Call-Me-Ryuzaki

“you know what hurts more than goodbye?
the almost-goodbye.
letting go of someone you never quite knew
and knowing you cannot know each other
and knowing you cannot know each other well
until you stand before God's throne.

and knowing that it is good.”
― Maya Joelle, Cathedral: a collection

“How does it feel to be a High Fae?; he asked- a quiet, curious question.

I looked out toward the mountains again, considering. And maybe it was because there was no one else to hear, maybe it was because the shadows in his eyes would also forever be in mine, but I said, 'I'm an immortal- who has been mortal. This body...' I looked down at my hand, so clean and shining- a mockery of what I'd done. 'This body is different, but this'- I put my hand on my chest, my heart- 'this is still human. Maybe it always will be. But it would have been easier to live with it...' My throat welled. 'Easier to live with what I did if my heart had changed, too. Maybe I wouldn't care so much; maybe I could convince myself their deaths weren't in vain. Maybe immortality will take that away. I can't tell whether I want it to.'

Rhysand stared at me for long enough that I faced him. 'Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don't feel anything at all.'

I couldn't explain about the hole that had already formed in my soul- didn't want to, so I just nodded.

'Well, good-bye for now,' he said, rolling his neck as if we hadn't been talking about anything important at all. He bowed at the waist, those wings vanishing entirely, and had begun to fade into the nearest shadow when he went rigid.

His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock- pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled.

'What is-' I began.

He disappeared- simply disappeared, not a shadow in sight- into the crisp air.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“He unbuttoned her jeans, then pulled them down her tan, sculpted legs. Next was the lacy pink thong. He kissed her belly, teasing her by moving lower before pulling back. He stood up and took off his own clothes. Brantley scooped her up and carried her to the mattress, laying her down tenderly.
Katelyn was burning with anticipation, yet every moment was bliss. Brantley lowered himself onto the bed on top of her and began kissing her face. He moved and kissed her ear, then her neck, making a trail and moving lower, between her breasts, down her belly, then the tops of her thighs.
Katelyn moaned and thrust her hips up toward his mouth. He then kissed her swollen clitoris, making her cry out. He gently sucked on it, reveling in her sounds of pleasure.”
― H.S. Howe, Willfully Wanton

“Hi...ah..." What did she call him? Honey? Babe? Darling? "...Humraaz." The Urdu term of endearment came out before she could stop it.
Liam's gaze shifted to her, and his face softened. Before he could ask her what it meant and ruin the performance, she rose up on her toes, pressed her hands against his chest, and kissed him.
Without hesitation, Liam wrapped one arm around her waist, pressed his mouth against hers, and bent her over backward in a full-on movie kiss.
Her breath hitched and her lips softened. His lips were firm and cool and tasted of coffee and something sweet. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and for a moment she thought her heart had stopped. But it didn't matter. Upside down, in front of her work colleagues, she was the woman she always wanted to be.
Then she was up and back on her feet, lips tingling, an ache of desire between her thighs.
"What does it mean?" he murmured gently.
"The one with whom we share our secrets."
"Then I am your humraaz," he said. "And you are mine.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan