Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)
W/C: 3.5k
#full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge
A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!
tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9
The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.
…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…
Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.
Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.
And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.
“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils.
“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him.
Piss off, runt.
“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.”
Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.”
Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper.
Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–
“Huh. Weird.”
Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo.
Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.
They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.
Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.
Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.
So, Sukuna pushed him aside.
[Heian Era]
You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket.
You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails.
Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful?
Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him.
They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him.
Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing.
“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces.
You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud.
What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–
“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.
“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.
"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.
“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.”
The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature.
The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him.
“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make.
Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you.
That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape.
“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”
It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you.
Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace.
But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for.
“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all.
“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes.
Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?”
“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible.
“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”
You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.”
“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.”
“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”
Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted.
“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.”
Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?”
“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”
Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it.
“What more?” He prodded.
Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?”
“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him.
You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else.
You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.
It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted.
“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”
You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight.
Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding.
Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent.
So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard:
You better be here when I get back.
“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.
You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.
Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful.
The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal.
However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it.
But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world.
So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you.
“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine.
“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.”
You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.”
Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.”
You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.”
“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?”
“Of course.”
She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you.
Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events.
You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck.
You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder.
He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted.
Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down.
“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him.
“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.”
“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.”
“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.”
“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–”
You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.
Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–
But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit.
Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges.
He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it.
You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained.
The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale.
“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.”
You nodded shallowly. “Of course.”
Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.
And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun.
“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow.
“Another?”
“Kiss.”
Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.”
“Oh?”
“Give me another blessing.”
And you agreed.
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Bruce didn’t come here often. Perhaps that was terrible of him but he couldn’t bear to visit his son’s resting place. It was difficult to equate his high-spirited son, bright as the sun itself and endlessly brilliant despite the more he grew up in, to the cold and lifeless stone engraved with his name and words that did not encompass everything his son was to him.
His hands were full of flowers, Jason’s favorite books, a round rock, and his son’s favorite foods.
Bruce didn’t come here often, because it broke his heart even more when he did, but today was a day that love and grief triumphed over his need to avoid.
He walked down the winding pathway, Alfred a silent sentinel behind him. He hated it, but he understood. Today was the only day Alfred allowed himself to be emotionally closed off. He’d lost a grandson.
Bruce didn’t come here often, but his son’s birthday was a day Bruce would remember how to love and live again, just for Jason.
“I will be over here, Master Bruce.” Alfred stopped at his designated spot, where Bruce had added a bench and a draping tree to shade Alfred as he stood vigil.
The first time they’d- it was April, and the sun- after the funeral, Bruce was lost in the throes of grief and had kneeled over the freshly tilled dirt for hours. Alfred had stood there, in that same spot, in the city’s rare blazing sun until Bruce came back to himself.
Bruce had almost lost his second father that day, and what good was wealth if it could not prevent that? And so, water, shade, a bench, and a space heater was added.
Bruce knows better than anyone how stubborn Alfred can be, when it comes to matters of the heart. After all, he didn’t have to raise Bruce after Martha and Thomas died.
“Alright, Alfred.”
Bruce splits from the haggard butler with pointed looks at the water bottles he’d prepared for today for Alfred (who manages, this time, a faint but amused raise of an eyebrow) and walks towards Jason Todd’s grave.
Here where his son is buried, the grass is kept green. In April, Forget-Me-Nots bloomed and dotted the place where Bruce’s world collapsed with bright colors. In August, it is still green, but the tin engraved with the names of the deceased stood out without the flowers.
Bruce kneeled and quietly arranged the flowers before placing them in the tin. He set the platters of food down and uncovered them. The scent of chili dogs made his heart stutter, flashes of a bright smile and book references blinding Bruce with their nostalgia.
He swallowed, grief building, and placed the stone he’d brought atop the gravestone. He sat back, gripping Jason’s book with white knuckles.
Bruce didn’t turn around when clothing rustled behind him. Alfred would have verbally cut down anyone that dared to approach them today, especially here. That he didn’t do so was telling of who it would be.
“I’m still mad at you, for not telling me as soon as you knew.” Dick Grayson sat down, hand over one of Jason’s school bag pins he had carefully attached to the front of his jacket.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“He deserved better. I should have been there.” Dick whispered, placing another bundle of flowers into the tin. It fit, but barely. “I would have dropped everything to come find him. Even if it wasn’t on time, even if it wasn’t enough, I deserved to be there when he was buried. We were family.”
“I know.” Bruce repeated, no less regretful. In his grief, he had wronged his loved ones. “I’m sorry.”
Dick casted a quiet, assessing eye at him. Bruce stayed quiet.
“It’s too dreary,” Dick said. He took out paints, little statutes of robins, bright birds, and bits and bobs Bruce knew Jason would have loved had he been alive out of his pockets.
“It should be more colorful,” Dick murmured as he placed them artfully against the headstone.
They sat there, for a while. Dick glanced at… at Bruce’s hand, and settled down.
It’d been a while since they’ve spoken, but he knew what the man intentioned to do today. This will be the most Dick will have heard Bruce speak outside of his civilian obligations.
Bruce took the cue and gently opened Jason’s book. He’d bought it for Jason- the first gift- and he’d read it to Jason every night. Dick had a similar book.
“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse…”
——
A boy with black hair and blue eyes wandered amongst the graveyard. They’ve been here for a while, and the man’s low rumble was soothing to listen to. The shades that hung about the graveyard settled as he read out loud from the book as his son sat quietly beside him.
As the boy, invisible and intangible, brushed his hand against the gravestone, he wondered why they were reading to an empty grave.
——
Dick had left long before Bruce did.
And when it was time to go, as stars began to climb and as the cold began to nip at his fingers, Bruce heard a quiet voice.
“Do not stand at his grave and weep,” and Bruce turned, recognizing the poem. “He is not there. He does not sleep.”
But there was no-one.
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You weren't supposed to be here. Why were you here? You know full and damn well that you setting foot on this planet could spell catastrophe for any unfortunate form of life that lived there if you were ever to be found.
But it's not as though you had a choice. Where else would you go? So, you did what any other terrified being did. You fled. That fate-sealing choice was what brought you here.
What brought you to her.
You had fallen from the sky and into some poor, unsuspecting woman's territory. She had been holding a glowing box-shaped object in her hand, staring at you with those mesmerizing scarlet red eyes of hers. She didn't seem bothered at all, albeit a little shocked.
Crouching down to your trembling form, she tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear, quirking a brow at you. A strange, playful grin stretched across her pretty face.
"Who the hell are you?"
ST☆RSTRUCK is a (probably) upcoming 18+ dark fiction interactive novel where you play as a runaway alien from a different galaxy, find refuge on a planet called Earth, and befriend a worldwide famous girl while also trying to fit into society and avoid getting caught by the cosmic gods.
DEMO: TBA
Play as an otherwordly being! Choose between male, female, and anything in between. You'll be able to change pronouns whenever you see fit.
Romance from a choice of characters. I see characters as having their own identity as a human would, so some RO's are gender-specific.
Try to blend into human society! You'll be able to shape the Star's (MC) personality through choices.
Customize your Star's alien appearance and human form!
Choose a special ability: telekinesis, empath, mind reading, super strength, teleportation, mind control, necromancy, light manipulation, and more!
Make allies if you choose to tell others about being an eldtrich monster! Watch your back, though. It would be wise to not be too trusting.
Uncover dark secrets about characters, the universe, and yourself as you go. Some things aren't as they seem.
Decide whether or not you belong on Earth, or if your place is within the universe.
Save humanity! Or destroy it. You do you.
...Fight a space kitten?
ROMANCE OPTIONS
Embry Harrison (F) || The Popst☆r
The young human that found you — probably because you literally crashed into her backyard. She's the only person who knows what you are. Embry is fun, not to mention she's drop-dead gorgeous. Playful, free spirited, mischevious, she's also your best friend who happens to be a worldwide famous popstar, actress, and model. She's just the person you need when it comes to knowing how to hide yourself under a facade...or perhaps she's the worst if you'd like to keep a low profile, due to her constantly being stalked and bombarded with crazed fans.
Could she be hiding something beneath that smile?
"Ah, I keep forgetting you're from a different planet or whatever. Okay, check it out! This is what we mortals call a phone..."
Special: Poly Option with Shade or Love Triangle
Trope: Best Friends to Lovers or Unrequited Love/Idolization
Shade "Prince" James (M) || The Prince
A childhood close friend of Embry's. He's the eldest son of a billionare CEO and the heir to the company. He also seems to hate your guts, for some reason. You've never been able to work out why. Standing at 6 foot 3 with an attractive face and more money than he knows to do with, Shade could get anything he wanted and any woman he asked for. However, that sour attitude and introverted nature drew everyone away, much to his appreciation. The only people he seems to truly care about are his siblings and the very few true friends that he has.
"What do you want?"
Gender-Locked: Female/Male MC's
Special: Poly Option with Embry or Love Triangle
Trope: Enemies/Frenemies to Lovers
Axel James (M) || The Eclipse
Axel was used to being ignored, it was expected. His older brother was made to take over in their father's place eventually; he was just a backup. Always coming second, desperately wanting his parent's attention. He never held it against Shade, though. He loved his brother. He was used to finding out his friends weren't actually his friends, or his crushes were merely there to get closer to Shade. He felt pathetic, being in the spotlight but having no one you could truly rely on. Did anyone truly care? If he just disappeared, would anyone bother to look for him? Those thoughts plagued his mind for years and years, and every passing moment, he started to believe they were true.
...Well. Until he met you.
"...Hey. Uh, I'm — shit, okay — sorry. Thanks for...well, being here, I guess."
Trope: Friends to Lovers or Unrequited Love
Epiphany "Pip" James (F) || The Sun
Could she even be counted as a true 'James'? She was the result of an affair an unfaithful Mr. James had. Once Mrs. James had found out of this, she forbid her from speaking to her half-brothers.
Did she let that stop her? Hell no.
In secret, the trio of siblings texted and called and met up. They were close, all three of them. It was amazing, really; how someone who had been shunned by society and harassed daily managed to stay so positive, bringing energy wherever she went. She was the personification of sunshine and rainbows.
Or so you think.
"Oh, hey! Listen, listen! I found this SUPER cute café yesterday and - huh? Oh, it's okay. I don't care what everyone else thinks as long as you like me."
Gender-Locked: Female/NB MC's
Trope: Friends to Lovers
Astro (Selectable Gender) || The Supern☆va
You remember this person vaguely. They have the same name, the same voice, the same mannerisms as someone you knew long ago.
But that couldn't be possible.
They were dead.
"I missed you."
Trope: ??? to Lovers
"Khaos" (M) || ???
No...no. He couldn't have found you. You hid so well. You're just imagining things. Yeah, that's it. There's no way you just saw [REDACTED]'s haunting gaze boring into your mind — you were overthinking this; playing tricks on yourself because you were stressed.
...That had to be it. He's not here.
He'snotherehe'snotherehe'snotherehe'snotherehe'snot—
"Found you."
Trope: ??? to Lovers
433 notes
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