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utterlyazriel · 4 months

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an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

#it got very long... i'm sorry!#we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho #i can't DO IT #azriel a big softie in this one...#i mean he always is :)#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel hurt/comfort #miscommunication #idiots in luv <3 #i need a writing tag.....

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imfinereallyy · 6 months

Text

Eddie coming home drunk and staring longingly at a picture of Steve. “I wonder when my husband will come back from the war. I miss you so.”

Steve walks out to see his boyfriend plastered, almost kissing the frame. “Babe, I was in the bathroom. Also, as much as this pains me, we aren’t married.

Eddie, completely unfazed by his misplaced longing. “Yet, we aren’t married yet.”

Steve's face softens as he walks over to kiss Eddie on the forehead, “Yea, babe. Not yet.”

#steddie #drunk and in love #Steve Harrington being the biggest softy we know #steddie headcannon #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #stranger things

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just-a-sewer-goblin · 4 months

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The first time you called Soap sweet boy he melted on the spot. He had needed you, coming home desperate for distraction and love, which lead to you straddling him on the sofa and making out with him.

Soap had his hands under your shirt, his fingers grabbing onto your waist, kneading the flesh for comfort. That simple touch from him already lead to goosebumps all over your body.

"You're so pretty, Johnny.", you whispered against his lips and you could feel the way his body froze. He pulled back loking at you with wide surprised eyes. His voice betrayed how unsure he was when he asked: "You mean that? You really think that of little ol' me?"

His attempt at humour to deflect didn't work on you. You knew him too well for that. So you cupped his face with your hands and started peppering soft loving kisses all over his face. Interrupting them to utter praise against his skin. Hoping it would find it's way underneath and settle to protect him from every unkind word that had ever been said to him.

"Pretty. Handsome. Kind. Brave. Selfless. Strong. Warm. Safe..." He had his eyes closed and surrendered himself to the soft hold your hands had on him. His hands still holding onto you to anchor himself.

You pecked the tip if his nose, pressed a lingering kiss to his lips and when your breath fanned over them with your next words he shuddered.

"You're my sweet, sweet boy."

His eyes opened, looking dazed, as if you'd done something way more raunchy than just shower him with kisses and praise. A small whimper left him and he nuzzled more into your hands. You could feel his entire body melt into the sofa under you.

His hands wandered up your back, and pushed you closer while he leant in so he could press his face into your chest. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him to you, gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"Need you, baby. Missed you so bad. You make everything okay again.", came his muffled voice.

Your hold on him tightened. "I'm right here, sweet boy. I've got you."

He leant back his eyes full of adoration as he looked up at you.

Your smile went from soft to mischievous as you said: "And now, sweet boy, take me to bed so I can have even more of you and ravage you the way you deserve."

He grinned back, leant in faster than you could see, and cheekily bit the skin over your collarbone. At the same time his fingers dug into your sides and you squeaked with laughter.

Abruptly he stood up, you still in his arms and strode towards your bedroom. "Aye, your highness. Show me just how sweet you think I am."

#the sewer writes #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #cod soap x reader #soap cod #cod john soap mactavish #fluff #i'm a softie #don't look at me #john soap x reader #gn! reader

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fanaticsnail · 2 months

Text

Shameless: 1/3

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,285

(Image Source)

Synopsis: You have a type, one that has been forcefully revealed by your crewmen's incessant nagging. After being ordered to return to your workshop to receive further instruction, you become fully aware of why you have been hidden away from meeting with the captain of the Victoria Punk. He was exactly your type.

Notes: This is my first time writing for Eustass Kid. It was meant to be a one-shot, but it quickly got out of hand very fast. Looks like a two or three parter. afab!reader - but can be read as gn.

Themes: senseless flirting, mature themes, NSFW language, choking, vulgarity, promiscuity, shamelessness, heart-pirate!reader x captain!Eustass Kid, this reader is a perpetual and shameless flirt, heart pirates x reader, partial zoro x reader, platonic law x reader.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @since-im-already-here

Song Suggestion: It's Cuffing Season - Dj Rehan, JW Velly

Within the rotund chasm of the crew dining quarters rung a loud and rambunctious melody. The sway of your hips and the lyrics falling from your smiling lips alongside Shachi and Penguin had the mood of the hour joyful and merry. The speakers ignited with the crackle of the powerful ballad screaming over the powered mounted system bordering the ceiling. You swayed your body with Ikkaku’s, your lips relaying the lyrics to the rambunctious melody with a suggestive smile, a smile mirrored by her own elevating to her lips.

These were the cool-down hours: where the Heart-Pirate crew were able to complete tasks they had set aside, or wind down after a hard day's work of following Captain Law’s orders aboard the Polar Tang. Despite his tired and lackluster expression constantly painted across his exhausted face, your captain, Trafalgar D Water-Law, encouraged his entire crew to engage in some lesser restraint as they quiet down before the changeover in shift.

Law was yet to join in on the celebrations, opting to remain behind in his office for reasons you were yet to become privy to. Although he never allowed himself to truly let go and sway his hips, cry tactless lyrics into the air; he truly enjoyed witnessing the crew join together like this. There were only a few songs he would ever mutter the lyrics along to, most of which were harder in musicality, angst-driven in their choruses, and distorted in tonality. Yet, he would always have a soft smile elevated on his lips when the few of you would gyrate, sway, sing and scream alongside the music over the speakers.

As Shachi drew a stainless steel whisk up to his lips and began to shout the lyrics into the crossed tip, the music cut out from its place within the electrical power system. In its stead, Captain Trafalgar Law’s voice dictated a few short and curt orders.

“All hands above deck. Repeat, all hands to the deck. Prepare the Polar Tang to be boarded for a Nakama encounter,” you snapped to the direction of the speaker, Ikkaku’s dancing movements halting beside yours as you listened for further instruction over the system. As no further orders fell from the mechanical mesh, you readjusted your fallen zipper of your white, boiler jumpsuit and spring into action.

“Ohh, a crew boarding? I hope it’s the Straw-Hats! I want to see that little reindeer again,” Bepo noted politely, the thump of his heavy feet stomping along the iron floor beside your smaller steps almost comical.

“Oh, the crew with the green-haired swordsman coming aboard again?” You asked him, brow quirking and smirk rising at the corner of your lips. Ikkaku laughed at your comment, clapping you on the shoulder and walking with Shachi and Penguin in tow behind you.

“The one that was almost your type?” Ikkaku’s smile quirked up at Shachi’s question, his arm hooking over your neck as he spoke down into your ear.

“But not quite, remember?” You giggled at him, playfully extending the sharp secondary knuckle of your index finger into his ribcage, his breath huffing out a hasty exhale at the jolt. Ikkaku and Penguin laughed at Shachi’s wince of pain, his laughter also rising with his crewmates’ and your own.

Amongst the Heart-Pirates, the crew were not unaccustomed to your unrestrained flirting with them. From your close proximity, to the brush of your fingertips, to a warm embrace offered from your arms, to you lounging against them in the quiet hours. But most of all, your vulgar and unwithheld language going far enough to make the most hardened members of the Heart-Pirates’ cheeks tint crimson.

It was a game to you, keeping things lively and interesting aboard your ship as you served alongside them as Law’s chief tinkerer. Nothing ever came of the suggestive conversations and provocative language you offered aside from a friendly kiss, alongside the words, “Sorry, love. You’re not my type.”

As your feet met with the grated bars of the steel steps leading to the deck, Law’s voice cut over the speakers once more to address the crew.

“All hands to the deck, aside from my tinkerer. Go to your workshop and await further instruction,” the distorted crack of his voice did very little to mask the disdain in his voice. There was something bothering your captain - such a bother depicted in his bored and aloof tone. The harbor which anchored such a dirge-like expression which you had very little explanation for. That was, until, the snickering beside you hissed through the smiling teeth of the three human crew members beside you.

“What’s so funny?” you spat, shimmying from the crook of Shachi’s arm and facing the four of them with your hands on your hips.

“Oh, nothing,” Ikkaku giggled before sucking her lips into her mouth to stifle more of her laughter from freely falling from between them. You glanced between the other three, all raising their hands in defense to your pointed gaze.

“Alright, keep your damn secrets to yourselves,” you scoffed, turning your nose up in the air at them before snuggling into Bepo, who eagerly returned your brief embrace, “I’ll see you after the Nakama meet up, I suppose.” They bid their farewells to you, snickering and giggling as they exited the iron hatch of the Polar Tang to rise above decks.

After sculking the halls down the long and lonely corridors to your office, you were shocked at the sight greeting you upon opening the large door. Although he depicted further instruction was awaiting you, you were anticipating private instruction to be carried through your personal Den-Den-Mushi rather than meeting with your Captain himself.

Captain Law was sitting at your desk, his ankles hooked on top of your workbench with his hands laced behind his head, cradling his neck. He lazily glanced through the corner of his eyes at you before slowly unlacing his ankles and rising to his feet. His fingertips clasped his impressive sword, the smoothness of his scabbard reflected in the dim light of your office.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Cap? Shouldn’t you be-?” you began, your words halted immediately by Law’s response.

“-Cut the shit, Tink,” your titled nickname falling in lieu of your real name or formal title from Law’s lips. You relaxed your shoulder against the doorframe, folding your arms across your chest while pursing your lips. You tapped your index finger on your bicep while you awaited further direction from the man in front of you.

With an exasperated sigh, he elevated his slender, tattooed, fingers to his brow and pinched the center between his index and thumb. He huffed a final growl before he bore his honeyed eyes into your awaiting features.

“It seems I will be unable to keep you distracted for the entire time they’ll be here this time,” he muttered to himself in a voice almost impossible for you to catch. You furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to question him further. He halted your words by removing his fingers from his brow to face his palm out to you.

“I am going to say this one time, and one time only,” he continued to hold his intense and stern gaze into your eyes, “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what, Law? What are you talking about-?” you began, halted again by Law’s dictation once again.

“-Just...” Law turned his face slightly away from you, “...-Just don’t, okay? I know you, I know what you’re like, and I’m just letting you know now, and know once. Don’t.”

You were unable to form an adequate response before he stormed out of your workshop and wordlessly gestured for you to follow behind him above deck with his index finger, a hooked motion calling to you. Your captain’s words swirled in your head, your eyes locking on to his neck and tracing his skin with your inquisitive gaze.

Your relationship with your captain was as close a friendship as you could ever muster with such a person. He sought out your skills as a tinkerer, your reputation preceding you when you demonstrated your skilled hands to him. You both bonded over unique collections, his coins and comics, your rocks and pinned insect and arachnid display. Both having a unique place to relay information about your special and unique interests with one another was sacred, and so incredibly special to the both of you.

Where Law and you differed was in how you chose to display your humors: Law holding his hand close to his chest before he truly displays how unhinged his humor was with dark commentary, whereas you were a perpetual flirt with provocative language and sultry advances. You both held each other in a professional standing, before your words took a turn for requited flirtation. Law would reciprocate your vulgarity, and you would mirror back that darkness he expressed, if ever your conversations became flirtatious and humorous with him.

And that is where, like the others, you ended the flirtatious rapport with a simple utterance of: “Forgive me, Cap. You’re not my type,” which threw the captain and crew into an uproar of outrageous laughter. Speculating on what exactly your type was, you finally gave into their incessant interrogation after being offered your fifth drink for the evening from the hands of Shachi.

“Fine,” you spat, your arm swaying as you handled your filled pint, “I like them big. And I truly mean big. Like, throw me over the shoulder big. Like, ‘will it fit’ big. Especially if they’ve got that feral twinkle in their eyes that looks at you like they’d want to kill you,” you confessed, your voice swooning at the thought. After taking a heaping gulp from your drink, you added, “You’re all very beautiful, handsome, and spectacular. But, I just need someone who looks like they could lovingly and desperately break me in half. Bonus points if they’re good with machines, so we can bond.”

After coming down from your whimsical confession, you glanced at the crew. Bepo’s ears were covered by both Shachi and Penguin’s hands - all three of their jaws comically slackened. Law’s teeth were clenched in an awkward, cringe-like, straightened smile with lazy, half-hooded eyes. Ikkaku’s cheeks were tinted red with the elevated hue of rushed blood, her lips broken into a wide grin with her eyes twinkling at the confession.

All of these things were true. You were a person of refined taste, a taste which seemed scarce to come by with the crew you had found yourself working beside. There was Jean Bart, but he was not overly interested in tending to a relationship with you. There was Uni, but your interests fell short when he only depicted gentleness and kindness towards you in lieu of your craving for something more brutal.

Both men remained high spirited and friendly with you despite your attempt at a fling with them falling through. You needed something more. Something more unhinged. Something a little unpredictable, feral and dangerous.

As Law led you above deck, the voice of Jean Bart called for all crew to fall in line to welcome the Nakama crew above deck. Without looking up, you hastily drew yourself between Penguin and Ikkaku, Shachi on the other side of Penguin and Bepo beside Ikkaku as you all stood alert with your arms by your sides.

“At ease, Heart-Pirates,” Law commanded, shooting you one more pointed and narrow-eyed look before turning back to speak with the foreign captains and their crews. It seemed two crews had joined the deck of the Polar Tang: The Straw-Hat Pirates alongside another crew you did not recognise. You quickly examined the First-Mate of the Straw-Hat crew, who met your eyes with a small smirk before returning back to fix his gaze on his captain alongside his crew.

Zoro was almost your type. A night you shared with one another, being evidence enough to your crew, that you had nearly found someone you deemed feral and hulking enough to share in your company. When your lips met his: his actions were closer to timid and gentle as they joined with yours. The fires of passion were there, the small amount of danger also present, but he was still not your type. He was handsome, sure enough. He was aggressive, absolutely. He reciprocated your flirtations with a small elevation of flush tinting his cheeks a warm hue of pink, which you found endearing.

The night concluded with a few deepened kisses, roaming touches from your hands holding each other firmly beneath the stars aboard the Sunny. However, nothing further ever came between the two of you. After that night, the you both remained quite good friends and shared in each other's company, with unhinged and illicit conversation, each time Law met with his captain. He kept pace with you when you drank, spurting dark vulgarity subtly into your ear at the dining table when your crews met; but it was all in good humor and never truly to initiate anything rising further between you.

A small pull at the corner of your sleeve from Ikkaku broke you away from your reminiscing, your face turning to look at her with your brows knitting in confusion. Her lips were sucked into her mouth, her eyes wide in excitement as she bore her gaze directly ahead.

“What’s wrong with you?” your hushed whisper growled at her. She removed her grip on your sleeve and raised her hand to your chin, turning your head without pulling her eyes away from their fixed point in front of her.

“This is who the Captain was keeping from you. Ever wonder why he’d been working you so hard when we meet up with certain crews? He’s why,” she muttered, her lips still sucked within her lips to stifle her rising joy. You allowed her to turn your jaw ahead, your eyes meeting with a hulking figure of a man with fiery red hair.

Your jaw fell slack before your lips pulled up into a broad smile as your eyes fixed themselves on him. He was intimidating, he was hulking, and he was big. Your eyes shamelessly raked themselves over his body, halting on his calves, his thighs, his ass, his arm, his metal arm, his broad chest, his grimace, his makeup, his blaster goggles hoisting his untamed locks away from his face-.

-You hastily drew your eyes back to his left arm, metal in make and incredibly large. It looked heavy, intricate, and mechanical. Your interest deepened at each sway of his arms, flex of his muscles and wind of cogs and bolts within his intricate piece attached to his severed limb. Starstruck, captivated, and interest immediately peaked; you continued to rake your eyes over this foreign man aboard the Polar Tang.

“O-Oh? Oh m-my-...” you couldn’t find the words to form a cohesive string of sentences, your eyes fixed on his arm as you studied it. His mechanical fingertips were clenching, his grimace splitting his scarred face, and his hair bobbing beneath blaster goggles each time he opened his mouth to speak.

“I know, right? Law has been trying so desperately to keep you from meeting him,” Ikkaku added, prompting you to hum deeply in interest with your tongue darting out to dampen your bottom lip.

“That’s your type, then?” Penguin and Shachi uttered in unison, their downturned smiles through gritted teeth cringing through the question.

“That’s-,” you took a moment to collect your thoughts, swallowing a lump of dry saliva within your mouth, ”-Exactly, my type,” you gasped, nodding as you spoke aloud.

“And this is why each time we see the Victoria Punk, we have to keep you below deck and distracted,” Ikkaku managed to stutter out through her giggles. You quickly snapped your eyes back to her, your gaze narrowed and accusatory.

“We’ve had him,” you snapped your eyes away from the hulking gentleman to stare at Ikkaku, “On the Polar Tang more than once?” You snapped your eyes from Ikkaku to turn to Penguin on your other side, “And you managed to keep me distracted?” you uttered through gritted teeth. Ikkaku shrugged her shoulders, puffing out her cheeks to halt an uproar of laughter from falling from her lips.

“Captain’s orders,” Shachi confirmed with a curt nod, stooping out from falling in line to meet his spectacle-covered eyes with yours, “He knows what you’re like, and how you’d react.” He stepped back in line and grunted out a soft cough to clear his throat.

You turned your eyes back to the redhead, quickly looking over his hulking crew before hardening your resolve and humming deeply.

“I am-...” you began, raking your eyes back over his body again, “...-I am going to climb him like a tree.”

Snickers began to fall through the nose of Ikkaku, a small giggle elevating in Penguin’s chest, a huff of air snorting through Shachi’s nose.

“I gotta know what that hand does,” you confessed, your eyes full of wonderment and your tone full of longing desire, “What it feels like. Is it smooth? Does it have different settings? Is it cold? Can he control the pressure? I have to know, for science. I want him-...” you trailed off before dreamily adding: “...-To choke me.”

More laughter and teeters from your friends around you threatened to break through the seal of their clenched lips, Penguin raising his palm to halt his laughter.

“Look at his eyes. He’s got so much pent up hate in that twinkle,” you continued, a whimsical sigh exiting your lips, “I hope he’s the type that scowls into your face while he fucks you hard. Or maybe he’s the type to bend you over a desk while he frantically rams himself into you.”

Ikkaku’s higher pitched whimpered laughter almost broke through her lips, elevating both her hands to clench over the bottom half of her face to stifle her laughter. Penguin was not faring much better, his teeters boiling close to breaking point. Shachi pulled his hat over his eyes in an effort to hide his blush.

“I wonder if all of him is as big, hard and angry as the rest of him,” you hummed, deep in thought. A choked snort threatened to break through Shachi’s nose, Ikkaku held her breath while Penguin cringed behind his palm.

Zoro immediately drew his eye away from his captain and examined the five of you all huddled together in a line. He focussed on your lips moving, reading the unhinged commentary you were entertaining your crewmen with: noticing your gaze was fixed on Eustass Kid. His smirk immediately broke up his lips, his eyes closing as he huffed out a subtle laugh he disguised with a cough.

“And the scars. Are they sensitive? I wonder if he’d writhe when I lick them,” you spoke with wonderment, “How far do they go down? Is it just his face, neck, arm, and chest - or do they go all the way down his body? I would happily lick, kiss and suck my way down while mapping his flesh beneath my lips. Oooh, I wonder if he’s ticklish.”

Zoro’s gaze was now fully fixed on your lips, relaying every word of your hushed conversation lowly to Nami standing beside him. She began holding in her own laughter, choking back stifled whimpers while hearing the repetition of your vulgarity from the first-mate beside her. Nami was also a crewmate you enjoyed spending time with when the Nakama meetings drew the Straw-Hats and Heart-Pirate crews together, appreciating how effortlessly you relayed your desires and flirtations to your crewmen.

“And his face paint. Does it smear when it's coated in sweat and saliva? His face looks like a comfortable place to sit,” you raked your eyes over his face, focussing on his grimacing lips, “He looks like he’d be an aggressive kisser. I wonder if he bites when he eats pu-.”

That was the comment that broke the seal, the three companions by your side finally breaking into an uproar of laughter. The three crews and their captains snapped their attention over to you. You held a look of absolute innocence, your eyes finally meeting with the intimidating presence of the feral, redheaded captain.

His intense rage directed at you had you swooning, your knees buckling and your breath sighing at him. Heat flushed your cheeks the longer your eyes were locked with his. The flutter of your heartbeat and deep sigh departing from your lips perplexed him, depicted by the rage-riddled confusion knitting his brows together deeper.

Without warning with a few quick strides, your captain strutted over to your position among your crewmates.

“Tinkerer,” he spat, your body doing little to hide your longing as you desperately attempted to look behind Trafalgar Law to return your gaze to the Nakama behind you, “I said don’t.”

“Sorry, sir,” you apologized sincerely, snapping your eyes up to his intense gaze,and assuming a more formal position. Your hands were clasped behind your back, your chin elevated in the air and your expression hardened and practiced.

“I just-...” he growled, his eyes clamping shut tightly before reopening, “...It was a suggestion, Tink. Not an order.” He straightened his posture, swirling his neck to relieve it of tension, “At ease, but keep it quiet. Alright?”

“In that case, Cap,” you smiled, relaxing in your stature and beaming a brilliant smile up at him with a shrug, “I am going to test out how loud I can make him roar my name while he fills me full of his hot, sticky cu-.”

“-TINK!” Law scolded you with an exasperated growl, the remainder of the Heart-Pirates bursting into a large, unbridled gaggle of laughter.

Far enough away to not hear the conversation Law was holding with you, Zoro’s smirk cut his face wider at Law’s roar. A low, rumbled chuckle shook Zoro’s shoulders, alerting Luffy and Eustass Kid of his amusement.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Kid’s voice cracked through the air, causing Zoro’s chuckle to halt but his amusement remained.

“Go ask Cap’n Law’s crew,” Zoro suggested nonchalantly with a shrug. Luffy quirked his head to the side, his wide eyes holding mild curiosity. Nami clapped her hands over her lips and shook her head, while Robin’s knowing smile drew itself up to decorate her face with her humor.

“Why would I do that?” Kid growled, turning his intense auburn eyes back to the scene befaling Law and his crew. Law turned back to the two captains, a rise of a pink hue dusting his cheeks as he fixed his hat atop his head.

Behind the tattooed captain, you stood with your brow raised and following your captain’s retreat. He examined you briefly, noting you were holding a hushed conversation with your crewmates behind your captain’s back that had a blush rise to their cheeks, lips curling up into broad smiles, and shoulders quaking in laughter. You were confident, that much was sure.

As Kid met his eyes with yours, he saw your cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes glancing at him with a beckoning taunt. He watched as you shamelessly raked your eyes over his body, pausing on a few key areas and your lips moving with a smile as you spoke.

Kid immediately rose to your challenge, striding immediately over with haste and brushing his shoulder heavily past Law’s - who was too late to halt the meeting of an impossible force colliding with an immovable object. Law held out his arm in warning, an action falling short as the hulking figure covered your body in the shroud of his shadow. His presence sucked the very breath from your body, his intense, piercing gaze burned you as you gazed into them. Lips curling back into a snarl, he scrunched his nose alongside his brows.

“The fuck are you all laughing at?” He roared, his hard gaze stealing the air from within your lungs. He was even more spectacular at his closer proximity, holding you briefly starstruck under his dangerous aura.

“Aww, nothing to say? Something clamping down on your tongue to keep it from moving?” he grimaced his lips up into a cruel snarl. At his taunt, your brief awestruck expression was replaced with a channel for your vulgarity.

“Why, are you offering?” You bite back, your eyes dark with their challenge, “I bet you have an array of things you could use to keep my tongue occupied.” His eyes widened, his grimace falling a little at your words.

“Come again?” He asked, hunching over to draw his face close to yours. He bore his teeth at you, his shock written all over his face.

“I hope so, Sir,” you smile dreamily up at him, “As many times as you can handle it.”

Your crewmen beside you sucked in whimpered breaths, hoping and praying the larger man at least found humor in your comments if not anything else. You continued to hold your half-lidded eyes, glazed over with unwithheld lust and need meeting with his wide eyes, pupils shrunk small and expression angry.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he spat, his brows creasing in the middle of his forehead as his scowl returned, “I should gag, choke and flog you for that.”

“And I would say ‘thank you’, Sir,” you hummed in affirmation, stepping your body closer to his towering form. Reactionary, he stepped further towards you, completely ignoring your crewmates beside you witnessing your interaction. You could feel the waves of tension elevating and igniting fury beneath his hulking form.

“If this is your way of pissing me off,” he snarled, the rumble of his voice echoing within his chest shot a delightful shiver to your spine, “Believe me, it’s fuckin’ working, Sunshine.”

Your heart swelled at his bestowment of such a sweet title onto you, your comrades in arms staring at you in horror as you swooned. Shachi and Penguin were rapidly shaking their heads from side to side in an attempt to warn you to cease your shameless advance of the foreign captain. Ikkaku stifled a smaller gasped whimper, while Bepo covered his ears.

“So violent,” your voice shuddered in delight with an airy breathiness, “Don’t threaten me with a good time unless you intend on seeing it through, Sir.”

Eustass Kid was stunned.

He had not received such provocative and forthcoming flirtation in this way before, and he truly had no idea if your crude words were just a depiction of your humor to entertain yourself, or if you truly meant what you were saying. If your expressions were just an act to draw a laugh from your crewmen, he no longer wanted to take part in engaging with you in this way. However, if you were truly interested in him - your shameless and tasteless salaciousness was indeed igniting something within the tinkerer-captain.

“You don’t even know who I am, Sunshine,” he informed you, drawing up his mechanical left hand and threatening to cage your neck within its cool, steely grip.

“Then educate me on the name I’ll be blissfully crying praises for, Sir,” you groaned, leaning your neck against the index finger of the mechanical contraption.

“You got a lot of nerve to be talking shit about me in front everyone,” he pressed the heel of his metallic palm further into your flesh and curled the digits around your throat, “I’m not a fan of being the butt of some fucked up joke.”

“They’re not laughing at you, Sir. It’s ridicule at my expense,” you confessed, groaning at the feeling of cool metal pressing dangerously hard against your jugular, “They’re laughing at how much I want you, which I do. I really do, if you’re up to the task.”

Kid’s breath was now taking its turn in being stolen from his lungs, your confession weighing as heavy on his heart as his mechanical arm was on his shoulder. He took a moment to process the words falling freely from your lips before he calculated an appropriate response.

“The fuck did you just say-...?” Kid asked you quietly, his arm faltering its grip around your neck while his balled fist clenched tighter to stifle his rising anger.

“You heard me,” you taunted him further, not tearing your eyes from his for even a moment. Your smile never faltered, your eyes displaying their unbridled lust and craving for him within your blackened pupils, “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that needs to be told twice.”

“And what kind of guy do I look like to you?” he spat at you, wringing your neck between his steel fingers.

“A big one,” you gasped a whimpering moan, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt every movement offered by the mechanical contraption. You would adore taking the time to study such a beautiful object in your workshop, but for now; your curiosity was satisfied by the feeling of the hulking larger man caging you beneath its cool grasp.

“You want me to show you how big I really am, Sunshine?” his face split into a broad grin, his brow creasing in the center to deepen his sinister expression, “At least you already know how to call me ‘Sir’.”

Before you could utter another word, Law pulled the captain’s attention away from you with a grasp of his hand on his right forearm. Before he could squeeze his metal fingers around your neck further, he drew them away from your flesh as Captain Law interrupted your building tension.

“Captain Kid,” his stern voice cut through the air, the redhead’s eyes snapped over to meet with the yellow irises of your captain, “I apologize for my tinkerer’s obscenity. They know better,” he shot you a pointed look, one you returned with a stubborn huff of breath. “Tink, I warned you. You’re dismissed. Workshop, now.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” you spat, your heels clicking together as you saluted him with your index and middle finger. You marched yourself below decks, mentally scolding yourself on your shamelessness in front of someone who was finally your type.

As the door closed behind you, Law released a breath he didn’t know he was withholding. As he opened his mouth to speak, Kid spoke over him.

“Did you say tinkerer, Traffy?” his eyes were still fixed on the door you just exited through, his voice almost soft in curiosity.

“That I did,” Law confessed with a huffed breath, “Let’s get back to our meeting so we can get this bullshit over with, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Kid exhaled, turning back to meet his gaze with Luffy and his own crew. He spared one more glance over his shoulder towards the lower deck door of the Polar Tang. Curiosity had you plaguing his thoughts, swirling within every crevice of his mind as he attempted to engage in the fruitless Nakama meeting with the Heart, Kid and Straw-Hat pirate captains.

Pausing just before joining up with Luffy, Kid turned once more to Law and grunted out a small cough. Law lazily turned his face over to him, angling his chin upwards to stare at the larger man. Kid’s cheeks dusted with a small tint of pink, elevating his right hand and pressing it against his lips while grunting through his next choice words.

“They single?”

Law groaned, throwing his head back as he and Kid rejoined themselves next to Luffy to discuss the next aspect of their meeting: no words finding anchor within the Straw-Hat captain’s mind, as he was too busy contemplating when the next meal was to be presented. Will Sanji cook it? Will Kid’s crew, or Law’s provide it? Will it include meat? He hoped it would.

Part 2

#one piece #x reader #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #kid pirates #heart pirates #trafalgar law #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #shachi and penguin #op eustass kid #supernova trio #my writing #eustass kid is a secret softie #eustass kid is also a flirt

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tojisprettywife · 1 month

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{note: hi hi, this was pretty intimidating to write. To open the blank document, was scary enough. after two years, attempting to write more than 1k words was not easy, so to speak. i'd recommend listening to smth that gets in your feels as you read this, if you can. this was based on this ask. hopefully, whoever wanted me to tag them in this, like it.}

warnings: none. husband! toji x wife! reader. maybe 0.1% of suggestiveness. fluff i guess? i'll let you be the judge of it.

w.c: 2.05k

tags: @jkumiplace @snowprincesa1 @idreamitski @shokosprincess hope you all like it :)

When you feel the world caving in, unknowingly, we push everyone around us away. Self isolation, a very tempting idea, to give into. Or you’re just in your luteal phase? Whatever the reason might be, you’re feeling what you would mostly probably write off as “I don’t know”. You slump down into the couch, staring at the moving pictures on the screen. Your husband works a rather unconventional job, a sorcerer killer. Right, unconventional is an understatement, putting himself in danger, but you too. You’re sitting there blankly, waiting for him to be home, it’s been 10 days since you last saw him.

You jolt and sit up,at the sharp sound of the door bell. It is 11pm on a Tuesday night, who would show up at such a time?Your husband, Toji, of course. You run up to the front door, opening the door. And, there is the man you love, you adore, who you married. “You’re still up?..” He walks past you, entering the apartment. You close the door behind him and turn, “I couldn’t sleep… '' you mumble. “Is there any dinner? I’m famished” he said, placing his duffel bag on the floor beside the couch. Your eyebrows twitch, where is the usual hug he gives you after coming home to you? where is the “i missed you so much?” ‘Why aren’t his eyes meeting mine? what’s with this sudden chang—‘ your thoughts are stopped in the tracks as his low timbre snaps you back into the present “I’m asking… is there dinner or not? Did you cook something for me?..” he sighs, walking into the bedroom that you both share. "What's with this ne— No, these days, he’s been taking more and more from me, it seems like I mean nothing—’ you shake your head, to stop yourself from jumping into conclusions. He comes back into the kitchen after washing up. You hate how, despite how you’re annoyed at his new change in behavior, you still find him attractive. The smell of after shave lotion, filling the air as he walks past you, drying his hair with a small towel. The way his wet raven black hair sticks to his forehead and neck. Maybe absence does make the heart fonder. Is it only for you or— you flinch as he taps on the counter. “Back to earth, hmm?” You sigh softly, placing a plate on the dining table, serving him dinner. He quickly eats, your mind drifting back to “Why isn’t he talking? Where is his usual grumble about work, Where—” you look at him, as the chair’s legs scratch the floor as he gets up after finishing dinner.

Small, unsettling feeling pooling in the pit of your stomach. Almost, two years into this marriage, what’s this new sliver crack in a perfectly nice mirror? That is how it feels, right now. A small crack, a splinter, or is it just miscommunication?

‘Communication is the key to a healthy relationship’ they say, they only say. To actually follow and practice that? Humans are selfish beings at the end of the day. You know, asking and talking it out with him would be right. Yet here you are, grueling all by yourself.

The human mind is a wretched, wretched thing, at times. In the name of protecting you, thousands of scenarios pop into your mind like bubbles, ranging to all extremities. That’s quite laughable, you know, you’re not these thoughts; but intrusive thoughts? on the other hand are quite convincing, aren’t they? Like a creeper vine which holds on to anything for support, thoughts creep in, stifling and clouding your judgment. Unbeknownst to you, or to your conscious mind, the history of Toji’s relationships flood in, adultery? cheating? lost feelings for you? What if he doesn’t love you anymore?. The sound of silence is too loud, you find yourself still in the kitchen mindlessly watching dishes while he peacefully sleeps, scrunching and fitting himself in a couch, which is tiny for him. Your eyes fall upon his face, now that you’re quite some feet away from him, if you weren’t there in his life, would he still fall asleep like this?

Slowly the realization kicks in that, you still haven’t washed the dishes. You scamper around the kitchen, cleaning it up. Finally, walking towards the couch, you press a soft kiss on his forehead. Maybe you assumed too much? But you love him more than that, finally you decide to head to bed.

Next morning, you thought it would be way better, since he’d be well rested. Is that really the case? Toji is up, watching the morning news, lazily skipping through some channels, he sees you come into the living room “Morning~ I’d like some coffee..” his eyes return back to screen, before you could reply to his greeting. This takes a huge toll on you, such indifference wasn’t something you were used to, especially from Toji. Morning becomes Afternoon becomes Evening, still Toji hasn’t given you any sort of attention.

Things are slightly taking a turn, is it for the worse or better? You completely become dismissive to his behavior and start giving him the cold shoulder. Any requests that come your way, from him, are mostly answered by nodding or a mumble of “Okay” ��No”. Toji notices this sudden, well not sudden, but gradual decline in your usual enthusiasm, and touchiness. He wanted to ask, but he gave you space since you might be just moody. He shrugs it off. Despite this little coldness and frozen atmosphere in your house, time still goes on, night falls, and bedtime is here. You sit on the edge of the bed. Toji is also in the room now. Four walls, two people, one bed, and a thousand misunderstandings.

“Communication is the key” You know it at heart, but being petty is what you want to do now. Yes, it’s childish, immature, stupid, whatnot. Although, it is necessary now. You’ve given, given, and given, that your own cup is empty. As the saying goes “water is soft, but it cuts through rocks” has never been so true, until now. “Toji.” your tone is so sharp breaking this chilling, uncomfortable silence between you two. He immediately turns his head towards you, in surprise “Hm?..”. You gulp down, gathering up your courage to voice out what you've been feeling, what you’ve been wanting, and most of all, to know whether this relationship still has a chance?

“I- I” your breaths are more deliberate, slow, and steady, to compose yourself. “I’ve been… feeling a little too weird these days..”. He nods, listening to you intently, as he’s never seen you this serious before. “Yes, You seem on the edge these days… especially ever since I came back.”

You grit your teeth slightly at his calm tone, this calmness is what you like about him, but right now, this is what is setting you off, “Can you stop being so nonchalant all the goddamn time?” you lash out, but in times of anger, we don’t even acknowledge how we do things, what we extremely dislike, just as right now. “Toji, you— Do you take me for granted?! I can only give so much, but what am I getting from you? Past month, I’ve been completely, utterly, feeling used by you… Am I just one of the girls… like the ones from the past?..”. Toji’s string of patience breaks at the last line, not even at you calling him out, but comparing yourself to the one-night stands and hookups he had in his distant past. He clenches his jaw, and breathes out, calming down a little. Since you’re more sensitive, he tries to be as gentle as possible “Baby, That’s not true you know. Why would you compare yourself to women like that? You’re way more precious and you’re definitely not like them to me. You’re my wife…. listen—”

“Baby?” you mutter to yourself. “Toji, when.. you went on this mission, actually all missions before this one.. did you miss me? did you even think of me?… OR did you… turn back to your … old ways?…” That was enough, the last line. Toji is taken back, you could see the disbelief on his face. The silence is even more heavy. The words uttered in anger are so vicious, they kill people without actually killing them. “Wh-What did you just say?…” he croaks out, his nonchalance breaking away, being vulnerable as you hit such a wounded part of him. “You heard me clearly.” you knew you were being a bit too much, you knew that all too well, but this is what being petty means right? Once in a while, it is okay. Humans are rational beings? Never, just because we have one sense more than animals, doesn’t mean we aren’t rational than them. We are impulsive too.

Toji stares dead into your eyes, you grit your teeth, not to lack composure. But, that’s not who you are. You love him way too much, get excited each time you see him, way too clingy, your love, your heart, everything says one name, every single day. In a crowd of men, you’d choose him over and over again. Tears slowly roll down your cheeks, in vain attempts to hold them back, they run down in streams. He, no matter how angry, can’t see you cry, see you weep like this. He walks over to you, and you take a step back. “I… I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to get mad.. or push you away.. These days this job is getting to me.. I don’t really feel like doing this anymore. I can’t stay away for weeks, without seeing you. Not only does it put me in danger, which I don't mind, but I’m putting you too. So that’s been on my mind a lot, sorry… I wasn’t being a good husband... I— I have no excuses..”

Your heart sinks, it’s true he wasn't as close as used to be for a month. The way he takes the blame for himself, all that plus his vulnerability about the job, shakes you up a bit. “I know you need space, I’ll be in the living room. I’m so sorry, ba—by”

The door swiftly closed behind him, you sat down on the bed. Taking in what has happened over the past one hour. After some time alone you slowly get up, making your way to the living room. You see Toji, lying down on the couch, legs hanging out, feet swinging slightly. You look down at him, then get on top of him, laying your head on his chest; snuggling into his chest. He wraps his big, warm arms around you, pulling you closer. The way his embrace still feels the same, the whiff of his cologne, mixed with his personal scent is so comforting. You nuzzle further into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry” you softly say. He presses a kiss on top of your head, his warm hand rubbing up and down your back. A few minutes into the hug, you look up into his eyes “Toji.. what’s that I feel on my thigh?..” He looks away from you “It’s been more than a month, you know. And being this close to you… it’s natural..” he mumbles, the tips of his ears turning red. You smile, burying your face back into his chest. “I love you” you whisper. “I know,” he says, smirking. You pinch his bicep “Ow, okay, okay… I love you the most, you know” he chuckles. “By the way… I got my period” you giggle. He pulls you in again, resting his chin on top of your head. He squeezes you gently, basking in this warm embrace, your hearts beating against each other’s chest, slowly syncing up with the other. You both drift off to peaceful slumber, after a long time. Your presence in Toji’s life was akin to the presence of the warmth of sunshine, on a cold winter’s day. You both found each other at the right time, after dating for some time, now married for almost two years. You’re all he could ever ask for. “To love and to be loved in return”, is what he wants, and he has it now. You.

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cnwolf-brainrot · 2 months

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Dee-Evolution Raph is the designated turtle caretaker. He says it's just because he's the only one in his family who actually knows how to take care of a turtle, but it's also because he's really the biggest softie of all of them and wants to make sure his very vulnerable little brother is safe... this may apply to alternate universe versions of him, apparently!

Holy cow the lost and found is so crowded: @red-rover-au, @phoebepheebsphibs, @genderfluid-envy, @peanutrat20, @xmochaccinox, @riseleon, @rattraptmnt, @nights-flying-fox, @lost-in-the-pink-mist, @littlemissartemisia, @reagi-df, and of course the star @xxlea-nardoxx! Feel free to follow up on this if you'd like! <3

@tmntaucompetition

#lost and found #tmnt au comp #tmnt au competition #tmnt au propaganda #dee evolution au #tmnt 2012 #tmnt au #tmnt 2012 au #tmnt raph 2012 #tmnt raphael #raph is a softie and I accept nothing else #if i see a chance to have a raphael adopt random kids I TAKE IT #i know this is 2012 raph but I don't care the 03 episode Lone Raph and Cub is how I write Raphael

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nburkhardt · 4 months

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A bit of omegaverse slice of life 🥰

Steve wakes up first in the morning with his face pressed into Eddie’s back with their legs tangled together. Just before he can close his eyes to sleep more, he’s hit with nausea. Throwing the blanket off him, he stumbles his way into the bathroom. Falling next to the toilet and throwing up all of last night’s dinner.

As he groans, forehead resting against the edge of the seat, he flinches as he feels a hand rub up and down on his back. Shifting a little, he looks up to find Eddie crouching next to him with concern coloring his face. “You alright there, Honeybun?”

Sighing, he closes his eyes. “Yeah, yeah- fuck, I feel gross”

Eddie huffs a laugh before helping him stand, placing a kiss to his forehead, “how about you take a shower? I’ll make some breakfast and wait for Claudia to get here”

All he can do is nod and as Eddie walks out, he undresses before stepping in the shower. Doesn’t take him long to shower, he’s brushing his teeth when he hears the front door open and it closes again and he hears the giggling.

A smile works it’s way onto his face and he quickly finishes before making his way towards the sound of Melody’s giggling and as he turns the corner finds Eddie twirling around with Melody safely against his shoulder. If he wasn’t already so in love with the alpha, that sight would’ve sold him immediately.

“Oh! M’lady we have an audience here!” Eddie exclaims, turning Melody in his arms and his daughter’s eyes light up the minute they land on him and a giggle-shriek comes out of her mouth. He quickly moves forward before she falls straight onto the floor trying to escape Eddie’s arms.

Snuggling Melody in his arms, he began to sway and take in her sweet baby scent. He opens his eyes to find Eddie watching with a look of adoration and love written all over his face. The omega opened his free arm and the Alpha laughed before circling them into his own arms.

Steve has never felt more safe in his life.

I was reading over some of my ramblings in my notes app and got this perfect little moment and thought to share it with everyone! 🥰🥰

Permanent tag list under the cut. (NOTE: omegaverse isn’t your thing, let me know and I’ll make a note to no include you in these posts)

@spectrum-spectre @sunnythespookyghost @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon

#steddie #omegaverse #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #implied mpreg #nburkhardt writes #a/b/o dynamics #past mpreg #tw mpreg #they’re such softies

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lottiecrabie · 1 year

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the last time – matty healy

five months after your break up, you fall into bed with Matty again. but it’s the last time, for real.

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), protected sex, bit of praise, angst

4761 words

You’ve been broken up for five months when you fall into bed with Matty again. You feel a little guilty at the fact, guts knitting together as he passes your shirt above your head, untangling it from your hair. You laugh as you tuck the rebel strands away from your face, shy and awkward like you never used to be with him.

You want to be impossibly sexy and attractive— don’t want to go through the mortal ordeals of catching into the neck of your shirt or having scattered hair on your legs. You want to melt his mind out of skills, want to catch the drip from his ears with a coy smile.

Last time you fucked, you didn’t know that it was. The last time, you mean. You didn’t get to enjoy it, didn’t get to bathe in the overwhelming feel of him, didn’t get to make it memorable. It was something quick and shallow between two meetings of his. Three days later, you were packing your bags, wiping the tears from your eyes before he could see them. I’m sorry, you kept saying as Matty watched you from the door frame with trembling shoulders.

This last time, you’ll make it worth something. Let the memory of you stick to his skin like a branding iron— irregular and scarred.

Matty breathes heavily, kissing the skin of your collarbone, grazing his lips over the top of your breasts. Your head falls backwards, watching the ceiling as you pant for the sky. You’re afraid of looking at him, of making it real. Afraid you’d cry, or perhaps refuse to leave.

“You’re beautiful,” Matty whispers, hands finding the small of your back. His fingers spread across your ribs. You shake your head. He can’t say things like that anymore.

He doesn’t seem aware of the pain it causes you, some stabbing in a beaten heart. He plays your spine like his favorite guitar, familiar calluses over the bumps of bones. Counts them as he climbs your back, undoes your white cotton bra. You’d have worn something sexier if you had known this was coming. You mentally curse yourself as it falls apart.

You have an instinct to cover your breasts up, blushing as he steps away to peer at you. You feel shy against his devouring stare, self-conscious of what he sees. You hate that you do.

You hate that it’s the same; you hate that it’s different.

Matty’s thumb finds your nipple, rubbing slow circles on it. A shudder coils down your back. You bite your lip, panting. “Gorgeous.”

A crooked smile cracks on your face. You’re glad you still please him.

He works at the button of your jeans. Your underwear doesn’t match, but he doesn't mention it as he works the legs down, fingers grazing your skin and raising your hair as he does it. You hold onto his shoulder to balance yourself as you finally step out of them. He feels stronger than he was, firmer. Maybe your palms have just forgotten the shape of him— and isn’t that just the worst thought.

You don’t let yourself linger on it, afraid it’ll make you cry. You rack a hand through his curls instead— thankfully the same. You brush them back as Matty kisses your thighs. It’s feather kisses, not even to tease or burn, just to worship.

“Matty…” It slips out of you. It sounds sad to your ears. Perhaps the consonants have changed in your mouth in the past five months, perhaps that’s just how you say his name now, letters dropping at the end like he had cut up your tongue on the way out.

His hand finds the apex of your thighs, tossing your underwear aside, rubbing against your wet entrance. Pleasure climbs up your spine. You bite a moan, immediately clutching a handful of his hair, clenching your thighs to trap him. Like he would leave. Like your body knows he has.

He gathers some of your wetness, swiping lazily at your clit. Matty knows your body like his favorite song. He could whisper the tectonic spots of you that make you scream like worshiped lyrics, the curves and dips and scars of you like the rugged grooves of his overplayed vinyls. He could get you off in under five minutes with minimal effort— in fact he has. Still, Matty takes his time.

Fire pools in your stomach. Your fingers dig into his nails, perhaps meanly, perhaps vengefully. Matty thumbs at you, dipping one finger in the molten pot between your thighs. He coos gently at your breathy moans, encouraging you.

He finally picks up in pace, waves of pleasure crashing against your limbs as another finger enters you. Your legs feel unsteady, the ground rippling under you, and you can’t trust yourself to stay upright. “Can we—” Your chin jerks to the hotel bed.

Matty nods, standing up. He grabs your chin between two trembling hands, slick drying on your jaw as he kisses you. It’s a tender affair, pressing the words he can’t speak on your lips, to fall down your tongue and plant in your throat.

You feel your eyes swell up with tears— how you want him to say it, how you want to say it back, how you want him to kiss you and not at the same time. Emotions pull you every which way; it’s a dizzying rollercoaster, half burning ecstasy and half wretched pain.

You rip away from him; it’s too much. His head rests on your forehead, eyes solemnly closed— like he knows, like he’s sorry. He exhales. You watch Matty guiltily. The spiderleg eyelashes falling on his eyebags; the red, swollen lips; the cut of his jaw. You wish he’d be unrecognizable so it wouldn’t break your heart in half just to see him and know him.

Matty walks you backwards to the bed. You fall on it, scooping yourself up. Your head hits the pillows. Something in you is sad it’s some nameless hotel room and not his house or your flat. It makes this holy meeting banal, like New York was set in the middle of Ohio.

Matty, towering over you, racks your last piece of clothing down your legs. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel just a little dirty to be laying naked for it. He watches you again, taking his time to unravel you in his mind. Perhaps he’s memorizing you, which you’re a little glad for. Remember me, you want to beg. You should have shaved your legs.

You tug a hand out for him. His fingers cross through yours, letting you draw him over your body. He nestles easily between your thighs.

His free hand finds your clit again, but you shake your head shyly. “Can you—” You gesture down, embarrassed to say it.

Matty cocks his head, but you can tell in the dancing light of his eyes that he understands you. Shit-eating smile shining on his face, he says, “Can I what?”

You offer him a deadpan look, but something in you pleads to say, Don’t change. I want you just like this. “Can you eat me out?” His proud victory, amused eyes twinkling at you and all, is short-lived. You feel the need to add, “Since it’s the last time and all.”

Matty freezes above you. It’s the first time either of you mentioned it. You curse yourself, face wrinkling in guilt. What a great time to bring it up.

He rubs gently between your eyebrows, forcing you to unfrown your forehead, to open your eyes and look at him. His eyes are soft, syrupy sweet. “Darling, I would love to eat you out.” You blush, but your legs clench in excitement.

Matty starts his slow descent down your body, lips dancing over your bare skin. You shudder as he passes sensitive spots knowingly, pressing a wet kiss. You feel muted pain near your hip, and you know he’s left a hickey. You shake your head to yourself: always need to leave his mark.

You’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll find the purple like a temporary handprint on your skin. You wonder what you’ll think of it; if you’ll want to scrub it off; if you’ll cherish it, mourn it when it’s gone.

“Fuck, I’ve missed the taste of you,” Matty says, then runs his tongue across your folds.

Pleasure strikes through the daze around you. Your senses sharpen; you gasp, rising your hips to meet him. His palm spreads across your hipbone, pinning you back on the mattress. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing at you as he licks your pussy.

He’s diligent. Hardworking and hungry, lapping with abandon as you moan for him. His nails dig into your hip. You drop your thighs open, offering yourself up for him willingly. Matty tongues your pussy, wet sounds ringing through the room as you drip on his chin. You’d feel a little shy at the pornographic melody — sopping noises and muffled screams and the reverberating moans of Matty as he devours you — if you weren’t so busy melting with the fibers of the sheets.

Your entire mind is floating near the ceiling. You feel disconnected from your body flapping around wildly, pressed firmly on the bed by a merciless hand. Waves of ecstasy go through your trembling hands. Pressure builds in your stomach. You fist the sheets uselessly, grabbing a handful of your own tits, only to bury home in the mess of his hair.

You lose your hands in his mane; you always lose all parts of yourself in him.

You scream his name, back arching away from the mattress, gripping his curls like a lifebuoy. The bedroom eclipses. You fall apart on his tongue, and as Matty climbs up licking his lips, you wonder what parts of you you’ve left behind on his tongue.

“Good?” Matty asks. He knows it was, but he looks at you openly, craving validation.

You smile lazily, still combing through his sweaty hair. You rub at his jaw. “Great.”

“Yeah?” His cheeks pink. It’s a little adorable, like this was the first time and not the last. The reminder digs into your lungs. Your breath catches, as though it was news all over again.

Matty kisses you, tasting like you. Your hands find the hem of his shirt, dipping under the stretched material. You find the familiar planes of his stomach, stroking a silky touch over it. He gasps in your mouth, stomach tensing beneath your fingertips. You raise it over his head, find his lips again with a grin.

He’s hard between your thighs, grinding into you. Your legs are limp from the previous orgasm, but he’s managing to bring you back to that dripping edge easily. He licks at your jaw, whispering dirty nothings in the crook of your ear, twisting a nipple. “So fucking wet for me,” he says. “Tastes so good. Wanna feel you. Wanna bury myself in you and never leave.” Your thighs clench, moaning.

Matty unzips his jeans, pushing them past his hips and kicking them off. He palms his bulge, groaning. Your fingers hook in the hem, and he watches you religiously, short-winded, as you start pulling them down. He freezes under your touch, head snapping up. You frown at his sudden polar reaction.

“Sorry,” he winces, stepping off the bed and rummaging for his pants. You rest on your elbows, watching him curiously. He digs into his pocket, fishing out a condom.

Oh, you think. Smart. Of course, none of you know where the other has been recently. You yourself have had a very brief affair with a redhead, although you didn’t manage to go very far with him before ending in puffy sobs. It’s not the same, it’s not the same, it’s not the same, it will never be the same, you remember thinking over and over, biting your palm to stop yourself from crying until it’d been too much.

It’s responsible to put a rubber. Safe. Matty probably doesn’t even know if you’re still on the pill.

But don’t you just hate the idea that you have to. That this, the last time, will be spent with a latex barrier between you. That you won’t feel him entirely, warm and pressing into you. That it’s not the same, even with him. That it will never be the same again.

That he’s walking around the city with a condom in his pocket, with the possibility of other women in his mind. That it wasn’t reserved for you, that anyone could be in his hotel room right now, that you just happened to meet him at the bar like all the others.

Tears prickle at your eyes. Matty grimaces again, repeating, “Sorry.”

“No, no,” you shake your head immediately, trying to fight off your watering look. “It’s smart.”

“It’s just—”

“No, I get it,” you cut him off, afraid he’ll start overexplaining and get into what he’s been up to without you. The girls he’s seen, the things he’s done with them. Do they come on his tongue, linger in his throat for days?

Does he think of the taste of them when he kisses you?

You bury your face in your palms, allowing yourself one indulgent moment of dark. You hope it can rewire your brain, wipe those filthy images of him with strings of faceless girls, licking and sucking and biting.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Matty asks. You snort meanly. As if you ever were okay before this. Doesn’t he know that he— that it— that you’re wrecked? Unraveling in the streets, unspooling in the underground, the yarn of you catching in the cracks of pavement. You’re half a woman and it’s only been five months.

You peek through the cracks of your fingers. He’s standing in the middle of the room, half-naked, clutching his condom. His eyebrows are furrowed, watching you like a hawk. As though you’d disappear in front of his very eyes if he didn’t. He looks worried. Perhaps he should be.

Moreover, he looks small. He’s lost all the Matty bravado you usually associate him with, falling through crowds and screaming a laugh. He seems quiet. Pretty, too, with his muscled shoulders and his rising chest. There’s a new tattoo near his hip, but you don’t linger on that.

Sighing, you rack your hands through your hair, sitting up. “I’m fine,” you say decidedly, as though you would make it true just by speaking it. Matty still looks at you unsure. “I swear I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he nods. Takes a vague step back towards the bed. Falters. “We don’t have to…”

“No, no,” you’re quick to jump in, drawing a hand out to catch him. “I want to.” You tug him back to you. He follows carefully.

Matty kneels above you. You suddenly feel overheated, melting just from his proximity. Your fingers trail over his stomach, adventuring down to his briefs. You pull them down, keeping heavy eye contact with him. His lips are parted, eyes volleying between your hands and your face, unsure of where to settle on.

His cock springs free. Hard and glorious, you lick your lips. How you missed it. How you missed him.

You wrap your hand around the base, stroking up to the tip. You gather some of the precum, lathering it down. A sinful groan leaves his lips. His fingers bury in your hair, racking to your nape to tug you into a kiss.

Your heart swoons. You beg it to grow quiet, but it smashes against its bone prison, begging to be let out. To go with him when he inadvertently leaves again.

“I want you,” you say against his lips. He grins, flushing, laying you back down on the bed.

He ruffles with the condom. You purposefully avert your eyes away, prentending it's not real. Finally, he lays over you, nosing your cheek.

His hips align with yours. He grips his cock, lining it up, bending down to press another fiery kiss to your lips. You open your mouth as you’ve always done, slipping your tongue in his. His tip teases your entrance. You hold back a moan.

It’s not a good idea. You told him as much when you kissed him at the bar, licking the vodka and lime off his lips. He didn’t agree or disagree, didn’t do much except coax your mouth open with a hungry tongue. You wonder what he really thinks about it now, but you were too occupied to ask back then.

You have half a thought of doing it now, but you’re too scared of what his answer might be. It seems neither one is right. What’s the point of giving him a loaded gun? The bullet would lodge between two ribs either way. You’re tired of bleeding out.

Slowly, Matty thrusts into you. You gasp in his mouth, breath stolen from your lips as your walls rearrange for him. A delicious tingle spreads up your spine. It’s been forever. You’d almost forgotten how galactic it feels to join him.

“Fuck,” Matty moans, head falling on your temple, as he bottoms out. “Fuck, finally. Finally.”

You bite your lip, arching your back, silently begging him to move. He doesn’t seem to be getting the message, or at least is decidedly ignoring it. He lingers in a private moment of silence, as though mourning the last first trust, as though eloging it.

“I missed this,” Matty admits, moving out of you. You nod in agreement, neck slack from the burning pleasure already building inside of you.

He’s slow and lazy, taking his sweet time. Each second is necessary, each trust purposeful. Matty is hardworked to make it last as long as possible. You’re glad. You’d stretch it into some impossible forever if you could. Exist only in this moment for the rest of time.

You roll your hips with him, finding him in the middle. He groans against your cheek, pressing kisses between each stroke. Your hand grips his shoulders, trying to accommodate to the shape of them, to memorize all the new parts of him. You drip down his back, running a finger up just to watch him shiver in bliss.

“You’re perfect,” Matty coos in your hair, jaw slacked. You grin, digging your nails into his back. “You’re so good.”

I love you burns on your tongue. You bite it just to make sure it doesn’t spill, grinding into him. Your clit hits his pelvis perfectly, making you whimper. Keeping this heavenly angle, you rub yourself against him, clawing at his back each time a delicious wave of bliss wipes through you.

“Pretty, little noises,” Matty revels, seemingly more to himself than you. “Perfect.”

“You’ll give me some complex,” you tease, although you can’t deny the coil of pleasure spinning around your brain at the praise.

Matty chuckles, shaking his head in your neck. “If I didn’t give you one before, I never will.”

You hold him by his cheeks, forcing him to look you in the eyes. Of course, his stare is momentarily distracted by your swollen lips. “Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough,” you whisper playfully.

He smiles, thrusting into you harder, watching with delight as your eyes roll in your skull. “You’re being a brat.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, choked by another moan. “Come on, Matty,” you cheer, caressing his jaw. “Tell me I’m the most beautiful.”

“Of course you’re the most beautiful.” There’s even a roll of his eyes, as though you were silly just for implying otherwise.

You smile fondly, feeling your stare softening. Your finger trails to his lips, drawing the shape of them. “I feel my ego swelling already.”

“Don’t let it. There can’t be two of us.”

“‘Course not.” You smirk teasingly, looking at him through your eyelashes, finger slowing on his top lip. “How about you degrade me then?” You used to love it, choking from a strong hand around your throat, moaning as he whispered my pretty little slut in the crook of your ear. Your pussy flutters at the idea, making Matty gasps.

Still, he shakes his head. “Don’t want to,” he whispers gently. Your breath catches, heart dizzyingly twisting on its aorta. The last time. To be cherished. To be loved.

Your finger continues its pattern on his lips, slow and admiring. Matty parts them, letting it dip into his mouth, sucking on it. Drools stick to it as you exit, finding your clit. You rub a head-twisting rhythm on your bud.

Matty’s head bends to watch you. His own hips snap quicker into yours, reveling in the spectacle. “It’s not like this with anyone else,” he says, something akin to worship in his tone.

Your heart stops. Anyone else is all that rings inside your head, cruel and mean. You know he’s been with other people. Know that he will. But— Fuck, you don’t want him to.

Matty is yours. Your legs wrap selfishly around his waist, trapping him in. He’s always been yours. You’ve walked a sure path all your life just for you to knock seamlessly into him. It’s what you were made for. You know this. You know this.

(Girls sucking on his fingers, dropping their legs open, moaning around his cock, grinning lazily as—)

You push his shoulders, rolling the both of you until you sit squarely on his lap. Matty finds your hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise. Good, you think, make it permanent.

You line his cock again, slipping him back into you. A shared groan of relief leaves both your mouths. You snap up and down, losing that sickly slow rhythm, languid and loving. You’re angry, trying to force away those wretched images invading your brain by blissing your brains out.

You play with your clit again, swiping furiously, jaw-slack as sloppy moans spill out of you. Your legs are already growing sore, but you power yourself on sheer will, riding him fast and hard. You screw your eyes shut, letting yourself get washed away by pleasure.

Matty doesn’t know what to do with himself, holding onto your hips, your thighs, your ribs, your tits. He travels through your body, leaving your skin burning as he grasps another pleading part of you. Your heart swells. Bliss teeters around the edges.

“Fuck, Matty,” you scream. “I’m close. Shit, I’m—”

He rolls you back under him, stealing your climax from your fingertips. Your eyes snap open, offense clear in the lines of your faces. “What—”

“I wanna see you,” Matty shrugs, fucking into you slow again. “Look at me.”

Annoyance at your stolen orgasm lingers in your limbs, but it’s quickly melted away as he twists a nipple, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck. Pressure builds in your stomach again, quicker than you’d have thought. Of course, you should have seen it coming. It’s Matty— he always knows how to get you trembling under him, begging for him in under a few minutes.

“Matty…” There you go, whining for him.

His head snaps up from your neck, propping himself on an elbow to properly watch you. He lets go of your breast, finding your limp hand instead, interlocking your fingers. He’s so pretty— curls messily falling over his forehead; lips raw for you; dark eyes twinkling with light.

Everything feels so intense all of a sudden. Your skin is electrified. You're hyperaware of him, of where he connects between your thighs. You roll your head, nuzzling your hair in his arm, practically purring. He smiles at you.

“Are you gonna come?” You nod faintly. Matty kisses you, thrusting faster.

Pressure grows and grows and grows. A deathgrip on his poor fingers. You cry in his mouth. Hot white blurs your vision. You fall apart, the last strings of you snapping clean cut. You’re a discombobulated puppet, screaming and crying and trembling under him.

Matty chases his orgasms, forehead pressed against yours. You feel nothing but the edges of him. He screams, hips faltering, spilling into the condom. “I love you,” Matty groans. You flinch. “Fuck.”

You keep your eyes firmly closed, breathing heavily, afraid of what the world will look like when you dare open them. What the room will be without the blurry daze of lust. What clarity release will bring. You focus on breathing. On forgetting how he lays still between your legs. Him, Matty Healy.

How long will he love me? Five months, and he still does. But the clock will turn, and the calendar will rip, and soon he won’t.

And what if— What if he doesn’t already? What if he said it in the middle of sex, like so many dazed men before him, high on the sweat and the moans and the head-shattering orgasm? What if you really were just a warm body met at a bar? Someone to use that fucking condom with?

“Hey, hey,” Matty whispers, wiping at your cheeks. He envelops your body with his limbs. “Shh,” he tucks a sweaty strand of your hair behind your ear, rubbing a thumb on the apple of your cheek, “don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

Shit, you didn’t even realize you were crying. You turn your head shamefully away from him, trying to hide your pathetic sniffles. So much for blowing his mind with tantalizing aloofness. How fucking embarrassing.

“It’s okay,” you say to appease him, but it comes out wet and watery. You wipe at your own cheeks, pushing his soothing fingers away, hiding behind your palms. “It’s fine. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” It’s tender, almost cooing, like trying to coax a cat from a very high branch. You shake your head, still refusing to come out and brave the world, see his face. “Fuck, I hate seeing you like this.”

“Yeah, well…” The word trails on, catching in the dents of your palm lines. Yeah, well, it’s all I’ve been lately. Your lips tremble. You choke back a cry. Yeah, well, you haven’t been around to see.

Matty sighs. His presence is grounding, heavy and warm around your shivering body. You’ve missed feeling him like this, reattaching you one string at a time to reality. He plays with your hair, trailing a finger over the shell of your ear, rubbing the stress lodged in your jaw. “It’s okay,” he whispers in your neck. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m sorry.”

It’s all you guys seem to be, sorry. Like that fixes anything.

With a deep breath, you push your palms away from your face, offering him a smile, grotesque in its obvious fakeness. He chews on his bottom lip, frowning at you. “I’m sorry,” he repeats— insists, really.

You half-want to rip him apart. “Me, too,” you say instead.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

A strike to your bruised heart. You feel it beat slower, like recovering from a punch. “No,” you agree quietly.

Matty watches you, clearly with something on his tongue. You wonder if he’ll speak it, what it could be. Instead, he slips out of you, running to the bathroom to throw the used condom. You sit up in bed, peering over the end of it, trying to situate your scattered clothing. Time for your walk of shame.

Matty walks back in the room, naked and still standing proud. Your heart pinches, a ghost of a smile hinting on your lips. He’s so known. Too known.

“You don’t have to go,” he says, frowning at you.

“It’s okay,” you reassure, pushing the sheets off of you. Your underwear is right there, thank God.

“I’m serious,” Matty insists. “I don’t— I don’t want you to go.”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “And what are we gonna do? Cuddle?”

He blubbers. “Yeah— Yeah, maybe.”

You sigh. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?” Loaded gun, grip offered first.

Matty opens his mouth, then closes it. His eyebrows furrow further. “No, but—” Your breath catches. The bullet lands in your heart, exploding into specks of iron, catching in the tissue and blood. You wonder, almost cheeky, almost cruel, how you’ll recover from that one. “But I want to. Just tonight.”

It’s not a good idea. You knew it from the start. It’ll be even harder to leave tomorrow. Harder than it is tonight. Harder than it was five months ago. Your heart is wretched apart, bleeding on the bones.

But Matty looks at you, open and vulnerable and begging, and you never knew how to resist him. You bite on your lip, sighing. You turn back to the bed, burying under the sheets.

Matty climbs beside you. He takes your waist, tugging you into his warmth. You nestle into him, smiling, hoping he doesn’t see.

“Just tonight,” you whisper.

“The last time,” he whispers.

#i did not make this too sad for y’all softies out there #matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy x reader #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #smut #imagine #writing #the last time

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gojo-mochi · 6 months

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Gojo loves your titties, call them his “Girlies.” He had a bad day? He’s resting his face right in the middle of them, one hand squeezing them occasionally as he whines about how mean Nanami or Megumi was to him earlier that day. Can’t keep his hands off of them, in public when you’re walking side by side, his hand on your waist, he would secretly move it up inch by inch until he can get a squeeze in. You lost count of how many times you had to slap his hand away when he tried to do it behind the back of his students or the other teachers. At home, there is no excuse now, whether you’re cooking, relaxing, or doing anything. Gojo is right there behind you, hand on your chest, chin on your shoulder or resting on your head. Talking the day away like his large hand isn’t encompassing your entire boob right now.

If he feeling frisky (which is most of the time, let’s be honest), he would slip his hand under your shirt or if you’re around the house braless, he would teasingly rub and pinch at your nubs until you start to whine. Then because he’s a jerk, he would pull his hands away and walk away like nothing happened until you go to beg him to touch some more. During sex it when he’s the worst about it, now he can’t keep his mouth off of your chest, licking, sucking, and biting at it. Leaving various love marks all around your poor titties, leaving it sore in the morning afterwards. He’ll happily massage the pain away though. Gojo will suck at your nipples like he’s trying to get milk out of it though, no matter how many times you say you can’t, he’ll try anyway, stating that maybe one day it’ll work.

When he’s fucking you, if he can see your tits bounce, his eyes are fixated on them, stopping to a halt with his cock buried all the way inside of you, stopping just when you were about to reach that peak. Your nails digging in his shoulder as you cried out, wondering why he stopped. Only for him to lean down and place a wet smack on each of your tits like; “Forgot to give my girlies their kisses~” And just because he’s so nice, he’ll let you return the favor and play with his tiddies as well.

#mdni #softy spice #softy talks to you (·•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ) (•᷄ •᷅ ;)#₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ softy writes #softy write #gojo headcanons #gojo drabbles #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #is this self coded cuz i dont have an ass #maybe waht r u gonna od about it OK

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utterlyazriel · 4 months

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azriel with a mate who’s messy enough they always manage to have something scruffy with their clothing— a collar untucked, a tag poking out, a belt twisted around at the back.

azriel always adores how they never seem to notice. he adores even more the chance to get closer to his love, always silently and politely tucking in tags or smoothing out wrinkles without being asked to — loving how his mate jumps in surprise at his touch but it soothes away into affection in half a moment when they realise who it is <3

#😭 he’s such a softy i swear to god #imagine like doing a beautiful dress reveal and he’s speechless #and as you leave the room to meet the others - he drags you back around the waist for just a moment #‘az? what- woah! i know i look good but keep those hands—‘ and he’s smirking as he pulls back and smooths over the fabric #‘you had a tag sticking out angel’#az is the type that wants to touch his mate as much as he can :’)#i had this thought and i was like it’s sooo very in character but i doubt i will write a fic for it so <3 have this #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader

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cacti-on-venus · 8 months

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ok listen to me. pissa au where philza is supposed to die and kristin sends her reaper to take care of it but the reaper is missa and every time he comes by to get philza, philza is like "hi mate" and makes him avocado toast and missa just leaves because he can't take this human

then kristin shows up to try and she also gets avocado toast and decides she can't bring this man to the underworld and that's just how he avoids death

#phissa #pissa #qsmp #deathduo #writing prompt #prompt #au #death gods are softies for philza minecraft

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lupeloto · 10 days

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“we, huh?” ficlet

i have another ficlet that i whipped up and made me jsksndjesj. i hope u guys enjoy it, i’m a little rusty so proceed with caution

Ian lays facing away from the door, comforter billowed around his bare chest, draped lazily across his arm. His head is buzzing, his thoughts shooting around a mile-a-minute yet he can’t seem to actually process a single one. He shuts his eyes tight, trying desperately to breathe through it. He’s been off for a few weeks now, under the false assumption that he narrowly escaped Mickey’s concern until he drops a small “you got an appointment tomorrow to get your meds fixed.” Initially, a rage filled him, sending a rush through his entire body and resulting in some snippy comment about how he can handle his own shit. Mickey didn’t react, just walked to where Ian sat, placed a quick peck on the top of his head and walked out of the room. After several hours of misery in company with his own thoughts, the anger was eventually replaced with a lingering guilty. It was a guilt he felt slightly too proud to admit, resulting in their conversations being limited for the rest of the day.

Mickey shuffles in, plopping down next to Ian in bed.

“Ay,” he finally settles, “i shouldnt’ve gone behind your back,” he fidgets, his head shifting down before Ian cuts him off.

Ian shuts his eyes, breathing through the initial anger that rose, landing on the understanding that it was all in his best interest. “It’s okay,” Ian turns to face him, head resting against his forearm, the former jumbled mess that was his mind now completely clear as his eyes catch sight of the gentle blue ones that stare back at him.

Mickey mirrors him, his head resting on his forearm as his hair sits in a messy black tuft against the pillow. “It’s gonna be alright, just gonna take a look at ya and make sure we get everything figured out.” His hands move to lightly trace Ian’s shoulder, going over every freckle and scar with a delicacy that only Ian knew.

Ian stares back for a moment, eyes fixated on the flutter of Mickey’s lashes as he spoke. Fuck, he loved this man.

“We, huh?” Ian scoots closer, the corners of his lips turn up slightly at the light red that flushes Mickey’s cheeks.

Mickey brushes it off, shifting onto his back mumbling a quick, “It’s you and me, Red.”

Ian smiles to himself, gaze fixed on the sight of his husband’s porcelain skin painted in a light dusting of freckles and a few scars that Ian traces delicately with his fingers, followed by a gentle peck. The curve of his nose, his lips, his lashes. He is nothing short of mesmerized.

“You must love me a whole lot then, huh ya softie?” Ian teases

Mickey lifts his arm behind his head and shutting his eyes, “like it’s breathing, Gallagher,” he huffs casually. He nods his head, gesturing for Ian to come closer.

Ian’s heart beats out of his chest threatening to land promptly before him on the bed as he stifles a small laugh. He’s never short of amused and enthralled by his husband’s ability to say the most romantic things in the most nonchalant nature. Mickey knows it makes Ian bashful and giddy like a teenage girl so of course he slips one in whenever he can.

He feels Ian’s eyes burning a hole in him, “And I don’t wanna hear shit about it, we all know you’re the soft one,” he cuts his eyes over, “now would you get your ass over here i’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

Ian happily complies, shifting to lay his head against Mickey’s chest. His large, freckles hand reaches to grab Mickey’s, nearly completely engulfing it as he rubs small, soothing circles with his thumb while his other hand mimicks on his stomach. Mickey digs his face deep into the tuft of curls, inhaling slightly and placing a small kiss on his head as both drift slowly to sleep.

#here’s them being gross #never be over ian calling mickey softie #and i’ll talk about it forever #i’m a little rusty writing them so be gentle #ian gallagher #shameless #gallavich fic #gallavich #gallavich fic rec #mickey milkovich

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misscinnamonroll16 · 3 months

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Brozone diner au: the day John Dory took off part one

this au does not belong to me, it belongs to @bzjohndory its gonna have to be multiple parts bc i write too much apparently

Business was slow, it was a hard winter and most trolls didn't leave their pods unless they had to. Bruce was the one to suggest it, knowing his brother hadn't had a day off in seven years. They all had special days that they got off like birthdays or anniversaries, except for John Dory. He didn't take days off, he worked open to close seven days a week. Bruce brought it up with others, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere without back up from their younger brothers. Bruce talked with Clay in between orders on the line. “I'm just saying, we haven't been that busy these past few weeks so I think he can just take a day off at least. We're all responsible enough to take care of the diner while he's gone.” Bruce said as he pulled some fries out of the fryer, portioning them on a plate and passing it to Clay. “Yeah but how do you plan on making him? We've tried making him before and he literally spent the entire day in the diner, working on other stuff ." Clay wondered as he finished plating a couple burgers, putting them in the window to be ran. At that moment, Floyd came into the back and leaned against the wall. “You good Flo?" Clay asked as he worked on the next order. Floyd nodded and held up a thumbs up but they noticed how his hand shook. Bruce threw some fries on a plate and slid a milk crate over to Floyd. “Sit down and have a snack. And while you're back here I wanna talk to you about something." Bruce said, handing the plate of fries to Floyd as he sat on the milk crate. Floyd nodded and started eating the fries while still leaning with his back against the wall. After a few moments of no orders coming in, Bruce crouched down next to Floyd. “Feel better?" Bruce asked while rubbing his back. “Yeah, I skipped breakfast this morning so I started to get the shakes." Floyd chuckled, placing the empty plate on the floor. Clay grabbed some dirty dishes they had on the line and grabbed the plate for the floor, taking them to the dish room. “So before you go back up there, I wanna talk to you about this thought I had. Clay thinks I won't be able to do it. I won't be able to do it by myself, I'll need all of your guys' help." Bruce said nonchalantly, watching for JD to be walking around. “What's up? I'm sure I can help somehow." Floyd said as he pulled his money out of the pocket on his apron. “I wanna get JD to take a day off. He hasn't taken a day off since he got ownership of the diner. If he had his way, we'd still be open on Christmas, and he would totally run this entire place by himself if he had to. He deserves it, he's kept this place afloat, put each of us through college and is here every goddamn day. This isn't gonna be like the last time, he's not gonna be allowed back in here until the next day.” Bruce said, looking Floyd in the eyes telling that he is completely serious about this. Clay came back in with clean dishes and began setting them up on the line. “I think he's crazy if he thinks he's going to get John to do it. He practically lives here, I don't think I've actually seen his place.” Clay said, placing plates in their proper spots. "Yeah but if we work together, I'm sure John will listen to us. You guys don't see him on the floor as much as I do. He's constantly moving, like if he stops, he'll pass out. Sometimes he shakes too. And Bruce is right, he's more than earned a day off, heck a week, we'll be lucky if we get one day.” Floyd said as he sorted his money, putting it back into his book. "I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it or need it. I'm saying that we might have to actually tie him down to get him out of here. He's not going to like the idea.” Clay said, cleaning up their prep area. "What are you guys talking about?” Branch said through the server window. Bruce stood up and motioned for Branch to come back there. Branch walked back onto the grill line, confused.

#trolls #trolls 3 #brozone #trolls clay #trolls floyd #trolls bruce #trolls john dory #branch trolls #fluff with angst #just like the tiniest bit of angst #idk how to write #idk how to tag this #jd being a softy

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years

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The Civilian and the Reluctant Hero

Summary: When Shireen's city falls to a Supervillain, she knows there aren't any Heroes to save the day. So she does in more ways than she knows.

------.

There’s a man in the garbage.

Shireen tries to keep walking. She watches her red heels take one step. Then another. She stops just past the mouth of the alley, unable to keep going. She glares down at her shoes.

It’s not safe to go see if that man is okay. Even before her city fell under the control of a Supervillain, it wouldn’t have been safe. It’s almost two in the morning and the streets are deserted, the only pedestrian being idiots like her who missed their last train home from visiting friends. Only about half the streetlamps are working. The bulbs are shattered in some, switches have burnt out in others. Apparently, supervillain dictatorships don’t care about repairing them. Everybody tries to avoid driving. The asphalt is chewed up by the Supervillain’s henchmen sparring all over the place. The street – once a main thoroughfare – looks like the set of a zombie movie.

Keep walking, Shireen tells herself. Her hand tightens on the strap of her satchel. She doesn’t have pepper spray anymore. If any of the Supervillain’s henchmen caught her with a weapon, they could brand her a Hero.

The whole city knows what their loving Supervillain does to Heroes.

Shireen turns on her heel and tiptoes into the alley. There aren’t any more Heroes here. Nobody to save the day or look out for people who are passed out on top of piles of trash. Maybe that’s why she’s carefully approaching the man in the garbage. She’s not going to save anyone, she knows that. But, maybe, she can help make sure he does whatever he’s doing in a hospital or something.

“Hey,” Shireen says. It’s a short alley with only one door. She eyes it suspiciously, but the restaurant it belongs to is long past close. She turns her attention back to the man lying just in front of the dumpster on several black garbage bags. “You okay?”

The man doesn’t respond. He’s wearing all black and if it weren’t for his shiny chestnut hair, she wouldn’t have seen him. His chest rises and falls which at least means he’s breathing. His head is turned away from her, but his neck doesn’t look broken. There’s blood running from a nasty cut at his temple, but it looks dry at the edges. She circles him so that she can see his face.

Shireen stumbles. “No,” she breathes. “No way.” She feels like the world is spinning, the battered brick walls on either side of her swirling into a kaleidoscope of color. The man is wearing a mask. A familiar gold mask that mimics the face of a porcelain doll with high cheekbones and a small slit where the mouth would be. There’s blood covering the forehead section, dark and ominous against the gold, but she knows this man. This mask.

King Midas. Their city’s strongest villain before the Supervillain takeover. Feared by all for his ability to turn anything (or anyone) into any sort of metal. A B-rank villain who always seemed to be one step in front of the heroes, the media, the citizens. King Midas, the villain responsible for the collapse of the city’s historic clock tower, for the theft of countless masterpieces, for the extortion and blackmail of every major politician to get elected into office.

King Midas who laid down his life trying to help the Heroes escape their execution. He failed. Their villain who always won failed that day and he lost his life in the process.

But he tried. And now he’s alive.

Shireen kicks off her heels and runs to get her car.

----------------.

Shireen stares at King Midas from the doorway to her bedroom. He’s still unconscious, but looks better with the tan bandages she’s wrapped around the cut on his head and the few she found on his torso. It’d been easy to cut off the remainder of his black shirt to get to them. Then, embarrassed by his semi-nudity and her own audacity in cutting his clothes off, she’d thrown her pale pink throw over his chest. He’s too tall for her small couch and his black boots hang cartoonishly over the armrest. On the coffee table beside him are a few bottles of water, a granola bar, a tray of fruit, and some ibuprofen.

She closes the door to her bedroom and pushes her dresser in front of it. Then, for good measure, she sets her laundry basket on top for added weight.

What the fuck am I doing?

Shireen ducks into her closet. She hid here when the Supervillain takeover happened, hunched over her phone as the Heroes were executed on live TV. Ever since that day, it’s been less of a comforting space and more of a suffocating one. She lurches out from behind her clothes and starts pacing her bedroom.

The best case scenario is that King Midas wakes up, takes the offerings, and leaves. Nobody can know that she fished him out of the garbage. Should she have written a note with instructions on it? He’s a villain, would he follow the instructions of a citizen?

She remembers the last time she saw him. The Heroes all lined up in front of City Hall, bound and powerless. The Supervillain twirling his gigantic scythe like it was made of straw. She’d counted the Heroes frantically, hoping that one of them would be free to save the rest. But all three of them were on their knees as the Supervillain raised his weapon above his head.

King Midas appeared just before the first swing. For a terrifying moment, Shireen had been convinced that he was the one who’d let the Supervillain past their city’s defenses. But then he’d spoken. He condemned the Supervillain’s actions. He told the Supervillain that the Heroes were property of King Midas and King Midas alone.

He’d fought. She remembers his mask catching sunlight, a gleaming gold next to the endless night of the Supervillain Apocalypse’s power.

She remembers the dull sound of his body when he fell, the sound transmitted directly into her closet by her phone’s excellent speakers. It had felt like the collapse of her entire world and she’d had to shut off her phone before Apocalypse killed the heroes too.

Why did King Midas try to help them? Why did he go so far as to lay down his life? And why, after seeing the Supervillain’s scythe enter his body, was he still alive?

Shireen doesn’t know. It’s not safe for her to know. She finally settles in the corner of her room so that her bed is between her and the door. King Midas will leave when he wakes up and then it won’t be her problem anymore. She’s okay with not knowing.

Civilians never live long when they know.

-------------King Midas POV-------

Waking up after getting thrown through downtown like a rag doll is not fun. Waking up after thinking he was going to die while getting thrown through downtown like a rag doll?

Priceless.

Grant’s legs are asleep. He’s on the world’s tiniest couch and the armrest is cutting into the back of his knees. He flexes his toes to encourage blood flow and sits up slowly. A soft blanket falls off his bare chest and into his lap. What?

His wounds are bandaged and he’s shirtless. There isn’t anyone in the room with him, but it’s clearly someone’s apartment. There’s a utilitarian kitchen tucked into an alcove, a shoe rack by the front door, and a coffee table between him and the TV. Could he have broken into a civilian’s apartment while concussed?

He feels something strange happen in his chest when he sees the water and food on the coffee table. There’s a tray of fruit, clearly cut by hand, arranged on a plate. There’s a granola bar, several bottles of water, and ibuprofen. He didn’t break into a civilian’s home.

Somebody saved me.

Grant has never been saved before. He’s never needed saving. Or at least he didn’t before this year and that dickhead Apocalypse came to town. Now it feels like he’s needed saving every other day, but nobody’s actually done it. He touches the granola bar with one finger. It’s a fig and nuts combo which is his least favorite flavor. He glances at the door he can sense his saviour behind. If they didn’t want to see his face while he was unconscious, he doubts they’ll barge in here to see it while he’s awake.

He unwraps the granola bar, removes his mask, and takes a bite.

Scratch that, this is his favorite flavor now. It still tastes like his grandmother’s house, but now it also tastes like the first piece of kindness he’s received in a long, long time.

He’s grateful that his saviour stays in the other room while he drinks the water and finishes the bar. Nobody has seen him cry in a long time. He doesn’t think he’d be doing either of them any favors if he professed his undying loyalty while sobbing, mouth full of fruit and granola.

He wipes at his eyes. He feels like he hasn’t had a chance to rest in weeks. King Midas finally admits that he’s tired. He’s tired of getting beaten up. He’s tired of battling every single day. He’s tired of always losing and never winning.

Honestly, he doesn’t know how the Heroes put up with him for so long.

Grant feels like he’s ten-years-old again as he sniffles. Saving the day is hard, much harder than the Heroes ever made it look. He’s been asking himself for months why he’s even stuck around to try and recover the city when nobody will thank him for his efforts. There are a hundred reasons why he feels obligated to stay, but when has that ever stopped him from leaving? He’s always been a villain.

He twists open a water bottle. It’s the best tasting water he’s ever tasted. He thinks he can finally understand a little bit of why the Heroes do it.

Grant finishes the fruit and takes the ibuprofen. He won’t endanger his saviour any more than he already has, which means he needs to go sooner rather than later. His shirt is in tatters on the floor so he wraps the throw blanket around his shoulders. They gave him food, water and medicine. Surely they wouldn’t mind sacrificing a blanket too?

He puts his mask on and feels better than he has in a long time. Which is saying something since he’s half-clothed and his mouth still tastes like fig and he’s just come to the realization that he’s probably going to get beat up again tonight.

A Hero’s work is never done. If he knew that, he would have never stood up to Apocalypse all those months ago.

He pauses on the way out the door. He has no doubt that his saviour is awake and listening. If he was in their shoes, he’d hide in the bedroom too. It’s safer that way. “Thank you,” he calls.

“…you’re welcome,” a woman says very quietly from the other side.

Grant swallows. Somehow, he expected her to ignore his words. He expected her kindness to go no further than what she’s already given him. But she heard him. She spoke to him.

“Someday, I’ll repay you,” he blurts out. He flushes under his mask. What is he talking about? Repayment? That’s a very Hero thing to say. He’s never felt like he had to repay anyone before. He’s King Midas! It’s his due—

“Oh no,” the woman says in the same trembling voice. “No thank you.”

No thank you? Grant opens his mouth to question that, but he hears another door open in the apartment building. Time to go.

Without another word, he slips out of his saviour’s apartment and back out onto the streets.

----------------.

Grant gets back to the penthouse before noon. He doesn’t bother buying another outfit on the way and the front desk doesn’t even flinch when he comes wandering in with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his mask dangling from his hand.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Aurum,” Michael says without looking up from his newspaper. “You have no messages.”

Sometimes Grant wonders if Michael even noticed Apocalypse taking over the city. The building’s manager has never missed a day of work and have never asked unnecessary questions. Grant nods and beelines for his private elevator. “Good, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Grant leans against the smooth, metal walls of the elevator and closes his eyes. It moves without him having to touch a button and he breathes in deeply for the first time in 24 hours. He’s home. He’s done for the day. And, considering it’s before noon, he might even avoid having to answer any unwanted questions.

The doors slide open and Grant steps out into his penthouse. Bright sunlight filters in through the thin curtains hanging over the floor-to-ceiling windows. The gentle sound of running water comes from the koi pound in the atrium to his right. The air conditioner is on at just the right temperature for a nap--

“Yo! Batman’s back!”

Grant barely resists the urge to get back into the elevator. Of course they’re awake. Of course. The one day he doesn’t mind them sleeping until four o’clock and they’re all rushing out to greet him

“I am not Batman,” Grant says for what feels like the millionth time. He fits his mask back on his face before turning to glare at Blue. The teenager doesn’t look the least bit sorry for upsetting him. They’re sitting in the koi pond and grinning up at him. Grant scowls. “Get out of there!”

“I need the water to practice my power,” Blue says. They hold up their hand to show the thin layer of water coating it. The koi swim in lazy circles around them. “Don’t you want me to get my powers back?”

“Yeah, Batman,” Yellow says. She’s eating macaroni directly out of the pot with a metal spoon. She scrapes it along the bottom. “The sooner we get our powers back, the sooner we get our city back. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted my archnemeses to not be actual children,” Grant snaps. Even when he was dying in that pile of trash, he wasn’t this irritated. “Don’t use a metal spoon in the pot, you’ll ruin it.”

There’s a gust of wind and Red is suddenly behind him. The boy is the oldest of the lot, but still barely eighteen. He throws an arm around Grant’s shoulders. “Just buy a new one, Batman.”

“I am not Batman.” He shrugs off Red’s arm and stalks to the kitchen. The teenagers follow him like ducklings. “All of you need to go put your masks on.”

“Why?” Yellow asks. She’s got braces. If she was wearing her mask, he wouldn’t know she has braces. She points at him and then to herself with her macaroni spoon. “You already know our faces.”

“No, I don’t,” Grant says. “I’m blind.” He hesitates in front of the liquor cabinet before passing it entirely. He’s uncomfortable drinking in front of literal children. “I don’t even know your names.”

“I’m Cal—” Blue starts to say.

“ La la la!” Grant rips open the refrigerator and yanks out a canned coffee. “No secret identities!”

“You’re rich, you’re mysterious, you adopted three orphans and spend your time waging silent battle against the evil of the city,” Red says. He’s already sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of orange juice in front of him. He gestures to the stool across from him. “That’s pretty Batman of you.”

“I am the evil of this city,” Grant says but even he can tell his heart isn’t in it. He sinks onto the stool and takes a pathetic sip of his coffee. “I didn’t sign any adoption papers.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Yellow says. She drops her meal into the sink and hops up onto the stool next to Red. “They haven’t arrived yet.”

Grant thinks about responding to that. He could say that he won’t sign them, obviously. He could say that they’re all idiots for living with him, the villain who spent the better part of last year beating them soundly. He could say that he doesn’t like them at all. He could monologue about his evil plan to nurse them back to health only to sacrifice them in the fight against Apocalypse.

He could, but…

At the beginning, all of those things were true. He knew that they were going to lose that day in front of City Hall. He knew what he was doing when he threw himself in front of them. He knew what it would cost him. Turning their clothing to metal at the last second was a Hail Mary move. He didn’t think that Apocalypse would actually fail to realize that all of them lived through the murder attempt.

But he did. And they lived. Sure, Red, Blue and Yellow were burnt out and badly hurt by the fight, but they were alive. He planned to use them to get Apocalypse out of his city…before he found out that the most persistent and versatile group of heroes to ever be assigned to him were children.

He thinks that’s when his plan really started going off the rails.

“You’re back late,” Red says casually. Grant opens his eyes to find the teen studying him. Red frowns at the blanket wrapped around Grant’s shoulders. “What happened to your shirt?”

Grant sighs and removes his mask. They’ve all seen his face at this point anyway. “I found your rocks.”

The three teen superheroes immediately turn serious. Red’s eyes flare with crimson light and Yellow’s long, golden hair lifts around her head in an ethereal breeze.

Blue leans forward. They’re the least outwardly affected, but their gaze is focused and intense. “Did you get them?”

“No,” Grant admits. He tries not to feel guilty when they sag in disappointment. “There were guards everywhere.” He gestures to his blanket-shirt. “I barely escaped with my life!”

“I definitely want to hear the story of the pink throw,” Yellow says. Her blonde hair settles in a puff around her shoulders. “Later. Apocalypse has our power stones? He didn’t destroy them?”

“They’re on display,” Grant says. He pulls out his phone and flicks to the most recent picture. It’s of a glass case on a pedestal. Inside are three crystals. Ruby. Sapphire. Topaz. “In his residence.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was literally thrown through a wall after taking that picture, so they might have been moved.”

All three teens shake their heads, eyes fixed on the picture. While powerful in their own right, the stones act as some sort of power store for them. At least that’s what they’ve told Grant. Their recovery without their power stones is slow. With them?

They’re basically invulnerable.

“He won’t be able to touch them now,” Red says. He’s the first to tear his eyes away from the photo. “They’re an extension of us. If we’ve got this much power back, our stones will be recharged. It will feel like falling onto the third rail if he tries to touch them again.”

“Either way, I’m going to try again as soon as possible,” Grant says. “I don’t want to risk him destroying them when he figures out who broke into his house.”

“Were you seen?” Yellow asks.

Grant shakes his head. “It’s only a matter of time before he finds someone who did though.” He thinks of fig granola bars and a small voice denying repayment. His jaw clenches. “It’s been getting risker and risker. The sooner the better.”

The teens nod grimly. Grant doesn’t know why they became Heroes. He doesn’t want to know. Nobody with powers enters this field with a good story to tell. But he sees the determination in their shoulders and he’s sad. He’s sad because they’re kids and they’re not supposed to be the ones doing the saving. They’re supposed to be the ones getting saved.

He wonders if anyone ever gave them granola, fruit and water.

It’s in that moment that Grant finally admits that he’s made his decision. He isn’t going to be King Midas ever again. King Midas died the moment that he leapt between these Heroes and certain death. King Midas disappeared when he saw what true evil looked like and how it nearly destroyed these kids.

He thinks about telling them that he has no intention of letting them near Apocalypse again. He’s going to protect them as much as possible from the Supervillain, even if he really dies in the process. He wants to tell them that, someday, they’ll be safe again, but he doesn’t.

Villains might lie, but he’s not a villain anymore, is he?

“I’m going to take a nap,” he says. He pushes back from the kitchen island, leaving his phone and mask behind. They won’t suspect what he has planned so long as he doesn’t have his mask. “Or maybe just go to bed. You kids order a pizza or something. I’m too tired to cook.”

Red and Yellow cheer for pizza, but Blue squints up at him.

“You good?” they ask. Their eyes flick to his blanket and then to the bandage wrapped around his head. “You go to the hospital?”

“A…friend patched me up,” Grant says. Later (if he survives) he’ll ask about how to repay a civilian when they tell you not to bother. Later, when it’s safe, he’ll figure out how he can ever begin to thank that person for their moment of kindness. That kindness is what’s giving him the willpower to do what has to be done. He ruffles Blue’s short and spiky hair. “I heal fast.”

He lets his comforting smile fall as he turns. He does heal fast. Faster than they know.

It’s Grant that leaves that night to defeat Apocalypse once and for all. Not King Midas. Just Grant.

That’s probably why he wins.

-----

Thanks for reading! I do intend for there to be a second part to this which will be posted on my Patreon this weekend and also published in a Superhero Anthology at the end of this month!

Next week’s story is already up on my Patreon if you’d like to support me an see it a full week early :)

Summary: Dulce is a Hero. The people who made her one better hope they never see her again.

Thanks for reading!

#my writing #my super powers #shireen and grant #King Midas is a big softie #the villain adopts heroes #but the heroes sort of force the issue #as they should

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