enough.

"That's right." You nod your head solemnly—as if you're unbothered by the thoughts running through your head—and hold up your pinky finger with a smug grin. "You should say it more. Pinky swear."

Despite the distance, he still holds up his pinky finger for you.

[romance-rambles]

modern alkaid | 319 roses and a date

Alkaid gets asked on a date by the girl he desperately wanted to ask out, at least before he found out who the flowers were for. You'd like to maintain that nothing you said was a lie.

2.8k, post-alkaid's florist ending [everything else happens the same way, except alkaid's first meeting with mc happens after godheim], misunderstandings + some angst, mc is reader, series: none

ALKAID STARES DOWN BLANKLY AT the bouquet of white roses in his hands. At some point during his stunned silence, he had unwittingly taken them off yours, just as you had hoped for.

All 319 of them, to be precise—which is a number that, put in a different context, can also refer to 3/19, the day of his birth. Even with the limited capacity he has at the moment to sort out the events that led up to this moment, he can't help the way his heart flutters at the knowledge that you remembered, even though so much time has passed.

"Alkaid?" A gentle tap against his shoulder robs the flowers of their spotlight. "Do you...not like the flowers?"

He looks up and sees you, still here—still dressed so beautifully he's once more in danger of succumbing to asphyxiation, with a fretful expression that makes him wonder if he's already there. When he does not respond, you close the remaining distance between them, obscuring all else from his vision.

It is a problem only because he has nowhere left to run.

"No," he croaks out finally, leaning back over the counter to accommodate you.

Obliviously, you move closer, leaving him with no choice but to avert his gaze once more. Alkaid can only hope you aren't offended—that you don't think he finds you unattractive, with how often he does so. It's only that your beaming smile reminds him of what it feels like to stare down the sun.

"They're lovely."

Satisfied with his answer, you pull back. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and your ponytail sways slightly, once more retreating behind your shoulder. There's an adorable star-shaped pin fastened onto the strap of your cross-body bag.

He sighs discretely, relieved, and pulls the bouquet up to his face as casually as he can. The petals, he hopes, will be enough to cover up the deep scarlet staining his cheeks.

"I'm glad!" You clap your hands together. "I was worried they wouldn't be to your liking. Maybe I should've asked you what your favorite flower was before I tried asking you out."

A self-deprecating laugh slips out as you scratch your cheek. An intricate design spans the length of your nail now—shades of red and green shaped into what he can clearly recognize as halves of a rose hugging the edges—against a black background.

Alkaid bites his lip, converting the interrupted gasp into a quiet exhale.

"You guessed right. I like white roses," he says, hoping desperately that his words are nothing less than reassuring. "Though they share that spot with lilies as well."

"Lilies," you repeat, a determined gleam in your lovely eyes. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He bites his lip harder.

THE MORNING HE'S DUE TO hand off your flowers, Alkaid finds himself contemplating the benefits of coffee behind the register.

Though his favorite concealer and his usual color corrector have done much to brighten up his undereyes, they can do little for the grogginess that comes with staying awake the whole night (Why such a specific number? Who are they for? Do you remember him at all?). And, by the time the clock strikes nine, he's already downed three cups of strongly-brewed tea.

What pushes him to finally break away from his usual preferences is a simple headache.

The store is empty, and there remains more than half an hour before you're set to arrive. A sharp twinge of pain in the side of his head as he stands up to check on your flowers draws out a careful hiss. Alkaid, with some amount of lingering hesitance, flips the sign on his door to closed, with a note explaining the rough length of absence. Then he walks out the door, his destination the artsy cafe across the street—the one that makes him think of you whenever he walks in.

Allen, the normally deadpan barista on duty, seems to shut down when Alkaid corrects him on his order. Soon, the news spreads to the rest of the employees, who take turns staring at him as he leaves with a warm thermos of coffee in his hands.

But, in the end, it proves to be an unnecessary trip.

You're already in front of his flower shop when he returns, half-crouched and studying the sign the way someone might study a work of abstract art. Today, too, you have a large, dark blue backpack slung over both your shoulders, its surface decorated with various pins and stickers—mostly of a cat, your cat, but also of a popular manga that you seem to like.

In Passing, that is.

It's about a love triangle featuring a tyrant emperor and a well-liked leader of the rebellion. Even without the reviews praising it for subverting expectations, Alkaid would've picked it up anyway.

He's on the third volume right now, and—

Hmm? His eyebrows furrow. Where did I leave it? In my bag?

All of a sudden, the sleep that had been so insistent on dragging his eyelids down vanishes. Alkaid wracks his brain desperately for the answers, stomach churning at the thought of you finding out about his latest reading material.

Unfortunately, you choose that moment to turn around.

"Oh, Alkaid!"

Your confused expression soon melts away, leaving behind only a cheerful smile. Tightening his grip on his thermos, he exhales silently, before flashing you a gentle smile.

"You're here." Time stops as you begin to approach him, your keychains singing a short jingle to accompany you. Your expression softens, as does your voice. "You didn't forget about me, right?"

Alkaid can only sputter out a half-coherent apology.

The words get drowned out by the insistent, purposeful beating of his heart. It's as if it wants to claw itself out of his chest and entrust itself to your hands, as it is, with shattered bones sticking out of it.

You laugh prettily, as always. "It's okay. I'm just joking."

Then, like a moth to a flame, his gaze falls upon your lips. A soft red, with a glossy sheen, one that matches the color of your skirt. On a plain canvas, it's all the more striking. It leaves him wondering about things he, currently a stranger, shouldn't be fretting over.

He's not sure how long he stares for, with slightly parted lips and a series of half-realized thoughts chiding at him to stop—only that it's not long enough for you to grow uncomfortable.

Alkaid clears his throat, holding up his thermos (I should've bought her something too, he thinks) as an explanation. "I apologize for the wait. I went over to the cafe across the street."

"Coffee lover?" you guess, making room for him to open the door.

"I'm usually more of a tea person." As he slips inside the store, he can't help but chuckle self-consciously, remembering all the different ways he imagined this scene playing out. Naturally, his next words are nothing more than the most blatant lie he's ever told. "I thought I'd try something else for a change."

"Is it a nice place?" Upon seeing the puzzled look he sends over his shoulder, you clarify, "The cafe. I've seen the reviews, but I think only experience can beat the testimony of someone you know."

He considers your question for a moment. "The staff is very friendly. I often stop by during lunch for their sandwiches."

"I see..." you murmur.

"I think you'd like it," Alkaid blurts out as he slips in behind the register, happy to note that his copy of Volume 3 is, in fact, in his bag. "The owner enjoys collecting art—there's a lot of different paintings all over the cafe. Um, since you're an art major."

"Well, now I have to try it out." You don't seem particularly startled that he knows about your major; instead, you take to drawing patterns across the wooden countertop. He thinks he sees the familiar curve of an A. "The cookies you recommended last time were really great too."

When he keeps his silence, the complete opposite of what the state of his mind currently is (she remembers?), you look up.

"Hmm?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your once smiling expression. "Do I have the wrong person? You're Alkaid, right? From that time in the snow mountains?"

He forces himself to nod, but that too is enough.

A shy smile blossoms on your lips, paired with both a brief flash of relief flitting through your gaze and the slight, almost imperceptible widening of your eyes. Placing your hands above your heart, you sigh exaggeratedly.

"You had me worried for a moment," you say. Your eyelashes cast a dark shadow on your undereyes. "I thought we'd never meet again."

For a moment, he wonders if there's more to your sorrow than you let on. Does it have anything to do with the way you disappeared? Somewhere so far away that no one could reach you at all?

Alkaid shakes off his thoughts.

"But we did," he responds carefully. I never thought we'd meet again either, he does not say instead. "Whether it was destiny, whether it was just a coincidence, we did. All we can do is make the most of it."

A tinge of sadness mars your lovely smile. "I think that sounds lovely."

SOON AFTER THEIR REUNION, DONE properly this time, down to exchanging numbers, Alkaid excuses himself to go fetch your flowers. When he returns, lovesick heart brimming with curiosity over the recipient's identity once more, he finds you've returned to doodling on the counter.

"Here they are, 319 white roses," he announces.

There's a blank expression on your face when you look up. Slowly, as recognition dawns upon you, it melts away to something bitter and rough. Its jagged edges dig into his his heart, leaving a paralyzing mix of sadness and longing to wash over him.

And then—

"Thank you," you say, and take the flowers off his hand.

His hand twitches, yearning for the camera he still keeps in his backpack, for the days where he feels like memorializing something instead. Lovely is the only word he has to describe you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and pull the bouquet close with a faint smile.

Then, you close your eyes, and you inhale deeply. Once more, you are somewhere else—somewhere far, somewhere he can't reach.

"Ah, sorry." You crack one eye open. Now, the bouquet is clutched against your chest, but your sadness remains. "I guess I'm a bit nervous. I don't know if he'll like the flowers."

He? From some far corner of his mind, he recalls the image of your guardian. A tall man, with long silver hair and a pleasant, but guarded expression. Cael, he thinks is the name.

"For your guardian?" Alkaid inquires.

Your smile drops entirely at the mention of your guardian. A complicated series of emotions flash in your gaze, soon averted to one of the potted plants at the display. Scratching your cheek, you offer him a polite laugh.

Today, only some of your nails are a plain black. The rest remain bare.

"No, it's not for Cael." You answer carefully. "Actually—"

Looking down at the flowers, you take a deep breath. When next you speak, your voice has reclaimed the softness it'd shown him earlier—your searching gaze as well. You leave him with the truth, imparting it onto him like a mischievous secret.

"There's someone I'd like to ask out."

His stomach drops, and you leave him with the memory of lovelorn smile, forever imprinted behind his eyelids.

"I hope he says yes."

[3:00 PM] you: Alkaid, do you have any plans tonight?

[3:17 PM] alkaid: No, I'm free

[3:21 PM] alkaid: Did something happen?

[3:22 PM] you:

[3:22 PM] you: I haven't asked him out yet. Gonna do it soon

[3:23 PM] you: All of my other friends are busy rn.

[3:24 PM] you: Is it okay if I stop by after you close up shop?

[3:24 PM] you: I'd want to talk to someone about it

[4:31 PM] alkaid: Of course

SOMEHOW, ALKAID MANAGES TO GET through the rest of the day.

His heart is held together haphazardly with duct tape and carefully-placed staples, though their efforts are thwarted constantly by a popular refrain (You hardly know him. Of course there's someone else.), and he's one stubbed toe away from being reduced to tears, but he manages. Somehow.

He swallows down his what-ifs and maybes and waits, watching the hands on his wristwatch inch ever closer to six in the evening. And eventually, the vaguely promised time arrives.

As he's stepping out from behind the register, a familiar chime echoes cuts through the silence. Alkaid looks up and sees you, dressed still in red and black, your turtleneck and skirt swapped out for a knee-length dress.

"Hi."

The bouquet of white roses—held in both hands, a stark contrast to the black leather jacket you're wearing—covers up its neckline. You smile sheepishly at him, pulling at the mesh of your bright red skirt to mimic a curtsy.

You're beautiful. Even the flowers surrounding them pale in comparison. Even the aurora they'd seen together pales in comparison. You rob him of his breath and leave gasping for a reprieve, but so long as he keeps his memory in even the smallest capacity, that's simply impossible.

The familiar knife called jealousy stabs into his heart, leaving him keenly aware of his longing. He averts his gaze, but the damage has already been done. You are beautiful, and he has waited years to see you.

"Hi." Alkaid swallows uncomfortably, as the sound of your footsteps draws closer. In a panic, his hands brace themselves against the edge of the counter. "Was something wrong with the flowers? I thought—"

A mysterious expression sits upon your features when you pull his gaze onto you, seemingly oblivious to your magnetic power.

With a deep breath, you thrust the flowers at him, knuckles brushing against his chest. You pull back for a moment, taking your flowers with you, and the soft coral of your blush makes it difficult to discern whether you find yourself a victim the of same scarlet blooming across his cheeks.

"That's—" You cough politely. There's a heart-shaped pendant dangling from your golden necklace. The dress is either strapless or your jacket has covered up the straps. "—what I'm here to find out."

Alkaid tilts his head. His confused gaze darts across his surroundings and stops at the glass window of the store's display, thinking perhaps that your mystery boy might be outside. But while the streets are not barren, there is no one outside his store.

You say his name in the same way you told him your secret. Like it's something precious. Like it's something you love. And the truth begins to settle into his bones with a finality that deafens the half-coherent puzzle pieces he's been trying to fit together—he is the only one you could possibly ask out in this empty store.

He has no choice but to look back. At you, and the bouquet you're offering him.

"Would you like to go to the movies with me?"

AND THAT IS HOW HE finds himself with the beginnings of a bruise forming on his lip. He doesn't mind, not when the sting he feels as he wets his lip reminds him that this is not, in fact, a dream (It feels like it though, he thinks), nor a fantasy.

"You...you don't have a girlfriend, do you? It's been a while since then..."

You rub your arm lightly, muttering about something he can't understand, and what else is Alkaid meant to do but take your hand? He squeezes it gently, tickled to find that he can return the favor for all the times you've stolen his breath away.

Your lips part slightly, but whatever you hoped to say does not leave the confines of your mysterious mind. Instead, you draw some of your hair from both sides over your flushed cheeks.

"Nothing like that," he reassures, smiling gently at you. "I'm just surprised. I didn't realize you were talking about me."

"That's a reli—what." In a single moment, your voice goes from girlishly breathless to an irritated flat. Releasing your hair, you blink uncomprehendingly at him. "How?"

Watching you descend into another muttered ramble, Alkaid shrugs. "If you'd still like that date..."

You whip your head in his direction. "Then it's a date!"

The first time he met you, it was when you had fished out of the snow and offered him a warm drink to fight off the cold. They had talked about miscellaneous things, from your half-hearted desire to request a camera for your birthday to who could make the better model between them both.

And back then, he had thought to himself that there was no sound more beautiful than your laugh.

Almost four years after the fact, as he watches you giggle, Alkaid can confidently say his past self had the right idea. Such a specific title leaves him with room to declare your follow-up smile to be just as breathtaking.

[gepazu]

in dreams, lars meets you in warm conversation.

(no doubt those are warmer words than the ones he exchanged with you personally.)

in those dreams, he was sat beside or across you — a pitcher of your favorite drink and a bouquet of forget-me-nots between you two as you ask him how he is and has been. if the sun still shines the way it did when you were younger; when your hands treaded his hair like familiar lands and knotted them into anthuriums. if clouds still came in the shape of lions and gave him bravery through wisps of sunshine and breeze.

(he remembers how his hand was in yours as he pointed to the outlines of the animal, squeezing your hand tightly to get your attention,

— then he remembers how you only let him take your faltering, and limp hand; musing on how it felt as if he were preying on a dead bird.)

akin to the other dreams he’s had of you — like clockwork, you would shift in your seat by the second inquiry — gaze sweeping over any answers the blond had ready for you, wilting pathetically as mere syllables back into his throat before you pour yourself another glass; eyes fixated on the way his expression softens straight into a solid flatline.

and lars watches how you never finish.

the liquid spills out of the cup, it reaches out and over the table to spill into running waters, flooding him to the knees in a near-desperation to soak into the living for something- anything that could live on— but the sun bleeds into his eye, and the morning starts again.

a cold cup of your favorite drink by his bedside table, your voice in mind; and like clockwork — he gets up solely to meet you in warmer conversations than the one he held with you on your deathbed.

✩ love notes — thank u vv much to alexie mi love ( @alexisomnias ) for proofreading hehehe 💕

✩ lovebrush chronicles taglist — @nordicbananas, @lovebrushed, @xyoonx, @tsukishiro-yue2402, @norieoncrack ♡ send in an ask if you want to be added !!

ⓒ GEPAZU 2023 — 2024.

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | a reward for the diligent

After a day's hard work, you give your boyfriend a reward. He seems to disagree on who it's a reward for.

1.4k, post-azure island, established relationship + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

OUTSIDE THE LARGE WINDOW BEHIND your boyfriend's desk, the sun glows a soft red over the nearly empty streets. A young couple coming from class, oblivious to its quiet warning to head home soon, leisurely strolls past the building you're in.

Your tender gaze fixates on their held hands, quietly tracing the path their swinging arms take. The last of papers Clarence needs to look through rustle in the background, followed by the familiar sound of his pen etching his name into place. By now, you're certain all those hours of staring at his signature have, in fact, granted you the ability to forge it.

You've just never tried.

To you, surrounding his name with hearts on the margins of your various notebooks is a far more worthwhile endeavour. Sometimes, you throw in a Mrs. Clayden and marvel at how easily your future title slips off your tongue. It's an addictive thing, really, whether in singsong or screeching—you can't even begin to guess how many times Beanie has watched you warily, likely convinced that you're the victim of an on-and-off posession by some feral ghost.

The ghost of a bride, perhaps.

When you quipped about it to Clarence the first time, he somehow found an opening to discuss your impending last name situation. He had statistics and cited arguments and everything. Any lingering shame vanished in that moment, leaving behind an overwhelming desire to kiss him.

So, you did.

...only for William to walk in.

Since you'd gotten your kiss, you find you can look back fondly at that moment. The boys, on the other hand, range from being consistently flustered to berudgingly amused. It's easy enough to guess who's who.

"Thinking about something?" Clarence asks, his soft voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glance at him, the same dreamy smile most of your friends and acquaintances know to associate with your boyfriend still on your lips. A stack of completed paperwork sits neatly to his side, the very same one you stand on. And to his left sits the coffee you bought for him, empty and cold now, alongside other miscellaneous, but useful trinkets—including some cat-themed stationery that had reminded you of him, and vice versa.

Reaching over to be a helpful girlfriend, you pluck the coffee cup off the desk, adjusting the straps of your back once you're done. At the pointed look on his face, your smile transforms into something bigger—into a wide grin that leaves him knowing of what's to come.

"You." With a giggle, you clutch both of your coffee cups against your chest with one hand. "What else could it be?"

By now, the couple has disappeared into one of the nearby buildings. Your gaze flits to his hands—one rests atop the teal desk, fingers lightly curled in front of his propped-up elbow; the other supports his slumped cheek so effortlessly you feel like swooning.

The exhaustion from the previous days—though a definite cause for concern on your part—has done little to detract from how handsome he is.

You narrow your eyes fondly at him. "Tired?"

He only smiles helplessly as a near-imperceptible huff of laughter escapes through his nose. Your free hand has already crossed most of the distance between him and your when you remember to check the cups one last time. Though you're certain they're empty, considering you checked earlier, the last thing you want right now is a surprise.

When you're assured of their emptiness, you resume your prior quest, gently brushing his bangs out of the way. You're careful not to jostle his frames, taking the shortest path to your goal.

As the distance between your face and his steadily decreases, the coffee cups come to rest atop the desk. A consequence of the angle at which you lean over it, its front-facing edge digs into your skin. Still, you bear with the momentary discomfort, too distracted by the man in front of you.

And oh, is he worth it—

Clarence leans into your touch, his eyelids drooping until he seems to come to an agreement with himself and closes his eyes. The smile on his face remains, even as his eyebrows furrow in response to your wandering touch. You get as far as tucking his hair behind his ear—though, tragically, you're unable to dodge his glasses this time—when a brilliant idea creeps up on you from behind.

"Keep your eyes closed," you murmur, swallowing up half your words before they have a chance to escape.

By the time you've all but climbed atop his desk, he opens his eyes, his curious gaze offering a silent question. When the silence drags on, your only response being a cheeky smile, it becomes an audible one, tinged with a familiar exasperation he reserves only for you.

"Close my eyes? Okay..." Clarence sighs fondly, acquesing to your request. "But what are you going to do?"

Grinning, you hum. "It's like William said."

Your first order of business—in a hazily-conjured scheme with only a few steps—is to carefully divest him of his glasses. It earns you a soft chuckle from your boyfriend, though whether it's because of where this is going or the way you accidentally flicked his cheek is anyone's guess.

"It's easy to work hard when you have a reward waiting for you at the end, right?" you ask, handing him custody of his glasses once more. William had followed up his comment with a remark about how you and Clarence had it easy—then he'd fallen into faux despair when neither of you bothered to deny it. "Well, this is the reward."

After accepting your offering with practiced ease, he leaves them in his hand, inadvertently shielding them from your view. You condense your usual admiration for your boyfriend's pretty face into a quick moment, then cup his cheeks lovingly—though his own hand on his cheek restricts where yours can go.

With that same hand, Clarence grasps yours and cradles it against his cheek, properly this time.

"And who is it for?" he questions, sounding amused.

You're on your tiptoes, legs stretched out behind you. Every so often, you adjust yourself against the teal desk to offer your poor stomach some relief. Frankly, you think it might've been easier if you'd turned the corner twice instead, but you're too far in to back out now.

So, you laugh, pressing a kiss to the beauty mark under his eye. "Well, we can agree to disagree."

Once, around the time you grew aware of your feelings for him, you read online that some people believe a mole signifies the spot where your soulmate likes kissing you the most. And you've never liked being made out to be a liar, so you've made it your life's mission to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy—the only good one out there.

Clarence, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so lucky to have his spot somewhere visible. The memory of him turning pink when he pondered the implication a bit too intensely leaves you giggling once more.

"I haven't even started," he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "It's a bit early to say that."

Snickering, you move your lips to his forehead.

"Better not," you say teasingly, before your voice softens and you pull back. Then, as if you aren't the current hold up in his schedule (you are), you add, "We have to be heading out soon. It's late."

"Hmm...I haven't gotten my reward yet," he teases, opening his eyes. You think they look even brighter now than they did a few minutes ago, like ocean waves gleaming under the sun. "I believe you mentioned something about that."

Letting go of his glasses for a moment, he fixes his bangs back into place. They're parted differently this time—or rather, not at all. You think you must've mentioned it to him at least a few times, the way it makes you think of the future.

Of sleepy mornings and freshly brewed coffee. Of requests for five more minutes, Clarence and his warm breath fanning against your ear when he denies you even that much. Of being the first person to gaze upon his beautiful face in the morning and the last person to point out the exhaustion that's seeped deep into his shoulders at night.

Your lips curve into a soft smile. "Well, I can't have you calling me a liar now, can I?"

"No," he agrees easily, squeezing your hand. Concern swims in his blue eyes as he narrows them at the edge of the desk. "But maybe you could get off of there first."

"This first," you say, before you press your lips to his for a quick peck.

He only smiles helplessly at you when you pull back. Somehow, you remember to climb off the desk before you take him up on his invitation and kiss him again.

[dangopango00]

After Last Night (2)

Waking up with him after a hookup

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 |

FAT/LBC men x gn reader (Ayn and cael)

CW: Suggestive, cael (sorry i like him i just happen to also like hating on him), ok genuinely cael but its the fact that in his blurb MC is kind of your daughter

A/N: Ayn is my fave but i dint do him in part one to keep me motivated to finish part two 💀💀 mind games also im acc so obsessed with step parent reader wtf thats so cute

more utc

AYN / AI YIN (艾因）

- SCENARIO: Ayn is very aloof and he doesn’t drink so he’s not sleeping with anyone he doesn’t know well; you two are very close. You’re in the music club and trying to pick up/get better at an instrument and you pestered Ayn into giving you tips until you became so close that he basically acted as your tutor. Tbh you’re probably already in a situationship and you’ve probably kissed a few times but nothing crazy, you’ve never pushed it that far— well that is until last night. You hadn’t seen each other in a long time just because you were both busy and Ayn missed you so he had you come to his hideout and well shit happened

- He wakes up first but is incredibly out of it like there’s still drool dribbling out of his mouth and he’s only really half awake; he kinda looks dead in his stupor

- He’d probably just pull you closer, lay on you and go back to sleep to be so honest; he can order takeout for the two of you later

- He tangles himself with you like unbrushed hair. His legs and arms are all wrapped around you and he’s trying to get as close to you as possible and his breath is tickling your neck with how much he nudges his head against you and gives you a quick kiss before he goes back to sleep

- His bedhead usually isn’t messy because he doesn’t move a lot in his sleep but after last night his hair is more messy than usual because of how much he’s pushing his head against you lol

- Even if you wake up he won’t let you get up. Go back to bed, he missed you; he just kisses you until you give up but if you’re hungry he’ll order something from his phone

- Likes if you trace parts of his body while you’re laying down like his collarbones or running your thumb down his chest. Keep it below the head though, otherwise the ticklish feeling will bother him while he’s trying to sleep (he’s such a princess 🙄)

- Is actually pretty chill about the whole thing; it was only a matter of time in his opinion and will be a little confused if you’re super embarrassed because you’ve already made out before it’s not that crazy

- He thinks the situation is pretty simple honestly he’s just gonna invite you on dates and confess which does admittedly take a bit of time because he wants to do something special and you’re a little nervous when he doesn’t confess or anything but when he does it makes the wait 100% worth it

CAEL / YE XUAN (叶瑄）

- SCENARIO: OKAY. I’ve thought about this one deeply because Cael is like I think a confirmed virgin so he would have to be suuuperr close with you to want to hook up. So in my delusional little head you are a very old friend of his who helped him basically raise MC. You weren’t formally her step parent but you helped out where you could and ended up becoming close with the two. At first Cael was just grateful to have you for help and as a dear friend but as time went on he started to notice you more and more. You lived together and seeing you do random domestic things or just normal mundane things like doing laundry or gardening or sth was driving him insane. It just built up and randomly one day when you were getting ready for the day he suddenly kissed the back of your neck and confessed and things just escalated

- You wake up first and Cael is just lying so peacefully. He’s never felt more refreshed to be honest

- His bedhead is a little messy but it’s not really noticeable except for the bangs and he snores but he doesn’t really drool, doesn’t move much either; moves in between long intervals

- You run your fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead as he sleeps and you notice him crack a smile (he woke up a few minutes after you but he wanted to see what you’d do while he slept so he could tease you later)

- He loves it when you hold his face in your hands. His cheeks heat up and he has a small smile as he opens his eyes; such a small form of affection makes him feel so warm inside and he can’t help it

- He’d take your hands in his and kiss them then leading you to the kitchen so you can make breakfast together

- After all. That his infatuation is boosted like x10 like he starts drawing you just doing normal activities, thinking about you while in the middle of a battle among many other things

- However, he hasn’t slept with you since that night because he’s really worried

- He doesn’t really know how nor does he think he should pursue a committed relationship with you because tbh he could die at any moment and he has enough responsibility as is; it sounds harsh but he doesn’t want to have to worry about you and vice versa. It’ll take a lot of convincing and persistence to get him to realize that no matter what you’ll be by his side and that you want to take care of him and MC too— that you will always care about him no matter how much he distances himself

[belovedfedya]

OMG PRETTY THEME HELLO COOL PERSON ヾ(≧▽≦*)o

HELLOOOO !! I sat and thought for 10 minutes straight about what to answer LMAO😭