#this was painful and yet very interesting to write about!

[littleglutton]

I am one of those people living on a damn prayer that Astra will be the final love interest of LaDS. Why? Well, I can drop the 10-page essay sitting in my drafts about it, but why do that when I can write some good ol' angsty and speculative prose instead? This could be along the right lines or completely dead wrong, but take it as it is: some fiction about another piece of fiction. I wrote this for fun and for feelings. Come yell at me in the tags or comments and let me know if you would want to read a Part 2 with even more angst.

per aspera ad astra

— "through suffering, to the stars"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Astra, a young god, who saw you for a fleeting moment and instantly fell harder and faster than any other.

You were the first mortal he ever met.

Astra, a devoted god, who loved you deeply enough to give you his own heart so that you could stay by his side when he learned your mortal heart wasn't strong enough.

Astra, a broken god, who lost you too soon because even the gods could not stop the threads of fate from weaving their tragic web.

Astra, a mourning god, who broke the rules of foresight to find you again and watched in despair as you fell in love with another and not him.

Never again would it be him.

Astra, a desperate god, who sought to keep you, even if it meant keeping your sorrow and your disdain. Even as he witnessed his own fate of a love unfulfilled. Unrequited.

He would take your hatred over your absence.

Astra, a jealous god, who would mark each lover who would ever cross your path with tragedy and pain.

Astra, a bitter god, who gave an onerous gift to one who would love you in many lives, making sure that love would never bloom.

Astra, a petty god, who encouraged a young sea god to chase after a love that would doom his very people. 

Astra, a malevolent god, who answered the prayers of a desperate prince with a double-edged sword, offering him the path of his people's salvation, only to trap him in a gilded cage.

Astra, a spiteful god, who delivered the last dragon the catalyst of both his freedom and demise.

If he could never have you, no one else would.

Astra, a vengeful god, who tore the heavens apart to keep finding you through every rebirth and timeline, not truly understanding the chaos he brought to humanity's doorstep.

The deepspace tunnel was never an accident.

Astra, a fallen god, who was stripped of grace and reborn into a prison of human flesh; made to atone for everything he had wrought upon you and those who dared love you.

Astra, no longer a god, who had no memories of his past divinity, only an ache of rage and agony that manifest in the form of a relentless and destructive energy coursing through his entire being until he is bursting with it.

Astra, no longer a god, whose torment becomes the power of storms. Energy builds beneath his skin until even the air is charged with a metallic tang. With a surge, that energy becomes tangible, and lightning visibly cracks across his hands and fingers. The evol fills his eyes with a silvery, otherworldly glow.

Your very fear had become his strength. 

Astra, no longer a god, rails against his fate with every breath and fiber of his being, not knowing why it feels as if the weight of eons is crushing him into oblivion. All he knows is that for as long as he can remember, it felt as if he were born with a broken heart, with the jagged shards that were left digging themselves into his very soul.

He wishes he could rip them out, one by one.

Astra, no longer a god, who has yet to meet you in this life but has already begun the machinations of your destruction. He doesn't know you, doesn't understand why he does what he does, only that he must stop the eternal ache of the void in his chest from swallowing him whole. Whatever it takes to stop the pain, whatever he needs to do to fill the empty hollow, he vows to find it.

Time passes.

The search becomes an all-consuming obsession. One he builds his life around.

Always. 

Ever.

Astra, no longer a god, hears about a strange girl. Her heart is an anomaly, but it's strong. She survived the experiments. There's something there; an unseen power lying dormant in her heart.

If I take her heart, maybe I could survive too.

Astra, no longer a god, plays a pretend god.

He casts his web of chaos and destruction with your coveted heart at its center. Without ever meeting you, your life is slowly and meticulously picked apart by his hands. Tragedy befalls you again and again, close to breaking you.

Astra, the pretend god, shatters your family with a single, unfeeling order.

Bloomshore was never an accident.

This is enough to break you.

He plucks the one closest to you from the edge of death and offers him the chance to stand by your side again in exchange for control. 

He doesn't need to say it's control over you that he's after.

He learns your motives. Memorizes your tells. You move exactly where he wants you to be as if he positioned you into place himself like his very own doll. He can almost taste the victory of it filling the gaping maw where his heart should be.

He's so close now. The endgame is in sight. 

Everything is set.

Everything.

Ever…

“Will you love me forever?”

The words are whispered against his chest, softly, sweetly… but your voice is weak, fading. He can feel your life waning, slipping through his fingers like sand in the wind. He clings to you tightly, arms trying desperately to secure what could never be held. 

“Forever and ever and ever. For eternity. Until time itself turns my bones to dust and gives my very soul back to the stars, I will love you.”

Astra meets your eyes for the very first time in this life and remembers everything.

And so it seems, do you.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[peggyao3]

Kaleidoscope

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: In a fight for freedom or death against the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, his woman figures out how she feels about him, her poor devil wrapped in the skin of a beast.

WORD COUNT: 2,750

TAGS: Third person POV, AFAB she/her FMC, explicit sexual content,  rough sex, PiV, Switch!Feyd, Switch!FMC, but mostly Dom!Feyd, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, blood and injury, pain kink, blood kink, extremely dubious consent, gory nasty smut, blood for lube, mutilation, very public sex, and they lived happily ever after

A/N: Happy FEYDUARY! 🖤 Pulling this one out of the archive (specifically the ao3) for the occasion.

I've been obsessed with trying to decode the Harkonnen language (even though there's just a snippet of it in the fic) and I've found this reddit post and especially this one extremely interesting. The user @/tharpi9145 on YouTube commented under this video that the Harkonnen arena chanting was translated in Chinese theaters and provided the translation, so here's where that's coming from in the fic.

The theme and some of the descriptions in this oneshot are heavily inspired by the RP I'm writing with my sweetest friend.

Reposted from Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

"Ek te stroeng ge e deser xhakhing grul klaxhkseda de haun dau ek se en-Barun Feyd-Rautha!" ~ Our glorious, black sun welcomes you to these special festivities of our beloved na-Baron Feyd-Rautha's holy birthday! ~

The booming echo of boos and whistling from the crowd passes through her heart and soul as she stands poised at the center of the arena, a brutalist behemoth chiseled of coal-black concrete. With her hand wrapped around the chalky hilt of her double-ended spear, she lets the vibrations pass through her in waves, taking deep lungfuls of Giedi Prime's putrid air that gathers in the pit of the arena like a thick bog.

When the crowd begins to chant in Harkunnin, guided by the announcer's guttural timbre, she perceives the world as if through a filter.

sacrifice to House Harkonnen her mortal blood   (give up her blood!) dedicate to House Harkonnen her faithful flesh   (give up her flesh!) leave to herself the deadly fear   (leave the fear!) leave to the mortals the endless fear   (beckon to death!)

The halves of the oval doorway slide open, like a birth canal giving way to its hellish spawn, and Feyd-Rautha marches confidently into the triangular colossus. From the highest stand he is no bigger than a mote on the lens of the binoculars, yet his presence fills the entire arena, more god than man to the one million spectating fanatics.

What is she thinking, challenging their god of blood and rot? Everyone craves to see her fail, no one wishes for her to earn her freedom. No one understands how she could reject their idol who has chosen her - unworthy, unwilling thing - as his concubine.

A putrid breeze catches the fabric of Feyd's tunic as he saunters in a wide half-circle, like a snake drawing closer and closer, hypnotizing its prey with slow movements made of liquid. This is how the gladiators in the Empire of Roma on Old-Earth must have felt, she thinks, thrown into the ring with a beast to fight for life and death. Freedom or death, in her case. Feyd is the beast and she is the human. The only human, going by the fanatic crescendo of Harkonnen chanting.

"May my spear skewer you dead," she greets Feyd-Rautha when he stands before her, a smooth pillar of black and white, unfazed by the chanting and the radiation. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"And mine you." Feyd grins at the brief flicker of confusion as she glances at the weapons he holds so carefully. Blades, not spears.

The crescendo peaks, a beehive of frenetic anticipation, all eyes on who will launch the first attack.

She was never meant to win, she realizes the moment she lunges, soft sand shifting underfoot. The sand in the training pit is harder, more gravelly. Her balance feels off and Feyd knows it.

He playfully parries her attack, then the next and the next. The humor in his eyes is the worst thing, and the condescending gleam. 

Months of hoping and training for her freedom are reduced to nothing and less than nothing within minutes. This is not the fair chance he promised her. All of their training together was a slight. The sweat, blood and tears she shed into the gravelly sand, those times when she scraped him bloody with her spear and made him laugh, made him praise her like he was truly impressed.

"You dishonorable dog!" She screams against the thick smog and the wailing background noise of the crowd. "You promised me a fair fight, you promised!"

Feyd's expression darkens momentarily, pouty lips turned downwards, a storm brewing in his eyes. A telltale muscle in his jaw twitches.

Yes, she's made him angry, good! Perfect!

Feyd's blades smack against her spear, a quick succession of tack, tack, tack. Then a thump as he aims for her fingers with the handle to shatter her bones. She dips backwards, thrusting the spear forwards at the same time. Feyd's shield prickles angrily, repelling her thrust.

Back into defense, quick, tack, thump, sksshhh!

The longer of the kukris scrapes unpleasantly against the spear shaft. She gyrates in a tight circle, piercing Feyd's shield with the lower end of the shaft pressed against his neck. She ushers him with her in a circular orbit until he ducks under the spear and aims for her thighs, slowing his attack just in time to penetrate the shield. Her trousers tear and blood hotly soaks the fabric. It's a shallow cut. He could have sliced her femoral artery.

"Why are you holding back, you motherless bastard? Kill me now!" 

Disbelief slackens Feyd-Rautha's features as he takes a step back, blades dangling from his hands. He looks surreal in the glaring light, stripped of color, stripped of the soft hues that only show themselves in the artificial light of the glow orbs in her room. She is mad for provoking him.

The unbeaten gladiator roars - the birthday boy - he lunges and slams down, not with the blades but with the handles. With brutal force and precision, they hit the center of the spear's shaft, accomplishing the impossible.

A hairline fracture springs over the shaft, Sardaukar craftsmanship damaged by the ferocity of one apoplectic Harkonnen who laughs boyishly at her expression. Abusing her surprise (has her weapon been sabotaged?!), he tackles her to the ground.

Dust puffs up, momentarily obscuring her vision. Instinctively, she yanks up the spear, pressing it through Feyd's shield, shaft against his throat.

He sits on her thighs, blades sinking through her shield to kiss her sternum, tickling without killing. The pressure against his throat draws terrible grunting and choking noises from the na-Baron who laughs open-mouthed, spit dribbling off his teeth, an inky rivulet that penetrates her shield and slips wetly over her bare clavicles. She fights to shove him off with the full force of two hands.

The hairline fracture in the spear begins to branch out, crack by tiny crack. She stares awestruck and with horror as Feyd-Rautha's face turns grey, teeth bared grotesquely as he groans and salivates and laughs like a boy.

Aaaaaa-ooooohh!

The crowd bellows as the spear splinters right in the middle and Feyd's throat bursts through, marred by a fat bruise that stretches black and ugly just below his Adam's apple. His voice is hoarse and barely recognizable when his body pushes into her shield, chests coming flush, and his drooling mouth finds her neck, sucking a bruise as his breath rattles in his throat. His blade-wielding fists push harmlessly into the sand.

"Anything you'd like to feed the dishonorable dog?"

"I want you to choke on sand and die! I want you to- Ahhh!"

Feyd wrenches the spear halves out of her hands and throws them away. She screams into his laughing visage as he pins her to the sand, hikes up her tunic and tears off her shield generator, then slashes through the front of her pants.

When he reaches down to unclasp the armor plate that shields his crotch, she lunges and punches him in the guts, punches him again, only waiting for the crotch plate to come off so she can punch him there, but Feyd slices her hand with a flash of white metal. The lacerating pain momentarily knocks the breath out of her lungs and she falls back, clutching the hand to her chest, howling.

Gazing up, she is looking into a kaleidoscope of madness, a writhing mass of Harkonnens all around, an ensemble for a nightmare and she is the involuntary harlequin.

The heat of the black sun brings a second pulse against the inside of her eyeballs and she feebly lifts her lacerated hand, surprised to see that all of her fingers are still attached, though her middle and index finger stand unnaturally far apart, separated by a glistening, weeping gash diagonally through her palm.

A pale, writhing shape behind her hand catches her attention and Feyd-Rautha's disfigured voice penetrates her brain fog. "You thought you could ever make it off my planet, whore?" His eyes gleam with mania, bleached by the black sun. "Out of my palace, out of my arms, unless I allowed it?!"

His shield is gone, his blades lie next to him in the sand. This is his victor's feast. The crotch plate is gone too and he cuts through more of her trousers and underwear. Groaning, she feels for the spears or knives, hissing when sand grates against her injury.

The wailing crowd convulses like one entity, a parasitic hive mind that undulates back and forth, a sea of black and white.

  (give up her flesh!)   (give up her flesh!)   (give up her flesh!)

She screams when Feyd's hand wraps around her thigh where he cut her earlier, squeezing and prodding until it comes away coated in blood. The hot liquid touches between her thighs, spread over her cunt by calloused fingers that even find the mercy in them to sink into her once, twice, lubricating her walls with her own blood.

Compared to the searing pain in her cut flesh, the ache of his blunt cock sinking into her is dull, almost comforting in its familiarity. How many times has he fucked her by now? It must have been hundreds. Humiliated in front of a million Harkonnens, this still isn't the worst way he's ever fucked her.

The thought makes her giggle and Feyd looks smitten when he crawls over her, fucking her with long, hard strokes. His eyes keep drifting to her lacerated palm, biting his lip at the sight of blood shed on his holy birthday. He supports his weight on his forearms, fingertips tickling her neck.

"Feyd…" she slurs and Feyd feels compelled to lean further down, anticipation on his features and a noticeable swell of his chest.

"I hate you."

Feyd's jaws twitch, serpent eyes becoming pinpricks while his hips roughly slam into her cunt. His hand wraps around her throat, but then he howls, open mouth turned to the sun, cursing, panting, eyes squinted. His own knife in her hand has slashed through his bicep, deep, deep, deep.

Feyd is unbalanced and she knocks him over. He hits his tailbone on the ground, dust billowing all over them. His cock is still buried in her cunt which has begun to warm up to him, offering slick to ease the glide of the thickly veined, velvety flesh.

She will give the Harkonnens something to boo at.

"Stay back!" Feyd laughs at the prowling picadors.

He is paralyzed by arousal, hips bucking on their own accord as she pins his arm down by the crook of the elbow and hacks the blade into the cut. Pieces of blood and gore splatter over his pale flesh and the armor plate covering his shoulder. His free hand clutches her hip, mind split between pleasure and agony, gripping her flesh to rut into her hard and fast, so he doesn't throw up into the sand.

There is a nauseating crack, hack, cchhrrkkk and Feyd bawls until her bloody hands come up to cover his mouth, knife victoriously planted into the sand. How is she covering his mouth with both hands when she's still holding down his arm? Feyd glances to the side and sees his severed arm being snatched away by a picador's hook.

The horned man-creature sprints away quickly, slipping into the bowels of the arena colossus. If the nerves are preserved, the arm  can be reattached later.

"Will you be a good boy now and let me go?" She growls, drawing the attention of black and white glassy eyes back to her. Her pelvis rolls greedily against his. Scratchy sand is trapped between their bloody, sweaty bodies.

Feyd laughs through the pain, laughs and laughs and laughs to mask the raging insanity because his woman still hasn't understood that she will die on Giedi Prime one day and nowhere else. His arm stump twitches against the ground.

"I'm, haha, never a good boy, hnnng-hah!"

"Hah! Yes, that I know!" She blurts out, voice high-pitched. The tears in her eyes may be from laughter as well. She gives a half-assed punch to Feyd's chest. "Fine, then I'll have to make do with a filthy mutt."

Feyd nods, yes, yes, he will be her filthy mutt and it doesn't matter if she wants him or not, if she hates him or not, it is not important, no, it is not important.

"Release me or I'll kill you!" She reaches for the blade again, but Feyd's knee jerks up, slamming into her ribs so she is knocked to the side. Feyd scrambles, crawling on top of her. They're only connected by his plump cock head that is still squished by her wet hole. Feyd's vision prickles with black dots and he sways, trying to catch his weight on the phantom arm that he swears is still there.

He falls down on the stump, howling, howling, like a beast in a bear trap, fighting against unconsciousness. He is the unbeaten gladiator - unbeaten! The ghost of a caring touch prickles against his ribs, stabilizing him.

With his intact forearm pressed against her throat, he throttles her like she did to him with her spear earlier, except that his veined forearm will never shatter, unless she cuts it off too.

She regrets not accepting the contacts that would protect her eyes from radiation. She had been scared of getting sand all over them, but now she wants nothing more than for the burn to stop and the throb-throb-throb behind her eyeballs that somehow matches the drag of Feyd's cock against her walls and the pulse in her slashed hand.

"Why don't you close your eyes, my darling, pretend we're in our bedroom?"

She does close her eyes and the cacophony of chanting voices turns into a warped melody, like wind tearing on leaves and whistling through porous rocks.

Humm, hummm, hummmm.

In this waking nightmare, the vision of her home world is swallowed by the black sun, a ravenous maw in the good universe. She lightly gasps when she feels hot lips against her neck and hot blood dripping on her chest. 

She wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tearing on the shoulder plate over the stump until it comes off. Softly, she caresses his shoulder while the rutting of his hips is anything but soft. Her legs wrap around his waist because at least he is familiar, an island in the sea of faceless, chanting monsters.

This is what happens when one listens to the voice of the devil. It crawls into the soul and rots you from the inside.

And suddenly the beast you've pitted yourself against is no longer a beast but a man and you're friends with the devil. The thought strikes her and she begins to laugh while tears track down her cheeks. Her poor devil has a severe bruise on his neck and she mustn't think about the arm — Oh, her poor devil!

Her laughter drives Feyd over the edge, pain, pleasure and humiliation, and he spills his rot inside her. Thick, lazy pulses of his cock that she finds oddly comforting. Her toes curl inside her boots and her pelvis happily grinds against Feyd's while the warmth of his seed sinks into her core.

Feyd's breath is heavy and strained when he shuffles away from her and stands, gritting his teeth. He is imposing even though a part of him is missing. The glaring light curls around his soft cheeks and full lips and touches his anemic eyes.

She wants to lie here just a little while longer, the sand is so nice and warm, but Feyd's hand cruelly wraps around her biceps and he drags her across the sand. She calls his name but he keeps marching, fueled by the mad cacophony of chanting and stomping. The hive mind salutes. Sand whirls up under his boots and dusts her face. Her shoulder joint screams in agony.

This was never a battle for death or freedom, it was death or rot.

   (Flesh!)   (Flesh!)   (Flesh!)

They probably don't care whose flesh was given.

Feyd-Rautha maintains his posture for show, internally trembling from blood loss, but the people only see the inhuman strength of their idol, virile and unfaltering despite sacrificing an arm. Still unbeaten. 

A black trail of seed and blood stains the white sand where the na-Baron walks and pulls his spoils of battle through the oval door, back into the womb of the concrete behemoth.

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[comatosebunny09]

Hello! First off I wanted to thank you for posting fhe latest chapter of Carpe Noctem. Writing take so much effort and I want you to know that you are very much appreciated! I am sorry to hear about the copying thing. I haven’t come across it yet but it must have sucked especially when you have put so much effort into the concept.

I wanted to yell more about the recent chapter because the diner scene especially made me scream - it captures the reader and Sylus’s dynamic so well! And it was just. So. Cool!! And then and then and then with them in the safe house finally! Everything was so well-written!

And because I’m a sucker for angst what if his phone suddenly rings and it’s her she’s back early and he forgets where he was for 2 seconds so he pulls away from you and answers out of muscle memory because of course, why wouldn’t he, right. You’re so dumb, this was just to fill the absence and she’s your friend how could you do this so you slip out quietly, as you should, disappearing into the night so he could focus on her. It was only for a few seconds, he hurries a “sorry sweetie, I’ll call you back” out of his lips and turns and you’re gone. For days. And he’s out his mind with worry.

Sorry for the word vomit, your stories and concepts are so, so incredible and I hope you continue and keep the passion burning. have a great day!!

Hello, sug!

Thank you for being so supportive and taking the time to read carpe noctem. I’m blessed that you liked it. I was afraid to post the latest chapter because I feared it wouldn’t live up to the first few parts I shared. But I am grateful for the amount of feedback I’ve received on it. 🥹🥹🥹

It’s a shitty feeling. I tried to sleep on it last night and allow myself time to calm down before I reached out to the person who duplicated my work. I poured my experiences, feelings, and thoughts into carpe noctem and limerence, so it was very disheartening to see someone take something I’ve been working on for months that is l literally a part of me pass it off as their own.

But enough of that.

I’m glad you enjoyed the diner scene. 😭😭😭 I was so afraid to incorporate that because I was thinking, “Is this really necessary? Is this cringe?” But I wanted to provide more insight into Sylus and the reader’s relationship, as they’ve been thick as thieves since she began working more closely with him.

Sylus’ Night of Secrecy card heavily influenced the safe house scene. I wanted to write something similar but with my own twist. Again, I was terrified to incorporate this, but I feel that it was somewhat of a turning point for their relationship. Some progress where they’ve spent four years dancing around each other.

I’ve been watching so many C-Dramas these days where right before two love interests kiss, a phone rings, and one of them is compelled to answer it. It drives me insane! Like, does no one silence their phones anymore?!

But, I did consider implementing that idea for carpe noctem, where Luke or Kieran call right before things get too heated, alerting Sylus that everything following the reader’s mission has been cleaned up. And right after, the spell between them is broken, and the reader realizes what a mistake she made after retreating to one of the guest rooms. I didn’t think to have MC on the phone. 🤔🤔🤔 That’s not a terrible idea, actually. For the reader to hear her friend’s voice on the speaker and, it snaps her back into reality.

Sylus would drive himself sick with worry, wondering if he had crossed a line, if he had misread things and pushed her too far. This is the kind of pain I ache for. I will be thinking about this for days.

Again, thank you so much for reaching out to me and feeding my brain worms! Once I get out of this funk, I’ll definitely consider your suggestions for the updates. I hope you have a lovely day!

[abyssembraced]

so for that meme. ghost reaching the abyss for the first time.

Send me a quote/scene from my muse’s canon, and I'll explain what went through their head during it! (Accepting!)

The door before them crumbled into particles of light. With the mark of King seared into them, no secrets could remain sealed.

A platform ahead, ending in open air. They stepped onto it. Cold metal, unlike the fossils and stone that preceded it. They looked down.

Dark. Their pale shell the only illumination offered. Deep. Couldn't see the bottom.

A calling, below.

They descended.

Platform to platform. Into the depths. Pits of spikes. Broken shells of fallen bugs. Shadow Creepers crawling about (harmless. Source of SOUL if necessary). Corpses increasing in number.

...Familiar.

They've been here before. But when? They didn't know. Yet the calling in their core persisted. They continued on.

Misjudged distance. Missed the next platform. Desperate flutter of wings. Reaching out with claw. Missed. Falling. Familiar.

Impact with ground. Floor of shells. Rise. Careful not to stumble. Familiar.

A shadow emerged from the depths. Living darkness took shape into a creature.

Familiar. Familiar.

So, so familiar. They knew this being, this darkness. Why this was, they did not know (could not recall?), yet it was an undeniable fact, the truth of which they felt with utmost certainty. This being and them, they were... Alike.

There was a word to be used. They did not know it.

They had felt like this once before, had they not? That broken, Infected vessel of Lightseeds had evoked a similar sensation of Alikeness. Albeit lesser, far lesser, than what they felt toward the shadow before them now. Obscured by the Infection back then, perhaps, or for some other reason.

They stood still, watching, as the other, in turn, took proper notice of them. As it floated toward them, drawing ever closer.

PAIN.

An explosion upon their shell, their insides, their mind. Emotions transferred to them from the Alike. Feelings of... Bad. They did not know the words.

Enemy. Danger. Fight back.

The fighting stopped. The being's form split apart by their blade, curling into an orb of shadow once more. Returning to the earth.

Silence.

...

Their nail is returned to their back.

A calling, below. Deeper. Yet there was no distance left to fall. Perhaps, if they pressed onward, some tunnels would lead them further down.

They continued on.

[spotforme]

it's very stupid

[demilypyro]

So I've seen a few too many people on twitter talking about The Kiss Scene from the new Scott Pilgrim anime. People saying it's fetishistic and indulgent, people calling it male gazey, etc. And while the kiss itself is certainly a bit exaggerated, I felt like writing a bit about why I disagree, and why context is important, like it always is. But it basically turned into an extended analysis on the metatextual treatment of Roxie Richter. So bear with me. It's a long post.

What really matters about this scene is not the kiss itself, but what precedes it. Not even just the fight scene just before it, but what precedes the whole anime series, really. And that's the Scott Pilgrim comic book, and the live action movie. Because in both, Roxie is a punchline.

She's a joke. Her character starts and ends with "one of the exes is actually a girl, I bet you didn't expect that." Jokes are made about Ramona's latent bisexuality, the movie especially treating it as funny and absurd, and her validity as a romantic interest is entirely written off by Ramona as being "just a phase." There's a fight scene, she's defeated by a man giving her an orgasm which implicitly calls her sexuality into question (come on), and the movie just moves on. It sucks. It really, really sucks.

The comic fares a little better. It never veers into outright homophobia like the movie does, and while the line about Ramona having gone through a phase remains, Roxie actually gets one over on Scott when Ramona briefly gets back with Roxie. But Roxie is still only barely a character. Like all the other evil exes, she's just a stepping stone towards the male protagonist's development. She barely even gets any screentime before she's defeated by Scott's "power of love." But Roxie stands out, since she's the only villain who is queer, or at least had been confirmed queer at that point (hi Todd). In a series that champions multiple gay men in the supporting cast, the single undeniable lesbian in the story is a villain. She's labeled as evil, made fun of, pushed aside in favor of the men, and then discarded. Her screentime was never about her, or her feelings for Ramona. It was about the straight, male protagonist needing to overcome her. And that was Roxie Richter. An unfortunate victim of the 2010s.

Fast forward to current year, and the new anime series is announced. Everybody sits down to watch the new series expecting another retelling of the same story, and.... hang on, that straight male protagonist I mentioned just died in the first episode. And now it's humanizing the villains from the original story. And there's Roxie, introduced alongside the other evil exes in the second episode, and she's being played entirely straight, without a punchline in sight. No jokes are made about her gender, no questions are made of her validity as one of Ramona's romantic interests. The narrative considers her important. In one episode, she already gets more respect than she did in either of the previous iterations of Scott Pilgrim. And this isn't even her focus episode yet... which happens to be the very next one.

The anime series goes to great lengths to flesh out the original story's villains and to have Ramona reconcile with them. And I don't think it's a coincidence that Roxie gets to go first. While Matthew Patel gets his development in episode 2, Roxie is the first to directly confront Ramona, now our main protagonist. This is notable too because it's the only time the exes are encountered out of order. Roxie is supposed to be number 4, but she's first in line, and later on you realize that she's the only one who's out of sequence. She's the one who sets the precedent for the villains being redeemed. She's the most important character for Ramona to reconcile with.

What follows is probably the most extensive, elaborate 1 on 1 fight scene in the whole show. Roxie fights like a wounded animal, her motions are desperate and pained. Ramona can only barely fight back against her onslaught. Different set-pieces fly by at breakneck speed as Roxie relentlessly lays her feelings at Ramona's feet through her attacks and her distraught shouts. And unlike the comic or the movie, Ramona acknowledges them, and sincerely apologizes. And the two end up just laying there, exhausted, reminiscing about when they were together.

Only after this, after all of this, does the kiss scene happen. Roxie has been vindicated, she has reconciled with the person who hurt her, the narrative has deemed that her anger is justified and has redeemed her character. And she gets her victory lap by making the nearest other hot girl question her heterosexuality, sharing a sloppy kiss with her as the music triumphantly crescendos.

It's... a little self-congratulatory, honestly. But it's good. It's redemption for a character who had been mistreated for over a decade. And she punctuates the moment by being very, very gay where everyone can see it, no men anywhere in sight. Because this is her moment. And then she leaves the plot, on her own accord this time, while humming the hampster dance. What a legend. How could anything be wrong with this.

[lidiasloca]

hi!! can you write Azriel x reader (established mates) where reader is worried Azriel only wants to be with her because they're mates but in reality he's been in love with her for centuries but thought he didn't deserve her or something like that. maybe angsty at first because she's kinda avoiding him but with happy ending please and thanks :')

is it love, or just the fear of loneliness?

azriel x reader

summary: Is Azriel’s love for you born from only the mating bond that he was always so desperate for—or was his love always there, hidden beneath the surface? As doubts rise, only he can reveal the truth.

You were on your second refill when you realized Rhys and Cassian had drunk the rest of the bottles themselves.

“I mean,” the High Lord started, already laughing at his story. “I mean—”

“What do you mean, Rhys?” Feyre asked, watching her mate stomach the influence of the wine.

“I mean,” he tried yet again, but his laughter kept interrupting.

Cassian was chuckling as he eyed him with half-closed eyes. “Finish the sentence, brother.”

“I’m trying,” he laughed, now looking at you. Then to Azriel at your side, whose face lay freely joyful.

“I mean, do you remember,” he asked Cassian, “how all Azriel could talk about was having a mate?”

You could feel through the bond the quiet embarrassment of your mate.

But they didn’t, so Cass continued. “Oh—yes. He was desperate.”

“I want a mate? When will I find a mate? Where is she?” Cassian imitated with a stupid voice.

Feyre’s little giggle wasn’t half of the hysterical roars of the Illyrians. However, Az, instead of laughing, gave you a quick shy glance.

Rhysand had a hand on his stomach as he continued laughing with no end. Feyre gave you and Azriel an apologetic look. “Rhys, you are very drunk, my love.”

But Rhys’s eyes widened with a thought. “Do you remember—do you remember when Azriel got drunk?”

Cassian's grin only grew. “Oh, gods. It got even worse.”

“I want a maaaaate,” Rhys drawled, his imitating voice even worse than Cass’s. “Where is sheeeee?”

You couldn’t help but snort, trying to catch Azriel’s eyes. When he didn’t let you meet his gaze, you shifted your attention to your ring, instinctively rolling it. 

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight,” Feyre said softly when Rhys tried to gulp down another glass of wine.

“What do you mean? We're just getting started,” Cass said, then turned to you. “Y/N, you don’t know how much we owe you.”

“Yeah,” Rhys nodded. “I don’t think I could’ve listened to one more hour of Azriel begging for a mate.”

At least now, Azriel was smiling faintly, as if remembering. As if grateful.

But something in your chest… pained.

You suddenly felt it difficult to get air into your lungs, as if you were falling from great heights. 

He was desperate for a mate.

You never let your mind linger there for too long, it always hurt too much. You were scared of what you might grow to believe if you looked at the puzzle pieces for too long.

Desperate.

“I think I’m going to sleep.” The words spilled out before you could muster a believable tone. “Good night,” you said as you rose, not daring to look back at your mate’s face as you headed to your room.

Trying to make no noise, you slowly closed the door of your room and leaned your back on it.

The questions in your head were far too swift for you to dodge them.

What if that was all you were to Azriel? His mate?

Did he only want you because of the bond?

Because he finally found what he was desperate to find? Not necessarily love—but a mate.

‘He was desperate.’

You and Azriel had known each other for many years, and Azriel had barely noticed your existence.

You even believed he avoided you.

He never spoke to you, never looked at you for too long… until the bond snapped for you both at the same time.

And then, and only then, had you found the bravery to get to know him, even asking him out yourself.

Then, and only then, had he started to grow interested in you.

Everything… everything was just because of the mating bond.

A light knock sounded, startling you enough to take a step away from the door.

“It’s me,” the voice said. Azriel’s voice.

Not now. Not now.

You quickly wiped the tears from your face and took a deep breath.

You found that worried look on your mate when you opened the door, and it made it an effort not to cry again.

“The party is over?” you asked, trying to sound somewhat calm.

“I… I’m here to see if you are alright.”

You made yourself breathe before you fainted. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You left,” he said as he came inside the room. “You seemed… sad.”

You closed the door and watched as he silently awaited your answer. It didn’t come.

Azriel took a step, leaving no safe space between you. One deep breath and your skin would brush his.

“Tell me, love. What is it?”

You shook your head.

“Is it… is it about what they said? About me?”

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t shake your head either, so he took that as a yes.

There was something wary in his eyes as he asked, “About the mate thing?”

You felt dizzy, like you were falling from a cliff.

You had to hold on to somehting.

You tentatively took his index finger between your fingers, making him look down at where your hands joined. A faint smile bloomed on his worried face. “Are you mad at me about it?”

“No,” you murmured. “Not mad.”

“Then?” he urged, moving his other hand to cup your cheek. “You… you feel so quiet on the other side of the bond… I can almost not feel you at all.”

You met his eyes, saying sorry over and over through the sad colors on yours.

“I just,” you breathed. “I just thought about what they said, that you were desperate. And it made me think if maybe… if maybe you only wanted me because I am your mate. Not because—” You had to look away from his face. “You love me.”

Azriel’s long moment of silence was torture, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything else.

At last, he spoke. “Y/N, look at me. Please. Look at me, my love.”

You did, even when you felt another tear slipping down your cheek. He gently wiped it away.

“I love you. I need you to know that. I love you more than anything in this world. And I don’t love you because you are my mate.” More tears rolled down, yet these were not sad. “I’ve loved you long before I knew you were my mate.”

Your mouth opened partly at his confession, yet you didn’t know what to say.

He understood your confusion and further explained. “I did, Y/N. For so long, I loved you from a distance. From the moment I first met you, and you spoke—not to me, but… just hearing your sweet voice, I realized I was going to fall for you.”

“What?” you whispered low enough you weren’t sure he had even heard you.

But maybe he did, for he nodded, caressing your cheek with heartbreaking softness. “I thought you would never like me back.”

“But- I thought you disliked me, Azriel.”

His brows furrowed and his hand fell from your face. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Because,” you said. “You never spoke to me. You didn’t even look in my direction. And when you did speak to me, all you said was one word, nothing more.”

A sheepish smile appeared on his face. “Well, I was… shy around you. It wasn’t easy to talk to you, or to stare too long without making a fool of myself, so I tried to avoid both.”

You tried to take in his words, finding it very difficult to digest this new reality.

He had been in love with you… and you hadn’t even noticed.

“Y/N,” he spoke, seriousness lacing his words. “That ring,” he gestured with his chin, and you looked down at the golden band with a diamond on your finger. “I…”

“You what?”

“This is embarrassing,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “I bought that ring the very first day I met you.”

You were pinned in place, failing to even breathe or blink.

“What?” It seemed like the only word you knew.

“It’s both romantic and psychotic, I know,” he smiled.

You inhaled deeply, meeting his gaze. “You knew? You truly knew it was…”

“You?” he finished. “Yes.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in his words. Azriel pulled you gently into his arms as you let the warmth of him embrace you.

It was no more than a whisper, yet you heard him murmur against your temple, “From the very first moment, I knew, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes, finally accepting the fall.

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

a/n: what is this thing with your titles being a question, lidia? mmmm, 🤷‍♀️. anyway, hope you like this one, thanks for the request. and have a wonderfull 2025!!

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so. 

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation. 

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more. 

At least Koschei was slayn. 

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that  Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die. 

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying.  There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be. 

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.  

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though. 

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now. 

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort.  Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it. 

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely.  "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen. 

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie.  It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone. 

He slumped back into the pillow.  He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter. 

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him.  It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries. 

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said. 

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. 

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did. 

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy. 

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine. 

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done. 

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere. 

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin. 

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery. 

He didn’t. 

Even that wouldn’t fix it. 

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy. 

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic. 

She was polite enough not to say anything about it. 

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own. 

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor. 

But there she was. 

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it.  But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.  Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor. 

 Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him. 

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress. 

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room. 

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now. 

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that? 

He wasn’t going to do that. 

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. 

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least. 

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster. 

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him. 

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. 

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life. 

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. 

But 

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily. 

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work. 

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it. 

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!* 

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both? 

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness. 

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul. 

So why…why should he even try anymore. 

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.​​

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for. 

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them. 

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort. 

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.* 

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves. 

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

[mdsbabygirl]

Hello! I love your work, I just read “Being their fuckbuddy,” and I’m hooked. I was wondering if you would make a part 2 where the reader/you call things off and they realize that they’ve actually caught some feelings? It’s alright if you don’t want to! I’m a total sucker for angst lol.

Ofc my lovely anon!! I'll be more than glad to do that! Here's part two of "being their fuckbuddy". btw don't be shy to make requests, they make me really happy and I'm more than willing to write them!

Please baby.. don't let go of me yet...

PART TWO OF "Being their fuckbuddy"

Pairing: Otoya Eita/ Itoshi Sae/ Bachira Meguru/ Shidou Ryusei/ Chigiri Hyoma/ Barou Shoei x FEM! reader

Synopsis: when you end up walking out of your "relationship", these men feel empty inside, finally realizing that their lust has indeed turned into something much deeper.

Genre: smut, angst

Wc: 3,3k

Cw: dark themes, MDNI, mentions of makeup sex, very depressed men, semi-public sex(Otoya, Barou), crying messes(Bachira, Chigiri), nonchalant fuckers(Sae, Barou), black mail/threatening/ humiliation (Shidou), stalking(meguru), womanizer(otoya), these men are very much Inlove with you, etc..

Otoya Eita:

•"yeah, I'm fine with it" he said, his tone as casual as possible. He knew your relationship wasn't going to last long, and it was part of the thrill he felt when he was with you. But when the parting time finally came, he didn't feel right. He thought he could just move on, quickly forgetting you and your shared moments to focus on the next girl he was going to pull.. but no, not this time. Otoya was very confused, why was he suddenly getting emotional? Why was he starting to feel uneasy, a surging pain in his stomach made him feel awful, as if he got repeatedly punched in the abdomen, all while he was looking at you in the far distance.  You, the one who made him feel like he could've reached heaven with how much pleasure he felt; you, the girl he always enjoyed spending time with because you were fun and interesting, you the one who got his heart.

•Eita was mad at first, why the fuck did it hurt so much? It's not like it was the first time he got a heartbreak, he'd usually just bury the pain with sex, fucking around with multiple women, until he forgot about everything, the pain eventually subsiding. And he tried, like, he tried really hard, going every night to nightclubs and having one nightstands with every woman he found somewhat hot.. the thing is, the sex was awful..it didn't feel right, it was dull and boring, as if all the feelings in his body were dead, making him unable to feel the slightest sparkle of excitement. He'd often ask himself, why was he like this? Why couldn't he just bounce back like before, going back to being the  destrous ninja of seduction he once was.. even all the women he had picked were somewhat of a close replica to you, all sharing common attributes that you had.. I guess you are really unreplaceable..

•that, was his situation for a while, being the slave of a non ending vicious circle of sex, alcohol and depression. That was, until he finally saw you at one of the clubs he frequented. It's like his world lit up, transforming from a dark nightmare to the sweetest of dreams. His eyes widened in surprise, not expecting to meet you at all, but there you were, looking ever so stunning, wearing your prettiest dress, and hypnotizing everyone with your looks. At first he froze, not knowing what to do. But then he decided that it was time to put an end to his misery, deciding it would be best to just confess to you, and tell you how much he had been yearning for you for the past weeks. You were quite stunned too, not only not expecting this sudden encounter, but also not even imagining that this womanizer would be pouring his heart out to you.. you smiled subtly, thinking his actions were cute, yet you were still indecisive, you didn't trust him enough, thinking he'd break your heart if you let him in, which was indeed why you left him. You started catching feelings, all this intimacy between the two of you sparking a growing love for the man. Eita, ever so happy, was quick to hug you, pressing soft kisses on your lips until they became more and more heated, leading the both of you to make out heatedly in the middle of the club. Then.. well let's just say you were way too needy for each other to wait to go home so instead you fucked in one of the bathroom stalls... His hand was pushing you onto the door, your tube top pushed down to reveal your tits that were squished against the cold surface, as Eita was behind you, rumming his rock hard cock relentlessly, like he'd always do..

Itoshi Sae:

•he had that cold, expressionless face he always had when it happened. You had invited him to talk, insisting it was best if it happened in person. He looked so stunning, his teal eyes, an amalgamation of the most serene blue sky and most captivating green seas, were a pool of alluring coolness. No matter how hard the news might've been, he never budged.. he just nodded, agreeing with your request for ending things. And that's how, you both just walked away, forgetting all the moments of your shared passion, as if you finished the last chapter of a boring book. But.. did he really find your fling boring? Was he really willing to just move on, as if nothing had happened?

•Sae was used to the solitude, he was a reservated person, not allowing anyone in his circle, and the fact that you managed to get in that close to him, must've meant something right?.. it couldn't have been just purely a give and receive link, it must've been much more than that. He was human after all, meaning that he must've felt the smallest shred of something, anything really, even if it was lust, hate or love. Sae was confused, not knowing how to act or what to feel. He just went back to being to his usual self, an egoist who only cares about his sacred soccer.. but if that's what he thought he did, then why couldn't he sleep at night? Why was his bed so empty all of a sudden? Why was he flipping through the pics you post on your socials? Did you really manage to plague his mind? Turning him from a cold hearted egoista, to a yearning lover, a man that needed your presence as much as he needed oxygen to survive.

•The nights felt long, unending hours of long lasting boredom and solitude, weighted down on Sae's mind. He wanted it to stop, needing this feeling of hollowness to be over. He tossed and turned in bed, unable to rest.. he took his phone, 2 AM.. great you might be sleeping he thought.. he looked intensely at your contact info on his screen, contemplating if calling you would be the right choice.. it was his first time being indecisive, he was always a confident man, always sure of himself and his actions; but this time he wasn't.. his hands trembling as he held the phone. In the end he said fuck It, deciding that going to your house was the best option.. once he arrived, he ringed the bell, waiting for you. When you came out, wearing your comfy pj's, and asking why he was here while yawning, he just grabbed your face and kissed you, not even wasting time on words. He led you inside, huffing out how much he missed you and how he can't be apart from you.. you couldn't give him a straight answer yet, but you still didn't deny him, inviting him in, keeping him all close and cozy, so warm and feeling heavenly as his big cock is buried deep inside your hot cunny.

Bachira Meguru:

•things between the two of you started getting a bit rocky, his possessiveness was too overwhelming. He was always by your side, his presence so suffocating that it left you drained both emotionally and physically. It was after one of your encounters that you decided to call things off. Bachira was panting heavily, his chest heaving as he came down from his high. He still was on top of you, looking down at you with his lovestruck look.. you kinda felt bad about what you were about to do, knowing how sad he'll be once you leave him. Meguru, tiredly laid beside you, looking at you before wrapping an arm around your naked figure..you were kinda starting to rethink your actions, thinking that maybe you could get used to his.. well, quirkiness? But you didn't, once Bachira announced something about wanting you to be fully his, you finally snapped. You quickly got up, getting your scattered up clothes and putting them on without saying a word.. you didn't wanna get even more mad, nor upset him with the bullshit you knew you were about to say if u really snapped. The man behind you, looking ever so struck by your sudden change in behavior grabbed you by the forearm, asking what happened.. oh man, you did snap at that time.. you started throwing insults at him,  telling him how suffocated you felt, before you gathered your stuff and left him alone in his apartment.

•To say that Bachira was shocked was an understatement. He couldn't believe what he heard.. he.. was suffocating? Was he really so frustrating and maddening like you just said? He didn't wanna believe this, thinking that maybe you just had a bad day, maybe you were mad at everyone and he just so happened to be the unlucky one to have to undergo such a shitty experience. But deep down he knew the truth. He knew that you entirely meant what you said, all those words hitting him like a poisonous dagger to the heart. He did everything for you, treated you like a princess, gave you constant attention, never once did he let you out of his sight.. he swore he was the best you could've ever had, the one and only who would worship you and treat you like the goddess you are.. yet, you left him. Like everybody else did. He should've been used to it by now, but fuck It hurt.. I guess that's why he felt hot globs of tears streaming down his face, his sobbing filling up the room. He really didn't deserve all this pain that you so hurtfully inflicted on him.

•after crying his heart out, he concluded that this wasn't the solution, deciding that if you weren't going to be willingly his , he was going to do it forcefully. Bachiras is known to have a dark side in him, a so-called monster that whispers the filthiest, most evil ideas in his mind. It was time to hear his alter-ego, using this demonic quirk of his to finally show you who you belong to, finally convincing you that he's your one and only. That's why, late at night he sneaked into your house..(he might've made a copy of your key without you noticing but Shhh) waiting for your arrival. As for you, you were getting home from work, unable to shake away the thought of how badly you treated Bachira. You wanted to apologize, but you were way too tired, so u decided that tomorrow you'll go to his place and make up with him. You unlocked your door, finally entering your home, when you saw Bachira laying all comfy on your sofa.. you were very much surprised, thinking that maybe it was because you were tired. Noticing you, meguru quickly went up to you, hugging you so tightly you could've swore you stopped breathing for a sec, before caressing your face, looking at you with a devilish gaze as he whispered in your ear, "you'll always be mine sweet thing!" Before pressing a wet kiss to your neck, "we're going to have so much fun tonight my love." He chuckled, his hands quickly finding your sides as he pressed his body flush against yours, the feeling of his hard-on on your lower abdomen.

Shidou Ryusei:

•ok..ummm, did I mention that this man is pure evil? Like he won't leave you so easily, never letting you slip from his grip without any consequences–this is if he ever let you go, because let's be honest, shidou would never ever let you dissapear from his life, letting your shared memories transforming into a mirage that would forever haunt him. He'd first laugh at you, thinking you weren't serious about calling things off. He'd wrap his arms around your frame, squeezing the plump skin of your butt, a nasty habit of his, telling you that it was a nice joke. But when you slapped him, telling him how much of a maniac he is and walking away, he was surprised. He didn't expect his ever obliging fwb, would have some personality.

•at first he'd let you go, still a bit startled from that whole ordeal, but then he'd start manically laughing, delving so deep down in his psychopathy that he might've become even more insane just from that.. He HAD to make you his, one way or another. He was totally convinced that you were just playing hard to get, or maybe into some kind of cat and mouse chasing thing.. maybe he could even use this dynamic for your next sexy sesh.. but that's for another time to discuss..

•shidou, just walked up to you, hugging you from behind, as if you were a lovey-dovey couple, just casually nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and pressing wet kisses on the skin. You were startled for sure, not wanting any sort of contact with this devilish monster; yet, you couldn't deny his effect on you, a small pool of wetness forming between your legs, but you'll never let him know of course. Somehow, managing to push him off of you, you told him to go away, refusing any form of link to him. Chuckling, Ryusei pulled his phone, his large hands scrolling through his gallery until he found them... All your sex tapes, ready to be sent to everyone who knew you. Grinning devilishly, shidou blackmailed you, you got two choices, you were either to be completely humiliated or to come back to that psycho ... He pressed you, forcing you to choose quickly, otherwise he'd do what you dreaded most. In either way you'd lose your dignity, since being with such a freak had its downsides.. I guess you had no choice, but to forcefully get back with him.

"Mm yeah, that's more like it, my little cockwhore!" He grinned, as he was spreading your ass cheek, looking down at how his big cock was sinking deeply in your soaked folds, all while you were a moaning mess under him.. he's so demonic fr..

Chigiri Hyoma:

•chigiri knew he loved you, he knew for a long time now, always thinking about how he could change your mind, how to make you his gf.. he could've done so much for you, treating you like the queen you are, showing you unyielding affection... anything, he would've done anything for you.. yet, you rejected him. It stung like hell, the loneliness was catching up to him, and that mixed up with the sickening sadness and sorrow he felt was the most potent of poisons.

•He was alone on his bed, looking up at the ceiling as he was sobbing, warm tears streaming down his pretty face. Handsome faces shouldn't cry, you told him before you left, caressing his face one last time before you disappeared from his life. The mere thought of that agonizing moment sent Hyoma into another hysterical crying.. he couldn't believe he got so hypnotized by you that was reduced to this state. He knew you wanted nothing more than sex, he knew that what you had was ephemeral; yet he still couldn't accept the fact that he had lost you. The worst being the way you rejected him, smiling so reassuringly, so softly and so prettily, your face was imprinted in his mind. No matter how much he exhausted himself in training or drowned himself in alcohol, he couldn't forget you. How dare you break his heart in such a nonchalant way, reassuring him he'll find the one for him, even if you knew he had eyes only for you? You were so cruel, he thought.

•days passed since your splitting, and shit started weighing down on your consciousness.. I mean, you did realize that you broke his heart. With a sigh, you decided to stop thinking about him, recalling that all men were the same, all horny and unmannered, always making sexual jokes and treating you like some kind of fucktoy. That was the male treatment you were used to, so when you started frequenting Chigiri, it felt.. different. Sure he was still a man with his own needs and stupidity, yet he was the most caring and gentle one of them all. Slowly you started to realize the huge mistake you made. With tears threatening to fall on your face, you got out of your house, running as fast as you could to apologize to the sweetest, most handsome man you've ever met.. the man you loved. Ringing his bell repeatedly, he opened the door and saw you. Another surge of tears came out, making him sob uncontrollably. So you quickly hugged him, pressing kisses on his head, apologizing for the catastrophic mistake you've made.. in the end, let's just say that he accepted your apology, letting you ride all the sadness out of him, as you're tenderly making out.. make up sex with Chigiri was truly the best.

Barou Shoei :

•barou didn't need you anyway, you were such a nuisance to him, he thought. Not only were you so neglecting of his feelings, but you also had the guts to dump him, discarding him like a used toy that you didn't need anymore. Wasn't he your king? The only man that made you feel intense ecstasy? Well you were in the wrong, like you've always been, he thought once again. Barou could live perfectly without you, it's not like his existence depended on yours, and also it's not like he wanted the presence of someone who didn't want him back. Yet, why did he feel a tinge of sadness? Why was it that when he saw happy couples on the street, he felt like he had a hole in his chest that couldn't be filled no matter what? He didn't know why for sure, and he never even wanted to know.

•What a stubborn king, suppressing all his feelings until they burst like an atomic bomb. And indeed that's what happened, he denied the fact that he still loves you, he hates it. It makes him feel weak, transforming him from a glorious king to a heartbroken slave.. Barou wanted nothing more than his feelings for you to disappear, wanting to put his constant yearning for you to a halt, but he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, you wouldn't get out of his mind, for a moment he thought that you had cast a spell on him, one so potent that left him entrances, as if he was hypnotized by a siren's voice..

•Barou wanted so badly to come back to you, to just be in your arms, to be able to love you without any restrictions.. but you deprived him of this happiness, condemning him to a life of sorrow and desperation.. As for you, well, you weren't doing so good either. You tried everything to forget him too, but your king had already left his imprint on you, forever changing your life, making it so that he was the only man you'd ever think about. You did send him countless messages, apologizing to him, asking him to meet up to set things straight yet he never responded, he was such a proud mf. So that's why you just went up to him during one of his training, it was the only choice as he couldn't ignore you there. But since Barou didn't wanna cause a scene, he just dragged you to the locker room, opting that finishing your conversation there would provide some more privacy. Well.. let's just say that your conversation was cut short, and the locker room was now filled with both of your moans, as Shoei was kinda busy making sure you'll never leave him, thrusting in you from behind, marking you, biting sucking and kissing your neck and shoulders so that way next time you'll know better than to leave your king.

© mdsbabygirl do not copy or translate my work without my permission.

[georgescitadel]

I often get the question, “How do you write women?” or “How do you write a dwarf?” Some of that can be resolved by research or talking to people. I had a correspondence with a fan when I was writing the first and second books, long ago, who was a paraplegic, paralyzed from the waist down, and he gave me a lot of valuable insight about how to write Bran and what it would be like. That kind of information from other people, you can never duplicate.

- George R.R. Martin, Ideas At The House (2013)

There are things we all go through, but there are experiences that I haven't had, and when I'm writing about one of those, I try to talk to people who have had that experience. When I first had Bran crippled by his fall from the tower, I had one fan who was paraplegic, and he and I exchanged a number of emails about what it was like to be paraplegic because I could try to imagine that, but I don't actually know it. When I wrote the scene where Sansa has her first period, I talked to a number of women and asked, “What was it like to have your first period? Was it scary? Was it nothing? Was it painful? Tell me about it!” I got about 16 different stories that varied very widely. People who have actually been in combat, I talk to before the combat scenes, and that too varies widely. That's sort of interesting, and, of course, I've read a lot about that. There are some experiences that only women have had in our society, and when I tackle them, I try to consult with women.

- George R.R. Martin, NIFFF Masterclass (2014)

You do have to research the things that can be researched, and sometimes that involves books; sometimes it actually involves talking to people. Those are the trickiest things, if it's a human experience. I'll give you a couple of examples from Game of Thrones. When Bran gets thrown out the window and paralyzed. I'm not paralyzed, I don't have any close friends who are paralyzed, but I wanted to try to get that as accurate as I could, so I did a fair amount of reading about that. I also had a couple of fans who corresponded with me through email about the problems of someone who was paralyzed from the waist down and what it would be like. I also have a scene where Sansa, who is engaged to Joffrey but hasn't flowered yet—hasn't had her first period—so she can't be married by the traditions of Westeros, then has it and is eligible, by medieval standards as well as the standards of Westeros, to be bedded and wedded and bred. Of course, she reacts to that with considerable panic. But I also wanted to know what it is like, and that led to a number of embarrassing conversations with women I knew about: “When did you have your first period? What was it like? Was it painful? Tell me about it!” What I discovered was a wide variety of different stories. It's not always the same thing, so I had to try to make sense of that and do something that had authentic truth to it. Hopefully, I did, but human experience is variable. No matter how much you research, there will be somebody out there who had a different experience, and then they'll write you an annoyed email saying, “You got that all wrong. You don't know anything about that.” Well… okay. But I tried.

- George R.R. Martin, Author Event Series: Featuring Marlon James (2019)

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Can you do a mute S/O with Jouno, Chrollo, Feitan, Inumaki and Gojo?

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, manipulation, isolation, abduction

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Mute s/o

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖​Words aren't the only way for a human to communicate. Over years of a harsh life Chrollo has learnt to read the language of one's body as fluently as he does with his books. This makes the situation for you a lot easier as he is always able to tell from one single glance at your body how you're currently feeling, one look from you enough to convey what you are unable to express in words. Always harboring an interest to learn about everything he doesn't know, Chrollo quickly learns how to use sign language for you so that you can communicate with him by using it. The Phantom Troupe actually makes an effort to learn the language as well since you're Chrollo's darling though with mixed results. Still, he gifts you a beautifully wrapped notebook in which the two of you often write in to talk to each other and once one is full he gifts you a new one but still keeps the old one as he likes skimming through the pages and reread the many dialogues the two of you had with each other, no matter how insignificant they may be. If you should have selective mutism and talk very rarely as a result of it Chrollo would be utterly captivated whenever you softly speak up, longing to keep your voice for himself.

Feitan Portor

☠️​Now, Feitan loves torturing people and for that can read it very well when people are anxious or in pain yet that doesn't mean that he always understands why. That proves to be troublesome as soon as he has you within his captivity as he is able to realise when something is wrong with you but he isn't always able to tell what it is you need and that gets on his nerves quickly. He relies on messages and texts typed on the phone to communicate with you as it is the easiest and fastest way for you to give him an answer. At the very least you aren't noisy though and annoy him in his daily life as you remain quiet, the silence between the two of you so thick that one would be able to cut it with a knife. Feitan's sadism is a huge burden for you though, especially when he finds himself longing to hear something from you. It doesn't have to be a word, just a sound from you. A sound of pain, coupled with those exciting squirms of your body as you're subdued to his torture. Whether you're actually incapable of forming words or are selectively mute ultimately doesn't matter to him, most of the time he appreciates things the way they are between you two.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️​Able to pick up emotions due to his enhanced hearing, Jouno is able to understand what is going in within you quite well though perhaps he isn't what you hoped the person who would understand you wordlessly to be like. The worries you have aren't unjustified because Jouno doesn't emphasise with your feelings even though he is able to pick them up. Instead he uses them against you to mold you into the obedient person he would like you to be. Most frustrating of all is that he tortures you by not allowing you any paper or even a phone which you could use to communicate with someone else. He wouldn't be able to talk to you by using such methods after all as he is blind. Deep down, though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he is secretly angry that you are able to communicate with others all whilst he is only able to read you and it is one of the main reasons why he forbids others to talk to you by using other methods. If you are actually able to talk but are selectively mute Jouno is not someone you can expect patience from. Insensitive and cruel, he considers your problem stupid. He doesn't want you to talk to everybody but he expects you to talk to him.

Gojo Satoru

��​Gojo proves to be quite conflicting with his obsession due to your mutism. Communicating with others starts to become significantly harder as Gojo's possessive and clingy antics interfere with your daily life. This leaves you with no choice but to turn to him though to your surprise you notice quickly that he learns fast how to understand you wordlessly without you having to use your phone. He already has experience with Inumaki after all and quickly teaches himself how to use sign language as well to be able to communicate with you just in case the electronic devices shouldn't work. Your silence leads to him being more protective over you though since you aren't able to verbally express yourself which tends to lead people to misunderstand you. Whenever you two are in a crowd he has a tight grip on your hand to not lose you though his Six Eyes would be able to find you quickly even if you somehow should escape his hold. Whenever someone approaches you or talks to you he always takes over the conversation for you which only worsens your social skills over time. Even if you should still be able to speak he won't let anyone besides himself hear your voice.

Inumaki Toge

🗣️​His friends always joke that the two of you are really meant to be as both of you are unable to talk normally. Both of you still make the best out of it despite those obstacles though and Inumaki, normally on a more reserved side, starts being more expressive with his body language, hand gestures as well as his facial expressions so that you can understand him better as well. Even when he sends you a message on your phone he starts using more emojis to give everything more emotions. During your relationship the two of you actually come up with a new secret language between the two of you and it tightens the bond the two of you share as now you're able to communicate in front of others without them being able to decipher what the two of you are saying. It's not a new experience for him to be made fun of due to his inability to speak by others but if you should experience the same treatment he doesn't tolerate it as he would normally, standing up for you whilst you might be unable to do so for yourself. In case you are able to talk he'd be really happy the moment you grow comfortable enough to talk to him even if you should stutter or mumble your words.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 10

Mark Grayson + Alien Biology

I wanted to write viltrumite reader stuff, and I figured out this was a great way to explore my viltrumite biology headcanons.

Warning about blood and the likes in this, as viltrumites are a very… violent people. Readers got a moustache, cuz hes a viltrumite.

Kinktober 2024 masterlist

Space was vast and borderline endless, and with less than 50 viltrumites left, Mark hadn’t expected to run into any of them. Least of all you, who happened to be one of Thraggs favoured sparring partners, making you one of the few, if not the only viltrumite left that had the powerful leader on his toes. You were more than just strong, you were smart. Scary smart. Which was also how you had so easily tracked down invincible.

Mark knew it would have most likely been a fight to the death, that’s what it had started out as anyways. All the blood and violence, the two of you crashing through asteroids and planets, carving tunnels through the very makeup of worlds and societies homes.

He had kept his head on straight in the beginning, even if Mark felt his blood bubbling and rushing through his body like a shaken soda bottle, the bubbles only seeming to grow worse as more blood was spilled. The pain was almost unbearable, but part of it had him feeling more alive than any other thing ever had made him feel.

At some point during the fight Mark must have bitten you, as your upper torso was naked, the fabric of your uniform having been shredded. There was a slowly bleeding wound on your shoulder in the shape of his teeth, Mark feeling a hot syrupy feeling pour down his spine and pooling in his abdomen.

He felt… hot. Mark audibly panting as his mouth hung open, the googles of his suit having been shattered when the fight started. He was much younger than you, you were in your thousands, but there was still something interesting about him. Maybe it was just the fact that he was nothing more than a half breed, and had survived your punches, even if you hadn’t even used half your strength.

Or maybe it was the thick scent of arousal rolling off him. It was a viltrumite scent through and through. You had only met very few humans, and had smelled even less when aroused, but the scent was different. For viltrumites it was closer to the scent of bloodlust, of conquest and absolute dominance. For humans it just felt hungry, like a weak creature wanting to copulate.

You had a feeling that Mark didn’t fully know what he was feeling. Any smart viltrumite would have turned the battle from deadly to more carnal, if only to save what few remained of your species, but Mark kept taking pot shots at you and letting out guttural noises that had to be the human in him. His suit did little to hide the hard shape of his arousal either. You almost wanted to curl your nose at the sight, had his father not even taught him to control himself?

It was pitifully easy to finally pin Mark down. You only needed one hand to do so, straddling his torso and simply holding his hands above his head as he almost snarled, barring his bloody teeth at you like a cornered animal. His nose was bleeding, there were multiple bleeding cuts on his body, and from the looks of it there were at least three broken bones, and yet he still wriggled and spat at you.

Mark only seemed to register what he had been feeling when you tore his suit off him like butter, staring from his neck and down. Part of you wanted to scold him for being so indecent about his arousal, any true viltrumite would know how to control their slit and breeding appendage.

But even you were perplexed when you tore what ugly suit of his all the way down to his thighs, and were met with a sight you weren’t used too. He didn’t have the usual tools of a viltrumite. His breeding appendage was outside his body, as well as hard and oozing against his stomach. Out of curiosity you released his wrists to reach down and fondle that little pouch under it, not reacting to the fact that his now free hands had started clawing at you again.

“You truly are just a half breed” you mumble, more to yourself than anything, but it was enough for Mark to pull himself out of that unfamiliar steamy thirst for blood and dominance. Seeing him so easily pull himself from the instinctual need to always be in control and have your way was yet another interesting sight, you could only assume it was his human half again.

“What’s that… what’s that supposed to mean” Mark croaks out, eyes settled on your bloody hands inquisitively exploring his twitching hardness like it was something you hadn’t seen before. Normally the sight of blood on his body would have made Mark heave, but for some reason knowing it was his and your blood? It only fuelled that new unfamiliar feeling inside him.

“True viltrumites do not leave themselves vulnerable like this” you rumble out, giving his sensitive appendage a squeeze, raising a slow brow as the half breed arches off the ground with a howl, spilling white all over himself. It was cute, in a way. The young half breeds scent only grew thicker, and leaning down with a sniff confirmed that what he had spilled all over himself was what had caused it.

You knew you should just kill him, but that would be such a shame. Sure, he wasn’t a full viltrumite, and didn’t even pose a threat to you, but it could at least be interesting to keep him around. “W-what are you doing” he whimpered, his hands much softer now as they grabbed onto your hair, his noises too enchanting to be those of a viltrumite. Viltrumites didn’t moan, they growled, snarled, yelled and roared, they never let anybody make them weak enough to moan like this. And yet, Mark allowed it.

The taste of his spend, his seed, was foreign on your tongue, but it wasn’t a bad taste. His little chest was cute too, Mark jolting and twitching as your moustache tickled his skin. So, his skin was more sensitive too, he truly was endearing. Your tongue was hot against his skin, it seemed his body temperature was slightly lower than yours as well.

Licking up his neck let you feel the pulse thrumming under his skin, you almost wanted to sink your teeth in and wrench your head back, just because his vulnerable veins were so close to the surface. It was a miracle he had lived so long, when he was so weakly built. Marks lips were soft against yours, his noises still huffing out between your lips as his arms curled around your neck, pulling you closer instead of trying to break it like most other viltrumites would have done.

How odd, his tongue wasn’t smooth, it had little bumps across the surface. Not enough to be annoying, but enough to be felt against your own. It wasn’t as flexible or as long as your own either, the tip of your tongue easily tickling the back of his throat as Mark gagged, yet moaned at the feeling.

He was rubbing against you again, dragging his dripping length across your muscular stomach as Marks legs hooked around your hips. You had little experience in kissing, there was no need for it in your culture. You didn’t have intercourse for fun, it was only a process to breed and to dominate, but having Mark huff and pant into your mouth as he wiggled about let you see why humans were so obsessed with it.

“Let me show you what I meant” you mumble against his lips, giving the roof of his mouth a lick before pulling back, your lips almost twitching upwards at the way he tried to chase you. There were some flickers in his eyes, like Mark wasn’t sure what to do, his human and viltrumite nature battling between submitting to you, or fighting you again.

Pulling down what remained of your suit seemed to settle for him, as Mark laid back on his elbows to watch, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he saw… nothing. There was nothing there, but length of flesh, and no balls, it almost looked like the body of a ken doll.

“Confused, half breed?” you grumble, amusement clear in your voice, what looked like the starts of a very small smile on your lips. It took some focusing on your part, to manually let your slit split open, having to reach down and assist in pulling it open. You hadn’t had any use for it for a very long time, so it took a little for the prehensile length to slide out.

“W-what the hell is that” Mark choked out, eyes wide as he watched what had to be your dick slide out. It was a deep red, like your blood, except for the small bumps and blunt spikes clearly meant for hanging on to assist in breeding, but not to harm too much, they had a purple tinge to them.

Mark didn’t know if he should do, or how he should react, even if that warm hot honey-like feeling was telling him to simply lay back and let you take your price. You had won, after all. So, unless he wished to die, he better let you have your way with him.

“This is what the body of a true viltrumite looks like. And here I thought you were simply a pervert who cared not for politeness. But it turns out you simply can’t control it” you hum, letting your prehensile length curl around his, the soft bumps rubbing against his skin and making Mark gasp and pant again.

Mark was mostly limp as you sat back and pulled him into your lap, letting him wrap his arms and legs around you, since he wouldn’t be able to hurt you anyways. “Go on, Mark. Show me how your humans like it” you rumble into his head as Mark rubs his face against your shoulder, panting against the wound still present there. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, but Mark still lapped at it with his strange tongue, as if trying to draw out any more of your powerful blood to wash against his tastebuds.

He moved like a man possessed, chasing his pleasure as he thrust into the writhing tube your own breeding appendage made, the half breed keening whenever those blunted soft spikes dug into the veins correctly. You got some pleasure out of it, sure, but it was nowhere near the amount Mark seemed to get as he moaned and whined. You didn’t find yourself annoyed by him though, simply letting him cling to you as you held him, letting him fuck himself as he craved.

Seeing his strange human-like appendage spill again was fascinating, your own length squeezing around his tighter to try and milk out more of it, making Mark whimper wetly against your neck. It seemed he needed time to rest between loads, how interesting.

It was a different experience for you, to sit there and simply hold another person, but the half blood clearly needed it, his scent all over the place and yearning for touch. It was only when you were sure he had returned to himself, at least somewhat, that you started drawing your own length back into your body.

Mark let out a noise, something high pitched and needy as he almost scrambled out your lap. The muscles in your torso tensed, ready for him to return to his blood thirsty haze, only for his mouth to descend onto your ribbed length. “W-what in the, what are you doing” you grunt, grabbing the back of his head, staring down at him with a hard expression.

“Do you guys… not have mouth stuff?” Mark questioned, his expression lax but confused, it reminded you a bit of those images you had seen of human dogs. “Mouth stuff?” you grunt, still not knowing what he meant. Was he trying to put your breeding shaft into his mouth? But why, there was no need for that, it didn’t assist in what it was there for. You were not shocked that humans had created something like this, with how obsessed they were with copulating.

“Let me show you, this time” Mark panted, a new determination flickering to life in his eyes as he wrapped his soft lips around one of your more vulnerable body parts. It sent a flash of heat up your spine, all the way up to your brain, sparks of pleasure coiling around inside your body. Maybe human ideas weren’t… too bad. You would have to study this, and you had an inkling that Mark wouldn’t be against helping you in your endeavours.

[kykyonthemoon]

How to romance the lovely Miss Hunter

By finding out the tropes you like to read in romance novels, he might know just how you would like this love to be.

ಇ. Character x Reader/MC

Included parts in order: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne, Caleb

ಇ. Tags: soft, sweet, fluff, cheesy (it's a warning), teasing, established relationship (except for Caleb's part), roleplaying (with Rafayel), jealousy (Xavier being jealous with his other identity - Lumiere), mentioned of all the romance tropes I like to write about, childhood friends to lovers, adopted brother and sister, princess and her merman slave, damsel in distress.

ಇ. Word count: 4k3

ಇ. Requested by Krys.

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Request

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍 

"What have you done just now?! "That was my first kiss."

The princess exclaimed. She then covered her lips with her fingers and concealed her face behind the veil that had just been removed.

The attractive mermaid, with his bare chest revealed beneath the water, smiled, half cold, half alluring. He migrated close to to the Princess and declared:

“Now you are mine.”

The book in Rafayel’s hand rolled from the sofa to the floor, and he began laughing uncontrollably, crawling even. You seized the book in anger, folded it flat, and requested:

“Please stop.”

Rafayel covered his lips with a palm and smiled. His eyes shone with tears, his cheeks went scarlet, and his stomach ached from laughing so hard. He leaned absolutely back on the sofa and gazed at you.

"Your Highness, you do have a hobby of reading such cheesy love stories."

Rafayel replicated the dialogue from the book, making you even more enraged. You shot him a stare.

"Hmm." You gripped the book hard in your hands. Ever since he caught you reading this romantic novel inspired by the legend of Lemuria, Rafayel had been teasing you by reenacting passages from the written scenes, but in a sardonic style that left you flush with embarrassment.

"Your Highness, where are you heading to?" Rafayel grabbed your wrist as you turned to go. "Do not forget that now, you are mine."

Rafayel restrained another chuckle. You violently yanked free from his grip. 

“I'm… sorry…” Rafayel cleared his throat. He eventually came to the decision to stop this childish game. 

"With the exception of a few references to Lemurian mythology, the rest are too… much. The author has let her imagination wander too far.” 

"You are insulting other people's interests!" You frowned and responded. "I enjoy reading passionate love stories like this. Is there a problem with it?”

Rafayel stared at you with an expression of pain. You were the one who got furious, so why did he appear to be more upset?

“If you wish to learn about Lemuria, wouldn't it be better to just ask me directly? You don't need to read stories like that.”

The book in your hand was titled The Lemurian Kiss. The plot focused on a handsome mermaid and the princess he was forced to obey. Tara first exposed you to it, which piqued your interest. Then you were absorbed in the love and resentment, as if it was your own narrative from another life.

Rafayel hated it. Yet you did not understand, if he disliked it so much, why did he even bother to read it more attentively than yourself? Even when he tormented you with passages from the narrative that made you blush, you had to concede that he had read and comprehended it better than you could.

Perhaps it was due to his Lemurian ancestry. Perhaps he had heard a similar story elsewhere in his long life. You had no idea how long he had lived, and you understood very little about Lemurians. Indeed, when you bought this book, you anticipated it to disclose more about his kind than he was eager to share.

Suddenly, you came up with an idea. You gave up attempting to get out of Rafayel's grip. To his astonishment, you crouched down closer to him, giving him no opportunity to sit up. A hand rested on Rafayel's chest, gently forcing him down into the sofa.

"So? Will you tell your beloved princess all the secrets of Lemuria then?"

You altered your voice to seem icy and pompous, like the princess in the tale. Your gaze fixed on Rafayel's, making it impossible for him to ignore you. He was completely taken aback by your abrupt shift in attitude.

“You… What are you doing?”

“Is that how you speak to a princess?”

You appeared unsatisfied, and before Rafayel attempted to get up, you opted to sit on top of him.

“Ouch! That's painful!" He shouted. “You're so heavy! Get off!”

"How insolent of you!" You grabbed Rafayel's chin so he could obediently stay down in place. "I'll have your scales peeled off for daring to insult my weight like this."

He snorted coldly while he was still pinned down on the sofa. "That's it! You're bullying me!"

"Isn't this your favorite scene from the story? When the merman attempted to flee, the princess sat on him. I'm merely offering help since I see you immersing yourself so much in the role from the story there.”

Rafayel's sullen attitude brought you a delicious triumph. He turned his face away, as if he was upset at being bullied. He stated:

“It's best that you don't read these kinds of stories anymore!”

Pleased, you softly patted his cheeks as he puffed them up like a toddler. You stood up, satisfied, and said:

“I'm going to let it slide. Next time, don't tease me like that anymore."

But Rafayel showed obvious disappointment. He grasped your wrist.

“Is that all?”

"Huh?" 

“Are you really going to leave?” He grumbled. “You are not dedicated to the role you play after all.”

Rafayel sat up immediately, then he pulled you down on the sofa and in a blink of an eye, you were in his arms. “Once you start a role, you have to be committed to it.”

Rafayel's long fingers slid down the bridge of your nose, then paused at your lips. You held your breath, looking at him, waiting.

“Her Highness loses interest too quickly.” 

You grinned, recalling the personal passages between the two main protagonists in the novel. Sometimes you put yourself and Rafayel in it. How astonishing that this was truly happening.

“Entertain me then. Would you?”

Your clear voice rang out. Your fingertips had rendered Rafayel's face red, and you could hear his heart pounding furiously in your ear. 

“I can grant all your wishes.” Rafayel held your hand and placed it on his chest, then began to kiss you. First your hair, then your forehead, a lingering kiss on the tip of your nose, and finally he stopped for a moment at your lips. “I can even make you forget all the cheesy things a human wrote about Lemurians in that book.”

Rafayel's fingers gently parted your lips a little. Yet still left you hanging. 

“After all, Her Highness needs not a work of fiction, when she already has a true Lemurian, in the flesh, right here.”

At that moment, the merman offered the princess a long-awaited kiss, as if reconnecting an incomplete romance from the past life.

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓 

Those days, Xavier noticed how you often had your nose buried in a book. It was nothing like daily life science research, nor was it like the ones you would usually read. It was brand new, with a silver mask on the cover.

He also realized another thing, that you always laughed to yourself while reading it. Occasionally, you would give him a covert glance, then go back to bury yourself in the pages of the book and smile. Other times, you would hold the entire open book in your hands and roll around on the bed with immense excitement, which he could not comprehend.

Then, one day, he picked it up, that thick large book. What caught his eye was the title of the story: Moonlight Lover. He rolled his eyes. 

Xavier's slightly trembling fingers opened the book in a slow motion. The page you were reading was marked with a lovely tiny star-shaped bookmark. He failed to take his eyes off the words presented under the light.

“My beautiful lady, fear not! I have come for you. I will protect you with my life.”

“Oh, my Lumiere…”

A very complicated expression appeared on Xavier's face. He read on, and the next paragraphs perplexed him. 

In the midst of fierce battle, Lumiere gave his lover a passionate kiss. Time stopped, the moonlight shone on two hearts in perfect harmony. Right at the climax, you walked in. With a haste you snatched the book from his hands.

“This… is mine!” 

You hid it behind your back. Your face turned red as if you had just done something so embarrassing.

"You… Why have you read my book?"

"You…" Xavier was ready to say something, but hesitated. His look remained stunned, as if he had just witnessed something so horrific that he could not speak. Yet that may be true.

"Tara let me borrow this book!" You spoke fast, not daring to look him in the eyes. "She said this… this is the best-selling romance novel in Linkon…"

"I see." Xavier responded. "Do you like reading romantic stories?"

"S-Sometimes…" You murmured. With the book in your hand, you swiftly turned to the bookshelf and placed it there. As you turned around, you nearly ran into Xavier. When did he come to stand right behind you? "Oops!"

"S-Sometimes…" You murmured. With the book in your hand, you swiftly turned to the bookshelf and placed it there. As you turned around, you nearly ran into Xavier. When did he arrive to stand directly behind you? "Oops!"

You exclaimed with surprise. You promptly drew away. Your back was ready to collide with the bookshelf, but Xavier's extensive hand saved you.

His face was so close. Somehow, you imagined that behind a silver mask, he would look just like Lumiere, which was bizarre.

"Xavier…" You quietly uttered his name, indicating that you were safe and that he could let you free. Yet Xavier held you even tighter.

“Do you like Lumiere that much?” He questioned abruptly, his expression not even trying to cover his evident sulking. 

“Lumiere… It's merely fiction…” You defended. 

“What do you like about him? His flashy appearance? Or his way of flirting with the female lead?”

Xavier's face stiffened. You caught his eyes gradually darken.

“In stories like this,” you clarified. “The male lead often appears just as the main protagonist is in peril to defend her. I simply appreciate their love..."

You could feel Xavier's heavy breathing on your cheek. His hand, which was previously on your back, then moved down to your hip, pushing you towards him so that your bodies were pressed against each other.

“I do the same too, don't I?” Xavier's voice was calm and soft, yet contained so much bitterness. “I will always defend you. I'm always there when you need me."

“Yes… That is true…” You replied, casting a quick glance at him. He rested his chin on your head and wrapped his arms around you in secure, as if afraid Lumiere would appear and take you away at any moment.

“So, me and Lumiere, who do you like more?”

Xavier's question left you hanging in confusion. Before you could respond, he added:

“Lumiere cannot hold you like this. He cannot be there whenever you call. He cannot hang out with you. Cannot be close to you… like this…”

A kiss from Xavier landed on your bare shoulder. You felt dizzy after being embraced with such force. You gasped:

“Erm… Lumiere is a… a legend… Even if he's real… he's probably a lot older than me…”

Xavier sighed deeply once more. He leaned in toward you and pushed you closer to the bookshelf. 

“Then tell me. Do you like me more, or him?"

Just when you thought everything was settled, Xavier continued to ask that question. You knew all too well that you could not get out of this situation if you refused to give him the answer he needed. Yet the look on his face made you want to taunt him even more.

“Well, let's see. Lumiere has a luxury attire, exceptional abilities, and—”

Without waiting for you to finish the sentence, Xavier's lips locked your mouth. His kisses were always as gentle as his demeanor, but this was more intense than ever. You were held in his arms, lips devoured by him to the point that every breath slowly left you, your body and heart trembling as you were forced to surrender to him in such a manner. 

When Xavier let you go, your mind already went blank. Who was Lumiere again? You no longer remembered. You could not recall.

Xavier gazed down at you, his lips parted slightly into a smile. He removed the book off the shelf and placed it back in your hands. 

“Return it to Tara once you're done reading.”

He turned away. At that moment, you concluded that you could read every love story ever written in this world, but the one true male protagonist in your life could only be Xavier.

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

There was a book café established on the same street as Akso Hospital recently. And so you have found another place to go while waiting for a certain doctor to finish his shift.

Originally, you intended to pass the time by sipping a drink and munching some sweets. Yet you had no idea that you would also be drawn into the pages of books there, especially a very thrilling love story about a man. The doctor who led two divergent lifestyles.

He was a doctor at an esteemed hospital, also a cold-blooded killer who must conceal his identity from the person he loved. Right from the very first lines, you were drawn into the story that was both tragic and sensational. Especially when the main character resembled a doctor whom you admired. You were so absorbed in reading that you failed to notice the time. You went around the café, holding the book in your hands, and read without paying attention to the world. As a consequence, you ran into someone.

“Zayne?” You cried out in surprise. He stared at you first, then at the book on the floor. He leaned down to pick it up.

“The secrets of Doctor Li?” Zayne read the title aloud. In a haste you used your hands to protect the book from his inquisitive gaze. When he returned it, you clutched it securely against your chest and purposefully turned the cover toward you.

“Well… This is…” You searched for an explanation. “My reference book…”

"Is that so?" Zayne's eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Another one of your reference books?”

You were perplexed while recalling that you had lately left another book in Zayne's office. Of course, you claimed that it helped you understand more about the medical field, and he had pointed out some of its factual misunderstandings. This time, just by looking at the cover, Zayne understood precisely what type of books you were reading, and they had nothing to do with medicine.

“I thought medical books were supposed to be displayed on the other side of the coffee shop, right?” Zayne replied nonchalantly.

“Ah… It was a bit crowded over there, so I moved to this area…”

Zayne turned around to look at the other side of the café. There was not a single person seen. On the contrary, the place you had chosen had more readers.

Realizing what a mistake you had made, you quickly pulled Zayne's hand out of there. “Let's go, Doctor Zayne! I've been waiting for you and now I'm hungry!”

A few days later, you caught Zayne intently reading something at his desk. Moving closer, you recognized the very familiar cover of the book almost immediately.

“The secrets of Doctor Li?! So you're reading it?"

Being caught in the act by you, since you had decided to come to the hospital on your lunch break that day without a notice, Zayne could only chuckle. He covered half of his face with the book, leaving only his eyes visible behind the pair of glasses. You knew he was adjusting the muscles around his face.

“Yes. Hello."

"You. Are. Reading. This. Too!" You uttered every single word as if this was a big deal. 

Zayne calmly lowered the book, closed then placed it neatly on the table. He replied:

“I also want to refer to some things from there.”

You appeared perplexed. “Didn't you say that this book is wrong in even basic healthcare knowledge?”

Zayne's serene demeanor belied a sense of perplexity in his gaze. His eyes never lied. He immediately turned away. 

"Medical expertise is not what I am looking for in it."

“What is it then?” You placed a hand on your chin thoughtfully. “Is there anything that even Doctor Know-It-All Zayne has to learn from love stories? Unless it's…”

You abruptly discontinued talking. It appeared you already knew the answer.

Zayne glanced at you for a brief moment. He pursed his lips, but it was evident he was smiling.

“People easily find what they want in fiction.” He explained. “For instance, if a girl likes to read romance, then she is waiting for such a sweet love story.”

“That doesn't sound like something Doctor Zayne would say.” You inquired once again: "Are those actually Yvonne's words?"

You guessed, given that you just witnessed the nurse passing the identical book to Doctor Greyson in the corridor.

Zayne confessed that Yvonne had suggested that he read the romantic novels you enjoyed to better understand you.

Zayne admitted that Yvonne had hinted that he should read the type of romance novels you liked to understand you better.

“I've never dated anyone before.” Zayne did not look you in the eye, but his fingers were squeezing your hand as he stood up. “At the start of our relationship, I had certain concerns. I'd want to know which type of partner you prefer, or how you wish to be loved."

You could not hold back the happy smile on your lips anymore. The fact that Zayne was so open about what he was thinking like this was enough to bring you closer to him.

“You can just ask me. Just like how you would always answer my questions about anything.” 

You took initiative to stand on tiptoe and wrapped your arms around Zayne's neck. He gently rubbed his nose against the tip of yours.

“I like to be loved by you in your own way,” you whispered very softly, just enough for the two of you to hear even though there was no one else in the office. “There is no need for any stereotypes. Just be yourself, because that's who I like.”

As soon as you finished speaking, you placed a gentle kiss on Zayne's cheek and added: "Do you find me easy to please?"

Zayne lifted you up and let your feet rest on his. “You are as easy to please as a three-year-old child. Just give you sweets and a few romance books, you would obediently sit still all day."

“As expected, the person who understands me best is certainly Doctor Zayne!”

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃 

During the summer, after graduating from high school and waiting for the official announcement from the Hunter Association, you spent the whole day lying at home resting. And, with so much spare time, you began re-reading literature that you had previously missed.

While you were giggling with a romance book in your hands, Caleb stepped in. He snatched it and said:

“Does Gran know you're still reading these things?”

“First,” you said. “Grandma is not at home. Second, I am old enough to read whatever I like now.”

You extended a hand towards Caleb, but he refused to give the book back. He quickly glanced at the cover, then looked at you with a serious expression.

“Pip-squeak, did you forget that I and Grandma had to confiscate your books?”

You crossed your arms over the chest and huffed at him. “Speaking of which, you were a snitch who told her about my books.”

“You stayed up all night reading until your eyes got dark circles.” Caleb laughed. “While you must focus on studying. Books like this will give you a false perspective on love. I'm just worried that any boy would say a few sweet words like in those stories, and you would give him your heart."

“Do you even know what I read?” You sighed. “But you got exactly what you wanted. I've graduated from high school without having had a single romance. Now give me back the book so I can continue daydreaming, okay?"

You sat up straight and were about to reach out to take the book back when he held it up higher. He shook his head.

"Not yet. I must read it first to ensure that this book is safe.”

He sat in another armchair and proceeded to open the book to the page you were already reading. Quick as lightning, you darted forward and placed your hands over to stop him.

"No way! This… You can't read it!”

Caleb glanced at you with perplexed eyes. With just one hand, he easily pushed you away. 

“I said, you can't read it!”

The more you attempted to reclaim the book, more firmly Caleb held both of your hands. He rapidly read the stuff you never wished him to know. You bit your lip and dropped your head to the floor in ashamed defeat.

He knew. 

He knew what you read. He knew what kind of love you were desperately hoping for.

A moment later, after about ten pages, Caleb turned to look at his sister, who was sitting on the ground in her pajamas and her hair undone still. You simply wanted to hide yourself away so he would never find you, since you knew he would only lecture you.

In fact, you were waiting for that lecture to happen, but Caleb said absolutely nothing for a while. He closed the book and placed it on the sofa.

“So…” He eventually spoke. “The story you are reading… Is it the romance between a brother and his sister?”

“Foster brother and sister.” You added it right away. “They are orphans… Like us.”

You deliberately said the last words in the most quiet tone. But Caleb heard it. He cleared his throat. 

“So you like romantic stories… like this?”

You covertly gazed at him before turning away immediately. This room suddenly became so airless.

When you were alone, you could let your imagination run wild. You could prolong the daydream in which you were free to express your feelings. Just like the heroine in the story. Yes, you adored that story, because it told you about the romance that bloomed between two orphans who were adopted and fell in love with each other as they grew up. You enjoyed portraying yourself as the female lead and dreaming that he was the male lead.

That was probably why you dated nobody during your school years. That was probably why you always waited for his vacation to greet him when he returned from Skyhaven.

You wanted to be connected to him in a different way than being his adopted sister.

Then he already knew everything. How could you simply bury this guilt? You dared not look at him anymore. Nonetheless, Caleb sat down in front of you, on the floor. His hand was placed very close to yours.

“Well… You could have told me that you…” Caleb stopped mid-sentence. You also did not know what to say in this case. Then he decided to leave.

During that weekend, you never spoke to each other save for brief phrases when compelled to say something. 

Caleb returned home the following weekend, but he arrived by the doorstep late at night. The unexpected summer downpour soaked him. You soon let him inside and after taking a shower, Caleb sat in the living room alone with his hair still dripping.

“You should dry your hair.” You spoke, in your hand a clean cotton towel.

Caleb grinned, but averted your gaze. "You usually help me with it."

You refused to say anything else and proceeded gently towards him. There was a chaotic sense between the two of you, as if a fire that had been smoldering for a long time suddenly flared up in violence.

You did not sit next to Caleb, but rather stood behind the sofa, drying his hair. Caleb's eyes were closed, he leaned back slightly, and his gorgeous face was directed towards you. If it had not been for the cotton towel, his hair and head would have likely touched your abdomen.

"It's done." You spoke quietly. You slowly took one step backwards. But Caleb reached out and held you back.

“Pip-squeak, don't go.”

You lost your breath and lowered the head to look down at him. His eyes opened a little, just enough to capture the image of you half confused, half expectant like this.

“Do you still read that story?”

Your head shook slightly as an answer.

"How come? Why did you stop?"

“It makes me… think about nonsense. Didn't you want me to stop reading those kinds of novels and hoping too much for a romance?"

Caleb laughed. His cold fingers touched your cheek, then slid down to the corner of your ruby lips.

“What a pity. The two characters in that story seemed to… truly be together eventually.”

He knew, since he had read ten more pages than you. You never picked up that book again after that day.

“Of course, because they are the male and female protagonists...” You replied in a soft tone.

“You can also be the main character,” said Caleb. “You are the main character in your own story. So… How would you write it?”

He looked at you for a long moment, waiting for your reaction. Waiting for a sign from you. Waiting for you to let him in. 

At last, you allowed yourself to be immersed in his touch, his breath and the delicate aroma of soap on his skin. You rubbed against his palm, your head lowered slightly to get a little closer to him. 

If you were the heroine in that story, you would hope this dream to never fade.

“I want… I want Caleb to be mine…”

[aphel1on]

Dungeon Lords and the Human Need for Connection

When I came across these panels again the other day, it got me thinking about dungeon lord parallels again.

...And I spiraled until I was writing my thesis statement about how All Four Dungeon Lords (Yes, Even Laios, Stop leaving him out of these discussions) Are Actually the Same.

Firstly (because on some level everything is about Thistle to me) I thought about how the lion could have very likely given Thistle a similar offer when his loved ones started losing their souls/rebelling/etc. And yet, there is no sign that Thistle ever accepted such an offer, nor any sign that he used magic to forcibly change people's opinions, the way Marcille briefly threatened the party with while she was dungeon lord:

Instead, he ended up with the fucking dining table that drives me insane. Which probably means that either Thistle rejected the offer, or the lion sensed it wouldn't go over well and didn't even try it.

Making replicas of people doesn't seem to be an uncommon part of granting the dungeon lord's wishes. In his time, Mithrun actually took the demon up on it:

(Not pictured; the infamous lamia-version of his love interest.)

What makes Mithrun different from Thistle and Marcille in this instance is that Thistle and Marcille both became dungeon lords for the sake of specific people. Both were motivated by the terror of losing their most important people, and both told themselves everything they did was for the sake of protecting those people.

Because they were motivated by genuine love, copies or mind manipulation were not palatable. I think Thistle even in the late stages of his madness probably would not find these to be acceptable solutions. No matter how twisted, possessive, and obsessive his love became under the dungeon's influence, it was still from the fear of losing those original, irreplaceable people that he was doing all this. Even as his relationship with Delgal and the other Melinis fell apart over the years... even as he was left with only their soulless bodies... he would still rather cling to whatever was left.

Perhaps on some level, Thistle recognized the same thing that kept Marcille from following through with her threats:

Even in the state of endlessly chasing their desires as dungeon lords, they couldn't feel truly okay accomplishing it that way.

For Mithrun, meanwhile, the people in his fantasy world were a means to an end. It was all-encompassing insecurity and the pain of not being wanted that led him to become dungeon lord. His desire was not fixated on any specific people - it was broad enough and desperate enough that anyone could fulfill it. The thing is, Mithrun prior to becoming dungeon lord was by all accounts well-liked. But his emotional walls were up so high that not a single one of his admirers could make him feel known and cared for. The kind of crushing perfectionism he exhibited in that stage of his life often comes with a silent and equally crushing imposter syndrome. No one actually knew him, because Mithrun didn't let them, even though every aspect of his personality then was a desperate plea to be seen and liked. I think the sad truth is that, by the time he became dungeon lord, Mithrun didn't truly believe that happiness was something that could be found in other people. (It's telling that his wish was for a world in which he had never been discarded; perhaps for a world in which he never felt the need to put up those masks.)

In this respect, Mithrun is actually more alike to Laios than he is to Thistle and Marcille.

Laios was told again and again by the world that it was wrong to be who he was - that he was unlikeable when he acted the way that came naturally to him. The lion didn't bother asking Laios about replicas; those would be meaningless to him. Like Mithrun, Laios had lost all hope of being liked for who he was, but took it one step further: Laios had lost hope that he could find happiness in the human world entirely. At that point, all he wanted was an escape. To leave the pain of the human world behind and become someone, something, different. All he really needed in order to be tempted into it was the assurance that his friends would be safe.

All four of these stories have a pretty obvious throughline when you think about it: the deep, intrinsic need for human connection and what happens to someone when that need cannot be met.

All four of them were starving for connection. All four of them experienced alienation and isolation that made them desperate enough to turn to the demon.

Marcille (a half-elf whose unstable aging left her without peers) and Thistle (raised as the only elf in a kingdom of humans) both formed intense attachments to the few people they did become close to, and went off the deep end from fear of losing them.

Mithrun and Laios were both rejected by others for aspects of themselves that were out of their control, and tried to cope by developing masks that left them unable to feel accepted by the people still in their lives.

...So it's fitting, then, that genuine human connection is also what saved all four of them in the end.

(Thistle is a little arguable here; I personally don't think he died, but even if you do believe he died at the end of the manga- Yaad being able to connect and empathize with him is what gave him peace and solace in his final moments.)

Dungeon Meshi is about alienation and connection as much as it is about food and cycles of life. (Or more like, these themes are masterfully intertwined - food is used to represent love and connection over and over again. But that's a whole essay in and of itself!)

[maxlarens]

Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL: slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

[cheriecoke]

I loooveee the way u write nanami 🥺🥺 was wondering if u could do a mini fic on nanami x reader but when they were in high school :O I feel reader would constantly flirt with him but he stays unbothered until she stops 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank uuuu

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS — nanami kento

omg thank u so so much, you're very sweet <3 i think i was taking requests when you asked this, so im so so so sorry i took forever to answer :( this isn't exactly what you said but i hope it's close to what you had in mind <3

contents: sfw, high school nanami & reader, mutual pining, silly teenage emotions, fluff, it's not even really romantic but they're best friends that won't admit they have a crush on each other, reader is shorter than him, gn!reader — 1.2k

“you can’t stay mad at me forever, kento.”

your best friend — or so you thought — stayed silent as you walked through the abandoned warehouse, searching for the curses that needed exorcising. so far, they’d evaded you, just as kento had all of your questions.

he glanced over at you, mouth drawn into its usual line. “i can if i want.”

“oh really?” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued forward, following him through the building. “are you fifteen or five? you’re supposed to be the mature one!”

kento rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify that with a verbal response, letting his blade dangle loosely at his side. an odd sound echoed through the hallways, but it wasn’t quite menacing enough to be a curse.

you groaned. “don’t you know everyone will just keep pairing us up on missions until we work this out?” if kento was going to continue to be a pain, you wouldn’t allow him the silence he wanted so desperately. he’d been ignoring you for over a week. “haibara’s lucky. he gets to go with the second years.”

nanami glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow, before looking ahead once more. “you mean he’s lucky he gets to go with gojo.”

though you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult to you or not, you laughed. “maybe.”

“yeah,” kento scoffed. “i thought so.”

the tone was flatter than usual, even for someone like kento, and you raised your eyebrows, letting the words settle between you.

“you’re being so sour. you know, you never even told me what i did wrong. you’re so mad at me, kento, and i don’t even really know why.”

kento watched his feet take one step, then another, the opposite ones moving ahead. he’d grown a lot over the summer — a fact you’d somehow only realized. since when had he been that much taller than you?

“i’m not mad,” he finally settled on. a weak argument as to why he’d been ignoring you for the duration of your mission, and the week before.

you frowned, chewing the inside of your mouth. although kento had a kind heart, you knew how nasty he could be to people he didn’t like. you didn’t want to be one of those on the list. “kento… i really am sorry. if i’ve done something wrong.”

the tension drained from his shoulders. he sighed. “you haven’t.”

despite wanting to push the issue further, you let it die, deciding to listen to the silence in case of any curses. though, it had been nearly half an hour, and you hadn’t found any yet. you were beginning to think that maybe your teacher had led you astray.

“can i ask you something?” kento, after ten minutes, finally interrupted the quiet again. and though that sort of phrase was never a good sign, you would’ve taken anything to get him talking to you again.

“of course, kento.”

he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, seeming shy, almost. had it not been so dark, you would have seen the slight tint of pink on his cheeks, that you only assumed was there to begin with.

“what is it about gojo that you like so much?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you’re… interested in him, aren’t you? like that?” kento shifted awkwardly, holding his body as if it wasn’t quite his own. “i mean, i just assumed…”

all over, you great hot, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, a wave of dread heaping onto your stomach. “you think i have a crush on gojo?”

“don’t you?”

you thought about it for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“maybe?” kento pinched his eyebrows together. “what the hell kind of answer is that? you either do or you don’t.”

“i think he’s...” you stumbled over the words, not really sure when you’d started talking to nanami kento about these sorts of things. the words tasted sour in your mouth. “well, i suppose he’s attractive, isn’t he? he’s certainly charming. he makes me laugh.”

“you’re always flirting with him," kento said skeptically.

you shrugged. "i'm just teasing. if you consider that flirting, then i guess i am."

“hm. you sound like you think you’re supposed to be interested in him, just because he’s gojo.”

that raised a small laugh out of you. “maybe you’re right. i think i might just be interested in people i know won’t ever like me back.” kento’s eyes flashed, and before he could say anything, lips parted, you continued. “but what do i know about anything, anyway? teenagers are supposed to be dumb like that, aren’t they?”

kento frowned, brown eyes softer than you’d seen in awhile. “i don’t think you’re dumb.”

“thanks.” for some reason, that made you bashful, darting your eyes away as you smiled at the ground. “have you ever had a crush on anyone, kento?”

he gave you a tiny little smile, poking you in the temple, before repeating your words from earlier. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“you’re so stupid.”

kento laughed, then, a light noise that was more familiar to you than it was to a lot of others. “you know, if it makes you feel better, i think gojo likes you. really, i do. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes when you laugh at his jokes. geto told us. he talks about you to him all the time.”

and though you’d expected the words to send a wave of glee over you, the sort of silly emotion that came with a teenage crush, you didn’t feel excited as you should've. perhaps because satoru had never been the one you wanted.

“gojo just likes to be admired. besides, everyone likes when people laugh at their jokes. that's not special.” you kicked at the floor. “anyway, geto’s probably just telling you all that so you’ll tell me and i’ll make a fool of myself in front of them. that would really make them laugh.”

kento frowned, contemplative. “i don’t think he would do that.”

he wouldn’t. it just seemed the only good way to diverge the conversation.

you threw your hands up, expelling a loud sigh. “well… whatever. honestly, it doesn't matter. i don’t think i even want a boyfriend.”

kento gawked at you for a moment, lips slightly parted, before he shook his head, another snort of a laugh leaving him. “you’re so confusing.”

“you should be relieved. wouldn’t you be miserable if i started dating gojo?” you were only teasing him, bumping his shoulder with your own, a playful grin on your face.

but kento’s voice was gentle when he returned his answer, and the relief was evident on his face. “i would.”

whether you knew it then, or not, that little confession had changed the course of your life. you brushed it off easily, gripping your cursed tool tightly as you turned the corner again.

“hey kento?”

“what? the curses are going to sneak up on us if—”

“you’re my best friend, by the way. even if i was dating gojo, you’d still be my best friend. you’ll always be my best friend.” you stopped him, serious now. “no matter what happens.”

kento smiled softly, barely there at all. he squeezed your hand in return. “i hope so.”