#solitude book club

[johnnyricks]

[ventsesh24]

[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!

[xpeachy-keenx]

"a quiet unraveling" — h. star rail

PAIRING dan heng x fem!reader

TAGS masturbation. phone sex. voice kink.

Dan Heng awoke to the hum of the Astral Express, its rhythmic vibrations easing him into wakefulness. A faint beep of the data bank confirmed the files he'd uploaded overnight were complete, though he felt no hurry to leave his futon. Early morning suited him—a rare pocket of solitude before the day's obligations began.

Moments like these were precious. Here, he was able to distance himself from the fragmented nightmares lingering in the recesses of his mind. In this fleeting stillness, he almost believed he was simply a Nameless, adrift among the stars. Yet, as the Express hurtled through space, the next warp navigation meeting was still days away; a familiar weight of unresolved matters pressed on him. Adopting the name "Dan Heng" was supposed to be a fresh start; a chance to leave everything behind. Yet echoes of his former self clung to him, heavy and unshakable.

For now, though, the past could remain where it belonged.

Today was about the present.

He began his morning ritual, methodically checking the data bank to ensure he had uploaded everything and hadn't missed anything crucial. This could stretch on for hours if left undisturbed, though he knew March 7th or Pom-Pom would likely interrupt, as they always did. Absorbed in his work, Dan Heng took notes on streamlining the archives, refining the system with quiet efficiency. A knock at the door brought him back to reality.

He glanced at his phone.

10:58 AM.

The next part of his day would begin soon. Beyond the archives, the others would likely be gathered in the passenger car, their light chatter filling the space. Breakfast would be over now, and the Trailblazer would bring his energy and liveliness to the entire train. Dan Heng preferred to sit on the periphery of these instances, close enough to bask in the companionship but distant enough to maintain his peace. Watching the stars stream past in their endless darkness brought him a comfort he couldn't quite explain, a tranquility rivaled only by losing himself in a good book.

After being on his feet for hours, he stretched until his joints gave soft, satisfying pops, then crossed the room to unlock the door. He expected March, Pom-Pom, or perhaps Caelus. Instead, standing there, smiling as if you'd been expecting him, was you.

You were the crew's newest addition, having joined after the Express intervened in the Stellaron crisis on Jarilo-IV. Dan Heng had first encountered you at the Fight Club—a dim, smoky venue filled with the roar of a crowd hungry for spectacle. As an on-site medic, you navigated the chaos with purpose. Your hands moved with precision, tending to the injured with a practiced grace that made you seem unflappable.

"There's no stopping people from having their fun," you'd said, shrugging as you gave him a wry smile. "So, the least I can do is keep them out of Nat's clinic."

Your words hinted at something deeper beneath the calm exterior—a sadness Dan Heng recognized, a reflection of the Underworld's hardships. Perhaps it was how you coped by focusing on others' needs. He didn't pry. Just as he turned to leave, you stopped him.

"Hey, are you doing okay?"

The question caught him off guard. Had something slipped through his composure? His nights had been restless, plagued by nightmares he'd rather forget. And yet, your eyes held an awareness, a depth that searched beyond the surface.

"I'm fine," he replied curtly.

You tapped your chin, studying him. Then, with a faint smirk, you said, "But you're set on becoming the champion."

He crossed his arms, meeting your gaze with a quiet resolve. "I have my reasons." 

After a brief pause, he added, "It's practical."

You seemed to get the message, but your eyes lingered on him for a short time before you focused on the octagonal fighting ring.

"Just be careful with Sampo."

His thoughts had already moved on to the fight, but your warning stayed with him. There was something about you—your demeanor, the way you seemed to notice things others didn't—that unnerved him in a way he couldn't articulate. And as he stepped into the ring, your gaze lingered on him, carrying an intensity that seemed to trail after him, unspoken but persistent.

"Good morning, Dan Heng!" you greeted, a little breathless as you stood before him. "I hope I'm not interrupting. I'm almost done with the health check-ins, and you're the last one on my list." You hesitated for a second, then said, "I noticed you weren't at breakfast earlier."

He regarded you with polite neutrality. "Good morning. I didn't realize you were checking in with everyone. As for breakfast, I wasn't particularly hungry."

Smiling, you shifted your weight, a serene confidence in your stance. "I find it's helpful to check in with everyone one-by-one, especially while I'm still settling in."

"And how have your check-ins been going so far?"

"Pom-Pom's obsessed with everyone's diet and sleep routines," you said with a light chuckle. "I reassured them everything's fine, though I'm not sure they appreciated me asking if I could study them."

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow, subdued amusement in his expression. As you realized you were standing in his way, you stepped aside, mumbling an apology. He waved it off.

Falling into step beside him, you continued with, "Himeko was gracious and even offered me coffee, though I think she was testing my nerves. Is her coffee always that, uh …"

"It's less of a drink," he said dryly, "and more of a rite of passage."

Your laughter rang out, a genuine sound of surprise that caught even you off guard. The two of you made your way toward the dining car, your footsteps dampened by the carpeted floors. A warmth enveloped the train, the kind of comfort that seemed to invite ease without asking.

"Mr. Yang is as insightful as he is kind. I ended up listening more than talking. March kept things lively, as expected. We covered about a dozen topics in just a few minutes, mostly about her latest photos of everyone on the Express. And Caelus? Perceptive and straightforward, which is refreshing."

Dan Heng nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. "Sounds like you've gotten to know everyone fairly well, given it's only been a few days."

"I hope so. I'd like to be useful here."

Polished silver gleamed under the dining car's lights, crisp white tablecloths stretched taut over a long line of tables, and Pom-Pom had meticulously arranged delicate porcelain plates. Their attention to detail was obvious in every corner of the space, adding a homely elegance to the otherwise mechanical vastness of the Express.

"It's important to me that everyone knows I'm here to help," you said, glancing his way. "Even if it's just with a quick check-in."

Dan Heng stood at the kitchen's entrance, turning to you with a slight arch of his brow. "You're rather committed to this," he said, his words detached but carrying an undertone of curiosity.

"Just making sure I do a thorough job."

He hummed in acknowledgement, moving to the cabinets and retrieving items with deliberate motions. Tea leaves, honey, and a few other ingredients appeared on the counter in a neat array.

"Is this persistence part of the medic's protocol," he asked as he worked, "or is it more of a personal strategy?"

"A little of both, I think."

There was a playful lilt in your voice, and though his back was towards you, he sensed you were smiling.

"You seem to know how to keep your distance when you want to, so I thought I'd make it a bit harder for you to slip away."

He glanced at you then, a flicker of challenge sparking in his eyes. "Most people take the hint."

You were undeterred as you sized him up. "Well, I guess that makes me a little different. In the Underworld, part of my role was making sure no one was forgotten, even if they wanted to be left alone."

An underlying sense of homesickness colored your words. Dan Heng's expression softened almost imperceptibly, his hands pausing in their task. After a beat, he exhaled, a sound that was both resignation and subtle acceptance.

"Fine."

***

You sit across from him in the dining car, the space quiet except for the hum of the train and the faint click of utensils against a plate. The vastness of space outside the windows felt almost endless, a shimmering sea of stars, with Jarilo-IV a distant spark in the cosmic expanse. The sight is breathtaking, but you can't help but focus on him—Dan Heng, in his usual composed manner.

He's eating in peace, and you respect that. The stillness suited him, as if he's able to exist fully in it. But the notebook he's been writing in draws your attention. You've seen him do this every morning before breakfast—writing a page, his concentration absolute. You ask about it, your voice casual, though there's a curiosity with your words.

"It helps me prioritize what I should focus on in the archives for the day." 

His voice is low, even, and the way he said it led you to consider there was more behind the habit than mere organization. A coping mechanism, perhaps. You wanted to know more, but returned your focus to the window, not wanting to force him to talk. Life aboard the Astral Express was surreal. You arrived a few days ago, and the faces of Himeko, Welt, and Pom-Pom seemed like distant memories of a dream until you looked around and realized the reality of your situation.

The warp jump had been an experience in itself, one that left you nauseated, a reminder of how little you knew about this new world. And yet, despite the disorientation, you found a rhythm here. Dan Heng, though, remained a mystery. March complained about his aloofness, but didn't share that judgment. You've never felt slighted by him. There's something about his presence, stoic as it is, that makes you assume he's waiting for the right time to open up.

"It's hard to believe this is something you all get to see every day," you say before you realize it, your words hushed, almost absent. You've been staring at the stars for a while, but now you're aware of him watching you. His gaze follows yours, but he remains silent, as if lost in his own mind.

"Growing up," you continued, letting your fingertip trace patterns in the tablecloth, "if it weren't for Natasha and Oleg, I might not have even believed the sky was real. They described it perfectly, though I never expected it to be like this."

You fall quiet, your eyes drifting down to the table. It's a minor revelation, but you don't mind sharing it. Not with him. He's someone whose reserved nature invites secrets.

Dan Heng's voice broke the silence.

"Why'd you leave home? You seem like you miss everyone."

You make eye contact with him, the question settling over you. You rest your elbows on the table, more casual than you'd normally be in such a setting—Pom-Pom would definitely scold you for that. Still, you don't pull back.

"Of course, I miss them. But all I've ever known was the Underworld. Being there was like existing in the shadows of Natasha and Seele. As much as I love them, I needed to figure out who I could be on my own."

You paused, a faint smile touching your lips.

"We still keep in touch when we can, though. It helps, knowing they're a message away."

His expression relaxed, enough for you to recognize that your words reached him. "That's very insightful."

Your smile widened as you changed the topic. "So, what about you? Nothing too personal, I promise. Just—how's your sleep? Your diet? Your stress levels?"

He hesitates, lips parted, like he's weighing his answer. You waited, letting the silence stretch between you, but you didn't push. You know what it's like to be asked questions you don't want to answer. And there's something in the way he's looking at you now, as if he knows that you're not asking out of casual curiosity.

"I'm getting by."

You noticed the way his eyes held yours with a subtle intensity. It's almost as if he's hiding something. You tempered the moment with a gentle smile, closing your eyes briefly before looking away.

"It's not the most reassuring answer," you say with a chuckle, "but I'll take it."

You leaned back, hoping to put him at ease. "Just so you know, I'm here as a friend first. I might have medical training, but you don't have to treat me like I'm a professional. I thought knowing a little might help me understand how to support you should you ever need it."

Your words hung in the air for an instant, and you wondered if he'd say anything in response. Instead, his gaze held steady, contemplative but unreadable, leaving you unsure if he appreciated your sentiment or simply tolerated it.

You checked the time on your phone, feeling a pang of regret. "Actually, Pom-Pom is helping me set up the medbay today, so I should probably get going. Sorry if I'm cutting this short."

You stood, tucking your chair back under the table, though your attention lingered on him for a moment longer.

"Oh—one last thing."

You hesitated, hoping the question wouldn't seem too intrusive. "Would it be alright if I visited the archive room sometime? There might be some information in the data bank that could be useful for me."

His expression didn't change as he gave a small shake of his head. "No, I don't mind."

"Great. Thanks, Dan Heng."

You smiled again, warm but not overbearing, then turned to leave.

"I'll see you later."

***

There had been a change to his routine.

It was subtle at first, slipping by unnoticed until it was too late to ignore. Another two days had passed since you'd asked to visit the archives, and you followed through on that request, stopping by during the late hours when the two of you were often the only ones awake.

On a night when a brutal nightmare robbed him of sleep, Dan Heng discovered your shared insomnia. He'd woken in a cold sweat, the remnants of the dream clinging to him, and knew then that sleep would not return.

The dimly lit cars of the Express greeted him as he exited the archives, their quietness broken only by the train's droning. He moved through the corridors, intending to brew tea in the kitchen to keep himself occupied. But as he passed the medbay, he noticed light spilling from beneath the door, followed by the faint sounds of shuffling papers and rustling fabric—sounds magnified in the stillness. Dan Heng hadn't intended to stop. Yet, as he retraced his steps, tea in hand, a frustrated groan caught his attention.

"Ugh, no, that's not right."

Curiosity tugged at him, and before he could think better of it, he stepped closer. The door slid open just as you were about to leave, bleary-eyed, dark circles visible under your eyes.

"Oh, Dan Heng," you said, blinking in surprise, "you shouldn't be up this late. Or early."

"I could say the same for you," he replied, glancing at the room's interior.

Textbooks, notebooks, and loose pages lay scattered across a table in an organized chaos.

"Mm, touché." You rubbed your eyes and stifled a yawn before tilting your head at him. "So, what brings you here? Need help with something?"

"I heard you talking to yourself. I thought something might be wrong."

Your face scrunched up in frustration before you gestured toward the medbay. "Got a minute? I could use another set of eyes on this."

Without waiting for an answer, you ushered him inside and handed over a stack of handbound papers. As Dan Heng flipped through the first few pages, he noted the dense shorthand and intricate diagrams you'd scrawled across the margins.

"Because of the Underworld's exposure to artificial light and polluted air, a lot of residents are developing something we've started calling 'shadow-light affliction.' You'd think vitamin D supplements and air purifiers would help, but so far, the results have been underwhelming. Nat and I are stuck. Nothing adds up."

You exhaled heavily, glancing off to the side, your expression clouded with fatigue. "And now she's noticing signs of cold exposure in Overworlders, symptoms that don't respond to the usual remedies. We'd need to create a solution practically from scratch just to get a handle on these cases."

As you trailed off, Dan Heng scrutinized you. He noted the weight of your words and the way your shoulders sagged; the faint sway in your stance betraying your lack of rest.

There was a pregnant pause.

"You're carrying a lot with this work," he said finally. "But if anyone can work it out, it's you. Just—remember to take care of yourself, too. Rest is as important as any of this."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." You slumped into the chair at your desk, rubbing your forehead. "But honestly, I can't go back to sleep right now. Even if I wanted to."

The similarity of your predicament struck Dan Heng, but he offered no response, preferring not to pry.

"Mm, well, I have this trick."

You paused, too tired to register the implication of your words. The moment it clicked, you sat up abruptly, rushing to clarify. "No, not like that! I mean, I just, uh—"

Dan Heng blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Though his expression remained passive, his lips twitched as he held back a smirk.

"You're certainly creative. Maybe save your 'tricks' for after you've gotten a few system hours of rest."

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. "Please, just. Forget I said anything."

Despite your embarrassment, a soft laugh escaped you, breaking the tension. Dan Heng allowed the incident to pass without further comment, his attention switching to your scattered notes and research.

"If you're insistent on staying awake," he said, "I have a few entries that touch on the physiological effects of prolonged exposure to extreme conditions. There's also a section on terraforming technology and its unintended side effects. It might give you a new angle to approach your research."

From that night onward, he collaborated—if only loosely—on your research. He offered an outsider's perspective, someone you could bounce ideas off of. Dan Heng hadn't mentioned it, but your decision to involve him in your work gave him a chance to improve his own understanding of medicine, a skill he sorely lacked.

"Speaking of which," he asked one night, breaking the stillness as he read through your notes, "how does one properly perform CPR?"

You blinked at him. "Wait, are you saying you don't know? After you—"

"I … thought I did."

You were stunned as you burst out laughing. "Alright, I'll explain the basics of CPR to you. Give me a minute."

You didn't mind answering his occasional questions, and he didn't mind offering his feedback.

Then came the morning of the warp navigation meeting.

Dan Heng had spent the night haunted by the same recurring nightmares, only this time, the man in them addressed him. His words were sharp, cutting deeper than the blade he possessed, leaving a gnawing sense of dread. When he woke, his eyes darted around the confines of his room, half-expecting to find the shadowy figure lurking in the corners.

A sudden knock at his door startled him.

"Dan Heng, come on! You're going to be late to the meeting!" March's muffled voice cut through the haze.

He closed his eyes, letting her voice ground him, pulling him back from the nightmare's grip. This is real, he reminded himself. He wasn't drifting from ship to ship, hunted by the ghost of his past. He was here, on the Astral Express—a place that had given him purpose, structure, and a semblance of stability. But why now? Why did that mean return just as he'd found his footing? Did he not deserve peace?

"Dan Heng—"

"I'll be out in a minute!"

The words came out sharper than intended, and he winced at his tone. He needed to apologize to March later; there was no reason to lash out at her, or anyone for that matter. No one aboard the Express couldn't have known what troubled him. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to steady the emotions threatening to spill forth.

For what seemed like an eternity, he stayed curled on his side, willing the storm to pass. A faint vibration drew his attention, followed by the glow of his phone screen. When it buzzed a second time, he grabbed it, ready to shut it off—until the message on the lock screen stopped him.

9:48 AM I know sometimes space is what you need, so feel free to ignore this but just wanted to say: if there's anything bothering you, I'm here.

9:50 AM I'm pretty good at listening. Or being a distraction if you'd prefer that. Take your time.

Dan Heng stared at your message, reading it over and over as if the words might change. Slowly, he unlocked his phone, hesitating before typing out a reply.

9:58 AM Okay. Thank you.

Your response came almost immediately: an emoji of Pom-Pom giving a thumbs up. Despite himself, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. With a deep breath, he finally pulled himself together. But as soon as he stepped out of the archives, he sensed something was wrong.

March and Caelus were waiting for him, their faces tight with urgency as they explained what had happened in his absence.

The Stellaron Hunters.

The Xianzhou Luofu.

Dan Heng's stomach churned at the mention of the two, but exhaustion dulled the sharp edges of his fear. His past was catching up to him far sooner than he'd hoped. He spent the rest of his day in the archives, poring over books and articles with single-minded determination. The entries on the Xianzhou Alliance were sparse—a patchwork of historical notes that predated his arrival on the Express. He'd avoided this subject for so long, unwilling to confront the painful memories it unearthed.

He instead examined the entries you contributed to. Before you, the archive had been technical; territory he'd navigated with confidence. But with your updates, it has evolved, now reflecting more nuanced and practical perspectives. His name was no longer the main one listed among the editors, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Tearing his eyes from the screen, he checked his phone.

11:45 PM.

No new messages from you. Still, he was certain you'd be awake at this hour. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, watching the cursor blink back at him. 

What should he say? 

Should he ask for updates on your research or start with something casual? 

He frowned, chastising himself for overthinking something as simple as a text message. With a sigh, he typed out a brief text and slid his phone into his pocket, resolving to refocus on the data bank. The cursor on the terminal's screen seemed to mock his lack of progress, blinking insistently as his thoughts refused to align. 

Then, his phone vibrated, the feeling startling in the otherwise still space.

Your name lit up the screen.

He rarely received calls, having expounded that he preferred texts unless it was an emergency. The sudden disruption sent his mind racing. Without hesitating, he answered, holding the phone to his ear.

"Hello? Are you in any trouble?"

There was no response—only faint static on your end. Dan Heng's heart raced, his thoughts spiraling as fear clawed at him. His mind was a minefield, primed by his nightmares and the threat of the Stellaron Hunters.

"Are you there? What's going on?" he pressed, gripping his phone.

The static intensified, and his breath hitched as he strained to hear anything that might suggest your current situation. Then, through the interference, he caught a faint sound.

A soft noise.

Was that… No. It had to be something else. He held his breath, listening intently, hoping for clarity.

Another sound followed—a muffled sigh, perhaps, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric. The static ebbed, and the noise came again, clearer this time.

A moan.

Dan Heng froze, his thoughts grinding to a halt as realization dawned on him. His pulse thumped in his ears as he felt heat rise to his face. The sound was unmistakable now, and the detailed image it conjured in his mind was disconcerting, to say the least.

He should hang up. He knew this. But his hand refused to move. His mind, clouded by exhaustion and an already chaotic day, wrestled with the lewd mental image of you in such an intimate moment.

For a fleeting second, Dan Heng wondered if you knew he was on the line; if this was a mistake, or if…

No.

He cut the thought short. Yet, the fragmented memories that resurfaced complicated everything further. He couldn't pinpoint where they came from—his previous life or an echo of something more distant—but they stirred emotions he wasn't ready to confront.

Dan Heng clenched his jaw, finding the resolve to move. His thumb hovered over the disconnect button. And yet, he hesitated.

Why had his memories become so realistic suddenly? Was it his proximity to the Luofu? His frustration mounted as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He'd trained himself in meditation during his time in the Shackling Prison—the only form of control he'd had in the suffocating isolation of his freezing, dimly lit cell. He'd sworn to never lose control ever again, never let his emotions cloud his judgement like they had in the past.

He should just hang up.

He should forget this ever happened and pretend he hadn't overheard you in the throes of passion. But then his phone crackled with the sound of your voice.

"Shit. Hello? Dan Heng, are you there?"

His throat tightened as he held the phone closer, his fingers curling around the device. He didn't know what to say, if he should say anything at all. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing with questions he wasn't sure how to answer.

Then, the call clicked, and you hung up.

He stood still, phone in hand, staring at the screen. The call had lasted five minutes—plenty of time for him to have hung up earlier. Plenty of time for you to think he'd been eavesdropping on purpose. His phone vibrated again, flashing your name. Dan Heng was reluctant to answer, but he knew he couldn't just ignore the situation.

He answered the call after the third ring.

You spoke as soon as the call connected, but he missed the beginning of what you said.

"… There all along?"

Dan Heng became distracted by the data bank powering back up. His fingers fumbled as he tried to occupy himself with something. 

"You called me."

There was a brief silence on your end, followed by the sound of you moving, the thump of what he assumed was your bed.

"I did? Oh, Aeons, I did."

You sounded embarrassed, and the mumbled words that followed were too quiet for him to hear. Dan Heng tapped the edge of the terminal's screen, unsure what to say. He wasn't good at comforting people, and this situation—this strange moment—left him feeling like he was treading dangerous waters. He wanted to hang up, retreat to his thoughts, and leave the night behind, but you insisted.

"'How's your progress with the articles I sent you? If they don't suit you, I've found others that might help.'"

He realized you were reading the message he'd sent earlier.

"You don't have to—"

"It's going okay," you interrupted, your voice wavering a bit. "They were helpful. Thank you."

Silence fell between you, thick with unspoken words. He missed the faint buzz of static on your side, though he didn't acknowledge it any further.

"I need to sort through the information to pick out what's relevant. But that's not a bad thing. I've been enjoying it, even outside of research purposes."

His brows furrowed as he listened. You were rambling, attempting to smooth over the tension. Each time he opened his mouth to respond, you intervened, your nervous energy palpable even through the phone.

"Listen—"

"Oh, uh, and are you doing okay? I mean, from earlier today? You didn't come out of your room except for dinner, and even then, you didn't sit with anyone. I was worried something—"

"Listen," he said, cutting through your flurry of words. "It was an accident. We don't have to talk about it, so there's no need to act this way."

The line went quiet. You sighed, the sound crackling through the speaker and sending an odd shiver up his spine.

"Yeah. You're right. Look, I'm sorry—"

He cleared his throat, interrupting before you could go off on a tangent again.

"Oh, right. Sorry!"

He waited to see if you'd say anything else. He wanted this conversation to be over. His thoughts were already a mess, and he didn't have the energy to navigate this interaction any further.

"Well, if that's all, we can hang up now."

There was more rustling on your end, followed by your voice, softer but coherent. "Already? I mean—" you faltered, then said, "Did you want to talk for a bit?"

He frowned. Why were you so insistent on staying on the phone?

"I'd swing by the archives, but, you know."

He sighed through his nose. 

"And I'm feeling kind of tired. But not tired enough to fall asleep," you said, trailing off.

He turned his attention back to the terminal, scrolling through entries and sorting them. His gaze landed on one titled Synesthesia Beacons. Skimming through the text, he searched for errors or anything to divert from his inner turmoil. Perhaps you'd drift off soon and he could end the call.

"Dan Heng?"

Your voice was thick with sleep now, gentle as you said his name. His earlier feelings—the agitation sparked by your call and the memories it had dredged up—hung around, leaving him tense. He rolled his shoulders to ease the burden, growing tired of standing in place.

"Yeah?"

"I meant what I said before. I asked Mr. Yang and Himeko, but they said you should be the one to tell it. If you choose to."

He closed his eyes, deciding he was done with the data bank for now. Dan Heng crossed the room, stepping onto the elevated panel glowing with a serene, looping scene of the ocean's waves, before sitting at the high-back chair underneath his desk. His workspace was free of clutter, except for a clipboard and pen. He recognized it as the questionnaire you'd given everyone to fill out. He started on it, filling out basic info, but a few of the fields asking for age and so forth had given him pause.

"It's complicated."

He stared at the massive navigation screen along the back wall, watching as the icon representing the Express grew closer to the Luofu. "But … I had a nightmare. That's all."

You hummed softly before saying, "It must've been pretty bad if it bothered even you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

You let out a breathy laugh.

"I didn't mean it as an insult, I promise. You just reminded me of Seele. She wouldn't open up when something was bothering her, either. Not until she caught me stealing her comic books, anyway."

Your voice lowered as you stifled a yawn. "I bring all of that up to say you shouldn't keep your emotions bottled up inside. Especially when you're surrounded by people who care about you and your well-being."

Dan Heng's response was immediate. "My past is my burden and mine alone."

You sighed, resigned but not unkindly. "Alright, did you find anything new in the data bank to help me?"

That was a task he could handle. He'd been compiling his findings—passages and records featuring techniques similar to the ones you'd mentioned. All of it neatly filed into a folder with your name on it.

Opening it up, he responded, "Of course. Where would you like me to start?"

"The beginning."

So he did.

He filled the next couple of minutes with the sound of his voice, reading aloud. At some point, he forgot his aversion to phone calls, so absorbed divulging information. It wasn't until fatigue crept in that he finally glanced at the time.

12:28 AM.

How long had you two been talking?

He pulled the phone away from his ear, the screen brightening to reveal the call timer: thirty-seven minutes and counting. He replaced the phone on his ear and called out to you.

"Hello?"

At first, there was nothing, and he thought you might've fallen asleep. Then the faint crackle of the speaker carried your voice through.

"Sorry, I'm still here. I just zoned out."

Though the excuse didn't entirely convince him, he chose not to press.

"Has anyone told you your voice is soothing?"

His brows furrowed as he twirled the pen between the fingers of his free hand. "No, I can't say anyone has."

"Well, let me be the first," you said, your smile noticeable in your tone. "You've got the perfect voice for reading, like one of those audiobook narrators."

Another pause followed. This time, Dan Heng thought you might be drifting off again, but he didn't hang up. He should have, he realized that. Sleep was a necessity, especially for someone like him. But the thought of closing his eyes brought with it a panic. The nightmares would come again, as they always did, leaving him paralyzed and vulnerable. He hated that feeling—how it compared to the Shackling Prison, trapping him with his thoughts and leaving no way to fight back.

Instead, he stayed on the line, your presence a balm for his state of mind as he tried to hold on to this fragile thread of connection.

"If you don't mind, could you keep going?"

But immersing himself in engaging activities kept his thoughts at bay. Even though he was aware, you weren't paying close attention, likely lulled more by his voice than the content of his words, he continued reading. You stayed mostly quiet, occasionally murmuring to let him know you were still there. Soon after, Dan Heng grew tired of sitting in the chair. Standing with a stretch, he cradled the phone against his shoulder, picked up a tablet, and moved toward his bedroll on the floor.

He'd already changed into his nightclothes earlier in the evening, preferring the privacy of late-night showers when the rest of the crew had turned in. Settling on top of the blanket, he crossed his legs and placed the tablet in his lap.

"'Recent advancements from the teachings of Yaoshi have unveiled new methods to utilize THEIR blessing of long-life. Primarily in fields related to cellular regeneration,'" he said, fighting back a yawn.

Then, unprompted, you said, "I get nightmares too, sometimes."

Dan Heng inhaled deeply, lowering the tablet as he listened.

"I guess that makes me a bit of a hypocrite, huh? I find it hard to talk about them more than anything. So … I get what you mean."

"For the record," you continued, "this isn't some strategy to convince you to open up. You don't have to tell me anything you're uncomfortable sharing." 

You shifted around, a yawn punctuating your sentence, coaxing another from him in return. Then, a small sigh. "It's just … wow, this really is hard. I should probably apologize to Seele, huh?"

"The same should apply to you. You don't have to force yourself to share anything that makes you uncomfortable."

You let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I guess. But where's the fun in that? If you want to get closer to someone, you've gotta be open about the good and bad, right?"

Dan Heng's fingers toyed with the hem of his T-shirt as he asked, "Like that night in the medbay?"

He half-expected you to stammer or grow flustered, the way you had before. Instead, you softly exhaled. "Right. See, this is one thing I like about you. You don't beat around the bush."

His body tensed, a strange paradox of calm and unease overtaking him. Was he imagining the way your words teased him? Testing the waters, poking at some reaction he wasn't sure how to explain?

"I see no point in riddles. It's best to be direct."

You spoke aloud your agreement.

"Which brings me to my next question: why don't you stop beating around the bush and tell me what it is you want from me?"

The atmosphere becomes heavy and charged. Dan Heng laid back on his futon, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he waited for your response. Part of him wanted to check if the call dropped, but your voice returned—playful and suggestive.

"Was I too obvious?"

He didn't respond, sensing it was your last attempt to deflect, to sidestep whatever topic you were circling.

"Fine. I was thinking … maybe we could do a little more than just talking?"

"Need I remind you that you're the one insisting we stay on the phone?"

"Yeah, but what's stopping you from hanging up?"

Dan Heng worried his bottom lip as your laughter filtered through the speaker at his lack of response. How had you two reached this point? Though his past and the Luofu no longer dominated his thoughts, others, deeper and just as invasive, took their place.

He hadn't known you for long. The time between leaving Jarilo-IV and the upcoming stop at the Luofu had been about a week, yet it seemed you were always there, carving a place in the quiet corners of his life.

This seemed common among passengers who found permanence on the Astral Express. Himeko and Welt offered him stability and purpose. March constantly pulled him out of his shell, challenging his self-imposed boundaries. The Trailblazer encouraged him to take a more active role during their journey, pushing him further into the dynamics of their little crew.

But you?

Something about you unsettled him—something different. Your approach to him was distinct from how you treated everyone else, though he couldn't decide whether this was intentional. Would you finally be forthcoming with him now?

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Now look who's beating around the bush."

"I'm not," he replied, though the hesitation in his voice betrayed him. "I just wanted to see if you'd say it first."

There was movement on your end, punctuated by your voice, now closer and quieter. 

"Can you help me get off, Dan Heng? I can't fall back asleep."

Heat flared under his skin, searing through his veins and creeping up his neck. His thoughts shattered the mental restraints he had forged, turning against him.

The sounds of you tossing and turnings painted graphic images he couldn't suppress—your body arching against the sheets, your breath hitching as you sought release. This time, you wouldn't stifle your moans, and he'd hear every desperate, intimate sound in its entirety.

Memories surfaced involuntarily, segments of reactions he'd assumed were long buried. His fingers curled into his blanket, mimicking the way he'd once held another. Now, his mind weaved you into these memories, wondering how it would feel if it were you.

"What should I do to help?"

***

You kicked off the blankets, the stifling heat beneath the sheets making it impossible to stay still as the early morning hours dragged on. You pressed the phone firmly to your ear, giving your full attention to every sound from Dan Heng's side. Since growing closer to him, you'd longed for something deeper—something beyond the quiet conversations and shared moments. The suspense overwhelmed you, pulling taut whenever you were near him. Sometimes, you were certain he understood your feelings; other times, you suspected he was completely oblivious.

Calling him tonight had been a mistake—a clumsy slip of your finger—but it had turned into an unignorable opportunity. Dan Heng had consumed your thoughts and claimed the focus of your restless dreams on the rare nights you had sweet ones. And now, as his voice crackled faintly in your ear, you wondered just how much further this might go.

Your vibrator, once neglected, now demanded your attention as your hand found its familiar, smooth shape. Silicone warmed under your touch as you held it, your finger circling over the power button. You didn't turn it on just yet; the anticipation drawing out the burgeoning intimacy as you searched for the right words.

"Could you …" you wavered, voice breaking before you swallowed. "Tell me what you're thinking about right now?"

The line went dead until his voice came through again. It was low and smooth, laced with a breathlessness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I'm not used to saying things like this, but I … I really want to touch you."

"Yeah?"

Your hand worked its way lower. "Like where?"

The pauses between his replies stretched longer now, each one heightening the ache between your thighs. The earlier interruption to your orgasm came back with force, leaving you writhing against your sheets. When he spoke again, his words unraveled in a way that left no room for restrictions.

"Everywhere. All over your body."

Your hand slid to your thigh, squeezing the flesh as your mind painted titillating pictures of him. You'd seen the strength Dan Heng concealed behind his icy demeanor—the same strength he displayed in battle. He didn't need anyone to watch his back in the ring. Now, you imagined that power turned toward you, but not in combat. His hands grazing your skin, running along your thighs as he worked you to the edge, his movements painstaking and deliberate. The thought alone made you impatient, and you didn't wait any longer; turning on the vibrator with a faint click.

"Are you touching yourself?"

The rasp of his voice sent a jolt straight through you. The sheer audacity of his question, paired with the rawness of his tone, left you breathless.

"Yeah."

You trailed the vibrator along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasing yourself with the intense vibrations. In your mind, you pictured him laid out on his futon, staring at the ceiling, his composure coming undone. The way his chest would rise and fall, the faint pink dusting of his cheeks, the soft part of his lips as he breathed your name. He was only a few steps away. The thought of closing the distance tempted you.

"Sorry," his voice was but a growl, as if fraying at the edges. "I can't think straight—"

"I wish you were here touching me instead," you gasped when you brushed against your mons, rolling your hips at the feeling.

You circled the tip of your vibrator around yourself, keeping the touch light as you brushed above your clit. You forced yourself not to give in just yet, prolonging the sensuous torture. It became difficult for you to suppress the noises threatening to force its way past your lips.

"I … don't know what you're doing to me," Dan Heng groaned into your ear, his breathing picking up through the phone. "I keep imagining … your hands. Your body. The way you'd look."

The vibrator in your hand hummed, but his voice drowned out everything else, sending heat pooling in your stomach. You move it lower, sinking the tip into your wetness to coat it in slick before pressing it against the side of your clit. Your muscles tightened as you clenched around nothing.

"What else?"

He sucked air through his teeth. "You're asking a lot out of me."

You held your phone overhead, switching the call to speakerphone to free your other hand. Your fingers trailed along your dripping wet opening without hesitation, the anticipation making you break out in goosebumps.

"And yet … you're still here."

A disbelieving huff escaped him. 

"You're insatiable."

You bit your lip, sliding your fingers inside and curling them upward. The pressure made your walls clench around them as you pressed deeper, a fine sheen of sweat breaking across your skin. Moans and uneven breaths filled your room.

"Dan Heng," you whimpered, swallowing hard against the dryness in your throat. "Please … keep talking."

The squelching of your fingers added to the intoxicating atmosphere. When he spoke again, his voice was smooth as silk, a thread of control barely masking his own unraveling.

"Your skin. I want to know if it's as soft as I imagine … to hear the sounds you'd make if I touch you."

Your breath hitched, and his next words were a direct response.

"I wonder what you'd sound like … if I were the one making you feel this way."

Your vibrator shook in your hand as you pressed it closer, intensifying with each tight circle over your swollen clit. His voice was the only tether grounding you to reality, an unfair weapon in his control. You swore he was there beside you, his breath fanning across your ear as he influenced your every movement.

"I want to hear you. Say my name."

The coil in your abdomen tightened. Your hips arched, caught in the push and pull of pleasure, as you sobbed his name. Thighs trembling and clenching around your arm, you sank your fingers as deep as they could go, your release crashing over you in a wave. A final, keening cry escaped your lips as your body melted into the bedsheets.

You basked in the afterglow, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The bliss that engulfed you like nothing you'd achieved alone before. Your heavy eyelids fluttered shut and sleep pulled you under when his voice cut through the fog.

"Are you still there?"

You hummed groggily.

"I just wanted to say … good night."

Your eyes snapped open, and you snatched your phone from the pillow beside you. You switched off speakerphone and brought it to your ear.

"Wait. Don't go."

"But you're about to fall asleep, aren't you?"

You chewed your lip. "Maybe. But … I don't want this to be a one-off thing."

The silence on his end stretched on, fear tightening in your chest. Had you misread his feelings? Before doubt consumed you, Dan Heng offered you a calm reassurance.

"I … I wasn't planning to leave things as they are. We'll talk about it later. For now, just rest," he said, the gentle sincerity in his voice easing your worries.

"I'll still be here."

xpeachy-keenx. 2024. do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.

[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)

[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

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@staygoldsquatchling02 @gigiiiiislife @kameyyy @grassbutneo @kentocalls

@jellychannie @starry-magicshop @anonymity-222 @rriwyu @loveyislost

@stargirllost @fushiguruuzzzz @boosyboo9206 @wyrcan @nekozaki

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

[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)

[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

[slay00ryu]

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

[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: Butterfly Studies 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 (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 @devosin

@pinky27freak

[johnnyricks]

Damn, Liesel might be my favourite character

[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.

[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.

[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? i mean, i guess i do like dancing…" 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 ‘tick tack’ era hair.

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Hi! I've recently found out Triaina Academy, and woah...I love it really, really much. Especially Robin/Ren, fell in love with them on my first playthrough, and they've been my favorite RO ever since! Look forward to more in the future<3 And, if you don't mind me asking, if there were after-school clubs in TA, what club would each RO join?

Haha thank you for enjoying my work! let's see...

E: Probably an easy one, they'd love the track and field club, perhaps also doubling up with the cooking club.

R: A geology or poker club. No worries, they don't bet with money... that often.

L: A book club would be pretty obvious. They find out they're the only member, but they are quite used to reading in solitude anyways.

V: They've been banned from the gardening club after ripping out all of the flowers to search for worms in the planter boxes.

P: They're in the go home club. They don't care for doing anything more in the academy, plus all of the recruiters have done their best to avoid crossing paths with them.

M: Also in the go home club, because they fell asleep halfway through any of the recruiter's offers.

K: Photography club! Subsequently banned after only showing up with pictures of you. "Too invasive" they said!

S: If there was an autoshop club, they'd be all on board, if only to have all the tools needed to fully maintenance Sandrider.

F: Gardening club. They would bring it upon themselves to become the head of it after seeing the dismal state people were keeping the flora in.

Thank you for the ask! I hope you enjoy haha