#solitude book club

[johnnyricks]

[utterlyotterlyx]

Eden

Azriel x F!Reader

Summary - You had heard the rumours of the illustrious Shadowsinger, and you knew better than to get involved with him despite his eyes finding you. Though, everything changes after one fateful night, and you find yourself unwilling to be another one of his conquests.

Warnings - angst, swearing, mentions of blood, fluff, fuck boy to angel Az, jealousy, some sadness, suggestive tones

Based on this ask

Word Count - 11.5k (oops)

"You know that sleeping around isn't going to make your mate miraculously appear, right?" Cassian pretty much shouted across the table to Azriel, wincing and the loud thumping of the music and squealing laughter drifting through the dancefloor of Rita's.

Shrugging, Azriel continued to sip on his potent drink, so potent that it took the edge off of his misery for a few hours to allow him to enjoy being buried inside another female before he went home to only be surrounded by every single member of his family acting sickly in love.

At first Azriel only did it to forget about Elain and Lucien, at how she chose the fox over him, but then it spiralled into something more. It had become to poisonous and filled him with so much venom that he despised being around his family at all. He had moved himself out of the House of Wind to a small but cosy apartment on the outskirts of the city, mainly so that no one truly knew how many women he was bedding each week, but so that he could also escape the turmoil of mating bonds and happiness.

"I don't have a mate," Azriel admitted, truly believing that the Mother had chosen to restrict him of that single purity he had always yearned for.

His eyes scoured the crowd, trying to find a female he hadn't taken to bed yet, not wanting to fuck the same woman twice and lead her to believe that he wanted anything more from her than what he did.

"Don't say that," Cassian scolded lightly, frowning at his brother and worrying about the dimness laced in his eyes as they lazily dragged across the crowds. "She's out there, Az. You just have to be patient."

Cassian's words gave Azriel no hope. The Shadowsinger knew that Nesta disapproved of Cassian joining him in the evenings, and he knew that Rhys and Feyre were worried about his wellbeing, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

To care was to open himself up to more pain, and he couldn't do it again.

"No, I don't," Azriel downed the rest of his drink and rose from his place in the booth, rolling his shoulders and feeling his shadows peak up from behind his wings, just as solemn as their master. "You should get back to Nesta. I'll see you for training tomorrow," he mumbled, fixating his gaze on the woman he knew for certain he'd be taking to bed that night to forget how lonely he truly was, stalking toward her and leaving Cassian more worried than he ever had been.

There was something about clubs and alcohol that you despised. Maybe it was the way males kept on knocking into you without apology, or how they would lean in and shout down your ear in an attempt to get you to dance with them.

No. It was definitely the heat that you hated the most. How the sweaty bodies would writhe and pulse to the beat of the music with little care of the world raging on beyond the doors. A world you had ventured across to set up a practice in the Night Court, believing that it was where fate needed you to be.

"Loosen up, y/n," your slightly inebriated friend, Alana, childishly begged as she grabbed your hands and swung them in time to the melody. "This is your first night out since you got here. Have some fun."

Part of you wanted to listen to her, to truly give in and push yourself outside of the bubble of comfort your solitude had gifted you. It wasn't that you hadn't tried to, it was just that you enjoyed your quiet nights in curled up with a good book, and your days of healing and walking about the city. It was routine, and you were happy living within it.

Allowing Alana to twirl you around in the tight black cut-out dress she had forced you to adorn for the evening, you couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the most beautiful male you had ever seen as the world span. Stopping in your tracks, you watched his grin widen as a stunning blonde female wearing little to no clothing swayed against the front of his body, grinding her hips and ass onto him whilst his fingers tightened around her waist.

"Who is that?" Alana came to your side sporting a knowing smirk, biting her lip softly as she too watched the male move in rhythm with the woman in front of him.

Just as his lips floated downward, whispering and nipping at the shell of her ear, did Alana admit, "That's Azriel. He's part of the Inner Circle," her eyes moved to you, dragging from your feet up to your face, "And he'd ruin you, sweetheart."

"I'm not interested," you lied.

Alana saw straight through it, "Liar," she nudged, "There isn't a single unmated female in this city that doesn't wish that he wouldn't beckon them to his bed, and he's had many of them."

There was no way that you could compare to the woman in front of him, she had golden blonde hair and rouge painted lips, and she had a wildness to her that you'd never be able to own. And, like he knew that fact, his eyes moved upward to yours and you felt like he was searching the depths of your soul. The stare was so intense that you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and had no choice but to break the contact, and you felt his smirk rake over your body as you turned away.

For the rest of the evening, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from finding Azriel from wherever he was in the room. Women flocked around him, but it was clear that he had made his choice, and you had to watch as the woman sauntered from the bar, dragging him behind her for an night of ruin.

And all you could do was wonder what exactly that would be like.

Nursing a hangover and little to no sleep thanks to the blonde feline Azriel had taken to bed that morning, the last thing he wanted to do was train with Cassian, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he bailed.

So there he was, clad in his leathers beneath the scorching sun, regretting all of his life choices.

At least he found something new out, something that his shadows didn't deem necessary to tell him. There was a new female in the city, one who reeked of Dawn, who was as beautiful as a setting sun in the depths of summer. Azriel couldn't help but picture her face whilst he fucked that woman, imagining her lips breathless and perfectly rounded, imagining the smoothness of her skin under his touch, and the subtle waves of her hair spiralling down her back.

It seemed that his wish to know more of her was answered the moment Feyre and Rhys stepped onto the training grounds atop the House of Wind, muttering about a new healer that Nyx had become obsessed with.

"Nyx just adores her," Feyre spoke with wonder, clad in her custom made training leathers that Rhys had made for her. "He let her give him his injections, he won't let Madja close enough to even try."

Rhys hummed in response, smiling at the memory and clearly pleased by the being he had welcomed into the city, "Well, Thesan did say that she is the best he's seen in a long time. I'm glad that she's here. It means that Madja can retire now if she wants to."

A new healer? From the Dawn Court?

No wonder she was so beautiful. She had been born in the most serene court of Prythian, she had probably grown up with the Peregryns, and had been trained by Thesan himself.

Turning his attention back to Cassian, Azriel couldn't help but let his mind wander to the healer he had seen the night before. It was strange how he found her eyes, pools of innocent bliss gazing at him from across the room that he couldn't help but be infatuated with. He still felt the pang of disappointment in his soul when she had looked away.

Training ensued without any issues, and by the end of the session Azriel was sure that he was going to throw up whilst Cassian seemed as chipper as ever. Nesta must have been nice to him when he returned home last night.

Just as Azriel went to flex his wings and return to his apartment as far away from the House of Wind, and thus Elain and Lucien, as possible, the clearing of a throat caused his feet to stick to the ground. "Az, a word?"

Rhys stood a mere few feet behind Azriel and watched as his tensed wings folded between his shoulders before he slowly turned to face him. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Rhys narrowed his eyes, still anxious about approaching Azriel considering the last time he had expressed his worry it had caused Azriel to move across the city. "I have a mission that I need you to go on. It's urgent. There's been increasing reports from the mountain camps that wing clipping has made a return. I need you to verify it."

It was one of the few things that truly got under Azriel's skin, the removal of wings from Illyrian females, usually little girls. Wordlessly, Azriel nodded, turning his back to Rhys and stepping toward the ledge that would plunge him downward, "I'll leave this afternoon."

And with that, Azriel extended his wings and propelled himself upward, ebbing and flowing over the scape of the city and trying to pinpoint where exactly the new healers practice was located. He had even sent his shadows out to continue the search when he had returned home, needing nothing more than the wash away the sweat and stench of alcohol alongside the lingering teeth marks peppered along his collarbone.

It made him feel disgusting. Azriel awoke each morning with a different female coiled around her torso feeling less like a man and more like a personal whore to the women of Velaris. It was tiring, but it was the only way he could tear his mind away from the pits of his immortal loneliness.

During his preparations, his shadows returned singing their findings.

The Sidra.

Beautiful.

Angel.

Sad.

Azriel wondered what in the world could cause something so incredible to be sad. And he vowed to delve deeper into the female upon his return, to find out what was the cause of her sadness and rid her of it.

If he couldn’t fix his own life then perhaps he could fix it for someone else. Someone who deserved it.

The sun had began to wane by the time Azriel was ready to leave for the mountain camps, he was dressed in his usual leathers with siphons glowering under the descending light. He didn’t bother looking back at the mess that was his apartment, he was used to looking back and saying goodbye to Cassian, and ruffling Nyx’s black mass of hair whilst promising the child that he wouldn’t be long.

But he was alone now, he had nothing to look back to.

It didn’t take The Shadowsinger long to reach the mountain camps. He landed far enough away to not be detected and approached the camps on foot, taking the time to try and evaluate when his life had become so unsatisfying and lifeless.

Looking into the eyes of that woman across the room at Rita’s was the first time he had felt alive, truly alive, in what felt like eons. And he was sure that he’d be chasing that feeling for the rest of his miserable days on the earth.

His wings were drooped at the tips, almost dragging along the floor, and his shadows continued on their melancholy journey slithering over his spine and shoulders before shivering and returning to where they had come from, searching for a speckle of warmth.

It was only when he heard the cries echoing from the centre of the camp did he truly focus on why he was there. The cries were whimpering, pleading, begging whoever it was to stop, and the voice was so gentle, so childlike and innocent that Azriel was beginning to lose the taut grip he usually had over his self-control.

Truthteller sang at his side, thirsty for a taste of blood, eager to take another life especially if it meant ridding the continent of another monster. Azriel was happy to indulge it.

Without wasting a moment, and without thinking, he entered the clearing in the centre of the camp and moved as fast as a phantom wind in cutting down the Illyrian males that deemed the barbarity acceptable, starting with the poor excuse of one that was towering over the cowering girl who had blood leaking from her ears and nose.

It was a bloodbath, and Azriel couldn’t bring himself to stop, not even when the arrows embedded themselves into his thigh and torso and caused his vision to blur. He could make out the pools of blood, and he could feel his shadows tightening around his limbs in attempt to get him to stop, and only when his breath became latched within his throat did he realise that there was no one left for him to maim, no one that would dare to face him anyway.

He hissed at the spreading pain being carried through his body, grabbing one of the three arrows and pulling it from his skin, smelling the arrowhead and cursing at the faint scent of nightshade laced to it.

Azriel knew that he didn’t have long, a few hours at most to make it home and get to Madja before the poison claimed him. Part of him wondered if there was any point, if living was something he truly wanted to do, but then he remembered her and the look in those beautiful eyes that had him craving life and adventure.

He decided to try. For her.

The last thing you were expecting that night was to be awoken in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was still alight in the star glittered sky, by a shouting High Lord and one of your assistants.

Your day had swam by like they all did, you healed, prescribed tonics, created balms and ointments from scratch, and visited the orphanage in the centre of the city, carrying out health checks so that everyone could rest assured that all of those beautiful children were healthy even if they weren't exactly happy.

Every patient that stopped by during the afternoon had much to tell you. After seeing you at Rita's the night before, they felt more comfortable in gossiping to you, realising that you were committing to their culture and activities. So you weren't exactly surprised when your fifth patient had something to say about Azriel.

You doubted that he even saw you through his drunken, lust-filled haze, but you saw him; you saw his hazel eyes lazily hooded and warm when they found you, you saw his lips tilt upward into a smile, and you saw the clear pain that lingered beneath the surface. Alana had told you, sternly, to not think of him, that he would be the ruin of you, but you couldn't help but think about him.

Now that you had the image of him, it was impossible to remove it from your mind.

Your mother would have scolded you for it if she were alive, she would have said that you had worked too hard and spent too long training to heal those who needed a kind touch to throw it away for some pretty male that hadn't even uttered a single word to you. She was right. As always.

Which made the entire situation a lot more strange, so strange that you had genuinely believed that you were dreaming when your assistant entered your bedroom above the practice and shook you awake.

"Y/N?" Priscilla asked, sheepishly shaking you before fumbling with her fingers at her front. "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's an emergency?"

Light spilled in from the slightly ajar door, and you could hear Rhys talking frantically from the floor below, his voice drifting up the stairs and into your ears.

It wasn't a dream at all.

You sat up quickly, causing all the blood to rush to your head, and you didn't bother to put any shoes on as you slid a plush cream cotton cardigan over your arms and barrelled down the stairs.

A gasp escaped your lips.

There lay Azriel on your examination table, blood smeared over his leathers and siphons, his skin pale and sickly, and his shadows limp in a circle above his head.

"Y/N." Rhys spoke, voice tense and wobbling, and your eyes snapped to him. He was also coated in blood, Azriel's blood, and the High Lord looked between you and his brother desperately. "Please."

Running your fingers through your unbound hair, your quickly threw it up into a loose set bun at the back of your head and quickly disinfected your hands before you moved to the Shadowsinger, to the same male who couldn't look more different than he had in Rita's.

"What happened to him?" Azriel groaned at the sound of your voice, not fully coherent but it was like he knew that it was you tending to him, and his shadow perked up for but a moment before slumping back onto the table.

Rhys was beside himself, raking his fingers through his hair and down the sides of his face. "I sent him to the mountain camps to verify a rumour," he told you, not wanting to give too much away, "He was shot with arrows, I think they were poisoned. He came back to us like this, barely breathing and mumbling some nonsense about wanting to look back."

"Did you bring the arrows?"

Within seconds, Rhys produced two of the arrows, and you noted that Azriel must have taken the third one out himself at left it in the mountains. You run your fingers along the wood, bringing the oaken arrows to your nose and scenting the oozing liquid coating the head.

"Nightshade," your voice faltered. It wasn't often that you saw anyone with nightshade poisoning, they usually didn't last so long, and the fact that Azriel had was a miracle.

You flew around the room, gathering various ointments, balms, and rags, ordering Priscilla to fetch a bucket of tepid water to keep his fever down.

"Azriel?" you called to him softly, and his head moved in the direction of his voice, "I'm y/n. I'm going to help you, alright? You just need to stay with me for a little while longer. Can you do that?"

A low whine passed through his lips, tugging at the strings of your heart, and you took that as his voice of agreement. Ordering Rhys to stand back and for Priscilla to press the dampened rag to his forehead, you began to work.

Slowly, you cut through his leathers to expose his chest to the Velarian air, noting every ripple and tense of his muscles and they writhed from the effects of the poison in his system. Without thinking, you rested your glowing palms against his abdomen, calling on every morsel of your power to dive into his veins and extract every drop of poison that lived within him.

Rhys and Priscilla watched in awe as the poison began to vacate his body through the entry wounds left by the arrows, they watched that black putrid filth run down the sides of his body and drip onto the stone floor. But you didn't stop, you wouldn't let a single tear of that poison live inside of him, and once the last drop had left him, Azriel opened his eyes and gasped.

The relief he was feeling must have been profound. His eyes trailed along your face, much enjoying this version of you than the one he saw at Rita's, noting the long lashes of your closed eyes as your power surged through him to ensure that his blood was clean. You didn't even realise that your eyes were closed until his clammy, trembling fingers curled around your wrist.

His eyes were weak and drowsy, he was rightfully exhausted, and you pulled your hands away slowly, the glow in your palms weakening more by the second. Then you moved your eyes to his face, his sickly pallid face and equally pale lips that were parted in shock.

And then you felt it, that golden thread withering in solitude connecting with its other half, entwining and thrumming in clear skies, burning gold in the pits of darkness.

"Mate." Azriel rasped, eyes wide and fingers fumbling to keep a hold on you, his thankful shadows trailing up your arms to steal the warmth locked beneath your skin.

You could feel Rhys' eyes on you, examining you, not knowing what to do or say in the moment.

"Right. Yes." Azriel's wounds were still open and angry, and that is why you couldn't fully adapt to what had just happened between you, not when you could feel his pain laced with hope flow down the freshly unlocked bond.

The rest of your work was done in silence. You applied thick balms to his wounds to urge them to close and disinfect before bandaging his entire torso and thigh, apologising when each wince would sound from his lips. And all he did was watch your face whilst you worked, he watched the furrow of your brow and the concentration within your eyes, and he realised why his mind was focused on you since the moment he had seen you.

You were his mate.

His mate.

His.

When you had finished, you turned to Rhys who was perched upon a nearby chair, observing in perfect silence, and beckoned him to follow you onto the porch of your practice, closing the door softly behind you whilst Priscilla continued to clean the blood and dirt from his skin. "He would have died if you had come five minutes later."

Rhys took a step toward you, "Will he be alright?"

Part of you had to admire Rhys for his care, for the way he cared about every member of his found family and how he would go to the ends of the earth to ensure that they lived, but another part of you hated him for sending Azriel to the mountain camps in the first place.

"He'll be fine. I suggest letting him rest, someone will need to watch him," your voice trailed off slightly, not knowing whether to offer or not considering the revelation that he was your mate, "I'll stop in and do regular checks over the next couple of days, but for now he just needs to be somewhere comfortable."

"I'll take him to the River House," Rhys promised, knowing that was the only place where Azriel could truly rest, and the only place where you could enter without having to go through the rest of their dysfunctional family. "How are you feeling?"

A thin smile tugged at the corners of your lips, "I'm fine."

"I meant," he took another step toward you, glancing down at the blood that now stained your cardigan and skirt of your night dress, "How are you feeling about Azriel being your mate?"

Peering over your shoulder and through the window, you saw Azriel looking up at the ceiling with a gentle smile on his lips. "I know who he is, his reputation. I'm someone who has given their entire life to be amazing at what they do, which means that I'm inexperience in other aspects. I don't think I'm the kind of woman that he wants."

Shaking his head, Rhys brushed against your side, "Trust me. You are everything that he has ever wanted."

All you could do was hum in reply, and you folded your arms over your chest to protect against the chilled winds as you stepped back inside, internally grinning at Azriel's effort to sit upright the moment you were back in his presence. You stopped at his side, "I've told Rhys to take you somewhere comfortable so that you can recover, and I'll stop by over the next few days to make sure that you're healing properly and that there aren't any side effects from the poison."

Azriel furrowed his brow, "But what about us?"

"Let's just get you healed first," you told him, doing your best to stay calming, "Then we can revisit everything else."

He wanted to say more, he wanted to take your hand and bring it to his mouth, he wanted to know what your skin tasted like on his tongue. He wanted to know everything he could about you, and he was desperate for it, so desperate that no words fell from his fumbling lips as he tried to force a reply.

Azriel felt like a schoolboy approaching his crush for the first time, and you noticed that the illustrious Shadowsinger was truly lost for words.

"You can take him now, Rhys. I'll come by in the morning."

"Thank you, y/n."

Azriel watched as you bowed your head to Rhys in acknowledgment, "Of course," you told him, your eyes finding Azriel one last time before all he could hear was the patter of your feet against the wooden stairs and smell the lingering scent of fresh berries and sweetened citrus.

Waiting for the morning was driving him insane already, but he would wait for you. He would always wait for you.

The morning had come too quickly, but sleep hadn't found Azriel that night, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the stabbing pains in his chest or the excitement bubbling in his gut at the thought of seeing you again.

After being fixed up, Rhys had winnowed them both back to the River House, Rhys refusing to let Azriel be anywhere else considering you have given him strict instructions to ensure an eye was kept on him, at least until he could walk on his own two feet.

He had forgotten how peaceful the River House was in his miserable meandering through life, he had forgotten its comfort, he had forgotten what it had been like to be around family. His room had been left untouched, his bed made and books still open on the last pages he had read splayed across the desk.

By the sunlight pooling onto his bedroom floor, Azriel could tell that it was nearing midday, which meant that you were going to be arriving any moment. Any movement made him wince, but he found enough strength to be able to sit up in the bed, he knew that you'd want to check the wounds beneath his bandages and wanted to make it easier for you.

His wings were tucked neatly behind his back, and his shadows were sleeping soundly atop his shoulders. Azriel was too busy watching them to notice the opening of his door, only realising that someone else was there when their scent worked its way into his bones.

"You're sat up," your voice was light and soft as you entered, medical bag in hand and dressed in a plain but beautiful taupe gown with low looped sleeves and a corset of brown leather. "That's a good sign."

Azriel's heart stopped at the sight of you, at your hair unbound but the front pieces held back by a cream coloured fabric headband, at the dress and the glowing of your skin in the warming sunlight.

With a small smile, you perched on the edge of the bed, unclipping the clasp of your bag and retrieving some small vials and tubs, setting them down on the bedside table and turning to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Much better," was all he could manage to say, completely mesmerised by the hue of your eyes in the light and shape of your lips, "Thanks to you."

"It's no problem," you told him softly, reaching for the bandages around his torso and taking your time in unwinding them.

In a couple of days he would be as good as new thanks to his other-worldly healing beginning to kick in, and you told him as such as you reapplied the balm and placed two patches to the effected areas on his torso, carefully massaging the balm into the wounds to make sure that it did its job.

"I need to talk to you," he took your wrist in his hand before you could move your attention to the wound on his thigh, his eyes were pleading to talk about something other than his pain, you could feel it flow down the bond that you were trying to adapt to. "I need to know where your head is, with us."

"The moment you looked at me that night was the first time I felt that someone had actually seen me, even if you were drunk," you spoke with a huff of amusement, "You looked at me, and then you took a woman home who is infinitely more beautiful and wild than I am, and then I had to hear everything that everyone says of you. Forgive me if I'm feeling apprehensive and would like to just focus on making sure that you live."

Azriel understood, truly he did, but that didn't make the words sting any less. "I'd like to show you the real me, if you'll let me." His heart thundered in his chest at your silence, and the nerves settled in his gut and swarmed within his heart that was beating for you.

Unable to deny those rounded eyes brimming with hope for a brighter tomorrow, you sighed, "Fine," you told him, "Once you're back on your feet, I'll give you a chance. Now let me work."

The tone of your voice made Azriel release your wrist and settle back into the cushions of his bed, and he didn't make a single sound whilst you worked on the wound buried into his thigh, applying the same balm and wrapping it up before giving him instructions for the ointments and tonic to help the pain. "Thank you for saving my life."

Your eyes found his again and you could have melted at the pure desperation within them, "Well, I couldn't exactly let my mate die now, could I?"

"Will you be back?"

Azriel observed you as you packed up your things, disposing of the bloody rags and bandages in a wisp of smoke. "I have some errands to run but I'll stop by on my way home. Is there anything that you need?"

"Just you."

Even in his state Azriel was a shameless flirt, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the innocent smile from taking over your face, but you couldn't stop the blush from prickling at your skin, and a part of you didn't want to.

"I'll be back later. Eat something and rest, you need to build your strength back up. The tonics can help with the rest and the pain."

Azriel tilted his head in your direction whilst you gathered the last of your instruments, clasping your bag shut and rising from the bed. He knew there was a reason why he had been drawn to you, why you hadn't left his mind, and it was because you were his mate. The one fated to be his. The one thing he thought he'd never be able to have.

And gods, you were the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

With a gentle and reassuring smile, you squeezed his forearm softly before removing yourself from the room and taking your time in making your way downstairs, dawdling in the halls to examine the artworks and ornaments lining them. Though, you weren't expecting to come face to face with Cassian the moment you moved from the last step.

He wore a shit-eating grin and stood before you with his arms crossed tightly over his chest whilst his eyes slowly drifted to the stairs and what, or rather who, lay resting on the floor above. "Always in the right place, aren't you y/n?"

Luckily for him, you had often been in the right places when he required some healing or tonics, whether it be for him or Nesta during her most recent cycle. "It's quite literally my job, Cass."

Cassian grinned and chuckled deeply, his orbs morphed into sincere and he cleared his throat, "Thank you for what you did last night. Azriel may be difficult but he's family. We'd be lost without him." He laid his large hand on your shoulder in thanks, it was light a weighted blanket, comforting in a way you'd never found in anyone else. "And," he began, sighing, "Rhys told me about the bond. How are you feeling?"

Dropping your shoulders, you shook your head slightly and looked toward the ceiling, worried that Azriel was going to hear what you had to say before finding Cassian's gaze. "I'll tell you what I told Rhys, and Azriel. I don't think I'm the kind of woman he wants. I've heard the rumours, I've seen the kind of women he takes home every night and I couldn't be more different to them. I'll give him a chance once he's better, but that's all I can do right now."

"I understand," Cassian smiled sadly, removing his hand from your shoulder and glancing down at the bag loosely held in your fingers. "Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Rolling your eyes, you lightly swatted his chest as you passed by, "Stop analysing my schedule, Cass. I never have days off anyway."

"How else am I meant to know when to come to see you?" Cassian called after you, unmoving from his place at the bottom of the stairs.

"You don't need an appointment to come and see me," you waved him away without turning around, pacing into the lounge and instantly feeling your confused mood lift when you saw Nyx wobblily walking about the room.

The small child, under the watchful eye of Feyre, instantly moved to you, babbling and reaching upward, and you swept him into your arms and felt your soul blossom when he rested his head on your chest. "He loves you," you craned your head to the side at the sound of Feyre's voice, a pencil was lazily held between her fingers and the sketchbook resting in her lap was kissed with the first swirls of grey, "Nyx that is, though I'm sure that Azriel does too," she spoke, setting her things down on the centre table.

"Well I only care about Nyx right now."

You were sure that Azriel could feel your joy and love for the child flowing down the bond, you seemed to be able to feel everything the other felt. His hope, pain, and blissful desires, and your exhaustion and innocent joys.

"I just want you to know that Azriel is probably the best of us," she began, rising to her feet and smoothing down the wrinkles in her skirt, she approached you, eyes flitting between you and Nyx with a serene smile, "He is patient and kind, courageous and gentle, and he has so much love to give. I think the recent period in his life was caused by the belief that he wasn't worthy of it." Feyre ran her fingers through Nyx's short onyx hair, "You deserve to see the real Az, in the way that we see him."

"Thank you, Feyre."

The High Lady hummed softly, "Always," you gently passed Nyx over to her, allowing him to grab your finger in his tiny palm in an attempt to get your arms wrapped around him again. "Are you going into the city?"

"Yes. I have some supplies and orders to pick up, and I'm going to try to enjoy the little time I get to spend by myself."

"Well, have fun. We'll be seeing you later? Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"You're not," the deep voice of Rhys reverberated from behind you, his chest brushed against your back as he passed, heading straight toward his mate and child and kissing them both lightly on the forehead before turning his attention to you fully. "You save us all on a daily basis. You're always welcome here."

"I appreciate that," you swayed back and forth on the balls of your feet, wanting the ground to swallow you whole, "I should get going. I'll see you both later."

It didn't take you long to gather the supplies and orders that you needed for the practice, and once you had dropped them back of Priscilla, who admitted that the day had gone slowly, you decided to take a walk around the city. You browsed the endless bookshops and headed to the markets to see what garments they were selling, settling on a flowing ivory skirt and shimmering pale blue dress.

The sun was setting by the time you were done, bags in hands full of new treats for yourself as well as a new toy for Nyx that you had seen and couldn't not buy.

Scents of honey cured meats and roasted vegetables drifted down the stone path that led to the River House, and you could faintly make out the silhouettes of Rhys and Cassian through the window. And, like she knew that you were stood there watching, Feyre opened the front door and smiled at you, beckoning you closer.

Feyre took all the bags from your hands bar one, the one that you needed to take to Nyx who was already on his feet and swaying over to you the moment you stepped through the door. You knelt on the ground to greet him, the paper bag settled on the floor beside you, "I got you something today," you teased, diving your hand into the bag and retrieving the small stuff bat you had spied at one of the many market stalls that afternoon.

Nyx beamed, taking it from you and babbling his thanks as he moved into your arms, looking up at you expectantly to pick him up, and you did so without question.

"You spoil him too much," Rhys moved to sit beside you on the couch, watching Nyx with a faint smile as he played with his new toy. "Azriel is walking around. Seems that whatever you did is working."

"I would say that it's because of his own determination but we both know that was all me," Rhys laughed at your words, especially at how you had modified your tone to be Nyx-friendly.

"That it was," a sultry voice drifted through the air, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. You glanced over you shoulder, spying Azriel in the doorway with his hands buried into his pockets, looking as perfect as he had that night at Rita's.

His hair was messy, like he had raked his fingers through it with frustration, his skin was golden, and it looked like he had gotten some kind of rest given the disappearing bags that lingered beneath his eyes. The shirt he wore was unbuttoned toward the top, allowing you to see his still intact bandages and the tattoos that swirled the area. His wings were poised and neatly tucked at his shoulders, like he wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible to you.

Azriel appeared shy and sheepish, eyes floating through the room, finding Cassian and Rhys before landing on you and Nyx. So that was what the joy down the bond was, it was Nyx, it was a child that made you feel so light and happy.

Recognising the tension between you both, Cassian took the opportunity to plop himself down on a nearby armchair, setting his feet upon the table where Feyre's art supplies still lay, and spoke, "So, you two are mates?"

Closing his eyes, Azriel wanted nothing more than to punch his brother through the ground and into the realms of hell. Instead, he inhaled deeply, "Yes, Cassian," he gritted through his tensed teeth, noticing that you had chosen to take your awkwardness and pour your attention into Nyx.

"Well? What are you going to do about it?"

Slowly realising what Cassian was doing by the cock of his brow and slight smirk, Azriel decided to play along, "I'd like to take y/n out. I'd like to get to know her and see if she would like to accept the bond."

Cassian turned to you, innocent mischief laced in his orbs, "Y/N. Would you like to go out with Azriel, get to know him and figure out if you'd like to accept the bond?"

Rolling your eyes at his antics and slicing a glare to Rhys who had slightly sunk into the cushions of the seat, you replied, "Yes. I would."

"Great," Cassian shot to his feet with a clap of his hands which made you jump slightly, "Tomorrow. Az will pick you up from the practice."

"Fantastic."

"Amazing."

You and Azriel both spoke in unison whilst Rhys' foot tapped against the floor, raking his fingers across your mind and slipping into your lowered walls. I'm sorry about him. He's always been a meddler unfortunately.

You don't say.

The first date was going well up until it wasn't.

Azriel had arrived at the practice at sundown, flowers in hand, looking more incredible than you could have ever thought he could. It was clear that had spent the entire evening planning your first night alone together, he had taken you to the restaurant along the Sidra and had spent most of the time asking you questions about your work, appearing genuinely interested in the journey you had taken to get you to where you were.

He was intelligent, and soft, and funny in his own dry way, and you were beginning to understand what Cassian and Feyre meant.

It was going perfectly until a woman approached the table, batting her eyelashes toward Azriel and looking to you like you were the biggest pile of nothing on the continent. She was beautiful, long brunette curls and feline honey eyes, and it didn't help like she had the body of a goddess, carved from the finest of marble. You didn't want to admit it, but she made you feel so inferior, so disposable.

Azriel was polite, his fingers drifting against yours the entire time she was at the table, trying to reassure you whilst she essentially asked when she could see him again. In the nicest way he could, Azriel told her that he wasn't interested and asked her to leave, and all that had earned you was a venomous glare and a scoff.

He apologised profusely, and you accepted it, you were willing to let it go. After all, you could understand why women would approach him. Azriel was gorgeous, perhaps the most gorgeous male in all of Prythian, and you couldn't blame anyone for approaching him. If you had that level of confidence then maybe you would have too.

The second time it had happened, it dampened your hopes that a life with Azriel could work.

The Shadowsinger had asked you to go on a walk with him to the markets, he had picked out jewels and other beautiful items that he was sure would look beautiful on you. You had insisted that you didn't need them, that you could but them yourself, but he wasn't having any of it.

It was all going well until another woman showed up, curling her painted fingers around his bicep and pressing her body up against his side. Azriel looked visibly uncomfortable, you'd give him that, and like the same women he sent away at dinner, he told her that he wasn't interested and to leave him alone. The woman all but snarled at you, and you knew that you were going to be the talk of the city, that you were going to be known as Azriel's newest flame.

Unfortunately, it just kept on getting worse.

The people of Velaris had begun coming into the practice faking injuries just so that they'd be able to speak to you and pull the situation between you and Azriel from your lips. It was tiring. Everyone had their pasts, you knew that and you were fine with Azriel's, but it didn't mean that you wanted it waved around in front of your face.

Every single fake patient that waltzed through the doors to your practice served as a constant reminder that you'd never be good enough for Azriel. But you had seen the good in him, you had seen how much he respected you, how his eyes lit up when you spoke about whatever it was that you were passionate about, and you felt his adoration flow down the bond whenever you would see Nyx. You knew that Azriel was smitten, but you also knew that he had no idea just how much everything was effecting you.

It had all come to a head the night he had suggested to make you dinner at his apartment, to minimise the risk of anyone approaching you, and you deduced that it must have been Feyre's idea. Not even the Inner Circle were free of the city gossip mill.

He had done his best to be as comfortable and romantic as possible, and you knew that he wasn't expecting anything to happen, he just wanted you to see how serious he was about you. Candles lined the ledges, and he had placed pillows at the coffee table before the large arched windows which allowed you to see the entire golden valley of Velaris.

It was beautiful. It was perfect.

Then, halfway through the dinner he had impressively made by himself, the door to his apartment opened, and before your eyes stood the same blonde bombshell he had taken home the night you had seen him for the first time. Your breath became lodged in your throat, and all you felt was disappointment and sadness at yet another date being ruined.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt," she walked further into the room, eyes drifting about the candle-filled ledges with a smirk. "I was hoping that you'd be alone tonight," she was brazen enough to remove her coat, revealing little clothing beneath in an outfit that extenuated her curves and breasts.

Azriel's eyes were trained on you, but you couldn't look at him. You folded your hands into your lap and kept your eyes on the floor, trying your best to not cry in that moment, to not appear as weak. But he could feel it, he could feel the sadness and anger bubbling inside of you.

"Come on, Azriel," she purred, golden hair flowing over her shoulders, "Say goodbye to your latest conquest and come back to me. We both know that she clearly isn't what you want."

That was it.

Wordlessly you rose to your feet, hastily gathering your jacket and satchel in your arms before rounding her toward the door. "Don't take it personally, sweetie," she called after you condescendingly, "You just aren't what he needs."

You had never run anywhere, not because you didn't want to but because you enjoyed your slow meandering, you enjoyed watching the world go by slowly, but you sprinted home that night, ignoring his pleas down the bond and instead deciding to shut it off completely as you slammed the door shut to your bedroom.

A couple weeks passed by, weeks of silence which you channelled into your work, opting to take a research trip to the Autumn Court to sample their botanicals for a new balm you wanted to craft. The best part about leaving the city for awhile was that you could work undisturbed by Azriel and the Inner Circle.

Luckily for you, Eris, the new High Lord, was happy for you to experiment your skills and craft on his soldiers and injured townsfolk, knowing of your reputation and passion for healing. He had offered you a place in his court, doting on you often in a bid to get you to stay, but nothing would get you to leave the wonder that was Velaris, no matter how much you wanted to burrow yourself away and hide for eternity.

That morning, you were nestled at the edge of a brook that was passing through the forest just east of Fir Manor, drawing flowers and examining their properties when you heard the leaves crunch from behind you. From the scent, you knew that it was Eris coming to check on you again. He looked good, he adorned a pair of sage green briefs and a cream blouse, and you couldn't forget the brown leather riding boots you loved so much to the point he had gone out and bought you your own pair.

"This is the third time you've stopped by this morning alone," you spoke, not lifting your gaze from your notebook that was littered with colourful sketches and text.

Eris fell to your side, finding a comfortable place on the blanket you often carried around with you so that your body didn't break against the rocks. "I've been invited to the Night Court to see Lucien. I think that they're hoping that you'll join me."

The pencil in your hand froze against the parchment, and you straightened your posture to look at him, at the amber eyes and fire-red hair that he had recently had cut. Eris had been kind to you, understanding the need to escape for awhile, he had immersed you in his culture, had given you many dresses to fit the season, and not once did you see a droplet of hatred within him.

You were aware that the time was approaching to go back, that you couldn't leave Priscilla on her own for much longer even if Madja was back from her holidays and taking the brunt of the patients in the city. Though, you wished you could have a little longer to enjoy the serenity and joy of your work without everything else weighing down on you.

Looking to him, you smiled thinly, tapping the end of your pencil against the parchment of the notebook, "I suppose it's time that I went back anyway. I'm surprised that the practice hasn't burned to the ground yet."

Eris chuckled, his shoulder brushing against your own, "If things are still tense when we're there, you're always welcome to come back with me."

"Thank you, Eris. I really appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Of course," he smirked, "Anything for Prythian's best healer."

The High Lord jumped to his feet, wiping away any small rocks and pebbles of dirt from his briefs before offering a hand to you and helping you up off of the ground. "Always an ulterior motive with you," you lightly scolded him, looping the strap of your satchel over your shoulder whilst he folded the blanket over his arm.

"Can you blame me for wanting you all to myself?" Eris nudged into you, falling in step with you back toward Fir Manor. Once inside the safety of the walls, Eris asked you to pack your things, including the items he had gifted to you, and winnowed you both to the boarder of the Night Court where Rhys was already waiting.

Eris had never seen anyone so desperate to leave his side in years, he watched intently as you babbled some nonsense about needing to get back to the practice, muttering a soft goodbye before disappearing.

"Are you trying to piss Azriel off?" Rhys asked, eyes following your figure through the woodland until he couldn't see you anymore. You reeked of Eris, of Autumn, and wore a dress of burnt orange and riding boots that matched Eris' own. "You know that they're mates."

"For now," Eris quipped with a smirk, causing Rhys to look toward his new ally with confusion, "Can you blame her for questioning it? Considering every time they've been together it's been ruined by one of his one-night whores?"

Rhys was all too aware of what had happened thanks to Nesta who had heard from Cassian, she was too worried about Azriel to not divulge what she knew even though she couldn't stand to be around Rhys. Plus, Nesta liked you, from what little she had seen, she believed that you were a gift from the mother to them all.

"I can't say that I do," he admitted, frowning at the place where you had been stood, eager to get away from him.

It must have been hard, to find out that you had a mate, to give him a chance for it all to be ruined by his past conquests sticking their noses in where they weren't wanted. Then there was the matter of the gossip, of people truly believing you had slipped him some kind of love tonic to get him to want you. It had infuriated Rhys when he had found out, so much so that he had visited those spreading such vile accusations and ordered them to stop or otherwise be banished from the City of Starlight.

Rhys wanted to protect you, he wanted you to be happy even if it wasn't with Azriel.

But not with Eris. Never with Eris.

Unwillingly, Rhys escorted Eris to the House of Wind to be with his brother and new sister-in-law, and returned home to Feyre as fast as he possibly could.

It didn't take you long to catch up with an extremely thankful and tired Priscilla, her blue eyes were brimming with exhaustion and stress, her lips were cracked and her skin was dry. You apologised to her profusely, and thanked her for keeping the practice going whilst you took some much needed time away from the city.

Perhaps Alana was right, maybe Azriel would be the ruin of you.

Priscilla told you that she understood, but that she was happy that you were back. So, you gave her the rest of the week off, feeling alive and ready to dive back into the occupation you adored so much. It turned out to be a quiet day, shipping off some balms and ointments for some follow up patients, some minor cuts from training scuffled that were quickly treated and males sent on their way, and before you knew it the sun had began to set.

The chiming of the bell at the entryway signalled that someone had entered the practice past opening hours. Wiping your hands on your tatty apron, you headed into the waiting foyer, not paying much mind to anything until the scent of cedar and mountains kissed your lungs.

Azriel stood before you, eyes wild and appearing somewhat dishevelled, black bags beneath his eyes from lack of sleep and a certain worried paleness clinging to his skin. His shadows sensed you immediately, shooting from his shoulders and dancing around your waist.

In your haste to work you had forgotten to take a shower or change out of the clothes Eris had gifted you, and you saw that Azriel had noticed the style and scent that surrounded you. But, he swallowed harshly and rasped, "You look beautiful."

His tired words threatened to cleave your heart into a million pieces, "Thank you."

Silence hung between you, heavy and tense, and you weren't sure what to say. Should you apologise for the clothing and the scent of Eris that lingered around you? Should you apologise for disappearing without a trace with no way for him to contact you?

Azriel looked lost, like he hadn't slept since the night you left his apartment in such a hurry, but the words of that woman still lingered in your mind. Conquest. Not what he needs. It dawned on you that he may not have known just how deeply it had effected you, how inexperienced you had realised you were, how insecure these women had caused you to feel.

"I'm sorry, for that night at my apartment. I didn't invite her, I don't know why she even showed up," he took a step toward you and you didn't move, not knowing what it was that you wanted in that moment, "I should have gone after you. I should have stopped you from leaving but you silenced the bond and I thought I was the last person you wanted to see. I was wrong."

"Azriel, I-"

"Please," he took another step toward you, and kept on moving until his fingers caressed beneath your chin and pulled your gaze up to meet his eyes. "I didn't think that I deserved to be loved, not after what I've done. I thought that the mother had taken one look at me decided that I wasn't worth it. So, yes, I slept around, I wanted to do all I could to forget the fact that I was destined to be alone forever even though having a mate, having you, was all that I've ever wanted."

"You are magnificent, y/n. Truly. No woman even holds a candle to you. You are intelligent and passionate, you are beautiful and peaceful in ways that I never thought I'd be able to witness or feel. I stopped wanting to look back, I stopped wanting to say goodbye to the people I love, and then I met you and I knew I'd found the one I wanted to look back to every night and look forward to every morning."

"You are not a conquest to me. I was ready to accept the bond the moment you entered the room that night when I was lying there dying. You are my everything, you are my reason to live and breathe, you are my salvation. I don't want to live my life without you, not after I've gotten to see you in a way I know that no one else has. Please, y/n. Please come back to me."

You could feel the tears pooling atop your bottom lids, his touch was feverish but unrelenting, his hands cupped your face and his eyes searched your soul for a hint of acceptance.

"Azriel, I don't think that I can," your bottom lip wobbled, and the pain of your insecurity bloomed devilishly inside of your chest. "Your past doesn't bother me, and I never want you to think that it does. Every moment I've spent with you has left me wanting you more and more every day. But I'm not like them, I'm inexperienced in intimacy and dedicated to my work, and I can't allow myself to tarnish everything I have accomplished. I can't allow myself to feel small and insignificant anymore."

"You're not small or insignificant, y/n," his brow furrowed and he felt you slipping away, he didn't need the open bond to understand how much pain you were in, not when he could see it all etched upon your face. "You're everything that I've ever dreamed of. Please."

The moment you stepped away from his embrace, Azriel visibly winced, like he had been shot with a nightshade arrow through the heart. "I need time to think, Az. I need space to figure out if I can do this. Be yours but also be mine."

He didn't want to pester you, he didn't want to beg and make you feel like you owed him anything, but gods, did he want to crawl onto his knees and kiss the ground that you walked on. To Azriel, you were the sun, you were the moon, you were the seasons. You were everything.

Azriel swallowed his words, his pleads, and gently nodded his head, stepping forward and placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before retreating from the practice, carefully clicking the door behind his exit.

It took you a few minutes to be able to gather yourself, to be able to move from that spot, but you did, if not for yourself then for Alana and Eris that were making it their mission to take you to Rita's for a few drinks, to allow you to let off a little bit of steam.

In the next hour, you were bathed and donned in a tight metallic bronze dress with a high slit that reached your hip, a plunging neckline and hair waved down your spine. Eris was always barking at you to live in the moment, and for once you were inclined to agree. So when he and Alana saw the light spill from your opened door, did they turn around and gasp at the woman who stood before them.

"I didn't know that you could clean up this well," Eris mused, earning a light slap on the shoulder as you moved from the practice to join him and Alana on the walk up to Rita's.

"I told you that I could look good when I wanted to."

Alana hummed knowingly, "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you told Azriel you needed space?"

"Maybe a little bit."

Eris laughed, bold and proud, "Showing the Shadowsinger what he's missing. I didn't know that you had it in you."

Rolling your eyes, you noticed Rita's in the distance, and the queues of fae waiting to be allowed in, "This is actually for me. I'm tired of feeling inadequate and looked over. Tonight everyone gets to see that I'm not something to be ignored."

After a short walk up the paved hill, the two fae guards on the doors quickly ushered you inside, and the scent of alcohol and the thick wall of sweat instantly crashed into you. Alana excused herself to go and get drinks for you all whilst Eris led you over to the booth where Lucien and Elain sat, across the room from the others but in their direct eyeline.

Whispers sprouted around you, causing your shoulders to tense up. The healer that had been meddling with the Shadowsinger was now latched to the hip of the High Lord of Autumn.

What a cunning little thing.

So much ambition.

You did your best to ignore them as you walked behind Eris toward his brother and Elain, smiling sweetly at the pair as they rose to greet you, hugging you tightly and telling you how nice it was to be able to finally meet you. Elain was charming and kind, and Lucien was warm and welcoming, and they took you under their wings effortlessly, blocking out the demeaning whispers from the fae surrounding and watching you.

After a few more drinks and shots, thanks to Alana, you found yourself leaning into Eris' side, hazed by the heat and slightly tipsy. You laughed with Elain and shared your love of flowers with her, and you spent time with Lucien telling him how beautiful you found his home court, speaking of the markets and the food in detail. "Sorry brother, but I'd like to steal y/n for a dance."

Eris was stood at your side, looking down at you expectantly with his hand offered out to you. Part of you should have known better, you should have known that Azriel was watching you from across the room, watching as the love of his life was swept away by another Vanserra.

Nudging you to your feet, you sent Lucien a wry smile as you took Eris' hand and allowed him to lead you to the centre of the dancefloor. He pulled you close to his chest and swayed with you to the beat of the music that flowed through the room.

"Does Azriel even know what he's missing?" Eris spoke lowly into your ear, lowering his mouth to the shell of it so that you could hear his voice in your soul. "If I were him, I'd crawl across the fires of hell to have you."

Eris was being brazen. He raised his fingers to your face, the tips of them flitting across your cheek to a strand of hair that had fallen down the side of your face, pushing it back eloquently behind your pointed ear. His fingers lingered, sparks of fire nipping at the skin of your neck as his fingers travelled downward.

You weren't sure what to expect, but you couldn't exactly blame the fist that had flown into Eris' jaw, sending the High Lord crashing to the floor. Azriel stood over him, the crowd had parted to watch the spectacle vying for your attention. Your eyes had blown wide, and it took you a moment to come back into the room. Azriel turned from Eris and stalked over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his chin on the crown of your head as he made the world dissipate in swirls of colour until you were stood in the centre of his apartment.

Azriel towered over you, eyes wild and possessive. You hadn't seen him look to territorial before, but the look in his eyes had you in a chokehold. "My past with females isn't what bothers you. It's having it in your face constantly, it's the whispers and cruelty that bothers you. I understand that now, and I'm sorry that I didn't see that before." Azriel's voice was calm, too calm, like a predator prepping their prey, luring them into wings of security.

His marred fingers traced where Eris' had once been and his eyes flickered with fury, "But Eris does not get to touch you like that. You are mine, y/n. I refuse to let you go."

"You are not what they say you are," he took a step toward you, the force of his knees against your thighs ushering you backward, "They are jealous of you, of us, because they'll never get to know what this is like. They'll never get to know the taste of your skin or the way your name sounds on my lips. They'll never get to know the love I have for you," his hand gripped your waist, and Azriel continued to walk you backward until the backs of your legs hit the ledge of his couch.

"Because I do love you, y/n. With everything I have, I love you. I knew it from the moment I saw you, I knew that I was going to fall in love with you. Nothing could ever take me from you," his lips brushed over your collarbone, igniting a fire within you that you had never felt before, "I am yours forever. And I promise you, I vow that no one will ever make you feel insignificant ever again. Not unless they want to die by my hand. I would rip the world apart to ensure your happiness."

Azriel's words struck a chord inside of you, and you couldn't help but allow the bond to open, to allow his flood of emotions to crash into you like waves against the Summer Court rocks.

"Azriel," you spoke his name breathlessly, too focused on the sensation of his lips peppering soft kisses along your collarbone and neck. "Please."

He pulled away from you, placing his hands on either side of your neck and stroking his thumbs against your ears, "Tell me."

You had known for a long time, since the moment he had turned up at the steps of your practice holding flowers with a love-sick smile plastered on his lips. "I love you too," and you felt the bond sing at your admission, so brilliant and bright that your heart felt like it was going to lurch from its cage. "Please, Az. I need you."

Azriel lowered his lips to yours, hovering a feathers touch from your own, his breath scented with the faint aroma of whisky fanning over your face. With your slight nod, Azriel closed that gap and felt the bond fall into place, thrumming and secure, on the cusp of being fulfilled.

Your mouths moved in sync against one another, and Azriel effortless scooped you into his arms and carried you over to his bed, setting you down as gently as he could before climbing on top of you. His hands roamed your body, the curves of your hips and the mounds of your breasts, his fingers traced circled into the skin of your exposed thigh, teasing the sensitive area and smirking against your lips as you writhed beneath him under his touch.

His lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping the skin there between his teeth, allowing you to begin unbuttoning his shirt to expose his toned chest. Azriel pulled away slightly when your fingers began drifted over the areas where his wounds once were, the wounds you had saved him from. "They're gone," you told him quietly, lips swollen but smiling under the dim light.

Azriel brushed your hair behind your ears and brushed his nose against yours, dragging the tip down the slope of it, "I told you that you were my salvation. I wasn't lying."

"I'm starting to believe that."

His eyes sparked with mischief and he sent a wave of love down the bond as he kissed your lips once more, "Let me show you."

And so he did.

Author's Note

SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭

Really hoping that this has done the amazing ask some justice 🥺

Also I was so close to writing smut for this fic - looks like I'll need to do a part two or something...

Taglist

@mokansa @killseinx @lady-targaryens-world @brieftriumphnightmare @thesunloveschips @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog

[letmerideitchris]

𝒯𝒽ℯ ℛℴℴ𝓉𝓈 ℴ𝒻 𝒪𝓊𝓇 ℒℴ𝓋ℯ ⚘

part 2

“Oh my god it’s matt” 

“he's so hot” 

“Can you believe he's single?”

Matt Sturniolo is the most popular and hottest guy in school and practically has girls falling at his feet. He is your typical popular guy, plays lacrosse, has lots of friends and looks really good. 

y/n is the complete opposite, although she is pretty and hardworking, no one seems to pay attention to her at all. She always shows up to school half an hour early, eats her lunch in the classroom and finishes all her assignments the quickest, she enjoys her solitude. Although from the outside Matt and y/n are different, at heart they are quite similar. Matt does enjoy his own time away from all the noise at school and he does do quite well academically. Although recently he’s been swapping his tests with his not so smart triplet brother; Chris, so he doesn’t seem like a nerd, but no one needs to know that. 

It all started at 8:am at Boston high school “yo Matt what’s good” his friends say as he daps up all the boys up whilst entering the school. y/n was already in their classroom with her nose in her new book from her local library. She gets distracted by the sound of everyone greeting Matt and gets up to look out the glass window of the classroom door. There he is, Matt Sturniolo, the only man you've ever had your eyes on since freshman year. You’re watching him approach his locker, looking at him laughing with several of his friends, but the only one you’re looking at is Matt. You’re about to turn back to your book but you see out the corner of your eye him glance into the classroom you quickly try and play off the fact that you were staring at him by adjusting your glasses on the bridge of your nose and you awkwardly sit back down. 

The bell sounds in the hallways, and everyone walks to their respective classrooms including Matt, which just so happens to be her classroom for history. She quickly fixes her hair and continues to read her book as if she wasn’t watching him walk towards the classroom. The sound of the door opening distracts her from the words in her book as she sees Matt walk in the room in the corner of her eye. It's just you and Matt in the classroom now and you can see him walking towards you. “Is that to kill a mockingbird by harper lee?” Matt says as he breaks the comfortable silence. Your heart is racing and suddenly you feel your palms start to sweat, you clear your throat “uh yeah it is... have you read it before?” 

“well not exactly...” he laughs “I just looked at the front cover when you were reading it...” Matt slightly lowers his head and smiles whilst approaching the desk next to her. “oh haha.. You really should read it, it's quite interesting....” your voice fades out quietly realizing you're talking to Matt Sturniolo, not someone in your book club. 

“I'm not really the reading type of guy, and plus, i uh don’t have a library membership…” Matt says sliding his bag off his shoulder and throws under his desk “oh yeah, right” you say whilst placing the bookmark onto your page. 

“you’re all dismissed, and don’t forget your paragraph on British Settlement is due in tomorrow's lesson.” Matt gets up from his seat and packs up his books. Whilst you're still seated, working up the confidence to say something to him. He pushes in his chair and starts to walk off. 

“Hey,Matt” he turns back around briefly smiling, “you can always uhm... borrow my book, I don't think you’re going to be getting a library membership any time soon” you say with a shy smirk.  He scoffs “you know what, I might just do that, because uhm... My mom has been trying to get me to read a book for a while now” He lies through his teeth “thanks uhh, y/n, right?”. You can feel your cheeks burning up at your name coming out of his mouth, sounding as smooth as honey. “yeah..” you both stop to look at each other, you break the silence “uh yeah heres the book, don't rush to get it back to me... Theres plenty more copies at the library.” you say handing him your book. “Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow y/n”. 

After school, you’re texting your best friend Taylor nonstop about everything that happened in history today whilst she was at home sick;  

credits to @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers!

[kenobers]

✨Jason Todd's Bookshelf✨

i think it's so interesting to see what books Jason Todd would read/own, so here's my own contribution! some of these are canon* (hence the *), some are popular headcanons and some are my own speculation. i'll probably continue to add to this.

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas*

Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen*

1984 by George (Wh)Orwell*

The Prince by Machiavelli*

The Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle*

The Art of War by Sun Tzu*

Hamlet*

An additional complete works of William Shakespeare

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

Notes on an Execution by Danya Kukafka

Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion

Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger

i think Holden Caulfield secretly reminds him of Bruce

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Beloved by Toni Morrison

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Metamorphosis and The Trial by Franz Kafka

specifically owns a copy that has both of them in there

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

this may be a bit on the nose, but Jason would love a good satire

The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

Dream of the Red Chamber by Cao Xueqin

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid

Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh

Starling House by Alix E. Harrow

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Hayy ibn Yaqdhan by Ibu Tufail

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

but lowkey he hates it

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

The Stranger by Albert Camus

The Iliad by Homer

The Outsiders by S.E Hinton

i don't see Jason as being a big fantasy/sci-fi guy unless it falls under the magical realism or gothic categories (i.e, Beloved, Frankenstein), however i do think he would jive with Ray Bradbury, Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett and (unfortunately) Harlan Ellison

i can also see him jiving with R.F Kuang and i think The Poppy War specifically would be an exception to his usual disinterest in fantasy

i think he maybe also has a stash of paperback Star Wars novels stashed away somewhere

if jason is a theatre kid into adulthood, i think he would be the kind that reads solely straight plays

Fat Ham by James Ijames

Complete Works of Arthur Miller

Everybody by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins

he typically avoids stuff that’s so directly about mortality, but this play would really resonate with him and honestly be a healing read

being the hater that he is, he's also hate read at least one Collen Hoover book (and promptly left it in the Batcave to frame Bruce for the crime)

[polarisine]

SLIPPERY PAVEMENT

₊˚⊹ ᰔ haikyuu!. miya osamu x reader ₊˚⊹ ᰔ it's raining in the kyoto winter and miya osamu has his heart eyes all over you... ₊˚⊹ ᰔ navi. ask. ۶ৎ ao3. a crosspost from 20220419

“Hey.” A teasing greeting arrives from behind… you note the familiarity of the voice, and there was no reason for you to look at his face to know who he is.

His cheers of encouragement or shouts of triumph on the court are always the first things your ears search for most of the time.

“Hey, you, yourself.” Squatting on the school building’s slippery steps, you wave a hand at him, not bothering to peek. Just staring at the pouring rain in front of you.

“It’s already seven… did yer club duties hold 'yah back?”

“Not really, I just had to make some lesson plans for the freshman I’m tutoring… I guess I never noticed the time.” You sigh, with your elbow on your knee and your head leaning on your arm. “I should’ve listened to my mom when she said it’s going to be a rainy winter.”

“Can’t say I blame 'yah for forgettin’… it was sunny this morning after all.” Miya Osamu takes a seat beside you on the steps, his long legs tuck his gym bag within them, shielding the tattered sack from the rain. You turn to look at him.

He wears the varsity jacket over a clean shirt, he probably just finished practice today. He shivers slightly and blows hot air into his pretty, ungloved hands. His scarf is haphazardly wrapped around his neck as if he put them on in a hurry, and you try to ignore the dust of red on his nose and cheeks. You argue the cold must be getting to him.

You realize your gaze lingers a little too long when he raises his eyebrows at you in a silent inquiry, abruptly turning your head to look forward, you fake a cough to match your embarrassment.

“It’s kind of stupid that it rains in Kyoto in winter… isn’t it supposed to be snowing?”

It’s already a miracle that you talk to him when he finds you hanging out with Suna during lunch breaks. He remembers the day he overheard you telling the middle blocker that Atsumu exudes frat boy jerk vibes while Osamu feels like the calmer person overall. When you said, Osamu’s better, he took harsh note of the way his poor heart skipped a beat.

At that aforementioned heart will burst at the seams at the idea of being stuck with you under the rain. It’s already a whole lot of impossible that’s happening before his eyes.

He chuckles at your question, there’s really no other answer to that. “'Yah know we live in the south, right? The closest snow yer ever gonna get from here is up in the mountains.”

You spot a lint on your uniform, and you pick it off. “Yeah, I get it, I really do. I just prefer cold and ice rather than enduring cold and water.” The lint flies off somewhere on the wet horizon, just as you flicked it off your finger. “It’s kinda hard commuting home on slippery pavement.”

A puff of mist leaves Osamu’s lips as he chuckles. His eyes stay set on the dark school courtyard before you. “I guess I can’t argue with that one.”

Osamu’s rather surprised to find solitude in the short silence, when he’s normally a tangle of a jumbled mess when around ‘Suna’s only friend outside of volleyball’. There’s gratefulness in his heart that Suna isn’t around to tease him about you.

Truth be told, club practice ended an hour and a half ago. Everybody on the team was eager to go home after finding the gray clouds adorning the sunset sky. Kita and Aran even offered to eat at a local diner with the twin spiker, since it was the first time in a long time that he was not attached to the hip by his blond sibling.

Alas, as he excused himself to take a quick stop to the restroom, where he finds your nearby hunched form seated on the floor. Books and notebooks were scattered on the bench of the empty corridor. It pops into his mind that the library now closes at four-thirty because apparently, Inarizaki’s only librarian is a month away from her maternity leave.

He would be delighted to throw a greeting in your direction. But to see your scrunched-up eyebrows and cute tongue popping out of your lips in concentration, Osamu decides to quietly leave you be. He goes to Aran to tell him that he’s going to put on some serving practice today. With his fingers desperately crossed behind his back, the horribly smitten lad wishes the third year would buy his excuse and get on with it.

Aran’s raised eyebrow obviously showed that didn’t buy a single thing about it… but the captain did. It was more common to see Atsumu putting on extra work compared to Osamu, but whatever questions the ace had in mind, he, fortunately, stayed silent about it.

“I don’t see a problem with a lil’ more practice.” Kita bids him goodbye. “Just make sure 'yah clean up the gym like how I do it.”

Osamu tried not to sound giddy, he really did. “Roger that.”

He plans on wooing you somehow or at least try taking you home. It wasn’t hard to clean the gym alone, and he hopes to accidentally bump into you on the way out of the main building. He just forgot to calculate how strong the rain was going to be, and his brother, in all his stupid ass, just had to steal the spiker's umbrella from him.

Your voice in the rain breaks him out of his trance. “Shouldn’t you be with Atsumu or something?“

"Didn’t 'yah hear? He’s in Tokyo for the youth training camp.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Heard he’s finally gonna be a hotshot or somethin’.”

“Well…” You tuck your chin on your arm that rests on your knee. Hopeful that the rainy night sky shields your bashfulness from the gray-haired twin. “… I think you deserve a seat on that team too.”

Osamu feels his heart leaping somewhere in his throat. It takes every fiber of his being not to turn red at what you said. “Oh, no, no. I’m not all up for that.”

“So I heard. You’re gonna be a chef, aren’t you?”

“Who told 'yah that?” His eyebrows raise in surprise. Everyone on the team swore they wouldn’t let the Atsumu vs Osamu fiasco leave the gym doors. It was a personal fight, after all, Suna knew that much.

You chuckle. “No one. But you gotta make sure Suna doesn’t talk to Aran on the phone too loudly. I can hear him all the way from the second floor.”

“I’m gonna kill that guy.”

“I know you will. But hey, don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

“It’s not like it needs sealin’ anyways. 'Tsumu already knows.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking a little flustered. “It’s why I came to 'yer class all bruised up a few weeks ago.”

You blink slowly at him, finally connecting the dots as to why he came to Suna on that one lunch break with a bruised lip and subtle black eye. You can quite remember that despite how beaten up he looks, Osamu smugly tells the middle blocker that he landed more punches on his brother. “He’s kind of a dickhead for doing that.”

“I mean… I’m wrong too, 'yah know? Should’ve told him what I felt little by little instead of dumping it all up his ass that I’m takin’ a totally different career path.” He stretches his legs in front of him, the tips of his outdoor shoes getting a little wet from the rain. “Don’t tell anyone I told ‘yah this. But 'Tsumu used to keep a notebook of plans he wants us to achieve as volleyball players. He even wrote there he wants a niece by age twenty-seven!”

“Well to be very honest, it seems more plausible that he’s the one out of the two of you to accidentally knock someone.”

Osamu laughs, suddenly remembering how you had always stereotyped his twin brother as a wild child.

Silence blankets the both of you, and Osamu sees you pull out your phone after two short rings that cut through the pitter-patter of the rain.

“Hey, Mom…” You pass a sheepish smile to the spiker, and he only nods in understanding. “…. yeah, yeah, I’m stuck in the rain…. yep. Mhm… I don’t think the rain’s gonna stay until Dad finishes overtime….”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Not when the gods have blessed him with the luxury of having you all to himself for the first time. You don’t notice his soft gaze, but when you turn to look at him, you feel like you’re going to vomit your heart out… positively.

You watch him raise his eyebrows as you continue listening to your mom. Thank goodness there’s no other soul to witness two people blatantly staring at each other.

“Yeah. The rain’s getting mellow now. Yes, I’m with someone I trust… it’s a friend. Yes, it’s a dude…. no, it’s not Rin.” You blink at Osamu twice, and he’s endeared by how shy your expression suddenly morphed into. “Yes, Mom, it’s him. No, we stay quiet about that. Yeah, I’ll see you soon, okay? Okay. Yeah, no need to tell Dad. I’ll be fine.”

There’s a smug smile threatening to appear on Osamu’s face. He’s proud to know that you consider him someone you feel safe with. And he’s giddy with the idea that you talk about him with your mom. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he’s building the confidence in asking you out as each minute passes.

You bid your mother a short goodbye, and you suddenly feel embarrassed for staring at Osamu for too long. Let’s not disregard the fact that he was staring at you for longer.

“Hey,” Osamu finally says. When you turn your head to look at him again, it takes every bit of his wit not to kiss you right then and there. “I think the rain’s not stoppin’ soon. Wanna make a break for it?”

You scoff at his suggestion. “And have you go to the gym tomorrow half-dead with a tissue up your nose? Not a chance. Your team will kill me.”

“C’mon! The rain’s not that bad!”

“It’s literally three degrees Celcius out here!”

“It’s either we run or our moms are gonna beat our asses!”

First of all, it’s your parents’ fault for choosing to get a house instead of a car or apartment when you moved to Kyoto, cutting your chances of finding a way home when your house is six bus stops and one bus change away from the campus. Second, your mom will not shut up if she finds out you’re taken home late with the boy you wouldn’t shut up to her about. Lastly, your dad will have a heart attack if he finds out you actually are still not home on the day he was told to do overtime at work.

You chew at your bottom lip in contemplation, and you don’t notice Osamu’s eyes immediately darting back to the rain before him. “We’re both gonna die, Miya.”

To begin, it was entirely Atsumu’s fault for stealing his twin’s beloved umbrella in the middle of a rainy winter season. Second, his mom would interrogate him before letting him in the house if she finds out her son took someone home in the late-night, winter rain. Finally, Kita’s gonna kill him if he goes to school sick right after he was expected to improve on his serves.

“We die today, or we die tomorrow. It’s ‘yer choice to make.” Osamu’s already standing up, his hand outstretched to you.

“Fine.”

On the way home, the rain doesn’t stop. But that isn’t the problem. The problem is how you’re going to maintain your composure, because while he lives on the other side of downtown, Osamu insisted he’d take you home. All, six stops and one bus change. You argue that his house is only a few blocks from the second stop, and he tells you it’s totally fine.

You’re now walking home with him after the long bus ride. Your hair is only partially wet from the rain because the spiker used his gym bag to shield you. The uniform and winter coat feel heavy on you, but you reckon that this night did not feel bad. Not when you’ve spent the entirety of it laughing and chattering with Osamu.

His voice stops when he feels the rain going heavier with each drop. He musters all the bravery he has and takes your hand in his.

“Miya, wha-”

“Careful. We’re gonna run and it’s gonna be slippery.”

© polarisine 2025. do not plagiarize, translate, nor repost. all works are my own.

[lale-txt]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 (𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫

♫ boygenius - we're in love

I can't imagine you without // The same smile in your eyes // There is something about you // That I will always recognize

word count: 2.1k

⭅ back to m.list

The day you meet the love of your life, it’s pouring. 

Heavy gray clouds hang upon the sky, hiding whatever bit was left of the autumn sun. It’s quiet in the shop with the exception of Jiji purring on the counter next to you and an old vinyl playing softly somewhere at the other end of the shop, in the corner with the heavy armchairs that usually invite you to lounge and take a rest in them.

Ever since you unlocked the doors this morning, not a single visitor has dropped by, and you get it, you really do. You wouldn’t want to step outside in this weather either–which now reminds you that you forgot your laundry in the backyard before the rain came down. Nothing new.

With a heavy sigh you put down the necklace you’ve been working on all morning. It is delicate and golden–or rather, it used to be golden before time took its toll on the beautiful piece. The clasp is broken as well but you’re determined to kindle the entire thing so it could be worn again, adorning someone’s neck just like it did a century ago. It’s what you’re good at. Fixing things others have abandoned, cradling it in your palms and listening to the stories they have to tell. 

There’s a million stories stored in the walls of your shop, and even the shop itself had a story of its own, loved and preserved by women of generations before you. It’s your turn now. 

If someone would ask you if you can get rich by selling and restoring antiques, you’d laugh out loud. When you inherited the building from your grandmother last year, all your savings went into breathing new life into the shop and the two apartments above it. A new name, fresh color to the window frames, peeling off layers of wallpapers, questionable and never-ending DIY projects… you’ve been through all stages of grief within these walls. 

All of it, you did alone. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You found your purpose, chose this life of solitude over anything else. You have Jiji, and you have the regulars dropping by, some who remember the shop from when your grandmother still ran it. There’s the book club meeting once a month, and the literature students who spend hours browsing the dusty bookshelves filled with an endless number of novels, often older than them and with notes from the past scribbled on these yellowed pages.

It’s not like you’re lonely; it’s just that some nights, when you lie in bed, staring at the night sky through the open roof window, you wonder what it would feel like to be held, to be adored, to be handled as delicately like the broken pieces finding its way over your threshold. There’s this quiet ache in your chest that just won’t go away.

Maybe it’s a burden, you think. Being surrounded by evidence that love was there once. Maybe it’s a blessing, too. Being the one to preserve all of this, to not let these stories be forgotten.

The ancient doorbell chimes and snaps you out of your thoughts. You put the broken necklace aside, out of reach for Jiji who also wakes with new life at the sound of a visitor arriving. He stretches and yawns, ears perking up and sharp yellow eyes seeing him before you do. 

“Hi, I’m here for the vacant apartment?” 

He’s drenched. Head to toe, dripping wet. He stands in the doorframe, probably not wanting to step inside, considering how cramped the aisles are and the small puddle forming at his feet. One of his hand clutches around one of the flyers you hung up at the local supermarket and other small businesses nearby, like the pottery shop down the street and the bar a few blocks away. The internet wasn’t really for you, and so you relied on the oldschool way to promote the apartment for rent upstairs. 

It’s hard not to stare. Long black strands sticking to his forehead, the white shirt–now seethrough–clinging to his chest, tucked into a pair of suit pants. The broad shoulders and the even broader smile. The warmth he radiates.

It’s as if he brought a new dawn. 

You realize you should probably say something instead of just slow-blinking at him, but you’re a little too stunned to do so. Jiji jumps down from the counter and trots towards the stranger with his tail up in the air, rubbing against his legs like the natural charmer he is. If only you had a crumb of whatever this cat had going on for him, you’d be lucky. 

“Sorry, did I get the wrong address? It said ‘The Heirloom’ but maybe I’m mistaken and–”

“No, no. You’re good. I hung these up.” 

You point at the paper in his hand and a small sense of relief washes over his face, followed by another smile. Why is he so good at smiling, you wonder. You didn’t know this was a talent someone could have. Smiling. You walk around the counter towards him, almost tripping over the carpet edge as you do, but you manage to steady yourself on one of the antique drawers. 

“Do you wanna see it? It’s right upstairs, just–I mean, should I get you a towel or something first? I’m afraid you’ll catch a cold like that.” 

He laughs and something inside of you flutters. Oh, no.

“I’d love to see it and I guess I could also need a towel, yes. Came here by bike and just… got a little caught up in the rain,” he replies and when you wave him inside, he goes and shuts the door behind him. It all feels strangely intimate all of sudden. You get your keys and lock the shop door, turning the sign in the window over from ‘open’ to ‘closed’. It’s not like anyone would drop by in this weather, but you didn’t feel good leaving the door unlocked while you’re upstairs, showing him the apartment. 

When you turn around again, he’s taken a few more steps inside, looking around with wonder and Jiji now purring in his arm. Towel, you remind yourself. Focus, girl. Focus. It’s almost ridiculous how he makes your attention span shatter. 

You peel your gaze away from him towards the backyard, where your freshly washed towels are still hung up on the clothesline. Ah, well. Change of plans then. 

“Wait here for a second, I’ll get you something to dry off,” you say, pausing when you realize you haven’t asked his name yet. It must be written all over your face.

“Kuroo. Kuroo Tetsuro.” He smiles again and holds out a hand for you, balancing Jiji on the other. You reach out and take it, trying not to think about how warm and calloused his hand is, or how big it is compared to yours, or how his fingers brushed over the inside of your wrists, or how they lingered longer than a regular handshake, or how you wouldn’t mind holding this particular hand a bit longer, or how touch starved this makes you, or–

“I’ll be right back,” you announce, peeling yourself away from him before your heart decides to do something utterly stupid. 

Shortly after you appear again from a dimly lit corner of the store, a bundle of various fabrics in your hands. Meanwhile, Kuroo and Jiji apparently invented a new game that involves catching spiderwebs in high up and hidden corners of the store, with Kuroo holding the cat up Lion King style and Jiji absolutely destroying the forbidden snacks in places he usually can’t reach. You can’t help but laugh at the scene you just walked into and Kuroo gives you a sheepish smile when he turns around towards you again. 

“Jiji already got you wrapped around his little paws, I see,” you hum and you both exchange what you were holding, the cat for the fabric. You nod towards the fitting room in the back of the shop. “Got you some hammam cloth to dry off and a change of clothes… I hope I guessed your size right and you won’t mind if they smell a bit, uhm. Unique. Let’s go with unique. I promise they’re in a good condition, fixed them up myself when I got them.” 

For a moment, Kuroo seems like he wants to protest. Not because you’re overstepping, but because he’s not used to such kindness. He opens his mouth and closes it again, his smile and the tiny wrinkles around his eyes softening. He looks down at the bundle of clothes and runs a hand over them, feeling the fabric. You briefly wonder how tender it must feel, being caressed like this by him. 

“Alright. Thank you,” he mutters and disappears behind the curtain. You go and rummage around somewhere else in the shop in a poor attempt to try calming your fluttering heart.

A few minutes later Kuroo finds you again, his hair still a little damp but not as bad as when he walked in. The clothes you picked out for him fit like a glove and you silently curse yourself. Maybe you should’ve gone for something more oversized because this–this was distracting. A thick white linen shirt and dark woolen slacks, held up by a leather belt. They fit him like a glove, as if he wore them in a previous life.

You clear your throat and show him where to hang up his damp clothes (over the railing that leads upstairs) and then guide him to the vacant apartment one floor above.

It’s an old house, and therefore the apartment is old and full of nooks and crannies as well. The wooden floor creaks a little with every step and the door to the kitchen always gets a bit jammed, but it has the potential to be a home to someone who embraces these small flaws rather than getting annoyed over them. The apartment is not completely empty, you’ve stored a few pieces of furniture up there; the old cabinet that was too big for the shop but too beautiful to get rid of, a small desk from the 19th century that you restored, a kitchen table that looks similar to one your grandmother had in hers, as well a bundle of firewood next to the fireplace that was still intact. 

“I quit my job today,” Kuroo says in passing as he pokes along the apartment, his eyes drinking in everything. You watch him, leaning in the doorframe with your arms crossed in front of your chest, letting out a small laugh. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that kind of thing during an apartment viewing,” you reply. 

It’s not like you care much. You’re not renting out this apartment to make a profit or to get rich; you put it up because in your imagination it’s nice to fill this building with new life again, to hear footsteps other than yours in the morning, and to be able to knock at someone’s door, asking for sugar or to share a newspaper. 

Maybe you really are very lonely. 

You watch Kuroo walk through every room, and you think how right it feels to have him here. It’s as if this place begs for him; like it waited patiently to welcome him with warm and open arms. Paperthin walls waiting to be adorned with his memories, the old clawfoot bathtub soon to be put to use again, the antiquated kitchen range about to be stirred to new life. All the small things that make a home just that–home.

Kuroo looks back at you and it’s as if his gaze carefully peels you apart, layer by layer, till your soul is bare in front of him. You don’t dare to avert your eyes. 

“When are you moving in?”, you ask. Not: Are you interested? Or, I have some other applicants for it, can I call you back in a few days? 

It’s not like you have other applicants to begin with; everyone your age longs for the big city, the hectic buzz of it, the iridescent lights and the whirlwind of emotions it brings. They don’t want to move to the outskirts of it, where time stands still, where love is preserved in brick walls built by people long before you were born. 

This is a place where love can unfold and linger even after the lovers aren’t any longer; where it’s cradled by gentle hands, hands that care, hands that remember.

Hands like Kuroo’s and yours.

Love, you have to cling to it. You have to hold onto it tightly, pressing it close to your chest and let its light consume you. Leave a carve in your heart and these old door frames, to show that you were here, that you have loved once. 

“Tomorrow, if that’s okay.” 

a/n: this was supposed to be 500 words idk what happened. thought of Kuroo and blackedo out, what else is new. anyway happy kuroocember everyone!! i can already tell that this will be one of my favorite stories to write ahhh

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taglist open! fill out this form to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

[deonsx]

*Sips wolfberry + red dates tea*

Good morning, I noticed your pinned post and decided to submit my first request. Chigiri and Reader are schoolmates with opposing personalities; Chigiri is an athlete, Reader prefers to stay indoors with a novel; Chigiri is in the soccer team, Reader is in the library club; Reader is always at the top in the school rankings, Chigiri tends to hover between the 4th spot to the 6th spot. As fate would have it, Chigiri and Reader ends up crossing paths with each other when he becomes the latest patient at the rehabilitation center Reader volunteers at.

Hiii finally here ig lol (´-ω-`) Chigiri Hyoma

Chigiri Hyoma, known for his speed and skill on the soccer field, found himself stuck in the rehab center after an injury. He wasn’t thrilled about the interruption to his training but fate seemed to have other plans that involved meeting someone entirely outside his world: You, the quiet book-loving girl who preferred the company of novels to people

You were the star of the library club, always at the top of the school rankings, thriving in the peace and solitude of your academic world. Chigiri, with his vibrant energy and social circle, couldn’t have been more different. Under normal circumstances your paths would never have crossed but the rehab center had a way of making the impossible happen

One rainy afternoon as you went about your usual tasks as a volunteer, you heard the familiar sound of uneven footsteps. Turning around, you saw Chigiri entering the room, his crutches tapping against the tiled floor

“Hey Bookworm” he greeted, his trademark smirk firmly in place

You frowned but kept your composure “I have a name you know”

“Yeah, I know” he said with a shrug, settling into a nearby chair “But ‘Bookworm’ fits you better. You’re always lugging around those thick novels” Your grip on the clipboard tightened “And you’re always limping in here like it’s your personal playground”

Chigiri laughed, his voice filling the quiet room “Touchy” Trying to ignore him, you focused on your tasks but you couldn’t help glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He was adjusting the brace on his leg, his movements careful but practiced

“Does it still hurt?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself

Chigiri looked up, slightly surprised, but his expression softened “Not too much. It’s more annoying than anything” He paused then added with a grin “You’re pretty good at this volunteer thing huh? Taking care of people and all”

“It’s not hard” you replied, keeping your tone neutral “You just have to pay attention to what they need” Chigiri tilted his head, studying you with curiosity “So, what do I need Bookworm?”

Your eyes narrowed, though you felt a slight warmth creeping into your cheeks “For starters to stop calling me that” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair “I’ll think about it”

Outside, the rain intensified and a low rumble of thunder accompanied it. You glanced at the clock and realized your shift was nearly over “You brought an umbrella, right?” you asked as you put the clipboard aside

Chigiri scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish “Didn’t think I’d need one. Guess I’ll have to wait it out” With a quiet sigh, you grabbed your own umbrella and handed it to him “Here. I’ll figure something out”

Chigiri stared at the umbrella, then back at you. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine” you said, avoiding his gaze. He took the umbrella, his usual smirk replaced by a softer smile “Thanks Bookw- i mean [name] I owe you one” As he left the rehab center, you watched him disappear into the rain, shaking your head at the strange warmth blooming in your chest

Enjoy!

[npookie0]

Hi!! Hope you're doing good! :) Can you write a mute MC x Ronin fanfic? (they had a lot of vc during the game, it would be nice to have them play truth or dare). Thank you <3

The Devil is your voice.

You were tapping a rhythm on your desk nervously. You have just received a invite to some wacky server on dark web. It was strange truly, you just wanted someone to tell you how killing with a crowbar worked, but now you were being invited to a community? Maybe people with interests similar to your would be there?

You sighed, one of the only sounds that ever left your mouth and didn't sound weird or muffled because of your disability. Yes, you're mute. You visited more doctors and therapists since your muteness was found out than any adult in your family ever had.

You didn't have many friends, not a lot od people wanted to speak to the weird quiet kid who always sat alone and had some form of special treatment. Solitude does strange things to people, for you it was hyperfixating on murderers and stories about them. You were in love with the gore, a murder didn't need voice to be gruesome and intriguing, that's what you loved the most about it.

You clicked the link. Filled in the password that the random person sent and a copy-paste version of Discord was in front of your eyes now.

goreboy: welcome new christanaised @user!

hitmeuppp: WELCOME TO HELL

More welcoming messages were sent by the server's members. You watched it all in confusion, no one was so welcoming to you before. It felt pleasant. Even if they were greeting you because they wanted to be polite, it made you smile a little bit. It's definitely the loneliness that made you so excited because of a few silly greetings.

user: Hello :)

goreboy: don't Forget to check #rules

goreboy: there's barely Anything there but yk

You clicked on the rules channel, it would be best to follow their rules especially after the wam welcome. You were expecting a long list of rules, but what you saw exceeded all your expectations.

goreboy: be a serial killer, First rule of fight club. oh yeah and don't Be transphobic, racist and other weird shit. or angel will Snipe you.

Angelic: And it's not a threat, it's a promise.

. . . What.

Serial killers? No, that has to be a joke. Right?

You spent weeks in the server, and it turns out that these are real serial killers. The Butcher, The Heartsick Angel and some more. You were positively horrified? Yes, they could discover you and kill you, but you could gain more knowledge to your book. The only risk you're facing is losing your life, and it's only if you won't play the game right.

The person who stuck in your mind the most was goreboy, also known as The Butcher, or Ronin. He held his surname as a secret, you weren't too angry about it, you had a secret on your own too, or more than one secret actually.

You decided to hide the fact that you're mute, you were worried that they would treat you like other people did. There was one big problem tho, the killers really wanted you to join voice calls with them and you couldn't just give them half assed excuses, right? To your surprise every time they wanted to call with you, Ronin appeared from nowhere to save you.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: Hey dude hop on call with us!!!! @user

hitmeuppp: yeah! we have to hear you :3

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

While you were struggling to find a new excuse, Ronin decided to come out and save you... again.

goreboy: sorry folks

goreboy: the devil Is on the Line rn

You were surprised every time he did that. Why would Ronin keep on saving you? What's there in it for him?

You decided to send him a dm, it's time to face the devil.

user: Why are you doing this?

goreboy: doin' what?

goreboy: saving your ass? well it's not fun to watch you think of a Magical excuse

goreboy: Unfortunately they stopped working, killers are ready To attack

goreboy: and trust me, Eight murderers at your ass? that's not fun.

You read his messages, it made sense right? But wait... how did he know about the excuses being lies? His style of texting infatuated you too. Why the capital letters in the middle of a sentence?

You remembered Angel saying something about Ronin hiding messages like that. You decided to follow it and read the four capitalized letters.

Mute.

oh.

oh no. He knows.

goreboy is calling.

You didn't even have time to panic, Ronin didn't wait around, he just called. Well it's good to see the person who can be a serious threat to you, how the saying goes; keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

You picked up. A guy with plum coloured hair hidden under a beanie with red horns was looking at you. His eyes black and empty, like two black holes ready to swallow you.

< Hey darling. >

He signed. It was slow, like he tried t be careful about his movements. It felt like he was fairly new at this, the floppiness was there.

Wait.

He did what?!

Well, that was a shocker to say the least. You were looking at Ronin, your eyes widened.

< You sign? >

You signed back, sharp and fast, matching you anxiety, the first shock slowly left You were looking at Ronin's face, he was focusing his attention on your hands, then he just chuckled and shook his head.

"I assume that you asked if I know sign language? Well, I started to learn after I discovered your little issue."

He admitted, a smirk glued to his face. He was amused. You were amusing to him...

You sighed, guess you'll have to type most of your questions.

user: How do you know about this?

He read your message and then looked back at you.

"Wasn't hard. You should be careful about the links your click, Y/N."

So grabbing your IP wasn't just a joke. Does it mean that he knows everything? No, if he did you would be dead, he would know that you are not a serial killer.

user: Why are you keeping my secret?

He didn't answer your question. He just looked into your eyes.

"Why do you?"

And with that he hang up. Great, that's definitely a good sign. A good sign to look for a coffin.

Before you could notice two months had passed since you joined the server, Ronin was now officially shipped with you by half of the server, and he didn't argue with them. He messaged you and called you, he did some progress with his sign language, even invented some unique signs just for the two of you.

"Hey, let's play truth or dare."

He said while the two of you were on call, you raised your eyebrow at him and he just chuckled.

"Don't give me that look, I won't dare you to confess your deepest darkest secrets darling."

You sighed and shook your head in disbelief.

< Fine. Truth or dare? >

Your hand movements were slower than usual. Yeah, Ronin could understand some of the language, but your usual pace was too fast for him to catch up with it. You weren't going to give him the upper hand here, so you asked first.

"Truth."

There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask him, about his work, motives, reasons, but one question in particular was above all of these.

user: Are you and Angel a thing?

That question was boiling in your mind. You needed to know, inspiration or not, you didn't want to write about or romance anyone who is dating, especially when their partner is a dangerous serial killer.

Ronin frowned at the question, looking away with a slight blush.

"Hah, so you noticed... Yes and no. Yeah I used to date Angel, nah we're not a thing. She taught me a lot, gave me love... closure too."

He looked back at you and smirked.

"Don't you dare tell her this sappy bullshit or you'll be fish feed."

You nodded. His answer lifted a wight off of your shoulders. Not like you had any chances with Ronin, you doubt that someone like him would like you, someone who can't talk.

"My turn. Truth or dare darling?"

He asked, you signed < dare > in response.

"Go to main, and tell'em you're obsessed with me."

Well that was an unexpected dare, but who were you to not indulge the devil in his schemes?

#main:

user: I'm obsessed with Ronin :3

Aaand sent. Time to watch the hell's gate open.

hitmeuppp: OMG WHAT

Angelic: Even I wasn't so shameless

felicite: @goreboy someone left a confession for you

goreboy: guess my Devilish charm is Working heh

"Hah! That's a good one."

He said.

You played two more rounds before the final one.

"So, 's the last round. I'm going for dare."

You thought for a second, something silly and stupid, no need to stay all serious.

user: made me a server mod ;p

"Oh hide that smug-mug."

He chuckled once he looked at your proud smile. Ronin really took pride in watching your expressions, how your mouth was forming into a smile or a scowl, your nose wrinkled when you were thinking or annoyed, or your eyes lit up when he was showing the signs the learned.

"Done."

And he hang up.

You checked and holy shit! You really are a mod now.

That was a shocker, but you couldn't expect Ronin to act rationally or be predictable, so it wasn't that weird to receive that role from him.

Ronin was really into playing his little mind games with you. Trying to irritate you to see different emotions on your face, getting you so angry that you will make sounds like groans and loud sighs, it was satisfying him. He knew that pushing you to say words would be too much, he didn't need you to speak anyway. Learning other ways to communicate or read you were a challenge, and the devil never backed away from any challenge.

December. A time for Christmas and what not. You were sitting by your desk, adding finishing touches to one of the reports you had to send back to your boss soon, at least as a news writer you didn't have to worry about talking.

You noticed how some of the killers were less active in their murderous escapades, maybe other than Angel and Ronin, Angel dropped six kills one day and Ronin, well you could feel how his murders were more of an anger outburst? Like he was hiding something in the massacred bodies.

user: Ronin are you free to talk?

You rarely asked him to call, it was mostly Ronin who did that, he called you out of the blue and talked, showing you the new signs he learned and followed your "instructions" when you noticed that one of the sign was floppier than the rest.

He got really good with signing now, you didn't have to type as much as you did before, his learning source must've been really good or expensive, or both, for him to get this well so quickly.

He wasn't replying for a while, but you could swear that he was burning a hole in his computer screen with his stare. Finally the devil graced you with a reply.

goreboy: oh you're Asking for a Call?

goreboy: how can i Ever say No to this?

user: Srs? A Hamilton ref?

goreboy: jus call me already darl

And you did. Ronin's face was in front of you now. He didn't look so himself? That devil-may-care attitude was less noticeable, maybe for a regular person he would look the same, but you learned to notice small details in people's body language and expressions.

< Are you okay? >

Your hands moved smoothly, still slower than normally but you didn't have to be so careful about every sign.

"Jus the season."

He said with a shrug. His eyes showed exhaustion, and just how upset he was.

"Nah, I don't want to talk about that."

It's like he read your mind, you wanted to ask about it, but his answer made you drop it.

"What'dya wanted to talk about?"

He asked, titling his head to the side and looking at the mask in his hand, some fresh blood was on it.

< You just killed someone, haven't you? >

"And what if I did? That fucking pastor deserved to die anyway."

You heard it, there was anger laced under his act. He was angry, but it wasn't the pastor, no. It was something way deeper than that.

You were jealous of Ronin, or rather of anyone who could speak freely. Yeah, you're used to not talking, but expressing yourself through more than how your hands moved or what kind of expression you had was something you desired.

"Thinking how much you yearn to speak, hm darling?"

Ronin asked, his chin resting on his palm as he looked at you, His gaze was knowing, like he could read you like an opened book.

< I just want people to understand me better Ronin. >

Your hands were shaking a little bit, your emotions were guiding you to spill everything out.

< I don't want to hide myself anymore, but what if they won't understand? What if I won't be accepted? >

The rest of your killer friends were on your mind, you hated refusing the voice calls, you hated hiding this secret. Okay you were lying about being a killer, but this was something that you had to do in order to survive.

"Then spill your guts."

Ronin's voice broke through the barrier of your mind and brought you back.

"Jus spill it. If they like you they will understand, and if they don't accept then they're assholes. You're not the only disabled one here."

You could guess who he was talking about. A sigh left your lips. He was right.

< Thank you Ronin, I hope that you will be willing to tell me whatever you're dealing with one day too. >

This call was short, but it was helpful. You saw a more raw side of Ronin and he helped you make up your mind...

On the New Year's Eve you decided to confess your disability to the server, so maybe now they would understand why you were avoiding the calls so much.

user: Hey guys. I wanted to tell you all something. I can't hide it anymore. The reason why I never agreed to the voice calls is because I am mute. I'm sorry for not saying sooner, I had some unpleasant situations with people after my confession.

You sent the message and in nerves started to look at other chats to see if you didn't miss any messages... Then the first ! showed up next to #main and you had to click it.

goreboy: they're not lying folks

Well at least Ronin took your side here.

K9: I understand.

Ah yes, the simple answer from V, no excitement or disappointment, just a simple sign of acceptance coming from the vigilante.

Angelic: I'm happy to know that you trust us enough to share this <3

After three more encouraging messages you broke down, tears running down your cheeks. It was the first time anyone has shown you this much acceptance and encouragement. Hell, they even apologised for pushing you so much. You wanted to thank them so much, but your vision was too blurry to type.

You calmed down after a while, the first thing you noticed was an unread message from Ronin in your chat with him.

goreboy: see? told Ya they would accept.

You smiled at the message and replied.

user: Thanks Ronin, I mean it.

goreboy: anything for you darling

His answered got you to roll your eyes and smile a little. What an annoyingly sweet asshole he was.

Headcanons <3

Ronin will rile you up, he wants to see your expressions and body language change. Maybe he can't hear you but he will for sure watch and read you.

If you use a notebook to communicate he will take your pens away and nudge your head with it, a proud grin stuck to his face.

If someone acts like an asshole to you because of your disability he sure is ready to send their heads flying. "They can't speak, but I fucking will."

He learned sign language since the moment he found out that you're mute, but he is still not perfect with it, to make his life easier you agreed to make some signs just for the two of you.

Since you can't use words, you use different way of showing Ronin your care and love, his favourite is touch - him being touch starved.

He would never push you into learning saying any words, be it his name or anything else, he knows that it's a struggle and he won't put you through that.

I hope you liked it <3

Sorry for not updating as much :(

Love you pookies <33

- N ;p

[menlikeair]

NEW YORK AINT THE SAME WITHOUT YOU. [aidan shaw x fem!afab!reader]

mdni. smut. mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating. intoxication. language. oral m receiving. angst! unprotected sex, aidan is kind of an asshole, be warned.

words: 3.3k

new york city drummed on balmy summer nights and the heat only amplified its pulse. people from all walks of life were carving out their own spaces in a city that never slept.

except for you, alone in your apartment. left to your own devices with nothing but the hum of sparse traffic outside and the patter of rain against your window. it poured heavily and bounced from the pavement, adding a rhythmic backdrop to the humid summer night.

the city seemed to mock your solitude with the straight downpour.

on the other side of chelsea, in stark contrast to your state, aidan stepped out of the club into a relentless sheet of rain, his mind a whirlwind. neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting a glow around him.

betrayal still stung, and in true aidan shaw fashion, rain or shine, baby, he had once told you. he kept his promises.

the street bloomed white under two jittered flashes of lightning.

“juliet, give me my sin again!” he shouted, his voice cracked and carried a lazy slur. if you hadn’t known this tone so well, you’d almost mistake it for a teenager shittily spewing out shakespeare in hopes of getting some while his little juliet’s parents weren’t home.

you stepped from the bed and to the window to confirm what you already knew. it only took a small squint through the flowy curtains. it would almost be romantic if he wasn’t sopping wet and pathetic with a cocky shit-eating grin plastered across his handsome face as he caught a glimpse of you peering down at him.

you paced down each step before slinging the walk-up apartment’s heavy oak door open.

he leaned forward with both hands against the stairs gate, trying to keep his balance as the water soaked through his clothes and he laughed deeply to himself.

“really cute, but in case you didn’t notice, people live here, romeo.” you hissed and reached down to pull him up the stairs by the collar of his shirt.

aidan trudged up the narrow staircase closely behind you as you stomped. each step creaked under his weight.

“that was stupid, wasn’t even funny,” you mumble and glance at him from over your shoulder as your hands fumble with the keys in the lock.

“i come by it honestly.” he placed his hand over his heart and grinned mockingly.

the air inside your place was thick with the scent of fresh paint and sawdust. remnants of ongoing renovations.

he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the doorframe as he craned his neck to look around you. he surveyed the construction disaster of your so-called ‘living room.’

“well, look at you, little miss la-dee-da.” he pressed past you through the entrance.

“you’re dripping all over my rug,” you muttered from behind him.

“am i?” he sneered back at you.

his gaze flickered to the half-finished bookshelf in the corner.

“i’m quite the handyman, sugar.” he declared as he stripped himself of his jacket and tossed it onto a loveseat sitting awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“could’ve done this for you in a day if you kept me around long enough…” his finger glided over the drywall dust that had collected on a stack of books against the wall before turning to walk closer to you.

“so. what’s new, pussy-cat?”

the tone in his voice seemed to imply he was toying with you. the response was caught in your throat like an air bubble with no escape way.

you studied him quickly, almost obsessively. everything about him was different. they say hair holds memory, and for your own sake, you hoped that had been true. aidan had rid himself of his lengthy cupid curls, and as his broadly toned abdomen pressed against his clinging white dress shirt, you guessed a gym membership was included in the deal.

“what are you doing here, aidan?” you tiredly muttered, trying to hide any expression of shame that dared to ghost across your expression.

“thought i’d see what you were up to, troublemaker.” he grinned deviously, raising his eyebrows as he swayed a bit. he slowly turned on his heels to continue his track around your disastrous living room.

“man, the tunnel! great little place, you been?” he leaned down to pick and prod around at all of the misplaced trinkets on your coffee table. a dull thump of an overplayed club hit rang through his ears, and a few too many straight whiskeys clung to him.

you glanced at him and your mouth fell into a slightly o-shape in a lousy attempt to force the words out of your throat.

the audacity.

you rolled your eyes, “yeah, the tunnel. heard of it.” you mocked back sarcastically.

he hummed in response before letting a short huff of breath out. he turned to face you once again.

“anyway,” he raised his eyebrows and stepped close. too close for comfort. his broad frame towering over you made your heart thump harder and your mouth go dry.

“i think you got some explainin’ to do, little lady.” he expressively pouted his bottom lip.

“you look…different…” you squeaked embarrassingly in response and cleared your throat to divert the attention away from yourself.

“i thought you’d like it.. look like one of those limp-dick wall-street boys you’ve been runnin’ around with lately..” he grinned as his hands wrapped around the small of your waist to manually pull your body closer to his, leaving a suffocatingly insufficient amount of space between the two of you.

his words took you by surprise. on very rare occasions had you heard the man speak with hostility, it just wasn’t his thing, so you wondered why the words left his lips so naturally and smoothly.

“you’re very drunk..” your hands landed on his wide shoulders as you arched your back in a lousy attempt to create any amount of extra space with the man who effortlessly towered over you.

“no, ma, i ain’t.” his deep voice mocked an exaggerated southern drawl as his body leaned closer to dispel the newly added space.

you huffed, exasperated. a strap from your ivory nightdress slipped down your shoulder. you brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration and took a step away from his grasp.

images of a night months ago flashed through your mind. you remembered the dull headache that pounded between your eyes as sunlight poured through your apartment's cracked window. slamming doors and jumping up to run to the window, hoarsely yelling out for aidan, to tell him it wasn’t what it looked like.

but it was exactly what it looked like.

some lousy bartender with a pierced eyebrow sprawled across your bed right beside you in his underwear, there was no way to explain.

so, you didn’t.

you took your last look at aidan as he quickly hurried away from your apartment for the last time. until now. no email with an explanation or apology. no phone calls, no letters. and, at last, he was here for his closure.

he stepped away and leaned back against his palms on the island bar that separated your tiny living room and kitchen. an unfamiliarly smug smirk painted across his defined face. you caught a glimpse of his ribcage snugly pressed against the damp white fabric of his dress shirt, the newly toned muscle between each column of bone made your breath hitch. rainwater trickled from his brow onto the linoleum below his feet.

“aidan, i’m sorry,” you muttered apologetically. your expression softened as you searched for the words to explain, “i was very drunk and my friends.. they wouldn’t stop pressuring me.” your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you continued.

“always in my ear about me losing my youth dating someone older, and—”

the shame flashed across your face sent a fresh wave of irritation through him. a deep hum from aidan stopped you and you watched as he tilted his head to the side to examine you. his hard expression didn’t change and your blood went cold as you realized that soft spot in his heart for you had long since turned rock-solid.

he adjusted his hips as his thick length twitched impatiently against his left thigh.

“you left me hangin’, baby, high and dry..”

he sucked his left cheek between his teeth and tsked, glancing down at his feet and he leaned back further against his palms, stretching his toned body.

you threw your hands up with a shrug of your shoulders in defeat “i’m sorry, i don’t know what else to say…”

aidan took one hand he was leaning against and completely grasped around your wrist to pull you a step closer.

“come here. what are you standing so far for?” he relaxed, looking down at you as he examined the surprised micro-expressions lighting your face up. the feeling of your wrist in his hand made his already-drunk thoughts spin. his jaw went slack as his body pressed into you with ease.

“you can’t just do this.” you hoarsely stammered, the pressure around your wrist applying as he pulled you closer.

“do what?” the man grinned against you teasingly. he turned his body and boxed you into the counter, bracketing you against the faux marble.

aidan's broad six-foot-five frame completely engulfed you. his hand released your wrist before snaking around your hips to pull you into his torso.

“busting in like you own the place and—” you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and pressed into him closer, motioning over his body with your eyes

“this.”

you nervously toyed with the neckline of his shirt, slipping your fingers underneath to slide against his collarbone.

aidan’s breath hitched as your fingers traced against him. his eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer. the heat between you was palpable, and every inch of your body was hyper-aware of his proximity.

he ducked his head down and hunched over you, slowly pressing a kiss against your mouth and using his tongue to push through your lips like an intruder. you melted into him. thoughtlessly, like second nature.

and for a sudden, hopeless moment, you missed him. you missed his weight against you. his lips on yours just like this, slacking your jaw to allow his hot tongue to slip against yours as his hungry hands palmed your ass through a thin and nearly iridescent night dress.

you felt his thickness twitch against you, behind the constricting material of his tightening dress pants.

you were drunk on the way he smelled.

it was overtly masculine, everything about him was and always had been. heavy, earthy, and warm, the tinge of whiskey lingered on his lips and the scent of oak on his skin long after he’d left his workshop.

he pulled away to step forward, guide you into the living room, and sit in the heavy oak chair he’d designed with his own hands, sprawled back cockily. it creaked beneath his weight.

go on, baby.

you didn’t know whether it was his husky voice that had commanded you or your subconscious guiding you to pay your karma, but you obliged.

watching him loosen his belt, you lowered yourself to your knees and scooted forward.

“pretty girl,” he muttered to himself and tsked his tongue against his teeth in thought.

“you hurt me, you know that?” he felt better when he wasn’t made of steel with you.

his head tilted to the side to examine your flushed face and you instinctively pulled him out of his boxers. you craned your neck forward to trail a lick up the underside of his cock. his familiarity and warmth made heat coil low in your belly, pooling wet and anxious between your legs. he held you off, just enough so that he could watch you struggle forward trying to take him into your mouth fully.

he twitched against your tongue, huffing out a sharp breath. the uneven hitch of his breath urged you to continue and you take him into your mouth further. your throat constricted wildly, and he hissed through his teeth.

the two of you belonged to each other once again, the salvia pooling in your mouth, running down his length as your mouth and lips did the apologizing that your words couldn’t, belonged to him. his hand at the back of your head which felt like security, raising his hips to fuck up into your mouth. his groans belonged to you, just as they always had.

you whimpered softly as he tugged your hair to pull you from his flushed cock. a line of spit hung off your bottom lip, sticking to your chin. you wiped away tears from your clumped eyelashes with the back of your hand and sunk your teeth into your plump bottom lip eagerly. the need to please him was sudden and violent. his strong hand caught in the soft tangle of your hair.

his face was stricken with an expression you couldn’t quite grasp. with his nostrils flared and jaw clenched, you could recognize anger. but his softened gaze and furrowed eyebrows felt like sincerity, guilt. he couldn’t tell if he wanted to fuck a lousy apology out of you or send you to bed and leave as if nothing had ever happened in his drunken haze.

he used his large hand to wrap around his shaft and drag his slick tip against your open lips before pulling you down onto him once again.

your apology was warm around him, pressing up against the back of your throat.

it hurt in the way it was supposed to hurt — your guilt scorching away inside you.

he forced you down, filling your mouth with his cock, tears clouded your vision. your whimpers were garbled, broken things around his cock.

he’d been the one to teach you how to take it without a fuss, maybe he didn’t hear you over the resounding crashes of thunder and your window rattling on his hinges. couldn’t see the tears welling when you fluttered your eyes open up to him as he tilted his head back against the chair in a guilt-stricken haze of pleasure.

his gaze fell onto you, and his strong hand released the grasp on your hair.

“come here.” the man muttered, motioning you up with his head.

your fingers hooked at the straps of the flowing night-dressed and it fell to pool around your ankles. you stepped out of it, slipped onto his lap to straddle him, and closed your eyes as you sunk onto him with ease. he didn’t give you time to adjust to him before he rocked his hips to fill you completely.

a sharp hiss of an inhale left through your teeth as his tip reached far deeper than you had been used to in your time apart.

he leaned forward and groaned against your warm skin as his hips guided themselves upwards, he closed his eyes. his hands grasp around your waist to steady you and hold you in place as your legs shook in response. his head dipped down and his lips and tongue sloppily grazed your nipple.

“ ‘m sorry. ” your words left your lips like a soft cry as his cock reached deeply inside you, making your head fall backward, torso and breasts arching further against his mouth.

“you’re always doin’ shit you need to be sorry for.” he grunted into your skin and pulled you from his cock with both hands on the sides of your waist. he angled himself back and slowly rocked into you with a moan.

“gotta have the patience of a fuckin’ saint with you.” his jaw clenched as his thrusts went harder, deeper than you could handle.

you whined, an attempt to writhe away from him, but it was no use. you were his, and his strong hands around you made it impossible to lift yourself from him. your fingers dug into his wide shoulders over the translucent material of his damp shirt.

“it’s too much, it’s—” you took a ragged gasp as he pressed deep inside, screwing your eyes tightly shut.

he leaned closer as your body cautiously moved up and down.

any expression of guilt or shame had long been replaced by something else. anger, hunger, and he wanted you to feel it.

“it hurts, baby? does it?” he tilted his head with his slack jaw, a ghost of a smirk tugged the corner of his lip while watching you nod weakly through half-lidded eyes.

his free hand reached between you to draw slow circles against your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb.

“how bad does it hurt?” he sneered at you. his words were like venom. any ounce of sympathy had long since flown out of the window by now. he hoped it hurt.

at least this is the type of pain you could contort and manipulate into some kind of unsettling pleasure. you should consider yourself lucky.

he pressed further and you arched forward with a gasp, your lips trembled as they tried to form words that were no longer there, letting out a desperate sequence of moans, whimpers, and sobs. you answered his thrusts with weak rolls of your hips, pulsing around him. enveloping him. your body seemed to respond with a will of its own.

you thread your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. you leaned forward to kiss him, sloppily and still salty from his pre-cum. your surrender was sweet on his tongue and he trapped it in his mouth, it belonged to him, anyway.

his thumb continued its path against your clit, spelling his name against you slowly, long and drawn out so you wouldn’t forget.

you were close, desperately so, and your hand slipped down to brace yourself against his chest. you pant into his mouth, sinking and drawing him further inside. he buried his face into your neck, and rocked his hips against you. he felt your throat constrict, your breasts heaving against his chest as he lazily worked his name against your clit with the pad of his thumb, over and over.

you kept making those pretty sounds, clasping your fingers into his hair and holding yourself steady on his broad chest. his orgasm convulsed through him as he moaned, a ripping noise from his mouth that ricocheted through his brain and against the thin skin of your neck. he rocked unthinkingly into you, riding out the rolling tremors that racked his body.

aidan swallowed unevenly, his breath escaping his swollen lips in shaky bursts. his thumb left your swollen clitoris. you whined sweetly in response, trying to rock yourself against his toned naval for any kind of friction. the constricting tightness as you wordlessly begged for more made his hips jolt in over-sensitivity. the feeling dizzied him, striking into the sides of his skull.

he braced himself and stands with your legs wrapped around his waist.

he carried you through the hallway effortlessly and laid you onto the unmade bed with ease.

when he pulled out, you whined and writhed in discomfort, the feeling of anxious excitement pooled somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach. you wanted him, his hungry mouth against you, coaxing you to an undeserving climax with his tongue. not tonight.

he dropped his pants around his ankles and stepped out. from his thighs, he pulled the elastic waistband of his boxers back around his hips snugly and tugged the uncomfortably damp shirt over his head.

aidan watched as he leaked from between your legs, coating your inner thighs. he reached between to gather a bit of it. he brought his two middle fingers up to press past your lips and onto your tongue, watching intently through bleary eyes as you suck him clean.

with a soft groan, he laid down to pull you onto your side and flush against him. he wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin. you leaned forward to press a ghost of a kiss against his neck.

every breath you took sent the thud of your heartbeat thumping through your head.

you could feel the man radiating heat, his eyes fluttered closed tiredly. you listened intently to the rapid thrum of his heart against his chest.

[postpunkindustrial]

Pink Noises: Women on Electronic Music and Sound by Tara Rodgers

Get it from my Google Drive HERE

Pink Noises brings together twenty-four interviews with women in electronic music and sound cultures, including club and radio DJs, remixers, composers, improvisers, instrument builders, and installation and performance artists. The collection is an extension of Pinknoises.com, the critically-acclaimed website founded by musician and scholar Tara Rodgers in 2000 to promote women in electronic music and make information about music production more accessible to women and girls. That site featured interviews that Rodgers conducted with women artists, exploring their personal histories, their creative methods, and the roles of gender in their work. This book offers new and lengthier interviews, a critical introduction, and resources for further research and technological engagement.

Contemporary electronic music practices are illuminated through the stories of women artists of different generations and cultural backgrounds. They include the creators of ambient soundscapes, “performance novels,” sound sculptures, and custom software, as well as the developer of the Deep Listening philosophy and the founders of the Liquid Sound Lounge radio show and the monthly Basement Bhangra parties in New York. These and many other artists open up about topics such as their conflicted relationships to formal music training and mainstream media representations of women in electronic music. They discuss using sound to work creatively with structures of time and space, and voice and language; challenge distinctions of nature and culture; question norms of technological practice; and balance their needs for productive solitude with collaboration and community. Whether designing and building modular synthesizers with analog circuits or performing with a wearable apparatus that translates muscle movements into electronic sound, these artists expand notions of who and what counts in matters of invention, production, and noisemaking. Pink Noises is a powerful testimony to the presence and vitality of women in electronic music cultures, and to the relevance of sound to feminist concerns.

Interviewees: Maria Chavez, Beth Coleman (M. Singe), Antye Greie (AGF), Jeannie Hopper, Bevin Kelley (Blevin Blectum), Christina Kubisch, Le Tigre, Annea Lockwood, Giulia Loli (DJ Mutamassik), Rekha Malhotra (DJ Rekha), Riz Maslen (Neotropic), Kaffe Matthews, Susan Morabito, Ikue Mori, Pauline Oliveros, Pamela Z, Chantal Passamonte (Mira Calix), Maggi Payne, Eliane Radigue, Jessica Rylan, Carla Scaletti, Laetitia Sonami, Bev Stanton (Arthur Loves Plastic), Keiko Uenishi (o.blaat)

[johnnyricks]

Damn, Liesel might be my favourite character

[nayziiz]

Witness | CL16

Summary: In the shadowy world of Monaco's elite, the Leclerc family reigns supreme. Charles Leclerc, the charming middle son, maintains their pristine public image—until one rainy night, during a fit of rage, Charles does the unthinkable. A young woman witnesses his actions, and her terrified eyes haunt him. Consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, Charles embarks on a desperate search to find her before she can destroy his family’s legacy. As he delves deeper into Monaco's underbelly, Charles must confront his own darkness and the lengths he will go to protect his family.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x OC (name to be revealed)

Warnings: Violence, blood, angst

Masterlist

CHAPTER 3

The youngest Leclerc brother, Arthur, was the wildest one. Known for his insatiable appetite for adventure and thrill, he thrived in the vibrant nightlife of Monaco. He had a habit of dragging Charles to parties, clubs, and casinos when Charles would have preferred a peaceful night in with a glass of wine and a good book. Arthur’s energy was infectious, his charm undeniable, and he revelled in the attention their family name commanded.

Tonight was no exception. It was a Saturday, which meant the city was alive with the promise of excitement, and Arthur had already set his sights on the night’s itinerary. He burst into Charles’s apartment, grinning from ear to ear, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Come on, Charles! You can’t hide away tonight,” Arthur declared, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “I’ve got us on the guest list at the hottest club in town. Everyone’s going to be there!”

“Arthur, I really don’t feel like going out tonight. I had a long day, and I just want to relax,” Charles sighed, switching on his television and clicking on one of the motorsport channels.

“Relax? You can relax when you’re old and grey. We’re young, rich, and Leclercs! The world is our playground, brother,” Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically, grabbing the remote from Charles’s hands and tossing it onto the couch. 

Despite his reluctance, Charles couldn’t help but smile at Arthur’s infectious enthusiasm. It was a losing battle, as it always was when Arthur set his mind on something. Resigned, he stood up and grabbed his jacket, knowing there was no point in arguing.

“Alright, alright. But just for a few hours,” Charles conceded. “I have some business to take care of tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit! Trust me, you’ll thank me later. There’s nothing like a night out in Monaco,” Arthur clapped him on the back, his grin widening.

Arthur kicked the night off with a rented limo, already downing shots like nobody's business. The air inside the limo was filled with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses as Arthur entertained himself, his spirits high. Charles, ever the responsible one, watched his brother with a mix of amusement and mild concern, knowing how wild Arthur’s nights out could get.

The limo took them to a restaurant, an upscale place known for its gourmet cuisine and sophisticated ambiance. The plan was to have a meal before diving into the night's festivities. As they arrived, Arthur, already a bit tipsy, made a beeline for the bar. Charles sighed, resigning himself to a quiet meal alone.

Charles found a quiet table and ordered a hearty meal, intending to line his stomach properly for whatever the night would bring. The restaurant's dim lighting and soft music provided a stark contrast to the wild energy Arthur radiated at the bar. Charles watched his brother from across the room, seeing him animatedly talking to strangers, charming everyone in his vicinity.

Charles savoured his meal, enjoying the brief moment of solitude. The rich flavours of the food helped to ground him, a small comfort amidst the chaos Arthur had undoubtedly planned for the night. He glanced occasionally towards the bar, where Arthur continued to entertain, his laughter echoing through the restaurant.

As Charles finished his meal, he reflected on how different he and Arthur were. Arthur's zest for life and adventure often pulled Charles out of his comfort zone, dragging him into nights filled with unpredictability. Yet, despite the exhaustion these nights brought, Charles couldn't deny the bond he felt with his brother, a bond that often made him go along with Arthur’s wild plans.

Once Charles was done, he walked over to the bar, where Arthur was still in high spirits, flirting with the bartender and regaling a small group with some exaggerated story. Charles placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, giving him a look that conveyed both amusement and readiness for the next part of the night.

“Ready, big brother? The night’s just getting started!” Arthur grinned, downing another shot before clapping Charles on the back. 

“Lead the way, Arthur. Let’s see what you’ve got planned,” Charles nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. 

The night was still young, and Charles knew better than to underestimate Arthur’s knack for creating unforgettable experiences. From there, Arthur dragged Charles and his friends to his favourite casino, a lavish establishment with opulent décor and a vibrant atmosphere. As they entered, the group filtered through the other guests and diplomats to the bar, the clinking of glasses and low murmur of conversations adding to the casino’s lively ambiance. Some of Arthur's friends gravitated towards the slot machines, their excited chatter blending with the mechanical sounds of the games. Others headed for the roulette table, eager to test their luck.

Charles, however, remained withdrawn from the main group. He slowly made his way around the casino, observing the scene with a detached curiosity. He watched as some fools gambled away their trust funds, their faces a mix of hope and desperation with each spin of the wheel or roll of the dice. The flashing lights and the cacophony of sounds seemed to create a world of their own, one where fortunes could change in an instant.

Occasionally, Charles would take a seat at one of the tables, nursing a drink and simply watching the guests move about the dimly lit room. The casino was a microcosm of Monaco’s elite, a place where power and money intersected in a dance of chance and skill. Despite the bustling activity around him, Charles felt a sense of isolation, his thoughts drifting back to the incident and the woman he was desperate to find.

As he continued to observe, he felt a tug of responsibility and protectiveness towards Arthur. His younger brother thrived in this environment, effortlessly charming everyone around him, but Charles knew the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of their glamorous lifestyle. He needed to keep an eye on Arthur, ensuring that he didn’t get into too much trouble.

Arthur, meanwhile, was in his element, moving from group to group with an easy confidence. His laughter echoed across the room, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. Charles couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s antics, even as he felt a pang of worry. Arthur’s reckless nature was both his greatest asset and his biggest flaw.

She had perfected the art of the serene smile, a mask she wore to hide the turmoil churning inside her. Her hands moved deftly, expertly shuffling and dealing the cards with practised ease. The table was surrounded by a mix of regulars and tourists, their faces a blend of hopeful anticipation and steely determination.

“Place your bets, please,” she announced, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. She swept her gaze over the players, taking in their expressions, their tells. She had learned to read people well in this job, to see beyond the surface.

The cards were dealt, and she watched as the players assessed their hands. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit tapped his fingers on the table, a subtle signal for another card. Next to him, a young woman with a wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses nervously bit her lip before deciding to stand. The tension was palpable, each decision a potential turning point in their fortunes.

As she revealed the next card, a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. The man in the suit smiled triumphantly, his pile of chips growing with his win. She congratulated him with a nod, keeping her expression neutral. The casino's glamour masked the desperation that often lurked beneath the surface, and she was all too aware of the fine line between triumph and ruin.

Her shift progressed in this rhythm of bets and deals, wins and losses. She maintained her composure, but the memory of that fateful night lingered at the edges of her mind. Every face in the crowd was a potential threat, every moment a chance for her past to catch up with her.

A sudden shout from across the room jolted her from her thoughts. A commotion at the roulette table drew the attention of the patrons, and for a brief moment, the blackjack table was deserted. She took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment of respite. The noise of the casino faded to a distant hum, and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.

But it was a fleeting reprieve. As the players returned, she resumed her role, her eyes scanning the crowd with renewed vigilance. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not when the threat of being discovered loomed so large.

A new player approached the table, a tall man with a confident stride and an easy smile. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. For a split second, she feared it was him, the man she had seen that night. But it wasn’t. Just another stranger in a city full of them.

“Good evening,” she greeted, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil. “Care to try your luck?”

The man nodded, taking a seat and placing his bets. As she dealt the cards, she couldn't shake the feeling that her time in Monaco was running out. The sense of being hunted, of danger lurking just out of sight, was ever-present. But for now, she had a job to do, a role to play in the glittering spectacle of the casino.

She watched as the players made their decisions, her mind drifting slightly as she mechanically performed her duties. The table was busy tonight, a mix of regulars and tourists, their expressions ranging from confident to anxious.

As the night wore on, Charles’s attention was drawn to the excitement at the blackjack table in the corner of the room. The dealer, a young woman with an air of calm professionalism, skillfully handled the cards, her movements precise and practised. Something about her seemed familiar, but Charles couldn’t quite place her. He decided to approach, drawn by a sense of curiosity and an inexplicable pull. As he got closer, the woman looked up, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.

Her heart skipped a beat, a faint sense of unease creeping in, but she dismissed it as the usual paranoia that had plagued her recently. Charles took a seat at the table, his gaze fixed on the dealer. There was something about her, a nagging feeling that tugged at his memory. He watched as she dealt the cards, her hands moving with practised grace. The way she moved, the set of her shoulders, it all seemed so familiar.

“Place your bets,” she repeated, her voice steady but her pulse quickening.

She sensed his eyes on her, a penetrating gaze that made her skin prickle. She focused on the cards, trying to shake off the feeling. Recognition flickered in her gaze, and suddenly, it all clicked in her mind.

Charles studied her face, the way she focused intently on the game. And then, like a flash of lightning, it hit him. Her face. It was her. The woman from that night. The memory of her terrified expression, her wide eyes frozen in shock, came rushing back. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding as recognition settled in.

“Hit or stand?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly as she met his eyes again. The look in his eyes made her stomach drop. It was a mix of shock and realisation, a look she had seen before, in a dark alley under the rain. Charles swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Stand,” he said, his voice rough with the weight of his discovery. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, the woman he had been searching for, now standing right in front of him.

She dealt the next card with trembling fingers, her mind racing. He recognized her. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tension that now crackled between them. Her carefully constructed world began to crumble, the walls of safety she had built around herself now seeming paper-thin.

The game continued, but the atmosphere at the table had shifted. The other players sensed something was off, casting curious glances at Charles and the dealer. She forced herself to focus, to complete the hand, but her mind was spinning with fear and uncertainty.

While she was frightened, he was overwhelmed. He wasn't sure how to approach the subject with her without scaring her any further. He wasn't a horrible person and he hated the fact that she caught him at such a brutal moment in his life. He kept watching her, his mind racing with thoughts of how to handle the situation. He couldn't speak to her openly about it in front of so many people, so when the game ended and she quickly rushed towards the staff rooms, he caught up with her.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he called after her.

She stopped and hesitantly turned around. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she seemed ready to bolt at any second.

“I'm not quite sure how to go about this, but I would appreciate a moment to speak with you…privately,” he tried to keep his voice as gentle and non-threatening as possible, aware of the tension in the air.

She looked around, clearly nervous about being seen talking to him. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, curiosity, and a sliver of defiance. She had seen him at his worst, and now here he was, confronting her in a way she hadn't anticipated.

“Why should I?” She asked, her voice shaky but with an edge of determination.

“Please,” Charles said, lowering his voice even further. “I just want to explain. I need you to understand that what you saw was not who I am.”

Before she could answer, her manager strolled by and spotted Charles and her.

“Mr. Leclerc!” Her manager bellowed, interrupting the two.

She had to stop her jaw from falling to the ground when she heard his last name. Leclerc? The realisation sent a shiver down her spine, and the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. This man, the one who had haunted her nightmares for days, was one of the notorious Leclerc brothers.

“Is there something Marie or I can assist you with?” the manager asked, his tone shifting to one of eager politeness.

“Marie?” Charles repeated, turning to look at her with a mixture of surprise and recognition.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded.

“No, thank you. I, uh, was just looking for the restroom,” he lied, his voice steady despite the tension radiating from him.

“Right this way, sir. Marie, you can return to your station.” The manager smiled, oblivious to the undercurrents in the exchange.

Charles gave her a lingering look before following the manager down the hall. She watched them go, her heart pounding in her chest. The shock of his identity and the suddenness of the encounter left her reeling. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before heading back to the blackjack table.

As she resumed dealing cards, her mind raced with the implications of what had just transpired. Charles Leclerc now knew her name, and she knew his. The stakes had just gotten infinitely higher. She had seen a side of him that no one else had, and now he was aware of her existence in a way that made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

She had to figure out what to do next. Reporting the incident seemed even more complicated now, knowing the power and influence the Leclerc family wielded. But staying silent felt like a ticking time bomb. She was caught in a dangerous game, and she had no idea how to play it.

For Charles, the encounter left him equally unsettled. As he walked towards the restroom, guided by the manager, he couldn't shake the feeling of fate's cruel irony. The girl from that night was named Marie, and now she worked in a place he and his brothers frequented. He needed to speak to her, to explain himself properly, but the opportunity had slipped away.

Once he was alone, he splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He had to find a way to reach her again, to make her understand. The fear in her eyes haunted him, and he couldn't let things remain as they were. Not knowing how she might react, not knowing if she might go to the police, was a risk he couldn't afford to take.

He returned to the casino floor, his mind made up. He would find Marie again, and this time, he would make sure they had the conversation he so desperately needed. The game had begun, and he was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

----------------------------

Taglist: @headinthecloudssblog

[arogaba]

The Gemstone Legacy Challenge

It's been a very long time since I last did a challenge, and in the days leading up to my new computer I decided to come up with some ideas for a future legacy challenge to more or less christen this bad boy. This is a 10 generation legacy with a fairly heavy focus on different family dynamics within certain generations.

Tag: 'gemstone legacy challenge' or @ me!

Rules:

✔ There are none! Have fun and follow the generational rules as you see fit!

Generation 1: Rose Quartz

‘You were raised as an only child by a single parent. It was a happy yet lonely life but you always wanted more: you wanted a large, hectic home, a loving spouse, and kids of your own. A surprise inheritance finally gives you that opportunity, and you move from the big city to a small country home, with all the room to grow that you could want!’

Recommended colour: light pink Recommended traits: nurturing, good, family-oriented, natural cook

Move to a small house on a large lot (50x50 or 60x60 is recommended!). This will be your primary legacy home throughout this challenge.

Begin working in the culinary career

Meet the one not long after moving to town. You quickly start dating and soon find yourself expecting your first child.

Get married after you have two children

After you have your third child, you decide to become a stay-at-home parent - you can continue to add to the household funds through various hobbies if you wish!

Have a total of five kids and one must be adopted!

Generation 2: Lapis Lazuli

‘You grew up in a loud, hectic family home. Whilst you didn't hate it, you always preferred the quiet, keeping your head down to focus on schoolwork and eventually your career. As a young adult, you throw yourself into the law enforcement career, but eventually realise that is not your true passion and decide to follow your dreams as your parent did many years ago.’

Recommended colour: dark blue and/or light blue Recommended traits: workaholic, genius, supernatural sceptic, loner

Finish high school with an ‘A’

Be a part of an after-school club in high school

Optional: Graduate as valedictorian

Join the law enforcement career after graduation

Meet your future partner (can be a work colleague)

Optional: Get married

Have at least two children 

After reaching level 5 of your career or becoming an adult, you decide to change your life and quit to become a ghost hunter

Separate or divorce from your partner but remain on good terms

Generation 3: Ruby

‘You came from a rather unusual family. Your grandparents married young and remained devoted all their lives; your parents divorced as adults, dividing your family. Like your grandparents, you want to find your soulmate, but unfortunately despite having a kind and loving heart, it does not come easy to you. After several failed relationships, you question if you will ever find the one, or whether your parents' failed love has doomed you.’

Recommended colour: red Recommended traits: flirty, irresistible, hopeless romantic, friendly, schmoozer

Have at least seven friends

Work a part-time job as a teenager before becoming a nectar maker as a young adult

Travel at least once to Champs Les Sims

Have three failed relationships before finding the one

Have two children

Throw or attend a party at least once a week

Generation 4: Onyx

‘You grew up in a happy, loving family, but you were always a little different. A quiet, shy thing, you preferred your solitude and books, instead of interacting with others or participating in parties like the rest of your family. As you grow older, the differences between you and the rest of your family cause a wedge to form, and you long to find someone who understands you. A chance encounter with an occult opens up a whole new world to you.’

Recommended colour: black and/or dark grey Recommended traits: bookworm, shy, grumpy, supernatural fan

Be close with your family as a child but start to grow apart as a teenager

Become enemies with your sibling

Become a writer

Meet your future partner at a park

They must be either a vampire or a witch

After two dates, allow yourself to be turned or become a witch

Move into an old, mysterious mansion (up to you as to how this looks!)

Have children

Generation 5: Bloodstone

‘You were born as an occult. Regardless of your opinion on the matter, you were raised to be the best vampire or witch you could be, not to be ashamed of who you were, nor to hide from others. Will you follow what's in your blood or fight to change your destiny?’

Recommended colour: dark green and red Recommended traits: genius, charismatic, virtuoso

Note: This generation can be played in two ways!

Vers. 1

Do not cure yourself and do not buy a cure

If a witch, you will become an alchemist and try to become a zombie master

If a vampire, you will become a fortune teller (scam branch) and will try to turn the town

Get married (partner must be a witch or vampire like yourself)

Have one child

Vers. 2

Do not cure yourself but try to find the cure or make it yourself 

If a witch, follow the alchemy artisan LTW

If a vampire, join the music career (symphonic branch)

If playing as a witch, you can only use positive spells/charms and potions

If playing as a vampire, you cannot drink from anyone (save for your partner, if you wish) and must feed yourself by plasmafruit

Get married (partner must be a witch or vampire like yourself)

Have one child

Make or purchase the cure for your condition, but do not use it on yourself 

Generation 6: Pearl

‘Your parent may or may not have been able to cure themselves, but you will not fail. You hear of a cure being advertised at the local laboratory. It seems too good to be true but you take a chance and are rewarded for your efforts. Congratulations, you are now a human. A new life reveals itself in front of you and you can live as you see fit. You've always been a compassionate soul and decide to join the medical career to help and heal others.’

Recommended colour: white or pale grey Recommended traits: socially awkward, genius, workaholic, heavy sleeper, nurturing

Become human (use either the cure from your parent, or go to the science lab)

Join the medical career

Master the logic skill

Move back to the old legacy home

Never get married, you may date and have a partner, but you cannot marry them

Have your first and only child as an adult

Move the other parent of your child into the family (up to you whether you live as a couple or not)

Generation 7: Citrine

‘You have a rather unconventional family and an upbringing that's different from most. You love your parents but find their lives too neat and too clinical. With or without their approval, you decide to become a performer, it's less stable than their careers but it brings you joy, and perhaps you can bring others joy along the way too!'

Recommended colour: pale orange, yellow, and/or white Recommended traits: charismatic, natural born performer, friendly

Join one of the ‘performer’ careers as a YA (in this case it is counting as singer, magician, or acrobat)

Master at least one instrument

Have ten friends

Have children with at least two different sims

Get married 

Become a celebrity 

Generation 8: Moss Agate

‘As a child, you loved living the high life thanks to your famous parent. However, as you grew older, you began to resent that lifestyle, hating the paparazzi and the lack of privacy. People always speculated you might follow in their footsteps, but as a teenager you discover your green thumb, before taking a leap and deciding to live as a farmer as an adult.’

Recommended colour: pale green, dark green, and/or white Recommended traits: green thumb, animal lover, gatherer

As a child, focus on either painting or the violin skill, before dropping it in high school

Start building your gardening skill in high school

After graduating, make a sudden purchase of a farm

Work as a ‘farmer’ with most of your income coming from selling your produce

Own a large pet (dog, cat, or horse)

Optional: raise said pet from their youngest lifestage

Get married 

Have kids

Generation 9: Aquamarine

‘Born on a farm, you understood  and appreciated the value of hard work from a young age. Despite your love for your home, you have other dreams, and from a young age have a passion for swimming. As an adult, you decide to become a lifeguard, spending time by the water, and saving lives at the same time.’

Recommended colour: pale turquoise Recommended traits: loves to swim, angler, athletic, disciplined

Join the lifeguard career as a YA

Master the athletic and fishing skills

Meet a mermaid

Get married

Have two kids

Generation 10: Moonstone 

‘You were always a little different from the rest of your family. An eccentric dreamer amongst a family of grounded rationalists. You love painting and exploring the mysteries of the world. One night, a chance encounter with a mysterious sim turns you into an occult, and suddenly your life is flipped upside down.’

Recommended colour: pastel colours and white Recommended traits: eccentric, good, childish, artistic

Become a painter or a sculptor as a YA

Master painting, sculpting, and writing

Meet either a fairy or werewolf at night and become one

After becoming a fairy or werewolf, change your lifetime wish to either: leader of the pack (if a werewolf), or greener gardens/magic makeover (if a fairy)

Optional: travel and live in the future 

Optional: get married and have kids

[thehollowwriter]

Meet Finn Clearcove, Octavinelle's silent observer!

(Art by @/authoruio (left), @/quartztwst (middle), and @/boopshoops (right))

Finn is an Octavinelle student from Night Raven College. He's seventeen and has a love for butterflies and art, especially music painting. He's got a spooky, dark secret that will be very much not a secret later in this post.

Some Basic Info:

☆Voice Claim: Muichiro Tokiro (sub voice played by Kengo Kawanishi)

☆Class: 2-C

☆Club: Lepidopterology Club, Gargoyle Research Club

☆Favourite subjects: Art, biology

☆Homeland: The Coral Sea

☆Species: Cookie cutter shark merfolk (half abyssal, half coastal)

☆Height/length: 147cm/4'9

☆Birthday: 20th November

☆Dominant hand: Right

☆Hobbies: Finn LOVES to paint, not only is he incredibly good at it (just not drawing people lmao) but it's his way of putting down his thoughts and feelings, often in twisted and unsettling imagery. He also loves tending to plants gardening, as well as studying butterflies and moths (they're his favourite animals)

☆Likes: Animals, reading, cooking, music, making drinks

☆Dislikes: Loud noises, large crowds, bright lights,

☆Favourite food: Chocolate mousse

☆Least favourite food: Chicken

Personality:

Finn is very quiet and prefers to spend his time in quiet solitude. He's very anti-social, inexpressive (most of the time), and blunt. He's a character that, although capable of lying, doesn't beat around the bush during the times be does talk.

Finn is very practical and hands on, he likes to get things done and in an efficient manner. He prefers doing things by hand himself rather than using magic or relying on others.

He's immensely confident in himself and who he is, and it gives certain students a nasty surprise when they expect him to be shy and mousy. He may not fit the beauty standard, but he thinks he looks fantastic as well, thank you, though his teeth are a bit off a sensitive spot for him (he doesn't like them)

Finn sometimes misses social cues, but a lot of the time he notices and just ignores them because he doesn't understand the point of them, or the point of a lot of things considered the "norm" really, and he'd rather you just tell him what you're desperately trying to *imply* at him.

Despite his quiet and seemingly calm disposition, Finn is a fella that is ruled by his emotions. He's not on the same level as Floyd (or Morrigan lmao) but sometimes they do override his logical judgement, especially when he feels afraid. He's got a short temper and will not treat you kindly when he's run out of patience, especially if he's overstimulated and irritated already. When he was younger he used to get into fights with Azul's bullies and his own, and bite them and chase them off.

Finn isn't quite as sadistic Jade or Azul or, well, a lot of NRC students, but he'd be lying if he told you he didn't find it amusing or satisfying watching students who couldn't pay the price for their decisions grovel and panic. Or just messing around with students by himself.

Despite all this, Finn is a deeply caring individual towards those he's close to. He feels his emotions vert powerfully, especially love. (Platonic, romantic, doesn't matter). He will fuss over those he cares for and put an effort in to look out for them or protect them if he feels they need it. His main way of showing affection is giving them little gifts like bones, teeth, flowers, or little sketches or mini paintings. He will also be physically affectionate with headpats or something like that, though its more reserved.

(*ahem ahem* he has a horrible problem of enabling those he cares for and letting or helping them get away with shit because he wants them to be happy and doesn't really know how to provide that in any other away. He won't let them walk over or hurt himself though, apart from Book 3 but that's a long story...)

Appearance:

Finn has light amethyst purple eyes, long dark green hair, and dark green skin except on his palms and fins, where it seafoam green. Finn has swirling black markings on his back, shoulders, and arms. His left shoulder has a large patch of bad scarring. He has long black claws and nasty teeth that'll give the tweels a run for their money. They are smaller, but there are many of them and they look sinilar to that of an anglerfish's teeth, and his jaw is hinged in a way that lets Finn bite perfectly circular holes into things, like his irl counterparts do. His tail is just like that of a cookie cutter shark's. He has hard to notice freckles on his face and stretch marks on his stomach (and thighs in his human form).

Finn has a band of black scales around his neck, and from just below that all the way to his navel are photophores that glow in the dark, which helps him camouflage and can even make him look like a school of fish from below.

He's very short, noticeably shorter than both Riddle and Epel, but he is fat and that unfortunately means that on land, his clothes are either too big on him or too tight T.T

His human form is the same, except he has legs, is slightly taller, and isn't green anymore djdiso. The teeth and black markings (but not the one on his neck) also remain.

Important Things To Know:

☆Unique Magic: Mirror Image. He can copy the voice of anyone he directly touches and their physical form if he pushes hard enough. If he wants, he can limit it to certain characteristics. (E.g: voice or eye colour). He can also copy their unique magic. However, it often comes out "wrong" (for example, King's Roar will result in a goopy black tar instead of sand), and if it results in a physical object like Riddle's collar, the object will look nonsensical and ai generated

☆Finn is gay and polyamorous and is currently dating the octotrio and @theleechyskrunkly 's Aurinelle

☆Finn is autistic

☆Finn's dad Silas is an abyssal mer that taught him Abyssal magic, a form of magic thought to either be a myth or lost art. It is extremely powerful and dangerous, but Finn only knows a few spells so far and rarely uses it (he rarely uses magic outside of classes in general)

☆Finn is haunted by the ghosts of the siblings that he devoured in the womb. They cause him intense fear and frequent nightmares that have been affecting him negatively for a while now. They also make a sense of dread settle over anyone who look in their direction (aka at Finn because they always hover around him)

Finn's Family:

Finn's Papa is Silas Clearcove, a butcher originally from the Abyss. His other dad, who unfortunately passed away before he was born, is Morrigan Clearcove

Timo Byun is Finn's big brother figure and was also his babysitter when he was younger. Gale Angeles is someone he views in a similar light, but also kind of as an uncle? Most of his Papa's staff are like aunts and uncles to him.

Alastair Blair and Ezra Citlalli are Finn's godfathers. He doesn't see them often but they do their best to visit when they can and make sure they spoil him.

@distant-velleity 's Chrysos eventually becomes Finn's adopted brother :) atm he's Finn's favourite first year, who Finn views as a little brother.

Finn has a grandmother on Morrigan's side, as well as several aunts, uncles and cousins. He barely sees them and dislikes all of them.

Backstory:

Finn's backstory isn't particularly long or complicated.

Hewas born under depressing circumstances, freshly after his dad's murder and after eating his own siblings who ended up attaching themselves to him permanently. Those things aside, though, he's had a fairly happy upbringing brought down only by the ghosts or his classmates who would either avoid or bully him. He became friends with octotrio during their time at the land boot camp, and they fell in love and got together by the end of their first year at NRC. Most of the important plot stuff for him happens after Yuu arrives tbh

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info

☆Finn has a lot of first aid knowledge and is part of the school's first aid team

☆Finn has made a number of friends during his time at NRC! To name a few, @ramshacklerumble 's Gia, @the-banana-0verlord 's Lilian, and @tixdixl 's Kinglsey. There's more as I have moots with many ocs who just vibe well with Finn XD

☆Finn's voice is incredibly soft and ASMR worthy. It's oddly calming though sometimes you'll have to ask him to speak a bit louder

☆He's very good at flying and enjoys it a lot

☆He listens out for information that will benefit Azul, since when not looking directly at him most students don't even notice he's there

☆He sometimes goes to the beach to swim and catch fish to eat and/or share with his friends and partners

Art by @/clovenoko

...........................................

A/N: Yaaaay my boy got a redo! I hope ya'll like it :P

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

@quartztwst @skibidibabygirl @paperclvps

@pinky27freak @minutewondertwist

[aimbutmiss]

I have been in a bughawk mood two nights in a row now but I've consumed all the available content so I've just been thrashing around restlessly- anyways I'm giving in I'm writing some headcanons let's go:

- Mihawk is a sloppy kisser. Like, what's the point if he's not basically tongue fucking someone?? Let's just say Buggy was NOT prepared. Their first kiss was so messy and it left Buggy breathless and he kind of wanted to punch Mihawk but also to kiss him again (he didn't have to choose as Mihawk quickly did the latter)

- They're both big on reading. Once they realised their shared interest they decided to start their own little book club. They mostly read romance because they think it's funny (but they also genuinely enjoy it, when it's well written...) Their favourite thing to do is talking about the smut scenes and trying to decipher the sex positions the characters are in. It's harder than it sounds. Bonus: Crocodile takes interest in their new found thing (purely because he thinks it's weird that they're getting along so well) and picks up the latest book they're reading when he sees it on a table. Let's just say he is mortified.

- Mihawk's garden is very personal to him. It's his one escape from everything, so he let's no one in (not that anyone would dare) There is however one exception to this rule, and that is Buggy. While the clown is usually very loud and flashy, he tends to get very quiet in privacy and Mihawk appreciates that. It's nice to have company sometimes. Whether Buggy is just sitting there doing whatever in silence, or he's reading to Mihawk as he tends to his vegetables, his presence has become a source of comfort. Mihawk would never admit it out loud but he almost prefers it to his solitude.

- Mihawk doesn't care for physical affection, but Buggy thrives on it. He loves cuddling, which is not something Mihawk is used to. He usually disappears after the nightly activities are done with. He's so used to leaving that it's exactly what he does after his first time sleeping with Buggy. The other man is so distraught the next day and it confuses Mihawk. Buggy's eyes are bloodshot and he's seemingly ignoring him. A quick confrontation makes him realise that the clown assumed he regretted the night before just because he wasn't there when he woke up. Mihawk never left him alone at night after that. And quite honestly, he's come to realise cuddling actually does feel nice.

- While Mihawk is not big on physical touch, he does love playing with Buggy's hands like a fidget toy. The contrast between their hands, his long, slim pale and manicured fingers against Buggy's slightly chubby, darker and clearly worked ones is fascinating to him. And they're so soft to the touch. He loves just detaching one hand from its owner and holding it when they're apart. When Buggy does eventually need the hand, if he does resist giving it back for a bit, its their little secret.

[tiramisuucakeee]

01. BRIOCHE ♪

IN WHICH: y/n, in the efforts of finding a quiet place to study, ends up in an unusual setting. a host club, and now, after a small mistake, she is forced to repay a debt as an assistant.

chapter one !

a warm breeze stirred the air around the high school courtyard, carrying the delicate pink petals of the cherry trees on its gentle currents. it was early, yes, but the entrance was already alive with the hum of conversation.

the chatter was a blur, discussions of extravagant vacations, vague mentions of family business, the usual gossip that floated through the air like empty confetti. to you, it was all noise, inconsequential and insufferable. but then again, in a place like this, perhaps it was to be expected.

you sighed softly, the sound lost in the rustling of the trees as you walked down the flower-laden path. you couldn't help but feel the weight of attention upon you. it was subtle, but unmistakable, the eyes that tracked your every move the second your footsteps disturbed the world. they weren't the kind of looks that belonged to friendly curiosity. no, these were sharper, calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey.

and you were the prey.

a girl who had somehow slipped through the cracks of this prestigious academy, not by wealth or connections, but by the wealth of knowledge packed into her mind. it had taken everything you had to get here, to prove you were worthy of a seat in this gilded world. if only you could turn that mental fortune into the kind of wealth these people took for granted.

for the past week, you’d been wearing simple clothes, an exception granted by the administration. the silky uniforms and the designer leather shoes felt like a costume, an armor meant to signify status that you could never afford to wear. it wasn’t that you were poor, not exactly. but compared to the others here, you might be in their eyes.

the private academy of ouran was defined by a few things. family status and wealth. it seemed that the students here had more time on their hands than they knew what to do with.

unlike you. if you wanted to stay here, you had to study. that was your main problem. despite the vast number of classrooms, you could never seem to find a quiet place.

room after room, they were filled with laughter, chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the rustling of pages. boys and girls gathered together - dancing, reading, talking - there was never a moment of silence.

you wandered through the hallways, up and down the grand staircases of the enormous building, searching for somewhere, anywhere, that might offer solitude. finally, you stopped in front of an abandoned classroom. it was music room 3.

holding your ear up to the tall door, you couldn’t make out any sound from the inside, so you decided that it was best to use this room before someone else found it.

clutching your book back closer, you opened the door.

you were instantly met with the sweet aroma of flowers and the soft notes of a piano drifting through the air. voices, light and inviting, mingled with the melody, gentle, like the first touch of a breeze.

“welcome to the host club,”

your mouth hung open as you took in the scene before you. the room looked like something straight out of a royal palace, a king’s master throne room, maybe. a grand piano sat in one corner, surrounded by elegant tables, delicate paintings, and fresh flowers. it was beautiful, extravagant, overwhelming.

but what really caught your attention were the people standing in the center of the room.

three guys. one was pale, his sharp features almost eerie, like something out of a gothic novel - if you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought he was a vampire. the next had delicate, almost ethereal beauty, his posture graceful, as if he were a princess from a fairy tale. the last had big, almost innocent eyes, reminiscent of a cat, and a mischievous smile to match.

beside them stood two girls. one had long, silky black hair that shimmered in the soft light, while the other was younger, with pink curly hair that bounced with every movement.

“a h-host club?” you managed to ask, as they blinked at your response, as if they assumed you knew what it was. you tightened your grip on your bag, still looking around in awe at the lavish decorations.

"oh, i recognize you. you're in my class," the tall girl said, her voice friendly but laced with curiosity. she turned to her friends and added, "she isn’t very talkative. she might be shy. i don’t know much about her."

that’s when it clicked. her face was familiar. she was always at the center of the classroom, surrounded by her friends, chatting, laughing, gossiping, and receiving gifts from boys, flashing that wide, effortless smile to anyone who’d give her attention. and there you were, always at the back of the room, near the window, trying to blend into the background.

“oh, how rude of us,” a boy then said, "you must not know what this is. welcome to the host club, new special student." his eyes practically gleamed with excitement at the words.

"what?!" the younger girl gasped, her pink curls bouncing with each step as she quickly ran toward you. "so you're the exceptional special student, y/n l/n?!" she blinked rapidly before smiling at you, her small hands reaching out to cling to your arm.

“how do you… know my name?” you asked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you took a small step back. but she only leaned in closer, her excitement overwhelming, like a child tugging at your sleeve for attention, or begging for games on a phone.

"well, the way this school works, it makes it very difficult for a commoner to get in," a guy from the group said, his tone casual, as though this was just another fact of life. "they say that if you don’t become a bookworm, it’s practically impossible to be accepted as a special student."

“huh, you’re so nice…” you rolled your eyes, prying the girl off of you, really not liking how they thought you were a ‘commoner’ just because you weren’t crazy rich.

"what i mean is, you're a hero, y/n," the guy continued, clearly getting carried away with his own thoughts. "even though you’re the number one student in the entire school, you're also the poorest one on campus." he pouted dramatically, his eyes wide with mock sympathy as if that somehow made you special.

you gave him a confused look, not sure whether to be offended or amused. "it’s not as bad as you’re making it seem," you replied, walking away from them, your feet moving closer to the door. you could feel their eyes on your back, watching your every step. "if you’ll excuse me..."

as your hand touched the door handle, you were suddenly yanked backward. the young girl had leapt onto your back, almost knocking you off balance. "wait, y/nnie, you’re a hero!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with childish wonder, as if she took every word he’d said literally. "you’re actually a hero!"

“agh-! no, i’m not not!” you managed to pry her off again, frustration edging your voice. "i'm just a special student, not some heroine- wait, who are you calling y/nnie?!" you shivered at the over-the-top enthusiasm that radiated from them, the extroverted energy that felt completely foreign to you.

the cat-eyed boy chuckled softly, his smile mischievous as he stepped closer behind you. "you know, i never imagined the famous y/n would be interested in the host club," he said, his voice smooth and teasing. "so, what's your type?"

"type? type of club…" you asked, your confusion clear on your face as you tried to make sense of his sudden question.

he cleared his throat dramatically before reaching out and gently grabbing your shoulders. without warning, he spun you toward the first boy, the one with the pale, almost otherworldly appearance. "the confident type?" he asked, his tone suggesting that it was the obvious choice.

you blinked, still not sure where this was going, but he wasn’t finished. he spun you again, this time facing the boy with the graceful, princely air. "the cool type?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

then, with a smooth grin, he turned you toward himself, his smile almost blinding. "or perhaps me, the charming type?" he finished, his voice dripping with playful confidence.

you blinked, swallowing hard, completely unsure of how to respond. the boy, however, misinterpreted your hesitation and gave a knowing grin. without giving you a chance to react, he started walking you toward the two girls.

"maybe you're into girls, like her," he said, pointing at the girl from your class, the one who looked so poised and elegant. "the elegant type?"

your eyes widened in realization, and a wave of panic surged through you. you quickly stopped him, pulling his hand off your shoulder. "n-no! no! i don’t-” you stammered, feeling heat rush to your face. "i'm not here for anything like that!" your heart pounded in your chest as you took a few steps back, each movement heavier than the last. "i'm just looking for a quiet place to study... i didn’t even know you all were doing a host club in this abandoned-"

your words were cut off as you backed into the corner of a table, the sharp edge catching you off guard. you stumbled, and the next thing you knew, the sharp sound of glass shattering filled the room.

they all immediately ran towards you, peering over your shoulder at the scene. a vase, once pristine and elegant, now lay in a million jagged pieces scattered across the floor.

“aw, that vase was our star product for the school’s auction, thats a shame,” the girl from your class sighed, as a boy placed a hand on her shoulder.

“yes, and to think that we could’ve easily made 8 million yen from it,” he said sadly.

"8 million yen?!" you turned to face them, the numbers suddenly swirling in your head. for a moment, it felt as if the ground was slipping away beneath you, but before you could completely lose your balance, you felt a hand steady you from behind.

the "confident" type had caught you, but you were too dazed by the shock to even notice the placement of his hand on your back.

"can you pay for it?" the younger girl asked innocently, her voice full of curiosity. "i mean, can you? since you can’t even afford the uniform." she added, making you sigh deeply in frustration. you opened your mouth to retort, but the words stuck in your throat.

"what should we do, jungwon?" the older girl asked, glancing at the boy with cat-like eyes. he was deep in thought, his posture composed as he silently observed the situation. after a moment, he sat down, never breaking eye contact with you.

he studied your cold, unamused face for a long beat, and then finally spoke.

"have you ever heard the saying, 'when in rome, do as the romans do'?" he asked, his tone calculating, almost as if he were waiting for you to understand something unsaid. his gaze didn’t waver. "from today on, you’ll be..."

"the host club's assistant!" jungwon announced, his voice full of confidence.

everyone else in the room stood in stunned silence, eyes wide as they took in the weight of his words. even the two girls seemed momentarily speechless, staring at him in awe, as if he’d just made the most logical statement in the world.

except for you.

you stood frozen, feeling the last bit of life drain from your body as the reality of the situation hit you. assistant? you? you, who had just been looking for a quiet place to study, now bound to some kind of never-ending responsibility in a place you didn’t even understand.

with the amount of money you owed them for the vase, there was no way out. you weren't going to be their "assistant." you’d be their prisoner. and not just for a day, not even for a year. no, you’d be stuck here - serving them - until you were old enough to be a grandma.

MASTERLIST.

NEXT CHAPTER.

BTW: jungwon is blond in this, sunghoon has dark hair, ricky has dark hair too, wonyoung never really changes color so she is dark brown hair, and iroha has pink hair.