#he is the terror that you will never see until it's too late

[tfc-does-arts]

Updated Anthro designs! Still not too sure about Saint... but the rest, I'm very proud of! Details about them, and a full line-up will be under the cut!

Also I see some of you, curious about what's up with Monk: and here's your answer: Monk is also Nightcat here! I made these designs before the Watcher was revealed. Also, I promised myself I'd hold back on making a Watcher design until we see their powers.

MONK - He/They

16 years old

Little Brother to Survivor, of course. Gourmand is their Auntie!

Aroace

Transes this little guy's gender.

Aside from being quiet, they're just a sweet lil guy.

They have some pet lizards... one of which is a red lizard named Jewel.

The bag contains snacks!

SURVIVOR - They/them

22 years old

Older sibling to Monk, of course.

Panromantic asexual

Sees a lot of themself in Big Sister Moon... often just sits with her to vibe.

Dating a scavenger named Blue! Only Blue is allowed to use she/her with them.

Found two slugpups while wandering with Blue, and is taking care of them, with Auntie Gourmand's help.

HUNTER - She/it

24 years old

After making it back to No Significant Harassment, Sig realized that Hunter was so fast that they could remove the rot before it became too late.

Lesbian

Why are its legs plantigrade? Well, she was a test tube baby!

Can't really talk, an unlucky strike from a scavenger cut her throat.

It knows sign language though, and have lengthy conversations with Spearmaster, who's like family to her.

Wants to help Five Pebbles out.

GOURMAND - She/her

38 years old

Aunt to Monk and Survivor

Bisexual

INCREDIBLY good at cooking. Can turn basically anything into a meal that can fill you for a while.

Dating Artificer, helping her heal from her deeply broken heart with kindness.

That and she will just hold Arti until she calms down from seeing red.

ARTIFICER - She/her

35 years old

Mother to Bubble and Seafoam, both are deceased.

Lesbian

Gourmand found her about to kill a scavenger. She hadn't even noticed the large slugcat until she was lifted in the air, arms pinned to her sides. Gourmand held on despite all the struggling, giving the scavenger time to escape... but it was only when Arti finally stopped struggling was she set down and talked to.

Under the long clothes, she's underweight.

Nobody really sees her eye underneath her hat... but Gourmand has. It always flusters her when Gourmand compliments her.

She's... hesitant towards slugpups. Her terror of losing her own still sticks with her.

Gourmand helps her a lot... she hopes one day she can repay the kindness she feels as though she does not deserve.

SPEARMASTER - They/it

31 years old

Aroace

Like Hunter, because it was a test tube baby, its legs are plantigrade!

Most messengers have their iterator's insignia on their person. In Spear's case, the amulet on their choker is the symbol of who their creator is.

Working with Hunter and Seven Red Suns to try and help fix Pebbles, or at least get him out of his superstructure before it collapses.... even if it itself is reluctant.

Pretty chatty actually! They and Hunter's conversations can go on for hours.

RIVULET - Any

27 years old

Polyamorous Pansexual

This little guy has been many places, though their favorite places to visit is the region that surrounds the iterator Chasing Wind.

They never stay in one place too long, but they always make sure to visit whenever possible.

Though you see him less than Saint, she's still always willing to tell the latest gossip... Very popular with the Scavenger King's group in the Outer Expanse to learn what scavenger politics are going on.

The only one who knows what Saint is capable of and takes it incredibly seriously.

SAINT - They/them

26 years old...?

Aroace

Quiet. Not mute, just... very quiet. Prefers listening over talking.

Very rarely do they ever show up. But it feels as though they're more... waiting for something.

Really only ever talks to Monk.

Some iterator logs think they saw Saint leaving Sliver of Straw's can... but that's not possible. Saint is still young. Sliver's death happened so many cycles ago....

ENOT/INV/??? - Any

???Adult???

What is even going on with this guy.

Never front facing... somehow.

Hurts for Moon to look at her for too long... other iterators get a malfunction in their systems.

Often found in deep in the Subterranean... most likely getting snatched by Train Lizards.

#my art #rain world #rain world anthro #rain world art #rain world downpour #artists on tumblr #rw survivor #rw hunter #rw slugcat #rain world fanart #rain world slugcat #rain world rivulet #rain world spearmaster #rw spearmaster #rw saint #rw artificer #rain world artificer #rw gourmand #rain world gourmand #rw monk #rain world monk #rw anthro #rw anthro au #rw rivulet #rw barbecue #rw enot #rw inv #rw invenot #rw ??? #rw sofanthiel

[urhoneycombwitch]

my baby puts his mouth on me

foreword: okay this is kind of written as a bonus scene for i know what they call you bc that version of reader deals with being quiet, too! (not necessary to read that one first but does provide a bit of context as far as interpersonal setting.) sort-of AU that ignores most s4 events. anon request can b found here 💖

wc: 2.2k

cw: discussions of college, shy!reader, oral + fingering (R receiving), R has breasts and a V, weed usage, softdom!Eddie, shifting POV a bit soz 

___

Somewhere between Eddie’s late nights at band rehearsal and your early morning diner shifts, you’ve both been too exhausted to properly fuck when you do see each other, barely time for a spare handjob in the past week. You’re crawling out of your skin by the weekend, missing and craving Eddie in equal measure.

So when your Saturday off happens to line up with his, Eddie makes an afternoon of it- picnic lunch on the shore of Lover’s Lake, lazing around in the August sun while your food settles, then stripping down to your underclothes (even though the spot Eddie scored was totally isolated, you’re still leery about skinny dipping) and cooling off with a quick dip in the lake.

You’re both sprawled out in the blanketed back of Eddie’s van, sun-warmed bodies pressed together, legs dangling out of the open rear door; smoke hangs hazy in the air from the joint being shared. 

“Almost end of summer,” Eddie says, nestling his nose into your neck, arms wrapping around your middle. He can’t look at you, dread unfurling in his stomach but needing to ask, to clear the air, to prepare in case this is one of the last times he gets to touch you like this- “Thinkin’ of going to any colleges?”

”Maybe.” One of your hands slides into Eddie’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp while the other lifts the joint to your lips for a long drag. “They love me at the diner and I make good tips, so I’ll prob’ly keep doing that. Can’t afford anything fancy, anyways- I’ll likely just go to Hawkins Community.”

You still haven’t told him the full story of the mall fire, yet- or about the underground world simmering beneath the surface. He never pushes you to share more than you’re comfortable, which you’re grateful for, but he knows something happened: something that paints your sleep with dark night terrors, something that causes you to slip in the middle of conversations, mind spiraling where he can’t follow. 

For reasons you can’t fully explain to Eddie, college is real low on your priority list- you’ve dedicated this summer to reconnecting with base instincts (weed and Pretty Boy being at the top of the list).

Meanwhile, Eddie tries to still the vibrant thrum of his heart at the news of you staying local, possibly for the next few years; he lifts his head to press his lips against your collarbone. “You should go to college. Jus’ try it out, at least. You’re certainly smart enough.”

“Mmm-” you hum around the joint, another inhale-exhale of smoke before murmuring, “So are you. For the record. We could apply to be nerds together, if you want-”

With a sharp gasp, your sentence drops out of midair when Eddie kisses over your nipple, already peaking through the thin material of your bra. In his hair, your grip tightens, and Eddie groans.

In one fluid movement, he props himself into his elbows on either side of your torso, bottom half of his weight pinning you in place, plucking the smoldering joint from your grasp to dampen it into a nearby ashtray.

“Gonna be my little student,” Eddie says, wet kisses trailing down your neck, flash of teeth making you squirm. “Get you some academic… skirts. The ones with the pleats. Maybe some stockings…”

“You’re so- oh, fuck- dirty…” It’s hard to keep the admonishment in your voice as Eddie noses between your thighs, bumping at your clit through the thin cover of high-cut cotton.

“Mm-hmm.” He seems pleased with the already-visible wet patch, your core leaking steadily as he burrows deeper, until all his senses are blacked-out with nothing but the sharp tang of your honeyed arousal- who needs weed. He could get high off your smell alone.

Eddie suckles at your throbbing clit, purring encouragement low in his throat when your hips jolt forward. “And you love it.”

He’s one deep inhale from being completely pussy-drunk, mouthing sloppily at the junction where thigh meets pelvis, nibble fingers toying at the band of your underwear. He slides them down and off your legs, and you let him, wiggling in anticipation against the pressure he’s keeping you pinned with.

“Could take an electrician course.” Well aware of how close to the wire this conversation is sliding, you let the crown of your head tip back, staring at the van’s ceiling, handfuls of the flannel floor blanket squeezed into fists as you try getting one last word in- “You’re good with your h- hands.”

Said hand is cupping your bare sex, warm and wide between the V of your legs, other hand pushing your thigh back to spread you wide, obscene and on display how Eddie likes; embarrassment blooms hot in your chest as he runs a finger through your folds, slick practically loud against the far-off backdrop of forest sounds.

“What was that about my hands?” He’s teasing now, can hear it in his voice even though you can’t see the lazy grin it’s paired with; a long middle finger breaches your entrance, wet warmth swallowing the length greedily.

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing. There will be a time for arguments again but right now, with a second finger addition and Eddie’s mouth working you up, there’s no room for speech.

On your end, at least- Eddie’s proven on multiple occasions to be a master at multitasking, talking you through it while managing your pleasure, and this afternoon is no exception. His fingers curl expertly into the gummy front wall of your cunt, mouth running every second it’s not latched on to your pulsing button, dirty talk smooth and easy in his low timbre.

“Yeah, honey, that’s it. Fuck, you’re so hot. Can feel you squeezin’ around my fingers, y’so tight, angel, shit… like that- there you go…”

Etcetera. Until he’s bullied his way completely into the cradle of your legs, lying flat on his stomach to get as close as possible; until your cunt is spasming around the push and pull of his fingers, wet dripping and pooling into his palm and down your ass to the blanket below.

There’s a familiar tightness coiling in your stomach, thighs bracing around Eddie’s ears in anticipation of the unraveling. A pleasure-soaked sob gets caught in your throat, dull whine escaping instead through clenched teeth, grip on the flannel doubling until your knuckles creak in protest.

“Hey.” 

There’s a confusing lack of authority or command in Eddie’s voice; you sift through the brain fog of arousal, propping your weight up into your elbows to look down at him.

Eddie looks crazy. Debauched. Lips pink and spit-soaked, chin shimmering, pupils blown out with lust as he presses a chaste kiss to the wiry curls at your mound. “Kinda quiet up there. Everything okay?”

His thumb sweeps a comforting path up the soft skin of your thigh, the abrupt switch from animal to gentleness making your head swim. He’s still looking at you with those puppy-brown eyes, fingers still buried to the hilt but unmoving; you stammer out an excuse.

“Um- yeah. M’sorry. It’s just been awhile, since you’ve had me… like this.”

It’s the truth; over the last busy week in your lives, time has eroded some of what Eddie’s been working on building with you, bravery at making noise faded with the lessened practice time.

“No one else out here, ‘cept you and me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s coaxing his fingers back into steady rhythm, watching your face carefully for any signs of withholding. “Can make as much noise as you want. Lemme hear. Please?”

Usually, Eddie’s not so soft- a sharp crack of palm to ass, flesh jiggling as he draws all the noises he wants from you- but here, in the back of the van, heady weed and warm sun an intoxicating mixture as he asks you to melt for him. 

You obey. Let the floor take your upper body’s weight again as you fuck yourself on his fingers, hips lifted and seeking release. His mouth seals over your clit again, tip of his tongue lashing quick and precise against it, frizz of his curls tickling the insides of your legs as he shakes his head.

The weed is certainly a help as trapped noises heave from your chest, mouth falling open, lax and pliant with moans. “Oh, my god, Eddie. Fuck. Holy shit. Hah- right there, please, don’t stop-”

As if he would. Eddie moans in tandem with you, his own hips chasing the maddening pressure of the floorboards against the hard jut of his cock, leaking through the front of his boxers as he adds a third finger, spurred on by the fountain of breathy words this pulls from you-

“Oh god, oh god- f-fuck- Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

Your speech devolves into a mindless, babbling chant of his name. That coil pulls taut, has you crunching forward in a half sit-up, hands fisting at the roots of Eddie’s hair to hold him in place (perhaps harsher than you intend but based on the way his hips stutter and grind, you can safely hazard a guess that he’s into it). 

The pattern breaks when he grazes his teeth against the pulsing nub in his mouth; you have just enough time to gasp out, “I- I’m coming, Eddie, shit, m’gonna come-” before the orgasm hits you full-force.

There isn’t room in your brain to hide all the noise that threatens to suffocate, so you let them all out, muscles tightening and flexing around every bright point of pleasure that he fucks you through. High-pitched whines, panting that wracks your lungs, a moan to top it all off that feels like it comes from your toes. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sounding wrecked himself as he climbs back over your body, silver chain necklace and dark curls swinging in front of your blissed-out face. “Fuck, princess. That was so hot.”

“Yeah?” Bashfulness hasn’t fully settled in yet, you’re still loopy from the force of your pleasure, arms slipping over the boy’s freckled shoulders as he leans down to kiss you.

His tongue has a bright tang of you, as you lick into his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulder to trail down his chest. Dark ink whorls beneath your fingertips as you reach the scratchy trail of hair just before his boxers-

“Shit.” Eddie hisses, forehead thunking into yours when you palm the hard length of him, precum soaking through the fabric, softness of your palm contrasting with the damp and rough drag of cotton. His long lashes tickle your cheek, eyes fluttering closed, soft exhale magnified by close proximity as he slowly pushes into your hand. 

You’re mildly surprised he hasn’t come, yet- usually Eddie gets off on getting you off, then uses the rest of his energy to make you both come again, together. 

What Eddie hasn’t told you yet is that he’s done some prep of his own, this week: every night you haven’t spent in his bed, his own spit-slicked fist has taken him right to the edge, stopping just short of coming with a choking grip at the base. The idea was to build up his stamina a bit, to take advantage of lonely evenings in service to a future you.

A very noble cause that is quickly being forgotten as your hand moves with more intent and pressure against his aching cock- the drug haze is almost enough to have him completely at your mercy, to tuck his nose into the curve of your neck and find sweet release by way of your pretty palm.

But he recovers. Get just enough distance from the warmth of you to clear his mind and snake his own hand down between your bodies to capture your twisting wrist. 

The protest dies on your lips when Eddie brings your hand to his mouth, sucking your middle and index finger against the pad of his tongue, saturating your digits in spit.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do.” His eyes stay locked on yours, even as he guides your newly-wet fingers back down your bodies to rest atop your cunt. “You’re gonna touch yourself until you come. Again. And if I feel like you’re holding out on me with your noises, I’m gonna make it real difficult for you to make any noise. At all.”

A thrilling shiver races up your spine, goosebumps prickling in response to the shift in Eddie’s tone. His eyes flick to your lower lip, which he bites, unable to help himself, before following the path of your hand south.

There will be time for unwinding the past, for dreaming about the future. For now, there’s a boy between your legs and the feverish glow of summer calling your name. 

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you

[harleehazbinfics]

Love eat?

Alastor x cannibal servant!reader

Original Concept | Additional Concept

Word count: 1764

A/N: sup im back with more crack, jk. but yeahhh i did a oneshot of that imagine and now we're here. i've channeled my inner crazy and that led me to this oneshot lmao, sorry if it's not up to par but pls enjoooooyyyy!

ps I can't find the artist pls help. chainsaw man falling devil spoiler sorry

“Yuta!” you called your boyfriend from where you sat waiting for him.

“Sorry, I'm late,” he says with an apologetic smile, placing his bag to his side while he sat in front of me.

“No, it's ok! You're doing your best in school. I was the one who asked you to eat with me anyway,” you responded clapping your hands together, appealing cutely to your boyfriend.

“But you're busy with your culinary classes too. I'm sure you're working harder than I am!” He replied, making you smile at how genuine he sounded.

You reached inside your bag and presented 2 lunch boxes in front of him. His eyes widen in anticipation while you opened them, revealing a well plated pork cutlet and a healthy salad in the other lunch box.

“I have! I learnt a few new things during class, and I wanted you to be the first to eat my cooking. I hope you like them!” He smiles at you, flattered that he was the first thing on your mind when you made the meal. He always loved your cooking.

The both of you met when you were first years, he was just roaming the halls familiarizing himself with the school layout when he heard you squealing inside a room and helped you put out a small fire that you accidentally created while you stayed behind in the Economics Room to relearn the basics taught to you that day. So, he stayed with you until the end so that you won't set the whole room on fire this time, and as thanks you gave the meal you completed to him afterwards. As he tasted it, threw it back up when he tasted how salty it was, so you resolved yourself that you'd make a decent meal for him, and that's where your friendship to relationship started.

“Wow! You've really outdone yourself this time!” He yells with stars in his eyes, savoring each bite.

You laughed at him and pushed the salad closer to him, and said, “You can eat all of it. It's all for you!”

“Really? Thanks a lot! It's so great to have you as my girlfriend!”

-=-=-=-

“Yuta?” you asked with wide eyes as you eyed the knife in his hand that was pointed at you.

“I-I can't take it anymore. I don't want to eat any food you make for me anymore, it’s disgusting. I don’t want to eat humans! I hate it, I hate it, I HATE YOU!” He screamed lunging at you.

He pushes the knife to your stomach, a few moments later you feel the metallic taste in your throat, letting the liquid drop from your tongue as you took has face that held great remorse for you. You smiled at the pretty expression on his face and rubbed your thumb on his cheeks, smearing it with your own blood.

"How pretty. I love all the expressions you make. Do it more," you coughed out.

His expression changes from fear to disgust and anger. Vengefully, he takes your wrists binding them together in his forceful grip and continues to stab you until you died from the pain and blood loss. However, despite your body tensing and losing color on you face, he never stopped. After his knife slipped out of his hands from your blood, he threw himself at you and bit into your neck.

Devouring you. Bit by bit.

---

You've been aimlessly roaming around hell and chopping sinners with your cleaver that were dumb enough to pick a fight with you. At the moment, you sat on top of a building waiting for something to happen while eating an beefy arm starting from the shoulder.

While you were gnawing at it with a blank expression on your face. You were surprised when a massive green explosion appeared out of nowhere, inducing a few screams of terror.

Just a couple blocks in front of you, you see a giant red deer demon with black tentacles coming out his back as he crushed sinners in his hands and consuming them.

You immediately dropped the arm you were holding and watched as the overlord showed off his power against you, sinners. Unable to hold yourself, you followed his parade of chaos and squeaked when he appears behind you wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"How rude of you to follow me around, while I was playing with my meal," he remarks with a snarky tone.

You got distracted with his voice. How could someone be so seductive with a radio filter on, you ask yourself.

"It's also rude to stare, you know?" He adds, starting to get pissed off by how unresponsive you were as you just kept gawking at him.

"I was just admiring how powerful you were, sir! I've never seen a demon turn into that kind of form. I-I was enchanted!" You yelled at him, hands clasped together while fan-girling at his abilities with hearts in your eyes.

"My, I've never seen such behavior from a person such as you. Are you eager to be eaten?" He laughs before his eyes turning black leaving his red pupils and radio dial iris.

"Yes! I would be happy to!" You answered almost immediately, making him revert to his normal self, getting caught off guard with your reply.

He hums turning his head in confusion and irritation, “Well, that just won’t do. I only like it when my prey gets scared rather than having a sacrifice like you.”

He tries to ride away in his shadow but before he could do so, he halts in his steps when you step in front of him. “Please! I’ll act scared! I’ll do anything! I just want to be with you!” you cried dropping to the floor pathetically making him deadpan to the sight.

He huffs, and turns his back at you, “Hmm. Do what you wish.”

With that, you stayed and served Alastor for years. You’ve arranged deals for him, did his bidding on some occasions and even represented him a few times in meetings. However, your main occupation was his personal chef.

Sure, one could argue that he likes his meats raw and cooks for himself sometimes. But do you expect that man to cook every meal for himself for a nearly a century? Overlords don’t have that much free time, you know? (or at least that what Sir Alastor says) and you happily take on this task when he discovers that you were an excellent chef, living up to his own impossible standards.

However, you find yourself in a very peculiar situation.

“(y/n)? Is it really you?”

You’ve come face to face with your first love and your killer. You couldn’t help but leap up from you position and hug him while he did his best to get away from you.

“Yuta! You’re finally in here! I knew you’d come to find me, hehe,” you cried still hugging him while he struggled in your mighty grip. “I’ve been waiting for you, y’know?” you said to him with your eyes darkening at him giving him the familiar dangerous look in your eye making him tense up and unconsciously threw you across the room with his strength.

You didn’t hit the impact when Alastor raised his arms and caught you before placing you on your feet, ignoring your heart-eyes as usual.

“And who is this with you?” he asks the group, almost sneering at the new man.

“This is Yuta! He’s our new guest! We found him in Cannibal Town, and he asked us where we were, he’s now he's here!” Charlie introduces excitedly holding Yuta by the shoulder.

“Ooh, is he a bad boy?” Nifty asks looking flirtatiously.

“Why, of course! He’s the one that killed me after all!” I announced with a smile. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

He rolls his eyes and says to Charlie, “I’ll be fine anywhere as long as I don’t get involved with her. I’ll find a room myself.”

You all watch as he shows himself to one of the rooms while Charlie replies, “Uhh, ookayyy?”

“So, what’s with you and that guy?” Angel first asks, “There’s a lot of sexual and… psychological tension there.”

“Yeah, and what do you mean he killed you?” Vaggie continues, while all of them looked at you.

“Oh, you know, couple fights. One thing led to another and poof, I was gone,” you explained simply with a laugh, making Nifty laugh as well.

“So, you two dated?” Angel asked in surprise.

“Exactly, why?” I smiled at him.

“Uhh, sure. He just looks like a boy failure to me. How the fuck could he bag a hottie like you!” Angel laughs throwing his head back.

"What a crazy bitch," Husk comments blankly looking at you before peeking at Alastor's annoyed face making him raise his long brow.

You tilt you head to the side confused, before Charlie would come in and say that she’d explain it to you.

A few weeks gone by, and you didn’t stop pestering your ex with things he hated when you couldn’t get enough of the expressions on his face. You loved seeing him get so angry with you, you just loved getting on his nerve. Or it could be some fucked up enjoyment of how you remembered being eaten by him half dead that sent chills to your body every time.

“That’s it! I’ve had enough of your shit!” he yells bursting in flames.

“Oh, what? Cat got your tongue baby boy?” you teased him hands behind your back trying to annoy him.

“Oh, fuck you!” he screams as he runs forward at you trying to land a punch which you jump away from effortlessly.

He eventually tires himself out and sees you giving the deer demon googly eyes that ticks him off. He loads up a fire blast and shoots it at Alastor. You intercepted it in between not noticing him following behind it and takes hold of you neck choking you.

“Not bad,” you wheeze out with a wicked grin, setting him off and squeezing your neck tighter.

He fails to notice the black portal underneath him where a black tentacle reaches out to his ankle and wraps around his body, making him let go off you.

“I’d rather you not mess with my property if I were you,” Alastor announces menacingly as he had you in his arms. You feel starstruck as you were being princess carried and being defended by the one you admired. “I don’t like sharing, so this is my last warning for both of you to not get involved with each other.”

“Yes, sir! Anything for you!” you scream your heart out that felt like it was beginning to burst out of your chest and leap in your throat, while you give him heart eyes that he ignored, while he brought both of you to his chambers.

"Are you finally going to eat me, Sir Alastor?"

"Shut your mouth before I stitch it up for you."

"Yes, sir! I love you! 💕"

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin lucifer #hazbin vaggie #alastor x reader #harleehazbinfic #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor

[lvlyghost]

pairings: simon riley x f!reader

summary: reader suffers from a chronic illness and ghost finds out.

wc: 1.1k

tw: chronic pain, chronic illness, slight angst i think, comfort. not edited and not proofread. that's it.

a/n: sorry y'all i'm struggling a lot with writer's block lately so i'm writing these silly little things to help me out of it so don't mind me!

By the moment Ghost enters his shared office he's frowning so hard that he fears it might leave a permanent mark on his forehead. The first day wasn't unusual as it was normal for soldiers, technicians and federal agents to come and go. Gaz is humming under his breath and greets him with a slight nod when he spots him but he barely returns the gesture. His desk is full of reports waiting to be filled some labeled 'Urgent' in big red letters.

Sitting down he manages to get done the first stack of papers but his mind was lost elsewhere barely paying attention to the work he never had trouble getting done in no time. Part of him wonders if Kyle will tease him if he asked about her. But better asking him than Johnny. As he leans back in his chair, fidgeting with the pen in his hands. Gaz barely pays attention, too enraptured by whatever he's watching on his own computer.

"Where's the girl?"

The Sergeant startles at the sudden sound of his deep voice. Hard and demanding.

"Sir?" He half chuckles when brown eyes meet each other.

"Have you seen her? She's supposed to report back to me and she hasn't." It was only half a truth. She did have to report to him every progress made for future missions, give him the intel so he can report to the Captain. The thing was, there were no missions taking place soon. No black ops, nothing. But Kyle didn't know that.

Gaz lifts his brows, trying to figure out who his Lieutenant was talking about, until it hits him.

"Oh." He murmurs. "The tech girl, Lt?" He shrugs. "Haven't seen her in a few days, have you tried calling her or you know... going to the women's barracks?"

Ghost scoffs as if the mere idea was ridiculous.

"No. Guess she'll show up."

She has to.

Standing up he exits the office under Gaz's questioning look. The hallways feel endless the more he walks to the tech wing, he knows if he passes down that specific hallway he'd be able to see through the glass that serves as walls if she's there or not.

Much to his already building annoyance she's not there.

-

Rolling onto your back you squeeze your eyes shut once more. An unyielding pain throbbing in the back of your skull shoots yet another wave of nausea making you feel more miserable than ever.

It's been two days since the whole ordeal started. It began with a subtle pain that couldn't recognize the symptoms at first, merely blinking away the black dors that started to blurred your vision one afternoon when you were trying to fill the reports for Ghost, pages and pages of new intel recovered from long lost contacts online.

Saying it was hard to dig in all those dark places was an understatement. You had tried to push the symptoms of uneasiness to the back of your mind, typing and decoding algorithms for what could be days. Days without sleep or proper and much needed rest.

So, when the first wave hit you had ran to the bathroom, throwing up what little you had eaten that day. Oh how you hated it. Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes and the terror began, everything went down hill from there.

Shutting the computer off you gathered your belongings. The corridors were in complete silence, abandoned hours ago when everyone went to their dorms.

You remembered picking up some of your things from the women's barracks and retreating to your personal dorm where no one would bother you. As a member of the task force you had a place for you alone —just as the rest of the team— and you're grateful because the next days were a nightmare.

The curtains were tightly closed. Not the tiniest bit of light could pass even if the sun burned brighter. The earplugs helped but they didn't do much to alleviate the external noises. Fuck why were the soldiers so loud? You asked to yourself, jaw tight in an effort to soothe the pulsing on your forehead.

After laying in the same position for another hour you decide to get up, dragging your feet in an enormous attempt to get to the bathroom. With the lights turned off you undress as quickly as you can; standing on your feet is hard enough already but you wait nonetheless for the bath to fill with cool water.

With numb extremities you step in and lower yourself, it's almost soothing and calming the way the water swallows your body and then your head. Ever since these headaches —these migraines— started to interfere, you learned that cool water could help to ease the symptoms. Time passes by and when you emerge your teeth chatter, lips turned purple but it was worth it. God was it worth it.

You're exhausted, this has taken a toll on you. Fitting your pajamas feels like an impossible task. Your head throbs with the slightest of movement. And then the door opens just a tad, reveling the dark shadow of the man you'd recognize anywhere.

"Ghost," you murmur acknowledging his presence, half shocked half embarrassed that he's right here in your bedroom. Your bathroom.

"Why is everything dark?" His voice is too loud and it makes you flinch; he's quick to notice even in the sheer darkness. He notices the whimper in your voice when he speaks too loud. He notices the way your body sags, and when he takes a step close you lean on him. Forehead pressing down on his broad chest. "Hey." He calls you, voice lowering this time. "Let me take you to the bed."

And you almost want to say something it. Make a comment about it being inappropriate but you're too sick to even do it so you let him guide you. You let him lay you down and surprises you when he follows.

Bodies curling against the other. You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes so hard until the pain soothes. "You never told me about it."

"Never had the chance. Thought you hated me, remember?"

Ghost sighs. He had never intended for you to feel like that around him, he just wasn't accustomed to having such a nice person around him. You were so different from everything he knew.

"Forgive me, love." He mutters. "They're gonna start asking questions."

"What do you mean?" You grab him by the shirt when a sudden wave of nausea hits you. He caresses your hair in a calming manner.

"I asked Garrick about you." Before you can fight it a smile spreads on your face.

"Johnny..." you snort, regretting it the moment the laugh rattles in your brain. The Scot is about to have a field day when he finds out. "Ow..."

"Will never hear the end of it." His thumb presses down on your temple massaging the spot. "Better?"

"Yeah." There's a moment of brief silence where all you can hear is the sound of feet outside your dorm. People carrying on with their lives. "Would you stay with me tonight Lt.?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

#cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #simon riley x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost x reader #call of duty ghost simon riley #cod simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley x you #ghost modern warfare #ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2

[writingsbychlo]

when you hold me | azriel

summary; azriel doesn't realise quite how touch-starved he is until he finally gets a little bit of affection, and he loves it. word count; 17,202 notes; this is in bullet form. it is insanely long. I have no excuses.

so here’s the thing, azriel's love language is touch, okay?

he’s touch-starved and a physically affectionate person, but he got so used to being cast out that he really repressed that side of himself.

even when he didn’t have to anymore, he had a reputation to uphold, by then.

he's the shadowsinger. the spy. the illyrian brute. the night court terror. silent but deadly. moody and quiet. darkness personified.

not really someone who cuddles, y’know?

now, luckily for him, cassian and rhys have different reputations, and they’re both quite physically loving too, so he doesn’t have to let his need for physical attention show.

cassian is constantly touching him, and everyone.

so he really doesn't struggle to get affection there, he can pout and roll his eyes and frown as much as he wants, but he secretly loves it, and cassian secretly knows it.

all the hair ruffling, arms around shoulders that turn into a headlock, and dramatic leaning/falling into az that cassian does? az eats that shit up. loves it.

rhysand also does a lot of touching. he isn't so much an affectionate toucher; he just does it without realising.

a lot of pats on the shoulders, hugs, gently bumping him with a hand, elbow, or hip to get past, rhysand does a lot of general touches, but az loves that too.

mor has absolutely no sense of personal space, like none whatsoever. she plays with his hair when she thinks it needs styling better, and often lays down with her head in his lap when they have deeper chats, and she dances with him on nights out. if he's ever in urgent need of a little physical affection, he finds mor, because she'll just start touching him as soon as she sees him.

with nesta and elain, he often offers to fly them around, or 'winnow' them where they need to go, because they'll always hold onto him, even just for a few seconds.

going out with feyre means she always stays close to his side. if they go shopping, she links arms with him, grabs his wrist to drag him along when she sees something she likes, and often gets herself so tired out that by the end of the day, she is practically falling asleep on him as they walk home.

he realised that if he offers to sit and pose for her paintings, she'll mess with him and rearrange him until he's sat how she wants.

he purposefully never learned how to do his own tie so someone else would do it ("my hands are too big for fiddly little knots, alright?")

he often asks cass to help him do up the seals on the back of his leathers ("hurts my shoulder trying to reach round and do up the clasps on these damn things.")

he likes teaching people to train because they rely on him for form corrections, and he likes sparring with rhys and cass because that means a lot of wrestling and pushing and he can have fun with it.

basically, azriel takes any fucking scrap of physical affection he can get, in any way.

and then you step into his life.

it's a cold evening in the middle of the winter, and azriel is pouting a little on the couch, because nobody has touched him all day.

in fact, touch has been declining a lot lately.

nesta no longer needs him to fly her around, she has cassian wrapped around her finger.

mor spends most of her time with emerie, whom azriel actually rather likes, which is worse, because he can't even hate her.

elain has been spending most of her time travelling with lucien, and never needs him anymore.

feyre and rhys spend most of their time with nyx now, which he cannot begrudge them for.

and amren was never particularly touchy, he found solace in not feeling like the only lonely one, but now she has varian, and he hates how bitter his jealousy tastes when he sees how affectionate she truly is.

and he doesn't have anyone.

everyone is chatting, and drinking, and the door opens, and in come lucien and elain.

hand in hand, noses and cheeks red from the cold, and hair a little messy from the wind outside.

behind them is you.

azriel almost feels stupid for the way his heart jumps a little when he sees you, he meets new people every day, he's not supposed to be shy he's supposed to be scary, but he can't help it.

you have the same cold-bitten and wind-ruffled look, and yet, unlike the joy on the other two's faces, you're nervous. terribly so.

his ears feel like they're ringing as he watches elain and lucien get comfortable, your hands still stuck into your pockets and your gaze flickering over the room.

your eyes meet his for a second, just a single second, and you smile, but it's so stunning it stops him from being able to reciprocate it until you've moved on, scanning everyone else before fixing your gaze back on the redhead you arrived with.

he's introducing you, an arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you into his side, and you chuckle a little as he does.

azriel's skin prickles a little with jealousy. why is it so easy for everyone else to get affection but him? he feels pathetic for even thinking this way.

(Y/N). friend from the autumn court. best friend. the girl who taught him how to heal. sticking around for a while.

he was still processing these words when lucien pushed you forward a little with a hand on your back, your scowl as you stumble, earning a chuckle from everyone else, and a friendly knuckle to the cheek from lucien. 

azriel’s gut twists achingly once again.

you go around, you're shaking hands and saying hello, and chatting to everyone, and just before you get to him, elain draws you into a conversation with her sisters. his hand curls into a fist, and he feels like a fucking child all over again.

is he really this worked up over a handshake? a handshake he didn't even get?

phantom feelings of sharp stone under his knees and the whistle of wind between cracks in the cell walls revisit him, when he'd long for the days the healer would come when he was a child to patch up his injuries, because at least the kind old woman who'd tended to him would pat his hair and wipe his cheeks when he cried.

his shadows swirl violently once, twice, as he thinks about it, and he stands before anyone can notice, chugging what's left of his drink and moving to the kitchen to make another.

he's leaning against the counter, staring into his own reflection in the whiskey when you knock at the doorway, forcing him to look up. he settles his usual stone mask over his face, instinct by now, and he raises a brow to prompt you.

"hello. I didn't get a chance to introduce myself before. I was worried you'd leave before I could. I'm (Y/N)."

"indeed, I heard." really? that's the best he could come up with? but the kitchen has started to smell faintly like cinnamon and burnt sugar, and his nose scrunches a little at the overly sweet smell, he's not used to anything like it. it makes it hard to think, it's almost dizzying.

you pause on the other side of the island, a small smile coming to your lips, before daring to take another two steps closer, hand stretching out to him. "I'll be sticking around for a while, the high lord thinks you could all use a permanent healer, something about rough play while you're training," the words bring a touch of a smirk to his lips, and your own smile widens when it does. "and I meet the criteria, apparently."

he huffs a bit of a laugh, slipping his own hand into yours, and every buzzing in his ears goes blissfully quiet, every firing nerve settles, and the smile he'd forced becomes genuine when your hand squeezes around his. you shake once, pulling back all too quickly, and he misses the feeling of touch instantly.

"now, elain says you don't like to be touched," wait, no- “so, if you ever want to get together sometime, we can talk about what you’re comfortable with, where your boundaries lie, that sort of thing…”

your words were tapering off, and he realised perhaps he should say something, or do something, or simply react, in any way at all, but he couldn't. because it was just so gut-wrenchingly sweet of you, and he hated it. he didn’t want boundaries. fuck them. destroy them. cross them all. he didn’t care.

he didn’t say that. instead, what he said was, “uh, sure. I’m pretty busy, but I’m sure we could work something out.”

you only nodded, lingering a second longer, and the tension between you both felt like it was stretching on for ages. you were so close, so close, and azriel clenched his hands by his sides once again, trying to fight the telling frown on his face, and the urge to reach out. your hair looked so soft, he’d bet it was, bet it smelled even more sugary, a smell he was rapidly getting used to, and-

and you were walking away, a small smile on your lips, and something deep and unusual within his chest flared a little with panic, and- “wait-”

was that him? azriel really wasn’t sure, he didn’t remember even thinking about making a noise, it just happened, and then- then you turned around, smile still there, a little more genuine this time. 

you raised an eyebrow at him this time, prompting him silently the way he had you. he liked it. he smiled back, just a touch.

“I’m sorry.”

“you haven’t done anything to be sorry for, azriel.”

“I’m being rude.” you didn’t respond, and he sighed a little, shoulders relaxing fractionally from the rigid tensing that was beginning to ache a little. “I just have… a lot on my mind. my apologies, for my behaviour. I appreciate your offer.”

“well, physical healer I may be, but mental health is just as important to me. if you ever want to talk, I make a good listener. and, semi-reasonable advice giver.”

he chuckled, a soft sound that he didn’t often make, but merely the way you seemed to perk up a little at his amusement made him want to spend the rest of his life laughing. he didn’t know why.

“I’m not sure how much I can trust that advice, given you are optionally friends with lucien, who truly believes that toast tastes better when it’s a little burned.” 

“I didn’t choose him, he chose me. you share your last cookie with the sad little boy at the playground one time, and you get stuck with the seventh in line to the throne for the rest of your life.” there was a fond smile on your lips, and for just as second, azriel revelled in this moment of quiet amusement with you. 

then he remembered the same look of amusement on lucien’s face, when he’d had an arm wrapped around you, and playfully shoved you, and knocked your cheek. 

and just like that, all the warmth of your conversation was stripped away, a shocking cold like a bucket of water straight from the Sidra on Starfall night tipped over his head. it reminded him just how lonely he was.

“I’d best get going, but, if you come by training with cassian and I, tomorrow morning, I’ll show you around. I assume you’ll be staying at the house of wind?” his heart was beating erratically fast in his chest, one scarred hand smoothing over the spot as it did. he felt breathless, waiting to see whether you’d accept his offer, waiting to see whether you’d reject him. azriel couldn't remember the last time he’d been this nervous.

“I'd like that, very much.”

“until tomorrow, then.”

you murmured something in response, but his heart was beating too fast, his blood rushing too loudly in his ears to be able to make it out. he simply nodded, hoping it would suffice, and left. he must’ve drunk a lot more than he thought.

hours later, when he was laying cold in his bed, his shadows informed him of your arrival. giggling in a somewhat tipsy state, you’d arrived mere seconds before cassian and nesta had landed on the balcony, one hand gripped tightly around lucien’s as he winnowed you in, wobbling slightly in your steps. 

your friend had kissed your cheek goodbye, as had elain, even cassian had kissed your knuckles dramatically as nesta rolled her eyes and suppressed a smile of her own. 

his bed felt like laying on a slab of ice. alone. 

however, exactly one hour and twelve minutes into training, which was exactly thirty-eight minutes after azriel had officially given up on your arrival, you came. 

his shadows swirled excitedly, so much so that cassian stuttered a little in his movements as they began to block his sights unintentionally, and the sweet smell of cinnamon and burnt sugar reached his nose once again, flooding the room a moment before you walk in.

he’s distracted, which is ridiculous, he never gets distracted, and he would have chastised himself for it if the blunt side of cassian’s wooden practice sword didn’t do it for him.

azriel’s vision spotted for a second as the wood collided with the side of his skull, teeth rattling, and he hissed out a curse, glare as cold as winter night’s shot at his partner when he began to chuckle.

“something got you all wound up, brother?”

“bite me.”

“not even one whole day and you boys are already putting me to use, huh?”

there was just something about you this morning. azriel really couldn't place it, but you were wearing a smile that made something in his chest clench a little, and as though you could read his thoughts, your hand lifted, rubbing gently over your own chest, over your heart. 

“this? this is nothing to worry about, we’ve seen much, much worse.” 

you merely rolled your eyes, stepping towards them both and bringing yourself further into the room. you beckoned azriel forward, and he was moving before he even knew what he was doing.

cassian scoffed good-naturedly, turning away to practice his swings against a wooden dummy, and azriel sank down, sitting against the edge of the ring as you came to stand before him. he spread his legs a little, letting you get that little bit closer, and you took it.

he blamed his breathlessness on the intense training he’d just done, not the smell of you overwhelming him like sugary treats and starfall spices.

“really, it’s nothing to worry abou-” 

you raked your fingers softly through his damp hair, fingertips gently soothing along his scalp for bumps.

he choked, words dying in his throat on a pathetically breathy exhale that would have embarrassed him had azriel not been feeling pure ecstasy.

your other hand joined it, raking through his hair, pads of your fingers pressing and soothing along his scalp, and azriel’s world went dark. eyes closed, rolling to the back of his head and shoulders sagging a little as you examined for bumps. he almost wished cassian had hit him harder, just so you’d find something.

“is this okay?” your words were murmured, a soft breath for only him to hear, and azriel couldn't even form words;

“mhmm..”

nobody had ever touched him like this, run their fingers through his hair, and when your nails scratched lightly over his scalp before you pulled back, he barely bit back a whine, body feeling like melted butter.

you patted down his hair, he could only imagine the mess it had become, and it took more effort than most battles did for azriel to compose himself. to close the place where his bottom lip had parted from his top to near-pant, to open his eyes and hold them more than a sleepy half-lid, to straighten his shoulders and find some strength in his spine to sit properly. and most of all, to not reach out and beg you to do it again.

the sound of cassian’s grunt as he trained snapped him back into an awkwardly rigid position, jaw tensing a little. 

“no bumps or breaks, you’re good to go, shadowsinger.” 

“told you so.”

your eyes rolled again, in that gentle and fond way, and he hoped he would see it more. he liked making your eyes roll.

“next time, you need to defend your blind spots better.”

“are you giving me fighting advice?” once again, the smile he gave you was real. two within one day, you were making him break his mask at record speeds. it was concerning, if anything. that was what he chose to call it, anyway. 

“you think I don’t know how to fight?”

“I know you don’t know how to fight. I can tell.”

“you can tell? how?”

“you have no grip strength, when you shook my hand last night, no way you could pick up a sword, it would drop right out of your hands. you tripped over your feet on the way over here, and you have zero awareness of your own blindspots.”

you gaped at him, and he couldn't help himself. he lifted a hand, pointer knuckle tucking under your chin to close your dropped jaw, and you huffed at him. his knuckle dragged along your skin for a split second, before dropping away, and he made a fist on his thigh, restricting any more movement. he was being far too needy and indulgent of his desire to touch, lately.

“maybe I didn’t want to hurt you by gripping your hand with my superior grip strength.”

“uh-huh.” 

“and maybe I’m just clumsy.”

“I’m not disputing that.”

“and how would you know anything about my blindspots?”

he shrugged, smirking a little at the tendrils of black curling over your shoulders, one of them wrapping neatly around the ends of your hair, pulling them silently off of your shoulders, into a ponytail you had no idea was being formed until the darkness tugged lightly. 

you gasped, the shadows skittering away like they were snickering at your shock, and azriel actually bit at the inside of his own cheek to contain his grin.

what was wrong with him lately? maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing there would be a healer around so much, perhaps he needed a check-up.

“alright, fine,” you had a look in your eye, one that he had absolutely no idea what it meant, and for the first time in his life, that confusion seemed to thrill him instead of terrifying him. “then teach me how to fight.”

“why on earth would you want to learn how to fight?”

“well, if I’m going to be out and about playing in the thick of it with you boys when you get yourselves all scratched up, it would probably be useful to know at least a little about defending myself.”

azriel hadn't thought about that. about all the danger he got himself into, about all the danger you’d be getting into. something cold settled in his chest, tight and gripping, making every breath feel a little rough. 

he choked that down, too.

“what would I get out of that deal?”

“I’ll heal up all these little injuries, the bothersome ones you always brush off.” he raised a brow, breath pausing in his throat as you reached for him, soft fingers wrapping around his wrist, bringing his clenched hand up. he’d been trying so hard not to touch you, but here you were, touching him.

unwrapping each finger carefully, you smoothed them out, his palm flexing and twitching a little at the featherlight touch you brushed over the scarred flesh.

“like this one, a little paper cut, on the tip of your finger.”

brushing your thumb over the pad lightly, he watched in awe as the tiniest fleck of glowing golden light shone from it for only a second, before the injury he’d made only this morning was gone.

it didn’t bother him, those kinds of wounds may as well not exist at all, that kind of pain was one he was so used to it was a sensation like breathing or walking at this point, but it didn’t matter. he’d take a thousand paper cuts of you’d hold him that softly and fix them that tenderly again and again.

you were offering him a deal, a lot of touches and attention, and he tried not to scream his agreement, and show his enthusiasm too much.

“how’d you know that was there?” he pulled his hand back, your own hovering for a second where you’d held his much larger one, before dropping to your side.

“I sensed it, when I touched you, looking for your head bump, I picked that up instead, it’s the only injury you’ve got. physical, anyway.”

a tense moment of silence followed your words at the implications of your final sentence. 

“you’ve got a deal. tomorrow morning we begin. but first, I believe I promised you a tour.”

he stood, putting a reasonable amount of distance between you both. he needed to remember who he was, he needed to remember who he was supposed to be. he couldn't afford to let his own weakness and desire pull at him anymore.

you took the hint, not getting nearly as close to him as you followed him around. 

azriel was equal parts relieved and disappointed by it.

for months, the need got worse and worse, the tugging in his chest, the empty loneliness, the phantom feelings of touches he didn’t have.

he expected his urges to touch to go down, blamed it on the cold and the winter, blamed it on all the changes taking place, blamed it on recovering from the war. azriel blamed it on everything he possibly could, hoping it would go away.

every time you trained with him and cassian in the mornings, every book exchange in the library, every weekly checkup that you’d forced them to start doing, it all tortured him, because he was now fixating on every little thing.

except, it didn’t go away. it stuck.

azriel found himself longing more and more for the touches that seemed to be getting less and less frequent. or, perhaps they weren’t, and he was simply needing them more, and he was noticing the lack of them. 

he had no idea why your arrival had sent him spiralling downhill, but he was struggling to patch up every crack that was beginning to break in his façade.

even his shadows were struggling, reaching out toward you in every room, searching all corners of it when you weren’t there.

everything just became easier when he started avoiding you entirely.

he skipped a couple of training sessions, an excuse about needing to catch up on work, and you didn’t question it.

he took meals in his bedroom, or after he was sure you’d already eaten, just to avoid you at the table.

he hid every cut and wound, and for the first couple of weeks, you berated him playfully, joking that he should have come and found you to fix them. it took everything he had not to smile, to respond, to prolong these sessions where your fingers were skim gently over his skin, shimmering gold sealing up small cuts and all the bruises, fixing every ache.

after a while, you just stopped. every near-silent check-up or barely-friendly greeting when you saw one another making something cold fill his chest.

but at least that sharp coldness within him was better than feeling completely empty.

it had been almost a full year when your first chance to truly go away with them arose. the air was cold enough that your breath clouded in the sky, snow was sticking to the ground, and there was a permanent layer of ice settled over the top of the Sidra.

it should have been easy, and yet everything that could have gone wrong, did.

the meagre forces of you, himself, cassian and nesta hadn't been nearly enough. 

you were terrified, azriel was in and out of consciousness, being half-dragged along through the snowstorm by cassian, who winced every time he put their joint weight on his right foot, and nesta was clutching at her side. 

there was blood clotted into your hair from a cut along your forehead, a bruise blossoming on your ribs and you were sure an arrow had caught you across your thigh, but it was so cold, you could barely feel any part of your body anymore.

flying out wasn’t an option, your only teammate who could winnow had been out-cold for nearly an hour, and the inn had been a blessed relief when it had finally come into view.

the patron hadn't even flinched when the four of you had stumbled up to the counter and demanded three rooms, blood dripping onto the floor between you all, snow and mud trekked up the stairs with keys clutched in hand.

“cass, start a fire, nesta, go get as many bowls of snow as you can.”

they did as told, and you began to peel back the layers of protective leather and armour azriel wore, laying haphazardly on the bed where cassian had left him as they scurried. 

blood was smeared across skin that had gone pale, and bile rose in the back of your throat as you took in the wounds before you. they were like nothing you’d ever seen. 

stripping off the top layer of his leathers, they made a sickeningly wet sound as they hit the wooden floorboards, blood spilling out around your feet in a puddle, soaking into the bedsheets that would never be truly clean again.

cassian hissed as he returned.

nesta’s hands shook as she began placing bowls of snow into the fire to heat.

neither could stomach staying as you began to stitch up the wounds.

over six hours later, azriel was healed and you’d seen to nesta’s cracked ribs, your attention moving to the final warrior who needed help, and ignoring the painful drag of every footstep you took to follow him.

cassian was laying a patched-up azriel onto the bed in the spare room, jaw clenched so tight you thought his teeth would crack.

“let me look at your ankle, cass.”

you sunk down onto the edge of the bed patting the space next to you once his arms were free of his friend, and he shook his head.

“it’s fine, nothing to worry about.”

“let me look.”

“no.”

“cassian, let me look at your ankle, gods dammit!”

silence filled the room around you both, and for a second you worried your yell would wake nesta, sleeping only on the other side of the wall.

he set himself down, lifting his leg up, and placing his ankle into your lap.

swollen shades of yellow and purple and blue, his ankle had swollen up so wide it was almost the thickness of the rest of his leg, and when you pressed it, his entire body trembled.

“s’gonna hurt a little bit, but only for a second.”

“what about you?”

“what about me?” you mumbled, fingers smoothing over his skin, a soft glow emitting from your hands as you worked.

cassian groaned, eyes squeezing shut as you began to repair the damage.

“I can tell you’re spent. I came to check on you, when you were healing az. you didn’t look so good. does rhysand know what healing does to you? does lucien? does anyone?”

your motions paused, only for a split second, before you were soothing over his skin, hands tightening around him as the swelling began to go down.

“they know. it’s just, I’ve never had to heal something this big before, he was practically dead. but, I’m fine. really. keeping him alive long enough to get here took a lot out of me, but it’s over now.”

‘fine’ was the best you could do. ‘fine’ was a grievous exaggeration, but cassian didn’t need to know that. 

your head was pounding so hard you saw spots, your hands were shaking so violently that when they were no longer on cassian’s leg, you sat on them to hide the tremor. you’d sat down to heal cassian’s ankle because you’d nearly collapsed trying to follow him in here, legs giving way underneath you.

“you’re all done.”

he stood, testing his weight on his foot, letting out the same huff of amusement he always did when you healed him up so fast, no matter how many times you’d done it.

“where are you going to sleep? not in the other room, I suspect.”

your nose wrinkled up, the metallic smell of azriel’s blood was still so heavy you were surprised it wasn’t leaking through the walls, the fire in that room still burning from the ruined sheets you’d tossed in to dispose of.

something, something had lurched while you’d been tending to him as cassian and nesta fussed, and the idea of going back into a room where you’d fought just to keep him alive made your head spin.

“I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on azriel. if he makes it through the night, he’ll be fine.”

the truth was, you were nowhere near done. just because you’d stabilised azriel didn’t mean your job was over. it just took a little pressure off the clock. his skin was still too clammy, a fever fighting high, his heart rate was too weak and his skin still too pale. he was a long, long way from mended.

cassian looked dubious, sleep was crawling at the edge of his consciousness, you could tell from the way he swayed on where he stood, shoulders hunched and eyes drooping. 

“besides, we’re safer in pairs. go and be with nesta, I’ll be here, we’ll meet up in the morning.”

he finally gave in, the mention of his mate making his head snap to look at the wall she lay on the other side of, like she’d tugged subconsciously to convince him to do as told. you wouldn't be surprised if she had.

the door closed behind him, and you were left in a cold, dark room, with only azriel’s rattling, wet breaths to let you know you weren’t alone.

you used what little strength you had left to make a fire, tugging the sheets out from underneath azriel and hanging them before the hearth to warm, before sealing them around his body. 

you stripped off what you could of your own bloody leathers, washing both sets with cold water in the empty dishes of snow you had left, before hanging those, too, up to warm and dry. 

settling in beside him, pain like you’d never known flared throughout your entire body as you called on your gift once again.

settling a hand on an unconscious azriel’s shoulder, your eyes closed, beginning to search through for every internal wound, stitching nerves and muscles back together one by one. 

you were sweating, but freezing cold, throat raw and eyes stinging but no tears left to give as you gasped for breath. 

you kept the fire going, his fever broke, and at some point during the night, azriel began to regain his strength.

he never woke, but you weren't aware you had dozed off yourself beside him until you were startled back awake.

he had rolled over, shuffled weakly across the bed until one arm had slung its way over your waist, cheek pressing into your shoulder, the cool tip of his nose was pressed into your neck. 

he was still cold, no matter how many times you restocked the fire to keep it going, searching out for your body heat without realising it. 

you lay still for a while, to see if he would wake, but he didn’t.

instead, you fastened an arm around his shoulders, the other threading lightly into sweat-soaked hair, still damp from where you’d tried to clean him up, soothing him lightly. 

you used what strength you had left to make sure he stayed in a deep sleep, pain-free and unaware.

nesta was the one who woke you in the morning, looking a lot better than she had when going to sleep the night before, and you panicked a little as you stretched out to find yourself alone.

“good sleep, huh? I’ve been trying to wake you for five whole minutes.”

“where’s azriel? cassian?”

her eyes rolled, but you’d learned her tells, knowing all of it was in love, not hate. “they’re downstairs, paying extra for the ruined sheets and the rooms. storm cleared, we’re ready to go home, so get up and get dressed.”

you shifted, arms barely able to pull yourself up, and nesta’s eyes narrowed a little as you lay back down.

“can’t I have five more minutes? I was having a  good dream.”

“you can sleep in your own bed when we get out of this godawful inn and back to velaris.”

“fine, I suppose you’re right. I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

she left, and five minutes was more like fifteen as you struggled to even stand up, never mind get dressed, and finally, make your way downstairs to meet them at the entry of the inn.

“‘bout time, I’m waiting on you to get home for a good meal.” 

“my apologies, queen nesta.” she grinned, and your gaze moved to the other two. cassian was studying you, gaze flicking to your hairline, and you lifted your fingers to touch the sensitive skin there, still raw, the cut you had forgone to patch up even last night. your sharp glare kept him silent about it.

“the flight shouldn’t take long, and the skies are nice and clear now. we’ll be back in time for lunch.” to emphasise his point, cassian’s stomach rumbled, loudly.

he took off first, shooting up into the sky with nesta and leaving you standing in tense silence with azriel.

“az, how are you feeling?”

“fine.” he almost growled the word out, and your brows furrowed.

he hated doing this to you, the look of hurt that had flickered across your face, but he had to. pushing people away, keeping them out, he was good at that, he was used to it, and it made everything easier. 

letting you in, it was far too painful, you would see every raw and damaged and broken part of him, and he wasn’t ready to face that.

when he’d woken up wrapped in your arms that morning, for a shocking second, azriel had felt at peace. for the very first time in his life, he had felt utterly content. like he didn’t regret anything, like he didn’t want anything to change, like he didn’t want a distraction. 

and it had terrified him so much that he thought he might be sick.

“you’re a sleep cuddler.” apparently so. you were trying so hard to lighten the mood, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into that, but he couldn't. he choked back the lump in his throat, gaze flickering to the sky for a second, avoiding your gaze.

“I trust that won’t happen again.”

you went unnaturally still, gaze turning sharp on him as you stared, and he still couldn't bring himself to meet your eye.

“that’s all you have to say? that’s it? I heal you up, I take care of you, an-”

“that is your job, is it not?”

the laugh you gave him was cold and harsh. it made him feel like his chest was closing up, freezing over from the inside out.

“right. yes. my job. well, we should get going, I’m rather tired.”

he’d pushed it too far, too far too far too far, his shadows were almost biting at him as they whipped around his body, chastising him for his behaviour, his tone, his every decision.

“(Y/N)-”

“message received, azriel, loud and clear. I want to go home now, please.”

look up look up look up, meet his eye now, he was ready, he wanted you to. you wouldn't. you stepped closer, allowing him to pick you up, before soaring into the sky.

it was one of the worst flights of his life, and tense few hours, the silence azriel normally revelled in felt like it was suffocating him. he could feel the warmth of your magic, even now, swirling around you both to block out the chill until you were landing on the balcony, only moments behind cassian and nesta.

the rest were lined up, waiting for your return, welcoming you back with hugs and shoulder pats, and a table full of food waiting.

hurt.

azriel felt it as his shadows reappeared, catching up to him as he tucked his wings into his back, letting you down slowly.

hurt.

who? his gaze flickered over everyone that was lined up, scanning his friends for injuries.

hurt. hurt. hurt.

you stumbled, knees buckling, and had you not been standing so close to him when you did, you’d have hit the floor before azriel had caught you.

his shadows swarmed around you, until you were barely visible to the rest, and you sank slowly to the ground, letting azriel help you.

hurthurthurthurth-

his shadows recoiled as the heir of day stepped forward, dropping harshly to his knees to cup your face. your skin had paled, your eyes fluttering more closed than open, and your lips were parted with shallow breaths.

“what happened?”

“m’jus’ a little tired, that’s all.”

lucien smoothed a hand over your hair, letting you slump forward until your face was pressed against his shoulder, one hand clutching weakly at his shirt.

“you’re freezing, and you’re so shaky, why can’t you-” he paused, the hand petting your hair moving to rest over your forehead as he searched for something. “you burned out.”

“I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”

“you’re not just-”

“lucien, please.”

he stared, waiting a second, before the air around you both folded, and the space at azriel’s feet was empty. his shadows exploded, a representation of his own panic, before feeding back to him a second later that lucien had laid you in your bed.

“what was that?”

“she did too much,” cassian mumbled, hands wringing in front of himself, and rhysand rubbed his brow.

“how bad was it?”

“bad.”

“what. happened?”

he was ignored as cassian shrugged at their high lord, unsure where to start.

“we got caught off-guard, more of them than we could possibly handle. ness got hit first, az covered her, but it was too much. he- it was bad. I’ve seen soldiers die from a lot less. he would have died. but she held him together. I don’t know how, she just did. enough to make it to an inn, she fixed us up. stayed up with az the whole time, I could hear her moving around all night. I knew she was drained but I didn’t know it was this bad, if I did, I would have.. I would have.. done something. I wouldn't have let her help me too, I would have-”

cassian cleared his throat, walking away with a nod and a promise to debrief rhysand later. nesta followed.

“you knew this would happen? you knew she could burn out, that it would be this bad? you knew, and-”

“I knew, because she told me. she acknowledged the risks, she made the decision. she chose to look after you, she chose her own actions. she looks after us, and now we will look after her.”

his tone was final, and azriel’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

they left, one by one, they all left him on the balcony alone, to tend to the rest of their duties.

you’d pushed yourself to the brink for him, through agony and worse, and he couldn't even bring himself to crack open a little of the box inside his mind he worked so hard to keep sealed shut.

that was the moment azriel decided it was going to have or change.

you didn’t wake for two days. two full days azriel spent swimming in guilt and sadness, a feeling he couldn't place filling his every thought, making it hard to eat, or sleep, or even think.

he felt.. nothing. absolutely nothing.

two days, and on the evening of the third day, while everyone was sitting at the dinner table chatting, and azriel was emptily pushing perfectly good chicken and vegetables around his plate, you emerged.

“hello.” 

azriel felt like his heart started back up in his chest.

“can you spare a plate? I’m fucking starving.”

lucien laughed, his head dropping for a second as elain grinned, patting the seat next to her that had been empty for days, the one opposite him, that had been taunting him. 

slipping into it, cassian was quick to pile you up a plate, with more food than you could possibly eat, passing it along down the lines as you sunk into the chair next to him. 

accepting the food, you settled back into everything like nothing had been wrong, like you hadn't scared azriel half to death, like you hadn't left him feeling adrift, untethered, lost, and he needed to talk to you, needed to make it right-

his stomach rumbled, clenching almost painfully. finally, he thought. he was fucking starving.

he would talk to you after he’d eaten.

the first chance to approach you came when you were sitting out on the balcony, still a little pale, still a little shaky, with a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you stared up at the sky.

he sat down next to you, silently, trying to find as much comfort in the stars as you had, but his thoughts were spinning too fast. in the darkness, he let his shadows free a little, let them crawl underneath your chair, over the back, around your feet where you couldn't see. 

“the skies never look quite like this in autumn. I like it here.” your words were steady and calm, nothing like his heart, and azriel twisted his head to look at you. you were not looking at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“you have nothing to be sorry for, azriel."

he felt like he was living everything over again, you were strangers once again, and that thought made every other one freeze inside of his head, a spotlight focus on that.

“please, don’t shut me out.”

you looked at him now, studying him like a journal, brows furrowing a little. 

“I never shut you out, azriel. you are the one who shut me out. you made it very clear that you didn’t want my touch, nor my friendship, nor even my company. it’s okay, I don’t expect everyone to always want my companionship, but next time, at least a ‘thank you’ for saving your life would be nice.”

“thank you.” the words tumbled from him like water spilling from the sky when a storm broke. “thank you, for all of it. for staying up to make sure I made it through the night, and for.. for caring.”

you help his gaze, nodding once. “you’re welcome.”

you looked back to the sky, ignorant to the shadows crawling higher and higher up, languidly, begging him to let them curl around you, still fearing for your wellbeing.

“I like to be touched,”

he spoke the words without breathing, without looking at you, still staring at the stars, even as he felt your attention move to him. it felt like a weight being lifted off of his chest, but it was terrifying, a confession spoken now that he could never take back.

“I like to be touched. I love being touched, but it’s not who I am. I am not supposed to be.. soft. I’m supposed to be strong, and powerful, and it terrifies me that I can be so- that I need it. I love being touched, but I can’t ask. They can’t know. I can never tell them.”

you didn’t ask who they were, and you didn’t ask why. somehow, he knew that you just understood.

“you scare me. you scare me more than anything, because for all of my life I’ve been just fine, centuries suppressing this need and managing it all, and then one year ago you come along, and everything changed, and I don’t know why.” the more he spoke, the lighter he felt, some deep and suffocating binding was finally loosening within him.

“perhaps 500 years of pretending not to need attention, not to need love, has finally started to take its toll.”

you were right, he knew you were, but it was still a hard truth to swallow.

“you know, we all have our love languages.”

“our what?”

“love languages.” there was a soft smile on your face when he finally braved looking at you, and it made him feel secure, like his confessions were in safe hands, like for once, he didn’t have to carry every burden on his own. “there’s five.”

“five?”

“yes.” you twisted a little more toward him. “rhys and feyre, they’re the same. they just want to provide for the people they love. perhaps it’s why it’s so easy for them to love one another. both of their love languages are similar. rhys’.. his is gift giving. he shows you all his love through what he can give you, buy you. he houses you all, spoils you constantly, makes sure you are always provided for. he does it sneakily, like buying cassian’s favourite cookies or making sure there are always fresh flowers for elain.”

“what about feyre?”

“hers is acts of service. she spent years providing for her family, she went through hell for tamlin, and then through war for rhys. she was willing to give everything for them all, she continues to do so. elain, hers is quality time. when lucien began inviting her to the spring court, they used to do nothing but sit or walk in silence for hours in the gardens. or in the living room, when he’d read while she learned to knit.”

“what about nesta? she doesn’t fit any of those boxes.”

“no, she doesn’t.” whether you’d noticed them or not, you didn’t say, but azriel’s shadows were beginning to crawl up and over you, weaving around you in lazy swirls as you whispered quietly between yourselves, to the background noise of your friends in the house. “nesta’s love language is words of affirmation.”

he didn’t need to question it, that made perfect sense. 

“yours is touch. everyone has a love language, azriel, and it’s not something to be ashamed of. it’s simply who you are.”

somehow, you made him feel alright with something he’d spent 500 years hating about himself.

“what is yours?”

“technically, I don’t actually need to touch anyone, to heal them. I just have to be close enough to feel their energies.” he processed the words, heart skipping a beat a little at the meaning. you were the same as him. “just think about it all.”

you stood, taking the blanket from your shoulders and leaving it folded over the back of the chair you were leaving behind. 

as you walked past, you paused, placing a hand on his shoulder, and shadows rose, wrapping like bracelets around your wrist as you squeezed lightly. “if you can’t tell them yet, that's okay. but if you ever need someone, you can come and find me. you’re hurting, az, and it’s my job to keep you all in one piece. if holding you when you need it is something you want, then you know where to find me.”

he couldn't speak, only nod, because he wasn’t sure he could get any words out around the lump in his throat.

you left, leaving his head somehow both spinning and utterly empty. 

he waited, mulling over your words, whispering them to himself in the dark, until it became too cold to be comfortable, anymore. 

almost everyone had retired, only cassian, mor and amren still awake, drinking quietly in front of the fire, but he didn’t feel like joining them.

no, he knew where he truly wanted to be.

the clock read over two hours since you’d left him, you’d surely be asleep by now, and azriel tried to pretend like it wasn’t disappointment filling him. stop being needy.

he was making his way to his own bedroom, taking the long route, when he passed your door. light was still spilling out from underneath it, golden glow from the crack between it and the floor, and azriel felt like his feet were rooted to the ground. 

he could feel his heartbeat, right down to his fingers, and he clenched them into a fist to stop it. 

he knocked. he knocked, he didn’t know what possessed him to do so, and maybe it wasn’t too late to just leave, but then there you were;

standing before him, pretty nightgown and a cardigan, hair a little ruffed from the loose way you’d fastened it back, and you didn’t look at all surprised to see him.

“az. would you like to come in?”

“more than anything, actually.” he breathed the words weakly, no longer having any embarrassment left to give, and he stepped over the threshold, letting you close the door.

your fire was lit, logs crackling quietly, but he couldn't smell them, instead, he could smell the candle you had, winter spices and berries, a sweet combination, but not as sweet as your smell. your sheets were tossed askew, clearly having been used, and a book lay on the bed, page marked.

“can I..?”

you raised a brow, but he didn’t know exactly how to word what he wanted, he wanted so much, he didn’t know where to start.

“do you want to lay with me while I read?”

“you mean, like we did that night?”

“if you want.”

he felt young again, no strain and stress on his shoulders, just bashful and a little shy, watching as you walked back to your bed, getting comfy once again. you patted the sheets, prompting him to move, and he did.

slowly, so slowly, azriel removed one boot at a time, placing them neatly in a pair at the end of your bed. then his belt, and his jacket, undoing every clasp and buckle slowly, until he was merely left in the comfortable trousers he’d worn to dinner, and his t-shirt.

one knee on the edge of the bed, and then the other, nervous but pushing on as azriel all but catapulted himself over a line he’d never considered crossing before. you lifted the blanket, welcoming him under, and he lay himself down slowly.

shuffling a little closer, he hesitated, close enough to feel every bit of warmth you gave off, but not touching a single part of you.

“I-.. I’m scared.”

“you don’t ever have to be scared with me, azriel. my job is to heal you, let me do that.” you spread your arms for him, and he gave in, the last shred of resistance obliterated. 

he collapsed down by your side, cheek pressing into your shoulder, nose brushing that spot, that spot on your neck that smelt so damn sweet, every bit of you. his front was pressed up along your side, the arm curled around his shoulder, fingers threading into his hair, and he didn’t realise how much he needed it until the sigh he let out shook.

and then his shoulders did.

his chest.

he didn’t realise he was crying until three or four breaths in.

he felt frozen, body locked up as he sobbed, unable to help himself, your fingers weaving through his hair, giving him privacy even as he lay atop you, reading quietly and flicking each page every so often. 

he cried until it felt like that well of emotion inside of him that he spent so long locking up no longer felt like it was about to overflow. it was manageable, truly kept in place, for once.

he dared to reach out, to hold you back like you held him, one arm over your waist, anchoring you down, making sure you were real, you weren’t going to leave. 

and you let him.

every breath he took tasted sweet on his tongue, like roasted marshmallows, and the last thing azriel truly remembered before everything went black was the feeling of your other arm reaching over, hand placed atop his scarred one on your stomach, squeezing lightly.

when azriel woke, he panicked. this wasn’t his bed, his room, and there was someone here, someone holding him, someone-

it all came back. he shifted, pulling his face from where it still lay on your shoulder, one limp hand woven into his hair, falling away when he looked up to you, still asleep. your breaths were even. as he pulled back some more, you shifted, following his warmth the way he had subconsciously done to you. it sparked something in his chest, heart pinching a little.

there was no way he could move now.

he lay back down, rolling onto his side, and pulling you softly back toward him. you went, sleepily, curling up against him. dawn had broken, he was supposed to be training, cassian would be there already, and yet not a single part of him was willing to move, not even his shadows, which were spilling like lazy waterfalls over the bedsheets surrounding you both, hardly any movement at all.

it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. euphoria.

when you woke, it was with a little jump, like you were caught off-guard as much as he was. 

you stretched somewhat, and azriel slackened the arm he’d been using to hold you close, but you didn’t pull away.

instead, you rolled over a little more onto your back, but shuffled close to him, using his arm like a pillow as you blinked to adjust to the morning sun.

“you stayed.”

“is that okay?”

“it was lovely. I haven’t slept that well in ages.”

“I haven’t slept that well ever.”

azriel had hoped that by the morning, he’d have found some control over his filter again when he was around you. it would seem that hope was ill-founded.

you gasped, mockingly placing a hand over your heart, a teasing look in your eyes as you looked at him. “I am truly honoured. like a dreamcatcher, obviously, I’m just the very best cuddl-”

he rolled his eyes, and didn’t bother to hide the smile on his face. he’d exposed one of his deepest secrets to you, everything else felt so small now in comparison. he cut you off by squeezing you tightly, rolling his arm up behind your head and clamping a hand over your mouth.

eventually, the two of you had gotten up, and he’d parted ways with you at the bedroom door to change his clothes before meeting everyone for breakfast.

but, like a bucket of cold water, the high he’d been floating on came crashing down when he walked into the dining room. 

you were already sitting at the table, buttering a piece of toast as mor piled more onto your plate, insistent on getting three days worth of missed food into you as he sat down. 

“where exactly were you this morning, brother? you missed training entirely. the girls teamed up on me, do you know how unfair that was? three against one, azriel!”

he froze a little, halfway into his seat, eyes flicking to the warlords, before he sat properly.

“I was sleeping.”

“sleeping?”

“yes. you know, that thing where you close your eyes, and go unconscious for extended periods of time in order to-”

“shut up, you know what I meant.” he remained staring, like he was trying to work azriel out, and you chuckled at them both.

“cass, your mother hen is showing.” the man scoffed, turning his scrutiny to you instead, and azriel loosed a breath with appreciation. he wasn’t ready yet, to tell everyone else what he’d managed to tell you. he may never be ready, but he already felt lighter having let just one person in.

something bumped his ankle, and dropping his gaze down to below the table, he caught your foot reaching out, slippered toes kicking lightly at his ankle. he shifted forward in his seat, tucking himself underneath properly, and your fluffy foot wrapped around his ankle lightly.

his head spun. 

right here, in his everyday life, someone was touching azriel just for the sake of touching him. 

he wasn’t ready to tell anyone else yet, and you were accommodating him.

he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, and one day, he was sure it would all come crashing down, but at least for now, he decided he would just enjoy it.

and so, it continued just like that.

you would touch az any chance you got, subtle, enough to go undetected, but enough that everything inside of azriel was practically singing with joy, all times of the day. 

you’d place a hand on his shoulder when you stood beside him while he sat down, you’d link your foot with his when you sat at the table, you’d move him with your hands, this way or that way. you’d grab onto him, drag him around when he was late for his checkups because he got caught up in work. you’d poke him, and jab him when he teased you, and you’d pinch his cheeks until he swatted you away when you teased him back.

and most of all, you let him keep up his façade, rolling his eyes and huffing and pushing you away lightly, without ever pulling back from him.

more and more nights as it went on, he ended up in your bed at night, reading beside you quietly as his leg lay pressed up to yours, or your head slumped onto his shoulder when you got tired before he did.

it was months before azriel had the nerve to touch you in front of everyone without reason. 

he was frustrated. he was angry and worn out, and he’d been gone for days when he finally saw his family again. five days of poor sleep, lonely days, and exhausting work trying to gather information.

he wanted to be held, he wanted nothing more than to collapse back into the lifestyle he’d become so used to already, in such a short amount of time.

you were there, sitting on one of the couches, spread out along it as everyone chatted, wine passed around. the volume hit zero as he hovered in the doorway for just a second. 

“az, you’re back! how was it?”

“shit.”

“did you get it done?”

“of course.”

“good. join us. do you want a drink?”

he swallowed, throat dry, only nodding instead. but, that wasn’t really what he wanted. he was frozen in spot, and everyone was staring at him now. silence. but he was staring at you.

you sat up a little further, blissed-out look passing from your face, your back straightened. your eyes passed over him, once, twice, before meeting his gaze again. 

“az, are you hurt?”

it felt like he had to force the word out, heart pounding in his ears as he considered every consequence of what he was about to do, every truth he was about to lay bare. he could pretend, he could say he was hurt, he knew you’d fake it for him. or, he could finally face the thing that terrified him.

he didn’t care, not anymore.

“no.”

at long last, his feet were moving again, and he strode across the room. kicking his boots off roughly and leaving them abandoned on the floor by the couch, next to wear your heels lay. you must have been out for drinks with mor and the others, everyone seeming a little dressed up.

he stripped off the leather jacket next, dropping it down onto the floor. 

he sank, ass hitting the cushions, twisting, until he could lay down, the back of his head landing softly on your thighs. 

he closed his eyes, he didn’t want to see everyone's faces, he just wanted to feel you.

rhys cleared his throat, breaking the tension that had lasted well over ten-seconds already.

“well, then. wine or whiskey, az?”

“whiskey, three fingers.”

“you got it.”

you threaded your fingers into his hair, and az let loose the rumble from his chest that he always had when you played with his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

you shifted underneath him, stretching one leg out along the couch behind him, shifting so his head lay on your stomach instead, resting between your legs comfily. 

“so, it all went according to plan?” feyre was next, an overly high lilt to her voice, as rhys tinkered at the drinks cabinet in the corner.

“no, no, no, hang on. we’re all just going to avoid t- ow, nes!” a resounding thud cut him off, and azriel smirked as he heard cassian rubbing at what he assumed was the back of his head.

“everything went fine, just glad to be back. that’s all.”

“yeah, bet you are.” cassian grumbled, and your stomach shook under azriel’s head as you laughed.

rhys pat his shoulder, and he finally cracked his eyes back open, accepted the drink that was being offered. he took it, nodding a ‘thank you’, and his high lord’s eyes sparkled a little as he looked at the pair of you.

sitting up, he tried to fight the warmth coming to his cheeks, the one reaction he couldn't contain no matter how hard he tried, and he covered it by taking a long swig of the burnt amber liquid inside.

“we were just talking about cassian’s most embarrassing encounter at rita’s.”

“what?! no, we were not!”

“no, no, I distinctly remember that's the conversation we were having.” rhysand backed you up, winking at the change in topic of conversation, and feyre nodded her support. “wasn’t it around the 300 years mark, just after the summer solstice..” 

cassian’s face blanched, nesta perked up, as did elain and feyre, and both mor and rhys chuckled into their drinks.

his brother was now forced to retell this story for you four, and azriel felt a single claw tap three neat times at the inside of his mind. after a moment of hesitation, he let rhys in. let him see it. let him feel it, the way you made him feel.

his other brother only nodded, pulling back, smiling as he wrapped an arm around his mate, pulling her into his side to focus on the story.

for the first time ever, as azriel watched it and wished he had that too, he could act. he reached for you, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you closer to his chest. you went willingly, leaning your head on his shoulder as you giggled, thoroughly invested in cassian’s story. 

he ran his nose over the crown of your head, smiling into your hair when you relaxed even further into him. 

he’d never felt so settled.

that night, when you lay in bed, and he let himself into your room, the energy felt different.

he collapsed down beside you, flopping onto his stomach, pulling a pillow under his head and reaching an arm out across your waist as you chuckled. 

“big step you took tonight.”

“I was sick of everyone else getting what they wanted, and never taking what I want.”

“I’m proud of you.”

his eyes snapped open, finding you instantly, and he stared at you for a second, eyes narrowing, and you never flinched away.

“what?”

“I'm proud of you. you faced a fear you’ve held for, what, almost five centuries? you should be proud of yourself, too.”

he only nodded, discarding the pillow and moving over to you, no longer feeling even an inkling of nerves as he collapsed down onto your pillow with you, noses mere centimetres apart, legs tangling together as he searched for your touch, as he always did nowadays.

you lifted a hand, placing it on his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone delicately. “you deserve good things, az. let yourself ask for them, let yourself take them.”

he was rendered completely breathless, heart racing so fast it felt like it stopped, and all he could do was smile. 

in that moment, when you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, giggling as you pulled back to blow out the final candle lighting the room, he felt his heart actually stop. 

in that moment, azriel knew he was completely, totally and undeniably fucked. 

after that night, a line had been crossed.

he crossed it, he made the first move, edging forward into something entirely unknown. azriel was used to suppressing his feelings, he never confronted them. and yet, not, he was not only acknowledging them, he was acting on them, using them.

he woke up before you the following morning, as he always did, content to lie in once again, ignoring his training with cassian once again. cass was surely going to get sick of this, but he didn’t care.

you, however, had different plans. you woke moments after him, jerking awake with a sudden jump, one hand coming up to your head. 

you merely groaned, leaving his arms to sit up straight in bed, covers pooling around your lap and his.

“what’s wrong, angel?”

“I realised I’m late for- what?” a pink tinge touched your cheeks, and you turned, glancing at him over your shoulder. lips parted in a pretty way, eyes wide and vulnerable, and he lifted one arm, propping it behind his head and grinning like it hadn't been intentional. 

“I said, ‘what’s wrong, angel’?”

the colour on your cheeks deepened, and you swallowed, several times, before licking over your lower lip and dropping your gaze.

“cassian. uh, well, training. uhm, training, with cassian. I’m late. for it. for training with cassian.”

his smile stretched as you stumbled over your words when his gaze fixed on you, trailing slowly over you in the morning light.

azriel really was grateful for the blocks you were removing from his mind, every wall you took down allowed him to realise something new, and the wall you’d removed last night allowed him to truly witness just how beautiful you were. and just how affected he was by it.

you were breathtaking, messy hair and wide eyes, shrouded by the golden light of the morning, and wreathed in twisting shadows as they wrapped around you, weaving through your hair, tickling your cheeks, teasing you. 

he couldn't even begin to have imagined such a sight. ethereal. 

“well, then, you’d better get going.” he showed no signs of moving, pulling your covers back up his body somewhat, and you gaped at him. 

“you- you’re staying here? in my bed? you’re not- you’ve not got things to do?”

“I have nothing else to do, and I’m comfy. I’ll probably still be here when you get back.”

“I- uh, okay.”

“unless you’d rather me come to training? we could work on your takedowns.”

“wait, whats wrong with my takedowns? I took down nesta, and gwyn!"

“and until you can take down me and cass, I’m not secure in your safety.”

you huffed at him, but there was a playful smile on your face, telling him you weren’t really mad, and he reached out, placing a hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. your gaze tracked the movement. 

“so, will you come?” he raised a brow at you, and you gasped a little at the innuendo he’d turned it into. “to training! will you come to training?”

“I suppose so.” he sat up, stretching his arms over his head, and his shadows told him of the way you bit your lower lip, gaze flicking over his chest and arms, before snapping away to stare pointedly at the door before he caught you. “I’ll go and put on my leathers. I’ll meet you there, angel.”

rolling from the bed and flexing out the numbness from his wings, he leaned back over, one hand on the mattress beside you, one on your hip, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and pulling back.

“see you soon.”

he was practically breathless by the time he reached the corridor, closing the door behind himself, shoes in hand. 

on the way to his own bedroom, he crossed rhysand, who was passing to his office, coffee mug raised halfway to his lips, and his brows shot up. “alright, brother?”

“more than alright.”

“want to tell me about it?”

“not yet.” 

“in that case, good luck.”

az grinned, continuing on his way through the house to prepare himself for training.

and just like that, azriel’s favourite new hobby began; teasing you. seeing just how much he could make you blush, how far he could go, whether you felt the same way.

lingering hands that slipped a little lower than needed when you trained, stares that he knew were more than suggestive, winks to accompany jokes that pressed well beyond that of friendship.

now that he had decided to be truthful with friends, he couldn't keep his hands to himself, he wasn’t sure how he ever did.

azriel liked to sit next to you, bury his face in your neck or hair, keep you tugged in close to his side. his arm lived permanently over the back of whatever seat you were on, and he always sat next to you, tucking hair away behind your ears, rubbing your back gently when you got sleepy, and holding you close to his chest every night when you slept. 

he simply couldn't get enough. 

after a few weeks, you’d stopped blushing and being as shocked. you’d caught onto his little game, he suspected, because you had begun making a habit of teasing him back.

you would kiss every cut and scrape and wound that he got once you’d fixed him up, lips teasing over the bandages as he pouted about it falsely.

you’d started to make him work for it, to always find someway to squirm or shuffle, to tease him with the possibility of leaving just so he’d have to grip a little tighter.

you’d taken to playing with his hands, running a the pad of your index over each finger and around his palm, featherlight touches that made him twitch.

and he loved it. every second of it, he loved it.

whenever he could get his hands on you, your hands on him, any part of his body touching you.

and when you weren’t there, his family had gotten more affectionate too. 

cassian gave him a hug every single time he saw him, and it was almost the fifth hug before azriel stopped feeling the lump form in his throat.

rhys had taken to patting his back and shoulders every chance he got while feyre had taken to squeezing his hands and arms. mor would ruffle his hair and pinch his cheeks. he loved all of that, too. 

but he didn’t love any of it as much as he loved your touch. 

and so, the morning when azriel finally lay the last piece of his soul bare to you had felt so utterly normal.

he’d been in your bed that night, his legs were still tangled with yours in the early morning golden sun, noses almost touching as you shared a pillow, and just whispered about everything. his hand was tucked under your shirt to run over your skin lightly as your fingers played with his hair. 

it had been utterly perfect.

he’d told you about his mother, and the childhood he’d been locked away, and the healer who would be his only form of touch for years as she fixed him up after his brothers or step-father hurt him. 

he let you into that final piece of himself, and you’d made it beautiful, just like the rest. 

and so, when he'd leaned forwards, catching your lips with his own in a delicate meeting, it had felt so right. not heart-racing, not anxiety-inducing, not new and terrifying and bold. no, it had felt like coming home. 

and that terrified him.

it terrified him more so when he felt his chest hum, felt his heart skip a beat and the snap that made his breath rush from him. he felt it, felt a bond form, felt the bond form. he was scared.

he could feel his heart speeding up, his thoughts spinning, every mind-stilling technique he’d mastered over the years seemed to go out the window and azriel felt himself gaping at you in shock.

you were frowning at him now, and he could vaguely feel the touch of your fingers slip down from his hair to sit on his cheek, thumb stroking over his face, and every swipe felt like fire over his skin as his nerves electrified.

“not exactly the reaction you want to a mate bond.”

you were smiling, joking, and the breath once again felt pressed from him. this time, every muscle locked up, he went so still he felt like even the blood in his veins had stopped moving.

“you knew?”

a whirlwind of emotions whipping through him; confusion, anger, sadness, frail grief even as he pulled away from your touch on his face. 

he pushed himself to sit up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, and the sound of your sigh made irritation bubble within him as he processed it. 

rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed, goosebumps lining his bare chest, all the way down to the boxers shorts he’s stripped down to sleep in.

then, there was a burst of concern in his chest, dizzying and disorientating for a moment before he realised it wasn’t his. it was yours, from the bond.

he snapped up walls around it, much the same feeling as the walls in his mind with rhysand, and just like that, soothing cold like his shadows took over where hot love and concern had once been. 

he stood, trying not to take in the hurt on your face as he closed his end of the bond.

“az..”

he stumbled a little at the sound of his name on your tongue, feeling so much, positive and negative; love and betrayal, hurt and anger, comfort and sadness. it was a maddening concoction.

“you knew! you knew and you didn’t tell me! how could you, how could you do that to me?”

he reached for his leathers, tugging the pants up his legs and fastening them right over his shorts, grabbing for his t-shirt next.

you sat up now, crawling across the bed and tangled in the sheets before reaching a hand out to him. 

“azriel.”

he flinched away from your touch, and your outstretched hand faltering before falling to rest on your thigh instead as you sat back on your heels.

“no, no, no. I need to think, don’t touch me right now. I just.. I need some space.”

“you need to think.. about us? about the bond?”

“I have some things to think about!” he was almost ashamed of the outburst as he tugged on his shirt, not even fastening it behind his back, and grabbing his boots and jacket in hand. 

“right… okay, sure.” your voice cracked, and azriel was sure that would have killed him to hear had he not been swirling with so much anger already.

and then he was leaving, slamming your door behind himself and making the journey back to his room barefoot. he barely processed the walk, he barely remembered seeing lucien in the corridor or seeing feyre in the foyer.

the first time his head was clear once again was hours later, when he found himself in front of a punching bag.

he’d done as he always had, and resorted to mindlessly pounding out his emotions whenever it was too much. there were weapons scattered around himself, practice swords near the wood pillars and spare wrapping for his knuckles on the bench, and he reached a hand out to stop the bag from swinging. 

there were mixed smells in the air, mostly his own sweat, that of the valkyries too. they must have come to training, and he hadn't even noticed. he’d been so caught up, so totally lost in his shadows and his feelings that he’d managed to block out the world entirely. 

he willed them back, away from the frenzy around him and into a somewhat calm semblance behind his body, a writhing mass of cool, collected terror.

it was only once they were drawn back that he noticed his brother, arms crossed, leaning on the doorway with his brows raised. 

“want to spar about it?”

his lips twitched up at the edges, and he glanced the ring, before nodding. 

cassian had always known just what he needed when he was in a mood like this.

then again, he’d never quite had a mood like this before. never the hurt of finding his mate, finding out his mate already knew and had deceived him, and then the betrayal to follow, all within minutes. no, this was brand new.

he didn’t want to talk, not as he watched cassian powder and wrap his hands, not as he watched his brother take stance, and not as they began to throw and dodge punches.

no, it wasn’t until azriel was dripping in sweat and panting so hard his lungs hurt that the therapeutic part of it finally kicked in, and his shoulders felt light enough to let the words sitting on his tongue free.

“she’s my mate.”

“yeah.” cassian didn’t even hesitate, and the shock of realising that cassian knew too was so stark he caught a punch across his jaw.

he swore, spitting out to the side and cutting a glare at his brother. he’d already landed a good few punches of his own, but he’d get him back for that one. 

“you knew as well?”

“yeah.” 

azriel landed a hard blow to his brother’s ribs, prompting more than just that one word out of him with a matching glower.

instead, cassian slowed the movements of his feet until they were standing still, panting and aching and loose of physical tension at last. wordlessly, he had stopped the fight, enough that they were actually going to talk about this, it seemed.

“she told me after that one mission, where you almost died and snapped at her real bad. when she woke up after her burnout, we talked about it. I wanted to apologise to her. she told me, that the bond  had snapped for her during that night when she was caring for you.”

azriel remembered that, or, the morning after, at least. how it had felt to wake up to you, to wake up to touch and feeling loved, and how he’d reacted much the same that morning as he had this morning. 

he’d freaked out, and snapped, and yelled a little bit. he cringed slightly at the comparison. 

his brother was smiling, unwrapping his hands. “so, it snapped for you too, then! when?”

“this morning, when we..” 

azriel cleared his throat as heat rose to his cheeks, and cassian wiggled his brows with a smirk. “when we..?”

“oh, gods, cass. when we kissed, that's it.”

then, cassian’s smile dimmed, and his gaze flicked around the room at the chaos left in azriel’s wake.

“so, if it snapped this morning, what the hell are you doing beating out your frustrations up here? there’s much more enjoyable ways to pass the energy surge, you know.”

he winked, and azriel merely rolled his eyes, but he had no anger left to spare at the moment. 

“I… was overwhelmed. I’ve waited so long, cassian, it took me by surprise. I freaked out a little bit, I was so shocked.”

“and?”

sometimes it scared him just how well his brother could read him. he sighed, trying to clear his thoughts enough to recall the morning the way it had happened, without the fog in his mind. 

“and then she told me that she knew. she knew all this time, knowing how much I cared for her, how much I wanted her, how much I wanted a mate, and she kept it from me.”

“because you’re just known for your calm, logical reactions in moments of emotional stress. obviously.”

that earned cassian a scowl weighed with threat and disdain.

“she said she knew, I freaked out and said I needed some space to think, because how could she do that to me? I needed to leave and think some things through.”

“well, as long as you didn’t say it quite like that, but..” cassian shrugged, grabbing his water bottle and taking a hearty gulp before tossing it to azriel. 

he was parched, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink when cassian had dropped a statement like that on him.

“that’s exactly how I said it. verbatim. what do you mean?”

“are you serious, azriel?” 

rarely did cassian ever take that tone with him, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had, and azriel’s eyes widened a little in shock.

“let me just be sure I’m understanding this correctly. the woman who is head-over-heels for you, constantly gives you her all, openly adores you for all to see, you didn’t even suspect that she was your mate?”

“I mean, I hoped, but I tried not to think too hard so I wouldn't be disappointed-”

his excuse was cut off, ignored, as cassian held his hand up to him. 

“then, when the bond finally snaps for you, because you finally let that last bit of your walls down to actually let yourself be happy, that’s what you say?”

“harsh, cass.”

“you told that sweet, kind woman, who knew and was waiting for you to figure it out on your own, because you’re so stubborn and hard-headed that you won’t just let yourself be happy, that you needed to think? you didn’t stop to think that for all this time she’s been protecting that bond alone, the bond you didn’t pick up, loving you with her whole heart and soul while getting nothing back, you didn’t think about her? what she’s been going through? that about cover it?”

azriel had never quite been lectured like this by cassian before. he could only nod.

“you watched me get my heart broken over and over again by nesta until she realised. and you.. you.. what is there to think about? what, you don’t want her? what, that maybe she’s great for keeping your bed warm but not as a mate?”

something awful, horrible, cold and heavy and sinking settled into his stomach.

his chest felt hollow, that place where a bond had been for only seconds before he’d silenced it felt like a missing limb now.

the last of the angry mist filling him finally dissipated.

if cassian thought those things, then maybe you-..

“oh, gods..”

“you’re such a dumbass.” cassian scoffed, frowning at him and placing his hands on his hips.

“okay, seriously, cassian. you are reaming my ass today, what the hell?”

“you deserve it!”

he couldn't argue that, all he could do was grumble about it.

he dropped those walls back down, reaching out for the bond and tugging. no reply, like a brick wall. he tried again, this time you had shut him out, and he hated how empty that made him feel. how much he must’ve hurt you by doing that.

“do you think I should-”

“I REALLY DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE STILL DOING HERE.”

“OKAY, OKAY.”

it was enough encouragement, enough to spur him from where he was frozen, not even bothering to unwrap his hands as he took off in a jog. 

once again, he was lost to everyone except his own thoughts. 

he missed rhysand as he passed his office and called out a greeting, and he missed elain as he flew in and out of the kitchen, he missed nesta who cursed at him for almost running straight into her.

he searched every room for you, coming up empty everywhere but your bedroom.

he was banging on your door, one hand curled into a fist as he shouted your name, refusing to just barge in when he had so clearly been shut out and cut off, but that resolve was wearing thin the longer you didn’t answer him. 

“angel, please, I just want to talk, stop shutting me out, c’mon.”

his shoulders were slumping, he hoped they weren’t shaking, as your silent treatment settled a heavy sense of foreboding within him.

“hey, az. what are you doing?” elain’s eyes were narrowed on him, and her arms were crossed over her chest as she took him in.

“hey, elain. I can’t find (y/n), she doesn’t want to talk to me.. I fucked up this morning and I know that and I’m sorry!” his voice rose toward the end of his sentence turning back to face the wood of your door and hoping you’d hear it.”

“az, she’s not in there.”

“you know where she is?” he didn’t even have enough to feel embarrassed as his head whipped to her.

“she went back to autumn a couple of hours ago.” elain only shrugged, because she didn’t have a crushing sense of defeat and loss and agony in her chest as she spoke those words. not like he did upon hearing them.

“she.. I mean, she.. what? why? when?” 

elain only shrugged once more. 

“I don’t know. I was out doing some early morning gardening before the heat of the day kicked in, and lucien came out in such a panic all of a sudden and told me he had to go back to autumn immediately, and was taking (y/n) with him. he wouldn’t tell me much more, just that he’d be out of touch for a few days. I barely even got a chance to say goodbye to him before they were winnowing out, bags in hand.” 

she sighed wistfully, clearly missing her mate dearly, and boy did azriel know how that now felt.

he felt hot, all over, and somehow cold at the same time. his body was aching, in all new ways from the vigorous training, his eyes stung so much it hurt to keep them open and will back the oncoming tears. 

“oh, az, don’t worry. they’ll be back soon, I just know it. why don’t we get you some tea, huh? I just brewed a fresh pot of berries and lemon.”

she reached up, one hand on his shoulder and one on his arm to lead him away. it was comforting, the warmth of her touch and the squeeze she gave, the smile to accompany it. but it wasn’t enough, not even close.

so he sat, with a cup of tea clenched between his hands, warming him slowly from the porcelain as elain rolled out bread dough on the counter behind him. 

it was as he took the final sip, staring into the bottom of the blue hand-made mug of feyre’s that elain finally spoke up. the question had been lingering in the air for almost twenty minutes, and he had been delaying it as long as possible.

“do you want to talk about it?”

“not really.”

“talk about it.”

“okay.” 

he’d long since given up on arguing with elain, whether it was her seer abilities, eavesdropping, or an uncanny ability to get information out of people, she’d gotten very good at knowing every single piece of gossip, and it was better to tell her himself than let her puzzle it out or hear it from cassian.

“in a nutshell, (y/n) is my mate, and I fucked it all up.”

“yes, well, I’d managed to piece that much together,” she smirked at him, wiping floury hands on her apron and pouring him a new mug of steaming tea, a spoonful of honey dunking into it to follow before she returned to her bread. “why don’t you tell me the rest?”

“she knew. cassian knew. you knew. everyone but me knew, apparently. the mailman and the courtiers from spring probably know. it snapped for me this morning, and I freaked out a little bit.” he pinched his fingers together, and then winced, expanding them some more “more than a little bit. I told her I needed to think about us, after basically accusing her of lying to me and implying she was awful for doing that, and then I.. stormed out.”

elain blew out a slow breath, slicing the dough into small cubes before shaping them up in circles. “well, it’s not great, I won’t lie. but, I don’t think she’d just run away from you. she’ll come back, she loves you, azriel, that means loving all the flaws that come with you, like brash decisions and saying the wrong thing in the heat of the moment and storming out.”

he let out an empty laugh at her teasing. somewhere deep down, he could see the logic in it all, but that didn’t stop it from hurting right now. 

“oh, az..” she brushed her hands down again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and propping her chin atop his head, squeezing him lightly. he raised a hand, patting her elbow where it sat on his shoulder and sighing. “you two are going to be just fine, I’m sure of it.”

“are you saying that as my friend or as a seer?”

her silence was answer enough for him and he groaned, head flopping down to sit on his forearms on the table as she only chuckled.

that was how feyre and rhys found him an hour later when they came down for sandwiches made of fresh bread, and he was forced to say it all over again. 

then that evening, mor joined everyone for dinner and rhys forced him to reiterate it all over once more as he smirked. 

the following morning, nesta gave him a look as she passed him in the corridor, and he knew that cassian had told her, too.

the only reprieve was amren, who simply did not care, and told everyone as much when sensing the foul mood hanging over him. 

for three days he moped, every evening making him feel worse and worse.

he was lonely, his bed was cold, his chest was colder, and he felt like his heart wasn’t even beating. 

he’d always been confused before when hearing the rumours, the stories of people with rejected or lost mates, and yet now, he understood. 

he didn’t want to get up, he didn’t want to leave his bed, he wanted to lay, and fester alone, and wait.

azriel had been just fine before, just fine when nobody touched him, nobody told him what he could and couldn't have, when he was moping and broody and he’d never known any different. he was just fine imagining what his life could have been and never having it. 

but then he’d had it. he’d had love and affection and touch, he’d had someone make him their priority, he’d had someone to cheer him up on bad days and to make him laugh when he wanted to frown. he’d had someone. and now, he was back to having no one.

it was dinner on the fourth night, as he was sipping on his wine, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood. 

his shadows stilled for a split second, swirling in slow motion before becoming frantic.

the front door was opened a moment later. the room around him went silent, all eyes moving to the foyer.

his spine straightened almost painfully as his hands clenched, trying to resist the urge to fly up from his seat and toward you.

a small smile formed on your face as you glanced around upon making it to the kitchen, and as rhysand stood, his legs twitched, wanting to copy. wanting to follow, to make his way to you, to-

“I’m sorry we just disappeared.” lucien sighed, wiping a hand over his face. he looked exhausted, like he’d spent days on end without sleep, he’d rarely seen the male so stressed. you looked worse. 

concern and panic flared up within him as he took in the circles under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders like even standing up was exhausting.

“I couldn't say anything until, well, until we knew what had actually happened. no easy way to say it, so, here it is. my father is dead.”

that shocked him, enough that he managed to tear his gaze from you for a second to stare at lucien, jaw dropping like almost everyone else. 

elain’s chair screeched back, she was on her feet a moment later, flying towards her mate and into his arms as she mumbled soothing apologies mixed with vague curses about the man, and lucien only chuckled.

“what happened?” mor burst, frowning in an attempt to seem apologetic, he was sure most of the looks around the table were false sympathy. he wasn’t sure that even lucien was all that upset by it. 

“officially? sickness. unofficially? assassination.”

gasps sounded around the table, and he didn’t care to take in any of it, frowning when feyre stood from her seat and made her way to you, squeezing your hands in her own, and azriel hated it, because he wanted to be the one holding you.

before he could move, rhys was tapping at his shields, a sharp talon scratching down those mental walls he’d put up.

“lucien, we should talk about it. my office, if you’re willing?”

the redhead only nodded, pressing a kiss to his mate’s head before disentangling himself. 

he glanced to his brother, mental conversation taking place, and he knew it was right, no matter how much he hated it. if beron had been assassinated, they needed to talk, and that involved him.

the sympathetic look on rhys’ face did nothing to soothe him, and it was like dragging his body through wet cement as he followed lucien, rhys and cassian out of the dining room and to his office.

for three torturous hours he tried to focus and give his best, and yet you were all he could think about. 

you were so close, you were back within the same four walls as he was, you were here, he could talk to you, get to you. he needed to.

as soon as he was free to go, he was outside of your bedroom door, knuckles tapping against the wood until he heard the faint ‘come in’ from the other side.

you were sitting in your bed, only the lamp beside you on.

“azriel, hey. I’ve been waiting for you.”

he couldn't feel any bone in his body as he all but sagged with relief. “you have?”

you only nodded as he took a few steps closer. “we should probably talk.”

well, there goes that relief.

his throat was burning, he felt so exposed and vulnerable and lost.

he was so caught up that he’d never noticed the return of that bond, the reopening of your end, until a wave of reassurance washed down it toward him.

there were tears in his eyes and his laugh was croaky as he rubbed his chest.

“I’m so sorry. I thought you left. I thought you were gone for good, I was so scared you weren’t coming back to me I thought I drove you away, and you have no idea how much that hurt, I couldn't even think. it- it was like my heart was missing from my chest, I love you so much, I can’t be apart from you, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean to make you leave, I didn’t mean to make you sad. not that morning, or the morning after that night you saved my life. I’ll be better, okay? I won’t be so grumpy and I won’t jump to conclusions, and I’ll just tr-”

“oh, oh, az-” he could sense how overwhelmed you were, he was only making it worse, and he watched you kick at the sheets and crawl toward the edge of the bed. “azriel, baby, c’mere.”

you held your hands held out to him, just like they had days ago, and he didn’t make the same mistakes as last time. 

he stumbled forward, until your hands could take his face softly, thumbs swiping away the tears that were flowing steadily over his cheeks. 

one of his hands closed over your own, the other gripping the opposite wrist.

“I’m so sorry, angel.”

“az, gods, honey, I’d never leave you. I’m sorry, that I had to close the bond, but it was a court-wide lockdown, I was liable for treason if I didn’t. all communication had to be cut off, even lucien to elain.”

he could only nod, he’d known that much, because elain had started to grow just as sad as he’d been as of yesterday morning. 

“I’m not going anywhere, ever, okay? one little hiccup isn’t going to ruin what we have. you take as much time as you need to process it, gods know I spent the whole night I was mopping your forehead and checking your pulse was still there processing it.”

you pulled him forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and azriel was sure no drug or alcohol or deep breath as he broke the surface of the water had ever felt like this.

“I thought there was no way this moody bat who wants nothing to do with me is my mate.”

he laughed, hands finding your hips, your cheek resting on his temple as you hugged him close. “I’m sorry I was so rude the morning after.”

“that’s okay, I already forgave you for that a while ago. can you forgive me for not telling you for so long?”

“I already forgave you days ago. I’ve been in agony missing you ever since.”

you pulled away, despite his protests, kissing each of his damp cheeks gently. 

“do you want to get ready for bed and join me? I’ve almost finished my chapter.”

“you sure you still want me?”

“I’m never going to stop wanting you, azriel. you’re mine, and I’m yours. I love you.”

“I love you.”

azriel was quick to strip down, all the way to his boxers, leaving his leathers over the back of the chair and his boots by the door.

you were still kneeling and looking at him fondly, and the air around him seemed to warm with affection, every nerve in his body relaxing.

“you ready for bed?”

“..yes.”

“you want some really clingy cuddles tonight?”

“I don’t think I could be close enough to you tonight if we actually became one person.” 

he wasn't sure where such a confession came from, but you laughed at him, big smile and eyes closing and he didn’t care. if bearing his soul to you meant relaxed laughing and pretty smiles and feeling like this, he’d tell you every soppy, silly thought he’d ever had.

while your eyes were closed, he moved, all but tackling you onto the bed and burying his face into your neck. 

it only made you laugh more, hands gripping at his shoulders, squirming as his hands ran up and down your sides to tickle, pinned underneath him and breathless as you giggled. 

“az! what about the covers, my book, the lights!”

“don’t care.” he pressed a kiss to the crook between your neck and shoulder, finally relenting his tickling to simply lay on you instead.

love and playful joy and the feeling of fullness flushed down the bond, filling his chest as you caught your breath under him. 

you shifted again.

“az, honey, please-”

“I love it when you call me that.” he groaned, nudging his nose against your jaw, cheeks aching from the smile on his lips. you only tugged at a handful of the covers under your bodies.

“I'm gonna’ freeze in the night, I’m not made of the same stuff you are.”

“that’s what happens when you wear these little nightgowns to bed.”

pinching some of the silk slip between his fingers, he jerked it lightly, and you smacked his hand away.

“they’re comfy! and besides, do you know how hot it gets in bed with you?” he pushed himself up, unable to stop the cassian-like smirk on his face as a very cassian-like joke passed through his mind. he needed to stop spending so much time with his brother. “oh, cut it out. you are like a furnace, but above the covers, I’m all exposed, my legs will get cold.”

“no winning with you, huh?”

“you’re gonna’ have to get used to losing arguments if you’re gonna’ be with me, honey.” 

he sighed dramatically, despite the skip of his heart which he knew you felt too, and he lifted himself up, pulling back the covers so you could get beneath, and settling himself in beside you. 

with the book gone and the lights out, azriel shuffled himself closer, resting one scarred palm on your cheek in the dark. “now can we cuddle?”

“yes, shadowsinger, illyrian warrior, terrifying-” he scoffed, leaning in to cut you off with a kiss, one which was cut short by your giggling.

“wasn’t it you that told me none of those things define me, and they don’t stop me being worthy of love?”

“yes, my love, my honey, my mate-”

“much better.”

“we can cuddle now.”

he tugged you closer, close enough that his forehead touched yours, cheeks on the same pillow, and he’d never felt happier than this moment, bond singing between your bodies.

after a moment, you moved, head tucking under his chin, legs tangling, and he circled his arms right around you, one wing following.

azriel felt like he was practically melting into you, as the slow traces of your fingers up and down his arm drained away every bit of stress from his body.

“everything is different with you, az. when you hold me, I feel so safe. I feel protected, like nothing can go wrong in the world.”

his heart swelled and he dipped enough to kiss your hairline in response, your nose following, before his lips were meeting with your own.

it was fragile, and soft, and perfect. everything he’d ever wanted. 

it was the kind of kiss that promised every day, not the passion of one night or the teasing of something more. this kiss spoke to every part of him, it filled his heart, made him proud and happy and contented, and he loved it.

“when you hold me, I feel like I can finally be vulnerable. like someone sees every single part of me, and loves me. I don’t feel scared to show you every part of my soul. I am completely and wholly yours.”

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel/reader #azriel x reader #azriel/you #azriel x you #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar/you #acotar/reader #a court of thorns and roses

[neonovember]

dating carmen

a carmen berzatto headcanon for all of us feening for season 2

i must admit I was bored at the start of bear and than the next few minutes I was immediately hooked! carmen is such a unique character with so many layers I’d love to uncover as the seasons progress, but for now these are all coming from the depths of my mind :)

I’ve consumed about all the bear content tumblr has to offer so it’s only right I add to the shallow pool, even though this was pure self indulgence

carmy x reader inserts below!

we all know that Carmen has little to no experience with relationship, so the beginning of yours does not come without challenges. It’s hard for him, he barely registers his own emotions much anyone else’s, but in a way he has this subconscious itch in his mind to constantly know if your okay, to ask about your day, it becomes second nature with you.

Carmen refuses to call you by your actual name, often replacing it with honey, baby girl, sweetheart and with the way that accent glides over those words like honey you can’t bring yourself to protest

Carmen has never really thought of having kids, building a family or being tied to someone forever but sometimes, when he sees you fluttering around the apartment you both share, or giggling with richie's daughter he can’t help but imagine building something like that with you, some time. he doesn't doubt that if he did every have children, you would be the mother of his kids. he has visions of it, dreams where you have a gorgeous girl he would hold close or a mini mickey running around, he has to forget it though, he’s just not ready.

Carmen barely ever eats, despite being a chef, most of the things he consumes is easily accessible and in turn flavourless and unsatisfying. but after you come into his life, you practically force him to eat every time you see him, until carmen begins to eat whenever you're near. You can’t lie, it heals something in you

let’s also talk about the totally canon time where you were up late writing one night and carmen had just come back from the beef, tiptoeing through the corridor to not wake you up until he sees you sprawled out on the couch. there’s this tension that leaves his soldiers and he wastes no time taking his shoes off and sliding under the blankets, burying his tired body into yours, grease stained shirt and all but you don’t mind. you’d scratch and brush back his hair and he’d groan in bliss, closing his eyes before you would ask him that fateful question. carmen feels guilty every time he replies with the same 2 letter word, but every time you tell him that it’s part of being his. he couldn’t lie when he felt his jeans tighten at that sentence.

continuing onto that vision, despite your amateur cooking skills, you whip up something quick for Carmen that is actual sustenance and Carmen has to force his eyes open to watch you as you cook, completely and forever enraptured by you. and this man is crazy with his eye contact so imagine it with someone he loves. it’s inSANE

feeding carmen when he’s back from the beef and is too tired to lift a hand. he’s just murmuring ‘I love yous’ repeatedly between bites and you can’t help but giggle. he’s so delirious from lack of sleep all he can form are words that have been written into his tongue like muscle memory

as we see carmen, dealing with his anxiety and unresolved trauma is often terrorised by night terror and ptsd, and that kind of causes him to have this fear of you finding out somehow, whether that be by staying over or him falling asleep next to you, it all comes to a head one night when exactly that happens, and when carmen realise you haven’t stared at him in judgement or left with the door wide open it’s like everything changes. he’s finally found someone that accepts him fully, with all his jagged ends and sharp corners and he is gone at that moment. he is totally and completely head over heels in love with you.

after that revelation you are spending most nights over at his apartment, and whilst the nightmares are still there, as they might always be, there is a relief when he wakes up and feels the beat of your body rubbing circles gently across his back

the progression of your relationship with carmen happens a bit like falling asleep, slow at first and then all at once. it doesn’t take long for Carmen to confess his love to you, in that awkward yet charming way of his, and it takes even shorter after that for you to move in with him

speaking of, carmen probably fell in love with you the second he saw you, that glow that shone in a place that wasn’t the beefs kitchen, he just couldn’t quite actualise or express his feelings

he’s probably hear Tina or Ebra teasing you about a guy they had seen you with, which was no one but your cousin, and carmen would feel this burn across his chest that sinks his stomach, and then we would just know. you would be noticing the change in his demeanour at the mention of a guy connected to you, he’ll the whole kitchen did, especially when Tina would give you a look when he chastised everyone to ‘get back to work because this place isn’t gonna run itself’

I heard someone post about washing carmen’s hair and just- yes. he’s too exhausted to even eat so washing carmen’s hair would be a frequent thing. you’d always have to do it at night though because carmen would sneak a hand around your waist and hoist you up and then proceed to fuck you against the tile walls. You couldn’t be late, he couldn’t be late. For the 100th time.

carmen is touch starved, and that makes him so incredibly needy, you don’t mind however, because you're as touch starved as him. there are times where he comes home and just reaches for you, mumbling incoherent words before just grabbing your hips and making you straddle him on the living room coach. he’s so sensitive and blissed out then, even the slightest thrust of your closed core against his tight jeans leaves him whimpering

oh yeah carmen whimpers, I mean are you kidding? Look at that man

carmen, despite not having many relationships under his belt, is ridiculously, I mean concerningly good at eating your pussy. this man will spend hours, edging you, nibbling on your inner thighs, licking and sucking before thirsting a finger and tongue into you with no warning. he knows every single inch of your body, he’s got it memorised, he dreams about it in the office, on his smoke breaks, in the kitchen, hell especially in the kitchen. getting hard all over again when he remembers the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and how you fell apart with his name on yours.

you think carmen is needy during sex? he’s a whole other thing after, this man will keep his cock buried in you long after your highs, until it gets soft and uncomfortable, and even then he needs you close to him, holding you tight against his chest or having you rest your cheek on his collarbone

bear hugs. lots and lots of bear guys. there's something about carmen’s arms that just make you feel so soft and warm wrapped up in them

carmen really likes how you smell, its almost primal (ehm anthtony bridgerton) he loves washing his body with you scented body wash, even if cousin would tease the fuck out of him for smelling like strawberries, carmen just shakes his head and smiles at the reminder that he is completely and utterly yours.

carmen isn't that rambunctious with his displays of affection, it's subtle, like making you coffee before he leaves or getting down to tie your shoes for you, but it's genuine. it's unique to him, it’s carmen. he'd probably design a dish based on you without realising how goddamn romantic that is. i imagine him calling you to the kitchen and getting you to try something, little scribbled notes written on paper and a little notebook with written and rewritten recipes and you'd ask what it is and he'd reply with "you" and then idk he’d maybe ask you to marry him

carmy would be an absolutely emotional mess on your wedding day, it's partly because he didn't think he'd have a life that included one, and partly because couldn't wrap his head around you actually saying yes. He’s crying when you both wake up on that morning, hes crying when you both sneak away to see each other before the altar, he's crying when he sees you walking down, you've got a box of tissues attached to your dress for him

carmen is a perfectionist, he has this insatiable need to make things beyond perfect, his work is his passion and that need seeps into most of life. however, a lot of the times things in your relationship don’t go right, and it’s mostly why he has never really given his all to one, he’s scared he’ll fuck it up and once that happens you cant start again, you can’t redo the recipe with a new batch. But carmen, slowly, very slowly, learns that things don't have to be perfect, they just have to be real.

You're carmen's unofficial official taste tester. One snowed in night, you and carm just stayed up all night, designing and tweaking recipes and new dishes for the bear, with carm mostly doing the designing and you being his very scrutinising critic

carmy loved whatever you called him, i think he kind of froze the first time you called his name, but he especially loves it when you call him by his full name. everyone else kinda has the same nickname for him but he loves that you call him by something only you do, because he will always call for you

And oh my god if you call him ‘husband’ after you get married? It does something unholy to him

carmen is constantly searching for you, he gets anxious when you aren't around or when your late, you are his best friend beyond his lover and the only person he can truly feel at ease with, the crew are his family as they are yours but there is so much that he bottles that he can only express to you during those nights under light of the moon and sweat covered sheets.

you take everything carmen gives, and there is so much that he does, but it was not always that easy, loving carmen was hard, it was frustrating and overwhelming and carmen is forever trying to give you the love he could not those first few months where he closed himself off to you

sometimes, your heart aches so much with the love you have for carmen, and carmen sometimes feels like he's wading through a current when he thinks of you, he just wants to give into the rush of love and adoration that overwhelms him. its personified in every vessel of his life, he's got polaroids of you stuck to his car mirror, in his wallet, he's got your necklace around his neck and drinks from your mug, you ruined him for anyone else, and he can't imagine his life without you, your scent, your hair products and bring pink toothbrush all over it.

#carmen #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto x fluff #carmen berzatto x angst #the bear #the bear Hulu #the bear fx #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto masterlist #carmy x fem!reader #carmy #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x fluff #carmen berzatto headcanon #neonovember #neowrites #sydney #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich #the bear season 2 #the beef #pure self indulgence

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 9

part 1 | part 8 | ao3

cw: medical emergency

He ditches his car at the top of the street, runs the rest of the way because there are too many people standing around — a small crowd of onlookers clustered at the bottom of the lane, gawking in their sleep shirts and flannels like the world isn’t trying to end for a fourth time. Fifth? He can’t keep track. He can’t even think, numb to everything but the pounding of his shoes against the pavement, the sirens wailing in his ears, the steady prayer in his pulse not her not now not both—

“Mom?” he shouts, voice cracking and raw. “Mom!!”

“It’s not for her.”

There’s a hand against his chest then, heel of a palm pressed to his sternum, and he slams into it like a brick wall. The air burns in his lungs; he can’t focus his eyes. “Wh-what?” he gets out, voice shaking, throat thick. Cold terror drools down his sweaty neck like the breath of a hungry monster. He’s a little kid again, swept up in the mayhem of a crowded mall. Where’s his mom; where’s his mom?

“Your mom’s in my house.” The voice is deep and slow, the hand flexing against his shirt. Fingers splayed. Heavy rings.

“…E-Eddie?” Steve’s vision swims, going yellow and purple then tunneling down to black, deep water filling his ears. Nothing makes any sense. “Munson, what—?”

“Your mom’s in my house,” he repeats like a mantra. Like a lighthouse in the fog, voice rumbling and sure. “She’s safe. She’s fine. You’re hyperventilating; take a breath.”

His breath is still catching quick and high in his throat, little puffs of cold mist. Can you drown in cold air? Can it condense inside your chest?

Eddie grips his shoulder, snaps his fingers in Steve’s face. “Hey. Hey, Steve? Come on, man, look at me. Steve. Look at me.”

Steve meets his gaze like the tide drawn to the moon.

“Deep breath,” he demonstrates, sucking air through an invisible straw, letting his chest and belly swell. Steve copies him until his vision starts to clear, until his heartbeat starts to calm. "That's it," Eddie tells him. "Good. Yeah, there we go."

Some hysterical part in the back of his brain wants to laugh. To start and never stop, just laugh and laugh and laugh until his fucking head explodes.

When he can breathe again, he pants weakly, “What is going on?”

Eddie guides him to a picnic table on the outskirts of the crowd, and they perch on top of it with their feet planted on the bench. The air feels calmer here.

Steve takes another breath.

Eddie points to the single-wide right next to Steve’s. “The wagon’s for your neighbor,” he grimaces in sympathy, one eye squinting shut as he cocks his head at Steve. “Ernie. You know him?”

“Mm.” Ernie Gerwitz. Late 60s, a widower with liver spots and arthritis in both hands. Bad heart, worse drinking habit. Fucking hates Steve’s mom because she backed over his begonias. “Not well.”

They didn’t interact much beyond an occasional neighborly nod, although Steve did once earn the guy’s good graces by yelling at Misty while shooing her off with a rake. (‘Little bitch left me a whole damn weasel last year,’ he’d grumbled as he stooped to pick up the newspaper. ‘Can't shoot her, though, 'cause she scares away the possums.’) And now…

Steve can’t make out much from here, just the shape of a four-man stretcher being carried out the door, strobe light streaks in his vision as the EMTs load up the van.

“Is he…” Steve gulps, clasping his hands between his knees. He doesn’t want to ask this question. The words taste moldy in his mouth. “Is he dead?”

Eddie’s hand shakes a little when he drags it down his cheek. His answer comes on a wobbly sigh, an almost melodic quality to the tension in his voice. “No-o idea, man. Your, uh, your mom, ya know, she— She found him. In, um. In the yard." "Jesus." "Said he was just, like... lying there. In the grass.” Eddie stares off into the distance like he’s seeing it right now; makes a wet clucking sound as his bottom lip quivers. “Thinks it was, a- a heart thing, or something? Shit, I don’t know. She was pretty freaked out when she knocked on my door.”

Steve can't picture it. He hasn’t seen her express a single true emotion since July.

A hesitant hitch of breath, and Eddie chews on his next words, tapping a hand against his thigh. “She’s, uh... she’s… calmer now. Or. At least-”

Steve rolls his eyes, knows exactly where this is going. Eddie tries again: “I mean, she seemed like-”

“Like a fucking zombie?” Steve supplies.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, a nervous laugh of relief. You said it, man, not me. There’s something serious in his gaze, something curious and searching.

Something almost kind. Steve shrinks away from it like a vampire in the sun. Go on, he wants to say, ask about the fucking pills. Wants to goad him into a fight, some mean, sharp thing inside him itching to see someone else bleed.

Steve bites his tongue until he tastes metallic tang. Copper covering mildew; fresh bloom coating decay. He swallows hard, lets them both slide down his throat — blood and ghosts, life and death. The River Styx must taste like pennies.

The siren starts again, and Eddie groans and hangs his head. “Christ," he murmurs to the dirt, “Wayne’s gonna be so bummed.”

They both watch in silence as the ambulance goes by.

—

part 10

okay same deal tagging whoever commented yesterday (if your settings will let me) you’re all delightful tysm 😘 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @thefreakandthehair @slutforcoffein @manda-panda-monium @munsonfamilybandalso @aliea82 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @lololol-1234 @hotluncheddie @pennyplainknits @disrespectedgoatman @carolinachickadee @insideiscold @acedorerryn @anne-bennett-cosplayer @violetsteve my actual wife blessings upon your house @lighthousebeams @steves-strapcollection @sirsnacksalot @stevesbipanic @slowandsteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @so-get-this-sammy @annabanannabeth @runninriot @cuips-not-cute @a-little-unsteddie @envyadams-vs-me @ppunkpuppyy if i forgot anyone i’m sorry i am very sleep deprived

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #st fic #my writing #my fic

[hikarry]

Badass Aziraphale is fun. We love to see him with all the divine wrath and playing the protector he was meant to be, blinded by love and duty. Eyes everywhere and flaming sword at hand ready to smite or confront anyone that dares step his way

And that's the version we see the most in the fandom. Vengeful angel Aziraphale Guard of the Eastern Gate raining righteous fury over anyone who dares harm Crowley

It's beautiful. Poetic even. I love it

BUT

There is nothing in this whole fandom that's more powerful and gorgeous than protective Crowley

That man knows what is like to lose the love of his life. He has lived it, for as brief as it might have been. All the despair, the lost of hope, the absolute loneliness. He has been there and that's a place he refuses to go back to

All the fear turned into rage. Ready to burn down Heaven and flood Hell to protect his angel. He might not be the strongest and he might not be a match for more than one archangel at a time, but he would rather die than let anyone take Aziraphale away from him again

He would become so blindsided by terror he wouldn't stop to think about the consequences. His only target is Aziraphale and Aziraphale only and he would pull any stunt to make sure he was safe and, do you wanna know the best part? This is canon

We have snippets of protective Crowley all throughout season 2 but this scene? Oh boy, this scene

Crowley doesn't trust Gabriel. He tolerates him because he promised Aziraphale he would help, but he is on high alert

As soon as Shax shows up and threatens Aziraphale, he redirects his fear turned rage towards his main target: Gabriel. Because this is his fault. Beelzebub is looking for HIM. They/Heaven indirectly threatened Aziraphale with being erased from the Book of Life because of HIM. If something happens to Aziraphale because of this stupid charade he got himself involved with because he promised to protect Gabriel, Crowley will hold no punches

He's already full to the brim with the stunt Gabriel pulled during Aziraphale's "trial". Oh no, Crowley hasn't forgotten his words and his righteous smile while he condemned the man he loves to death even though some years have gone by and he is still furious about it

He is a wrong step away from exploding and destroying everything that presents itself as a threat to Aziraphale in the moment.

He is so scared of everything (Gabriel, Beelzebub, Shax, Heaven in general, the Book of Life) that he spends most of the season compressed like a spring ready to pounce at the minimal real show of danger

The only reason he leaves Aziraphale with the demons in the bookshop to go and try to figure out what the absolute fuck is going on is exactly because the demons can't enter said bookshop and he trusts everyone present not to be stupid enough to let them in (I'm sorry, Maggie. I still love you babes)

The worst part is: all his fury, all his rage and fear are useless in the end because Aziraphale walks into the danger willingly and Crowley would face anyone that tried to hurt his angel, but the angel himself

Don't get me wrong, he sees the danger. Maybe a tad to late. After the demons are gone and so is Gabriel and Beelzebub, he let's his guard down and allows himself to truly relax, planning their little breakfast at the Ritz

Because he thinks it's over. He was completely blindsided by Metatron. He himself says "Go angel. No problem. Can't get weirder than whatever the fuck just happened". Oh my poor sweet summer child

But he does see the danger eventually and goes on high alert again, but it's too late. He would never hurt Aziraphale, but he pulls all the weapons on his arsenal to try and stop him from going where he can't follow. Where he can't protect him

And he fails. Like he always feared he would. Not only showing his hand to Aziraphale in a desperate attempt to protect him but also losing him in the process with nothing he can do about it but watch his angel go until the very last second

#im feeling angsty today dont @ me #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #david tennant #michael sheen #anthony j crowley

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Uh-Oh

Summary: Javi's Girl Dad skills get put to the ultimate test when your oldest daughter gets her period and you're not home to help her

Word Count: 2.9K

Pairing: Dad!Javi x Wife!reader (No use of y/n)

Warnings: Periods/getting a period for the first time, Javi being the ultimate Girl Dad, the Peña girls being the queens of sass, teamwork makes the dream work, just cute, sweet fluff 🥺😭

A/N: We all know that Girl Dad! Javi lives rent free in my brain, and as I was buying more tampons for myself today my brain went "Oh my god... could you imagine if Osita wasn't home when Lucy got her period and Javi, Elliot and Harper had to try and help her until Osita got home?" 😂😩 And of course, our elite girl dad would do anything he needed to in order to step up and make sure that his lil girl was okay 😭 This was also super fun to write because I feel like the girl's spunky personalities really shine through in this one 💀

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“Mom? Mooommm?!” 

“Why do you need Mom?” Elliot responded to her older sister, Lucy, frantically calling out for you from behind the bathroom door. 

“I just- I- Will you please just go get Mom, okay?! I really need her.”  Lucy sighed, panic filling her voice with every passing second it took for her sister to answer her request. Normally Elliot wouldn’t have been so quick to comply without haggling to negotiate a favor on her end, but even the 11 year old could sense the pure terror in her older sister’s voice. 

“Fine, fine.” Elliot huffed, making her way to her other sister’s room down the hall, pushing open Harper’s door to rally her for support. “Harper. Go help me find Mom.” 

“Why?” Harper asked, giving her sister a confused look as she set down the stuffed animals she was playing with on her bed. 

“Because, Lucy sounds like she’s having a mental breakdown in the bathroom and she needs mom’s help.” 

“Do you think she pooped her pants?!” Harper looked at Elliot with a disgusted and confused grimace on her face, the girls pausing for a moment to shake their heads in horror at the potential current state of their sister. 

“She did sound really upset… I don’t know Harps, just go look for Mom, okay?!” 

The girls quickly split, Harper taking the rest of the rooms upstairs while Elliot sped down the stairs to see if you were anywhere on the first floor. 

“Mom?! Mommy are you down here?!” 

After many years of raising 3 girls under the same roof, the two of you had learned how to tell the difference in your girls’ tone to distinguish what they wanted you for- Tattling, excitement, annoyance, you and Javi had pretty much heard it all. But the way that Elliot was calling out for you immediately caught Javi’s attention. 

Someone was in big trouble. 

“What’s up, El?” Javi called out wearily from the living room, lowering the volume on the TV as his daughter came speeding in, fear flooding her face. 

“Where’s mom?!” Elliot demanded, looking around the room for any sight of you. Her worried tone quickly had Javi up and off the couch, scrunching his brow at Elliot in concern at what kind of trouble the girls had gotten themselves into that they were so frantically looking for you. 

“Mom’s at the store. What’s going on?” Javi asked again, trying to keep even keeled, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at his daughter. 

“I don’t know, I swear! Lucy just kept calling for Mom from the bathroom. She sounded really freaked out, though. Harper and I think she shit her pants.” Elliot replied, holding up her hands in defense to rid herself of any potential blame, trying to keep from giggling at her last sentence. 

“Elliot Marie.” Javi groaned, rolling his eyes at her. “You said she’s in the bathroom?”  

Elliot nodded, giving a little shrug for her lack of clarity around her sister’s current circumstances. Letting out a little sigh, Javi reached over for the remote on the couch, turning off the TV before making his way up the stairs to find out what in the world was going on. 

Javi, Elliot and Harper now found themselves gathered around the outside of the bathroom door in confusion, Javi gently tapping on the door before speaking. “Hey Lucy, it’s me. What’s goin’ on, bud?” 

“Where’s Mom?!” Lucy replied, sounding like she was trying her best to hold back her sobs, muffled from behind the bathroom door. 

“She’s at the store right now, babe. What’s going on?” Javi asked again, looking down at Harper and Elliot who were looking back up at him, the 3 of them perplexed as to why Lucy was so distraught. 

“Did you poop your pants?!” Harper shouted, trying her best to ask seriously, although the two girls on the outside of the bathroom door couldn’t help but snicker to themselves. Javi groaned, rolling his eyes at Elliot and Harper, taking his hand to shoo them away, silently mouthing “Seriously?! Go play.” as the girls scampered away in a fit of giggles to Elliot’s room, leaving just Javi outside the door, waiting for a response. 

“... I really need Mom.” Lucy choked out through her tears as Javi leaned against the door, running his hand over the back of his neck in a mix of bewilderment and frustration until his realization hit him like a ton of bricks, his face going ghost white in terror. 

Lucy got her fucking period and you weren’t home. 

Javi could feel himself physically starting to sweat in panic trying to figure out what the hell to do. Even if he called you to come home, you probably still weren’t going to be back for another 45 minutes, and he wasn’t going to let his daughter sit in the bathroom horrified and alone until you returned. Letting out the deepest sigh he could muster, Javi knew his only option was to do this on his own, and hope he didn’t traumatize his oldest daughter, or die of embarrassment in the process. 

“Uh… Lucy, I’m really sorry but Mom’s not- shit- You… You’re gonna have to trust me to help you though this one, bud.” Javi grimaced, wincing at his own words, wondering to himself how he was going to get himself and his daughter through this. 

A stark silence hug in the air between them, barricaded by the bathroom door as Javi anxiously bounced his leg, waiting for Lucy to say something, anything, back to him. “How do you know what’s going on?” Lucy questioned hesitantly, probably still just as in shock as Javi was that the two of themselves were stuck in this situation together. 

“I uh- I’m just assuming because you wanted Mom- and uh, you’re- you’re in the bathroom and that you’re upset that you got your per-” 

“EW DAD?! Don’t say it!! That’s so weird!!” Lucy snapped from the other side of the door, Javi automatically holding up his hands in defense and taking a step back from the bathroom, taking a moment to carefully choose his next words before speaking again. 

“Sorry, sorry. Uh, kiddo, listen, I can call Mom but she’s not gonna be home for a while and I- I can’t just let you sit in there until she comes back. Can I- will you let me help you?” Javi asked, preemptively wincing, bracing himself for Lucy’s reply. 

“Yeah, I- I guess. Just please don’t be weird, Dad, I’m literally already gonna die of embarrassment and that’s without your help.” Lucy groaned, accepting defeat that she was going to have to let her Dad, of all people, help her through her unfortunate circumstances. Javi let out a sigh of relief that he at least wasn’t going to have to fight with Lucy or leave her stranded in the bathroom, but as he sat and thought about the fact that he was going to put a plan into action… Given the choice between this and chasing down Pablo Escobar or the Cali Cartel? Javi would have been on the first flight back to Colombia. 

“Okay, let me uh… I’ll um- give me one second okay?” 

“Not like I was planning on going anywhere else anytime soon.” Lucy grumbled, just loud enough for Javi to hear as he sped to Elliot’s room, where he found his other two daughters blissfully unaware of what was happening, building some sort of creation out of Legos. 

“Girls, you gotta go do something for me okay?” Javi pleaded, leaning in the doorframe of the bedroom, looking down at his daughters on the floor, pausing their Lego construction, their dad now capturing their attention. 

“Okay.” The girls said in unison, giving their dad a little shrug of compliance. 

“Can you uh-” Javi ran his hand over his red face, trying to find the least mortifying way to ask his daughters to help, “Can you guys go to Lucy’s room and get her a pair of underwear?” 

“EW GROSS DAD.” The girls shrieked, sticking out their tongues in disgust and Elliot pretending to vomit to add to the effect. 

“You guys… Can you just- please?” Javi practically begged, trying his best to keep calm and blow things even more out of proportion than they already felt like they were. Elliot and Harper sat quietly for a moment, the gears in their head visibly turning before Elliot spoke again. 

“...What’s in it for us?” Elliot asked, tilting her head and shrugging at her sister, too smart for her own good to ever pass up on an opportunity to bargain her way into a better deal. 

“Helping your sister.” Javi gruffed, impatient for his daughter’s negotiating antics as his other daughter sat helpless in the bathroom. Elliot and Harper both raised an eyebrow at their dad, sitting on the floor in a determined silence to get something in exchange for Javi’s proposal. “... 5 bucks for each of you, fair?” 

“5? Seems a little low for such a risky task.” 

“Fine, 10, now go so we can help your sister.” 

The girls gave each other a quiet high five before pushing up off the floor and racing past Javi out of the bedroom door towards their sister’s room, Harper’s voice carrying down the hallway. 

“I told you she pooped her pants!” 

Now having figured out one part of his predicament, Javi made his way back to the bathroom door to check on Lucy as he waited for Elliot and Harper to return. “Hey Lucy… You… You doin’ okay?” Javi asked, his hand brushing through the dark ends of his curls at the back of his neck. 

“Yeah… NEVER been better.” Lucy groaned, her voice oozing with sarcasm, a trait she had so lovingly inherited from you, and something Javi couldn’t even come close to being upset with her about, given her current situation. Before Javi could respond, Elliot and Harper were barreling down the hallway, Elliot holding out a hockey stick with a pair of underwear hooked at the end, Javi shaking his in disbelief. 

“Seriously, El?” Javi gestured at the hockey stick Elliot had passed off to Harper, now stretching it even further in front of her to distance herself from her sister’s underwear, using the other hand to plug her nose. 

“What?! Desperate times call for desperate measures, Dad. It was actually Harper’s idea.” The girls nodded proudly at their accomplishment, Harper freeing her hand from her nose to fist bump her sister at the execution of their plan. 

“Jesus Christ…” Javi muttered to himself under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his temples, “Okay, Lucy? I’m gonna open the door enough so that your sisters can drop a new pair of underwear in there for you, alright?” 

“DAD!” 

“SORRY!” Javi groaned, trying his best to restrain his frustration from how stressed he was, surrounded by all 3 of his daughters trying to manage the biggest crisis he had dealt with to date. Barely opening the door a crack, Javi pointed to Harper to sneak the hockey stick through the empty space, turning it over in hopes that the underwear had fallen to the floor for her sister to grab. 

“Harper that’s my new stick! Are you serious?!” Lucy shouted through the opening in the door, as if she needed another reason to be more enraged than she already was. Harper quickly jerked the stick back, slamming the door behind her, dropping it on the floor out of guilt before shouting back. 

“Sorry! I didn’t wanna touch your underwear, that’s gross dude.” 

“You got me dirty underwear, are you kidding Harper?!” 

“No they’re clean, but like… They’re underwear, it’s nasty. Your butt touches it.” 

“True that.” Elliot chimed in, leaning against the wall behind her dad and Harper, adamantly nodding in agreement at her younger sister’s reasoning. 

“This is literally the worst day in the history of the world.” Lucy groaned in dismay, Javi now recognizing the soft sobs of his daughter return, his heart breaking and his brain fried at how he was going to manage the rest of this shit show until you got home. Javi tried to shoo away Elliot and Harper once again, but not before Elliot could rub the tips of her fingers and thumb together,  silently asking for her promised $10 from her dad. Javi frowned, shaking his head no, Elliot getting the hint enough that now perhaps was not the best time to collect her payment. Tugging at her sister’s sleeve, Harper dragged Elliot back to her room, trying to distance herself from her angry sister as much as possible, once again, leaving Javi and the closed bathroom door with his daughter locked behind it. 

Javi leaned his forehead against the door, his face buried in his palms letting out a few deep inhales and exhales to maintain his composure, given the fact that he hadn’t even gotten to the part of helping Lucy she legitimately needed. 

“You okay, bud?” 

“No. What kind of question is that, Dad?” 

“Touché.” 

“Okay so… so- what- what do I do now?” Lucy asked, her voice quickly shifting from sass to scared, her words meek and timid as she waited for any sort of guidance about what to do. There was nothing that broke Javi’s heart more than seeing any of his girls anything but happy, and to hear the terror in Lucy’s voice made him absolutely crumble, especially when he definitely was not the ideal person to be aiding in this situation. 

“Okay, well, uh- in the cabinet under the sink, there should be a pink box and a purple box in the back corner of the second shelf. Can um- can you uh, check to see if you can find them?” 

A soft rustling came from behind the door as Lucy rummaged through the bathroom cabinet, the sound of several items falling to the floor in her scramble. “Okay, I- um, I found them. Which box do I use? Do I use both?” 

“Purple. Take one out of the purple box.” Javi quickly responded, letting out a panicked gulp, wanting to make sure he was not adding to his already detrimental embarrassment of having to explain tampons to his daughter. “Okay uh- Jesus- okay you, um- you gotta just uh, pull the little paper part off the back…” He paused, trying to give time for Lucy to follow his inadequate directions, taking her silence as his cue to continue, “and then it should be sticky. And then um, then you gotta, uh- take the sticky side and-” 

“Okay, yup, got it, please don’t say anymore.” Javi could practically feel Lucy wincing at his directions, leaving him anxiously drumming his fingers along his forearms as the toilet flushed and sink ran, the bathroom door slowly creaking open to reveal a very sheepish and embarrassed Lucy, eyes pinned to the ground to avoid any direct contact with her dad’s. 

“Hey kiddo,” Javi grimaced, trying his best to casually greet his daughter, trying his best to keep things from getting any less weird than they already were, “How you uh, how ya-” 

“Dad,” Lucy interrupted, holding up her hand to stop her dad, “I love you, and thank you, but I don’t wanna talk about this ever ever again, okay?” 

“Understood.” The two nodded in a silent agreement, eyes still peeled in separate directions as Lucy sped off to her room, promptly closing the door behind her with a loud slam, leaving Javi alone and flabbergasted, sinking down with his back against the wall trying to process the shit storm that had just blown through the Peña household. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in an uncomfortable silence between Javi and the girls, his only peace offering being to bring back 3 bags worth of McDonald’s nuggets and fries, knowing that if Lucy was anything like you, the only thing that was going to bring her any sort of joy from her period pain was endless amounts of deep fried, crispy, salty potatoes, and that fast food (on top of their 10 dollars) was enough bribery to keep Elliot and Lucy from harassing their sister about the events of this morning. 

When you arrived home, you were surprised to be greeted by nothing but the sound of the TV, setting your bags down at the front door as you made your way to the living room where you found Javi and the girls sitting on the couch, McDonald’s bags placed in between the uncharacteristically hardy distance now dividing your husband and daughters. 

“Hey you guys, how’s it going?” You asked hesitantly, shooting Javi a concerned look at your family’s current set up. 

“It’s uh…” Javi paused, looking back over at his girls, all 3 of them burning menacing glares at their dad to keep him from spilling the beans on this morning’s circus, “It’s been an interesting day.” 

You cocked your head to the side, feeling even less reassured by the uncomfortable tension brewing in your living room, Javi and the girls now looking even more awkward and apprehensive than they had a few moments ago. You tried to give each of them the silent stare down to see if any of them would break, but whatever pact they had formed before your arrival was holding strong, no one cracking under your investigative pressure. 

“Okay… Well, if you guys wanna tell me about it then-” 

“NO.” Your daughters shouted in unison, frantically shaking their heads to stop your question. 

“Like I said…” Javi grumbled, “It’s been… a day.” 

Taglist

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #javier pena imagine #javi peña x reader #javier pena #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena fluff #javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña narcos #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #soft javier peña

[youremyonepiece]

soft terror

zoro x gn!reader (no pronouns used), zoro's pov

in which zoro attempts to identify what he feels for you. (he's not entirely successful.)

warnings: none, just fluff (please lmk if there are any i should add!)

word count: 2.3k

part 2

honestly, zoro is scared of you.

terrified.

it's a strange, unknown feeling to him. in fact, it isn’t until many long months after you’ve joined the crew that he even recognizes the emotion.

no, he had felt no apprehension at all when he first saw you. you were being held prisoner on a pirate ship, one that had engaged the merry in battle in hopes of cashing in on the straw hats' massive bounties. in the midst of the gunpowder plumes and flying splinters he had seen you, cowering on the enemy deck with your wrists cuffed in front of you, trembling but eyes bright and determined. he couldn’t keep his own eyes off you, distracted as they tracked your path to what he assumed was the edge of the enemy ship. what were you trying to do?

zoro swung absentmindedly at a rope that was thrown over the rail of the going merry, realizing the strength behind his swing too late. all he could do was tear his eyes away from you and watch as the force of his blade traveled across the water before slicing the enemy ship clean in half.

a silence fell over the scene, everyone seemingly frozen on both sides as the two halves of the ship began to slowly tilt inwards on each other, before--

“whoo! nice one, zoro!” luffy cried out, arms thrown up in the air. his yell was immediately followed by the panicked sounds of the enemy pirates as they began to scramble in hopes of survival, the straw hats entirely forgotten.

usopp crawled out of his hiding spot, cheering as he made his way to the merry’s railing to watch the enemy ship’s slow descent into the murky water. “perfect! exactly as i planned!”

he glanced nervously over at zoro to see if the swordsman would call out his lie, but zoro’s attention was back on you. were you-- were you going to jump? what were you thinking? still, he couldn’t help but admire your tenacity. you really weren’t going to give up, willing to even brave the ocean with your hands bound to escape.

“luffy!” he called out, pointing you out in the chaos.

luffy, hearing the urgency in zoro’s voice, looked in the direction he was pointing at and quickly found you, understanding what zoro was requesting of him almost immediately. he reached forward, gummy arms stretching far before wrapping themselves around your waist and retracting with the same speed.

you stumbled as you both lost and found the ground from under your feet in a matter of seconds. it didn't take you long to find your footing, however, and you quickly produced a roughly carved wooden stake from the folds of your tattered clothes. you held it defensively in front of you, eyes darting wildly between the straw hats as you tried to gauge the situation. "what- what the hell?" you breathed out, eyes wide with panic.

at your words, zoro sheathed his swords and held his hands out in front of him reassuringly (he knew he'd be able to handle you and the stick you clutched desperately, even unarmed-- despite your apparent confidence in your makeshift weapon, he could tell it wouldn't withstand a single hit, and you yourself were at least a good foot shorter than him). he cleared his throat before speaking, still a few feet away from you. "i'm not going to hurt you. none of us are. are you okay?"

unexpectedly, zoro found himself trusting you-- at least, trusting you to not be a threat to the crew. you couldn't be, he tried to justify to himself. you were too shaken, too frail, too exhausted to have been faking it. the terror in your eyes as they darted between his crewmates was too real for him to even consider suspecting you.

(looking back, zoro definitely thinks his decision had been unwise. he had been correct, of course: you would never do anything that would put the crew in danger. that isn’t the problem.

the problem is that he had believed you way too quickly.

but he also knows he doesn't regret it, because it had been you.)

it had taken a good fifteen minutes for the crew to calm you down and convince you that they weren't planning on killing you or taking you prisoner. zoro still remembers the relief flooding your eyes, your shoulders sagging for what seemed like the first time in months, the gratitude cluttering your mouth and spilling out all at once in a jumble. your flimsy weapon slipped from your fingers and laid indistinguishably amongst the debris from the fight. luffy stepped towards you, his friendly demeanor disarming your alarm as he easily broke off the wooden cuffs around your wrists. tears of exhaustion dropped from your eyes as you collapsed on the merry's deck, still conscious but too overwhelmed to keep standing or even properly cry. but the joy on your face was unforgettable.

(he doesn't want to admit it to himself, but he remembers every face you've made from then till now. he remembers it all. he can't help but to.)

he had let luffy take over introducing the crew to you, instead choosing to hang back against the wall of the kitchen and watch you. you were still slightly guarded, not entirely believing you were truly safe but not having any fight left in you to question it at the moment.

when your lips finally curved into a small, cautious smile, zoro had felt a strange sort of satisfaction deep within him. as if an itch that started when he first saw you had finally been scratched. and then-- and then you turned to glance back at zoro. his breath caught as his eyes met yours. yours were hopeful, searching, as if looking for confirmation that this was all really happening, that this wasn't too good to be true. he remembers being taken aback, surprised that you had looked at him of all people, but he hadn't shown it. instead, he'd just nodded once, and that'd seemed to be enough for you-- your smile had grown and your shoulders had relaxed by another inch.

that was the first time he had felt the strange feeling stirring within him. he hadn't known what it was, and that meant he didn't like it.

it had surfaced a few more times as you slowly but surely began to integrate yourself into the crew. at first, the plan had been to drop you off at the next town they found along their way, but that was quickly forgotten. you fit in well with the crew, like a puzzle piece they hadn't realized they'd been missing. it took a bit, but soon you opened up and were laughing as loud as luffy, usopp, and chopper during meal times. your love for reading helped you bond with robin and nami, and of course the damn cook was infatuated with you, what with how nice you looked.

you looked so nice, in fact, that zoro found his eyes glued to you whenever you were around.

which, unexpectedly, had seemed to be increasingly often in the weeks that followed. he had begun to notice you hanging out in his vicinity whenever he'd been taking a nap. same with when he'd been training.

at first, he tried to ignore you. tried to pretend like everything was normal and that your presence didn't make him feel strange things he'd never felt before. but it was hard to do. you were like a magnet; he was unavoidably drawn to you.

(you still are; he still is.)

when he couldn't take it anymore, when tamping down his nerves with strong doses of denial stopped working, he finally asked you, "what're you sitting here for?"

you smiled and he felt the familiar pit begin to form in his stomach. "where else would i sit?"

he jerked his head to the side, indicating with his eyes. "with everyone else."

your eyes followed his to the kitchen, from where the sound of some of the others laughing drifted out from behind the closed door. your smile didn't waver as you responded, "but being with you is... peaceful." your eyes found his again and your smile widened. he felt the pit grow, his heart thrumming loudly in his ears-- was he dying? "calming,” you continued. “i'd rather stay out here with you, if that's okay."

he barely managed a nod before turning back to continue his workout, desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck and hoping you had, too.

it was that night as he lay in his hammock staring at the ceiling that he finally recognized the strange feeling that overtook him every time you were near.

fear.

you are terrifying to zoro.

now that it’s occurred to him, he is sure of it. of course it’s fear. it explains the way he's always aware of you when you’re near, the way his pulse seems to quicken when you draw close to him, the way your eyes on his seem to freeze him in place. and of course he didn't recognize it at first. he’s roronoa zoro-- he didn't feel fear.

at least, not normally.

(somehow, you are always the exception to all his rules.)

it's not that he thinks you could hurt him or the crew that makes you scary-- he knows you wouldn't, even if you could.

he thinks it's your smile, wide and unabashed-- or maybe it's your laugh, so bright and sunny and full of joy. it could also be your eyes, with their tendency to display your thoughts to him in high resolution, vibrant as a flower field in bloom and just as alive.

no, that's not true. he knows what it is-- it's you. all of you. your hands that seem to be so gentle when helping chopper tend to the crew's wounds, but also so determined as they clutched your weapon of choice in battle. your legs, the way they always tucked underneath you so neatly as you folded yourself into odd positions whenever you took a seat. your lips, that he could not help but dream of, to long to touch.

you are so soft.

you are the complete opposite of him, he who had been forged in combat. he who only knows of sharp edges and swift force. he, who is so afraid of what will happen if he ever dares to allow himself to grow accustomed to your touch.

because it is so tempting.

he remembers the first time he touched you like it happened yesterday. it was so innocent, so inconspicuous and not even really anything worth remembering, but he did. of course he did.

he had just taken his seat at the merry's dining table when you passed him his plate of riceballs that sanji prepared for him. his fingers brushed against yours as he took the plate from you-- and that was it. see, nothing, just a whisper of a touch-- and yet, to him, everything.

your fingers had been so warm. he couldn't stop wondering how your entire hand might feel, held in his, and he later dreamt of it when he took a nap on deck in the warm early evening sun-- the sun that always reminded him of you.

he felt so pathetic, so torn apart and undone at just that slight brush.

the second time you touched him had been considerably more significant. it had been just after a fierce showdown with a family of sea kings; your exhaustion after taking down one entirely on your own had you stumbling as you walked back to the sleeping quarters. luckily, he was right behind you, also hoping to get some more rest after the spontaneous morning exercise, and caught you in his arms before your knees hit the ground when you suddenly collapsed.

your eyes widened slightly in surprise before you looked up at him with a sheepish smile, cheeks pink. "thanks. guess i was more tired than i thought."

he wasn’t able to fall asleep once you both made it back to your own respective hammocks a few minutes later. instead, he listened to the faint sound of your breathing as it evened out and slowed down. the soft breaths barely reaching his ears were meditative, trance inducing, and before he knew it you were stirring and stretching, urging the sleep to leave your bones after having resided there for a few hours. he remained still, pretending to be asleep as you quietly slipped away so not to disturb him. it wasn't until your footsteps faded away that he was finally able to sleep, no longer electrified by your presence.

(he dreamt of you, of course.)

after that, though, zoro lost count.

it had been as if him catching you that day had broken a spell-- suddenly, he found himself encountering your casual touches almost daily. you seem more at ease around him, slightly leaning against him when sitting next to him on a bench or playfully poking him when talking to him. and all zoro can do is gather these memories like precious stones and hoard them away in his heart.

but he never reciprocates. he can't. because what if he gets used to you? your soft touches and smiles and laughs and eyes and god, what is he supposed to do if he can't imagine life without you?

he knows.

he knows that you're dangerous-- tempting.

he can see it so clearly, a life by your side, sharing every moment with you. he wants it, he dreams of it, he aches for it with all his heart, but he fears it all the same.

because he already has a dream.

(is he allowed to have two dreams, or is that being too greedy?)

it’s only at night, when he's keeping watch over the merry and staring across the endless silence of the black-blue sea, that he allows himself to question what he feels for you.

he wonders if maybe he loves you instead.

#zoro x you #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro #zoro #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #zoro fluff #zoro fanfiction #my writing #youremyonepiece #ahhhh so happy to finally be posting again #it's been 8 years since i've been active on tumblr omg #and ofc my first post back is zoro 😌

[therainscene]

I think I might have figured out what the Mind Flayer really is.

This theory has been percolating in my brain for a while now; it hasn't really finished baking yet but I wanted to get the gist of it down before The First Shadow debuts.

Let’s begin at the Hawkins National Lab, 6th November 1983. For the second time in her young life, El faces terrifying and deeply traumatic circumstances which cause her powers to lash out and rip a gash in the fabric of reality.

Meanwhile, across town, Will is doing what every queer 12 year-old has done and finds an excuse to spend an extra moment alone with his crush.

His little gay heart is as aflutter as the garage lights.

(Strange, that. The lights, I mean -- considering that he's on the other side of town from the lab. Do you suppose the Demogorgon trekked all the way to Mike's house and quietly followed him home again?)

Will heads home, lost in thought as he cycles past the lab. Is he thinking about how sweet his new X-Men #134 is gonna be? Or is he thinking about something even sweeter? The lights flutter again.

And something in front of him notices.

Will has always been noticeable: his clothes, his mannerisms, his interests -- they've always attracted the attentions of bullies. Now something new -- or maybe something that was always there and is only now making itself known -- has attracted the attentions of a monster.

He runs home, he calls for help, but he's alone, there's no escape. He races to the shed and loads a gun like his father taught him -- but it's not in his nature to be violent. He freezes, petrified.

The lights surge as his terror wrestles control of his powers and uses them to puncture an escape route in the fabric of reality.

Why were we so quick to believe that the Demogorgon -- a minion of the guy whose whole thing is his inability to open gates -- was able to open its own temporary portals in S1 and then never again?

Will could plausibly have been responsible for every temporary portal in S1: he’s at the Byers house when the Demogorgon pushes through its walls; he's on the run to Castle Byers when Nancy stumbles across that portal in the woods; and he's plugged in to one of Vecna's vines during the finale -- something we see Vecna plug himself into when he remotely opens gates in S4.

There’s one exception though.

Barb likely slipped through a gate in Steve's pool, but how could Will have opened that one when he was in his bedroom at the time, talking to his mother through the lights?

Let me ask you this: isn't it interesting that of all the injuries Barb could have obtained in her passage to the Upside Down, she got a nosebleed?

I think powers are more common than we’ve been led to believe, and gates are a last-ditch self-defense mechanism for anyone with powers.

This is why the four curse victims’ deaths opened a gate: Vecna pushed them to their breaking point to artificially trigger the self-defense response. Those headaches and nosebleeds weren't caused by Vecna directly, but by their own powers acting up as they inched towards oblivion.

[Shoutout to @givehimthemedicine's underrated powers and blood theory for the idea of Vecna's Curse being the overcharging of his victims' own powers.]

It was already pretty obvious that Vecna's Curse is a metaphor for suicide, and this theory reinforces it: every kid who gets targeted by the horrors of Hawkins for being "different" tries to find some way to escape.

Willel's misfortune is that their powers are considerably more easily manifested than the average person's. Byler tells the story of visible vs invisible queerness, but that's just a reflection of the larger theme at play in the show: the visible and invisible ways kids are othered and abused.

Max's trauma was a quiet thing that came from within and festered until it was almost too late to save her... but Willel's trauma manifests as a giant monster that openly hunts them down.

And I'm being literal when I say the Mind Flayer is a manifestation of their trauma.

We know that Vecna fashioned the Mind Flayer from a cloud of black particles he found in the Upside Down, but where did that cloud come from? The Upside Down is a mysterious enough place that it's easy to assume the Shadow is native to that realm... but what if it isn't?

The Mind Flayer is heavily associated with repression -- Will gradually lost his memories while he was possessed, and El lost her powers when the sliver of Flesh Flayer wormed its way into her leg.

But Will has mysteriously been without powers ever since leaving the Upside Down, and we've seen El lose memories too: her memories of surviving the lab massacre, in which she didn't simply escape by opening up a gate, but by disintegrating her attacker into black particles.

The Mind Flayer doesn't cause repression -- it is repression.

There must have been countless generations worth of traumatized children who took the extra step El did and sent their abusers -- or at least their memories of abuse -- into that hidden realm beyond the gate.

(There's also the possibility that Mr. Time-is-Just-a-Social-Construct is stuck in a time loop of some sort -- maybe the massacre has repeated hundreds of times, and Dimension X is a timeless graveyard of El's attempts to repress her trauma. This would explain why Henry seems to have both disintegrated and survived: we were watching at least two different iterations of the massacre all along.)

Whichever way you slice it, it's a perfect fit: the tool Vecna uses to perpetuate the cycle of abuse isn't some bizarro alien from an alternate dimension, but a direct consequence of the cycle itself.

The Mind Flayer tells us that escape alone doesn't work as a long-term solution: it might help you survive the initial abuse, but if you don't address the effect it had on you...

...it will come back to wreck havok.

[Edit: Click here for post-TFS thoughts on this theory]

#stranger things #will has powers #willel #byler #will byers #el hopper #max mayfield #barb holland #henry creel #mind flayer #my analysis

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 2.5k | tags: different first meeting, emotional hurt/comfort | summary: What happens when Steve meets Eddie Munson, who has just failed his senior year for the first time, during one of his nightly drives? | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is asking, "do you want a blanket?" by @thefreakandthehair | AO3)

Steve's life was completely turned upside down (theoretically he sees the humor in this, but in practice the trauma trumps the pun) six months and six days ago when he came face-to-face with a honest-to-God inter-dimensional monster and barely survived to not tell the tale thanks to an airtight and frankly scary NDA.

He should be over it by now, right? He shouldn't be waking up screaming, drenched in his own sweat and shaking all over, his heart racing in his chest and his stomach in his throat.

Right.

Well, he's not. He doesn't get over it. The nightmares don't go away. If anything, he feels like they're getting worse, his mind adding horrible details and things that didn't happen, but could have, to keep torturing him.

He's a fucking mess.

Steve Harrington is a mess. His grades are slipping, on their way to joining his social status at rock bottom, and even his performance as co-captain of the swim team and basketball team is suffering from lack of sleep.

The only thing he has going for him is Nancy. Nancy, who doesn't understand that Steve just wants to get over the horror and the paranoia, just wants his life back, just wants to be normal again.

She doesn't say it outright, but he knows she thinks he's selfish, too self-centered to care about anything but himself. Sure, he's made amends with Jonathan and cut ties with Tommy and Carol, but deep down, Nancy doesn't think he's changed all that much. He's not Jonathan, he's not mature and monosyllabic and introspective. Just dumb little Steve, pretty to look at but not much else to offer.

These are the things he ponders during his late-night drives when another nightmare keeps him awake. It's impossible to fall asleep with terror pumping through his veins, so instead he climbs into his car and just drives. Some nights he will drive for hours, music playing softly from one of his tapes, Queen, Springsteen, Tears For Fears, Bon Jovi.

Tonight his drive takes him to the edge of town, right where a dirt road leads to the quarry. Steve has no idea why, but something makes him actually leave the main road and turn onto it. He follows it where it leads into the woods, slowing down on the bumpy road until he sees the dense cluster of trees open up to reveal a glimpse of the starry night sky. The path seems to open up into a clearing, and just there, to the right, Steve spots an old van.

He knows the car, has seen it often enough in the parking lot of Hawkins High to know that it belongs to none other than Eddie Munson, local drug dealer and freak.

At least that's what everyone keeps calling him, and sure, the guy seems a little weird, with his speeches on cafeteria tables, his dramatic antics in and out of class. He certainly doesn't look like most of the other kids, with his ripped jeans (clearly from wear and tear rather than fashion sense), long, unruly curls, and loud shirts advertising bands Steve has never heard of. People also shit on him for his father and for living in a trailer park, but none of that sounds particularly freaky to Steve.

Knowing what he does now, though, it worries him to think of Munson all alone out here where anything could happen to him. He doesn't know Munson, just about him, but Steve couldn't live with himself if he came to school on Monday and found Munson missing. One person has already died because of his carelessness, and no one deserves to suffer the same fate as Nancy's friend Barb.

Parking his car right next to Munson's, Steve climbs out and walks around the car to the trunk to pick up the nail bat that saved his life and the lives of Nancy and Jonathan. Then he makes his way to the opening of the clearing ahead.

Stepping out of the trees, Steve stops to take in the sight before him.

Above him stretches the inky expanse of the night sky, a seemingly endless void painted with a myriad of distant stars. The moonlight danced along the jagged edges of the quarry, revealing the vastness of the rocky landscape below in a silvery glow. The only sound that broke the silence of the night was the occasional soft rustle of leaves. The air was crisp and clean, carrying with it a hint of earthiness from the rocky terrain. In this secluded enclave, far from the lights of the city, the stars were front and center, and Steve felt unbelievably small.

With his shoulders hunched over his ears and his arms slung protectively around his knees, the figure sitting on the edge of the cliff looks even smaller than he feels.

It seems that Munson didn't even hear his car approaching, and that makes Steve's hair stand on end because it means that anyone, anything could have snuck up on him. It's not safe.

Steve approaches cautiously, trying his best not to startle the other boy and cause him to fall to his certain death.

"Munson?" He asks softly, quietly, but to no avail. It still causes Munson to flail in surprise, and only Steve's quick reflexes keep him from falling over the edge. With his knees still smarting from the sudden drop to the ground, Steve has his arm wrapped around the other boy, and both of them are panting from the shock.

"Fuck, man, are you trying to kill me?" Munson's voice quavers too much to be truly biting.

Steve carefully loosens his grip on Munson and leans back to sit on his haunches. Running a slightly trembling hand through his hair, he can't help but bite back. "If you paid more attention to what was going on around you, you would have heard me coming. I wasn't really trying to be subtle. It's like you want to get killed."

Munson scoots away from the edge of the cliff and climbs to his feet to look down at Steve and the nail bat he dropped when he made a grab for the other boy. He raises a judgmental eyebrow, causing Steve's defenses to go up in an instant.

They look at each other, brown meeting hazel, until Munson breaks the silence. "By someone walking around with a nail-studded bat, you mean?"

"I wasn't going to hit you with it!" And crap, abort Harrington, abort.

Now both eyebrows look at him questioningly. "And who, pray tell, pissed off King Steve enough to deserve this kind of treatment?"

"No one! For God's sake, I thought you might be in danger and wanted to be prepared in case you were." Then he adds, "After what happened to Will Byers and Barbara Holland, you'd think people in this town would be more careful instead of hanging out in the woods in the middle of the night."

Ed-No, Munson's eyes soften at his explanation. "Shit, sorry man. You're right, I guess." Shuffling his feet, he offers his own explanation for his harsh reaction. "Just had a shitty day, I guess. I shouldn't have bitten your head off for trying to look out for me. Although I never thought King Steve would ride in on his white horse to save the school freak from unimaginable evil."

"White horse? What, like a knight? Does that make you the damsel in distress, Munson?"

Munson gets a strange look on his face at Steve's words, and before he knows what's happening, the guy pretends to faint right into his arms. He catches him just before he hits the ground and feels how cold the boy's body is in his thin t-shirt. "My savior," Munson croons, and Steve rolls his eyes at his antics. Still not a freak, but definitely weird.

Instead of dignifying this with an answer, Steve says, "You're freezing, man. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night anyway?"

Dark brown eyes search his, and Steve thinks he's never seen such expressive eyes. He can read a myriad of emotions in them and he doesn't even know the guy. Sadness, caution, defeat, and something he's seen in the mirror a lot in the last few months: fear.

"I bet you have better things to do than listen to my sad little problems. Can't imagine you're just running around town rescuing damsels in distress now, I'm sure you have places to be, a kingdom to rule..."

"Could you just drop the whole 'King Steve' crap, man? I'm not him. Not anymore. Even if nobody seems to have gotten the memo."

"Okay, woah, sorry, man. I didn't know this was such a touchy subject."

"Do you want me to call you a freak and make assumptions about you based solely on high school gossip?"

"I don't know, don't you?"

"I'm trying not to. You don't have to tell me what's going on if you don't want to. I'm just saying... I know what it's like when you can't stand lying in your bed staring at the ceiling any longer. Wanting to get out and leave whatever it is that's bothering you behind, but no matter how fast you drive, it keeps catching up with you."

He's rambling, he knows he is, he didn't plan on unburdening his heart to Eddie Munson of all people, but here they are.

"I failed senior year." Eddie finally admits in a small voice, not meeting Steve's eyes.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Fuck, man. That sucks. Can you repeat it?"

"Sure. But I... God, everyone was right all along. I'm a failure, a fuckup. Just like my dad. A good-for-nothing waste of space. I haven't even told Wayne, I can't stand the look in his eyes when I tell him". There are tears in Eddie's eyes and Steve's heart breaks for him.

"Fuck!" Eddie shouts across the quarry and a flock of birds takes flight somewhere in the nearby woods. He's shaking again, and this time it's not from the adrenaline. Steve can't really take away any of the things that are weighing on Eddie, but he can offer him something else.

"Do you want a blanket?"

Eddie's doe eyes blink at him slowly, as if he's not sure he heard him right.

"You're only wearing a T-shirt, you must be cold." Eddie doesn't deny it. "Let me get you a blanket, then."

Another slow blink, and then, "If you're...sure?"

Steve gives him a smile that he hopes is warm and reassuring. "I'm sure." He walks over to his BMW and takes the nail bat with him, exchanging it for the blanket that he keeps in the trunk of his car at all times. Tommy H. calls it the "baby maker blanket," which is so typical of Tommy that Steve wonders why he was hanging out with him at all. Maybe because he was a friend to Steve when no one else would be.

But maybe he won't tell Eddie about the blanket's history. Anyway, it's freshly washed and smells only of his detergent.

Handing it to the boy, Steve says, "There you go," before turning to walk back to his car.

"Where are you going?"

When Steve turns back, Eddie is sitting on the ground with the blanket around his shoulder, one end held open as if inviting Steve to join him.

"Back home?" It's not supposed to sound like a question, but some of his reluctance to leave seeps into it anyway. He doesn't want to go home to his empty house and bed, afraid to close his eyes in case the nightmares come back.

"Look, you don't have to, of course, but if you want, you can stay and tell me what brought you here in the middle of the night. Or not. We could just sit here in silence, totally fine with me."

Steve snorts, because even though this is the first time he's had a conversation with Eddie, he can already tell that silence doesn't come easy to him.

"If you're sure," he repeats Eddie's words back to him as he makes his way over to him.

"I'm sure," Eddie says firmly, wrapping the blanket around Steve as soon as he sits down next to him.

Many things surprised Steve that night, but most of all how comfortable the silence between him and Eddie had felt as they watched the stars until they gave way to the rising sun.

They never talked about that night again, the polite nods in the halls all the acknowledgment they allowed for what had happened.

But when Steve walks across the stage to receive his diploma in 1985, he notices Eddie's absence and his heart aches for him. He had been looking forward to seeing Eddie walk across the stage next to him, to give him a smile, a wink. Maybe even ask him out for a celebratory beer, if he's being completely honest with himself.

The sad truth is: Steve had no one to spend his graduation with, no girlfriend, no friends, just a 13-year-old know-it-all whose bedtime didn't really allow for any kind of grown-up celebration. Eddie was his only hope of not being alone tonight.

That's probably why he's heading out to the quarry again that night, bat and blanket in tow.

It's a shot in the dark, and at the same time it's not. Because there Eddie is, sitting on the edge again, small and defeated, and just as alone as Steve. Without a word, Steve joins him on the ground and wraps the blanket around them both.

"I'm sorry."

Eddie's warm weight settles against him. "Me too." Silence falls between them, and Steve thinks that's all they'll say, but then Eddie nudges his shoulder with his own and says, "I'm sorry, too. About Wheeler."

"Me too."

Steve thinks that even if he's not a poet, there's something symbolic in the way they both watch the sun rise again over the quarry.

The next time he wrapped the blanket around Eddie, it was again in the middle of the night. Only this time, Eddie is unconscious in the back of his car while Steve races to the hospital, praying to any God who will listen that this will not be the last time.

It isn't. Not by a long shot. Getting the blood out is not easy, but with Joyce's help he manages. The blanket is there when physical therapy is especially grueling, when they both sit on the porch of Eddie's new trailer, Steve holding Eddie under the blanket's protective cover.

It's there when Steve moves in with the Munsons and gets a special place on Eddie's bed, though they never make love on it. The blood was hard enough to get out, and the material doesn't look like it can take much more deep cleaning.

They take it with them when they move to their apartment in Chicago, and it's there for every bad day either of them has.

Their blanket finds its final purpose, however, with the arrival of their daughter, April. From the day their little bundle of joy moves in with them, she sleeps wrapped in the foundation of Steve and Eddie's love.

Steve may not be a poet, that's Eddie's job, but he appreciates the symbolism all the same.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 25 #love is asking “do you want a blanket?” #my writing

[ceruleancattail]

If you're still open for requests... Mehbe... Octatrio being the object/adoration of (Reader)-someone who'd shout their love from the rooftops, quip wit right on back at them, just someone who's unabashed in the fact that they want to make their Favorite Fish happy UvU

Octavinelle getting the Love they deserve:

Azul has a certain image to uphold. The sly, calculating businessman, who lets nothing ruffle him. He walks with purpose, the House Warden of Octavinelle.

Of course, that’s only when you aren’t around. You were… rather affectionate. Your eyes seek his in every crowd, fingers intertwining gently around his own. Just a single glance at you sends his heart racing. Whenever you’re around, Azul fumbles his words, his cheeks glow red, and his heart pounds defiantly from within his chest.

It’s hard to stay calm and collected around you, not with the way you pamper him. Whether it’s through words of affection particularly yelled to the rest of Night Raven college, or physical touch, his hand held tightly in yours.

Azul craves your love. It seems like a dream, to be able to lay his head on your lap. Nuzzling into your stomach, feeling it rise and fall with every breath you take. Run your fingers through his hair, rub comforting circles into his skin…

Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop loving him. Azul doesn’t know what he’ll do without you.

Floyd hardly listens to anyone. Driven entirely on his own instincts, he’s a daily source of terror for many students in Night Raven College. People tend to avoid him like the plague.

Although, you don’t seem to take the hint. Always running after him, you make a beeline to Floyd whenever you see him. Even in crowds, where you have to wrestle your way through hordes of students. He finds it cute. A lil’ shrimp braving the ocean just to end up in the clutches of a big, bad Moray Eel. Floyd will help you out. His hands slipping under your armpits, hoisting you up like a toy.

You don’t struggle. Instead, you curl into his arms, holding him tight. It’s an odd feeling, being embraced by you. It’s warm. A comforting sort of warmth. Much like a childhood blanket, or a treasured old sweater. Floyd will squeeze you, once or twice. You squeal, laughing at his touch. Reaching up to his face, you cup his cheek in your hand, grinning at him.

“Love ya, Floyd.”

Hey, lil’ Shrimpy. Keep that up, and he’s never going to be able to let you go.

Jade has a certain ability to walk quietly. Silent footsteps, with his victims never noticing him. Well, not until it’s too late.

Somehow, you always seem to know where he is. Jade finds himself unable to sneak up on you. Especially when you whip around, eyes shining. That gaze of yours is rather enchanting, if he does say so himself.

You seem to enjoy his company. Elbowing Jade good naturally, bantering with him until the sun goes down. You two spend a lot of time together, leaning into each other.

Sometimes, he talks. You’ll listen, always attentive. Hanging on to Jade’s every word. His voice has a smoothing quality to it, that lures you closer. You could listen to it all day if he’ll let you.

Jade will nudge you after awhile, inviting you to speak. You can talk about anything with him, prefect. He won’t tell a soul.

After all, you belong to him, do you not?

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #lucky charm🔹 #jade leech x reader #jade x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul #twst jade #azul x reader #Floyd leech #Floyd leech x reader #Floyd x reader #twst Floyd #THANK YOU FOR YOUR REQUESTTTT #I’m a lil sleepy #woke up too early #but I just had to type this out #hope you like it!!!

[cupidsdolll]

word count: 1.1k

summary: harry’s angry at the world, himself included and he makes it everyone’s problem but there might be a light coming in the middle of his storm

notes: this is part two of this fic so it is still considered a dark fic. it contains mentions of drinking to cope with his grief, violence inflicted onto others and a brief scene of it as well.

masterlist

- - - -

To say that Harry’s been miserable lately would be a huge understatement. He’s been absolutely insufferable in the past two weeks. He spends all day drinking and holed up inside his office, he’s grumpy and snappy with everybody and he’s even more mean whenever he has to take care of someone. It’s his release in a way, the one safe space he can let out his anger at the world, at the Gallegos for taking away his love, at himself for not doing more.

“Goddamn! Fuck!” He screams in the confines of his office. He down a shot of whiskey and quickly pours himself another one, the burn going down his throat is welcoming — encouraged is the better word for it. His chest rises and falls harshly as he stares at the picture of her. One he had taken a couple of months into knowing each other, a bright smile on her lips and her hair and dress flowing in the wind behind her as they walked through a park. She had wanted a picnic and he was a sucker for her smile, so of course he’d do it for her. It was all worth it in the end, to see the smile plastered on her face and the excitement in her eyes

He misses her terribly, the past week has been the hardest week ever and he doesn’t know if it’ll get any better. He allows the tears to fall freely, to stain his cheeks and the mahogany oak of his desk. It seems as if his tears are never ending, just becoming a permanent addition to his appearance. He can’t bring himself to care, too busy wallowing in his guilt and pain. He guesses he deserves it in a way, none of this would’ve happened if he’d been paying more attention, if they would’ve stayed home or better yet if he’d never given her his number.

He huffs sadly as he wipes his tears away the best he can, he can’t do anything about the stains left on his cheeks. He takes another shot of whiskey and heads towards his office door, he figures now is as good of a time as any, and really he just can’t wait to let out some tension. He walks out the room and down the hall, ignoring the eyes of the few employees gathered around the desk before rolling his eyes as they start whispering.

“Don’t you all have a fucking job to do? This isn’t Barbie’s show where we all sit around and look pretty.” He huffs before mumbling under his breath, watching them with crossed arms as they scramble to find something to do.

He continues walking then, taking deep breaths to try to hold back the tears threatening to fall. He can’t look weak in front of them. He walks past the framed pictures on the wall, past the rooms where clicking and the occasional scream filters through the closed doors until he gets to the last door in the hall. The dark wooden door detailed with swirls and large black handles is heavy as he pushes it open, but he enjoys the pain. His own form of punishment he guesses.

The room is filled with different tools and weapons, lights scattered all over the ceiling but still keeps the room dark enough. He prefers this environment to feel more like a horror movie than just a simple killing room, and wants it to feel eerie and depressing. He wants the room to inflict absolute sheer terror and feet into anyone who just so happens to end up strapped to the chair. His dress shoes click against the concrete floor, echoing around the room and he watches happily as the man strapped to the chair begins to squirm and try to break free. It’s no use though, he’s mastered the best knot to tie around the body and the chair tightly to keep them from moving but also to inflict pain when they try to escape.

“Well, well, well. Not happy to see me?” He asks in a sickly sweet voice, too sweet to be used in such a setting. The man shakes his head violently as he tries rocking the chair side to side, his screams are muffled behind the tape. Harry simply chuckles, he’s always amused at their useless attempts.

“Now, I just have a couple of questions for you. I just need some information and I believe you should be able to help with this.” He says as he leans down so his face is right in front of the man with tears filling his eyes. The man shakes his head and Harry grabs a handful of his hair, firmly holding him in place.

“So you don’t want to leave? I was gonna let you leave if you answer… but since you don’t think that’s fair.. you’ll be stuck here.” He says and he watches as more tears fall from the man’s eyes and Harry just laughs, everyone wants to be all big and bad until they have to confront their behaviors. They think that no one will be able to catch them, they always underestimate his dedication. He’ll search every corner of the internet and the world just to find someone, and he’s been doing that lately. Searching for hours and hours on the internet to find someone.

He pulls himself back as he smiles, he’s gonna enjoy himself through all this. He starts off small, a few punches and rough tugs of the hair, and he relishes in the muffled cries of the man in front. He rips off the tape and the man screams.

“Who wanted my girl dead and why?” He asks and the man shakes his head.

“I don’t know man!” He says through his tears and shakes his head as if he’s disappointed.

“Such a shame.” He says as he walks to a table full of various weapons and tools of all sizes, he grabs a pair of pliers and walks back to the man, hitting the pliers against his palm.

“Maybe this will ring some answers for you, for every question you don’t answer and I’m not satisfied with the answer I’ll pull one of your teeth out. How does that sound?” The man cries and shakes his head.

“Please man, I’m serious! I don’t know anything!” He cries out and Harry sighs.

“Already onto a bad start, my friend.” He says as he yanks the man’s jaw open as he decides which teeth to pull. As soon as he picks one, the door opens and EJ’s voice rings out.

“Hey boss, sorry to bother you but you have a phone call, it’s important.” Harry shakes his head. He should know better than to interrupt him. He’d hate to have to fire him.

“Uh, I’m busy. Tell them I’ll call back later.” Harry replies back, sarcasm and annoyance dripping from his voiceand the door still stays open.

“It’s the hospital, Y/N. She’s alive.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles one direction #harry styles fan fic #harrystyles #harry styles one shots #harry styles sad #harry styles angst #harry styles x fem!reader #brief mention but i think i should still tag it #harry styles x y/n #my writing

[bigfatbimbo]

THE TROPHY WIFE VOX ONE PLEASE 🙏

I get misty just holding your hand —

Vox x reader,, 1.4k words

a/n — the prompt was this, but if you want to educate yourself on this little au of mine, here and here!

warnings — Vox being a whiny bitch about his situation, mainly just fluff, gender neutral reader, established relationship

summary — After the fall of the Vees, Vox has resorts to being what can only be described as your trophy wife, who gets paraded around at one of your work parties.

“Oh fuck no, I’m not going to that party,” Vox practically cackled, hands coming to his stomach as he laughed.

You rolled your eyes from across the room and walked over to him with a small smile, “Vox, it really won’t be that bad—”

Your comment went unnoticed, “I mean, bringing your ex-overlord boyfriend who’s famous for exploiting workers to a work party.” 

His laughter died down into small breathy chuckles as he continued folding the laundry, “Yeah, babe, I’m sure your coworkers would love me.” 

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he’d denied the idea so heavily. It was true, he was desperately ashamed of his current situation, and it wasn’t like he’d seen much of the public lately. 

Over the course of a few months, ever since the fall of the Vees, Vox had made the terrible discovery that hell never really needed him. Sure, electricity was a hassle for a few days, but it wasn’t like all of the other rings of hell relied on the Vees for anything. It didn’t take long at all for the citizens of the Pride Ring to continue they’re life, using the same electricity, socials, and porn as all the other rings, without any help from the Vees, or more specifically, Vox.

And yes, this had brought a fair amount of shame to Vox, whose only usefulness depended on how well he could do your dishes. The idea of facing the public eye, who most likely wanted him dead and buried, only appearing as your little housewife was positively unthinkable.

Until tonight, of course. You sat down on the couch next to him, and picked up a shirt to begin folding it, assisting him in the process.

“I’m not saying you have to go,” you begin, putting the shirt on a pile of folded clothes and picking up a pair of pants. Vox scoffs at your comment, but you continue, “But I do want you there. Vox, I need you there.”

The last comment might not have been technically true, but just as you hoped, it did bring a silence to the room. Vox’s hands had stopped working on the laundry, and yours followed soon. 

“Fine, i’ll go,” He finally sighed, “But if they don’t have the wine I like, i’m fucking leaving.”

And so he went. 

If Vox was being honest, he did miss getting all dressed up. He couldn’t even tell you how long it’s been since he put one of his precious bow ties on. As for his suit jacket, he decided to ditch it. Although he liked the look of it, it felt far too ‘evil overlord-y,’ and in the light of being totally powerless, he’d rather not provoke anyone with bad memories of his rain or terror.

Oh well, plain button up and sweater vest it is. The party was more of a casual-formal vibe. And besides, strangely, it felt in bad taste to take too much of the attention away from you.

Wow, Vox thought, that’s gotta be an original thought from me. For the first time in his life, and death, he didn’t feel his usual deep craving for attention. Yes, because he didn’t want to get assaulted by an angry ex-worker of his, but in a sense, he’d grown used to the normalcy of life around the house. You were the breadwinner, and his job was to simply be on your arm. He sighed, what a dull thought. 

“You ready, Vox?” You questioned as you stood outside of the studio apartment the party was being held at. In all honesty, you weren’t exactly excited either. 

Your ideal Friday night was not going to your prissy bosses house, and drinking shitty whine while you see the unfortunate drunken side of many of your coworkers. All the more reason you were glad Vox was here.

“Of course, can you not see how happy I am to be here?” He spoke tightly and through gritted teeth, a sweat working up on his upper neck while his screen brightness dulled. 

You didn’t say anything back, you just slipped your hand into his as you opened the door to the apartment. The inside was as expected, needlessly classy, decorated with chic and pointy furniture, and irritating smooth jazz playing in the background. You roll your eyes at the surroundings, god, upperclass sinners always love to pretend they aren’t in hell.

Vox’s hand tightened around yours when people started noticing the two of you. He was extremely recognizable, I mean, not a lot of people have TV for a head. But it was undeniable the murmurs heard around the room when you walked further into the loft. 

You look over to Vox and frown slightly. His shoulders were tense, and his posture was uncharacteristically bad. In truth, you’d never seen him look quite so out of place. Jesus, even at rock bottom he usually never acted so self conscious. 

“I should have brought something,” He remarked to himself, “Food, or something. Fucksake, people always get more comfortable when eating. Damn, I’m rusty.”

“And have them suffer your terrible cooking,” you take the opportunity to lighten the mood, “Jesus, these people would crack your screen in half. Hell, I want too whenever I eat your food—“ 

A small laugh was earned from the clearly joking comment. Thank god, you think as his shoulders relax slightly, but his eyes still dart around suspiciously.

The party is all together pretty mundane. You were surprised at how close Vox stuck to your side. Maybe it was the fact neither of you had been out in public together since he was a famous CEO, but you’d definitely expected him to shmooze more.

There seemed to be an understanding that these were absolutely not his people. Although he didn’t recognize some of them, they recognized him. Lots of ex-voxtech workers had to get different jobs after the crash, which meant of course, some were bound to work in the same place as you. 

“Oh y/n, so glad you could make it,” a coworker of yours had approached you, mid-thought, “And you brought… uhm, who’s this you have with you?”

Vox raised his finger as if to speak, but you interrupted, feeling irritated by your acquaintance’s judging eyes, “You know who he is, my boyfriend, Vox.”

Your smile had grown into a showboating grin that Vox knew all too well. Your words were proud, and you placed your hand on his lower back while speaking. 

He was thankful for your charm, it not only made him feel more familiar with the social circumstance, but it gave him an entrance. 

“Yes, Vox, very nice to meet you,” he leaned down, extending his hand and smiling his, now rusty, customer service smile, feeling comforted by way your hand slinked around his waist. 

The demon looked weary, but the conversation continued relatively easily, as did all the conversations for the rest of the night. You oversold Vox whenever you could, he’s such a great chef, he keeps the apartment so well, you couldn’t imagine not having him to come home too at the end of the day. 

Vox happily played into it, each comment from you being met with a witty joke from him, or a charming flick of his wrist and then, “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” 

He felt good. In fact, for the first time in months, he felt didn’t feel an overt lack of control in life. What he was doing, he knew for a fact he was good at; smooth talking the crowd.

What did he even have to worry about in the first place? Classy parties were something he had immense knowledge about. And here, he felt great, being paraded around as your trophy and gawked at, like he really meant something. Dear god, has he missed that, meaning something.

A few months had passed since the beginning of his stay-at-home life, and not once had he’d entertained the idea of liking this form of existence. But now he had to admit, he always thought of himself as a gift to gods green earth, but truly being shown off as your prize, that did something to him. 

The purpose he felt he lacked at the beginning of the evening, and for months on end, had been filled. He was yours, and he was something to brag about.

Although many of the things you were saying, him being a great house keeper, weren’t true, they very well could be. 

As he engaged in conversation after conversation with your uselessly classy coworkers, he basked in your attention and indirect praise. 

Maybe, after all, he could get used to this.

a/n — Song lyric title is misty by lesley gore by the way because 50s housewife music !!

Anyways, I think I went to ham on this one gang. I don’t know how much I like it—

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #vox x reader #vox x y/n #vox x reader fluff #vox x you #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel fluff

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule III

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: posting this on Father’s day because Mr. Min Yoongi is a daddy 😝

Masterlist, Latibule II

“The renowned Chief of Police, Min Yoongi, who had been missing for a month is now officially assumed to be dead. The Police Department announced on Friday that the memorial would be held a month from now,” the reporter announced with solemn voice as the news shifted to several official photographs of him in his uniform. Damn, he did look good, he thought.

“The whole country mourns the loss of the heroic man who never shied away from danger. He is indeed the loss of our country as thousands of citizens offered flowers and lighted candles in front of the Department,” the view shifted from the reporter to the video footage of the mourning citizens. The front of the Department was indeed filled with mourners, and Yoongi almost smiled. He really almost did if not for Jimin crying dramatically in the middle of the mourners, wearing his formal police uniform as though he was really dead. He thought that Jimin really had a flair for the dramatics. He was laying it thick on the acting, he noted, wailing hard enough to trigger the tears of the other mourners. It would be hilarious, and he would admit he almost laughed if not for the tall man that was caught by the camera for a second. He was standing on the far side of the mourners, unmoving as his eyes were trained on the makeshift memorial in front of the Police Department. He had his hands in his pockets, his face hidden by a black cap. He looked almost nonchalant had it not been for the tension in his broad shoulders.

Min Yoongi only saw him for a second. But one second was enough. He could recognized that man anywhere. One side of his lips lifted, his eyes glinting with something akin to wickedness. With nonchalant movement, he leaned back on the sofa, his legs spread out. In the darkness of the night, only the light from the television illuminated the evilness in his face.

So, he thought, his hyung knew of his death. Interesting.

You were a morning person. Really, you were. You didn’t open your eyes and frowned, unlike your housemate-turned-fake-fiancée, also known as your nuisance. You didn’t get up and decide to terrorize everyone with your dark energy, unlike well…him. You didn’t wake up one day and decided to glare at everyone until you had your coffee…far from the man you had unwillingly adopted.

Wasn’t he too old to be adopted for heaven’s sake, you thought.

You loved mornings, truly you did. You loved opening your eyes and seeing the lights seeping through the sheer curtains. You loved waking up to the sound of birds chirping as they rested on your window sill, unlike Suga who was doing his very best to shoo the birds away from the living room’s window with a heavy frown on his face. You loved mornings and how they represented another day, how they represented hope.

In fact, you loved morning so much that you were up and showering before the sun even shone. You knew he was the opposite of a morning person. But really, you couldn’t categorized him because he was not an afternoon or even an evening person, evidenced by the varying bored, angry, and annoyed expressions on his face. See, you knew he wasn’t a normal person. You knew he wasn’t a morning person.

And that was exactly why you let your guard down.

You were quietly humming to yourself as you stood in front of the shower, letting the water cascade down your body. Your fingers were brushing away the bubbles from your shampoo when the door of your small bathroom opened.

Your peace suddenly gone.

Birds suddenly stopped singing.

Happiness suddenly vanished as you opened your eyes and saw him standing there with his hand on the door knob, his eyes slowly roaming your exposed body appreciatively. It was as though he didn’t want to miss even an inch with the ways his eyes dragged down your body. And then slowly, that stupid smirk returned in his face and it was only then that you woke up from your stupor. He watched you as you scampered to reach for your towel hanging outside the shower stall without even offering to help you. You were huffing under your breath, cursing him with words you did not know you could say.

Suga leaned against the door still leisurely, his hand still resting on the doorknob, an image of a man with so much time in his hand.

“Who knew you’re hiding something pleasant underneath the drab of clothes you’re so fond of wearing?” he drawled as you did your absolute best to hide your damp body with the towel, your eyes throwing daggers at me.

“Don’t you know how to fucking knock?” you hissed at the relaxed man still looking at you.

“Probably not,” he started, “Can’t say my mother was around enough to teach me good manners, though. But I will say that this has been my best decision yet.”

“And it will be your worst if you don’t stop fucking looking!”

He pouted mockingly, “But I’m your fiancé. It’s my right to-“

And then you pulled the shower head, pointed it at him, and blasted him with water. You almost smiled when you heard him cursing as he retreated outside the bathroom. “F-FUCK! Fucking stop! I’m leaving!”

It took more time than you originally wanted to prepare yourself for work and to face the world. You marched out of your room with speed you didn’t know you possessed.

“Going somewhere, angel?” Suga drawled, smiling at you before sipping from his cup of coffee. As if he didn’t do anything wrong the first instance that he woke up today.

“Yes! Away from you!” You shouted before you slammed the door. You could hear him laughing all the way as you left. As if you could escape him if he didn’t let you, he thought.

“You know, I feel like I love you more than you love me. Honestly. There is a power imbalance in this relationship. You finally called me after two weeks that is so hurtful-“

“Seokjin was there,” Yoongi cut him off before dragging a deep puff of his cigarette. “Asshole didn’t even cry.”

Jimin chuckled, his voice holding an amused tone, “He cornered me and asked me where you were. Why would he cry when he suspected you’re still alive, hyung. You know how perceptive Jin hyung is.”

“Not even a little? Damn,” Yoongi replied. Of course, he could fool anyone in this world but not him. After all, he did grow up with him. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him that you were truly gone.”

“He didn’t believe, did he? You’re a terrible actor, Park Jimin.”

He halfheartedly listened to Jimin as he dramatically told him how he went to acting school for a while because of an assignment, how he was top of his class, and how he was depressed at work because Yoongi wasn’t around to make his bleak days brighter.

All that noise and all he could think about was where the fuck you were. Yoongi raised his brow, his eyes shifting for the nth time on the road. It was already dark and you were not yet home. He didn’t know why he hated that, or why his attention was focused on the road instead of the information Jimin was now giving about the fucking traitor who would soon walked down with him to hell.

“-maimed him until he broke down and told me that their boss is also- are you ready for this, hyung? Are you ready for this?- a police officer, too. Looks like somebody’s idolizing you too much,” Jimin reported over the phone, his voice hinting an excitement at having to torture and extract information from the man. Yoongi straightened when he finally saw you walking on the dark road.

Ah, finally, he thought. You were home. He ended the call without saying goodbye to Jimin before he he put off his cigarette. He unconsciously smiled before walking to you. You looked tired, your eyes focused on your steps when you bumped on something that clearly wasn’t supposed to be there.

You were rubbing your forehead before looking up at the wall slash chest of the road hazard, also fondly called as Suga. He looked down at you with an amused gaze.

“You’re late, angel. Where have you been?”

You squinted at him. “Work. What about you? What are you doing out here, Suga? Were you waiting for me? Hmm?” You stepped closer to him as you bombed him with questions.

He stepped back, his cheeks warming up quickly before showing you his bottle. “N-no! I’m out to throw trash! Don’t be assuming-“

You glanced at the bottle with an unimpressed look on your face. “That’s an unopened bottle, sir.”

He blinked rapidly before unscrewing the cover of the water bottle and chugging the contents down as though to prove a point. You raised your eyebrows at him before shoving him the paper bag you were holding.

“What’s this?”

“A phone, asshole. It’s not brand new, but you do need a phone,” you stated casually, walking ahead of him to your house. You wouldn’t tell him that you were worried about him while you were out and working. Not even if a gun was pointed at you. Nope. He had enough ego to last twelve lifetimes. He didn’t need to know.

You missed the completely surprised look on his face. Or the fact that he was looking down at the old model of the phone in his hand with something akin to a confused awe. He knew you didn’t have a lot… and yet you chose to spend what little money you had to buy him this. Meanwhile, in his pocket was the cellphone he stole from your neighbor today.

He sighed. Guess he had to return it to your neighbor tonight.

You should be careful, he thought. He was starting to see you as something other than a means to an end.

Latibule IV

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