#when i say that final book gutted me

[applejee]

22. thick as thieves by megan whalen turner

23. the return of the thief by megan whalen turner

books i have read so far in 2024

1. the goblin emperor by katherine addison

[snowballseal]

Pretty Bird

Sylus X Reader

Summary: Sylus is jealous of you giving Mephisto attention. That's it. You tease him when you find out.

Word Count: 2123

Note: Nothing really, hope I did him justice! His dialogue is a little harder for me to nail down.

---

The first time it happens is when you cross to the N109 Zone to accompany Sylus on an “errand”.

The first thing you do when you reach the ornate, empty house - of course - is say hello to your favorite bird.

“Hey there pretty bird.”

Mephisto squawks, bobbing excitedly on his perch as you bound up to him. You grin and give the crow a gentle scratch on his head. He preens under your touch, mechanical feathers fluffing with another quiet, scruffy caw. Adorable.

Despite his unnerving gaze, which you find to be eerily similar to a certain Onychinus leader, you can’t help but love the little bird. For some reason, it always comforts you a little bit to see him perched outside your apartment, or following you around Linkon. He always tries to act like he’s not spying on you, but you know he is, and you know he’s going to report right back to Sylus. Maybe that’s why it’s comforting.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to sway his loyalties.”

Speak of the devil.

“As if,” you snicker, giving the bird one final scratch before spinning on your heels to face Sylus. He sits across the room in one of his big armchairs, eyes glued to the gun he’s loading, face carefully blank. As always. You saunter over and pop yourself onto the arm of the chair, bumping his shoulder. “You know Mephisto doesn’t listen to anyone but you. I’m just like the fun mom who gives him things.”

His lips twitch ever so slightly, “Mmm, does that make me your husband in this situation?”

Heat creeps up your cheeks.

You are no stranger to Sylus’ flirty nature. That’s how things have always been between you, though it only really gets to you now. Before, when you kind of hated his guts, it was just annoying. Well, maybe even then-

“You wish,” you retort, but there’s no hiding the blush painting your cheeks.

“Hm, I thought you knew me better than that, sweetie.” In an instant, his hand curls around your wrist, giving it a sharp tug that knocks you off balance. You let out an undignified squeak, tumbling right into his lap. And before you can squirm away, Sylus locks an arm over your legs, keeping you trapped against him. Those red eyes freeze you in place, dark and warm with mischief. “Why would I wish for something I could so easily take?”

You stare at him, eyes blown wide, face completely red now. You can’t even form any words in response, which seems to amuse him even more. A smirk curls his lips, and he gives your hip a playful pinch.

“What? Crow got your tongue, sweetie?”

You sputter, finally finding your voice, “Sylus!”

“Good. Now that you’re focused, we can go handle business.” Sylus sets you on the ground, making sure you’re steady before he stands nonchalantly and tucks his gun in its holster. Like nothing just happened! “We don’t want to be late now, do we?”

Before you can even say anything more, he’s heading for the door. It takes a few seconds to shake yourself from your  state of shock, and then you’re quickly following after him.

“Sylus-!”

He cuts you off, that stupid, attractive smirk still on his lips, “And by the way, try not to spoil Mephisto too much, sweetie. He’s grown rather petulant when you’re not around.”

You’re pretty sure your blush sticks around for the entire car ride after.

---

The second time is when you visit on one of your off days. 

When you get there, Sylus is still asleep. You take a moment to crouch by his bed, a fond smile adorning your lips as you take in his peaceful face. You remember when he used to sleep sitting up, so he was ready for anything, but now he looks relaxed. Though you still spot the gun tucked under his bed.

Deciding not to bother him, you quietly make your way back out to the living room and grab a book. It’s about the only way to pass time in the N109 Zone, at least, without getting yourself into anything dangerous. As soon as you sit down, Mephisto flaps across the room and lands on your arm, plopping himself down into your lap like a cat.

A giggle escapes you when the crow throws his head back, looking up at the most awkward angle you can imagine. You give his beak a little rub, and he makes a soft clicking sound, beady red eyes falling shut.

“I swear, it’s almost like you’re a crow with cat programming,” you hum, mostly to yourself. Mephisto ruffles his feathers, though, at the word ‘cat’, eyes flashing back open. You snort, easing a hand over his wings, “No worries, pretty bird, no cats. I’m just kidding.”

He settles back down, seemingly embarrassed by his reaction, which only makes you want to coddle him more. So cute. If only Sylus would be this cute with you. Heat tinges your cheeks at the thought of the tall man resting against your lap, looking up at you with softly narrowed eyes, humming in content as you pet his ha-

Snapping your book open, you throw yourself into the story in hopes of banishing such rogue thoughts. If Sylus knew what you were imagining, he would tease you for years. You really don’t want to feed his ego even more. Mephisto wedges himself between your arm and your side, happy to just fall asleep as you read, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

It doesn’t take you long to actually get immersed in the storyline, though. So much so that you don’t hear the steps coming up behind you.

“It seems you come here more often to spend time with Mephisto than with me.”

You practically jump out of your skin when a strong arm circles your shoulders. Sylus’ voice is a low rumble in your ear, thick with sleep. He leans over the back of your chair, and you narrowly miss the way he eyes the bird in your lap with distaste. He looks far too content curled up on your lap.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were sleeping,” you hum, closing the book.

He grumbles, sleepy eyes shifting to bore into you. The smallest pout pulls at his lips, and you have to stifle a giggle as you reach up to smooth down his messy hair. Sylus leans into your touch, much like Mephisto did, his eyes flickering shut. Okay, maybe he is just as cute.

“Are you mad I didn’t come cuddle with you?” You tease. Sleepy Sylus is definitely your favorite Sylus. “I didn’t know the big, bad Onychinus leader likes to snuggle.”

“It’s simply to ensure you don’t cause trouble in the N109 Zone,” he murmurs, still just as quick-witted though he’s half-asleep, “I can’t have my kitten wandering around all by herself, now can I?”

“I was just reading, Sylus. No trouble here.”

“Hmm, then you might as well come read in bed.”

You hesitate, fingers tracing along his jaw lightly, “You sure I won’t disturb your sleep?”

Those dark eyes blink back open lazily, a rare, genuine smile dancing in their depths, “Trust me, kitten, my sleep will be much better with you at my side.”

God, you’re weak for this man. Mephisto squawks his complaints as you lift him from your lap, but takes off to his perch without much fight. Sylus feels a flash of victory as you intertwine your fingers. The sensation of your small hand in his eases the strange tightness in his chest whenever you’re apart. He curls his other arm around you possessively, sending the bird a smug smirk.

You catch it this time, lifting a brow as you glance between him and Mephisto. Your brain stalls. Was he…jealous? No way. There’s no way Sylus would be jealous of you spending time with his bird. He’s more mature than that…or maybe not, you realize as he drags you back to his bed, only to lay himself over you like a large cat, using your lap as his pillow. Exactly as you imagined.

Your heart flutters a little, which you’re sure he hears somehow, because he squeezes your waist teasingly. You pinch his cheek lightly before running your fingers through his snowy hair. It’s always softer than you expect.

“Go to sleep, Sylus,” you murmur, voice far too fond, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He hums, and you can feel the sound vibrate through his body. Almost like a purr.

God, you don’t even have a chance, do you?

---

The final time is when you visit the N109 Zone to attend another auction with Sylus. And this time, you catch him in it.

“Where’s Mephisto?”

Sylus’ face sours at your question. You bite back a smile.

Ever since the day you spent napping in his room, you haven’t been able to escape that thought swirling in the back of your mind. So you decided to test your theory. Sylus is always messing with you, afterall. It’s only fair you get a bit of revenge.

“I sent him out to gather intel,” Sylus huffs eventually. Why do you always look for that d***  bird first? “That is his purpose, afterall.”

“Oh.” You feign sadness, letting out a long sigh. “That’s too bad! I brought him some treats.”

“Well, you can leave them here. I’m sure he’ll eat them later,” he says, voice dismissive as he fixes the cuffs of his coat.

“Hmm-” You slowly make your way over to him. Those perceptive eyes narrow on you, watching you carefully while you straighten his collar. “Will he be here later? Maybe I can give them to him after the auction. I miss my pretty bird.” 

Amusement curls in your chest when you see the man’s brows twitch ever so slightly. He’s really annoyed. Now you understand why he loves pushing your buttons so much.

“No, I’m afraid he’ll be busy all night.” You can practically hear him gritting his teeth. Almost there. You keep your eyes focused on his coat, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. He’s trying to figure you out and you’re scared that if you look up, the laughter you're holding back will break loose. Instead, you put on an exaggerated pout.

“That’s unfortunate. I was really hoping to see him tonight.”

Sylus growls. Actually growls in annoyance.

“Would you prefer to have Mephisto on your arm tonight instead of me?” His words come out biting and harsh, tinged with unmistakable jealousy.

The air goes silent.

Before you burst into a fit of giggles. Sylus’ eyes widen when you collapse against his chest, your entire body shaking with laughter. He freezes, though his confusion quickly gives way to realization. 

You were playing with him.

“I suppose this is some form of revenge,” he hums, shaking his head. It’s surprising it took him so long to catch on. With anyone else, he’d be beyond angry, but your laughter is so bright, so infectious, that he can’t stop the small smile that pulls at his lips. When you finally look up at him, tears glint in the corners of your eyes. Who thought this would amuse you so much?

“You’re jealous! The Sylus is jealous of a little bird. His bird.” You bite down on your lip in an attempt to muffle the giggles that keep coming, but it doesn’t do much to help. It’s just too much for you. You never ever thought you’d see Sylus actually jealous of someone, let alone an animal.

Sylus narrows his eyes, though they glow with a certain fondness. “Such a sadist, sweetie, messing with a man’s heart so lightly.”

“Oh, but your reaction was so adorable,” you sing, reaching up to poke his cheek. He playfully bites at your finger, making you draw it back quickly with another laugh. “Just the fact that you could even think I like Mephisto more than you is so silly. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Hmm, then I’m afraid you’ll just have to prove my silly conclusion wrong, won’t you?” His hands settle on your waist, drawing you closer to the warmth of his body. You oblige him, stretching your arms up and around his neck to draw him down.

“Of course. I can’t have my pretty bird walking around thinking he’s second best,” you tease, fingers curling through his hair. “Even if he has a jealousy prob-”

“Quiet.”

Anything else you say is muffled as Sylus finally kisses you.

Safe to say, after that, you make sure to give Sylus extra attention, especially when Mephisto is around. (Though you do still sneak him treats when Sylus isn’t looking.)

[reidrum]

close to home | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a/n: this has been rotting in my brain for days now i hope you enjoy the angsty comfort this brought me <3 my requests are open (guidelines in pinned!) or if you wanna just chat hop in my ask box :) gonna hopefully work on a smut fic in the next week so keep an eye out hehe

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, protective!spencer, afab!reader who uses she/her pronouns, non bau!reader, cm type violence, reader sustains injuries from unsub, vague description of injuries, maeve mentions, derek being a good friend, spencer being so in love with reader, this takes place probably a year after maeve, inconsistencies with tls and characters but who cares

wc: 2.4k

summary: the bau is working a local case when their unsub strikes again mid investigation, hotch tells reid and morgan to go check it out but spencer finds the address of the crime to be a little too familar

_______________________________________________

whenever the bau has a case based in the dc area, it’s always a little easier on the team. familiar stomping grounds, ease of resources, no major time difference, and everyone can sleep in their own beds. the hard part about home cases is knowing there’s a serial killer in the place they know deeply, with people they cared about deeply.

spencer and callahan are in the middle of the bullpen staring at the giant white board with all the evidence they have so far. the unsub has been killing women in their mid 20s in the local dc area, with the mo currently unknown. there had already been two victims, both killed in their homes. spencer was currently trying to analyze all the information the case had alongside with what garcia was able to provide, and he was still hitting a dead end. morgan had joined them at some point too, trying to offer what he could remember from the crime scenes but to no avail. he felt his eyes straining and dropping so he decided to get more coffee, but was stopped by hotch and garcia entering the bullpen.

“police just got a 911 call about a break in, but there’s a witness this time. she was home when it happened and it looks like he didn’t expect that and tried to knock her out before escaping. i think it sounds like our unsub. morgan and reid i need you to go check out the scene and interview the witness, see what she remembers.” hotch explained.

morgan and reid nodded as garcia spoke up, “i just sent the address to your phones, it’s a house on hillcrest so it's not that far from here.”

spencer froze. he had to have heard wrong, she did not say hillcrest, “did you say hillcrest?”

“yeah hillcrest drive. it’s like, a 15 minute drive it’s not that bad.”

he felt his heart drop to his feet, a sinking feeling building in his gut. that was the street you lived on. he tried to ground himself with logic, the probability of it being your house is only 10%, but he was dreading asking the fated question.

“garcia, what’s the house number?”

“reid, i already sent it to your pho-“

“garcia, what is the house number,” he spoke again. 

please don’t say 1159 please don’t say 1159 please don’t say-

“1159.”

fuck. the color drained from his face, and the nausea was building to a head quickly. spencer hurriedly tried to think through the last time he spoke to you, last night? this morning? he doesn’t check on you as much as he does when he’s not on a case, but oh my god why can’t he remember the last time he saw you.

“reid,” hotch bellows, finally breaking spencer out of his trance, “what is it? what do you know?”

he shook his head,  “nothing. morgan, let’s go.” he grabbed his jacket and booked it out the door.

morgan, garcia, and hotch all looked at each other in concern, before morgan spoke up, “i’ll see what’s up.” the latter two nodded softly, though the worry didn’t let up in their eyes.

morgan walked up to the car to find spencer repeatedly trying to call someone on the phone, clearly unable to get through and getting really frustrated.

spencer was alerted by morgan’s presence hearing the car unlock but he didn’t even look at him, just immediately got in the car and strapped his seat belt. morgan joined him in the drivers seat giving him a wary look before turning the car on and pulling out of the bureau.

“okay reid, spill it. it’s obvious you know who lives here.” morgan speaks up.

“just drive, please.”

“because if you know something, something that could help the case, it would be helpful if we knew.”

“morgan, just drive.” he borderline yells.

he raises his eyebrows at his raised voice, “listen kid, i’m just trying to help you. i can see you’re upset but we’re on the same side, you know that.”

spencer takes a shaky breath, feeling another shade of guilt at yelling at one of his friends, for something he didn’t even know about. he’d kept you a secret for many reasons— your relationship with him was still new, and he just wanted to keep you to himself for a bit. after what happened with maeve, he felt especially more responsible at keeping you safe and making sure you didn’t get tangled up in his line of work.

some job he did of that.

the one thing he regrets about how he handled the maeve situation, was not asking for help until it was almost too late. for not doing anything about her stalker when he was part of one of the most famous fbi teams built to find people like that. he’d always live with that guilt, but he vowed not to do that with you.

he loved you so much. you were so kind, and smart, and beautiful. a breath of fresh air after feeling lost in a dark tunnel for so long. you were so understanding when he explained what he did for a living, and what had happened to him and people he cared about as a result. he still remembers what you said to him when he told you that you could have an out, if you wanted.

“any risk is worth taking if getting to be with you is the consolation prize.”

tears welled up in eyes thinking about the memory. if you were willing to take any risk, then he should be able to as well.

he cleared his throat, and morgan’s ears perked up, “my uh, my girlfriend lives there. where the unsub, at- attacked.” he voiced softly.

morgan looked at him for a beat while driving, spencer missing the way his face dropped. he tightened his hands on the wheels, and didn’t hesitate to turn the lights and siren on and shift gears to speed up.

__

the car pulled onto your street and the first thing spencer sees is the flashing light of the ambulances. morgan doesn’t even put the car in park before spencer’s bolting out hoping he can find you quickly.

he’s asking all the paramedics he’s passing if they’ve seen you or know if you’re being treated, were you transferred to a hospital and he didn’t know, the tunnel vision slowly overtaking him until he hears a voice breaking through like sunlight call out his name.

he whips his head in the direction he heard it come from, and he’s never been more grateful to be met with the beautiful sight of you. you watch his eyes widen and let out a sigh before running over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance. he’s definitely not thinking when he goes in to hug you, not even knowing the extent of your injuries. he’s overtaken by the desperate need to hold you in his arms so he knows you’re safe and okay.

“hi,” you choke out muffled, “funny seeing you here.”

he pulls back to inspect your face, taking note of a small cut above your left eyebrow and the beginning splotches of a bruise forming on your lower jaw. his heart aches so much looking at you, knowing what happened to you and who did this to you.

“hi, honey,” he lets out tearfully, “are you okay? i mean, of course you’re not. but what did the paramedics say? did they give you anything? are you sure they checked all your injuries? you know what, let me go call the guy over. i’ll be literally two seconds.” his panicked ramble fading off as he rounds the truck you’re sat in to find the emt.

upon his extensive questioning of the man who treated you, he found out that you had sustained a minor concussion from when the unsub swung at you with an umbrella, superficial cuts caused by a broken vase you threw to defend yourself, and a dislocated shoulder from getting shoved into the wall.

you were okay, but at what cost.

the emt leaves you two and spencer sits himself next to you on the rig. he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you as tight as he can and the other hand cradles your head into the crook of his neck, holding you so tight he’s hoping he can squeeze the bad memories out of you. it’s at this moment of feeling safe and sound in his arms when the adrenaline of your attack wears off.

spencer hears a small whimper and feels a few hot tears trickle down his neck, your breathing gets faster as you’re attempting to beat your body’s fear response. the slow build up of sobs starting to rack your chest, and he immediately holds you tighter.

“it’s over, baby, they won’t hurt you anymore. i promise.”

you sniffle, “i know, i just can’t believe this happened. to me, to us. it’s not fair to you.” trailing off the last two words.

“to me? wh- what do you mean?”

you take a deep breath, “i don’t mean to bring it up again, i just know how eerily similar this is to a past experience you’ve had. and i hoped that i wouldn’t be in a position to make you feel that way again. i don’t know why this happened, i'm sorry.”

he looked down at you incredulously. genuinely unable to believe that you were sitting next to him on an ambulance, beaten up with bruises and scars after a home invasion attack, worried about how he would feel when he got to you. it was enough to finally let the swell of tears saved up in his eyes fall.

“oh sweetheart,” he chokes out, realizing you’ve been trying to be brave for him this whole time, “what happened is not your fault, do you understand me? my job is to always worry about you and your safety. when garcia said the address i…i couldn’t even process it, i don’t even know how i got to the car,” he shook his head, “but i am the last person you need to push your emotions down for. i will always take them in stride and love you even more for that, okay?”

“okay,” you take a shaky breath, “i love you.”

“i love you.” he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

both of your heads look up at an approaching figure, who you quickly recognize to be ssa derek morgan. you knew spencer hadn’t told the team about you yet, so you tried to sit up independently as fast as you could before he came over and suspected something.

spencer’s grip didn’t let up when he bent down and whispered, “it’s okay, he knows.” you look up at him with wide eyes when derek finally reaches you.

“reid, i already talked to the detectives and we’re good to go when you’re ready,” he turns his body to you and gives you a comforting smile, “hi sweetheart, i’m derek morgan, it’s nice to meet you.”

spencer rolls his eyes at the nickname while you giggle softly, “hi derek, i’ve heard so much about you. it's nice to finally meet you too.”

“i wish it were under better circumstances,” he sighs, “listen, i know it’s all still really fresh for you, but it might help the case if you’re able to come in for a cognitive interview, or even talk to a sketch artist.”

spencer doesn’t miss a beat before protesting, “absolutely not. we can do it later, it’s fine.”

“reid-“

you look up at him placing your hand on his chest, “spence, it’s okay. i want to help, please.”

he rests his hand on top yours and gives it a light squeeze, “okay, but i’m not leaving you alone for a second.”

“i didn’t think you would.” you smile.

“alright lovebirds, you can have your private time later, we should go now.” derek teases.

spencer groans, “see this is why i didn’t say anything.”

“you think i’m bad? wait till penelope meets her.”

__

the three of you pile into the car before starting the drive to spencer’s apartment so he could get you a change of clothes and other things you might need. you end up falling asleep in the back seat, the final stage of your shock sinking in like a rock. spencer checks on you from the rear view mirror and sees you passed out, and smiles.

“she’s cute,” derek starts, “can i ask how long?”

“nine months.” he replies, fishing for something out of his pocket.

“pretty boy hid a girl from all of us for nine months? maybe we’re not as good profilers as we thought.”

“imagine that,” he laughs, and gestures to the item in his hand, “look.”

spencer’s holding out a well loved photo booth strip with three pictures, of you and spencer from the time you went to a local county fair. you’re sitting in his lap, mostly due to the cramped space and the expansive limbs. the first picture is the two of you holding up finger guns attempting to be as back to back as you can. the second picture, you intended it to be a normal one where you both smile at the camera, but spencer couldn’t take his eyes off you and the picture captured the love struck gaze he had on you. the last one you were about to tell him the idea for it, when he grabbed your face and pulled you closer to kiss you, neither of you knowing when the final picture snapped.

the edges were worn out and frayed, clearly broken down by the oils on his fingers from pulling it out frequently. it was his most treasured item, a constant reminder of what was always waiting for him when he got back from grueling cases, and how lucky he was to have you in his life.

“you look really happy, kid.” derek says, thinking about the many times he’s seen his friend at rock bottom, the things that have been so brutally taken from him, and the suffering he’s had at the hands of his job. his heart warms for his friend, who seemed to finally catch a break.

“i am.”

[2hightocare]

COFFEE!

“I think I'm past obsessed at this point, there has to be another word in the dictionary that tops obsessed.”

Synopsis: in which a hopeless romantic falls in love with the man of her dreams…

Pairings: boyfriend!jeongguk x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship.. non idol au

Warnings: literally the most sappy thing I could have possibly written, was listening to ‘coffee’ by miguel while writing, they’re such a gentle love, reader is a book worm, Jungkook likes drawing (doodling) plus points when his drawings are about oc, mentions of their first time having sex, usage of book quotes (read nltm, had to use the mia and sebastian line for my own sanity) <3333333

authors note: this is so simple but my book worm hopeless romantic needed this.. wrote this while high so nothing new 🤍

They say falling in love is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

You couldn’t explain the immediate sensation, the feeling that spreads throughout your chest as if you were a black-and-white picture that suddenly starts to fill with vibrant colors anytime his eyes lock with yours.

It was astonishing how the universe works—the idea that you are destined for someone ever since you are born, and that all the hardships along the way shape you into the person you need to be to meet them.

Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears as you watched him laugh from across the room, an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans covering his lean, muscular figure—one you’d memorized to the tiniest detail. You knew every freckle and scar. His head was thrown back, arms crossed, as he paid attention to whatever the guy in front of him was saying.

You scrunched your nose, using your index finger to push your glasses up as you studied your boyfriend from afar. You weren’t sure whether to call it pathetic or endearing, the way you noticed every little crease on his forehead and the way he toyed with his bottom lip absentmindedly. You even took note of his long eyelashes, and nearly died of jealousy every time you counted them when he slept beside you.

It was gut-wrenching to imagine anyone else feeling about him the way you did. The thought alone made you want to puke in the nearest trash can.

You were lovesick for this man, and you could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks whenever you looked at him or heard his laugh. Not only did you want to scream and freak out over every little thing he did, but he also had you daydreaming constantly. You found yourself thinking of silly song lyrics that resonated with how you felt about him. Staring at his side profile, you finally understood the meaning behind Suki Waterhouse’s lyrics: “Oh, my good looking boy,” echoed in your mind.

Before you could form another lyric or recall a favorite book quote to describe your feelings, his eyes found yours. A small smile tugged at his lips as his gaze scanned your expressions, reading you as if you were an open book. You smiled, tilting your head to the side, trying to hide the makeshift fireworks going off in your tummy.

His gaze softened, and it made your breath waver. You had never understood the meaning of “his gaze softened” in books, but now, you understood every syllable of those words after experiencing it firsthand.

You honestly couldn’t think of a single thing you didn’t love about him. You loved everything about him, even the parts he claimed were too “broken” or “damaged” to be loved.

A few seconds passed before he finally said his goodbyes and began making his way back to you. Your eyes followed every step, catching the grin he wore.

“I don’t know, I pretty much think you’re obsessed with me,” your boyfriend teased, his straight teeth on full display as he stopped in front of you, looking down at you on the couch.

“In your dreams.” You laughed, craning your neck to look up at him.

Instead of getting mad, he let out a low chuckle, leaning down with both arms on either side of the couch, caging you in.

“Every night, baby.” He whispered softly, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips before moving to your cheek, delivering another soft kiss. You sighed in contentment as his lips ghosted over your skin, the pet name making your head feel dizzy.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up straight again, looking down at you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you looked up at him through your lashes. He was already smiling, and you didn’t even need to ask “what?”—you already knew. Anyone in their right mind could tell how obsessed you were with him, and it was no surprise to him either.

As you both walked out of the bookstore, carrying a bag full of psychological and romance books (and, of course, the box of transparent sticky notes Jungkook got for you to annotate your books without writing on the actual pages), it was clear this was one of his favorite things to do. In his free time, when he wasn’t working or with you, he loved opening one of your books and reading your thoughts scribbled in the margins. Half of his camera roll was pictures of you, but the other half was just pictures of your annotations, scribbles, and drawings.

It was as if he was inside your mind, reading every thought, and he loved it.

He could still recall the first book he opened that sent his heart racing, like a teenage boy with a crush.

“I couldn’t see him, but his laugh was unmistakable. I could close my eyes and be in so many places with that laugh. That laugh was the cohesive thread, the little recurring melody that showed up in so many scenes of my life, like Mia and Sebastian’s theme in La La Land. Always there, playing in the background.”

Those words were highlighted in the prettiest shade of pink, with two small hearts drawn beside them. But it was your handwriting at the bottom that got him: “The feeling I’ve been trying to put into words about how I feel every time I look at him has just been done for me, oh my.” He remembered feeling his heart stop for a second. And when it started again, it was for you—his heart was for you and only you.

That wasn’t all. It had become one of your shared love languages. Jungkook started buying books he thought you’d like. He even asked your little sister what your favorite highlighters were so he could buy them for both of you.

Your heart did somersaults when you opened a book on his bedside table and saw a drawing—a pair of eyes in black ink, long lashes making them look bigger and more innocent. Your breath hitched as you noticed the small freckle just below the eyebrow, realizing it was you.

It didn’t help the overwhelming sensation of adoration when you saw his handwriting in the margins.

“You remembered?” she said softly.

“I remember every second of us.”

The text was underlined, and in small letters, he had written, “Gosh, she made me fall so hard that I’m reading sappy words and thinking ‘us’ out loud. #sendhelp,” with a frowning emoji next to the hashtag. Before you knew it, you were on page one, reading every single line and note he had left.

Also, the multiple drawings on the pages where there was extra space had your heart thumping hard in your chest. There were so many drawings— each one tied to you or him. It was impossible to describe every feeling surging through your chest, every emotion racing in your bloodstream, as your fingertips traced the drawing of you.

This time, it was an image of you on your back, lying on a bed. Only part of your side profile was visible, with your hair spilling across the bed, covering most of your back. At first, you didn't want to assume it was you he'd drawn-being self-centered wasn't your style. But it was impossible to deny it when he'd sketched every freckle, even the small half-moon tattoo on your shoulder blade, matching the real one inked on your skin.

You smiled at the memory but snapped back to the present as your boyfriend instinctively switched you to the other side of the sidewalk when you two turned toward Target. You held tight to his index finger as he squeezed between people, leading you behind him with a soft "excuse me" to anyone in the way.

Automatically, you found yourself smiling as you picked up your pace to match his longer strides. He pulled you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist, his hand resting over your belly—a little lower than usual, sending butterflies flitting wildly in your stomach. You suppressed a shiver as he gently guided you to the side, allowing an older couple to pass by.

"Us when we're eighty, baby," Jungkook leaned down and whispered into your ear, making you playfully roll your eyes at him. His smile only widened at your reaction.

"Won't be us if you keep watching Young Sheldon without me," you pouted, giving him a playful glare, which only made him smile more.

"Why are you smiling?" you asked, maybe even whining a little as you walked into the store and heard the employee greet you both.

"Because you're so beautiful, and my brain goes in circles when I stare at you," he shrugged casually, giving your waist a small squeeze before untangling his arm to grab a cart.

You tried so hard not to melt, holding onto his bicep as he leaned forward on the cart, making him closer to your height.

"Don't know it you're down, but l've been wanting to learn how to crochet," you said as you glanced around the aisles. Your boyfriend immediately started nodding excitedly.

"Baby, oh my god. I'm so down. We need to make those big-ass blankets," he rambled, looking at your face for a reaction, like a puppy with its ears perked up and tail wagging.

"I think that's knitting, baby," you corrected him, smiling as his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.

"Wait, are those two not the same thing?" His dimple deepened as he bit his lower lip, stopping in front of the craft aisle.

"I actually have no clue," you admitted with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "But I know you can crochet a blanket because you once told me about those pattern blocks you saw on your explore page.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he made eye contact with you, his pupils dilated with so much adoration that it made your heart swell.

"And I remember because I searched them on TikTok to see what you were talking about. I saw people connecting them into blankets. Also, I remember you pretending to sleep so you didn't have to scratch my back anymore-before my one minute was up. You swear you're slick, but I know when you're really asleep," he said with a grin, teasingly biting your cheek as you tried not to smile.

"How do you know I'm not sleeping?" you teased, and he chuckled, ghosting his lips over yours.

"Because every time you fall asleep, you make this little sound, and then slowly, you start snoring," he laughed, watching your cheeks turn a shade of red before burying his laughing face in the crook of your neck.

To be loved is to be seen.

That phrase had never felt more accurate. No one else had ever seen you the way Jungkook did. He knew you so well, down to the tiniest details that sometimes even surprised you.

Your eyes practically turned into hearts as Jungkook kissed your neck innocently before turning his attention to the yarns.

This was the kind of love you had always dreamed of

-better than the movies or books. Nothing could top the overwhelming feelings of gratitude, love, and appreciation that coursed through your body whenever you looked at him. Your brain practically played the instrumental of "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey whenever you spent time with him.

It was as if even a natural disaster couldn't faze you

-so long as you could experience it with him.

The connection between you two was beyond what you ever imagined existed in real life. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. From the moment you locked eyes with him across the room, you both knew there was no turning back.

After checking out and getting to Jungkook's car, he opened the door for you, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt before putting the bags in the back.

Once he climbed into the driver's seat, his hand instinctively found its place on your thigh after starting the car. His thumb rubbed your bare skin, sending sparks flying through your body. It was such a natural gesture for him, but the butterflies never ceased. You bit your lip, trying not to whine when his hand moved closer to your inner thigh.

As he softly sang along to "Creep" by Radiohead, it was just another thing you'd become morally obsessed with-his voice. You had always known he could sing, but everything changed the night you were first intimate.

It was as if your entire perspective on love and sex shifted. Simply calling it "sex" seemed absurd now, because it was so much more. Everything felt heightened, more intense, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

"F-fuck, baby..." he whimpered into your ear, his hips moving slowly into yours, leaving your mouth hanging open.

His little groans and moans made you dizzy, like notes of a lullaby. The feeling of skin against skin was the most addicting sensation, made even more special by the way he always checked in on you.

"Shhh, I'm sorry. Am I being too rough, baby?" His voice was strained as his hips halted, his breath heavy as he moved your hair to kiss your neck.

He resumed slowly, making your legs shake and grip the sheets, and you couldn't help but moan, asking for more. His chuckle against your skin was the same one you’d hear when he rested his head on your stomach, expecting you to scratch his back or read to him.

"You're sweaty," you pouted at him, both of you basking in the afterglow.

"I know. Do you still want me?" He smiled, mimicking your expression before pulling the covers over both your naked bodies and pulling you in as close as possible.

"Yes, I'll forever want you," you replied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, savoring the warmth he radiated.

As sleepiness began to overtake you, you felt his fingertips tracing letters and shapes on your hip.

Just before drifting off, he began singing again. It was like entering another universe where only you and he existed

"I want you to notice," he sang softly, "when I'm not around."

"So fucking special... I wish I was special." He pressed a kiss to your temple, the sound of his voice and your matching heartbeats lulling you both to sleep.

You snapped back to reality when the car stopped at a red light.

"Is it bad that I always hope to get red lights so I can kiss you?" he asked, flashing a grin that had you laughing.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his as his eyes fluttered shut, his finger lifting your chin gently.

"Not bad, but a little weird. You want to spend so much time with me," you teased, pulling back to your seat. "Some might even think you're pretty obsessed."

"I'm past obsessed at this point. There's got to be another word that tops it," he admitted, stealing another kiss just before the light turned green.

As you gazed at him, you couldn't help but wish there was another word, stronger than "love," to describe how you felt about him.

[earthtooz]

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous. 

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm. 

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him. 

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse. 

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye. 

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.” 

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture. 

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug. 

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you. 

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious. 

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup. 

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.” 

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.  

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.” 

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!” 

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why. 

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!” 

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate. 

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?” 

“No one. Now get lost.” 

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.” 

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love. 

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe. 

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar? 

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you. 

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over. 

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression. 

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.” 

“What guy?” 

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.” 

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.” 

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.” 

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him. 

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?” 

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile. 

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh. 

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.” 

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?” 

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?” 

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands. 

“So why aren’t you apologising?” 

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner? 

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest. 

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.  

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs. 

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?” 

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party. 

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.” 

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue. 

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad? 

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[dawneternal]

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

[rie-092]

FATHER, CAN I DIE?

✶﹒ platonic yandere! manhwa fathers x suicidal/overworked daughter! reader

summary : maybe they should just lock you in your room to make sure that you won't do something dangerous.

a.n : i plan to make this a series, what do you think?

abel heilon

let's start with the most chill platonic yandere! out of the guys that i will feature in this post! abel heilon, the duke of the north with a simple mindset of 'if you mess with me then i'll mess with ya' we all know how protective he is with fiona and siegren. but just imagine, what if— just what if he has an illegitimate child who's related to him by blood that he hid from the public's eyes.

anyways, the first time he met you. he became sure of one thing. damn, you were indeed his child. with that silver hair, blue eyes and personality of yours— you were indeed his child. he can't deny that because you looked like a kid version of him. well, it's not like he is denying it tho— but what the fuck is wrong with your brain anyways?!

he doesn't know if you were abused before he met you. but why in the hell are you so obsessed with suicide anyways?! why the fuck are you even throwing yourself in battles when you were a support mage?! for the fuck sake! stop! yes, you have above average amount of mana! but the hell?! you're not as strong as fiona nor siegren! stop it!

if it's not for siegren then he wouldn't know the fact that you happily greeted the assassin that was sent by the imperial family. according to him, before siegren saved you from the assassin you even have the guts to propose to that damn assassin about committing suicide together since according to you, you have fallen in love with him— hearing that story, abel couldn't help but facepalm. (first name), you're thirteen! and that assassin is already thirty-six or worse, older!

maybe because of the stress of managing the north and keeping you safe from your suicide attempts. abel finally snapped.

look, abel likes watching you enjoying your freedom. but damn, if he doesn't do anything about this— he might end up burying you before you even reach the age of 18. he won't hurt you, he swears. that was the last thing that he will do to you. but that doesn't mean that he can't take preventive measures to make sure that you were safe.

platonic yandere! abel heilon was one of the chillest platonic yandere that existed. he will let you do anything that you want, he won't take away your freedom nor hurt you. he isn't also overbearing to the point that it was suffocating. but don't make him snap, because he can be the most suffocating and controlling parent existed.

now, on your sixteenth birthday— to celebrate it. you decided to jump onto the freezing river near the manor. you expected that you'll wake up inside your room— but no. when you opened your eyes, you were inside an unfamiliar room that has no windows. seeing that you can't use your magic, you were sure that there's a magic restricting device placed around here. what the hell is happening?

the door had opened, you looked at who it was and saw abel looking at you with a smug grin. you tried to ask him what is going on but instead of replying— abel only ruffled your hair saying that it will be only him and you from now on. and that was when you realized one thing— abel had taken your freedom away from you.

but abel didn't care. cry until you have no tears left, he doesn't care. the only thing that he cared about was keeping you alive. and this is the only thing that he know to achieve his goal. but don't worry, he will visit you everyday and give you books to make sure that you won't get bored. so, can you stop being a btch and appreciate his efforts?

he doesn't care if your eyes lost its usual enthusiasm and spark. he doesn't care if you stop eating at some point— because abel can shove the food inside your mouth to make sure that you stay alive.

oh, by the way— fiona was the one who made the room where you were staying now. she just wanted to make sure that you were safe! and the only place where you can be safe is the place where you can't use magic! so, forgive them, will ya?

“should i just cut off your arms? so that you won't be able to use your magic again?”

gallahan lombardy

okay, as far as you know— you are not really a suicidal type of person. but for your father, gallahan lombardy you are. because for gallahan, overworking is another way to try to kill yourself after all.

gallahan is a sweet person, i swear. he won't hurt you at all and isolating you? no, no, no, gallahan won't do that! but he still couldn't help but become paranoid when it came to you. you were way too focused on studying— maybe because of the pressure that you were getting from the other people.

your sleep only lasted for two or four hours, you always isolate yourself inside the library. and gallahan didn't like it at all— look, you need to take it easy and rest. the only time you leave the library was when gallahan and tia drag you outside to eat in a cafe or buy new clothes.

platonic yandere! gallahan loves to spoil you. you wanted to buy books? here you go. want to try home-cooked foods? sure, he'll cook it for you. do you want to go to the festival with tia? alright! as long as he will go with you two.

but then, a certain event made gallahan snap. it was a normal day and gallahan entered the library to drag you outside so that you could socialize with the family. but then, he saw you unconscious on the floor, buried in the books and your nose was bleeding. gallahan was panicking, he didn't know what to do. what if you don't wake up? what if something bad happens to you? or worse— what if you die? if it wasn't for shananet who saw her younger brother's panicked face and her niece's condition. then gallahan won't be able to calm down and call the family doctor.

and what is the doctor's diagnosis? you were overworked. and after hearing that, rulac lombardi, your grandfather along with your auntie and uncles saw how your father's face darkened while looking at you who was peacefully sleeping on the bed.

and then, after that incident. you couldn't help but become confused when gallahan didn't scold you— instead, when you woke up. you saw him smiling softly at you. he didn't even ask you to take it easy. he just lets you do what you want.

but what you found odd was your father started giving you foods and drinks everytime and after consuming those things. you started feeling tired and before you knew it, you always ends up asleep. and once you woken up, you were already on your room. with tia cuddling with you while your father was asleep while sitting on the chair next to your bed also asleep.

knowing how innocent your father was, you never suspect a thing. you just kept on eating and drinking the things that he was giving to you. and you never questioned why you always get tired after it. your father loves you so much, so he wouldn't do anything— right?

plot twist, gallahan actually puts drug on your food and drinks to make sure that you will take a rest and never overwork yourself again. but a year later, you started losing your sense of sight because of it. but gallahan and tia don't care when you have them? oh, just thinking about their sweet (first name) being dependent on them was enough to make them very happy.

“sorry, honey! this is just a precaution, okay?”

[augustinewrites]

as you’ve grown older, you’ve discovered that coming home to an empty apartment in the middle of the day is the adult equivalent of waking up on christmas morning. it’s an especially rare occurrence, especially for a saturday, but you’d just dropped megumi at the library, tsumiki at a friends, and gojo was still bothering principal yaga at the school. 

sighing, you can’t help the grin that breaks out on your face as you set your bag down. you have the apartment to yourself. it’s clean and quiet and you have almost two whole hours to do whatever you want. 

the first thing you do is make yourself a cup of tea, humming to yourself as you carry the steaming mug into the living room. then you curl up into the corner of the sectional, enjoying the cool breeze of the open window and the warm summer sun. 

then, after glancing around and ensuring that you’re truly alone, you reach under the couch and pull out your novel. 

shoko had loaned it to you months ago, claiming that it would help ‘grease the wheels’ during satoru’s frequent absences. 

you hadn’t really understood what she meant until you’d gotten to the sixth chapter– a chapter so steamy you’d felt yourself get a little hot under the collar while reading it.

which is why you keep it hidden and only bring it out when you’re alone. 

it’s been weeks since you’d last picked it up, opening the novel up to the bookmarked page with excitement buzzing in your veins at the prospect of finally finishing it. you only had one chapter left!

‘the warm buzz of desire in her limbs intensifies as he kisses every exposed inch of her throat. she pulls him closer, feeling his hands searching for the seam of her dress for a zipper, a button, anything to undo so he can feel her skin on his. his lips find the spot behind her ear that makes her shudder, sucking lightly and eliciting a soft moan from her lips–’

“what are you reading?”

you flinch, snapping the book shut as satoru leans over your shoulder. you hadn’t even noticed he’d come home, a mixture of fear and embarrassment swimming in your gut as he plucks the book from your grasp.

he peers at the cover, obviously amused when he says,

“were you…romanceturbating?” 

“i was not,” you argue, but your entire face is hot and your heart is beating so fast that you fear it may bust through your ribcage.

“you totally were!” he laughs, holding it above his head so you can’t grab it. “does it take place in a shire?”

“no–”

“is there a lot of sexy bodice ripping and armour shucking?”

you cross your arms over your chest with a huff. “do all of your fantasies take place in medieval england?”

“we’re not talking about me,” he waves off. “we’re talking about you, and what you’re doing reading this trash when you have the real deal right in front of you. i can be a much better sexy–” he points at the cover, “–uh, construction worker?”

“he’s a handyman, and i doubt that,” you scoff, snatching your book back. 

so much for your quiet afternoon.

_____

that weekend, you awaken to very loud, very annoying banging coming from the kitchen. satoru’s no longer in bed, so you assume that he’s attempting to make breakfast and head out before he can burn the entire apartment complex down.

“you’re lucky the kids are at sleepovers right now,” you say loudly as you step out of the bedroom and head towards the kitchen. “or you’d be getting screamed at–”

your breath catches when your boyfriend sits up, using the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow and allowing you a peek at his toned abdomen.

“morning, baby.” 

“morning,” you reply, clearing your throat as you step over his legs to grab some tea. suddenly, you can’t recall what you’d intended to reprimand him for.

“actually, can you hold this up for me?” he asks suddenly, catching your wrist and pressing a flashlight into your palm. “i need a little light.”

you take it obediently, kneeling down to shine the light into the space under the sink. you try your hardest to keep your gaze focused on the pipes, and not the way his biceps flex with every movement. or the way the thin sheen of sweat makes his skin shine.

“i didn’t even know you owned tools,” you mutter.

“i borrowed them from nanami,” he tells you.

“oh.” 

you have no idea what the hell he’s doing - you didn’t even know the sink was broken - but you can’t really find it in yourself to care at the moment. not with the way your squeeze your legs together with his every grunt of effort.

“that should do it,” he hums, sitting up so he’s now face to face with you, playful blue eyes meeting yours as he smiles. “thanks for–”

he doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, not when you grab the collar of his stupid tank top, pulling him in to press your lips over his. 

not when he wraps an arm around your waist, flipping you both over so your back is on the floor, his body caged over yours as he deepens the kiss. 

this is much better than shoko’s stupid novel.

“i think–” he pants between kisses, letting you work his shirt off. 

“shut up,” you mumble, feeling him toy with the hem of your shorts.

“but we need to call a plumber,” he says, lips brushing that spot behind your ear. “because i definitely broke the sink…”

[shaisuki]

never let me go

PAIRING. HOSHINA SOSHIRO x CHUBBY! READER

CONTENT WARNINGS. angst + engineer! researcher! reader + orphan! reader + swordsmith! reader + brief flashbacks + slight spoilers + reader is obsessed with kaijus + childhood friends + insecurities + doubts + jealousy + breaking up + arranged marriage + eventual smut + fluff + talks of death + injuries+ blood + slight spoilers + body insecurities + lots of crying.

NOTES. a huge thanks to @ohikoti for helping me with this. giving me the pep talk to finish this one and for giving the time to watch the series after i express my desire to write for hoshina. more kaiju no. 8 content to come, since I desire to write for narumi and kafka.

SYNOPSIS. you made a few tough decisions in your life and one of them is to call off your engagement to soshiro even it breaks your heart and there's soshiro who won't accept the break up without proper explanation despite being away from each other. can unprecedented meetings still make a way to continue a once broken romance? was there even a romance in the first place?

gray clouds began to scatter around the area. covering the once shining bright sun and hoshina can hear the faint rumble of thunder from afar. a telltale sign that it's going to rain soon and soshiro frowns a bit. his lips in a thin line. he eyes the half eaten mont blanc in front of him. the steam rising from his cup of green tea and your favorite drink sits in front of him. it was supposedly to be a good day. considering it's his day off and yours and he's going to finally meet you once again but the weather won't allow it.

as if a weather would stop it. sunny or not as long he can spend time will you, it was fine. the vice captain of the third division sighs and then his senses is telling him that there is something bad going to happen. it settles in the pit of his gut and such warnings should not be ignored. he looks at the busy streets of tokyo. bystanders, students and salarymen walk in a normal pace. his brows furrow. is there a kaiju going to appear out of nowhere? did something bad happen to you and he hates himself for thinking of something like that. all of his worries melted when he sees you half-walking, half-running towards the cafe where he is. the dread slowly dissolves and was replaced by the same warmth he always feel when he's with you.

the bell chimes, a signal upon an arrival of a customer. he follows your every move and the way your eyes search for him in the cafe and he sees the gleam in your eyes filled with relief upon seeing him. a apologetic smile in your face when you slowly approach him in his table. sitting down, “thank you for waiting me, soshiro.” you said. smiling apologetically and hoshina's closed eyes cracked open a bit to show his crimson colored eyes.

your order arrived and was placed in front of you. the food look appetizing and was certainly a pleasant to eyes to see your favorite dessert. months cooped up in the laboratory doing research and projects for kaijus have you occupied all the time with a little to no time to yourself. you can't even savor the food you were eating and now that you're outside of the laboratory and feel the weather in your skin and the change of sceneries, it was nice for once although it hasn't been nice. how could it be when you look at the man in front of you being the happiest he can while you can't bring to say the words you wanted. the words you didn't want to say but is needed.

one thing hoshina have prided in is that he can almost read everyone like an open book and you are no exception to this. you have been so always easy to read and he was grateful for it that he was able to know and adore all your little quirks. starting from how your face lights up upon tasting upon the first bite of a food that is delicious. therefore creating a chain link reaction of you happy that will stay for the rest of the day and soshiro can look at you without getting tired.

it was a pure bliss to see you like that. a reminder that you are still the same person he loved many years ago and now. despite the circumstances that this relationship was just an arranged marriage.

today, with you sitting in front of him. he didn't need to read you. it was blatantly obvious that you were feeling under the weather or more than that. you've been mindlessly stirring your drink with the straw and the ice starting to melt. you didn't even took a bite of the food. lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear him call your name until he clears his throat. “are you okay, (y/n)?” and soshira regretted that he have to ask you that question cause he wasn't prepared to hear you say the next works when you broke out in your trance.

“i'm calling off the engagement.”

is what you said without hesitation. soshiro's smile slowly left in his lips and his closed eyes that was open since your arrival. his carmine red eyes glimmering with intensity and you swore you have seen them at the times where he's serious and deadly. you almost swallow nervously. knowing how intense soshiro can be at times.

“what's the reason for the sudden decision, (y/n)?” he asked you. bewildered at the sudden decision. you swallowed the lump in your throat before replying. “it's just i don't see any future in this union and it's not like we wanted it.” you say to him without blinking. forcing a smile and looking straight to his eyes to show that you are serious and hoped he won't catch you lying under your teeth.

vivid is the day you remember the matchmakers in the clan of his and yours decided that you and soshiro shall wed for the next years to come after soshiro joined the defense forces. it was a great match they say but to you it's nonsense. it will be bound of tradition and duty and you don't want soshiro to be tied to you.

you were an orphan. having lost your whole family from a kaiju attack and the head of the clan that have long ties with the hoshina clan came in the picture to save you. gave you shelter and a home for you to call. treated you as their daughter and with the hoshina clan came of a long history of slaying kaijus. samurais they are and they weren't if not without their swords and the clan who took you were the swordsmiths of the hoshina clan.

showing your gratitude to the people who took you, you learned to hold the hammer. holding mastery over steel and fire. crafting the sharpest of blades and later on was the career path you took at the neutralization bureau as the engineer of anti-kaiju weapons and a researcher.

if it wasn't for soshiro you wouldn't be at that kind of stuff. your friend since he found you watching him train with his bamboo sword in their backyard. your dear soshiro that you would later love.

it's for the best. you decided of it for a long time and you don't want to hurt yourself for being tied to soshiro. it pains you so much that despite the support you have given him, all the years others have invalidated him including his father. undermining his talents as a swordsman and that broke your heart to see soshiro being brought down by their ugly words.

then you received the news, soshiro got accepted at the third division. not as a troop member but the vice-captain of third division standing behind captain ashiro. the news brought you joy but there's a dull ache in your heart. soshiro's being recognized for his talent, that brought a smile to your face and he was able to show his talents. feats after feats of defeating kaijus. left and right victories. the people recognizing him as the vice-captain and his talents.

the television plays their latest victory. successfully annihilating another kaiju who decided to surface and wreck havoc at the city. there you hear the newscaster commentating that it was another accomplishment for the third division, lead by none the other captain ashiro and your vice-captain fiance. the news bringing a smile to your face that you were confused why the ink in your papers with the prototypes you have created were starting to bleed. surrounding the areas and the important details started to distort, only to realize that you were crying. the tears smudging the once clear print of your blueprints.

since when did you have become so emotional over such things? was it soshiro's achievements that you started to be like this? or is it realizing that you no longer served a purpose to be in soshiro's life aside from being his fiancee?

you didn't even realize the rift with your relationship with soshiro have gotten worst since he was transferred in the third division and your workload from extensive researches and planning of developing weapons. communication is no longer an easy feat to do. it was dragging. there were no calls in the night and even a simple text message is proven to be tasking. you understand that at this profession, sacrifices are made and that's what you and soshiro decided. what you decided.

the air felt heavy and soshiro feels like he needed a respirator to help him breath. soshiro have always know what to say but he remains silent. trying to find the right words to say. “you didn't see a future in us. is that right?” he began. soshiro's eyes began to search for any hidden truths in your face but he finds nothing. you nodded at his question. “this is sudden like i have said earlier. have you been feeling this way for a long time?” he asks you. there's a hint of pained sound in his voice and it kills you to hear him that. it was for the best you convinced yourself.

“i do.” you look at him straight in the eyes once again to see that you were dead serious about it. hoshina's gaze softens at you. “would it be selfish of me to say i wanted this relationship to work even it was an arranged one?” hoshina clenched his fist in a tight manner. “it's not, soshiro. i don't want us to waste time for a union and it's not the right time. we have our priorities.” his expression pained you and it wasn't like for him to be this vulnerable to you.

“priorities. was our priorities that different that you are willing to throw this away, (y/n)? i thought we decided that no matter where we are, we will work together. what happened to that?” his voice solemn. it took you the control to not cry in front of him. you both did talked about that but it was different.

soshiro have a purpose in his life now with captain ashiro and you're no longer needed in the picture. that's what you needed and it won't hurt no more. it would be difficult but you were tougher than what you're made of and what's a heartbreak if you can't survive it.

“it's for the best.” is what you said to yourself after leaving the cafe shortly after breaking it up with him. you don't know if you can still retain the passive expression if you stayed longer. you the gray clouds have turned into more of a darker shade and rain started pouring over the city along with your tears.

hoshina have never felt more empty. it was like you took all the colors in his life and left him as a blank canvass. the sweet taste of the caramel from his mont blanc starts to feel bitter in his tongue. the fox-eyed vice captain recalls the conversation he had with you earlier. you seem too eager to break the engagement. have he done something wrong to make you feel that way or was it a sudden change in your heart that you don't want him anymore? there's a thousand questions running in his mind and he can't answer even a single one of them and it wasn't for him to be like this. rain have started to pour outside and the temperature drops.

he can't accept that you were breaking up with him and whatever reason you have, he was going to find out even you just told him earlier. this isn't over.

the neutralization bureau never sleeps. engineers and scientist alike researches various ways to combat kaijus and using their deceased bodies as weapons. tonight, it wasn't going to be any different. you're going to work until you passed out. surprisingly you felt numb after the earlier dilemma. calm even, considering you've bawled your eyes out. pathetic for an adult like you who have called off an engagement.

before you can drown out in the large stack of blueprints needing revision from you. the intercom announced that you were needed at one of the top floors where the director of the department is located. sighing, you immediately made your way.

“have you enlisted in the defense forces?” you blinked a few times before you understand the question asked by the director of the bureau.

“u-ugh, yes sir.” you answer. finding the question rather odd cause you were a engineer and you don't see any relevance of why your director was asking you.

“how long were you in there?”

“a few months, sir. before i requested to transfer here.” he nods. you follow his movements and noticed that on his table is your file. “if i may ask sir, what's the relevance of these inquiries?”

the director hands you a document and you scanned it momentarily. it's from the jakfd. “the amount of officers enrolling have decreased significantly these past years and the amount of kaiju attacks have increased.” he began. “my point is you're a officer wasting your talents in these laboratories.”

“i appreciate it, sir but the reason why am i here is because my skills are best suited here than me being in the front lines and i'm not exactly soldier material, sir.” it always hurts when you say the truth and lying also. before being an engineer at the izumo tech, you were a officer having passed the written and physical exams. you have always known that you are going to be stuck as a sore thumb when you have joined the tanks. women in the defense forces were slim, petite, slender and any definition of being skinny in the dictionary whereas you were fat. it sticks out in everywhere and sometimes you were the center of backhanded compliments.

the defense force isn't just for you and besides you were happier here. “think about it for the meantime. the defense force needs you more than us.” the director dismisses you before you can say anything to oppose him and when just you're about to step outside of his office you heard him say it. “have some faith in yourself.”

the next week after that, you were transferred in the division one. as an officer/researcher. it won't be in vain in joining the defense force once again. you will be on the field with your expertise. you will use the missions as your research field and you were fine with the arrangement. except for captain narumi who didn't hold much about you. straight up calling you useless in the defense force not until you have beaten him on his own game. his field of expertise of course. that shut him up and he treated you as his equal since then.

“shinonome-san, where are you taking me?” you said helplessly as one of the platoon leaders, shinonome drags you from your workshop where you used to hole yourself up. “to the field. the third division is here and captain narumi is looking for you.” she explained coolly. you gulped when you hear the third division is going to be present at the fields. it means it's either captain ashiro or your ex-fiance will be there and you hoped that it will be the former and you were proven wrong as you hear bickering.

“hoshina! what the hell you think you're doing here!?” captain narumi's voice echoed. menacing it is and annoyed from the sound of it. you hear another voice. “oho, narumi. didn't see you there.” the vice-captain says in a mocking tone and that seems to spur captain narumi in his foul mood at the vice-captain of the third division. “of course you didn't, you fox-eyed bastard!” he retaliates and before hoshina can piss him more with some remark, his eyes cracks open upon seeing you being dragged by a platoon leader.

“captain, (y/n)'s here.” shinonome informs him and it looks like a switch have been flipped when narumi sees you. “here's the new recruit.” he mutters and it took a whole of control for hoshina to not punch the living daylights out of narumi from how close he was to you and what a surprise to see you here in a another division and he wishes you were in the third division so he can keep an eye for you.

it didn't help that narumi is openly flirting with you. his arm draped around your shoulder and the other is holding your hand to inspect it. “you're researching those kaijus again.” narumi comments. “it's my job and i've been doing research about them.” you mutter softly and soshiro melts at what he heard. always the one who obsessed upon those creatures and he find it endearing except for the closeness you're having with that lazy bastard.

a vein popped in soshiro's and it was close to bursting if narumi was doing it intentionally when he intertwined his hands to yours. eliciting a shocked reaction from you. finding the situation awkward and inappropriate you quickly pulled your hand from his and stuffing it in the pockets of your uniform. dismissing yourself you went away from them. clearly embarrassed. he closes his eyes and went back to face narumi and his rowdy members.

soshiro wanders through the halls of one of the compounds of the ariake base. he couldn't miss a night without training his skills and he was directed to a training room. he finds one of the library doors is open and it wasn't any different at the third division for someone to stay late at night. he just plans to walk by and he would be in the training room but to his surprise when he took a peek at the library, he sees you, sleeping. your laptop open and various of books are stacked in the table where you rest.

hoshina unzips his jacket to cover you. he can get it to you for later after he finished his training and maybe he can take you to your room or his if you remained asleep. just as he was to drape his jacket around you. you stirred in your sleep. slowly waking up and muttering something incoherent.

“soshiro?” you mumbled. raising your head from where it rested moments ago. yawning, you stretched your arms and you were now fully awake.

the vice-captain glances at your laptop and he noticed you were creating a new type of weapon, not just any weapon. a dual blade sword. similar to the one he uses. “oh.” you gasp. closing the laptop in a speed that it looks like you have been caught watching inappropriate. “i assume it's for me.” he started and you nodded in reply. “always have been when it comes to swords.” you confessed. gathering the papers you have been scribbling with notes. soshiro interrupted you. “we need to talk.”

“can we have it tomorrow?”

“no. you're avoiding me.”

“i'm not.”

“yes, you are and you're not being good at it.”

“soshiro, it's late.” you reason but it was possible to convince him. “you can go after we have this conversation.”

“what do you need to know?”

“why did you call off our engagement?”

you sigh, “i already told you about it, soshiro.” hoshina refuses to accept it. “it's not an explanation and suddenly you're here in the first division.”

“they wanted me back in the defense force even though i didn't wanted it but it's the only way.”

“the way of what?”

“can you stop asking me questions!?” you half screamed, whispered. irritated at his questions and it wasn't like for soshiro to be like this. “i won't stop until i know the reason why my fiancee suddenly departed her previous job and to find you here.”

“i'm not your fiancee anymore. i broke it off and it's none of your business.” you hissed. grabbing your laptop to get away from him but he stopped you from doing so. “answer me, (y/n).” he orders you. trapping your soft jaw in his hand and forcing you to look at his eyes. you hated yourself from how weak you turn to when met with his eyes.

“it's the only way i can be of use.” you began to sob. your tears trickling down your cheeks. “i was happy when you found your place at captain ashiro's side. i thought that it was fine but the moment you started there, the distant you have become. i understand it. i can't be selfish. i don't want to hinder you when you're there in the front lines looking so contented, fulfilled.”

it never felt so good to say the words you've been bottling away but the guilt that followed it was unbearable. you never sounded so selfish and greedy but it was the truth. “why you didn't tell me that you have been feeling this way for so long, (y/n)? i thought we promised that were going to be honest to each other.” his grip loosened. cupping your face in his hand. he didn't know you were feeling those ugly emotions. “i'm just me. your fiancé. your fiancé from a arranged marriage. not what you wanted and not what you needed. it's not my place to tell you things, soshiro.”

soshiro leans down. wiping the tears in your face. “in arranged marriages...” he began. “it serves a purpose. our duty to our families. honoring the tradition. and our union fulfills it all. the day they announced our engagement, i am happy it was you that i am engaged to. i know our union is arranged but please don't treat it as one that you would put your feelings aside for mine. you're more than my fiancee. you're everything that i could ever want and need. you're mine.” he says before kissing your forehead and soshiro thought that it's been so long since he had done this. “and i'm sorry that i hurt you. i won't forgive myself for that.”

“don't say that, soshiro.” you softly mutter. daring to meet his dark red eyes with your own. you see your reflection in his eyes. a being who have taken the form of insecurity. an ugly entity who pushed people for her own selfishness and soshiro can see you for what you really are.

he stays in the same position before you stopped him what he's currently doing to you. “it's late. i believe we have smoothed things over.” you say and hoshina allowed you to stand up. letting you continue what you were about to do earlier before you have talked about it.

the paper's thin and despite the countless of documents you've handled. your finger getting cut by the sharp edge of a paper is mostly likely to happen and it sure did. a sharp pain travels throughout your body, making you wince as blood surfaces up through the split skin.

the distress brought the younger hoshina sibling to your side. holding your hand and inspecting the wound in your finger. there's nothing serious about it except for the crimson color of your blood oozing at the pad of your finger. “it's nothing —”

a silent gasp slips past your lips. without warning soshiro grasps your finger before taking a lick. the sensation stinging if it wasn't for the comfort of soshiro's tongue lapping at your blood. it didn't help that you were in a compromised position with him. it offered no comfort of escape. the cold table with your belongings and soshiro have blocked your way.

it's a sight to burn in his memory at this very moment. watch your flustered expression and the way you tensed up from his ministration. your blood it tastes like iron. the same as his own with the aftertaste of rust. his canine-like tooth nibbles on the soft flesh of your finger while his tongue swirls around your digit.

whatever emotions you were having earlier didn't compare to this. hoshina's sultry gaze emitting from those eyes staring at you and observing every move you partake. you find it difficult to avoid his gaze. leaving you flustered and even in the dimness of the room, you can make every muscle of his straining in that black compression shirt of his. a heat of desire pooling in the pit of your stomach spreading throughout your body.

cold. your skin is cold against his warmer ones and he's surprised that you weren't even shivering in the coldness of the room. caressing the roundness of your cheek with his thumb. tracing the outline of your lips and feel the softness of it.

you were the image of what you are and this closeness will be the end of his. every fiber of his being screaming to just kiss you and that's what he did. letting instincts to take over. he didn't kiss you out of the blue. just brushed his lips to yours. the same he did many nights ago under the roof of his house away from the eyes of the others. the night where your engagement to his announced.

tender and slow when he pressed his own to yours. “soshiro, no.” you said when he broke the kiss and to only to do it again. you hold his wrist to stop him from going further but your actions betray you too. your lips following his and soshiro smirks at this but decided not to tease you. “we're nothing anymore. i broke up with you...” explaining the circumstances and it's not right to be this close to him. not when you two are no longer acquainted with each other. you both are merely colleagues. “i didn't agree with it though, we're still engaged unless you have feelings for a another man.” he murmurs to your lips. his eyes turning into more of a warning. showing such intensity and he maybe result in your murder if you find yourself falling for a man that is not him.

he kisses you again. starting in a slow manner and hoshina can hear the gasps and the silent whines leaving your lips. muffled in his own. his fingers find the plushness of your skin under your shirt. rubbing the skin with his fingers. the coarseness of his calloused hands are a welcome sensation to your skin. whereas it provided security and warmth spreading throughout your whole body.

there aren't any words to speak when both of your mouths are occupied on the feeling of each other.

“soshiro...” he hears you say his name and he smiles at you. showing his canines and he find the soft flesh of your buttocks. grabbing it to raise your upper body and therefore placing you in the table.

his ruby-colored eyes seems to burn more with color when looking at you. his strong, smart girl. always the one who sets aside her feelings for others. the woman of his. forging and engineering weapons for him. he likes to think that it's always for him. your hands gains the familiar thickness of callous but retains the softness he's familiar with. endearingly adorable. his (y/n). his (y/n) that he have from a arranged union. his (y/n) that he loves and hoshina wouldn't admit that he have the shortcomings when it comes to you and it's been grave since you have told him.

a tug on his shirt and hoshina hasn't been able to take his eyes off you for more than a second. your loose white shirt and the shorts you're wearing have been growing on him. desperate to take it off but he's not an animal to completely strip you off with the cold temperature dropping.

it's been so long since you both have been intimate and hoshina hasn't been doing so well after it. always thinking the reason of the separation and he's one to be blamed for it.

he pulls you closer. his hand on the small of your back until it descended in the waistband of your short to tug it and take it away. leaving you bare for him to see. he have pried your thighs open and slotted his body between them. his cock twitching inside of his pants and in desperate need of relief by your fat pussy.

soshiro groans. he already have discarded his pants and the tip of his cock rubs between the slit of your pussy. making your back arch and without warning, he swiftly enters the hole of your pussy with his cock. making you cry out and hug him. pulling him closer to you. “it won't be long, baby. i just need you to cum for me.” is what he said. planting his palm to the cold surface of the table. bucking his hips and beginning to thrust. starting as gentle and tender as he started to get impatient.

you're too good wrapped around him and it wasn't good that you're chanting his name. “more, soshiro. more...” your hips meeting his thrusts and even if you deny him that you two aren't no more, it's evident that your body misses him just like you do and he's also in the same position as you minus the denial. he won't let you go.

soshiro glance at the door still open and how fortunate for someone to walk on you both and see how good he's fucking you. still he dislike where he's making love to you. it should be on his private quarters but certain matters didn't apply for it.

you continue to call his name. trying to quiet down but it's hard to ignore how his cock rubs all over and hitting your sweet spots that it's already making your legs quake with need for release and the familiar know getting tighter in your abdomen. he seems to notice not cause he's now holding your plush waist to get deeper, faster.

he sees the way your eyes flutter and your lips parted. he wasted no time crashing his lips into yours. engulfing it with such need that it's bruising and his tongue is making territory inside your mouth. he just wanted to kiss you. he always liked kissing you and he wants it to continue until you're both cumming.

moaning in the kiss, soshiro knows you're not going to last and he is too. a low growl sound comes from his throat when he feels you have cummed around his cock and he buries his cock to the hilt before spilling his load inside you. making sure that there aren't a drop wasted and you have took them well like you always have.

he was still kissing you and you retuning the gesture until your highs have come down. he hears you hiss as he pulls his softening cock. after cleaning himself and you. he notices how your eyes are getting droopy. he must have tire you out in which he have no qualms for. he scoops you in his arms before bringing you to his personal quarters. he kisses your forehead and you hear him say something but you're too tired to know it and argue with him so you sleep on the arms of the man you feel safest the most.

when you wake up, you weren't in your bed. a heavy arm is flung into you. wrapped around your waist with a grip that have no intention of letting you go. then you notice a new weight on your finger. it's a ring. you gently turned around without waking him up and laid still. “no need for it, soshiro.” you softly mutter to his still sleeping figure.

however you appreciated the gesture. it was like he's telling you that he's not ever to going to let you go and that's enough for you.

[pretty-little-mind33]

chaser!James Potter x chaser!fem!reader

Summary: James is threatened by how good you are at Quidditch which means he hates you. And what emotion is closer to hate than love?

Genre: Angsty Fluff, 'rivals' to lovers <3

Warnings: James is seriously a dick in the beginning, teasing, slight bullying, swearing, fighting, social class differences, reader is an only child, didn't really understand how Quidditch Captains are appointed but bare with me <3

~ finally finished this! loved this ask anon! thank you, my lovely! ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James Potter is sprawled across the large, maroon, couch in the center of the Gryffindor Common room, his arms draped over the cushions as his legs lay across Sirius Black's lap.

Sirius, who would probably mind more if he wasn't as drunk as his best friend. 

"I mean, fuck me, she wasn't even that good and McGonagall saw her and still looked at her like she'd just hung the moon in the sky!" James exclaims, his ears burning as he recalls Quidditch tryouts that morning. 

He's pissed. 

"You're just annoyed that she just started and now has a chance at Captain because Mini liked her so much," Sirius points out, which earns him a harsh swat on the top of his head.

James's face sours and he restrains himself from whining like a petulant child. Sirius was right, he was mad because you gave him a run for his money and no one has done that until now. 

This was supposed to be his year. McGonagall loved him (mostly)! The Captain position was basically promised to him since his second year and now you've come around and ruined this for him! 

"She's seriously not even that good, it's infuriating," James lies and looks around the small gathering they're having. He knows everyone can hear him but he doesn't care. "And she's so fucking annoying," he sounds bitter, "she's always talking everyone's ears off— and have you seen her stupid hair? She wore those fucking space buns just to make herself look cute, I swear!" He lifts himself off the couch for a moment, his arms raising in exasperation, and then lets out a sigh. 

"That is usually the reason girls do their hair, James, yes," Remus interrupts from the floor where he's reading his book, his back leaning against the couch. 

"Shut up," James grumbles and slumps back down. "I don't want her on the team. She's a nuisance already." 

"Speaking of," Peter adds, his voice smaller as he glances towards the stairs to the girls' dorms. James whips his head around and his eyes narrow. You're walking towards the small gathering with some friends. 

You're dressed in a Quidditch sweater that is only slightly oversized as the sleeves cover your hands. You're blissfully unaware of how much James Potter hates you so when you see him staring, you assume he wants to talk to you. You liked his company during tryouts. He was funny.

You'd always found him funny. 

So, you walk over with a smile and James struggles to sit up. He's very obviously sloshed. 

"Hello, Potter," you say and your smile widens. "This is Jane and that's Gabrielle," you introduce your friends. "I enjoyed try-outs, you were amazing. If I'm honest, I've always admired you during games. You're so talented," you feel yourself rambling but you're smiling too much to stop yourself, "I'm so happy we're gonna be on the same team now! I think we should–" 

James cuts you off, a mean smirk on his lips as he looks at his friends and the students around you, "What did I say? A little chatterbox this one is," he quips, not completely unaware of how harsh his words are even in his drunken state. 

Your hands fall at your sides, and the wind feels like it's been knocked from your lungs at his words when you realize he's making fun of you. You look at your friends and they stare at James with pronounced frowns.

"Oh," you whisper, but then you add, "That's not very nice, Potter." 

A little surprised you'd had the guts to stand up to him, James retorts instantly. "Yeah? Is it now, Y/l/n?" He sounds mocking again and you don't understand why. 

Your friends pull on your sleeve. "C'mon, Y/n, he's a prick," they turn you around, feeling how hurt you are as they walk away from James and his friends. 

"Classy, James, real classy," Remus mutters under his breath. 

And as awful as sober James might admit it is, he feels like he'd won something against you. 

* * *

You can't understand why James seems to hate you as much as he does. 

You've never been mean to him or done anything to harm him— on the contrary, you've only ever spoken highly of him and you know you've made a point of showing him that you trust him as a player when you're practicing. You want him to trust you too. 

And still, James hates you and he makes that very clear. 

He turns anything into a competition when it comes to you and it's obvious he takes pleasure in making you feel like shit.

As the days turn into weeks, you feel hopeless and even now you find yourself sitting alone on the grass during breaks, adjusting your uniform so you look busy as you hold in your tears. 

You can hear James's cruel whispers about you to your teammates, purposefully creating rifts between you and them so you'll feel even more alone.

"She's so desperate," James's mockery causes another ache in your stomach and you chew on your lip so hard you're afraid you'll draw blood. You try not to listen to him as the whistle blows and the practice game starts again. 

You're not on James's team this time–which means he either ignores you completely or targets you over anyone. As he hovers near you, you realize this morning it's the latter. 

Maria Baker throws you the Quaffle and just as she does, you can sense James coming. You avoid his shoulder just in time and, with a huff, you score into the nearest hoop.

This just infuriates James even more and ups his game—which means the next time you have the Quaffle, he flies up to your shoulder again and pushes you hard to the side. He jabs his elbow into your ribs, purposefully playing dirty. 

You wince. "O-ow, James, that hurts," you hiss, focusing on staying in the air as James rough-houses with you.

Your anger builds now and you shove him back, almost slipping from your broom as you try and defend yourself.

The Quaffle falls from your arms as James hits your shoulder with his again and you gasp. You expect him to rush to the ball and continue the game but he's furious from you shoving him so he grabs one of your braids and pulls. 

You feel yourself fall from your broom as you cry in pain and you turn your body, clutching the end of James's uniform and, with a grunt from him, you're suddenly both plummeting to the ground. 

You roll onto your stomach, falling onto James's chest as his arms automatically wrap around your back and he groans, looking up at you as you practically straddle his lap. Your head is throbbing from where he'd pulled your hair, your left braid messier than your right, and pure fury flashes in your eyes. 

You lean over James, grabbing a handful of his curls and you pull. "What the bloody hell is your problem? How do you like it, hm?! You insufferable jerk!" 

James doesn't take too kindly to this and he grabs your wrists, flipping you over so you're the one under him. His mum had told him never to hit a girl but oh does he want to hit you right now. You're staring up at him with that look he hates—the one that makes him feel all fluttery in his stomach.

You're struggling against his grip, grass in your hair. James's cheeks must be just as covered in dirt as yours are and his shoulder aches from the way he'd fallen. 

"Potter! Y/l/n!" The whistle blows and the current Captain, Ines Clarke, runs up with McGonagall behind her. She'd seen the commotion from inside and seemed more than furious as she rushed over.

Some of your teammates follow, including Sirius Black who grips James's collar and pulls him off you. You hear Sirius hiss, "Prongs!! What in Godric's name is wrong with you?!" and then McGonagall pulls your attention to her. 

Ines helps you up, looking concerned but then turns her attention to James. McGonagall walks over and when she sees the mess James has made of you, she frowns. "Are you alright, Miss Y/l/n?"

You nod, your lips pressed tightly as you see a bunch of your teammates have gathered around James as he rolls his shoulder. You look at your broom, which lies broken on the grass, and your eyes water. McGonagall senses your distress and she glances at James. 

"James Potter!" She suddenly snaps her dainty fingers and James is next to her in seconds, both hands gripping his only slightly damaged broom. 

It had been better quality than yours anyway. 

His nervous eyes dart from McGonagall to you as he takes you in. You stare at him, unable to look away from how messy you've made his naturally tousled hair and you wonder if grass and dirt stick to your cheeks just as they do to James'. 

"This," McGonagall points in between you both, "isn't how we do things here—you know this better than anyone, Mr. Potter. Your behavior is unacceptable." she reprimands him sternly and then looks at you, "and Miss Y/l/n, no matter how other teammates provoke you, you don't have the right to lay your hands on them either."

"But–" 

"No. No more buts." McGonagall ignores both your protests as she looks down at your broom. "You need to learn how to behave like a team."

She thinks for a moment. "Tomorrow morning, you'll travel to Hogsmeade so Miss Y/l/n can replace her broom. Mr. Potter, you'll help her without any complaints, and neither of you better step foot on the pitch again until you've worked out whatever this feud is." 

Your eyes widen. You want to tell McGonagall you cannot buy a new broom right now, but she clearly doesn't have anyexcuses about her new team bonding exercise. This means, much to your dismay, you end up waiting for James early the next morning, hugging your arms around you as you pick at the wool on your sweater. 

James is ten minutes late. You want to kill him. 

"Oi," his voice calls from behind you, irritatingly nonchalant. You turn and see he's also wearing his Quidditch sweater—which means you're now unintentionally matching—and a pair of casual trousers. James sends you a lopsided smirk, pushing his hands into his pockets as he sways on his feet almost awkwardly. "Why so gloomy, newb?" he mocks, the nickname rolling cruelly from his tongue.

You scrunch up your nose and spin around, walking in front of him as you clutch your purse. You don't want to give him a reaction and have him mock you the entire way into town. Instead, you both walk in silence, taking in the morning air and the sound of the birds.

Occasionally your purse will hit James's hip and he'll frown, opening to say another snarky comment until he sees a keychain; the one you have of Olive Gnats, a famous chaser from the Montrose Magpies.

"Oh, Gnats, I like her too—" he finds himself admitting before he can remind himself he hates you. 

You startle and clutch your keychain, wanting to hide it from him but then you look down and then back up at James. "O-oh, yeah, she's my favorite player. Her technique is incomparable."

"Seen her match last year?"

"'Course," you say, your tone less on edge now that you're talking about something you clearly love, and the rambling you do so much kicks in, "I would watch her every game ever since I was six years old. Have around ten posters in my room at home, some are old now but—I- I studied her moves when I would play around with my mum and dad—they also played in school—that's how they met—" You cut yourself off, James's earlier taunts ringing in your head. 

Your rambling is ignored as curiously overpowers him and James asks, "You have no siblings to play with?"

You shake your head. "Nope. Only child."

James's hazel eyes soften and he feels a funny feeling in his chest. "Oh, m-me too. Has its perks and its downfalls, y'know?" he whispers as he looks at you from the corner of his eye. His heart pounds.

The sun hits your skin just perfectly and your hair smells like cinnamon shampoo. James feels drawn to you again—just like he had in the beginning—and he wants to stop himself but when you laugh at his comment, he feels like an arrow has just shot his heart. 

"Oh yeah, it certainly does," you sound guarded again and James can't even be upset.

It's his fault you're like this around him.

He opens the door for you when you enter Quality Quidditch Supplies and the little bell rings. Instantly, you're drawn to the newest broom—displayed with polished wood and improved flying qualities—but you turn your head, knowing instantly you can't pay for a broom like that—

"Hey, look at this one," James's excitement tugs at your heart and you walk over, standing beside him as you can't help but admire the broom up close. "It feels amazing," James says as he runs his hand over the smooth wood. He's grinning. "This is the one, isn't it?"

You bite your cheek. You want it to be.

"I don't know, I–haven't seen the others," you whisper, avoiding James's eyes.

"What? What are you talking about? This one is the best by far, you aren't gonna find a better broom."

"I want to look around," you whisper, looking at the price of this broom, and your heart sinks.

"Y/n, this is ridiculous—"

"James, stop," you snap, very clearly annoyed. You can't tell if he means well by being persistent since he's only just now started to show you any form of kindness and this still feels like some cruel joke he's playing on you.

"I can't pay for this one—and the truth is I can't pay for any of these so—I- I think—" you pause, clutching at your purse desperately as you hold in tears of embarrassment. "I should tell McGonagall I couldn't find a broom I liked and I'll borrow an older one from my parents—

—plus, if I buy this one you'll just have another reason to hate me," you finish. 

Your words hit James hard as he takes in what you mean. Shame sneaks up on him instantly as he knows exactly why you would think that. It suddenly hits him just how threatened he's been and as silly as it sounds the only image in James's head is the disappointed look of his mother if she knew he had taken out his own insecurities on you. 

If Euphemia Potter knew how much of a dick he's been to you, she'd be horrified.

He looks at you closely, taking in how embarrassed you look. During tense moments with his friends, Remus had sometimes told him he was a spoiled rich boy—unaware of real struggles — and he'd always brushed him off.

Only this time, he can't unhear Remus's jab as he realizes how foolish he had been to assume anything about you.

"Oh," he whispers.

You look away at the other brooms. "I- I honestly didn't realize how expensive new brooms are. My mum and dad had gotten the other one for my eleventh birthday—I should have been more careful—" You sound sad and James's heart sinks. 

"Hey, listen, it's my fault your broom is broken. I- shouldn't have been so rough on you like I was. I'm sorry," he speaks up, sounding sincere and you look up at him, expecting a better explanation than that. 

"It's no excuse but, the truth is, I was incredibly threatened by you. You're so good, better than me even, and I really want Captain so—"

"I don't want Captain," you say instantly. "I just wanted to be on the team—"

At that point, James remembers what you'd said that night when he was piss-drunk in the Common Room. 'I've always admired you during games.' It dawns on him that you just wanted him to like you and, instead, he'd gone and seen you as an enemy. His chest hurts. 

He has never felt more like an ass than now. 

"Okay, well, um," he whispers, rubbing his nape, "Let me make it up to you then. I'll buy you the broom." James means well, he truly does, but it only makes you feel more embarrassed and you shake your head. 

"No. I don't need your pity," you say instantly as you stare at him, eyes narrowed. 

"I'm not pitying you! I'm fixing my mistake," he exclaims, his voice strained.

You open your mouth to protest when he adds, "Please."

James looks determined as he rummages through his robes for any spare change he can use and then he curses. "Shit, I didn't bring enough money," he mumbles and lifts his head, looking up at you with his puppy-like brown eyes. "I promise I'll buy it for you, Y/n. Okay? I'll make this right," he adds again and your expression softens. 

"Sure, James," you whisper, not entirely sure if you believe him. 

* * *

He did buy you the broom.

James had it wrapped neatly with a small letter signed J.P accompanied with the words, "I'm sorry," scribbled onto the parchment. 

Since that morning, he didn't ignore you anymore, he included you with the other teammates, and he played fair with you—even complimenting you sometimes. McGonagall had seen the change in dynamic and so had Ines, which she'd praised you both for.

"Good job, Y/l/n," Ines grins as she packs up her bags, "you and Potter seem to be getting on much better now." She winks and her comment passes over you as you focus on untying your ponytail, rubbing your scalp. 

The rest of the team has fallen in front of you, laughing and chatting as they walk back to the dorm. You're lost in the moment, struggling with holding your bag as you run your hand in your hair, the tightness of the ponytail was causing you a headache. 

Suddenly, you suddenly squeal when you almost trip over James—who had bent down to tie his shoes and had been separated from the group. 

He grunts and stands up, turning around and catching your arm as he steadies you. 

"Oh hey, Y/n," he grins, and then he glances at your poor bag hanging from your arm. Swiftly, he takes your bag and holds it over his other shoulder, not even commenting on the gesture. 

"Want some company walking back to the Common Room?" he asks casually.

You blow some strands away from your eyes as you look up at him, grateful for the momentary relief from your bag as the pain in your scalp subsides.

"Sure," you say, reaching for your bag but James holds it up and away from you. 

"Let me be a gentleman here," he teases.

You roll your eyes with no malice. "Hero complex much, Potter?"

He chuckles as you walk inside the school, side by side. James winks at you. "On the contrary, Y/l/n, I am the hero. Don't need a complex when you are one, y'know?"

You laugh, hearing the joking infliction in his voice as your heart feels lighter. Much to your better judgment, you've actually been enjoying James's company these last weeks, and talking to him alone like this has been even more fun. "I think you think much too highly of yourself, James." you tease him back. 

"I am wounded, Y/n." He fakes hurt as he puts a hand over his heart. 

"It's true is it not?" you say with a smirk and James narrows his eyes as you turn a corner, getting closer to the Common Room. You shrug, catching yourself. "Nothing wrong with some confidence." 

James grins, his eyes sparkling playfully as he gently nudges your side with his elbow. "You could learn a few things from me, eh?"

You frown. "Are you saying I'm not confident?"

James hums, smirking, "'M just giving you some advice, love. You have the skills now, you gotta trust yourself." You both approach the entrance and you mutter the secret word to the Fat Lady Painting and the door cracks open. You push it further with your palm. 

"Since when are you giving me Quidditch advice to make me better?" 

James turns around once he's inside and hands you your bag. "Since I realized if you can't beat them, join them," he jokes with a smile, "We're a team now, Y/n. I know I was a real dick in the beginning, but I look out for my teammates. You're my teammate, so now I look after you."

Your shoulders relax and a small smile tugs your lips. "Thanks, James," you say honestly and rest your bag higher on your shoulder, tucking some hair behind your ear as you smooth the knots a little. "I really appreciate that."

"Anytime," James whispers as you walk up the stairs to the girl's dorm. Sirius whistles from where he's sitting on one of the couches, his head leaning against the armrest as he watches you and James. Once you disappear from view, James spins around, his eyes narrowing at his best friend. 

Sirius winks and looks at James's sneakers. "This is the third time this week you've used that stupid shoelace excuse, Prongs. At this point, just stay back and ask her to walk with you, you chicken."

James's cheeks turn crimson and he walks over to shove Sirius, "Shut up." 

Sirius just laughs loudly. 

* * *

You've never felt so nervous in your life as you clutch the wood of your new, expensive, broom. The wind has picked up and everyone can tell the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor seekers are having a hard time finding the snitch. You're breathing heavily as you look around, seeing Maria—the third chaser—throw James the Quaffle. 

James easily catches the Quaffle, avoiding the Ravenclaws on his right as he swoops lower. Your adrenaline is pumping and you think you know what he's doing. You hope. You fly closer and higher to the hoops, letting James know you're open.

Your memory flashes to the beginning when he wouldn't pass you the Quaffle under any circumstances, even if it cost the team the point. He can be so headstrong and your body is buzzing as you watch him closely.

What if he doesn't throw it to you? You have the perfect shot. 

James looks at you from the corner of his eye, shoving a Ravenclaw with his shoulder to disorient them.

He could want the score for himself—but he's surrounded, he could miss.

The sound of the crowd is drowned out when you see his arm raise and he's communicating with his eyes. You nod, jumping into action as you fly closer and avoid the Ravenclaws as you catch the Quaffle and throw your arm back, throwing the Quaffle directly into the middle hoop. 

Just as you score, Oliver—Ravenclaw's seeker—catches the snitch and the whistle blows. Gryffindor was leading already and you glance at the board. It didn't matter that Oliver caught the snitch, your goal had helped secure Gryffindor the win. Cheers erupt around you and you find yourself in a trance as your feet hit the ground and you clutch your broom.

"Y/n!" Someone calls your name as the ringing in your ears dies and you feel hands wrap around your waist, hoisting you up in the air as you twirl around. A gasp escapes your lips as you clutch onto the culprit's shoulder, the cheers continuing to echo around the pitch.  

"You did so amazingly," James's excitement shines as he slowly lowers you back onto the ground, your chest brushing against his as your hands find themselves wrapped around his neck. You stare into his eyes, feeling his proximity and you suddenly feel warm and dizzy.

Has he always been this handsome?

"James." His name is the only thing your brain can think to say as he refuses to let you go. He also looks breathless and his cheeks have turned a faint shade of pink as his eyes roam over your features. 

You want to tell him a thousand things. How good he was, how you're so happy the team won, how honored you are he trusted you enough to throw you the Quaffle to make the score. You want to ask if you were more confident this time and if he's noticed your effort—but instead, any attempt at words is drowned by his lips meeting yours. 

You don't kiss him back for a moment, your hand faltering behind his neck as your fingers find the baby hairs on his nape. He feels so close and your lips part a little, kissing him back carefully as your eyes shut. 

James's hands squeeze your waist and for a moment the crowd and the team are completely forgotten until James pulls away, and the sound of cheering returns as the realization of what happened dawns on you both. 

"I'm sorry," James mutters, stepping away but he keeps a hand on you. 

"You're sorry?" you ask, your voice small. 

James hesitates, looking at you seriously and then he shakes his head. "No. I'm not sorry."

Your lips curl upwards and, still ignoring everyone around you, you pull him down by the collar of his shirt and kiss his lips again. James grins against your mouth, his heart thumps in his chest as all he can think about is you.

"Oi, no PDA on the pitch, you pervs!" Sirius's teasing voice suddenly shouts out from somewhere beside you but you're almost positive no one else is worried about you and James considering everyone's celebrating on their own.

James must feel the same because he throws up a middle finger with the hand that leaves your waist and you laugh into his mouth, reaching for his arm to stop him.

"Prick," James mutters to Sirius, "You're annoying," he adds with some playful bite. 

He turns to you and his gaze softens. "But you're lovely," he whispers, earning him the prettiest smile he's ever seen and he's never been more proud.

tags: @mischievousmoony, @sayitlikethecheese

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 8

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

“I can’t believe you let me fall asleep!” Chrissy complains, crowding into Steve’s space to desperately try to fix her hair in the mirror.

Steve snorts, unbelievably fond at the way her bangs are going every direction but down. “What am I, your mother?” he asks, fixing his own hair by standing on his tippy toes and looking over her head.

“No, but she will be killing me for this!” Chrissy cries, finally giving up on finger-combing her bangs to dunk the strands into the sink and get them wet. “Thanks for reminding me!”

“You’re bitchy in the morning,” he mutters, grimacing when she pulls her head out of the sink abruptly enough that water droplets fling from her head and onto his shirt. “Now, hurry up, we’re already late.”

She flips him off, ignoring him entirely to continue fixing her hair.

They’re both late; Chrissy doesn’t let him forget it for the rest of the day, as if it’s his fault.

“I remember when I thought you were nice,” Steve mutters, laughing helplessly when she elbows him in the side.

“You love it,” she says, smiling as they sit across from each other in their usual spot in the library, feet settling together beneath the table.

The thing is, he does. He’s always liked Chrissy, even back when she was all sunshine and rainbows, but even more so now that there’s some grit to her.

“Shut up.”

Chrissy beams, all sunshine again as she plunks her stack of books onto the table and shuffles her letter-drafting notebook to the top. Only once she’s opened to a blank page does she bite her lip, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asks, voice hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

She breaks eye contact, fiddling with her pen anxiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he already is, that a part of him, the small, squirming part he keeps hidden in his heart, wishes he’d never done this. That watching Eddie kiss Chrissy’s hand and knowing without being told that she’s the kind of girl Eddie might want had broken something inside him. That Steve knows he could never be Eddie’s choice, and knowing that burns.

But, since the flirting started, Steve hasn’t written a word, and that’s worse, somehow. He only has the one tether to Eddie, and he wants to keep it, even if it’s through Chrissy’s handwriting, and Chrissy’s words, and Chrissy’s face.

He just wants.

Instead of saying all that, he reaches out, putting his hand gently on Chrissy’s hand and replies, “I’m sure,” even as the fluttering of his heart makes a liar of him.

Chrissy’s still biting her lip, not looking reassured at all. Steve’s gut churns with worry. ”Are you, though? You didn’t sign up for this, and if you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s okay.”

She smiles, her bottom lip blanched white from her teeth, as she replies, “We’re in this together, right?”

Even with the smile, she still looks worried, but Chissy puts her pen to paper and dutifully writes out the words Steve speaks, editing and revising each thought until it’s something someone might want to hear.

They keep their voices quiet because there are more people sitting in the library than usual today: a big group working on a project, a couple of freshman scowling down at what looks like a Geometry textbook, and closest of all, a girl he recognizes as a band nerd, flipping through a magazine too fast to really be reading it.

It doesn’t take them long—they’ve done this enough times that it’s become almost an art form. Chrissy pushes the completed letter across the table for his final review before it’s signed and sealed.

“It’s good,” Steve says, pushing the letter back across to her to be dropped off in Eddie’s locker.

His heart aches; Steve wants to slap himself.

Instead, he parts ways with Chrissy at their cars, Jeff already waiting beside hers to be driven home, and goes back to his house, bereft of the noise Chrissy had brought only that morning.

*** 

Eddie had worried when there wasn’t another letter after he’d started talking to Chrissy. Did she not like him anymore? Was she done writing them entirely now that she can talk to him face to face?

He worries incessantly for days about it, even as Chrissy keeps saying hi to him in the halls, keeps smiling back when they catch eyes across the cafeteria, keeps being her usual, friendly self.

It’s just, the letters are different. They’re more raw, somehow, more real. And, no matter how this thing goes with Chrissy, if they stop coming, he’ll miss them.

So, it’s a relief when he opens his locker the Monday after Chrissy’s eventful Hellfire induction to find a letter. He can’t wait to read it, the anticipation has built up over too many days of not receiving any. So, he rushes to the same, familiar bathroom and opens it in the stall he’s starting to think of as his.

       Eddie —

       How did your show go? I bet you’ve got a couple groupies already, you’ve already got the look for it. Did you figure out the riff for the song you were working on?

       I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? (Do you know how to ride a bike?) It’s nice, playing music, even if it’s all songs someone else has written, and they’re still not coming out right.

       I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I just didn’t know what to say. You’re so patient, and nice, and I got caught up in my head you know? But I missed you.

       I slept with your letter beneath my pillow last night, hoping for dreams of you.

       Yours, Always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I haven’t read it, but maybe I will. Just to keep with the theme, put this letter in The Lord of the Rings.

He devours the words, slumping onto the toilet seat the longer he reads. It’s perfect—just what he was missing. He reads it once, twice, thrice, the same way he had when he’d received the first two, disbelieving that such lovely words were meant for him.

Eddie skips his second period, first already long gone by the time he’d trundled into the school’s parking lot, and pens a response, then and there.

He goes to the library immediately, nervous that if he doesn’t drop it off right away, she’ll assume Eddie isn’t going to write back at all. 

He waffles over which book to put it in before finally tucking it into The Fellowship of the ring–it’s the first in the trilogy, and Chrissy’s probably too cool to even know it’s a trilogy. 

There’s no response in his locker before Hellfire on Thursday, but that’s okay because true to her word, Chrissy shows up again. She’s smiling as she bounces through the doorway, all springy curls and happy cheer.

“Hi!” Chrissy says, waving as she beams her blinding smile around the room,  all that cheerleader enthusiasm on display.

Doug looks struck dumb, staring at her with his mouth open. Gareth’s gaze is darting back and forth from the door to Eddie, eyes growing wider and wider with each pass. Only Jeff smiles and waves back.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Chrissy says, elbowing Harrington in the side until he finally looks up and gives his own half-hearted wave.

Because Harrington is slumped in the doorway behind her, looking like he’s trying to hide the entire bulk of his body behind Chrissy’s petite frame.

“Uh, hey,” he says, ears strangely pink as his eyes dart around the room.

He never looks Eddie’s way at all.

“Hey, man,” Jeff replies, the only person aside from Chrissy that is currently functioning.

“Steve, can come, right?” Chrissy asks, like he’s not already in the doorway behind her.

Eddie’s gut sinks then swoops. Harrington’s a jock—what will he do locked in a room with a bunch of nerds? But, the chipped nail polish.

Eddie’s mind is full of screaming, thoughts flip flopping over each other as he tries to articulate all the things wrong with Harrington coming to Hellfire, but all that comes out of his mouth is a chipper, “sure!”

Chrissy’s smile grows teeth—is she going to bite him?

Eddie resists the urge to take a step back.

Jeff pulls out the vacant seat beside him, still looking cool as a cucumber while the rest of them scramble. “Come sit down.”

And that’s how he finds himself with a jock in Hellfire. Should they call an exterminator?

It’s Chrissy who takes the seat beside Jeff which leaves the only other empty chair next to Eddie’s throne. Eddie glares at Gareth, gesturing wildly for his friend to move up a seat, but Gareth’s too busy staring at Harrington like he’s a cobra about to strike.

Harrington is looking at the only empty seat with the exact same expression.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses, and Harrington jumps. “Go sit down.

The pink on his ears travels down to his cheeks—it’s unfair, really, how pretty and even his blush is. When Eddie blushes, he blotches bright red from forehead to chest.

Steve’s embarrassment suits him.

Eddie waits until he’s seated before clapping loud enough that everyone startles as they turn to him. “Now!” he starts in the grand voice he uses when he’s performing his Dungeon Master duties. “Are you two playing?”

“No,” Harrington rushes out, the pink of his blush deepening to a red as he finally meets Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, Chrissy said she just watched last time?”

“We didn’t want to slow you down,” Chrissy cuts in.

Eddie nods, looking between the couple as awkwardness stews in the stilted silence.

“Alright,” he replies. “Gird your loins, lords and lady.”

Knowing a cue when they hear one, the Hellfire boys scramble to pull out character sheets and dice.

And they’re off!

It takes a minute to fall into the familiar minutiae of telling a story with not one but two interlopers, but Eddie manages it. This is where he thrives: a captive audience and all the power to fuck with them in the palm of his hand.

He only stumbles once, words jumbling together when he looks up and catches Harrington staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from his earlier embarrassment as he bites his lip, ass literally on the edge of his seat as Eddie cobbles together the climactic finish to their latest encounter.

Harrington looks away quickly, but Eddie knows what he saw: Harrington is into this nerd shit. He’d tease him if he wasn’t worried that it would end in a swirlie.

Still, Eddie can feel his head puffing up like an overfilled balloon. He’s on the top of his game, painting grand adventures with grander words, all gestures and enthusiasm. He feels electric, the way he always does when there’s a new sheep in his flock to impress. His skin’s almost buzzing with it.

After all, even if his audience member is a jock, Eddie’s always been great at putting on a show. 

Neither of the interlopers say anything until they’re busy packing up. Eddie lounges back in his throne, watching Chrissy help Jeff with his dice. She’s smiling up at him, clearly just as interested in their nerd shit as Harrington.

Eddie turns his eyes back to Harrington to see how he’s taking his girl talking to a guy that isn’t him only to find Harrington staring at him again.  When Eddie meets his eyes, he ducks his head, cheeks tinting that familiar pink.

Is Steve Harrington fucking awkward?

“You’re good at that,” Harrington says quietly.

Eddie hums, confused. He’s shuffling his papers back together, not looking down at what he’s doing. What’s happening in front of him is far more interesting.

“At what, big boy?”

“Uh,” Harrington starts, darting his eyes back up to Eddie’s for a second before looking back down at his fiddling hands. “Telling a story.”

Eddie smiles, something warm and amorphous filling his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, lightly kicking Harrington’s ankle.

Harrington twitches, lets out a quick, “mmhmm,” and then turns away from Eddie to go find his girlfriend, dismissing Eddie without another word.

“Ready to go, babe?” Steve asks, settling his arm around her waist and damn-near frog marching her out of the room.

“Bye, Jeff! Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy calls, still cheerful even as her boyfriend controls her every move. Maybe she’s used to it—first Carver and now Harrington. “See you next week?”

Neither of them wait for a reply.

The silence is stifling in their wake. Only Jeff seems unbothered as he stuffs all of his supplies into his backpack. Doug hasn’t even touched his dice.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asks, whipping around to Eddie.

“How the hell should I know?”

Jeff snorts. “You invited them,” he says.

“I invited Chrissy,” Eddie whines. “She invited Harrington.”

That catches Jeff’s attention. He glares at Eddie like he’s the one that had invaded their sacred space. “You’re not this stupid,” he says, swinging his backpack onto his back and striding toward the door. “I’ve got a ride home, don’t wait for me.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie demands.

The only answer is the door swinging shut.

*** 

Once he’s walked Chrissy to her car and watched her pull out of the parking lot safe from Carver’s creepy hands, Steve collapses into his own car. He presses his face into the steering wheel and groans, long and loud, assured in his safe isolation. 

When the passenger door opens, he jumps, neck cracking with the speed at which he turns his head, ready to fight off the trespasser.

“Oh, it’s you,” Steve says, dropping his head back to the steering wheel.

“He knows,” Jeff says, voice serious enough that Steve raises his head back up immediately, heartbeat ratcheting up.

It takes a second for the words to connect, and when they do, his heartbeat quickens further, sweat pooling on the back of his neck, hands clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to hurt as fight or flight hits him.

“What?” he asks, the word cracking around his suddenly parched throat.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters, reaching out to pat Steve’s shoulder. “Not about you!”

Steve’s shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him as Jeff continues to pat his shoulder, too awkward to be all that comforting. “Then, what—”

“He knows Chrissy is putting the notes in his locker.”

Steve sighs, slumping into his seat, uncaring of the way it crushes Jeff’s hand against the backrest. “Yeah, we figured,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know how?”

Jeff’s biting his lip when Steve looks his way. “He didn’t tell me,” he mutters. “But I know my best friend.”

It’s Steve’s turn to reach across the car and clasp Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m sure he has a reason for not telling you,” Steve replies, trying to smile past all that exhaustion.

Jeff snorts. “A stupid one, maybe.”

Steve hums, squeezing once more before dropping his hold on Jeff, suddenly realizing how stupid they must look, leaning toward each other, hands on each other’s shoulders like they’re having some sort of bro moment.

Steve turns back to the front of his car, cranks the engine, and smiles across at Jeff as the other boy takes the hint and drops his own hold. “Want a ride home?”

Instead of answering, Jeff puts on his seatbelt.

Jeff’s house is surprisingly close to Steve’s own. It’s a bit smaller than his, but there’s already a car in the driveway, and the shadows of silhouettes moving behind the pulled curtains, warm yellow light filtering through the fabric and onto the street.

Steve wishes he could go in with a fierce sort of longing that surprises him.

Jeff’s already got his seatbelt off and the passenger door open when he sighs, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

“You should come next week,” he says, all earnest in that way that seems to come so naturally to him and must have gotten him eaten alive in middle school.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve replies. There’s a tension headache growing, exasperated by the incredulous scrunching of his eyebrows. “That was a disaster.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but he’s grinning like he’s remembering something funny. Steve’s got a few guesses what.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff clasps his shoulder again—maybe that’s just something he does?

Steve scoffs, the roll of his eyes making his head pound. He opens his mouth to retort, something about Eddie’s reaction to Steve sitting beside him, but Jeff beats him to the punch.

“I know Eddie. And that in there?” He points back the way they’d come, like if Steve just strains his eyes, he’ll be able to catch sight of Eddie’s stupid fancy chair, and the stupid musty drama room, and the stupid look on Eddie’s face. “—is him interested.”

Steve closes his mouth, swallowing all the spit in his mouth, hoping it’s not audible to Jeff no matter how quiet the car is. “In me?” he asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Jeff doesn’t break eye contact, but his mouth twists uncomfortably. “Like you’re interested in him?” Jeff asks, continuing before Steve can reply. “I don’t know, man.”

Steve droops, the hope blooming in his chest curdling and sinking down into his stomach like old milk. He wants, desperately, to go home, turn out all the lights, and curl up alone in his bed to sleep away the rest of the day. But, Jeff’s still in his car, so he clenches the wheel between his fingers and says, “okay.”

“But, he doesn’t get you,” Jeff continues, voice gentling further. “And that intrigues him.”

Jeff’s still smiling like that should be some sort of boon to Steve’s ego, but it’s not. It lands like a brick. No one ever gets him, and whether he intrigues them or not, it always ends the same: him, alone in his big, empty house, waiting for a phone call that will never come, a doorbell that will never ring, a window that will never be snuck through.

He’d been through it before, with Donna in sixth grade, Nancy in tenth, hell, even Carol and Tommy for more years than he can count.

Intrigue has never gotten him anywhere. But, Jeff’s smiling, small and real, so Steve replies, “thanks, man,” smiling back until the other boy gets out of the car and he can safely drive away.

He’s got a dark house and a chilled bed waiting for him.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Steve writes the first draft of one of his secret admirer letters alone.

PART 9

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Three

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None that I can think of. Cassian, Azriel, and Y/n go to a romantic library

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“I. Can’t. Believe. It.” Cassian paced the floor in front of his brothers with his hands on his hips.

“I know.” Azriel said miserably. 

“I can’t believe it.” 

Rhysand smirked, leaning back on Az’s bed with his head propped up beneath his arm. They’d all been in shock leaving the Alcove. Even Helion had been uncharacteristically silent, contemplating what to do now that it looked like his daughter was mates with the Shadowsinger.

Upon return to the Sun Palace they’d found Azriel in his room, head in his hands as his shadows flurried around him in displeasure.

“You fucking ran away from your mate.” Cassian was incredulous, “Over 500 years you’ve been desperate for one, and the moment the bond snaps into place, you fucking run away? What the fuck, Az?”

“As if you or Rhys did any better.” Az growled. Already he could feel the tug of the bond towards you. It was part of the reason he’d run away in the first place. Better to hide and brood over this secret than overwhelm you more than he already had.

“He’s got a point there, Cas.”

“Shut up! Az should know better than to follow in our footsteps.” 

“That we can all agree on,” Feyre said, breezing into the room and finding her rightful place on the bed beside her husband. He kissed her on the temple and Azriel felt a wave of jealousy wash over him. He had a mate. A mate who had flinched whenever he came too close. The memory turned the contents of his stomach into ash. Bitter and cruel.

“It’s not that simple. You saw her tonight. She couldn’t stand being near me.” 

Rhys’s eyes fluttered down to the female in his arms and Feyre, always in sync with Rhys, glanced up at the same time, a look of regret in her eyes. 

“Sorry, Rhys.” Az apologized, but he waved it off.

“It might not have been you. We’ve no idea what kind of history she has. What her experience has been with other fae. With males.” 

Az’s eyes darkened, his shadows similarly taking on a more vicious tone. That knife in his gut twisted to the side at the thought of anyone hurting you.

“What Rhys means to say,” Feyre said, catching the flicker of darkness around Azriel’s edges, “Is that until you get to know her better, you can’t come to any conclusions about her actions tonight.” A light turned on in her mind and Rhys nodded his head in agreement, “You and Cass should go see her in the morning. Ask her to take you to the library with the romance books so he can find Nesta something. It should give you more than enough time to talk.” 

“I will not be supervised by Cassian.”

“Why not, brother? You and your little Librarian can’t be worse than Nesta and I were.” 

Azriel lunged at him, ready to smack him in the back of the head, but Feyre slid between them before he could get too close.

“No. No fighting tonight. You can pummel each other to a pulp when we’re home.” 

“Promise?” Cassian winked. 

Az rolled his eyes and frowned. “This is a terrible time for a mating bond, Fey. Koschei-” 

“Has there ever been a good time for a mating bond?” 

Azriel fell silent, unable to refute his High Lady.

“Rhys and I will take care of that business tomorrow with Helion.” She said with a tone of finality, holding Azriel’s face between her hands, “This is a good thing, Az. Enjoy it. Get to know her. Get to know your mate.”

Your mate. 

The words floated around in Azriel’s mind as he lay in bed and watched the light start to bleed back into the world. He’d been thinking about you all night. You with your soft hair and sheepish smile. You with your mismatched mugs and cheeks flushed with color. He was grateful that Day Court life started early, because he didn’t think he’d be able to stay in bed much longer.

Breakfast was a quick affair, and no one missed the way the Shadowsinger quickly ate, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he watched Cassian savor every bite of his waffles, berry custard, sausages, and tea. Cassian smiled from across the table and Azriel scowled, silently urging him to hurry up. They were wasting precious time.

The moment the last drop from Cassian’s cup was in his mouth, Azriel was hauling him out of his seat and towards the window. Helion narrowed his eyes at the pair but said nothing as their leathery wings flared out without hesitation and they leapt from the Sun Palace.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat when you opened the door, fresh-faced and smelling like mint and rose. You blinked in surprise, once again half-hiding your body behind the cherry wood door. After his abrupt departure last night, you’d paced the floor of your kitchen, aggressively cleaning the dishes as you mulled over everything you must have done wrong in order for him to react like that. Perhaps you’d offended him somehow? Things had certainly felt fine before. You’d enjoyed talking to them… especially him.  

“My Lords,” You said with a quick dip of your head. Azriel cringed at the title and Cassian, for the sake of his brother, didn’t poke fun, “Um…why are you here? Or-sorry-what can I do for you today?” 

Cassian’s grin was broad and mischievous, “We were hoping you could show us the romance library. The one you told us about last night. I don’t think I could leave the Day Court in good conscience without something salacious to bring home to Nesta.” 

“Oh I um…” You glanced behind you at your living room. You’d hoped to finish reading two of your books on containment spells today, perhaps start summarizing some of your findings and look for connections.

“I-” He coughed, “We don’t want to burden you with this if you’re busy.” Azriel jumped in. 

Please say you’ll come. Please say you’ll come. He all but shouted the words down the bond. 

There was something so hopeful about the way he looked at you, as if he was silently begging you to say yes, that you couldn’t refuse him. 

“No, no. I didn’t have anything planned. Just… just give me a few minutes.” With that you shut the door in their faces and ran to your bedroom, reemerging exactly three minutes later wearing a pale yellow dress with sensible brown shoes and a matching coat. Aside from your hands - which you hid within your deep pockets - and your face, not a scrap of skin was to be found anywhere.

You hesitated at the doorway. Both Cassian and Azriel stood too close, crowding the marble steps leading down to the pale cobblestone streets. Azriel elbowed Cassian out of the way, all but pushing him down the steps with you following six feet behind.

“Lead the way, little Librarian.” Cassian said when they reached the bottom, swinging his arm out to the side. 

Despite the festivities that had taken place the day before, fae were already wide awake and winding through the streets with groceries and fresh baked bread tucked under the arms. The scholars were the easiest to pick out, milling about the coffeeshops and athenaeums with ink stained fingertips and the scent of old paper clinging to their coats. 

Since the war with Hybern, the Day Court’s borders had loosened to accept more visiting researchers from other courts. Intermixed with the usual jumble of fae were tawny-winged Peregryns from Dawn, salt-skinned sailors from Summer, even the occasional fluttering of Spring Court nymph wings could be spotted, shimmering iridescent pinks and purples. 

A quarter mile away, the weekly market was beginning to stir with life, offering up the best artisanal wares in all of Prythian. Hand-stitched leather bound journals, elegant fountain pens with a never-ending ink supply, satchels that could hold up to two-hundred pounds worth of material and still feel as light as a feather. Azriel would have investigated further if you hadn’t steered the pair down a narrower neighborhood street, a pink-stoned athenaeum waiting at the end. 

“This is the 69th sector athenaeum.” You announced. Cassian coughed into his fist, “And before you ask, yes, the location was selected very intentionally.” 

The Illyrian’s face turned a bright red, cheeks flaring out as he attempted to stifle his laughter. Azriel closed his eyes, one hand coming up to rub at his temples. You could have sworn you heard him mumble “Mother give me strength” beneath his breath.

“And what do you call this place?” Azriel asked curiously, trying to turn your attention away from a very immature Cassian, “The “69th sector atheneum” doesn’t have a very pleasing ring to it.” 

You blushed, “We call it The Loveseat.”

“A very-” Cassian wheezed, “A very appropriate-” Wheeze, “A very appropriate name.” 

You shook your head, hiding your smirk as you opened the double doors and stepped inside. The library dedicated to lovers took its theme very seriously, as most athenaeums were apt to do. Lush velvet couches, bouquets of flowers in every shade imaginable, and paintings of love and affection were carefully laid out in between shelves of auburn-stained wood that reached as high as the ceiling. Walkways criss-crossed above their heads forming a spiral pattern that ended at the domed ceiling where someone had painstakingly painted a collection of confessional scenes from Prythian’s most cherished romance novels.

Cassian may have been all teenage jokes before, but he melted at the sight of the ceiling. He thought of Nesta and tugged on the bond, letting her see the athenaeum before him.

“The more explicit works are in the back.” You said, pointing down towards the back staircase which would take any full-grown fae to the lower level. But Cassian had already drifted off, silently following Nesta’s guidance as he scanned the shelves.

“How do you know that?” Azriel asked once Cassian had all but disappeared.

“Hmmm?” 

“How do you know the more explicit works are in the back?” 

You fell silent, tugging your sleeves over your hands as you chewed the inside of your cheek. The Shadowsinger tipped his head back and laughed. Not a hidden smile, not a barely-there smirk, or near-silent chuckle, but a gentle full-bodied laugh that shook his wings.

You gaped at him, “A female is allowed to have hobbies, is she not?”

He shook his raven-black hair, the faint waves within it rippling and catching the warm light that trickled down from the ceiling, “I never said she wasn’t. And I would never deny anyone their smutty romance books if that’s what made them happy. After all, I am Nesta’s brother-in-law.” 

You leaned against a nearby bookcase, absentmindedly running your ink-stained fingers over the spines and getting flashes of knowledge - the death of a brother, a night spent sweaty and spent under the stars, the exhilarating lurch that comes when two lips kiss for the first time. You couldn’t help but insert the Shadowsinger into the picture.

“And what makes you happy, Azriel? What do you like to do for fun?”

There was a pause, as if no one had ever asked him that question before.

“I like to spend time with my family.” He said, slipping into the shelves and ducking down so he could see you through the space between the books. For the first time in a while, you disliked the physical barrier between you and another person.

You shook your head, pretending to read the titles so you wouldn’t look into those hazel eyes, “That’s not a hobby though.” 

He shrugged, “The nature of my work keeps me away from most things. I don’t often have time for things I enjoy.” 

“But you do have things you enjoy, don’t you? Something to take your mind off the nature of your work.”

Azriel stilled, no longer moving with you and you realized you must have overstepped your bounds.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you-” 

“I like music.” He said finally after some contemplation, “I like flying over the musician’s quarter in Velaris so I can hear what they’re playing at the theater. Sometimes I’ll sneak in and hide in the rafters.” 

He’d never told anyone that. But you only nodded in agreement, as if sneaking around in your own city and into shows you could afford in a moment’s notice were a normal thing to do. 

“That seems very appropriate for a Shadowsinger.” 

The strange dance you’d been dueting came to an abrupt end when the shelves stopped, spitting the two of you out into one of the narrow aisles face to face. 

Azriel smiled at you, exposing his teeth in a rare smile. Other than the smallest chip in his left canine, they were pristine - as perfectly imperfect as the rest of him.

“Now you tell me. What do you like to do?”

“Well you already know I like smutty romance novels.” 

“Naturally.” He said, gesturing to the space they were in.

You looked around the room, breathed in the smell of roses and ink. You shrugged, “I like to read.” 

“Naturally.” The Shadowsinger repeated.

“I… I suppose I like to sing.”

He leaned forward, as if it were a secret, “A little songbird then?” 

“No, no, I’m not good at it. But there’s a pianist who lives down the street from me so I end up memorizing her songs.”

You wracked your brain for anything more to say. Something that would make you appear more interesting, braver, kinder, special… someone worthy of the attention you were receiving from this male. You had never been the most physically inclined, hence why the elite Bookkeepers - Librarians charged with the physical protection of their respective athenaeums - had passed you over. You weren’t one for baking or crafting or gardening or hosting parties or any of the rest of those things. You didn’t know how to draw, you’d never picked up an instrument, you tried embroidery once and found it boring. 

“I think… I think that’s it, really.” You said, sounding defeated. 

Azriel hadn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time you were thinking. Not for a single second, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Well you don’t know me so…”

“Maybe not yet. But I would like to, Y/n the Librarian. If you’d let me.” 

The feeling that crept up into your throat and lodged itself there took you by surprise. Some mortifying realization that you were becoming emotional in front of the Shadowsinger. You cleared your throat, dipping your head down and diving back into the shelves so he couldn’t see your silvery eyes. 

“Tell me more about the kinds of things academics concern themselves with.” Azriel said smoothly, calling back your conversation from the night before as he peered over a dense set of bodice-rippers at you. If he wanted to take your mind off things, he was doing an excellent job.

“Hardcover versus paperback.” Your fingers skimmed over the book bindings. Bodice-rippers indeed.

“And?”

You pursed your lips, thoughts of Nesta and her smutty books coming into mind before you could help yourself.

“Ahhh, you just thought of something. Tell me.” 

“I don’t want to.” You mumbled, but the Shadowsinger only arched his brows.

You rolled your eyes in defeat. Not that you’d put up much of a fight. He was the Shadowsinger after all, he could learn what you had for breakfast three weeks ago if he really wanted to. 

“I… I once got into a heated argument with a certain erotica writer about the physical impossibility of a human having sex with a dragon-born fae…”

He blinked, tipped his head back, and laughed. One of those full-bellied ones again. You swiveled around, grateful to find that the only other fae on this floor were currently lip-locked on a sofa ten shelves down. They were far too preoccupied to make a noise complaint.

“It’s not funny!” You hissed, “There are certain anatomical considerations that can’t be ignored. You can’t-” Your futile attempts at explaining yourself were only met with louder laughter. It was infectious and suddenly that was all you two seemed to be capable of. Both of you doubled over with laughter on opposite sides of the bookshelf in a building that suddenly seemed too cramped, too small to fit the joy within.

“Please-” Azriel chuckled, “Please tell me how long this lasted.”

“I can’t breathe-” You gasped for breath, “Oh gods. Three months?”

“Three months?”

“There are nuances we got into. And they use a pseudonym so we were sending letters.”

“Letters?”

Luckily, or rather unluckily for you, you were saved from further explanation, because there was someone waiting at the end of the shelves with two thin fists propped up on curvy hips. 

You bit down on your tongue as she sashayed forward, forcing you backward like she knew you would. Azriel immediately stepped to the side as you careened back out into the aisle, your laughter long forgotten. A new crowd was beginning to spread throughout the athenaeum - shy couples on first outings, sheepish young ones searching for the most heart-wrenching stories they could find, older fae looking for a little spark in their comparably milder lives.

But Azriel’s full attention was on you and the displeasure written in your tight lips as the short-haired pixie came out in full view.

“Y/n.” She said, a sugary sweetness in the way she said your name, like rotten fruit.

“Marsha.” You replied curtly, instinctively stepping back and closer to Azriel as the female moved forward to hug you. She rolled her eyes at the rejection, immediately taking notice of Azriel’s dark and towering form. Her small, round lips opened in a surprised oh before sinking into a low bow, chest jutting forward in an attempt to make full use of her small bosom. She wore the signature pale blue robes of another athenaeum - The Blue Drink. 

“My Lord Shadowsinger.” More sickly sweet words.

For the first time in Azriel’s life, he didn’t correct her use of his title, already deciding from your reaction that this was not a female he wanted to associate with.

“It is good to see you out and about, Y/n, and in such distinguished company. Hardly anyone sees you anymore, my dear. I can’t imagine what you must be doing with all that time.”

You swallowed, “The High Lord has me on special business. But you already know that, Marsha.” 

“Bah. Special business.” She threw a hand in the air, swatting away your confidence, “Busy work.” 

“It’s not- '' You bit your tongue. Marsha was one of the few fae who knew you were Helion’s bastard daughter. A complex story that involved her close friendship with Helion's ex-lover who’d felt betrayed when he chose you and your mother over him. Since then she’d convinced herself that all you did was drain from the royal coffers and take advantage of her High Lord’s generosity like some parasite, “It’s not busy work.”

“Then why do you never share it with us? No papers written. No books published.” Even her frown was sickly sweet, “It seems a waste, doesn’t it?”

 You remembered what she’d said to you, back when you were an apprentice. What a waste of a Clairvoyant. Your mother didn’t fall into bed like a common whore for you to choose The Alcove and hide your power.

She tsked her tongue, once again shooting Azriel a deceptively sweet smile, “Well I suppose you have other things taking up your time. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I see.” 

Your face paled, half in embarrassment and half in anger. By all means she shouldn’t have known anything, but as it was with all Librarians, she had a stubborn streak for digging in graves that should remain buried. You could respect her loyalty to her friend. The rest you could not.

Your mother didn’t fall into bed like a common whore for you to choose The Alcove and hide your power.

“I’m happy for the pair of you.” 

Bullshit.

You finally opened your mouth to correct her, but Azriel spoke first, one hand ghosting ever so close to the square of your back, but never making contact, “Thank you. We were just leaving.” Azriel said curtly, jaw clenched. With just a few polite, yet dangerous words from the Shadowsinger, Marsha clamped her mouth shut and said no more. 

Azriel tipped his head towards the way you’d originally come, letting you take the lead. You shot him a look of gratitude to which he returned the subtlest of smiles. A kind of smile that said, we can talk later, if you’d like.

You didn’t speak a word to one another until you were outside. Fae mingled about, their conversations doing nothing to drown out your thoughts as you walked over to the small garden. The greenery was half-sunken in the ground beneath the two main stairs that wound together in the shape of a heart. If it were anatomically correct you’d be sitting in the tricuspid valve. 

Azriel sat down on the bench beside you, despite the discomfort it must have caused his wings. His shadows darted out, pooling out of his skin and beginning to cover your hands and arms in a strange hug. Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, some lingering shame of yours leaking through the bond without you even realizing it. 

“We should let Cassian know where we are.” You said quietly, hands folded in your lap. Your shoulders bent inward like the curling of paper when it begins to catch fire.

“He’s a grown Illyrian. He’ll find us eventually.” 

And even if he didn’t, I would be happy to sit here forever. 

Azriel had been furious inside the athenaeum, the already red room turning redder as he saw the light flicker out of your eyes at Marsha’s comment. Perhaps it was another sign of the mating bond that he’d so wanted to slap that prideful smile off her face. It would be beneath him, but satisfying nevertheless.

“Are you alright?” He asked gently.

You huffed, discreetly blotting out the moisture that had collected in the corners of your eyes, “I am alright. I’m sorry about what happened inside. It wasn’t anything important.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that.” 

Gods, he was being kind. Kinder than he needed to be. What were you doing charading two legendary Illyrian warriors through the streets of Day? Stirring up old emotions in public spaces and making a scene in front of him.

“No, I do. It wasn’t right of me to react that way. I should’ve hidden it better.” 

“You barely reacted at all.” 

Something about his insistence made you feel worse, not better. The emotions you’d been trying to tamp down since the party, and probably far longer than that, were bubbling to the surface. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Y/n. Tell me the truth.”

The truth… 

The truth was that you were a mess. You continuously shrank away from Helion’s attempts to foster a relationship with you, the discomfort you felt leaving your apartment for anything other than work was becoming an unignorable problem, and the mere thought of anyone touching you made your stomach clench. Even the Shadowsinger, whose touch you craved right now, felt like a beast behind a door that should never be opened. It might destroy you if you did.

Koschei.

Koschei.

Koschei.

What’s buried beneath the lake? 

What’s buried beneath the lake?

What’s buried beneath the lake?

“There you both are!” Cassian called out, his neck craning around a stack of books that were piled from his waist to his forehead. His cheeks were touched with color, eyes bright with mischief like a boy seeing a naked lady for the first time. No doubt a consequence of the visions Nesta had been shooting down the bond as he’d scanned the shelves and flipped through the pages.

Azriel hated the way you sprang up from the seat and smoothed your dress, like you wanted to be anywhere else but with him. He’d pushed too far. Come on too strong. Damn it. 

On the return trip to the Alcove, you and Cassian spoke casually about the books he’d selected. Or rather, Cassian rambled and you listened, occasionally chiming in if you were familiar with one of Nesta’s favorite authors and offering suggestions. 

Azriel walked a few paces behind, watching you as you instinctively tightened your back whenever Cassain or anyone else drifted too close, twisting and turning in a manner that seemed effortless, but which Azriel could see was constantly on your mind. There wasn’t a single step you took that was mindless and calm. 

Azriel clenched his fists so tightly he felt his nails digging crescent-shaped marks in his palms. He wanted to hold you close, beg you to tell him what was wrong, what he could do to help. But if there was anyone who could understand the fear of being touched, of touching others, it was him. 

So when they reached The Alcove, all he did was wave to you from the bottom of the steps as you turned and said goodbye. He committed the scene to memory - your smile, the flush of your cheeks, the swish of your skirt as the door closed shut with a gentle thud.

Cassian whistled low, kicking his brother in the shin with a wobble of books, “You’re whipped, Az. Absolutely whipped.” 

And he was right. He was absolutely right.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

*sighs* I just want Azriel to be happy...

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

On a completely unrelated note: I watched Howl's Moving Castle last night and I think it altered my brain chemistry.

"There you are, sweetheart, sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you”

AHHHHHH just AKJDBFHAB ESKLCFNHSDN

Love,

Florence B.

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[chosok-amo]

‘ I DARE YOU .ᐟ

ryomen sukuna. you want to break up with your boyfriend, ryomen sukuna, so he dares you to say that to his face

beware. nswf! sukuna x reader, slut, whore mentioned, chocked, over-stimulated reader

You nervously leaned against the pantry table in your kitchen. One of your hands rested on your other hand which was curled over your stomach— you bit your nails. Your eyes focused on the flat object on the table in front of you. Many times you put your hand up to take the object but your intention was stopped a second later— you continued like that for a while until you finally decided to make up your mind. With a slight tremor, your finger presses something, producing a ringing sound.

sukuna :

yes, babydoll?

You were silent for a moment when you heard the deep voice of your lover, Ryomen Sukuna. Your guts suddenly shrink and your body fills with adrenaline. You bit your bottom lip and remained silent for a moment. Your head was spinning at what you had been thinking about the last few weeks. You no longer want to be in this toxic relationship. You were tired of fighting with Sukuna, spending your tears crying over him. You're tired of his big ego and his attitude. You're tired of your lover. So you sighed and made up your mind again.

you :

let's break up

Silence for a moment from across there. Your chest was pounding as you waited for a response from your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. You only heard Sukuna's heavy breathing before a mocking chuckle was heard. He's always like that, always never taking you seriously. He always chuckles, laughs mockingly and looks at you as if you are the stupidest and funniest person in the world.

sukuna :

say that to my face y/n, I fucking dare you

you :

I'm done with you, I want to break up

"Are you sure?"

You quickly raised your head when you heard Sukuna's voice only to find him standing not far across from you with a cell phone in his left hand pressed to his ear and in the other hand you could see several paper bags with well-known brands. He put his cell phone in the pocket of the trousers he was wearing and stepped closer. You pulled your lips straight as you lowered your phone and placed it on the pantry table. Sukuna was standing across from you— your bodies were blocked by a fairly large pantry table.

As usual, his pink hair was neatly styled, showing off his forehead. Tattoos adorn his handsome face which now looks expressionless. You corrected your posture and stood up straight. Your head is straight ahead looking at your lover confidently— at least try to look confident so that your lover knows that you mean it. But Sukuna can see you like an open book. He can read all your movements as if he had been studying you for decades.

“You know there's no breaking up in this relationship, y/n,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “I can't deal with you any longer, Sukuna. I'm tired of your bullshit,” you say. You looked at him lazily and crossed your arms in front of your chest. Sukuna raised an eyebrow as he looked at you. Slowly he stepped towards you and stopped when he was standing behind you. “If you are tired then take a nap,” he whispered into your ear from behind. His hands held your arms gently but firmly.

His skin touching yours sent a tingle of excitement and you held your breath as the heat from Sukuna's breath hit your bare neck. You gripped the pantry with both hands and closed your eyes as Sukuna pressed his lips to your shoulder. “N-no, I don't want to take a nap, I—” You try to move your body away from Sukuna who has now pushed the front of his body to the back of your body— until you can feel his bulge being pushed against your ass which is only covered in white lace underwear.

Before you had time to move away, Sukuna quickly cupped both of your breasts. You only wear a lilac crop top without a bra. Sukuna's big hands gently squeezed your breasts from under the t-shirt you were wearing. "What do you want baby? Tell me," he whispered in your ear in a low voice. A soft moan came out of your mouth as his two index fingers moved in circles on your protruding nipples. Sukuna knows all too well how that has always been your weakness. Your body leaned against Sukuna's hard-rock chest. With your eyes closed you stammered trying to answer, "I.. I want to- Ah!" You let out a small scream when Sukuna harshly pinched your nipple.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

You could feel him smirk at his tone. He sounded like he really enjoyed what he was doing to you. Sukuna's hands wildly played with your breasts and nipples— squeezing and pinching them. "Tell me, sweetheart. What do you want? I'm all ears," he teased as he licked behind your ear which succeeded in making your legs weaken and a delicious moan escaped your mouth. Hearing this, Sukuna grinned even more happily. You bit your bottom lip in hopes of holding back the moan that was forcing its way out. You moaned when Sukuna's hand slowly came down and pressed his finger firmly on your clitoris which was starting to swell.

"Already wet for me? You're such a slut, y/n, I barely touched you," he said. His long middle finger trailed across your folds, running them up and down. Sukuna's one hand was busy playing with your breasts while the other was busy with your pussy. You threw your head back, onto Sukuna's shoulder as he in gentle, sensual circular movements touched your clitoris, you felt very sensitive to his touch at the moment. Makes you unable to properly digest what is happening and you almost no longer remember what you said to your previous lover.

"S-sukuna.."

"Yes, my lady?"

Sukuna kissed your shoulders and neck alternately. He bites your neck in small pieces, sucks, and licks it until he leaves kiss marks everywhere. You know what he's doing— marking you, so you don't forget who you belong to. "Stop.. ah- Sukuna.. I want to—ah!" Sukuna didn't let you finish what you wanted to say as he quickly moved his finger on your pussy. Your body is filled with pleasures that only your boyfriend can give you.

“Talk to me, y/n,” he said, teasing you.

"I want to break up with you, for fuck sake!"

You took a sharp breath and tried to pull Sukuna's hand away from you. But he quickly took both of your hands— grabbed both of your wrists with one hand and pushed you against the pantry table until your chest was pressed against the cold surface. "Fuck, y/n. You never understand, do you?" he asked, now starting to look a little annoyed. He held your hands behind your back- trapping you so you couldn't move. "Guess I need to remind you who you belong to now, y/n. I hope this time it gets through that pretty little head of yours," he said. So with one pull Sukuna removed your panties and ruined them.

"Ah!"

Sukuna slapped your ass hard, leaving redness there. You groaned in pain but Sukuna knew very well that you were enjoying it. He touched your thigh which was soaked with your own fluids. “Fuck, y/n..” he whispered to himself as he felt how wet you were. One of his free hands squeezed his penis which was now very hard from outside his trousers. Sukuna let out a sigh of pleasure before he pulled your hair until your head fell back. He inserted two fingers into your mouth from behind. “Suck,” he commands which you spontaneously go down on. You sucked his long finger, playing with your tongue there. "Such a whore, aren't you, my lady?" He said when he felt the warmth of your dirty mouth on his fingers.

Sukuna withdrew his fingers, placed one hand on your back and without further ado he inserted both fingers into your pussy, making you moan. His fingers slide in and out of your pussy, your supple walls hugging Sukuna's fingers. “S-sukuna.. please,” you moaned as you felt his fingers slowly stop moving. "What is it, y/n?" he asked. You swallowed hard, no longer concerned with your common sense, you just wanted to feel the pleasure your lover gave you. “I want to cum..” you whined pathetically.

“I can't hear you, y/n,” Sukuna said.

“Please, baby.. I want to cum, I want to feel your cock inside me,—” you cried. You feel like you can't take it anymore. Your body seemed to have a mind of its own and Sukuna's touch seemed to be a remote control. Sukuna chuckled evilly and he took his fingers out of your pussy. He eagerly undid the belt he was wearing before taking off his trousers and boxers alternately. You groaned when you felt Sukuna's long, thick, hardened cock slap against your ass.

“Fuck y/n! feel so good, always tight for me,” Sukuna moans while throwing his head back. Your body arches because of the pleasure as Sukuna inches by inches pushes himself inside you. Both of his large hands gripped your hips as your gummy wall hugged his long, thick-veined cock, sucking him to go further until the head touched your womb. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! your cunt hugs me so well, baby. Oh, god!” He keeps pushing until he's bottomed out.

“N-no, Sukuna— Ah.. too big, I-I can't—” Your hands moved behind you trying to push away Sukuna's body. You felt full— your body felt full of Sukuna's big cock. Sukuna shook his head and held your hand so you couldn't push him away. “Shh baby, don't say that, I know you can take me,” He shot gently. He pulled your body until your back touched his chest. One hand touched your tummy and the other grabbed your chin, guiding your face to look back. He pressed his lips to yours.

Passionately, he kissed you. He kissed your bottom lip, occasionally biting it there. Slowly he moves his hips in and out of you. He kissed your lips making your moans echo in his mouth, and vice versa with Sukuna. He bit your bottom lip again and pulled it between his teeth before kissing you again—this time with his tongue. He kissed you until you were out of breath and pulled your face away from him. A string of saliva connected between your tongue and his as both your mouths opened— trying to catch your breath.

Sukuna looked at your face with a happy heart and got more hornier. Just like he wanted— you were too fucked up to make sense of yourself. He saw how your cheeks were red, your lips parted to let out a dirty sigh, your eyelids almost closed. This is the effect it has on your body. He loves the idea he has of you so much that he is so crazy about it, just like he is so crazy about you. So with that Sukuna slammed his dick into your pussy so hard it made you gasp.

His hands roughly grabbed your neck, gripping it and pulling your face closer until your face was next to his. One of Sukuna's hands went down to your pussy. His finger found your clitoris again and rubbed it hard making your legs shake. “N-no, Sukuna— ah! please..” Sukuna ignored your moans and continued rubbing your clit until you couldn't take it anymore and released your juice, covering the pantry walls, you, and him. Sukuna smiled with satisfaction, “That's right slut, cum for me, feel good, hm? do you like it, y/n? Do you like it when I make you cum like a pretty little slut you are?” He talks dirty in your ear so sensually. Making your overstimulated cunt begging for more.

“Answer me, you slut!” He slapped your sensitive cunt making you yelp with pleasure. “Y-yes, I—” You can't continue with what you're about to say because Sukuna one more time pounds his cock roughly to your cunt. You can feel tears stream down your face because of how much pain yet pleasure you feel in your body. Sukuna brings you to cloud nine, making you want more. “Kuna, please.. f-faster, more, more, ah— please,” you begged.

Sukuna threw you a mocking chuckle as he gripped your neck tightly. He can feel your moan in his palm hand. “You want to break up with me yet here you are begging for more. Can't get enough of my cock aren't you, hm? You're such a slut, y/n, you're my slut,” he whispered his last sentence in your ear as he erotically bit your ear and licked it. He slowed down and pulled his cock out of your sloppy cunt. You let out a voice of protest and move your hips— looking for his cock, getting more needy the second you can't feel his cock. “Be patient and tell me that you want to break up with me,” he said to you.

You shake your head, “Please, kuna, fuck me, I want you,” you beg, shamelessly. You pushed your ass to Sukuna, hoping his gonna put his cock back at your horny cunt. Sukuna smirked, knowing damn well he got you in his finger, you never get enough of him, of his cock, that's for sure. Slowly, he pushed his still-hard cock back to your cunt. “Tell me, baby, tell me how much you want me to fuck you,” he whispered. You close your eyes and part your lips as you feel your cunt being full of Sukuna's thick cock again. “I want your cock— fuck! I want you to fill me in, I love you kuna,” you whispered without realising it, too fuck up to think straight.

The last sentence is enough for Sukuna to fuck you to oblivion. So he pushes your body back to the cold surface of the pantry. With one rough pound, his cock is fully inside your cunt. His swelling cock bullying your overstimulated cunt.

“Now you know who you belong to, every time you ask for break up, I'm gonna fuck you so hard until you lost your mind and only remember I good I made you feel. How you being such a slut for this cock and taking me so well,” keeps pounding his cock to you. And Sukuna doesn't plan to stop anytime soon. He had a whole night to remind you that there is no breaking up in your relationship with him. You had no other choice, it's not like you don't enjoy being fuck by your boyfriend anyway.

[notyourhetloki]

From prompt list “I’m going to ruin you” after Ken has learned about bodily anatomy after his venture into the real world and he says this to fem reader (or gn if you prefer!), and decides it’s finally time to get your attention off that other Ken once and for all (which, of course, the reader has never cared about that “other Ken” anyway)

feel good (Ken x Reader)

Reader: gender neutral

/NSFW Ken x Doll!Reader/

A/N: Heey! Thanks for requesting! THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN like... you're a genius. Hope you like it! Prompt list mentioned: here's the link

Warnings: very smutty, dolls have genitals in this one, reader is implied to have a vagina but I don't describe it much (it's still gn!), possessive Ken, maybe a bit ooc, reader's virginity is mentioned.

Word Count: 1.1k

—

In his venture into the Real World, Ken learned very interesting things like the patriarchy, horses, and most importantly... sex.

See, the dolls in Barbieland knew they had genitals but it was never something they actually used often (if ever). They knew the basics of human anatomy but... nothing as throughout as what Ken had discovered.

Magazines, books, even videos of sex were readily available, all accessible to a very naive Ken who let everything get to his head.

Arriving home to Barbieland, Ken began getting these thoughts... if sex was so good after all, why not try it with you, the person he loved the most? The thoughts were pure enough at the beginning, but it all went to shit when he saw you...

Sitting next to Simu!Ken, you were laughing and chatting along. You both seemed to be having fun and Ken hated that, a gut-wrenching sensation of pure jealousy taking over his entire body.

Without thinking, Ken immediately walked over to you, grabbing you by the wrist and waving a sarcastic goodbye to the other Ken. You were surprised, but happy nonetheless. "Ken! You're back! I'm so happy you returned, love... But where are you taking me?"

He didn't answer, only marching towards your house until you were in your living room. Ken released the grip on your wrist and turned to face you.

He looked... different. He had a stern but mischievous look on his face, his pupils blown out making his baby blue eyes look darker, hair messy... He looked feral. "Ken..."

"I'm going to ruin you..." He whispered, taken by a mixture of jealousy and arousal. You looked so good... and you were his.

You didn't know what to make of his statement, feeling heat run through your body as he looked at you like a meal... he had never looked at you like that before.

"Sit down." Ken calmly said, and you promptly obliged. Sat on the sofa, he held your chin up so you looked at him as he said: "I'm going to make you feel so good... I promise."

Then, he kneeled. Moving his hands to your waistband, he looked up asking for permission and you agreed (even if a little confused).

Ken took your pants off, removing your underwear with it. You gasped a bit, not expecting any of it. His hands grazed on your thighs, opening them up so he could get a good look at you.

"Don't be shy, (Y/N)... you're so beautiful." Ken said before diving in between your legs, kissing your inner thighs, making you shiver. "K-Ken... what are-" Suddenly, you were cut out by a wave of pleasure that dominated your chore. He was kissing you... down there. And you didn't know why it felt this good.

Ken continued kissing, licking, and sucking... It was obviously his first time but he was doing his best, and he knew exactly where your most sensitive spot was... not neglecting it for a moment.

Sounds were coming out of your mouth and you honestly couldn't care about neighbors, moaning loudly when Ken hit that sweet spot... you felt out of orbit, taken completely by pleasure.

Tightness began building in your belly, like a bomb ready to explode, you were scared but nothing could take you out of this moment. "Ken, p-please... don't stop..."

And he didn't, working fiercely to make you orgasm... he wanted to taste you in his mouth, to be the first one to make you cum.

As you felt his lips and tongue moving, the tightness suddenly released. Waves of pleasure washed over you while you moaned his name. You felt dumb with the feeling, overwhelmed by so many sensations all at once.

Ken got up with a smile, feeling real proud of himself "See? I told you I would make you feel good! Now... it's my turn."

He took his pants off in one single swift motion, revealing his hard cock to you. Damn, he was hot... and you wanted to pleasure him too. "Ken... I-I want to learn how to make you feel good as well..."

His eyes grew wide, taken aback by your sudden confession (yes he was still insecure about you, even though you had just let him eat you out lol). "Oh, doll..." Ken softly said before kissing you, tender but slightly possessive... he was desperate at that point.

After the kiss, he carefully positioned you to kneel on the couch with your back facing him, legs spread slightly apart enough so he could slot himself in between. Ken massaged your back while teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock.

After you gave him consent, he slowly got inside you, careful to not hurt. It was quite off rhythm at first, Ken groaned while feeling so overwhelmed with you around him. But as soon as you both got comfortable... things escalated.

Ken fucked you quickly like an animal, completely desperate and needy. He was inside you, the first to ever be inside you! He felt possessive, moaning and groaning as he grabbed on your thighs and waist, pulling lightly on your hair as he cried into your ear: "You're mine, you're mine..."

"Ah, Ken! Ah..." You whined as his pace quickened even more, his dick inside you so deep hitting sweet spots you didn't even know you had, stretching you oh so deliciously.

"Yes! Please! Hmm... so good!" You hummed in approval, and the more praise you gave, the messier it got. Ken seemed to get off on your words, rolling his hips into you harder the more you spoke and driving you crazy. Eventually, you started moving your own hips to meet his thrusts, and that sight... he began getting erratic just from looking at you.

Not long after, Ken cummed inside you. Head tilted back, moaning your name and holding your waist for dear life. He never imagined it could be this good.

Plastic hearts racing, you both hugged each other as you laid on the sofa. Ken had his head on your chest, resting as he regained composure. "See? You're mine now..." He said between breaths.

"But, Ken... I've always been yours." You reassured him, running your fingers through his blonde hair. "You're the only one for me."

He turned his face upwards to look at you with teary eyes, admiring your face before reaching and kissing you desperately. Tears ran down his face as he kissed you, and you wiped them clean with your hands.

After Ken calmed down, you two sat side by side on the couch while you wondered: "What was that, by the way? The... the things you did, the way it made me feel..."

"Oh... yeah, there are a lot of things I'd like to show you! Things I learned in the Real World... that was one of them." Ken grinned while holding your hand, soothing you before continuing: "I've never done anything like it before, either... but I wanted to try it with you."

You couldn't help but smile, squeezing his hands while being so happy he trusted you like that. "Well, I'm glad that I'm yours, then..."

—

[ghouldump]

hi i love your writing unfortunately there aren't many fics for the iwtv so tysm!!

i was wondering if you could write something about louis lestat and claudia with a (vamp?) reader that accidently timetraveld

Back In My Arms | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ time traveling accidentally and you're able to relive bittersweet memories.

thank you and I agree, especially the amc version compared to the movie. The other posts are coming, but I had to rush and get this one out because it was so gut wrenching for me 😭 LOL

“What do you think? The blue or the purple,” you held the dresses to your body.

“I prefer your birthday suit,” Lestat said over the classical music, making you roll your eyes at him. Could he ever be serious when you needed him to be?

“Louis,” you called out, wanting a real opinion.

“Hm? Oh, the purple” he was hardly listening, more focused on the pages of the book.

“So the blue, got it,” you grumbled, storming away, to finish packing your things.

“Ma chèrie, why are you leaving again? It truly makes no sense to me why you remain friends with this mortal,” Lestat said.

“I don't see why you care, it's not like either of you will notice I’m away,” you said, as you closed the bag.

“Don't say that, we do notice,” Louis said, defensively.

“I'll only be away for a night,” you mumbled, checking your appearance in the mirror, and slinging the bag over your shoulder.

“Stay, you can give us a more detailed visual representation of the dresses,” Lestat said, straightening his posture when you scoffed.

“Sex doesn't fix everything”

“It is a start”

“And maybe that's why we’re in the situation we’re in, now, if you'll excuse me, I’m going hang with my mortal friend, who communicates with me and doesn't want to block out our problems with Mozart, books, and sex,” you said, storming out of the townhouse, making sure to slam the door.

Getting into your car, you began to drive to your close friend, George, or Georgie, you called him both. He was middle-aged, although he was closing in on becoming elderly. He'd oftentimes been told he resembled Bill Nye, but those comments usually only made him red in the face, before he sent a storm of swear words at the person, in his thick Cajun accent. Divorced and cut out of his kid's lives, he was lonely, but so were you. Georgie was the only mortal to ever know that you were a vampire, and he made you feel normal.

Although having a few questions at first, he eventually let the matter go, and hardly ever brought it up. The two of you had been friends for nearly a decade now, and you planned to hold on until the bitter end. He wasn't too keen on being turned, scorned by his wife leaving him and his children siding with her. Lestat and Louis weren't comfortable with your friendship at all, but after realizing your relationship was completely platonic and you weren't cutting him out of your life, they grungily accepted him.

As you finally parked in front of Georgie’s house, approaching the door, you shook your head, discovering it was unlocked. Letting yourself in, you locked the door, going to where you'd both hang out for hours, his basement.

“You need to keep your door locked old man, anyone could just walk in here,” you said, going down the stairs. Tossing your bag onto the couch you'd usually sleep on, in the windowless room.

“Nobody comes here but you,” he said, making you laugh.

“So how is it going?” you asked, sitting in a nearby chair.

“A little more progress than last time, how are things at home?”

“Lestat is…well Lestat and Louis will always act like our issues aren't there,” you shrugged.

“Have you tried talking to them?”

“Of course, Lestat doesn't take anything seriously enough, and Louis wants to brush over it all,” you said.

“Hopefully, this is a success, because then we can fix everything,” Georgie smiled.

“Maybe you, but I don't see my problems being fixed”

“Don't underestimate science,” he told you.

Georgie had been working on an actual time-machine portal. He believed if he could go back in time, undo his mistakes, could prioritize his family over work, maybe that would stop his wife from having an affair with the neighbor, from leaving him and draining his wallet, and taking his children who he couldn't even get a happy birthday from.

He insisted that you would be able to use it, to repair your companionship. A long time had passed since 1910 and much tragedy and heartbreak happened. Separating from each other and eventually reconnecting, recently everything had been so stagnant and bland. No energy to argue about obvious conflicts, but unwilling to leave each other again and be forced to deal with the pain.

“Oh, my goodness,” Georgie stood up, his hand going to his chest. Your eyes widened, worried that he would croak.

“What is it?” you asked, you couldn't sense any internal issues, noticing his thoughts were jumping for joy.

“I think…I think it works,” he said, as he began to type on the nearby computer. The pod he'd spent years building, lit up, the white light faint.

“It turns on, how will you know if it works for real?” you asked.

“Could you maybe catch a few raccoons, rats, birds, anything, we can try on them,” he asked. Standing up, you went outside, quickly grabbing a rat from near the drainage, bringing it to him.

“Done,” you smiled, holding it firm, tossing it in the pod, as he opened the door. The rat squeaked a bit, running in circles, as Georgie typed.

The machine began to make a noise before the rat burst. It’s guts splattering on the door.

“Ew, what happened?” you asked him, pressing against the door, to look inside in disgust.

“It seems like it is releasing some sort of radiation, too strong for animals and people, I'll have to keep working on it,” he grumbled disappointedly.

“I could try it if you want,” you offered.

“The radiation will be damaging-

“In case you forgot, I’m hardly human anymore, I am a bit intrigued, the worst thing that could honesty happen is I get burned up, and I’ll heal,” you said, as he faced you.

“Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like you have to do this, Y/n,” he said, but you brushed him off.

“Trust me, I don't, but you've put so much time into this, almost as long as I've known you, I want this to work out for you,” you said.

“Okay, let me get suited up, to clean it first,” he said, changing into the nbc suit to clean the inside of the pod. While waiting for him, you checked your phone, seeing a message from Louis.

“Sending a picture of the dress, I’m sure you look beautiful as always”

Smiling softly, you set your phone on the counter, taking your shoes off, watching as Georgie scrubbed the blood away. Little did Louis know, you wouldn't be wearing the dress to go hunting tonight. As soon as he finished cleaning, he was back at your side, typing on the monitor.

“We’ll do, let's say 5 minutes into the future, I’ll think of a number and when you come back, tell me the number, and time it to see if there is a significant change in time,” he said, as you nodded in agreement, accepting the small stopwatch, stepping into the pod.

Your arms at your sides, you briefly gave him a thumbs up, hoping to reassure his anxious thoughts. Typing on the computer, the pod began to light up again, the noise leaking out before it started to shake. Standing up, Georgie stood with his eyes wide, his jaw dropping as you vanished.

“Oh my Lord, it's working,” he said, his hand shakily went to his mouth.

Back at home, Louis and Lestat were relaxing, leisurely lounging around when it happened. A sudden feeling of dread washed over them as if you were gone. Glancing at each other, both of them stood up, rushing from the house to your friend, George's home. Bursting through the door, they went downstairs.

George looked back, gasping, surprised to see the elder vampires. However, before he could say anything or move, Lestat had him pressed against the wall, his hand around his neck.

“What did you do?”

“M-machine,” he choked out, looking over at the pod.

“Lestat, look,” Louis said, staring at the pod, fog seeping from the bottom.

“What is this?” he continued, looking to George.

“Time machine,” he struggled to say, before Lestat dropped him.

“You didn't put her into your experiment,” Louis said out loud, shaking his head, already pacing the floor.

“She offered, and it was only five minutes into the fut-

Suddenly, within the fog, you could be seen, smiling in excitement from the exhilaration of the atoms passing through your body. Your smile quickly faltered, seeing your lovers and a nervous Georgie.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Get her out of it, now,” Lestat told Georgie.

“Leave him alone,” you argued.

“This isn't safe, Y/n, we thought you were gone,” Louis told you.

“Don't parent me, Louis”

“Get her out of it now, or it will be destroyed,” Lestat said, shoving George into the computer, his hands smashing against the keyboard.

“Stop it, Lestat,” you yelled.

“What did you do?” George stressed, as the machine lit up. Typing as quickly as possible, he couldn't see the results that he needed.

“Y/n, he made me press a few buttons, it is going to the past, I don't know how far, but I’m going to fix it,” Georgie said apologetic.

“What?” Lestat and Louis said at the same time.

“Do not kill him, fucking asshole,” you said before vanishing.

“Can you bring her right back?” Louis asked.

“I don't even know how far it has brought her”

“Well figure it out,” Lestat snapped.

“This is your fault, she told me all about you and your ugly ways,” George said. Tilting his head, Lestat was about to reach for him, but Louis grabbed his arm.

“He has to bring her back to us,” he reminded him.

“She is going somewhere in the 19th century, I can't pinpoint where and when. Time should be a little longer through the pod, so I’d estimate a few hours for us if it is a success”

“For us?” Louis asked.

“IF it is a success?” Lestat screamed at the same time as him. George truly didn't understand what you saw in the dramatic man, other than his good looks.

“I've been studying this for some time now and with time travel, it could feel like days, or even longer, but in reality, it should only be a few hours, and I say if because we haven't tried going to the past. The pod isn't sustainable for the undead and Y/n getting in was the first actual progress of real-time travel,” he explained.

“Maybe one of us could go in and-

“No, that is the worst solution, we don't know where she went, so I wouldn't know where to send you and it is only one pod, and overloading the database is the last thing that needs to happen, we’ll give it a few hours,” George said, standing.

“Where are you going?” Lestat asked him.

“Have a glass of wine, if it could take a few hours, I’m going to relax for a while, you're free to make yourselves comfortable,” he said, stepping out of the NBC suit, before going up the stairs.

“We just have to wait,” Louis reassured Lestat, who stood staring at the pod, unable to believe this was happening.

As the pod finally stopped shaking, you peered outside at the change of setting. You were outside, Georgie nowhere to be seen. Turning on the stopwatch, you muttered an apology to him, before punching the thick glass and pushing the door open. Immediately, you recognized the familiarly different environment.

Your bare feet touching the dirt, you recognized the small, poorly built houses. You hadn't seen these houses in ages after Katrina wiped the remaining pieces away.

“Hey, what are you doing-

“You saw no one here, and you won't let anyone get near this precious contraption, now go on inside,” you glamoured the man, watching as he went back up the stairs, into the house.

Sighing, you began to leave the area, ignoring the strange stares. From the way everyone dressed, you were somewhere between the first three decades of the 19th century, and you were sticking out like a sore wearing the knee-length sundress. There was only one place you knew to go, to be sure of the date.

Coming to a complete stop in front of your home, you could see the lights on. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself that if they were here, this wasn't the same Louis and Lestat you were having issues with, and so you'd have to act accordingly.

Opening the door, you could hear the shuffling of feet and the sound of furniture being torn apart. Furrowing your eyebrows, you went upstairs, surprised to see them in that room. Making eye contact with Louis, he did a double take.

“Y/n,” he said, taken away by your beautiful, he hadn't seen a dress made in such a way before, shorter than average, but still classy.

Hearing your name, Lestat opened that lovely pink coffin, climbing out, and tossing the diary to the side.

“Ma chérie, you stopped for shopping?” he asked, a small smirk in place.

“Did you see her?” Louis finally asked. At a loss of words, you struggled to speak for a moment.

“I'm sorry, I'm not feeling like myself, what year is it?” you asked.

“1920, you alright?” Louis asked, approaching you.

“Look who finally decided to crawl home to her coffin and write about her psychosexual behavior,” Lestat spat.

“You read my diary?” hearing that beloved voice, your eyes began to sting.

“Only a little bit,” Louis confessed.

“I read all of it and you are a little deviant brat,” Lestat said, as you slowly turned around. The bloody tears began trickling down your cheeks, as you stared into her eyes. She was real, in the flesh, not a figment from your dreams or old photos, but was here in front of you.

“Claudia,” you said, her name flowing from your lips caused you to visibly tremble.

“Mama,” she started, concerned, her eyes widening as you rushed over, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.

Weeping bitterly, you held her close, unwilling to let her slip away this time, whispering sweet words of love to her. Confusedly, she hugged you back, as you both sat on the floor, holding her in your arms.

While the two men were originally set on disciplining their wild daughter, their concern now shifted to you.

“Claudia, you've been reckless-

“They're buried in Chalmette,” you interrupted, Lestat, your hand comfortingly brushing over her curls.

“How do you know that?” Louis asked, but you ignored him.

“My beautiful girl,” you whispered, hugging her one last time tightly, before letting her go.

“Are you okay, mama?”

“I couldn't be better at this moment,” you reassured her, kissing her forehead.

“Let her off this time, please, for me, she's still a child, and there will be a time when we wish we still had our beautiful girl staying here with us,” you said, facing them, seeing your blood-stained face, they were beyond concerned.

“It's still a little early for bed, perhaps you'd like to play a game of chess?” you asked her, wiping your eyes and accepting her hand, as she stood up.

Going into the living room, Claudia couldn't help but think about how unusually attentive you were being. Sure, she was just as spoiled as other children, but you never stopped her from being disciplined when you all agreed she needed to be.

“Claudia, you know I love you, right?” you asked her, watching as she set up the game.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Without you, an eternity isn't the same,” you admitted, as Lestat and Louis came downstairs, joining the two of you.

Your lovers watched you intentively, as you played the game with Claudia. Lestat noticed how you were letting her win, purposely moving to the wrong places, as she took your pieces while showering her with praises.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the interaction seemed different. Any other time you played chess with her, you gave her a challenge, expressing where she was improving or where she needed work. This time, you were treating her like a little child, like you hadn't seen her in forever, or would never see her again.

Time flew and after two long rounds, Louis stood, announcing Claudia needed to go to bed. Groaning, she stood, wanting to stay longer, but you shook your head.

“It's okay, you need your beauty rest, I love you so much, sleep well,” you told her, hugging her firmly once more.

“Love you too,” she mumbled before she was stomping up the stairs.

“Are you sure you are okay, ma chérie?” Lestat asked, as soon as her bedroom door shut.

“I am, I just, the thought of one day losing her, or being apart hurts my soul, our relationship would probably never be the same,” you said, smiling sadly at him.

“Why would we never be the same?”

“Because she's our daughter, and it would take losing her to see how much she is loved, even you, she's so much like you and that's why you clash so much,” you laughed.

“Wouldn't that make us stronger?”

“I wish that was the case, but holding onto the past makes you unable to communicate like you're supposed to-

“Where is all this coming from? Talk to us, what's on your heart?” Louis asked.

“Please don't question me, but there will be a time when we are so weirdly uninterested in each other, and we try to block out our issues with reading, music, and sex,” you said.

“Why though?”

“Holding onto the past”

“Then you'd have to remind us of what is ahead and not behind,” Lestat said, leaning down, pecking your lips.

Feeling your face burn from the passionate kiss, you looked down, your eyes widening noticing your fingers faded. You have watched enough sci-fi movies with Georgie to know it was time for you to leave.

“I need to make a quick run-

“The sun will be up in another hour,” Louis told you.

“I know, I won't be long, love you both,” you said, pecking both of their lips, before running out of the house.

As you ran back to the backyard, you were surprised to see the man back outside.

“What are you doing?” you asked him, seeing as he sat on the steps, watching the pod.

“I saw some kids run back here, so I’m just watching this contraption,” he shrugged. Staring at the man, you recognized him, Georgie’s grandfather, but much younger. You had seen the few photos hanging up on the house and you identified the face quickly.

“If you had advice for a future relative, a son or grandson, what would you tell him?”

“Life gets hard, we make mistakes, and we lose people, but we have to hold onto the better part of things. I get divorced, but I was able to experience a beautiful marriage, same with children, I was fortunate to experience fatherhood”

“Beautifully said, go get some rest,” you said, glamouring him, watching as he nodded, going inside.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, you cautiously stepped inside, shutting the door, as the fog came back, the machine lighting up, before you were gone.

“Anything?”

“You just asked me that a few minutes ago, please, have some damn patience,” George said to Lestat, who was pestering him about you. The man was trying as hard as he could and Lestat did not care one bit.

Suddenly, the pod lit up, the fog coming back. Typing on the computer the door opened, before you stepped out, your feet dirty.

“I was away 6 hours and 40 minutes, how long has it been?” you asked, tossing Georgie the stopwatch.

“2 long hours, you've been crying,” Louis said, going to pull you into a hug.

“I saw her, our girl, she was perfect,” you said, feeling him stiffen in your arms before his shoulders shuttered from crying.

“What was she doing?” he asked.

“She had gotten in trouble, but I convinced you both to let it go, and we spent time together,” you said, as he smiled, nodding.

“You told her you loved her?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yes,” you nodded, as the hug tightened before he pulled away.

“And you told me something, so valuable,” you said, shifting to Lestat.

“Of course I did,” he smirked.

“You told me to remind you both of what is ahead of us and not our past,” you said, watching as he dabbed his eyes, stopping any tears on his part.

“Sounds like something I’d say, I guess,” he grinned.

“Are you ready to come home? I know you're probably exhausted from all of this?” Louis asked, grabbing your bag when you nodded.

Glancing at Georgie, who stood awkwardly waiting for you to finish with your reunion. Moving away from Lestat, you stood in front of your good friend, before pulling into a hug.

“Someone dear to you told me some valuable advice I want to share with you,” you smiled.

“Okay”

“Life gets hard, we make mistakes, and we lose people, but we have to hold onto the better part of things. Our past isn't meant to be changed, but rather we embrace the experience, both good and bad, because it shapes us into who we are. You might not be able to get your marriage back, but you could try to reach out to your children, Georgie,” you said, smiling as he teared up, agreeing with you.

“We have our own affairs to handle,” Lestat groaned, ready to leave the tiny basement.

“Shh,” Louis nudged him before you followed the two out of the house.

“Now that I think about Lestat was more charming back then, but now it's you, Louis,” you said, both of you laughing as Lestat scoffed, going on a rant about his greatness.

You missed Claudia greatly, but you had to keep moving, you all did. You still had an eternity of life, but maybe one day, just maybe, when you're reunited, she'll be where she belongs, back in your arms.

[noosayog]

004 logical

✧ wc: 2.5k

✧ warnings/content: oikawa toru x reader, no gendered pronouns used but please lmk if I missed any! sfw, angst to fluff, another breaking up making up fic, long distance relationship

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

“I don’t think this is working out.” 

When Oikawa hears those words, marred by phone static, he drops the remote from his left hand and his fork from his right. 

“Baby,” he says cautiously, disoriented. “It’s just a few more days.” 

There’s a moment of silence. Oikawa picks up the phone and presses it to his ear. 

“It’s not just that,” you say quietly. “How much longer are we going to do this – not seeing each other, missing calls, postponing flights? Even when we’re talking, we’re not fully focused on each other.” 

“That’s not true,” he immediately protests. 

“Yes, it is. Were you not just watching a game and eating right before this?” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not fully focused on you.” 

“Yes, Toru. It does.” 

He has so much to say, yet none of it seems to come out. Nothing seems appropriate. 

You sigh again. “Just… stay, Toru. Stay there. You don’t have to fly back to Japan for me. I know volleyball’s important for you.” 

When he says nothing, you go on. “But I hate the way this makes me feel. Like I’m asking you to give up what you love to fly across the globe just to see me for a few days.”

“You’re not. I want to-” 

“Toru.” 

His mouth clamps shut. 

“Last time you came back to Japan, you missed a last-minute practice match with that coach you’ve been wanting to work with. Last time I came to you, I spent 2 of the 4 days I was there alone because you had another last minute volleyball thing. Even when we invest the time to see each other, we’re not really… there.” 

Oikawa knows; he knows. 

“So let’s just… not.” 

He knows, but that doesn’t mean he wants to… not. 

“Just hold on a couple more days, okay?” he asks, trying his hardest not to beg and whimper. “Just a couple of days, and I’ll be back in Japan and we can talk, figure something out.” 

“Toru…” 

“Please, wait for me.” 

“I don’t know if I have that in me anymore.” 

The coldness of your words seize his chest. 

Hearing nothing more from him, you sign off with finality, “Good bye, Toru.”

And the line cuts off. 

–

Today is Friday, the beginning of the 3-day long exchange scrimmages with the visiting Brazilian and Chilean pro teams. Duffle bag tossed on the floor by his feet, Oikawa flops on the couch, downing the remainder of his protein shake. The bright screen of his laptop stares back at him, email confirmation of his flight change there to reprimand him, remind him. 

Your Flight AE344 to Haneda International Airport for Thursday, February 8th has been canceled. 

You’re booked for Flight AE267 to Haneda International Airport for Monday, February 12th! See you soon! 

After you had hung up, he gave you a call back. You didn’t answer. He tried again an hour later, then 2, then 12. He had listened to the line ring, for exactly 20 seconds, 8 rings, before banishing him to your unset-up voicemail. 

Shutting the laptop screen, he picks up his duffle and is out the door. After all, if he didn’t show up to the scrimmage, what would this have all been for? 

–

Friday night arrives, and despite how tired he is, physically from all the exercise and mentally from all the socialization with the visiting players, you wander through his mind. He supposes this is hardly surprising, given you’ve always been his place of rest, regardless of the physical distance, sheer kilometers between the two of you. 

Almost afraid to look, he checks his phone and immense disappointment and an increasingly familiar emptiness fill his chest when he sees nothing from you. 

He tries your phone again. It rings, rings, and rings and there’s no reward, your voice waiting at the other end.

He showers, eats a quick dinner, and meal preps for Saturday’s scrimmage. Busying himself works momentarily, but at 9PM, his phone alarm goes off, reminding him that it’s time to call you. For the past year, his routine has been talking on the phone with you every night at 9PM. No matter where he is, at a bar with teammates, at dinner with friends, or late night practice, he always takes at least 10 minutes to talk to you. 

When the two of you first established this, the agreed upon time was 10PM for him, 10AM for you. The two of you used to compete to see who could call who first. The first night, you called the exact second the clock struck 10. So the next night, Oikawa called at 9:59. Then the following night, you called at 9:58. And it went on until the two of you begrudgingly came to a truce that you’d alternate nights. 

And tonight is your night. 

Five minutes after 9, Oikawa knows the call isn’t coming. 

–

Late Friday night – or technically early Saturday morning – Oikawa lays awake in bed wondering how the hell it all went down the way it did. It hasn’t even been a full year since the two of you started to do long-distance. And he’s still confused. He’s confused because he thought the two of you were doing the best you could be. He’s confused because he’s never even thought about the possibility of not being with you. 

He twists over to lay on his side, facing his phone screen, open at your contact. His thumbs hover over your name for the nth time that night, only for him to flop back on his back, turning now to the other side, your side. It hits him then that he can’t even remember the feeling of you in that bed, the last time you kissed. If he had known that would be the last time, he would've savored it all the more. He’d burn the memory into his nerves, just so he could remember the feeling. Volleyball was all muscle memory; he never thought he’d need to commit you as well. 

Before he knows it, morning arrives. He starts to get ready. 

He brushes his teeth, packs his gym bag, and starts to eat breakfast. 

His legs shake, knees bouncing up and down in a nervous tick that hasn’t shown itself since high school. His laptop screen is up again, the flight ticket once again flashing bright. 

It’s a reminder. Now he knows that when it’s not reciprocal, the distance between the two of you is so much more than 18,000 kilometers and 12 hours. There’s no phone line, no facetime to shorten that distance, even if just by perception. 

Then, it’s a striking thought: a realization that postponing a plane ride those few days could cost him a lifetime.

He dials your number again. 

It rings, and rings, and rings. 

“... Hello?” 

“You picked up,” he hears himself say. 

“Sorry I missed yesterday, Toru.” He knows what you’re referring to without you saying it. “And I’m sorry I hung up… like that.” 

There’s a lot to say, but he can’t do it like this. So he asks, “will you wait for me to come home?” 

“Toru…” your voice breaks with the syllables of his name. He hears the reluctance in your tone. 

“If you want to break up, if you truly want to stop being with me,” it takes monumental effort for Oikawa to even speak of such an event. “Then say it to me in person. I have to know.” 

You’re silent in response. He’s glad you aren’t refusing, saying that the flight, the cost, the time isn’t worth itt. He’s glad that you agree it’s still a worthwhile conversation to have in person. He’s glad you haven’t given up. 

“Wait for me, okay? Please.” 

It takes a few simple clicks and a significant chunk of his savings to do what he does next. 

– 

For the entirety of the flight to Haneda International, Oikawa’s knees bounce, colliding uncomfortably with the seat in front of him. Even with what little affirmation you gave him by simply picking up his call, it brings him little comfort as there’s absolutely nothing he could do for the next 28 hours but sit tight. 

When the plane lands safely in Tokyo, local time of 9PM Sunday, Oikawa charms his way into getting off the plane first. He flashes a weak smile at all the people still in their seats of the plane, before rushing off with only his carry-on in tow. There’s no time to wait for a bus, so he shoves his way to the front of the taxi line, reciting your address as if it hadn’t been over 4 months since he’s been there. 

Every passing moment does little to ease his nerves, exacerbated even up until the moment he arrives at your door. The seconds pass in loud silence, the hollow sound of his knocking ringing in his ears. 

All the white noise fades, though, when the door opens and reveals you. No matter that your eyes are red and swollen, no matter that you’re wearing one of his old ratty Seijoh sweaters, no matter that the two of you are supposed to be breaking up.

“Toru,” you breathe. Oikawa forgets you’re supposed to sound like this, not the distorted, muffled imitation of your voice he hears through the phone too often. Yet another addition to his growing list of realizations. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but a single heave of a laughter bursts from his chest. “I told you I wanted to see you, didn’t I?” 

“But… your flight wasn’t supposed to arrive until Wednesday.” You’re cautious and he hates that. He wants you to be uncaring of the emotions you show around him, to jump into his arms and forgive him. He wants it back. 

“I changed my flight.” 

“But volleyball…” 

“That’s the thing,” he starts. “I think that’s probably one of the things I never made clear to you.” 

You look at him, confused. 

“Can I come in?” 

It stings when you instinctively fold your arms over your chest protectively, eyes briefly leaving him to look at the ground. 

 “Will you let me in?” he tries again. 

You look back up at him, moving to the side to let him in. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, the first thing Oikawa does is wrap you up in his embrace. His arms engulf you. He forces his hold to be gentle, on the chance that you push away. You don’t, so he holds on tighter and tighter, until you squeak from the pressure. He thinks he mumbles an apology, but he’s not really sure because all he registers is your arms coming up to grab his sweater. 

It’s not enough. 

You let him just hold you, for how long, he doesn’t know, until you finally squeak out his name. He reluctantly pulls away and starts talking, as if he wants to get the talking part over as fast as possible so he can pull you right back in again. 

“The thing I wanted to tell you,” he continues from before. “There’s no comparison – between you and volleyball, I mean.” 

“Toru, you know that’s not true.” 

Yes, it is,” he insists. “I’ve never seen volleyball as something that takes away from time that belongs to you. Every time you come to see me, or I go to see you, or when I push a flight, I’ve always seen that as just a… postponement of our time together, never that it would take away from it.” 

“Toru…” you push further away. 

“But, I think I get it now. I get that phone calls, video calls, text messages can’t be a substitute. I know because I almost forgot how your voice sounds outside of a phone and because I can’t accept us breaking up through a screen. And even more so because I can’t live off of the memory of how you feel.” 

When your gaze softens, he knows he got it right. It only took all this time for him to understand what you meant when you said things weren’t working; it was never about a postponed flight. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get it.” 

Your palm comes up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes a wet spot on his cheek. “Oh, Toru. I would never make you compare, I thought you knew that.” 

“I know,” he says. I know. And he does. 

“Sometimes, I just need to know you miss me as much as I miss you. I know you love volleyball,” 

“I love you,” he interrupts. 

“I know you love volleyball,” you continue. “And I would never want you to feel like you had to give any of it up for me. I just need to know that you feel what I feel too.” 

His hands at your waist squeeze, like he’s reassuring you that he does. 

“I know that you won’t be playing in Argentina forever. I was prepared to deal with long-distance for as long as it takes for you to be ready to come home. But-” 

He shakes his head like he doesn’t need you to say it. 

“No, let me say this. But, sometimes it felt like you were settling for how we were. Then… when you postponed the flight, I guess I was just bummed because I was so excited to see you. But you acted like it wasn’t a big deal.” 

Yeah, he did, didn’t he. 

“It felt like you would be just fine substituting me for the sport.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

There’s so much to explain and he’s afraid it would take too long. He needs to tell you that’s not how he feels and that it’s not true at all. And perhaps he’s become self-aware of his ability to grow numb to things like homesickness and he tried to apply that to you too so that he wouldn’t be crippled by the sheer magnitude of how much he truly missed – misses – you. And how appalled he was when he realized he was associating you with memories and nostalgia, as if you were a had-been and not a still-is. 

But you seem to understand because your hands are still gentle on his face and your gaze is affectionate. 

“Stop crying, you baby.” 

“I’m not crying!” he denies. 

“If you don’t stop crying, I won’t kiss you,” you tease. 

He clams up, biting on his lips to stop the hiccups. His eyes roll upwards to the ceiling, willing any tears to stop overflowing. 

You laugh lightly at the sight, voice still clearly weak from your crying marathon. 

He has a lot to apologize for, doesn’t he.

You lean upwards for a kiss. It catches him off guard to this day, how much you can express in your gentle affection. It’s another thing he can’t feel through a screen. 

With each kiss you press on his lips, he counts the things he has to apologize for, but more importantly he counts the things he needs to tell you he misses and loves about you when he inevitably puts the 18,000 kilometers between the two of you again. 

And he’ll do it. Every day. Until the day he finally comes home.