#anyways the collection as it stands is already SO MUCH to deal with

[shopwitchvamp]

if u made a gold and white version of the dark cathedral midi (light cathedral perhaps?) id be ALL OVER IT

That's a guest artist design so it'd be up to them! And let's maybe get through this first set first before I can even begin to free up brain space to think about variants 😅

[neo-nomatrix]

(My) Nuisance

Hobie brown x reader

word count: 964

find the rest of the mini series here

synopsis: You thought you hated Hobie, but for some reason you’re starting to like him just as much as you like Spiderman.

a/n: (maybe too much) british slang used

You hate your next door neighbor. No, no you loathe your next door neighbor. You think he is the worst person to possibly exist. His stupid flat decorations, his loud punk-rock music blasting at unruly hours, the way he would come back to his flat at 4 am stomping his boots yelling with his friends about their latest anarchist protest. But you hate nothing more than the way he looks at you.

Everytime you try yelling at him he opens his door with the cheekiest grin on his face. While you’re standing there fuming he’s leaning against the door panel looking you up and down. The worst part is how much he tries to smooth talk you.

“I already told you how annoying your music is, no one wants to hear that at 3 am alright? Some of us have work in the morning,” you complain, smoke practically coming out of your ears.

“Oh c’mon love it’s not that bad. Don’t have to be such a tosser ‘bout it. It messes up that pretty face of yours,” he says.

“Are you daft? You’re the one keeping everyone up at night with your dumb guitar,” you roll your eyes.

“It’s not that big a deal sweetheart. Y’know i'm starting to think you’re making up rubbish just so you can talk to me more. I’ll admit it’s pretty cute but you could just ask me out,” he leans closer to your flushed face.

“I don’t fancy you if that’s what you mean,” you scoff.

“Not saying that. I’m saying if you wanna snog me so bad you could just say so,” he shrugs.

You could burst out laughing. Kiss him? That’s fucking hilarious.

“You’re joking right? i’d rather die.”

“I don’t believe in comedy, love,” he says.

“Of course you don’t,” you mumble as you storm off back to your door.

You’ve decided he is the worst person ever. He doesn’t deserve your efforts and time.

You set your keys down and fall into bed as you hear amp feedback and the sounds of Hobie strumming his guitar. You can’t help but roll your eyes. How could someone be so incompetent?

You reach your hand over to where the bed and the wall meet to grab your Spiderman plush. You hate to admit it because it’s kind of dumb but you’ve always loved spiderman. Ever since you were a little kid you collected posters, figures, pins, and merchandise having to do with the superhero. Even now, your walls are decorated in spiderman posters, you own spiderman clothing, and even printed your keys to have a blue and red spider web on them.

There was something so nostalgic to the vigilante and his style that you had to adorn your room with touches of blue and red. You thought spiderman was the embodiment of “cool.” From his suit to the way he acted around criminals to the electric guitar on his back. Sure, a guitar was the main thing you hated about Hobie but Spiderman did it better. He made it work in the way Hobie dreams of.

You wake up to the loudest knock on your front door you’ve ever heard. You immediately know it’s him. You try to ignore the blaring pounding coming from your door but it keeps going. You force yourself to get up and answer the door. You hope you can open it, yell at him, then go back to bed.

To your dismay the second you open the door Hobie places his hand on the top of the wood, stopping you from moving it anywhere else.

“What do you want this early?” you groan.

“It’s like 9 am, love. But anyway-” He cuts himself off before finishing his sentence. You’re too groggy to notice that he’s staring inside of your flat. His eyes search the walls and decor in front of him.

“So, I take it you like Spiderman?” He laughs.

“That’s none of your business,” you sigh, crossing your arms.

He pushes his way inside of your flat, moving around like he’s looking for buried treasure. He picks up memorabilia and smiles at them. He holds up a Spider-Punk figurine and turns towards you.

“Spider-Punk huh?”

“Don’t touch my stuff! You know this is technically breaking and entering,” you scold him, taking the figure out of his hand.

He puts his hands in his pockets and just smirks at you. That stupid smirk, displaying half of his teeth and perfectly showing his lip ring.

“What do you want from me, Hobie?” you question after placing the figure back on its stand.

“Jus- Just wanted to apologize for last night,” he starts.

“You mean this morning? We talked at 1 am, remember?” You say, passive aggressively.

“Right, whatever. You’re… You’re right,” he exhaled, “I shouldn’t be blasting my music that early. It’s inconsiderate and rude to the people in my vicinity,” he breathes.

In the time you’ve known him you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say sorry. You’re taken aback, did he really apologize? And did he sound genuinely sorry?

“Oh, oh uhm thanks,” you sat, still skeptical a camera crew would come out laughing saying this whole thing was a prank.

“I wanted to see if you maybe wanted to come to my show tonight? We could get dinner after or whatever you want,” He scratches the back of his neck, he’s nervous.

“I’d like that, I guess,” you reluctantly say.

“Wicked. Uhm, i’ll be leaving then. Sorry again,” he says. Shooting finger guns at you and making his way out the door.

You smile, maybe, just maybe, Hobies getting to you. As he’s leaving you could swear you see some blue and red material with spikes on it slipping out of his pocket.

[innerfare]

Killer Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of headcanons about being in a relationship with Killer

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Killer fell first and fell harder. He didn’t realize it was happening at first, he was just as shocked as you were to realize he turned into a rabid dog when anyone so much as mentioned your name, fighting anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. Even more shocking was the sweeter side you brought out of him. 

You had no idea what was happening in Killer’s head. To you, Killer was just a crew mate, and not just any crew mate: the first mate. You had the wherewithal to clock the man in the mask as emotionally unavailable and that was that. Sure, you often went for drinks together, but only with the whole crew, and yeah, you laughed at the same jokes and ate the same meals, but it was as crew mates, the lines clearly drawn and the knowledge that he was dangerous always in the back of your head. 

But then he started doing things for you. 

He started making a different side at dinner because the one he was serving everyone else wasn’t something you would eat. He started giving you the best piece of dessert, much to Kid’s chagrin. He started stepping aside when it came time to board the Victoria Punk to allow you to board first. He started scaring off men at pubs and taverns before they ever got the change to be rejected by you. Oh, and he started intervening in all of your fights. 

You take the fighting bit personally, never having considered he was into you. You think he’s just underestimating you, thinking you can’t hold your own in a fight. This leads you to confront him one night, more than prepared to duel him to prove your worth as a pirate and warrior. He shocks you by coming clean and confessing his feelings for you, though not exactly in a romantic way. It’s more like he’s pissed off by your accusations and snaps at you that he can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt. He storms off afterwards. 

It takes you a few days to process what he told you because it makes you see him in a completely different light. Gone is the cold-blooded killer you shared a ship with, here is the man who has been taking care of you in small ways without you even realizing. And the most shocking part is how the idea of him stopping makes your chest ache. You grew accustomed to his affection without even realizing. 

You wait until around midnight, when you know he goes into the shower alone, and follow him in. He lets you see him without his mask, and you share your first kiss. That’s that, and from that point forward, the two of you are an item. 

The shower becomes the main place the two of you spend alone time together. Killer finds it easier to let his guard down. He’s going to take his mask off anyway to wash up, which makes it easier to do with you around. He’s able to convince himself it’s not a big deal, and the fact that you’re so cool about it helps. His face is a secret the two of you share, as are his kisses and kind words and difficult past. 

You’re his safe space and he’s yours. 

Don’t expect him to stop intervening in your fights now that you share his bed every night. He claims it’s because you’re too slow and he got to the enemies first, or because you looked like you already had your hands full, but you know the real reason he jumps in. 

He always keeps one of the counters clear in the kitchen so you can sit on it while he cooks. Everything that lands on the table is tasted by you first. 

Merciless teasing by Kid (he’s just jealous). 

After he eats his fruit, you realize not all of his laughs are the same, and you learn to read his emotions based on the different laughs, speaking a language he hates but is oh so grateful to you for learning. 

This is the sort of thing your relationship is built on- subtleties. It’s what made him fall in love with you and it’s the reason he would kill or die for you. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor pt.3

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: A morning chat at the train station proves very revealing for you and Finnick.

Warnings: mention of forced prostitution and mild self-harm

part two | part four

The marble steps you sit on are practically ice, and the cold seeps quickly through your pants. The train station is entirely empty, and you sit outside of it looking out at the city.

Knees up to your chest, you take a deep breath. The roses you clutch in your icy fingers seem to taunt you, and once you look at them, you can't pull your eyes away. A beautiful gift belying your tragic fate.

You set all but one down beside you, then start to pick at its petals. Completely transfixed, you don't even hear the sounds of someone approaching until you drop the last petal.

"What'd you land on?"

The words break your focus, and you quickly gaze up to find who interrupted you. Finnick interprets your gaze as a confused one and elaborates, "Loves you/loves you not?"

That's not why you were picking the petals, but if you had been asking the flower, it would've been about him. The thought is embarrassing, so you give a half-hearted shrug and look away.

"Well, I got these for you," he holds out a small, far more rustic bouquet. Violets. "But it seems like someone's beaten me to the punch." What a cruel metaphor. Snow blocking your chances yet again. Standing in between you and a real life with real connections. Soon enough, you won't be real. What'll be left when you run out of choices you can make for yourself?

For now, you put the roses down anyway. The breath from your melancholy laugh is visible in the crisp morning air. "Thanks," you say, holding your hand out to accept the flowers. They remind you of home. A patch of them grew out in the field behind the house you grew up in. Your fingers brush over his as you accept the bouquet.

He jolts, "You're freezing!" Dropping down next to you on the steps, he removes the violets from your grasp and rests them in the small space between you. You follow the purple flowers with your eyes as he swiftly takes your hands in his own, attempting to warm them. "Do you purposefully torture your hands?"

You don't answer, still looking at the flowers he brought you. Finnick sighs, "You take such good care of Darla. Do you even bother looking after yourself?"

"What's the point?" Your heart hurts. As much as he hates it, he doesn't have a reply to that. He often wonders the same.

"How will you hold all the flowers you're collecting if your fingers freeze off?" He tries for lighthearted, but you wince. Instantly, he frowns. While typically, your replies to him are short, bordering on rude, they're always spirited. You seemed upset before he left you at the party last night, but now you seem disheveled. Like you hadn't had a wink of sleep.

Clearly, he's caught you in one of those moments. All the victors have them, but usually in private. He's not keen to leave you, though.

"Who gave you the roses?" He ventures, suddenly getting a sickening feeling. He's not expecting a real response, necessarily, but a 'wouldn't you like to know' would ease his anxiety.

You pick up the heavily perfumed flowers, "Oh, these? A gift, I suspect. I made someone very happy last night, and I'm sure I'll be doing it more often," you say bitterly before you toss them back down. Your voice comes out small, though, like you haven't built your armor thick enough to face this yet.

"From the office of the President?" It's not even a question. He already knows. Your face reveals your surprise. "I got a similar congratulatory present when I made my first deal." While he figured out that Snow had you in a similar position, it's clear you suspected nothing of the sort when it came to him. As you look into his eyes, he hopes you're getting what he's trying to convey. That the two of you are the same. And you can finally, finally, be honest.

"It was more of a negotiation," you nod, holding his eyes. "Not my first deal."

"I figured," he says.

You laugh sourly, "Is it easy to tell that I'm a cheap whore?"

"Don't sell yourself short," he scolds, "you're a very expensive whore." He almost worries it won't go over well when you snort and launch into the freest laugh he's heard in his life. Thank God someone appreciates his humor- Mags hates these jokes. He's got plenty more of them, and will definitely use them on you now that he knows they'll land.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," you reply, tongue-in-cheek. Finnick can tell by your genuine grin, however, that you appreciated the joke.

"You're welcome," he nods, "You know, I've considered abandoning prostitution in favor of stand-up comedy."

Somehow your grin grows wider, "Really?"

"Really," he confirms, "I just have to perfect my material before I pitch it to the big man." You nod sagely, entertaining his bit. "He might just keel over in laughter," Finnick suggests.

You lean in a bit, "Think he'll keel over dead?"

"Here's hoping!" He leans in, too, sending you a flashy smile. You laugh again and look back out at the city. An amicable silence falls between the two of you, and you enjoy it a bit before breaking it.

"I met with him before the taping to tell him our deal was off. My nana died during Darla's games, so I thought he had nothing to hold over my head anymore. Then, at the party, our escort told me that Snow wanted everyone to get to know her. And when I saw her talking to-" you cut yourself off, but he understands. Some of them are too difficult to even think about. "I marched into his house and told him I'd take on twice the clients if it meant Darla would never see one." Finnick's breath catches in his throat for a second.

"So... a reminder of my renewed imprisonment," you pick the white roses up again and wave them sarcastically.

Finnick snatches them from your hands and launches them far across the steps with a firm throw. They scatter and tumble across the white marble. The action is so unexpected that another laugh bubbles out from you.

"I think you're incredibly brave," he declares, looking you right in the eye. "You might be the only victor worthy of the title."

"No," you're quick to insist. "That's Darla. She's earned her peace."

"You haven't stopped to think that you might've too?"

You shake your head, "But I haven't. I don't think I could ever atone for what I've done- no matter how hard I try." His brows furrow, finding your words worrisome.

Catching his look, you elaborate, "Every visit to Mrs. Montgomery's classroom, the parks I design, the gardens I dedicate, my broadcast segments- they're all born of guilt!" You admit, getting choked up, "It's my way of saying sorry. Sorry for fucking your husband, even though he paid to fuck me, and I wanted to die each time he did it. Sorry for being a plague upon the Earth, here's something to make it better. Sorry for-" You only notice you'd been aggressively scratching the back of your hand when Finnick grabs your wrist. It cuts off your rambling and prevents you from hurting yourself anymore.

"Why don't you talk to someone instead of torturing yourself?" He sounds pained.

“Who would I talk to?” You shrug, swiping at a stray tear. 

“That was… supposed to be an offer,” he winces.

“Oh?" you blink at him. 

“I’m really just a call away,” he nods, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. 

“Right,” you say, still sounding a little unsure. You blink a few times, averting your gaze and thinking it over. 

“I know you think I’m gorgeous, but I’m sure it’ll be less of an obstacle for you over the phone,” he jokes. 

You turn toward him slowly, eyes wide, “she didn’t.” 

“She did,” he smirks at you. 

You hit him firmly in the gut, and he lets out a heavy breath as he curls inward. He’s glad you’re feeling up to your usual abrasiveness. 

You’ve already moved from your spot and are heading toward the station. He stumbles up after you. 

You stop suddenly. Not that you were really going anywhere. The train for Ten won’t leave without Darla and Darla is chronically late. He nearly runs right into your back, and you see him struggle to regain his balance as you whip around. 

He’s much closer than you thought, and you have to take a small step back. “What’s your number?” 

“What?” He asks, reeling from the near-collision. 

“How am I supposed to call if I don’t have your number?” You ask, and his eyebrows raise at the question. You totally skipped the ‘yes, thank you, what a great idea,’ part he’d been hoping for. But, he’ll take what he can get. He rattles off the number in an instant. 

“Are you going to remember that?” He asks. 

You nod noncommittally, “We’ll see.” The exasperated look on his face pulls another grin from you. He doesn't fight the smile off his face when he sees yours. 

A car door slam breaks your extended eye contact. The other District Ten mentor breezes right past you and Finnick, clearly annoyed at being up so early. You know him well enough to know he’s going right back to bed on this train. 

Darla, however, looks like hell-warmed over. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Shhhhh,” she holds a finger to her lips, the other clutching her head. Your expression drops as you take in her appearance.

“Are you hungover?!” You try to steal her dark sunglasses, but she’s too quick. 

“Whatever, Mom,” she grumbles, “hurry up and kiss your boyfriend goodbye so we can leave.” She trudges further into the station, where a train is inevitably waiting for you. Your eyes go wide in embarrassment. 

“Darla!” You yell, and she winces at the noise. 

Finnick chuckles, “What happened to moderation?” She throws him the finger, earning further laughter. 

You shake your head at her behavior, and when you turn back to Finnick you find he’s already looking at you. “What?” 

“Nothing,” he shrugs, acting innocent. “Oh wait,” he snaps and doubles back to grab the flowers he arrived with. “You almost forgot these.”  

You shake your head at him, smiling, “Can’t have that can we?” 

“Safe travels,” he nods at you, turning to go. He makes it a few paces before you call out after him. 

“Finnick,” he quickly turns at the sound of his name. When you recite his number back a surprised grin lights up his features. “The uh- the phone works both ways, you know. I’m not a bad listener.” 

“Noted,” he nods, smiling. You smile back at him, a genuine one, and it makes you look younger. A loud call of your name from a train within the station makes the both of you laugh. 

“Bye, Finnick,” you smile at him, giving a cute little wave. He returns it readily.

And he thought he was in trouble before. 

--------------------------------------------------

@emerald-09

I also didn't really edit this one, but I think I like how it turned out? I'm not sure if I'll write more for this mini-universe since I have a few other Finnick ideas but we'll see

[yuyanwrites]

Hello, how are you?

Could I request BSD headcannons with Sigma, Poe, Dazai or Chuuya about someone proposing to the reader in front of them!

No pressure with this, if you don't want to do it!

Betrothed to another (fluff ver.)

Dazai, Chuuya, Poe, and sigma x gn!reader (separate)

A/n: I'm indecisive so I'm doing an angsty and fluff ver. ^^

Tags: Established relationship (with character), a child has an innocent crush on reader (and "proposes" to them)

Dazai

He's so childish omg

Argues with the kid

Probably snatched the two-dollar ring the child gave to you

The child would be like "(Name)! Will you marry me?" while holding up a cheap silver ring.

Meanwhile Dazai let out a loud gasp while putting his hand on his forehead like a damsel in distress. "No way! (Name) is marrying me!"

Cue their arguing

Its a back and forth really and you tried to stop their fight but you ended up giving up

You didn't want to break the kid's keart but at the same time you didn't want to deal with an overdramatic dazai

Eventually, the two come to an agreement

The agreement being whoever gets you to agree to marry them first, keeps you

Its silly and you laughed a little at this but dazai is already thinking about what ring to get you in the next week

Chuuya

They're just a kid he told himself

They don't even know about what love actually is

They probably just copied their parents or the disney movies they watched

But then said kid waved the ring in front of your face for the millionth time, still on one knee and was doing a whole speech about how much better than him they are

He couldn't take it

Argues with the kid #2

He really tried to reason with the kids patiently

Explained the kid's crush and how that doesn't equate to marriage and how marriage is a huge commitment and responsibility and everything

However, we all know he has anger issues so after an hour he's arguing with the kid

No agreement, the kid's parents came to pick them up and asked how their last lesson went (You're their tutor) and left

Please comfort Chuuya he's all sulky and grumpy now :(

Poe

The only mature one tbh

Socially awkward

He kind of just stands there

Watching you two with a little frown

He wants to intervene and calmly explain to the child why that's not possible but he gets tongue tied

He tries to write a little scenario to explain love and everythig hfdsakhfjdiksaj hes so sweet <3

Got completely ignored

Got a little upset because of that but stays calm and collected

Instead he lets you handle it while he makes all three of you something to eat

Karl is there to comfort him dw <3

Give him lots of kisses and cuddles after, he deserves it after all he did try

Sigma

Bro is basically a kid in a man's body anyways

Omg does anyone ever think of him of like a man-child ok off topic sorry

I think he'd be a mix of sulky and understanding

At first he'd be a little sad, yeah like just sad, not upset or frustrated like the first two

Just sad

But then he realises its fine because its a kid and he knows you love him <3

It was probably a random kid you babysat spotting you in public

They ran up to you in the mall with a ring in hand and proposed

The parents scolded the kid and apologised to the both of you so there wasn't much to do

Sigma is still understanding the concept of love so he's very understanding after his mini-sadness-phase

Probably smiled at the kid and walked away completely unphased after tbh

Very chill

[receival]

baldur’s gate 3 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from larian’s baldur’s gate 3. part 2.

look at me - i’m not a monster.

stay back. i don’t want to hurt you, but i will.

no. you’re not one of them at all.

i was ready to run you through. my mistake, friend.

that’s far enough. what’s your business down here?

you revealed our location? that tongue gets any looser, (name), and i’ll cut it out.

reckon i might miss this place.

this place is more dangerous than i thought.

well, don’t you cut a fine figure.

sometimes i’m jealous of that girl. ugh - to feel so invincible again.

in your expert opinion, what’s the best way to kill a devil?

i’m certain there are answers out there. we’ll find them together.

there’s no story. none that you’re entitled to hear, anyway.

you can tolerate a great deal of suffering, so long as it has meaning.

until then, all i can do is endure.

please try to understand that it’s not something i can just talk about freely.

perhaps there’s potential in you.

honestly, your faith is your own concern. i won’t judge, one way or the other.

i think i did well by joining you.

you already know my biggest secrets. what more can you ask?

that wall’s an illusion! hiding what, i wonder …

sun, moon, and stars will still be there, waiting for us.

this place is pretty spectacular, isn’t it?

no book or painting could ever do its strange beauty justice.

a perfect ring of mushrooms … nature, or magic?

hmm. i thought that might’ve done something.

another illusion. is anything real down here?

i’m more concerned with this ‘twit’ who set a spectator on you.

a rival - a mere footnote to my legend. you should be more concerned with who i am.

the fools must have turned back. or, better yet, died in the search.

i need no more rivals. try to take this as a compliment, yes?

this presence … this magic is not divine, but fey.

little? i am a god! and i’m gonna rip you - tear you - wear you for a hat -

don’t do anything hasty, now.

i’ll just kill you and claim it for myself.

i’m the lord of murder - i’ll show you why.

if you’re expecting me to drop to my knees before you, forget it.

a wizard’s tower is his sanctum, a private place for research and respite. but as this wizard’s not home … i say we take a peek.

a strange place for a button. especially one that doesn’t work.

what good would it do for me to be troubled? we can’t save them all.

you’ll have to speak slowly. i find it quite difficult to concentrate with my condition gnawing at my insides like a teething displacer kitten.

the whole village is falling to pieces …

hey, maybe we can scare up a few dusty bottles of wine somewhere.

i like your way of thinking. split any takings we find?

what creatures live in water this dark?

i’m a rabid dirty dog. and i bite.

i could’ve killed you before you even noticed me, but i didn’t. stand down.

i can be discreet. no need for bloodshed.

share? you really are in the wrong place.

a bleeding heart, are you? reckon i’ll just roast and eat it.

what in the hells did you do to that corpse?

you do plenty for me, more than you realize. but this cannot be remedied.

are you alright? is there anything i can do to help you?

enough. bickering won’t save your friend.

run away, then.

(name) - i was so worried! did they hurt you?

who cares? we’re together now, thank gods!

i’m grateful, don’t mistake me, but … why help us?

freeze it, cock-stench. we aren’t done just yet.

pay up, and you get to skink away. resist, and i gut you.

drop it. i don’t owe you anything.

your incompetence has been my ruin.

stop! no more innocents will die today, (name).

you care for the weak. most curious.

you so much as touch me, and i’ll tear you from limb to limb.

ah - another treacherous soul walks among us.

i ain’t going down easy.

you been a shit since i laid eyes on you, (name).

strike him down. prove your faith.

your silence speaks to your heresy.

look, you have no idea what you’re dealing with …

it’s the whole damn reason we’re here, and i’m not leaving without it.

the mission comes first.

and i thought i’d heard it all. that’s some cambion-level deception.

i go where there’s shit to stir. and there’s no shortage of options.

i can’t remember much, truth be told.

centuries of torment will do that to you.

you’ve been naughty. and you know what happens when you’re naughty.

just who in the nine hells are you?

well, well. aren’t you a luscious thing?

been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that.

you have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. i like it.

you know, i’ve been thinking. and i think there’s something i should tell you. nothing big or terrible, just … a small little detail about me that hasn’t come up naturally.

i want to join you - to fight by your side.

i’m sorry for barging in like this, but i had to come find you.

i won’t let you down. i promise.

we all have our burdens, one way or the other.

i’m trying to say that you’ve earned my trust in a way very few ever have … i want that to mean something.

freedom - i’d forgotten how it felt. thank you.

if you have a moment, i’d like your opinion on something.

the problem is this: a preponderance of evidence that i am a terrible adventurer.

i can’t risk re-capture. i barely escaped last time.

it was a mistake. and not one we’ll repeat.

i don’t know. he was kind of fun.

we can’t just invite danger in to our hearth like that. we must be more careful.

most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.

an old hunter’s trick - if you can’t mask your scent, spoil it.

i prefer a weapon to stench, thanks.

you’re a monster hunter? not what i imagined.

whatever you’re hunting, your stench alone will kill it.

a quick wit is rare indeed.

know how to ask, and they’ll share that knowledge. if you’re fool enough to pay their price.

speak plainly. what is she?

i think you’re mistaken - this place looks innocent enough.

truth is like a blade, my friend. we can arm ourselves with it - or just as easily find it pressed against our throat.

i would not put you in danger.

your coyness is getting boring. tell me.

you take insult where none is intended, my friend.

how thoroughly invigorating it is to stand by one’s friend in the face of danger.

you best have one hells of an apology for me.

you must have mistaken me for someone else.

that wriggler swimming in your brain juice is a bit of an inconvenience, isn’t it?

that’s none of your concern.

don’t change the subject.

keep that hole under your nose shut.

let’s not involve ourselves in this place any longer than is necessary.

you want to play the hero so badly? fine. let’s make this interesting.

gods, it’s hot in here.

i’ve had better days. and worse ones.

i am, after all, the villain of the tale.

you truly are a soul that steels my own.

you are as thick as they come.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i stand at a precipice, but if you do not give up hope, neither shall i.

all of this … it must feel like a betrayal.

you bastard! you ruined it, you ruined everything!

slow down - what did i do?

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

i don’t need this. good luck getting out of here on your own.

i know i should head home, but … i can’t bring myself to leave.

(are you alright?) / not even a little bit. but i will be.

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

i cannot thank you enough.

you will face (name)’s judgement.

i wish you could have visited at a better time.

you had no right to intervene.

you’re not one of us.

copper for your thoughts?

always a delight to speak to you.

did i play games like this in my youth? was i sweet once?

what are you doing? i’m busy here!

nothing beats the taste of stolen beer.

come on, now. they’re just having a bit of fun.

let’s do what we have to do, then get out of here.

smell’s like burnt flesh.

hold out your arm so i can mark your flesh.

i’m here to spill your guts across the floor.

pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?

i often feel i like raw pain too much. it scares me.

as long as the story ends in death, it’s all the same to me.

forgive me, but - that look in your eyes. something terrible has happened to you.

what i see in your eyes, in your soul, is only natural.

we’ve all suffered in these dark times. it is little wonder you hear scars of pain and anguish.

touch me and you’ll lose your hand.

the pain you suffer will cleanse you - do not fight it.

you look tired. should i take over?

welcome the pain. let it become part of you.

that looks like it’s going to bruise.

not that i’m suggesting we stop for a drink, of course.

i wouldn’t want to place all my faith in blind luck.

sympathies won’t help me to survive.

your life, much like your words, is meaningless. end the latter to save the former.

looks like the booze got the better of them. they’re practically unconscious.

they’re dying for me. all of them.

why don’t you take a closer look? i’ll observe from back here.

please don’t open the creepy book!

toddlers are easier to please than you lot.

you know, i never pictured myself as a hero.

all i want is a little fun. is that so much to ask?

having performance issues, (name)?

never have i met such troglodytes.

i was hoping you wouldn’t notice i was gone.

i suggest we admire it from afar.

it would be too much to hope that’s nothing to do with us, wouldn’t it?

i go my own way - alone.

i’ll feed your innards to the ants before i do that.

[navybrat817]

OMG NAVYYY HII HOW ARE YA😭😭😭 ever since i watched seb's scene in ghosted ive been so... well... there's no way to say this diplomatically but anyways it got me thinking- you know god spends a lot of time waiting.. for his targets or sum shit.. he must get... bored(wink wink) ya know??? so maybe sometimes his gf comes along with him.. to keep him company.. in that car😏😏😏 and i dont think i need to say anything else you can work ur magic✨✨✨

ANYWAYS BYE LOVE YOU ❤️

Not too bad, nonnie! Hope you're well and hope you enjoy this.

Gentle Sin

Pairing: God the Bounty Hunter x Female Reader Summary: You keep God company. Word Count: Over 1.05k Warnings: S/mut, c/ockwarming, p/ossessive behavior, talk of v/iolence, God the Bounty Hunter (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Um. This was unexpected! Happy Sinday, lovelies? 🔥 Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It wasn't unusual for God to hide in vehicles or other places to track and collect whatever criminal or individual he was responsible for. The private agent possessed a certain level of patience suited for his job. It didn't mean he always enjoyed waiting, even when the payoff was more than enough. Which is why you were only half surprised when you got a message to meet him in the back of some random car.

"Come keep my cock warm, Angel."

It wasn't a suggestion and his demands weren't something for you to ignore.

"You know one of the things I love about you? You act as if this isn't where you belong, but your pussy knows exactly who she belongs to."

Fucking traitor.

You breathed in and out slowly through your nose as two of his fingers slid across your tongue. He hardly spoke a word when you showed up in the darkened parking lot, both of you careful not to draw too much attention to yourselves as you shuffled around in the backseat. He didn't have to tell you to lose the panties. They were gone the moment he reached out. 

"Did you know there are two main reasons why it's painful for people to wait for things?" he asked, changing the subject.

Loves the sound of his own voice.

"Mmm," you replied, unable to say anything with his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth. What would he do if you bit them? You could figure that out another day.

"One reason is the unknown. They don't know what's coming and they can't stand it," he said, rolling his hips beneath you. Your warm pussy didn't seem to distract him from his mission, the gun in his other hand ready for him to use. "The other is dealing with something they don't want to deal with in the first place."

You moaned when he brought his mouth to your neck and dragged it along your skin, the light scratch from scruff bringing goosebumps to the surface. Every sound you made, every clench of your wet walls fueled his ego. The sin he carved into you was gentle in comparison to the wrath you knew he unleashed on others.

You were special in his eyes. 

"You think you know what's coming, Angel, but I have a surprise for you," he said as he removed his fingers.

"And what's that?" you asked, wondering if he planned on using his ring tonight. "Me coming on your cock and you coming inside me? Not much of a surprise."

Was it too much to admit you loved how he filled you to the brim? That you craved when he spilled hot and thick inside you and claimed every inch of you as his? But you carried power, too. Your cunt did wonders on this man and it was a weapon you enjoyed wielding.

He brought his wet fingers under your skirt with a grunt, seeking out your clit with an expert touch. You didn't have to see the smirk on his face when you arched your back to know it was there. It was a look engraved in your mind the moment he made you his. "That's not the unknown. We already knew the night would end like that because I always get you off."

Cocky bastard. I get you off, too.

"Then what is it?" you asked, whimpering as he teased your bundle of nerves. Your essence soaked the curls as the base of his cock at this point as he tapped the glass with the gun. 

"Your ex-boyfriend skipped bail," he answered, his voice softer and deeper than before. "I don't have to tell you his name and I better not hear you say it."

You managed not to shriek when he pinched your clit, a ripple of pleasured pain causing your toes to curl. You knew exactly who he was talking about and it was one of the reasons he was your ex. Funnily enough you'd end up with someone who is both worse and better. "God, is that why you wanted me here?"

He had no lesson to teach you because you did nothing wrong.

"Partially why. You'll worship no one else before me and I want you to remember that," he said, tapping the glass again like he wasn't playing you like a finely tuned instrument. You wanted to point out you didn't even know the bounty hunter when you dated your ex, but you bit your tongue. "And I have to wonder if I'll shoot my load into you before or after I shoot him."

Was he going to kill him for merely skipping bail? Wasn't he supposed to bring him in alive? Why did the thought scare you and turn you on?

You gripped his arm for purchase when your body began to shake. During one of his ramblings to you, he mentioned he attuned his senses to everything around him. The orgasms he pulled from you proved that and you understood where some of his confidence came from at least. He also knew how to keep you on the edge without sending you over. 

God, just let me finish. 

"My beautiful, wet angel. Does that get you off? Knowing I want to shoot someone just because they touched you?" he lightly taunted, pressing an affectionate kiss against your shoulder. "Wasn't the tune you sang when I shot your partner, but I changed that, didn't I?"

"Don't talk about him," you snapped.

"Still sore about me doing my job?"

You shut your mouth. You couldn't fault him for that, but it was bad enough you willingly slept with the guy who killed your partner. Would good sex ease your guilty conscience?

"Well, your ex has no idea what's going to happen and he doesn't want to face his crimes. Too fucking bad," he said, pulling his fingers away as you teetered on the edge. "And I want him to see what it's like for a god to take you apart. I want him to see you're mine now. Then I'll take him in. After shooting him for good measure."

He shoved his fingers back in your mouth before you could respond. 

"That's it. Taste your sin on my fingers. Plenty more where that came from before the night is through."

I couldn't help myself! Love and thanks for reading. 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[iamumbra195]

Ashlyn Spider-woman AUs are genuinely so funny because this girl would hate it so much.

She already has to deal with sensitive hearing now she has to worry about super strength, spider senses and sticky hands that only relax when she's calm which is like never because how on Earth is she supposed to calm down when she can punch through walls without breaking her arms and can practically sense everything within a mile-radius?!

The sensory overload would be painful as hell too.

If it was set in the canon universe, I think she'd tell her parents and they would all work together to figure out her powers. They'd probably use all the junk in the bus graveyard to gauge how much she could carry and how strong she was overall.

Over time, she'd probably get used to her powers, maybe even find some of them fun. Sticking to the ceiling and just chilling there for hours without all the blood rushing to her head was kinda nice and seeing her dad's reaction to her sticking to the ceiling for the first was entertaining. Plus, the powers made her even more flexible and she's into ballet. This girl would love being able to jump super high.

But she only really uses her powers at home where she feels like she doesn't need to hide it anymore. I don't think she'd feel the need to ever become a spider-woman. They'd managed just fine without her before and Alto was a pretty boring town. She wasn't a superhero anyway. I don't think her parents would ever want her to put herself in danger like that either. Plus, they don't their daughter to get attention from any unsavoury people or the government. They were both in the military after all. They knew how corrupt and messed up the government could be and they didn't want Ashlyn anywhere near it.

But then the new school year starts and there's a weird new kid that makes her senses prickle with unease. In fact, almost everything about her first day back at school makes her uneasy. The new kid. The shoe that almost took her head off. The new teacher. The field trip. The new kid.

Aiden just won't leave her alone and it was irritating. He was loud and talked too much as well. Still, her dad wanted her to give it a shot and it couldn't be that bad. It was just a field trip, she'd been to plenty of those.

Although the last field trip she went on was the reason she ended up with her superpowers... She really didn't want to go. Especially with Aiden constantly pestering her about it. Agreeing to go felt like losing. Urgh.

She ends up going and at first, it's not bad. All until a woman offers to give them a free tour of a 'haunted' house. Ashlyn doesn't want to go. Something about the whole situation was making her uneasy. But the others all wanted to go so she went with them. The uneasy feeling along with the phantom noises that kept getting louder made it even worse, sweat collecting in her palms and the urge to flee only getting stronger.

So when she sees that creature and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, she doesn't catch her reaction fast enough, hastily taking a few steps back.

"Ash?" Aiden said and there was a hint of concern in his voice. The others were all staring at her with varying looks on their faces, from concern to irritation. It wasn't real. She needed to calm down. It was just a hallucination. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

But what if it was, the paranoid voice in her mind whispered. She had superpowers, who's to say that demons or ghosts couldn't be real?

She shook the thought away, tearing her eyes away from the creature and taking a deep breath before turning back to her classmates. She was being ridiculous. "Sorry, I thought I saw some-"

She was paralyzed in place when she saw them staring past her with terrified expressions, senses blaring with warning as a cold, slippery hand wrapped around her arm.

It was real.

And it was right behind her.

[bear-remn]

—Deadly eyes concept art v1 ₊ ⊹

Hi! I have been working on my content since i been very inspired and i already have art of my oc's in addition to the dibaboys' opinions about my girls! this is volume 1!

—KIRARI MASAMI ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧

—diaboy´s thoughts on kirari ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

—shuu:

·:¨༺ while kirari was on drugs ༻¨:·

"such a weird woman, walking like a ghost and bothering me while a sleep.."

"terrible smell, i´d kill her if i could but its such a bother.."

"dont really care, not my problem.."

·:¨༺ when kirari recovers ༻¨:·

"a lewd woman, not good with words but her eyes and expresions tell me everything i need to know.."

"a little anoying, but i dont want her to stop anoying me.."

"kinda funny and mean when it comes to people she dosent like, basically hot.."

—reiji:

·:¨༺ while kirari was on drugs ༻¨:·

"bad blood and bad manners, such a case.."

"doesnt talk much, but when she open her mouth she only say´s strange thing´s.."

"why would that person send her if her blood is´nt good quality? and as a sacrificial bride?.."

·:¨༺ when kirari recovers ༻¨:·

"such a needy human, wanting me to hold her while she sleep... "

"even if she is´nt a worthy woman for me, in some ways she turn to be... what i never thought i´d crave..."

"maybe she is not teh worthy woman i always picture, but is enough to be by my side, taking my father´s place with her by my side.."

—ayato:

·:¨༺ while kirari was on drugs ༻¨:·

"yours truly doesnt care for a bad blooded woman.."

"ok? and?.."

"if i ignore her then she isnt here..."

·:¨༺ when kirari recovers ༻¨:·

"her blood is ok? but not really yours truly favorite.."

"she thinks is so cool just because she plays basketball and do boxing, she looks rediculous..."

"It's a little outrageous that Mako prefers the company of that woman intead of my company, yours truly is too good for her anyways.."

—kanato:

·:¨༺ while kirari was on drugs ༻¨:·

"who?..."

"such an unpleasant woman, teddy and i couldnt stand being around her.."

"the only good thing about that disgusthing woman are those eyes of her, shiny and clear... i dont have that kind of eyes in my collection hehe.."

·:¨༺ when kirari recovers ༻¨:·

"still, the only good thing are those eyes, her blood is too thick, not really my taste.."

"she spend too much time with reiji, i hope that when she dies, reiji let´s me take her eyes hehe.."

"she is´nt as anoying as i thought, rather quiet.."

—laito:

·:¨༺ while kirari was on drugs ༻¨:·

"she acts like an abandoned cat, trying to isolate herself from others and acting tough, but cying in silence at nigth.."

"the messier the better.."

"sadly, her blood is terrible and her attitude is boring, what a same.."

·:¨༺ when kirari recovers ༻¨:·

"reiji make her what she is now but, its odd that now they arent as close as before, funny right?.."

"i see her, how the others watch her as if we dont realize, they will not take her as they please, not that i care, but my big bro does.."

"kirari-chan doesnt make cutes faces as my pretty mako-chan, but i enjoy dessert.."

—subaru:

·:¨༺ while kirari was on drugs ༻¨:·

"the stink its unbreathable, her presence its disgusthing, she is disgusthing.."

"humans are so dumb, so sad and melancolic for no reason.."

"i dont care if she dies, as long as she doesnt make a mess.."

·:¨༺ when kirari recovers ༻¨:·

"she become emotionally dependent of shu and reiji, but none of them seems to be interested in what she really is.."

"she often hides in the plants but in silence, i appreciate the silence.."

"she doesnt try to kill herself anymore.."

.・。.・゜✭ bonus ✭・゜・。.・

—kirari

·:¨༺ while kirari was on drugs ༻¨:·

about shu

"fucking arrogant bitch, hope he choke´s on his own saliva.."

about reiji

"cool, control maniac but kinda cool? acts like a father and speaks funny.."

about ayato

"think he is a big deal but really is just a spoiled brat with a pretty face.."

about kanato

"please never touch me.."

about laito

"fucking weirdo, a little hot without the hat but too scary, he appears out of nowhere everytime and looks like he knows things, dark things.."

about subaru

"pretty boy but those anger issues, idk, too much anger inside one person.."

kirari opinion of the diaboys when she recovers its a secret hehe :p

.・。.・゜✭ ty! ✭・゜・。.・

hope you guys like it! mako comes in the next concep art volume post! if you have any suggestion tell me! i´d appreciate it!

btw the cover was inspired on @ausd art, go check her work it´s precious!

[spidey-x-male-reader]

first time requesting but like the thought of male! reader having a messy apartment/ bedroom for different reasons and miguel coming through m readers window to visit and when he sees that messy room, he spends a lot of time cleaning it and waits for m reader to get back and m reader is thankful and yet a little embarrassed

please I find this so adorable😭

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x male!reader

Warnings: tiny bit of swearing

A/N: Finally getting to this request! Sorry for taking so long. This piece was a constant battle of me trying to use the right tense and trying not to make the way the apartment is described too personal for me. I hope you like it!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

MASTERLIST

Miguel knew a lot about you.

You are talented and capable even if you seem a bit goofy sometimes. You always do your best on missions. And you always do anything you can to protect the people around you and when you aren't able to do that you still go on, fighting every single day.

He would never admit it but he really is impressed by you.

However he considers changing that picture of you when he comes to visit you one day. You vaguely remember inviting him once, telling him that he can come over whenever he feels like it. But back then you probably didn’t think about the pure mess that was your apartment. 

When Miguel climbed in through your window, he first called your name, when you didn’t answer he assumed that you were probably out doing some chores, like the responsible person he thought you to be. But then he got a look at your apartment and for one second didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Everywhere things were lying around, various clothes spread across the floor. And an impressive high amount of trash stood around on every flat surface, probably being placed there with a simple saying of “I will throw it out later with the rest”

Sure, for a second he didn’t know what to do, but he really couldn’t blame you at this point. You knew that, even if you love your job, and friends and missions, it was still stressful to maintain a healthy work to life balance, especially if your work constantly followed you around everywhere. 

But…even though he didn’t blame you for anything, he knew that you definitely could not keep living in this chaos. And considering he didn’t have any plans anyway, he started to clean, First all the trash out, then collecting the clothes that were lying around and putting them into laundry. When he realized you still weren't there after it looked pretty acceptable he even started to wipe down the surfaces until he eventually heard the front door open.

“What the fuck” you are standing in your doorway and immediately realize that something is off. Mostly that your shoes are now neatly standing against the wall instead of blocking off the hallway, making you trip over them every time you come in.

“(y/n), You’re back.” Miguel turns around to you as soon as you enter the living room. 

You’re not sure if you should first focus on the fact that Miguel was just sitting in your living room or the fact that your living room looks…clean.

“Miguel…what is this?”

“What is what?” he looks around but then seems to understand what you mean. “Oh yeah I came to visit you but realized that your apartment is a wreck so I decided to clean while you were gone.”

“Oh…” you hope that you weren’t blushing but are probably hopelessly failing. Not only has Miguel seen the chaos that was your apartment, but he has also decided to clean it while you were out. “That’s…thank you.”

“I mean it wasn’t really a lot. But I do have to tell you to please throw out your trash once in a while, okay? Because the amount of trash I had to carry outside was unreal. I had to walk multiple times.”

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“I know. But you’re always working so hard and I was already here so I thought why not.” he shrugs like it wasn’t much of a deal.

“It is a lot. Believe me. Cleaning is…difficult for me” you try to explain yourself, hoping that Miguel wasn’t thinking you were always this messy. “Why did you even come here?”

“You offered me to come over if you wanted to. Parker started annoying so…I’m here now.”

“I’m not even going to question which one you mean and accept it. They’re all something to deal with.” you’re happy about the topic change. Everything is better than your apartment. “So I guess you’re here now. Want to watch a movie?”

“I’m not sure if I trust your movie taste.”

“Excuse me? My movie taste is great” you grin, moving to let yourself fall on the couch next to him, grabbing the remote. “How about…pirates of the–”

“Forget about it.”

[angellurgy2]

'SMARTBOY SPECTACLES'

new story! where a deeply indebted trap tries to cheat the house, and is forced to learn his lesson the hard way :)

rape cw

in the middle of a crowded floor, where gamblers and sex fiends bodies writhe against each other in movement from various games of chance, and the air fills with the noise of buzzing golden lights and loud clammoring. Salvage sits politely on top of a plush red stool. out of the corner of his eye he watches curiously as the patrons stream from table to table, while he halfheartedly throws some chips onto his own. the dealer throws him two cards, a 7 of diamonds and a king of hearts. he sighs, definitely not the best, but not the worst. he stands and the dealer deals himself his cards, busting with two face cards and a 3. salvage grins and collects his winnings. he didn’t even really see how many chips he threw in, but he struggles to carry the winnings inside just his two hands with how many there were.

his face warms with glee and he tosses the chips into his shoulderbag - NOT a purse - dashing into a lounge area before he rips off his ZOOM-OMATIC SMARTBOY SPECTACLES 300™. they worked!!! he struggles to not burst into laughter, his cheeks beginning to hurt from his own grin. if only these poor rich snobs knew he was cheating them right under their noses. he can barely believe it worked, but he saw those cards long before they were at the top and no one noticed shit! finally he’ll have a chance to make a dent in his debt- and then he wont have to be trapped in this purgatory anymore!

he uses the short space of privacy here to scruff up the collar of his leather overcoat and tug down the bottoms of his red crop so that it just covers his belly button and pull the crotch of his cargo shorts out of his junk.

he does the soft breathing exercises his therapist taught him the week prior, putting on his (literal) poker face and suavely striding back into the pit. it’s happy hour, so a decent amount of patrons have already poured out of the casino floor and into the nearby bar/lounges by the time he makes it on the scene. the dealers all look relieved to have less on their plate, which usually makes it the best time to play. he slides into another game of 21 and smiles at the dealer, “hey john.” he greets, short and to the point. its good to talk to them, since they all know his deal by now anyway, but too much and he cant be sure he wont let slip something suspicious by accident. he’s good at persuasion, but hiding a secret has never been his strong suit.

winning the next draws are easy. thanks to his SMARTBOY SPECTACLES™ and his better-than-average memory he can win while only half paying attention, giving him plenty of space to ogle all the hotties around him. though he has to make sure he loses every so often to not seem too suspicious. by the time he leaves the table, he feels like he’s won more than he has in months. one day of being a cheat and he’ll already be reaching back into the high life- it feels so good to finally have some assurance.

he mulls over what’s next. blackjack is easy winnings, but its also slow winnings, and worst of all - boring winnings. he spends some time sauntering around the various floors, until he stumbles upon a room where multiple poker games are being played. this is EXACTLY what he needs, more rich assholes to put in their place and more money to take.

he walks in confidently, eyeing up the potential competitors. most tables are full, but a few have a seat or two open. he ends up deciding on a table with one open seat, the rest filled with the crustiest of old men.

“you sure this table’s fit for you, kid?” one retorts. sal scowls. i’m literally 23, come on. the fucking privilege on these fossils.

“yeah, it’s just right.” he grins, sliding in and crossing his arms as he waits for the next round to begin.

despite the wait, he’s grateful to get some time to look up the ‘marks’, and he has to admit, a few of them look pretty damn hot. the rugged, masculine guys sorta faded in with the greyed out wrinkly dissociated guys from afar, but they could be definitely doing so much better than this joint. he’s not even that gay - he always felt a little weird about it, girls are so much easier?? - but he cant help but look when his new specs involuntraily give him a peek at what’s under their shirts.

he’s jolted out of his head by pressure on his shoulders, reminding him exactly where he is, and exactly why he can’t be bothering with physical desires. he nods and throws in the minimum bet and eagerly awaits his cards. an ace and a king, knowing before they reach his hands. the guy next to him, an older man in a dress shirt and tie, looks at his cards briefly and throws in a decent bet. if sal couldnt tell from the expression the man could barely hide, he can tell from the 4 of hearts and 7 of hearts staring right back at him. he raises the bet double.

the rounds go by quick, the bluffing man folds after the river shows a king and a ten, and other two join shortly after. him and 2 other guys get to a pretty tight finish, one of them having a 2 pair and the other having a three of a kind. but sal knows the river will end in his favour. the dealer throws down the last card, raises the bet once more, and wins handedly. he scrapes the chips to his front and gives them all an egotist grin.

one hand down, the rest of theirs to go.

it’s by the 5th game that something comes to stop his reign.

“Sally. Vance wants to see you. now.”

fuck. “cant you see i’m in the middle of something?” hate this asshole. i was just about to finish up here.

“he said now. i wouldnt make him wait.”

“fuck. fuck. fine.”

by the time he arrives back at his usual games, the atrium is crowded almost to full. he loses his sense of time utterly when he’s in play, no clue how long he was at that poker table, but it had to have been decently long if the post-work gamblers have arrived already. he scans over the floor managers looking for Vance. the senior of them all, and the asshole who watched over his debt and servitude. sal thought he wouldn’t have been here on the weekend, thought he’d probably be at home with his whore wife or something- but he thought wrong.

vance leans against the wall like a jock on a lightpole, donning his typical pristine checkered suit and slick black sunglasses. he thinks he’s so cool, just because he has power in this little pocket of space. its honestly pathetic. vances eyes dart up spotting him, and he whistles beckoning sal.

“whatcha been up to today, kid?” stay cool.

he shrugs, manifesting casual. “blackjack and poker, mostly.”

“that it?”

“yeah. been getting pretty lucky today, actually.”

“that so?” vance kicks his leg up, “cause’ i’ve heard you’ve been getting very lucky.”

sal shrugs again and looks away and vance steps closer to close the gap between them. he smells like cigarettes and some shitty strong cologne with a scent probably named something like ‘SPORTS DELUGE’.

“yeah man i just said that-” he stumbles backwards a step, he feels his heart drop in his chest and shouts shame at it in his head. “what gives??”

a heavily silence weighs down the oxygen around them. vance’s breath reeks, but it also overpowers.

he reaches a hand out to salvage’s cheek. sal tries to dodge backwards but vance moves it quick enough to grab his hair in retaliation. hand tight on the bottom of his pony, forced to look him dead in the eyes, right into his own mirrored reflection.

“c’mon sally, you know we don’t take kindly to cheats here-” he lowers his lips to sal’s ear, “you were supposed to be the example of that.”

sal tries to push him but his body is so blocky and his position is so firm that all it does is make an embarrassing thump.

“you want an assault charge too, sally?” the grip on his hair moves down to the back of the neck. he speaks quieter, looking around for prying eyes “i dont think you wanna see what’ll happen if we get that too”

“fuck off vance i’m not fucking cheating-” ringing shoots through his ears alongside a loud pop, red welters his cheek and vance looks down at him with the same happy-yet-still-scowling look as always.

sal can barely see through the blur and daze, and vance takes advantage. grabbing him by the collar and ripping them off the sides and into the middle of the floor, where everyone’s still gambling as if everything is of the ordinary. which it is, of course. who would ever care about what the managers are doing to some random guy? he’s probably just an unruly addict.

vance slams salvage’s back into a golden railing that outlines the table space, coursing pain up through his spinal. he’s never going to get his brains back at this rate. vance grabs his hair again, pulling it taught and shifting his other hand up sal’s side, and grabbing his waist, hard. sal bares his teeth in some sort of stupid attempt at looking confident.

“fuck. you.”

another slap leaves tears dribbling out of his plical and fading down his sweltering cheeks. vance’s filthy boney manhands continue dragging further down, until he’s groping sal’s ass through his shorts, grinning like an egotistical child, stealing another kid’s toys.

“get off me vance i didnt fucking cheat i was just trying to play leave me alone dont do this in front of all these people stop it please man cmon”

vance rips the glasses off of sal’s face.

he gives them a glance over, gaze looking deep into the where the little cameras are hidden. he looks up at sal, grins, and crushes them in his hand. sal almost bursts into tears. he payed so much to get those in his subscription- so deep in debt he had to take a loan out with a DIFFERENT shady entity, but it was supposed to be his one good chance at breaking at all- was supposed to save him.

now his dreams lay shattered at his feet.

he doesn’t even realize his shorts are at his ankles until vance’s hands are groping his taint thorugh his panties.

“fucking trap.” he mutters.

sal starts screaming in his head knowing he can’t make even more of a ruckus here. they’re just comfortable man i’m not a girl they’re just cozier okay god its not gay and so what shut up shut up shut up fuck!!!

two fingers wrap under the waistband, tugging. wait- wait no not here not in front of everyone not “here not here stop please vance don’t do this we can go to your office we can- just not like this please? please.” he can only make himself whimper.

and theyre at his feet too. his little- his dick flops out uselessly as they drop. he immediately notices eyes beginning to stare, some hungrily, some scowling, but none speaking.

“this won’t make the tiniest dent in your debt. but you’re already our property so, who cares right?”

vance grabs sal’s legs and pulls them over his shoulders. sal’s completely suspended now, if he tries to rip himself out or if vance moves too far back he’ll fall and hit his head on the hard wood floor. he looks down and just the foot or two of space between them and the ground is enough to make him lightheaded, terrified.

vance moves forward and spreads sal to the air. he cant look, but he can feel beady eyes staring it down, watching with glee as vance shoves himself inside, shamefully easy.

“do this often, huh girlie?” vance laughs heartily. sal dreams of stabbing a straight razor through his veiny ugly neck, watching the blood spurt out and coat him happily.

“kill yourself.”

sal feels so full, more than he ever has. he hasn’t taken a real dick since, what 2 years ago? back in his college ‘exploration’ phase. he mostly keeps it to the knotted and monster toys now, not that that makes it any less embarrassing as his hole easily and eagerly stretches to fit vance’s huge cock. he has to close his eyes once he sees his own harden in response to his enemy’s thrusts.

“y’know. you should probably talk nicer to the people who decide if you get to live here, or if you get sent to the kennel.”

“what?”

“ ‘wHaT’, do you really think that, the people who own the biggest casino company in the state, wouldn’t have other ‘ventures’?” vance’s smile finally seems to droop. but the thrusts only get harder, only force more pathetic self-hating squeaks out of salvage, choking his words into tattered paper.

“what- are- you- t-a-aalking about”

vance leans in closer, brushing a hand through salvage’s locks falling out of his ponytail. he feels pulsing, heat rising, the tip digging deeper into his guts then hes ever felt, and then hears vance grunting in deplorable satisfaction, voice glowing with pride.

“i’m saying we’re going to sell you, sally.”

[hitlikehammers]

you definitely need a 💐LADY WHISTLEDOWN REVEAL💐 for Steddie to follow up on the ✨Morning After✨ the Carriage, don't you???

Regency/Bridgerton AU

once last time: for @hbyrde36, @pearynice, and @penny00dreadful 💜

For perhaps the first time in his life, Eddie is at a loss for his words.

Possibly, it is because there are no words. None that he knows, at the least, and he knows a great deal of them—too many for his own good, according to some.

Though—possibly—it is because his heart is pounding so violently, somehow in his chest and in his throat all at once, that the breath for words at all is lost on him, and if it weren’t, the words would end up pummeled somewhere on the way out his mouth anyway.

Double-edged sword, really.

It is in true Edward Munson form, the way it comes out in the end, the way he confesses without truly confessing. It’s been a growing pit in this stomach, despite the glorious splendor of the past weeks leading up to their nuptials—nuptials!—and the Queen’s renewed obsession weighs, true, though she’s off the scent for now. But when Eddie’s father drove his family to ruin, and his uncle gave up freedom in the Highlands to enter back into society, to house his mother and his own half-fear-made-feral self before the age of seven, to make the Munson name respectable again, not least for spending most of his worth on the property across from the storied Harringtons—but then there was the one specific boy of the family, about Eddie’s own age, who had to come to the Munson’s every day for a month, almost certainly against the wishes of anyone who stood to reign him back and failed, an entire month before Eddie would so much as kick the dirt between them, let alone dare for eye contact.

Which is to say: Eddie started the strongest and dearest relationship of his life with cowardice, without even knowing yet that Steve Harrington wasn’t built to back down from a challenge for the life of him, despite the scars he bore for his stubborn virtue.

It wouldn’t really be true to Eddie’s own well-worn character, now, if he were brave about any of this.

Which is how he ends up slinking to Steve, who is sprawled comfortably on the settee with a book, before dropping a thick, twine-bound collection of pamphlets, years of publications that fall on Steve’s chest dramatically, though Eddie can’t even claim to have planned it so: he’s simply shaking too much to have handed over the evidence poised to damn him with anything like composure.

He trembles even as he stands taut, spine too stiff and shoulders too sharp, hands clasped behind him as Steve sits up, eyes the bundle curiously, unties it carefully and…reads Eddie’s last rites in his own pen because the dawning of clarity isn’t slow: what the papers are is crystalline.

That these are original drafts, in Eddie’s pen, is even more undeniable upon finishing just the first column: Eddie’s writing pen was a gift from Steve early in their years, and he’s never parted with it—too attached, too sentimental—not least when it started to show its age, blotted messy at the ends of lines, especially on a damning ‘s’ at the stop of a sentence.

So many sentences; to spell out his own.

Steve is quiet, as he thumbs through a few more issues: but it’s clear the perusal’s unnecessary. Likely meant just to buy time. Eddie feels an ache in his chest that he can’t place a name to; feels a burning on the ring finger of his left hand that he holds too tight: fearful. Afraid the minutes are numbered, now, before he loses the promise there forever.

But he could not have beared to trap Steve into marriage under the pretense of a lie. He may have already done damage irreparable but, but—

Whatever he can still salvage, for Steve if not himself: he has to try.

“So.”

Eddie’s attention snaps back into the moment as soon as he hears Steve’s voice; startles at the weight of the pamphlets falling atop the table to hand at his side.

Eddie feels Steve’s eyes upon him but…hells beyond if he can lift his own to meet them.

He’s a boy kicking at dirt all over again.

“So,” Eddie breathes; barely. His sentence, his sentence, and all the loss undoubtedly to follow with, and—

He’s too far in his own mind, in his own pulse too heavy to have noticed the approach of anything, even his beloved, until his beloved’s hands are framing his face, those sunrise eyes steady on him. Warm.

Still love there, in them. For him.

“Thank you,” Steve lets his thumbs roam Eddie’s cheekbones; stretch to the line of his jaw where it starts: “for finally trusting me.”

Eddie’s comprehension of time grinds to a halt; he thinks his pulse takes the brunt for how it stalls-still from its racing.

It takes him at least three tries to make a noise from his throat, and even then it’s mostly just a sound, rather than any words to comprehend:

“I,” he manages more as a squeak that he follows with a cough, which does little to clear his voice but a great deal to jostle his heart back to pounding as he flounders:

“I’m sorry?”

And Steve’s brows furrow, but only for an instant; an instant is all it takes to read Eddie top to toe and then soften, to use his hands to pull Eddie close for a chaste kiss that still holds so much:

“Oh, angel,” Steve breathes between their lips as Eddie feels the tremors still tight-wound through his person threaten to break him, to widen the cracks he is composed of wholly, now, and shatter him to bits, but then there is Steve, and Steve is holding to him, and then he’s…he’s speaking incomprehensible words that take too long to even begin making sense:

“You could not have imagined that I didn’t know?”

Eddie’s silence is the only necessary answer, and then Steve’s eyes are widening in shock alongside something close to horror.

“Oh, oh, come here,” the realization in the words is so tender, and honest, and Steve flutters his hands a little in his haste to lead Eddie to sit, to press against Steve’s body so he can melt into Steve's solid hold. And Steve presses his lips to Eddie’s temple, almost aggrieved and unbearably gentle, but the note of incredulity is undeniable as he asks soft, a low rumble through his chest, close under Eddie’s ear:

“Were you so anxious, my darling?”

Eddie doesn’t know what sound he makes, if he makes any at all—he did not anticipate this, he did not anticipate anything like this at all and so he likewise has no idea how it means to progress from here; his pulse feels all the more precarious as it hangs in a balance he cannot predict—but whatever comes from him, sound or some other indication only Steve can see and sense, he is being wrapped tighter, closer, cradled into the soft shirt, mostly unbuttoned to soft tufts of hair across Steve’s broad chest.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes against the top of Eddie’s head, laces their fingers together to kiss before dragging them to better secure Eddie against him, holding their twined hands to his ocean-deep pulse:

“We are family,” Steve murmurs with a certainty that shakes in Eddie’s bones—irrefutable. “Always have been, really,” he adds, a little rueful; “and soon by law and name, but your passions are my passions,” and he squeezes Eddie’s hand once in perfect time for both their unmatched heartbeats, finds the hidden moment where Eddie’s still-sprinting blood matches Steve’s steady drumbeat and somehow the surety, the intimate certitude in that peerless moment holds like a palm soft to Eddie’s frantic heart itself that cradles him, inside and out; talks him down from fears of unknown reprisals.

“Your struggles are my struggles, to remedy immediately,” Steve kisses at Eddie’s curls like a promise, more a vow; “your triumphs are mine to hold close and celebrate in full with you, for you.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat, but only as a precursor to the warmth the floods the whole of him as Steve adds, even more like true vows against Eddie’s own soul:

“Nothing you could ever do or be would make you less the whole of my heart,” Steve cradles him dear, caresses along his jaw; “certainly never something like this.”

Eddie’s heart throbs heady, surges and expands and he has to focus on breathing a bit more, for a few long seconds, because to be told that, to be touched like this, to be loved this way—

“How,” Eddie has to clear his throat to be heard and still his voice lands thready:

“How did you find out?”

And Eddie isn’t truly ever surprised by how he loves Steve in turn, he doesn’t remember what it feels like to breathe as less, but: Eddie will never not love, in an especially giddy way, how Steve lights up in something a little wily, here, a little mischievous, and now how it’s spiraled along with a glistening adoration that tingles through Eddie with every tap of his pulse.

“First,” Steve cranes his neck to grin lopsided Eddie’s way; “Whistledown was always among the cleverest minds in the ton,” and Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand in his as he peppers kisses along the crown of Eddie’s head, wholly unprompted, just because he can before he concludes with a sweet little shrug:

“There are perhaps only three people in the requisite radius who fit the terms, and two are my own sisters.”

Eddie cannot—does not want to—contest that point. It isn’t wrong, but more than even that: he’s honored to be counted alongside Lady Nancy and Miss Robin, equally formidable in unique—and therefore frighteningly complementary—ways.

But he does fear his fortunes to come, should they not be as forgiving as it seems their brother is—against all odds, though Eddie should never have doubted his beloved just because his own conscience ached; Steve is stalwart and steadfast, and Eddie’s heart has never rested safer.

He will come to know that in the very veins of him, with time. He’s certain.

They both will; Eddie knows it.

“Second,” Steve’s adding on, stroking their still-clasped hands up and down his own chest; “the way it’s written,” and then he’s lifting those hands to kiss again, his smile a tangible thing to feel, and a swift beam of relief to loosen lingering tensions in Eddie’s muscles:

“I may have been blind to precisely how you’ve lived within my heart up until these past weeks,” Steve returns their hands to his chest again and presses in emphasis on the beating he speaks of, the home Eddie feels safest in, now he knows he’s welcome wholly; “utterly spectacular weeks, weeks I could never have imagined,” Steve hums, then grows a touch more serious as he murmurs:

“But you’ve lived in my heart near all my life, Eds,” Steve says simply, then smiles to answer back to the question asked of him:

“The flourish in your theatrics is telling, beloved,” Steve speaks it like an open secret, and something he rejoices in. “Perhaps not to the masses, only because you did not advertise them to their fullest extent for as many years as I’ve been…” he worries his lip endearingly through a losing fight against a grin:

“Privileged enough to experience them in their entirety. To experience you,” and Steve leans to snag a kiss quick before smiling full: “in your entirety.”

Eddie bumps his shoulder against Steve’s in indignation, earning first a yelp and then a hearty chuckle as he protests with very little fire in it, too much soft-sweet joy rising in him now for the ever-more-pressing proof that he is accepted, that his work, his creative purists change little, maybe nothing between them, save that Steve said…

Steve said he would celebrate him. As if Eddie were someone to be proud of.

“You’ve chided and shrugged me off for it, for all my wild theatrics—“ Eddie cuts off the spike of emotion threatening to well in his eyes with wholly put-upon affront as Steve ducks his chin to kiss sloppy, playful, just short of Eddie’s cheek, a little farther back as he defends:

“Lovingly, darling,” and there is humor, ready and easy between them but there is truth, more solid, the bedrock of any other thing:

“No matter the kind of love,” Steve nuzzles him fondly, no—no, it’s so much more than fond:

“Always lovingly.”

And what is Eddie to do in the face of that, save but to sigh against Steve’s chest where he’s held, still; to nuzzle there a little in kind and if the steady lulling of the motion matches Steve’s heartbeat within moments, well: who is Eddie to protest the song that his whole world moves in time with?

“But third, my dearest,” and here Steve’s voice deepens, then lightens to a whisper as he breathes against Eddie’s curls:

“Robin knew.”

Eddie stills. And then he shoots up and braces himself over Steve with eyes wide enough to water as he gasps:

“No,” he barely mouths because, because yes Robin knew, or Eddie suspected—her interest in his dealings with the printer was too sharp, too pinpointed before it died off entirely. Which could have meant she found better distraction, but: she hadn’t.

Which meant: she’d almost certainly fulfilled the curiosity she’d already chased.

But no one had spoken, not a single person had come even in confidence to accuse—

“Oh yes,” Steve sighs gravely but there’s a smirk in it; he teases; “I was the only one she told, I do know that, but.” And Steve shrugs, shakes his head before he lets out a harsh whoosh of air as Eddie falls back upon his chest—at least now they can match, the wind knocked out of them both.

“Of course the possibility alone was always a gamble,” Eddie eventually concedes, draped over Steve once more—a little defeated, though he can’t quite put a finger on why. “I simply…presumed you’d have spoken if she’d,” he gestures aimlessly; “shared her knowledge.”

He doesn’t expect the response to come in the form of a sharp cackle, of Steve easing them both to sitting, but somehow still tangled up and pressed together tight.

“I’m not so proud as not to own fully that I am a terrible gossip,” Steve says without a shred of shame for it, and it is true, Eddie may well have learned his own lack of shame in the enterprise from the man held against him in the first place.

“It brings too much joy, why would I spoil the fun? For anyone, least of all for you,” he asks honestly, which is maybe shortsighted; Eddie knows he’s caused strife with his pen, but he’s never told falsehoods, and he’s never sought to ruin anyone who didn’t cause ruin thrice-fold first.

“I’d have helped you write it in an instant, if you’d wished,” Steve says, almost wistful, the last thing Eddie expected when he entered the room, his shaking hands full of damning evidence; “though of course you never needed my help.”

“I’d have wanted it,” Eddie is immediate to affirm despite his surprise, because his adamance is stronger; because any moments spent with Steve, now or then, before or since becoming what they are, have never been less than a privilege and a delight; “a couple’s activity, far more appealing than the promenade,” Eddie huffs a laugh, still a touch incredulous for how this all is playing out before him, still a little bewildered that his anxious, whirring thoughts and heavy heart were for nothing at all.

He trusts Steve unreservedly, but, surely, surely there is something…

“If I were to continue,” Eddie nudges, hedges with perhaps quite foolish daring; “you would not mind?”

But it isn’t even a surprise when Steve simply leans against Eddie and draws him sideways toward his chest, breathes gentle into Eddie’s hair and kisses his head as he reaches to play with his fingers, to spin his engagement ring.

“Darling, even if I thought it dull as bricks,” and Steve speaks it with such, such warmth; “it brings you joy. And that is my joy.”

And Eddie’s heart soars for the…for the knowledge that this is his life. That this will be his life: forevermore.

He leans to kiss Steve whole and full, and he’s met as passionately, as ravenously, until they soften to gentle pecks, back and further.

“Together then, I think,” Eddie declares, their lips still close so the words drag between their mouths, breathy with devotion; a new flavor of commitment as Steve’s eyes rake over him, widen first to then shine blinding:

“Truly?”

“Every soul deserves its desired secrets,” Eddie reaches to trace Steve’s jawline; to marvel because he doesn’t think he’ll ever see fit to stop; “but there is no part of me that I desire to keep secret from you.”

Steve smiles at him a little longer, before he reaches around Eddie and grabs below the stack of issues—Eddie’d balanced it all on his folio, with the blank sheets and his beloved pen.

“May I?” Steve lifts the case less than halfway sheepish, more than halfway impish; “I think you need a bit of a sendoff.”

Eddie blinks, largely adrift save for Steve’s heat so near to him: anchoring.

“Where am I going?” he asks, bewildered even as Steve's smile grows wider still.

“Wedded bliss in perpetuity is the hope,” Steve presses his lips firm and fast to the left corner of Eddie’s mouth; “but in practical terms?” and then he kisses just the same at the corner on the right before he stands to make toward his desk:

“Quite soon, our honeymoon.”

And oh: but they haven’t spoken overmuch about such a thing but, but…

They’ll be married, and then they’ll be free to…be. Together and in love and wherever and however they wish, as long as they wish it—they get to be husbands and revel in it, wanton and cow-eyed and blissfully besotted.

Eddie must spend long seconds daydreaming—wholly justified, he would note most heartily—because he comes back to himself in the moment, next to Steve where he’s seated again, tapping Eddie’s thigh with the stiff parchment he’s covered in his endearing looping script waiting for Eddie’s attention, which, of course he gives in an instant and oh:

Most Dear and Gentle Reader,

All good things come to their ends, or else their pauses, their crossways and forks in the road. And whichever this communiqué ultimately lands upon happily, my farewell to you now comes on the wings of pure delight: to announce the end of the season with love, with the culmination of a tumultuous journey where not every player walked at the same pace, but one that was nonetheless undertaken together, unreservedly, and met hand-in-hand at the turn of its tale to new chapters. New journeys to seek and embark upon with joy.

I admit my attentions have been distracted of late, so you must forgive what comings and goings I may have missed in the interim. Nevertheless, I think none have slipped my notice so monumental, and indeed relevant to prior missives, as the dramatic and dearly heartwarming culmination of the tale of one of our most scandalous subjects of inquiry, not least because he has not always relished the attention: here, though, he might see the end of his delightfully roguish absurdity, but may our loss be his gain, as it is most certainly his husband-to-be’s.

To wit: Sir Edward Munson has done the honor of pledging the pleasure and privilege of his unmatched mind, his unreserved compassion, his unequaled wit, his inimitable fortitude, his most miraculously peerless heart, and the indescribable joy he brings by merely breathing in proximity, to one Lord Steven Harrington: a man not wholly deserving, but forever committed to the pursuit of earning all of the above, and worshiping with gratitude his beloved, as is only right and proper when one is blessed so thoroughly.

The very sort of happy ending we rarely see played out in these pages to such heartwarming conclusion—for we may seek scandal, but we none of us can deny the unparalleled appeal when matters of true love rise to the fore. And triumph magnificently.

But do not despair in my absence, however long it proves to stretch—there is pleasure in the pathless woods, after all. Journey well, dearest gentle readers, in the whiling.

x 

Eddie swallows hard upon the final words landing, settling in his chest.

How on earth did he get here? How in god’s name can he possibly deserve…this? All this?

With this impossible gift of a man, he—

“So?” and Steve’s tone is just slightly anxious, and oh. Oh, none of that.

Eddie tosses the spectacular, unthinkably praise-filled draft to the table and grabs Steve’s chin, tilts his face up to kiss him, long and hard and deep until they’re both gasping.

“You astound me endlessly,” Eddie breathes, settling his brow to Steve’s as he nearly breaks his face, he feels, for smiling so wide, in such wonder.

“Didn’t think I had it in me?” Steve smirks a little, but nips at Eddie’s lips all the while, and it’s thrilling beyond reason.

“I think you’re capable of just about anything,” Eddie says honestly, caught up in the feeling of it soaking through his ribs.

“Sap,” Steve laughs, but it’s a nearly giddy sort of thing before his tone softens, silken almost, as he bumps the tips of his nose against the side of Eddie’s own; “I had a good teacher.”

“Who in your family reads romance?” Eddie asks, frowning to deduce. Possibly the little ones outside their mother’s notice but—

He’s interrupted in the work of it by a gentle smack to his shoulder.

“The columns, you delightful knob,” Steve rolls his eyes at him, and Eddie’s too buoyant, too effervescent with joys innumerable that he cannot help but lean, nip at Steve’s lower lip and tease back:

“You do delight almost voraciously in my kn—“

He earns himself another smack to the shoulder, and a delightful flush to Steve’s cheeks, and Eddie laughs deep in his chest, his cares of no consequence; invisible really.

“Could you possibly think I didn’t read every single issue once I knew they were yours?” Steve asks, more chiding than anything, like he takes a genuinely dim view to Eddie thinking otherwise; and now Eddie must revise his position—his cares are of no consequence, here, save one:

To worship this man, with all that he is, with every moment life sees fit to grant him, and never to cease, only to grow.

“I love you so,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin; “so much more than I know how to say—”

“I know it though,” Steve says with clarity, with confidence; “I know it,” and he reaches to trace Eddie’s lips as he asks, less out of doubt and more to confirm, to swell with what it means to be sure: “just as you know it?”

“I do,” Eddie whispers, and he feels it, the swelling of certainty, of loving beyond words and yet being wholly sure of their weight.

“You quoted Byron,” Eddie runs the tip of his nose along Steve’s jaw, awestruck.

“I listen when you talk,” Steve answers simply; “always have,” which pings exquisite chords in Eddie’s chest, his heart dancing steps it’s never learned, save in loving the man beside him.

“And it felt appropriate. Bookending an era, one might say,” because of course Eddie began with such words, and, he, it, this…

It is perfection. It is so far beyond the realms of what he has earned or deserved and yet—

“Have I upset you?” Steve’s voice breaks in, only a touch of hesitation; “should I apologize for so thoroughly shocking you?”

“Never,” Eddie cups his cheek and draws him in to prove it.

“I love finding out new things about you,” he adds warmly, breathless when they part, warmer still for the heaving of Steve’s chest against his own.

Steve himself takes a moment to catch back his breath before he raises a brow in askance. Eddie, less the athletic type, is still this-side of breathless but: perhaps it is better that way. More reflective of the way his chest seizes while it keeps at stretching him wider, wider, wider still to hold his ever-swelling heart.

“To know that the adventure of learning you, is not only the adventure of a lifetime, but an adventure for a lifetime,” Eddie wonders at him, confesses the core of his deepest heart with joy and pride and abandon as he holds Steve’s face dear between his hands:

“Words fail that privilege, my dearest.”

Steve leans into his touch, and runs his hands up from Eddie’s chest, pressing possessive near his bounding heart, before both slip to either side of Eddie’s neck, stretching to cross behind and drawing him in adoring, ethereal for how his eyes shine:

“A privilege in itself, spoken from so fine a wordsmith himself,” Steve murmurs, close enough that the shape of the words on his lips brush Eddie’s like their own kiss, and then, more than any kiss, he mouths deep in earnest:

“How I love you, Eddie Munson.”

“And I you,” Eddie breathes, his heart a mallet for all the most ineffable, unthinkably rapturous reasons; “another thing words fail for the depth.” Eddie shakes his head, tries to breathe into and out through the wholeness of that feeling in him as a rule, his new norm.

“I’d live inside your heart if I could,” Eddie finds himself exhaling slow, almost overcome, the words spilling on their own for wanting, for feeling this much: “I’d hold you close inside mine.”

“And here you stand, saying you have no words,” Steve whispers, leaning close, cheek to cheek as they both breathe so close their chests lie flush; they can both feel the hearts pounding beneath the other’s ribs.

“I said no such thing,” Eddie corrects brightly, but it’s so featherlight, it’s a certainty that’s nearly weightless save that it’s singlehandedly shifted his entire world:

“I said words failed the feeling,” Eddie mouths against the barest hint of Steve’s stubble; “and to that I still hold.”

And if it means exactly what it feels like: Steve holds the same.

Because the way he leans away only to dive back in to devour Eddie, relentless, passion bleeding between them so fast and full that Eddie thinks he can trace the way it bruises them both so deliciously, marks them reverent and exuberant; the way Eddie feels a sparkling coursing through his veins and sees it reflected in Steve’s eyes in the moments they’re forced to part for breath just to plunge back in again within mere moments, to drown only to better learn to breathe at all—

There are no words for this.

But the truth is undeniable that the both of them feel it.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx

divider credits here and here and here

💫 ao3 link here

[comphy-and-cozy]

the guy on the team - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f) - A Dream Come True universe

Word Count: 4.2K

Author’s Note: rediscovered the three paragraphs of filth i wrote after seeing this dude play (and score) in his first ever home game as a detroit red wing, then went buck wild writing about it. that's all you really need to know. 🎶 karma is the guy on the wings coming straight home to me... 🎶

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering (f receiving), brief masturbation (f), very minor spanking, creampie, me being a huge fucking simp series masterlist

October 2024

The goal horn—restored from the glory days at Joe Louis Arena, reminiscent of legends and lore and well-decorated history—blares through the arena, the sound nearly swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Don’t Stop Believing plays over the speakers, the “born and raised in South Detroit” chant almost deafening as 19,000 of Hockeytown’s finest pay a proud homage to the city.

The energy is palpable, infectious, and your eyes fall to the sea of red jerseys at center ice, sticks raised in appreciation and celebration of their first win and first home game of the season. They’re smiling, a few of them clapping each other on the back or tapping padded knees with their stick, circling around as they soak in the joy and promises of a strong season.

The 37 on his back stands out proudly, the bright white stark against the rich red. He offered to get you a jersey, identical to the one he’s wearing right now, but you’d declined and opted for an old sweatshirt from 2002; wearing his name still felt a little too cheeky. Your eyes follow his movements, almost subconsciously, and your gaze slides to the winged wheel embroidered on his chest when he circles around.

There’s a burn in your cheeks as you shamelessly check him out, anonymous in the sea of fans who are starting to make their way out of the arena. No one there knows you from any other admirer, that you know what he looks like beneath his pads and his gear, underneath the delicious slate gray suit that the Red Wings’ socials posted. 

You’ve barely made it to your front door when the text buzzes your phone in your pocket. 

[JT:] You free tonight? [JT:] Feel like celebrating [You:] Why, did something happen?

You don’t have to see his face to know he’s smirking at your comment. The text bubble pops back up, and you do your best to summon the chill, cool girl and not squeal when you see the response.

[JT:] You want to come over later?

Despite the effort, you can’t help the smile that emerges on your face. His next text informs you that he’s out getting post-game drinks and dinner with his family who came to town to see his debut in Detroit. You’re not offended that you didn’t receive an invite—just excited to have received a text. The status of your relationship is still up in the air, floating somewhere between casually dating and something with benefits. Meeting his family is far from your bucket list. At this point, anyway.

Though your makeup was already done for the game, you decide to reset in the shower. You exfoliate, shave, and take your time moisturizing until you’re squeaky clean and your skin is smooth. Your pre-dick appointment ritual is practiced, having perfected it in the last six weeks that you’ve been involved with JT Compher. He doesn’t expect perfection, has told you on multiple occasions in so many words, but the routine makes you feel like you’re worth his time, his affection, his attention—that’s something you’ll deal with in therapy, though. 

After the body prep comes a quick blow dry, a light layer of fresh makeup (you learned your lesson with too much makeup after JT made sure that the entire sultry eye you’d worked so hard on ended up smeared all over the sheets), and then the undergarment selection. By no means do you have an expansive luxury lingerie collection, but you’ve found yourself glancing at the intimate wear section when you’re out, anticipating the reaction of a certain redhead as you run your fingers over the various pieces on display. 

Tonight does feel special, you admit, with plenty to celebrate: a debut, a win, and two points for JT. The lacy red bralette feels fitting, perfect for a little ‘wow’ factor without feeling like you’re trying too hard—and, of course, a nod to his (and your) team. Cheeky red panties finish your look, hidden by a pair of yoga pants and a cropped zip-up hoodie: the quintessential dick appointment outfit.

By the time you’re spritzing on your perfume, the come over text comes through. Slinging a small overnight bag over your shoulder with a few essentials, you lock up your apartment and head on your way. Nerves flutter in your chest the way they always do, anticipation building as you pull into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

JT hasn’t changed out of his pregame suit, the takeout box sitting on the counter an indicator he hasn’t been home for long. Your heart flutters at the realization that he must’ve texted you before he’d even left dinner, that he was thinking of you even while sitting and celebrating with his family. 

After closing the door behind you, he moves in to greet you with a kiss, and once his lips touch yours, it’s like the floodgates of desire have opened up and you lose all self control. Without warning, your hands tug at his neck to kiss him fervently, quickly pressing your body against his and sighing at the warmth. 

He groans, returning the kiss with equal ardor as his hands find their home on your hips. As you’re turning your attention to his belt, pulling your lips away from him for a moment, he murmurs, “Not that I’m not really, really appreciating this welcome home, but is there a reason for the extra enthusiasm?”

Clink. The belt’s hit the floor, and you waste no time getting your mouth back on his. Your hand slinks up his thigh, palming the half-hard appendage in his slacks eagerly. Involuntarily, you feel a needy throb between your thighs, the low thrum in his chest adding fuel to the fire.

“Really liked you in that jersey,” you purr. 

“Oh yeah?”

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth and you nod, glancing up at him. “Yeah.”

JT smirks, allowing his ego to inflate just a bit. He doesn’t say it, but you know it drives him wild how much of an impact he has on you. How little he has to work to have you desperate for him. “Anything else?”

“I really liked it when you scored,” you say, wistfully recalling the way it sounded hearing his name announced over the loudspeaker at Little Caesars Arena. “You should do that some more.”

“How much did you like it?” 

With just one sentence, he’s managed to increase the temperature in the room by at least 20 degrees; the words themselves are innocent, but the rumble behind them offers a filthy, sinful promise. His gaze is hot, predatory even, following the movement of your hand as you unzip your hoodie in response to his question. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches at the peek of red lace, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when you shrug off the fleece.

Tension is thick in the air as you stand before him, heart pulsing in your throat. With a blink, he seemingly regains his composure, though his eyes linger on your cleavage between the lace cups. “That much, huh?”

Another nod, shivering under the heated way he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. Breaking eye contact with him is difficult, but you’re met with an equally pleasing view of his firm length pressed against the rich material of his dress pants. 

Your hand works at the zipper of his slacks, the other slipping between the metal teeth to press your palm against him. He’s throbbing under your touch, growing more and more solid as your hand strokes him through his boxer briefs. 

Words aren’t necessary—or capable, for that matter—once you finally fish out his length and lap at the tip. The only thing exiting his mouth are strangled curses mingled with the sigh of your name, hand slipping into your hair when he slides further into the hot cavern of your mouth. He’s fully hard now, resting heavy on your tongue as you trace the vein that throbs on the underside of his shaft.

JT grunts, tilting his head down to watch the way his cock slides between your lips. Your hands hold yourself steady against his strong, muscular thighs—one of the more underrated parts of his body, in your opinion—as you bob your head back and forth, wetting every inch of him with your mouth. You wrap your fingers around the base, twisting and setting a cruel rhythm that earns a loud whine from his throat, followed quickly by a long, “Fuuuuuuuck.”

Nails scratch lightly at your scalp, like maybe he’s searching for purchase, his chest starting to heave a little more frantically the more you work him to a state of dizzy bliss. It’s the least you can do, you think, to congratulate him on his first ever home game in Detroit. And, maybe, there’s a little piece of you that wants to reward him, because you still haven’t quite thanked him thoroughly enough for selecting your city as his final destination in free agency. For coming home to you.

A wet, frothy mixture of spit and precum coats your chin when he finally tugs you back with a groan. His eyes are dark pools of umber, arousal seeping out of them as he drinks in the sight of you on your knees, lips shining with the lewd evidence of your worship.

“Bedroom,” he husks, helping you onto your feet and pressing his groin against the swell of your ass as he gently nudges you down the hall toward his room. 

Falling forward onto the mattress, you glance at him over your shoulder and catch him admiring the view before his fingers are digging into the hem of your pants and tugging down. The sharp intake of breath tells you he likes your choice of panties, left as a sneaky surprise for him to unwrap as his reward. “Oh, she really likes it when I score goals.”

A wiggle of your hips earns a slap to your ass. Soon enough, you’re flipped onto your back, feeling the weight of him settled between your legs and his mouth slotting over yours. His lips are sure, certain, plush against yours, lazily commandeering control. Kissing him never gets old, not even when his erection is bumping against your lace-shrouded pelvis, silently begging for entry. 

One of his hands runs over your neck, down your chest, palming your breast through the bralette. He toys with the scalloped hem, admiring the feel of it beneath his fingers. The low rumble of his hum vibrates against the spot on your jaw that he’s paused to mouth at while his hands explore, hot breath cascading down the sensitive skin of your neck. “Y’look so pretty, I almost don’t want to take it off.”

“You like me in red, too, hm?” 

“I like you in anything,” he muses, allowing his tongue to trail along the thin strap that rests on your collarbone. It’s a sweet comment that you don’t have time to dwell on when his attention moves to the swell of your breast, then flicks at your taut nipple through the lace. “But red definitely suits you.”

JT punctuates his statement with a gentle nibble, tracing the floral pattern with the tip of his tongue until the fabric is damp with his saliva and your back is arched off of his sheets. Your fingers are threaded through his hair, knees pressed into his sides when your hips start to roll against his thigh that’s slotted between your legs. 

“Can’t decide if I want to taste you or fuck you first,” he murmurs against your breast. A hand slinks down your body, eventually settling on the fabric between your thighs; a pleased hum leaves his throat, presumably at the moisture he finds there. The breath in your throat catches when he brings two fingers to his lips. “A taste can’t hurt, right?”

The sight of JT Compher gazing lustfully at you from between your legs is one you’ll never take for granted, nor is the feeling of his hot breath against the inside of your thighs. Even better than that is the sound of his groan when he tugs the lace panties down your legs, eyes never leaving the dripping heat in front of him.

His hand draws to the apex of your thighs, and you brace yourself to feel a finger slipping past your lips; instead, you only receive the ghost of his touch, drawing up the slick that’s dribbled out of you.

“J,” you whine, hips bucking impatiently. You’re not sure you’ll survive his teasing antics—not tonight.

“Jus’ wanna enjoy my treat,” he says, cheeky, popping the finger in his mouth with a groan. “I love when your pussy drools like this.”

Soft, pillowy lips press against your core, and you aren’t sure who moans louder: you, from the feeling of his mouth finally touching you where you need, or him, at the taste of you on his tongue. He sets to work, devouring your cunt with his usual practiced precision; long laves of his tongue paired perfectly with gentle sucking of your clit. It isn’t until he pauses for just a moment to wrap your legs around his head that you realize he’s grinding himself against the mattress.

“JT, let me—”

“No, baby,” he pants, barely parting his mouth from you, his voice muffled by your skin. “Y’taste way too fucking good.”

You’re in the process of wondering what you did to deserve a man who enjoys eating your pussy more than you do when his hand slips between your legs, joining his tongue to aid in his quest to bring you to climax. He alternates between dipping his finger into your heat and using it to circle your clit while his mouth continues its sinful magic. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, spine peeling off the mattress when he curls his finger, striking at the spongy spot inside of you. The pleasure is blinding, radiating from the place where he strokes diligently. “Don’t stop.”

For being a man, JT is good at following instructions, especially when it comes to making you come. It doesn’t take long for your legs to quiver and a loud moan to rip from your throat; he hums in encouragement, fingers pumping relentlessly until you’re spent, slumped back against his pillow. You’re pretty sure your bones have disappeared and your body is now just a floating, ethereal being. You know, status quo with him.

“One for the assist,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips are glistening with your slick and his spit, coating the auburn whiskers of his beard, and you draw him up to taste it.

His contented hum that vibrates against your lips when you kiss him makes your heart warm, like he could kiss you all day and not get sick of it. The feeling is mutual, you think, savoring the way his mouth fits perfectly against yours along with the heady taste of you on his tongue. His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb rubbing gently as he swallows your sighs and comedown whimpers eagerly.

“You gonna fuck me now?” you ask into his mouth, once you regain the ability to speak. Sometimes, he has a habit of kissing the thoughts straight out of your brain. You love it more each time.

JT’s smile curls up against your lips. “Greedy girl, aren’t you?”

The sense of satisfaction watching his smile falter when your hand reaches between your bodies to stroke his erection is unmatched. Anything to render him speechless, too; the guttural moan is just a bonus. “Been waiting for this since warmups, when I saw you skating around in the winged wheel.”

“That’s a long time,” he says smugly, sitting up with a grunt and urging you to follow. When you turn your back to him, he pushes you down onto your elbows playfully, then offers a slap on your ass. “Your poor, poor pussy. So deprived.”

Turning your head, you watch him discard the rest of his clothes before his fist wraps around his cock, dragging up and down a few times. It’s a struggle to resist the whimper that threatens to bubble up in your throat. He runs the tip through your folds, coating it in your slick with a tsk. “So pretty. Should I give her what she wants?”

Instead of giving in, begging him the way you know he wants you to, you lean forward, ensuring he has an even better view of everything you have to offer. Your hand slithers between your thighs, fingers flattening as they rub at your clit. You part your folds before allowing your finger to dip into your entrance. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice dripping with a mixture of desire and awe. You swear you can feel the heat from where his eyes are burning a hole in you, staring at the way you touch yourself. “You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Preening under his praise, your marriage joins your middle finger, moaning loudly when the two plunge into your heat. The sound of your slick is audible, harmonizing with your soft sighs and his deep, ragged breathing behind you. You muse, “I’ve always wanted to fuck a Red Wing. Doesn’t really matter who. Just want to say I did, you know?”

JT’s dark chuckle behind you sends shivers down your spine. He probes the head of his dick—still positioned at your entrance, waiting patiently for its turn—against your fingers, teasing you before nudging your hand out of the way. It falls to the mattress, and you return to leaning on both elbows. “You know how much I like making your dreams come true.”

The huffed laughter that falls out of your mouth is quickly usurped by a gasp when he pushes his hips forward. Pausing halfway, he hums at the way you squeeze him tightly before he sheaths himself completely. It’s a feeling you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to; so perfect and satisfying and full. Just the touch of his skin to yours is enough to ignite a flame deeper than you’ve ever experienced with anyone else—the intimate feeling of him inside of you is nothing short of euphoric. 

You push yourself back onto him, body acting on its own and greedily taking what it wants. He makes a sound behind you, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt; whatever it is, it’s followed by a firm slap against your ass that has you moaning.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “Fuck yourself on it.”

As if to accentuate his point, his fingertips trail up your spine before his hand fists into the lace strings displayed on your back. Once his hold is firm, he uses the material to drag you back against him and set a rhythmic slapping of your ass against his hips. 

JT fucks you until you’re a babbling, sweating mess, only capable of incoherent whimpers and crying out a semblance of his name. He’s steady and consistent, confidence rolling off of him even despite the way his voice falters when he’s murmuring filth in your ear, using your bralette to tug you backwards against his chest.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he whispers, beard scratching deliciously against the curve of your jaw. You nod, desperate, even your thoughts echoing the rhythm of his length driving in and out of you.

Teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder at the same time the universe explodes. Eyes squeezed shut, legs clenched tight, the air wrenched from your lungs as your body goes rigid in his arms. He hums lowly, working you through it, soft praises whispered against your skin.

“One for the goal,” he says, cheeky. You don’t have the brainpower to even roll your eyes at his hubris. Given the way your legs are still shaking, you’d say he has a right to be cocky.

Strong arms help you back down to your stomach, and you’re thankful for the soft mattress beneath you, no longer needing to hold yourself up; you’re not sure your limbs have the strength to. JT’s hands gently pull your hips back, lifting them up slightly to slide a pillow beneath them before he’s diving in face first with a groan. “Fucking love the way your cunt tastes after it’s been fucked.”

His tongue laps at you, and you squirm under his attention. Grabbing at your ass with both hands, he kneads the globes and offers a hearty smack that earns a squeal from you. “JT!”

“Sorry, baby,” he says, but the nip on your ass tells you he isn’t. You feel him shift before he’s helping to flip you over onto your back, and the sight of him smiling down at you makes your heart flutter. “Can’t help it.”

Something you’ve learned over the last few weeks with JT is that he is a thorough, meticulous lover. He worships at your altar until he’s completely absolved and your thoughts are wiped clean, pulling prayers from your throat with easy, intentional thrusts. With your legs resting in the crook of his elbows, he drives into you, solid, steady, watching the union of your bodies with a hunger that might intimidate you if it wasn’t the same one consuming you entirely.

“Look so good like this,” he murmurs, eyes roving over your body, admiring each curve as if he sculpted them himself. His gaze holds the sway of your breasts, testing the way you respond to different pulses of his hips. “Y’take dick like a fuckin’ pro, sweetheart. You know that?”

You hope the question is rhetorical, for when you go to attempt an answer, all that comes out is a garbled whimper. The praise makes your skin hot, heightens the flutter in your belly, and when he tells you to touch yourself, you blink dumbly at him. It garners a smile on his pretty lips—so fucking handsome—perhaps pleased with the way he’s fucked you stupid on his cock.

“Won’t last much longer,” he purrs. He swallows thickly, and if your brain wasn’t complete mush, you’d be very satisfied that he’s losing control, too. “Make yourself come for me. Jus’ one more, baby, please.”

And when he asks so nicely, how can you disobey?

Your hand snakes its way between your legs, rubbing at your tender clit; the action enhances the delicious, soul-altering feeling of JT’s dick delivering pleasure and promise. His eyes are glued to your movements, but your eyes are watching him.

JT Compher has always been beautiful. Handsome. Exquisite, even. But the sight of him, eyes shut, lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks, mouth open as his head falls back in ecstasy? No words. Truly, indescribable. 

It’s enough that you try to stave off your own orgasm just to prolong your view—that is, until the force of it absorbs you and then shatters you, seizing every last cell and filling them with euphoria. When the fuzziness fades from your eyes, JT’s panting body is on top of you, planting kisses along your collarbone. “And finally, one for the win.”

A dreamy smile slides onto your face. Weakly, your arms wrap around him, grazing the skin on his back lightly. He feels good in your arms. Safe. Comfortable. Natural. 

“Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?” 

There’s a pause as you try to process what he said, sure that he fucked you so good, your hearing’s gone out, too. He nudges your jaw with his nose.

“B–breakfast?” Your voice comes out way shakier than you intended. You feel the short exhale from his huffed laugh against your skin.

“Don’t want you to think you’re just a booty call,” he says, like it’s obvious, like he’s not still half-hard buried inside of you, his cum seeping out onto the wrinkled sheets beneath you.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Can’t think about anything else about you or I’ll get hard again,” he admits wryly. The confession strokes your ego, something he manages to do without even trying. As you debate if you should, in fact, rouse a round two, your pussy flutters weakly in protest—dick too good. Need break.

JT’s hands never leave your body as he helps you walk to the bathroom, laughing at the way you waddle to avoid spilling cum all over his floor. Once you’re cleaned up, you slip on the t-shirt you packed, joining him at the sink to brush your teeth. He bumps your hip affectionately with his, and the domesticity of it all contrasted with the filthy aura from 5 minutes prior is astonishing—in a good way.

Back in his room, he eyes the bag that you place on the floor. “You can keep some things here, you know. I cleared out a drawer.”

It’s a simple statement, but one that strikes you hard; symbolic and heavy in its meaning: a place carved out for you in his home. 

In his life. 

JT sees you standing, gaping at him, and closes the gap between you before he’s tilting your jaw upward to look at him. His lips hover over yours, the ghost of his touch lingering in a way that makes your heart stop.

His voice is low, almost a whisper, like he doesn’t want to burst the bubble surrounding you. “If I’m coming on too strong, let me know.”

“You aren’t,” you breathe, surprised that your voice even works. His lips curl into a smile against yours before he presses forward to kiss you. It’s slow, ardent, sweet. Dizzying.

“Let’s go to bed. You can fill the drawer tomorrow.”

Tag list: @somuchf4rstardust @tpwkstiles @smileysvech @senditcolton @robindrake13 @laurenairay

[chainelunaire]

first date places

dabi

the roofs. he loves watching sky at any given time actually, he especially loves stargazing. when he was a kid, he had a telescope and about a hundred books about space, so til this day he's very invested. and another funny thing about him is that he still has that 'dude who was born rich' mentality, despite the fact that he lived on the streets for literally a decade. he wants everything to look like he hasn't tried (and he doesn't want to try) and he wants it to be literally perfect at the same time. so he goes for an obvious solution, being bringing you to watch stars together. it might be difficult to do in a such large city, but he knows places, and he knows a lot of them. he wants to show you the night city in all it's glory as well. he's a bit sentimental, so he shares a lot of stories of a particular places in which he lived - nothing in detail, just to entertain you. despite all his aloof demeanor, he's really proud of himself that he succeeded in impressing you. and if you're truly interested in astronomy as much as he is, then it's over for you, his nerdy ass won't shut up. it has it's pros: it's simply unfair how adorable he looks while telling you everything he knows about stars.

shigaraki

it's his bar for this very special occasion. he's very nervious and the fact that he already left his room is some heroic (pun unintended) shit for him. he needs somewhat comforting surroundings to collect himself better. i believe he's also a romantic at heart, so with help of the lov he'll decorate his place, so it'll be something really nice, not some messy area they usually live in. there will be music (in general he hates music, but he'll tolerate it just this once, because a, it's toga who plays guitar, b, it's for a mission (date)), there will be candles (he went through some real shit trying to steal scented ones and they smell bad anyway for his taste, and even yours), there will be an attempt at decent dinner (please don't eat it, your stomach will probably die). and however awkward it might look, with lov lurking in the background cheering you voth on, those awfully scented candles, somewhat nice music and tomura standing right in the middle of the chaos of this all, it still feels...genuinely nice? such a warm, fuzzy feeling, that you are so welcomed here. he really went out of his way to do this all for you.

hawks

congrats on pulling the hottest bitch in town, now good luck actually catching him for a date. the thing is, he's a second for a reason, he's booked and busy, going on missions saving people and so. the most foolproof plan here is to bring him on a date in his own apartment. it's difficult even like that, bc frankly, he's rarely there. he never had any desire to return here, tbh. it doesn't even look like someone lives in here, more like a hotel room, which is also pretty empty and dark. there's little to no furniture, some bed to sleep on, a couch, a table and a TV. very sad. so it's on you to make it cozier and it doesn't have to be much, not at all. he doesn't like fancy things in general, he just doesn't care. whatever you want to make with his place is fine by him. and he's not romantic at all actually, but he appreciates the effort you make to simply spend some time with him. it's a big deal for him, that someone is willing to spend their time not only to tidy up his place and all, but to actually do it for a date which is the direct invitation to spend more time with him. which means, someone really, really wants to spend this exact time with him. wild, don't you think? and this scene where you lit up all the candles you've brought and then sit right next to him, pulling a blanket over you both and asking which movie he chose in the end - that makes it for him.

[redbleedingrose]

Always ~ Epilogue Part 1

Summary: You and Azriel have been best friends for years after you joined the inner circle as the top healer in Velaris. But with Elain and Nesta’s recent arrival, Azriel has begun to ignore your friendship in favor of being together with Elain. You are heartbroken, and it is Starfall where you will be confined in the house of wind with Azriel and Elain. Everything will be okay though… right? Word count: ~9.4K Warnings: Angst, minor spice, fluff, first time writing, some of it is unedited Masterlist, Part 7, Epilogue Part 2 A/N: I want to start off by saying, I am so sorry this took so long to come out with. I wanted it to be perfect, and part of that came with some writers block and partially due to some demotivation. Anyways, I hope that you all love this epilogue. I have a part 2 that will be out soon and then I will work on requests I have gotten. As always, please please please like, reblog and comment. I love hearing your guys' thoughts. It always means so so much to me.

1 Month Later

It had been a long day at the clinic, most of it was spent waiting in the morning, and then you were slammed with patients back to back with complicated medical histories, that were dealing with the frostbite from the winter cold. Last night, temperatures had dropped below freezing in Valeris, and the people of the city were wholly unprepared. Your healing magic was essentially drained, and you were practically racing to leave, eyes heavy with sleep, before Majda could call you back in to work with another patient. 

You wrapped your dark cloak around your shoulders tightly, pulling up the hood to protect yourself from the frigid winter wind that had afflicted so many of your patients today. Usually, you loved the cold weather, especially when it was complemented with snowfall. But the wind… well… that was another story. You pushed the door to the clinic open with your gloved hand, pulling up your cobalt blue wool scarf wrapped around your neck to cover your nose which was already dripping a thin mucus. You were not looking forward to the journey back home despite being less than a mile walk back. 

“Dove?”

Your heart jumped into your throat for a moment as the familiar husky voice called on you. It had been weeks since you had seen him, not for his lack of effort, but more-so because you weren’t ready. Last time you had spoken with Azriel, you had given him your permission to try and make it up to you. And for the first week, you were able to handle it. He visited you every night, until you couldn’t anymore.

And then you asked him for distance. For some time. Some space. 

And he gave it to you. 

But everyday, he came by the clinic, whenever he wasn’t away on a mission, patiently waiting to see if you wanted him to walk you home. Most days, you turned him away, reasoning with yourself that you were too tired, too busy and exhausted from your workload to deal with the emotions of seeing Az again. You loved him. There was no question in that statement. There was no doubt in that statement. You loved him with all of your heart, and you knew that you would continue to love him until the end of time. But… you weren’t ready to deal with the pain that love had brought you. 

You inhaled a deep breath, letting the chill air spread throughout your lungs, cooling the heat that was forming within you. Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. And again. And again. Slowly turning to peer over at the male who was standing a couple of feet away, his jaw clenched as he eyed your form, glancing up and down as if he was studying you. As if he was looking for something… as if he was trying to find any injuries. Even in his distance, you knew that Az had been keeping a watch on you, a friendly shadow of his slithering through the clinic as you worked, collecting information and judging any of the patients who walked through the front doors to be treated by you, following you home until you shut the door behind you, speedily returning to his master to report his findings. To report that you had arrived home, unharmed and safe. 

He stood tall, wings tucked in tight against his back, probably to protect the membranous structures from the winter of Valeris, soaking in the heat that radiated so thoroughly off his body. In one gloved hand, Azriel clutched a small box, and in the other, he held a book that was nearly bursting at the seams, tiny papers sticking out, marking different pages, most likely lined with the thoughts of the shadowsinger as he read the book. “I– I just wanted to drop these off to you… warm almond croissants from your favorite cafe. I figured after a long day of work, it would be a nice treat.” The puffs of air that followed his words were visible in the cold weather, and he rocked back and forth on his toes looking like a young boy who was nervously awaiting a punishment. His eyes flickered back and forth between yours, a flash of hesitancy at your lack of response before taking a step forward, setting the annotated book on top of the box before holding it out to you, arm fully outstretched as if to keep his distance. “I uh… I read this book a couple of days ago. And it is a masterpiece… truly it… it was heartbreaking. But it was also one of the most beautiful stories I have ever read. I– I couldn’t stop thinking of you while reading it, so I noted everything that I noticed that I thought you would enjoy.”

The book was a long one, thick on its own. And the little papers the spymaster had stuck inside, held a small portion of the book open. He must’ve been thinking about you a lot if he had that many thoughts he wanted to share. This wasn’t a new thing for you two. Honestly, before Elain… before under the mountain even, you would spend entire evenings together reading stories that we had picked out for each other. It would take the entire night just to get through one book because of how often he would lean over to tell you his thoughts. So much so, you would give up reading your book all together, just so you could sit next to the male to watch his reactions as he read the story out loud. And then, the next night, you would read your book to him, allowing for him to observe your reactions in real time. You could tell that a lot of thought has gone into this small gift, this small token of reassurance that Az had remembered you, had thought of you in the time you had spent apart. 

“It–,” he hesitated as he watched you gape at the gift he was holding out to you, faltering, thinking he had overstepped, “It’s a love story. I– I know it's a lot, you don’t have to–” The tip of his ears flushed a deep red in embarrassment at your hesitance, interpreting it as obvious discomfort, a stark contrast to his usual stoic nature that comes with being spymaster. 

You didn't let him finish, clearing your throat to dislodge the small lump that had formed, grasping the box that he had extended out before he used his shadows to winnow it out of this plane of existence. “Thank you, Az.” Your voice rasped at the sudden buildup of emotion. Every small gesture Azriel made shook you to your core in general… but now, after avoiding him for a couple of weeks… it created an initial sense of fight or flight. But the warmth from his gesture had you sinking into the affection of his reminders pointing towards the love he held for you. 

Part of you was still in disbelief that the male you had pined after for so long, had also been pining after you as well, had been loving you in secret. 

Another part of you clung to the disbelief, the pain of his behavior on Starfall, and the months preceding. It had left a raw ulcer on your heart that was struggling to heal. You knew it would take time. It would take effort. From you. And from Azriel. This type of pain wouldn’t dissipate with one conversation. 

And maybe fear that your mate would ignore you, leave you, for Elain still ran rampant in your dreams despite his endless apologies. The small gestures though… They meant something. To you at least.  

He let you process your emotions, allowing for you to ask him whatever you had wanted without any deference in his answers. He gave you space when you needed it, and in that first week when you did allow him to be near you, he held you close, letting you fall apart in his arms, whispering his regret into your hair as he pressed kisses into your temple. And in those moments… 

The moments he held you close… the moments he would give you a small token of his remembrance of you when you thought he had forgotten… the moments where he made the rest of the world disappear into an ether with only you two left behind in each other's presence… Those were the moments that had a part of you yearning to pull him close, yearning to let his shadows surround you and play with you however they willed, yearning to never let him go, yearning to murmur expressions of love into kisses you would press to his lips and olive skin, yearning to accept the bond that tied you two together. 

But it wouldn’t be fair to brush over the wound he had caused you, when he was supposed to be the one person who never inflicted you with any sort of harm. So… you allowed the part of you clinging to the disbelief and pain to hold you together. 

You hadn’t realized you had been standing in silence for a long moment, the book now pressed flush against your chest as you held it to you, the smell of the croissants wafted from the box that you had situated under your armpit. Azriel hadn’t moved either, a flash of desperation in his hazel eyes swarmed before slipping behind the walls he had no doubt built to soothe the ache he felt in his very bones since you had pulled away from him. He cleared his throat, taking in a deep breath, “I was hoping we could read it together. Like old times,” it came out hoarse, laced with fear of rejection, “What do you think?”

You watched as he held his breath, body stiffening as he awaited your response, preparing for a soft denial that would send him into a private spiral of self loathing. But you had spent a long couple of weeks distancing yourself from the male, a very very long couple of weeks. And it had left you exhausted. 

You were exhausted. Exhausted from sitting in the pain. Exhausted from forcing yourself away. Because in all honesty? You wanted Azriel near. You hated being away from him, each second away worsened the ache instead of helping it. You wanted his apologies and explanations. You wanted him to make it up to you. You wanted him to lick at your wounds. You wanted him to whisper sweet nothings to make you forget. You wanted him to read to you in the soft voice he had reserved only for you. You wanted him to pull you into a sway as you cooked dinner together. You wanted him to hold you, kiss you. You wanted him to love on you. 

And that meant letting go of the fear that had motivated and inspired the distance. That meant letting go of the fear that he might abandon you, a fear that hurt too deeply to think on too long. It meant having faith in the mother and gods above. It… it meant trusting Azriel. It meant trusting his friendship. It meant trusting his adoration for you, his devotion to you. It meant trusting and putting faith into his love and trusting the mating bond. 

So, you freed your hand from the grip you had on the book, and took  a small step forward, inhaling his scent that sends waves of comfort through you, before twining your fingers with his, his shadows immediately curling around your wrist, “C’mon Az, let's go home and read this book together.” 

His jaw dropped, pupils dilating in shock, but he shook himself out of it, a shy smile lilting his face as he nodded in agreement, highlighting the tiny dimple on his left cheek. He slowly moved closer to you, studying your reaction, trying to figure out where your boundaries existed so he wouldn’t cross them, knowing that if he did… it would ruin it. It would ruin the moment you had given him. 

You graced him with your own small smile, a heat rising to your cheeks involuntarily, giving him the go-ahead to press his palms into yours. The warmth of his gloved hand seeped into yours, you squeezed at his knuckles with your firm grip which he returned with his own gentle pressure, thumbing at the back of your hand as if he was savoring the weight of your hand in his. With his entire body right next to yours, you could feel the heat radiating off the male, and you unconsciously leaned into it, his warm presence protecting you from the chill of the evening. And then… and then you started to walk together towards your apartment in a comfortable silence. 

2 Months Later 

Every muscle in your body ached as you laid on the chase in the living room of the house of wind, eyes heavy with exhaustion. You weren’t sure what had you feeling so motivated this morning, but every bit of that feeling had dissipated the second training had started. 

It was a rare thing really, to join the valkyries, Azriel, and Cassian this early in the morning. You were a healer, not a fighter. But Az had insisted that you join a couple of times a month to ensure you could, “look after yourself whenever I am not around.” You initially laughed him off, but it became quite clear the shadowsinger hadn’t been joking when his expression stayed flat, unmoving in his suggestion. You thought about arguing against it, but the worry he held in his eyes had your reservations sinking into the deepest part of the ocean, never to resurface. 

So… when you woke up this morning feeling wide awake, you had tricked yourself into thinking, “why not?” and had made your way to the house of wind. 

You quickly realized that had been a mistake. 

With Azriel, you had expected for the male to be a harsh trainer. Of course he would be. He was the spymaster of the night court, darkness incarnate. You had expected nothing less. Which is why when Az and Cass asked who you would like to train with this morning, you had stupidly chosen Cassian. 

In hindsight, maybe Az would have gone easier on you. Maybe he would have felt more sympathy towards your previous lack of training. Maybe he would have lessened the rigor of his training to accommodate you. Maybe he would have felt more mercy for his best friend, his mate. 

In hindsight, you should’ve realized that Cassian would be just as strict with training, if not a little more. He is the general of the night court, commander of one of the best armies in Prythian. You should’ve realized Cass would have put you through the ringer, just because he could. Just because he would find it funny to watch you suffer. 

But you hadn’t. 

The brute had lulled you into a sense of ease at the start of training, the first hour was spent with him insisting on some stretching and correcting your form in different warrior positions. Something to do with correcting your balance, but at this point, you couldn’t force yourself to remember. When the other valkyries began to walk away, done with their training, you had followed thinking you were also done for the day, taking a couple of steps towards the water station to soothe the dryness that had formed in your throat. It was Cassian’s grip on your shoulder that prevented you from moving any further, “Where are you escaping off to little one? We still have more training,” with a smug smirk lilting his face, his muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

You had looked at Azriel for help, forming a small pout of your lips, thinking the male would give in and save you from the torture you were about to experience. But the spymaster stared back at you with his eyebrows lifted, making no move to help you as he nodded back to Cassian, sending a tug of amusement down the bond, encouraging you to get back to training. 

Gods, what a mistake that had been. 

You should’ve just sent a vulgar gesture over at your mate, and made a run for your life.

But you gave into him. 

The general had you running two miles, while the sun was blaring its unrelenting heat onto the exposed skin of your back, sending beads of sweat from your forehead down to your chin. You had stopped running at the half mile mark, opting to continue in a light jog only to spite the general who was yelling at you to move faster from across the ring. 

You had nearly collapsed when you finished, clutching at your cramped side while Az and Cass made their way towards you, large grins spanning across their faces, clearly finding your near death experience amusing. You couldn’t even find the energy to push Cass off you when he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “Walk it off little one, walk it off.” You immediately lifted your hand into the most vulgar gesture you could think of, groaning miserably in response. Az snickered offering you a small bottle filled with ice cold water in respite. You growled despite the sound from the shadowsinger sending tingles throughout your body, “Shut up before I kill you both.” The pants you were letting out interrupted you after every word, snatching the bottle from Az’s outstretched hand. Cassian roared with laughter, shaking your body slightly as he wisely chose not to verbally reply. Your lips twitched when Az sent waves of pride down the bond; his shadows snaking around your exposed skin, reaching around your neck, pressing in cool whispers of touch against the warmth causing you to shiver slightly. 

Only the three of you were left in the training ring by the time you had cooled down, finishing off the training with stretching and a half-hearted promise to Cassian you would never return to this hell-hole as Az trailed behind you. You collapsed onto the chaise where you currently lay, “I am going to die Az, what the fuck?”

His shoulders shook in laughter as he maneuvered your head off the couch, settling down where it once rested, and relaxing shoulders onto his lap. He ran his fingers through your damp hair, hazel eyes gleaming with amusement, “You are not gonna die dove, you just need some more training.” You bristled at the thought, all the muscles in your body began loosening at his ministrations, eyes fluttering shut to savor his scent as it began to consume you, “No way Az, that was a one and done type thing. Never again.” 

His silence was calming, and his shadows hovered over you so gently, they hypnotized you into a dozing state, one half of you aware of your surroundings while the other half of you couldn't care less, as long as Az was with you. This had become a common occurrence in the past couple of weeks since you had invited him back to your home. You spent the entire night, sitting on the floor in front of the hearth, reading to each other different passages of the tragedy, analyzing his initial thoughts of the book, and listening to each of his new opinions, while adding your own. It had been a beautiful book, just like Azriel had mentioned. A story of two lovers who were separated by time, only to find each other once again. Your breathing had deepend, and you were moments away from giving into the sleep as you recalled the night with a sense of fondness stroking your heart. 

“Please dove,” a soft whisper, so soft that you almost missed it. Almost. But Azriel’s hands had paused from running through your hair, and the tone he used was nearing on desperation. The sleep slipped away from you as you opened your eyes to find him staring down at you, his lips pressed together so tight that the blood drained from them. You sat up, turning to face him and pulling his hands into your lap, confused at his sudden distress as the beating of his heart raced so hard within his chest, you could hear it from where you were sitting, your attention alert and on fully him, wanting nothing more than to calm him, to soothe him like he had with you, “What’s wrong Az?” 

He takes a shuddering breath, “I need you to be okay. I– I need you to be safe,” his hazel iris’ flicked back and forth locked on yours, “I want to always be there by your side… but it's unrealistic to say I will be with you at every moment of every day protecting you. None of this is easy. My job. My life. It has come with a lot of enemies. It has come with a lot of unexpected betrayals. And I just can’t let anything happen to you. So I need you to be able to protect yourself when I am not there. Because when Amarantha took you under the mountain, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to protect you. And it is still something I haven’t been able to forgive myself for.” His brows furrowed, his grip on your hands tightening, squeezing once, twice, thrice. A shot of grief had your toes curling as he continued, “Everyday that you were gone was utter torture. Utter panic. The moment I couldn’t feel you anymore? I– I was in hysterics. Not knowing if you were okay… it is a feeling I never ever want to experience again. I need you. I can’t live with you. So… so I need you to do this training. For me. Okay, dove?” 

You run your arms up his toned ones, skimming the veins and ridges with a light trace, wrapping them around his shoulders, hauling him into you. You rested your head against his shoulder right into his neck, breathing in his rich scent and rubbing at the tension he carried right between his wings, trying to ease the knots away. “Okay, Az.” You made the move to pull away so you could look him in the eyes and promise him you would continue the training, but he only tightened his grip around your waist, burying his face deep into your neck. You chuckled, shifting into his lap, your legs settling aside his thighs and tugging him even closer, just until your upper body was molding into his. You returned your face into the crook of his neck, enjoying the warmth he radiated.

Amarantha’s reign had left a lot of fae traumatized, and that included the fae who lived outside of the mountain. While you experienced the terror from within, Azriel was stuck outside, only the whispering of rumors giving him an idea of the kinds of suffering Rhys and you were subject to. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for him. To hear the things your high lord and mate were dealing with, not even knowing if it was their reality and wondering if they were suffering worse, knowing they were trapped by a spell and not knowing if you would ever see them again… for fifty years, Azriel sat like a sitting duck in that feeling. Resenting himself because you had gone with Rhys instead of him. Resenting himself because he hadn’t protected you from Amarantha. That he couldn’t protect you… wouldn’t be able to while you were trapped suffering only mother knows what. Your heart ached at the thought of your roles being reversed. If it had been Azriel stuck under the mountain, a mating bond unknown to him while you were completely aware, to have that bond go silent for fifty years without any notice, to live without knowing if he was dead or alive… it made you stomach churn. So, you ran your fingers across his back, toward his neck, and into his hair. Playing with the ends as you clung to each other in the fear of losing each other, in the hope that it would never happen again during your lifetimes. 

3 Months Later 

Your day had started out so wonderfully. The sky was cloudy, indicating the rainy day that was ahead of you, and the morning doves were singing a beautiful song you could hear through your open balcony doors. The chilly breeze slipped into the room that freshened the humid air of summer, Azriel’s membranous wing that covered you both serving as a small barrier when the wind cooled your warm skin that was pressed against him. You smiled into his bare chest, his shadows swirling around you as his finger ran up and down your arm that was splayed across his waist. The way the spymaster was nuzzling his face into your hair had you wanting to pause time in this moment forever, content with the feeling of the pulses of affection you were sending each other through your bond. 

The day prior had been spent with the shadowsinger, starting with the training you had forced yourself to continue to attend to soothe your mates nerves. After completing your exercises, Azriel would fly you out to a cafe overlooking the sidra, where you would spend the rest of the morning drinking black coffee, while teasing Az for drinking caramel lattes. The male had a secret sweet tooth that very few people knew about, and these were the types of things you had picked up on during your years of friendship. During your years of pining after the male. He would always order you an almond croissant to-go once you finished with your coffee, and would insist on walking you to your work at the clinic. He would press a soft kiss to your cheek, promising to pick you up when you were headed home for the night so you could cook dinner together.

It had become a routine. A perfect routine. A routine that had your heart nearly bursting with joy every time you thought of it. A routine that had Az spending nearly the entire day with you at least three times a week, if not more. A routine that had Az spending the night nearly three times a week, if not more. 

Dinner last night had been roasted chicken and potatoes that were easy to cook, and deliciously mouth-watering. Instead of sitting across the table, Az slid into the seat next to you, wrapping his left arm around the back of your chair as you ate together in quiet conversation. It was these mundane moments, these moments that were spent with only you two, these moments that were consuming your thoughts throughout your day, Gods, they had the bond that tied you together singing. Once you finished, he would extend his arm out, whisk you out of your seat, and embrace you into a dance. His shadows would dance around you and their master, as you swayed together in silence, letting the bond serve as music for your souls. 

The first night he did this, you wordlessly pulled him to your bedroom, pulling off his shirt and resting in bed with your head against his chest, his heartbeat lulling you into a sleep that was idled with dreams of him. And since that night, you spent nearly every night together. It had become a habit at this point. One that you didn’t want to break. One that you didn’t need to break. Because time and time again, these past couple of months, Azriel had spent every moment with you trying to prove his love to you. Trying to prove his devotion to you. Trying to prove his adoration for you. He would woo and charm you with his thoughtful gestures; walking you to and from work, dancing the night away with you, flying you over the sidra with his powerful wings so you could experience the night air tangle your hair, annotating the stories he read just for you, cooking dinner with you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you cuddled close to him, shifting his wings to wrap around you during the night so you wouldn’t feel the chill of the night. It was all so perfect. He was so perfect. And it was working.

You had fallen for the male years ago, and you found yourself falling all over again. Every day and night spent with Azriel was another minute, another second of you falling for him. 

The silent peace was broken by the shadowsinger groaning into your hair, “Rhys wants us to join everyone for breakfast at River House,” no doubt the high lord had snuck beyond his mental shields to coax you both to the house of wind. He threw his muscled thigh over your legs, rolling you onto your back and trapping you beneath him. You were nearly breathless with his beauty, the morning chill had produced a small flush on his cheeks that wouldn’t have been visible if you weren’t so close to the male. Apparently he had noticed your gaping, smirking down at you and leaning down to press a gentle kiss onto the tip of your nose. You stared up, contemplating, trying to find the will to leave Azriel’s warmth to get dressed out of your pajamas and into something socially acceptable. You were coming up empty, scrunching your nose as the shadowsinger had moved to pressing kisses all over your face, “Maybe we should just skip it, Az, we can just stay in bed for the rest of the day and sleep,” your hand coming up to run your fingers through his silky ink hair in a small gesture to convince him. 

“Don’t do this to me Dove,” nudging his nose against yours, “If we don’t get out of bed now, I don’t think we ever will,” the rasp in his morning voice had the hair on your arms standing at attention. 

You leaned up, ready to brush your lips against his soft ones, blushing at the sense of giddiness that came with being around Azriel, that came with his charming advances towards you. Maybe you would keep him in bed with you forever, what could possibly be more pleasant than this? 

“You better be on your way with your lovebird,” Rhysand purred into your mind, interrupting your moment of intimacy with a gasp, you managed to bonk your head into Az’s nose by the shock before slamming up your mental shields. He was knocked backwards slightly, grip on you loosening as apologies immediately began to spill from your lips. The flush that had marked your cheeks initially from the closeness of your mate had deepened and spread to your neck and ears in embarrassment, “Oh gods, Azriel, I am so sorry,” your hands reaching up to rub at his nose he was clutching, desperately pulling at his fingers to see if any blood was coming out. “It’s fine dove, I’m fine,” his shoulders shaking with laughter as he allowed you to press at his nose, hazel eyes stared down at you with mirth looking completely smitten and endeared by your worry shifted to something more subdued, “I didn’t do something to make you uncomfortable right?” 

Your heart jumped at his question. Your conversations continued the night you had found out you were mates, sifting through different concerns you had, including discussions of boundaries you had wanted to set as you took the time to process your new relationship. As you took the time to process his side of the story, his apologies, his want for something more with you. You wanted space from him, you wanted to give yourself the time to grieve the period you had lost with him, including under the mountain, including the months prior. And he had respected that fully while making sure to still put in the effort of building towards something more. Each step you took, you took together in navigating the huge change that had come with Az being your mate. 

The spymaster, true to his nature, had been patient with you. Answering every single question you had with complete honesty, with no excuse, only an explanation and a promise to be better. There were still some things that weighed heavily on you, things that still upset you, and you weren’t ready to accept the bond yet without discussing those things, without working through those things. But when you were ready, whenever that moment would come, you knew that Azriel wouldn’t push you away, he wouldn’t excuse his behavior that he had apologized for time and time again, behavior that he had acknowledged and assured you was wrong on his part. Throughout this entire process of rebuilding your relationship with the male from where you had left off, Azriel had only validated you. He had ensured that every step forward in your relationship had been something you were comfortable with, and you knew that he feared violating any of the boundaries you had laid down. 

“No Az, it was Rhys, he was calling on his to join everyone and I guess he just surprised me,” you murmured, smiling softly at the male to reassure him that he had been within his limits, the tips of your fingers danced over his nose, using bits of your healing magic to soothe any ache that would form later in the day from the sudden pressure. He only hummed, wings flaring at the sensation of your touch, spanning across the length of your bed. When you decided you were content with your healing, the shadowsinger moved to kiss the tips of your fingers before lifting himself off you, pulling you up with him, “Come my dove, don’t want Rhys to rip our heads off for being too late.” 

You had dressed yourself into a navy blue dress that had extended to your ankles, cinching at the waist and flowing over your hips while Az had dressed into his leathers that had been strewn across your hardwood floors quickly, allowing for him to fly you to River House. It would be the first time since Starfall that you would be seeing everyone all together, much to Rhys’ chagrin, and part of that brought slight anxiety at seeing the one person you had been avoiding since the start of this all, slight anxiety at seeing Az interact with her. You tried to push it out of your mind, mindful of taking a couple of deep breaths, as you entered the sunroom that Rhys had opted to have breakfast in this morning. The clouds had cleared up, and the rays of warm sun heated the room into a comfortable temperature. 

You stiffened when you noticed the pointed look Morr was sending you, the only two empty seats that had remained was one to Elain’s left and one directly in front of that chair next to Cassian. You tried to suppress the grimace that you knew had probably already flashed across your face, pointedly ignoring Azriel, who had turned to watch you, as you made your way towards the seat open next to Cass. You cleared your throat, rasping out a greeting before taking a couple of sips from the full champagne glass. Azriel moved to his seat next to Elain, though his eyes remained trained on you, murmuring out his own greeting to the table. You carefully avoided eye contact with him, putting up a small wall around the bond, annoyed that you had once again found yourself in a position of discomfort, despite Az not being the one to blame. It is not like he had known this would’ve happened, nor did he make the move to sit next to her until you had already placed yourself next to Cass, leaving the only bare seat next to her. Discomfort and apprehension snaked through you as you recalled the events of Starfall, eerily mimicking today’s set up, pushing it to the back of your mind as Rhys waved at everyone to begin their meal. 

You had stayed quiet for the most part of the meal, stirring in the flashbacks of the argument you had with Az during Starfall leaving a lump in your throat. You only responded to Cassian's teasing, trying to muster up your own smirk and fiery response like usual, but came up short every time he tried engaging you. Azriel had taken to observing you, his shadows swirled around your wrist, trying to grab at your attention, but you weren’t in the mood to have the discussion you so desperately had put off until now in front of the inner circle. 

The conversation about Elain had been one you had with Azriel a couple of different times, but usually at a surface level, the pain still feeling too raw to discuss in depth. Everytime the shadowsinger tried to explore further your concerns, knowing this had been a huge point of contention in your relationship with the male, you sheepishly redirected the conversation to other topics. And graciously, your mate had let you. It wasn’t that you still feared he would leave you or ignore you again, that much had been made clear by his efforts these past couple of months in rebuilding the relationship you once had, and furthering it. But… but it still hurt. You had felt… you had felt abandoned by him. Like… like you had meant nothing. Like the years of friendship had meant nothing. And every time you thought about it, a sharp pain would course through your body and would settle in your chest. 

And you knew he hadn’t meant to make you feel that way. That he was trying his best to make something good out of a poor situation. That he was struggling with his own feelings, that he was struggling with accepting the fact he had “failed” his mate in his own words. You knew that he had tried his best with Elain, maybe because he wasn’t able to help you the way he wanted, despite the endless support he gave you after under the mountain. 

But he had made you feel that way. And it was a difficult feeling to look past, to get over. And maybe… maybe you didn’t want to get over it. As wrong as it sounds, part of you had this pain to cling to. And maybe you were afraid the pain would never go away… and maybe that is why you couldn’t bring yourself to let go. Because if you did let go, let Azriel explain, let Azriel attempt to make it better, to give Azriel the chance to be better, and the pain stayed? 

Well, you weren’t sure if you could live with that. 

Az nudged his foot against yours, interlocking your leg between his, and you finally allowed yourself to give into the urge to glance at him. His hazel eyes stared back at you in concern and distress, probably feeling the wall that you had built up around the bond as he attempted to contact you, to reach out to you, to reassure you that he was here with you, and as you attempted to smile back at him through the lump in your throat, you couldn’t help but think that maybe it was time to confront these feelings head on. Confront Azriel head on. Because he wasn’t blameless, and he shouldn’t be treated as such. Because he had taken responsibility, and you knew he would continue to take responsibility. Because he was being better. 

Because he was trying.

And maybe, you could try too. 

You self regulated for the rest of the meal through deep breathing techniques Nesta had been ingrained into your training, “I am the rock against which the surf crashes,” in and out, in and out. Az’s shadows twirled through your hair, leaving cool carrases against your neck, one source of reassurance, and the other being that the shadowsinger had hardly acknowledged Elain as she awkwardly glanced at the two of you back and forth. You quietly thanked Feyre and Rhys for the meal, creating a mental note to explain to the high lord and lady everything that had happened in the past couple of months later, knowing that they were missing your presence, missing Az’s presence. You stood with your hand held out to Az to grasp onto, promptly winnowing you both back to your apartment. 

In and out. In and out. In and out. 

You wordlessly dragged Azriel into the living room, sitting down on the carpeted floor, facing the window that overlooked the sidra. When he had settled next to you, he wrapped an arm around you, squeezing at your shoulder before rubbing his scarred hand up and down, “Are you okay?” 

You screwed your eyes shut as tears began to line the corner of your eyes, the lump in your throat tightening so hard, it made it almost impossible to breathe. In and out. In and out. “I am the rock against which the surf crashes,” again and again and again. You tried to hold yourself back. Tried to hold in your tears. You hadn’t cried in front of Az in a while… his efforts… they hadn’t gone unnoticed by you. In fact, you had taken his efforts in stride, using them as a means to sweep your feelings under the rug despite his constant reminders that he didn’t want you to do that. That he wanted to talk to you about anything and everything. That he wanted to apologize and make it up to you. That he loved you. That he would spend the rest of his lifetime proving it to you, every day, every minute, and every second. 

One of his wings came around your form, wrapping you up in his radiating warmth, and you relaxed into his side, silently observing the way the rays of sun peeked through the thin membrane as the feeling of holding back became almost unbearable. “Dove?” 

Your body shook as you snuffled, hot tears streaming down your cheeks, collecting at the tip of your chin and spilling onto the point between your collarbones. “The moments we used to share. Before Elain? The ones that were intimate. That were supposed to be between us. You shared with her, and it kills me. It kills me that you did what you did Az. I don’t know how to forgive you. I don’t know if I can. If I ever will. Because I-... because in that moment Az, I wanted to hate you for it. And gods, I hated her for it,” you felt it. All of it. All the pain that had been building. The pain that you hadn’t acknowledged. The pain you had avoided. The pain Azriel had wanted to address, but anytime he would try, you would shut him out. And all that pain… it had built into a rage. A painful, aching, heartbreaking rage. “How? How could you do that to me? I mean- did you even miss me? When you were with her, being her friend. When I needed you. When you ignored me. Did you miss me? Did you even care that you were hurting me? You were such an asshole. You were such a fucking asshole on Starfall. Your words still fucking haunt me. They haunt me in my fucking dreams.” 

It came out in hard sobs, each word interrupted by a shudder of your body. At some point during your speech, you had yanked his arm off of you, pushing away to face him as you let the angry words spill out like a river flowing into an open lake. His wing once wrapped around you was pulled tightly against his back, and the sun that had once been soaking it in warmth had disappeared behind clouds as rain began pouring outside. And with each word, each shudder, each tear, each sob, you could see Azriel’s heart shatter into pieces before you as his hazel eyes stared back in anguish, his own tears flooding into his eyes, not interrupting you, not moving to hold you knowing you would likely push him away, letting you let all your anger and pain and hurt out. Taking the brunt of it head on. Because… because if this is what you needed to feel better, then he would always take the brunt of it head on for you. Because if hating him is what you needed, then he would let you hate him, even if it tore him to pieces. 

“ ‘I think your fucking jealous of Elain. Jealous that she is getting the attention that you want… That is so fucked up of you… So stop with this utter bullshit of whatever pity party you are having…’ Those were the exact fucking words you used Azriel, how could I ever, ever forget that? And yes. Yes, I was fucking jealous. And I get it, she went through something traumatizing. And you were trying to be there for her. But that didn’t mean you had to shut me out. You- you were supposed to always be there Azriel. You were my best friend. And you… you abandoned me. You told me my feelings were fucked up. That I needed to get over my bullshit pity party? And the entire time, you knew we were mates and you didn’t tell me. Do you not see how utterly fucked up that is? Like you quite literally broke my heart. I couldn’t get out of bed for days after. I mean… did you not tell me because you- did you not want me?” The next words had bile rising to your throat, your deepest insecurities being exposed to Azriel in this moment, your entire being became small as you whispered the next words, flicking your eyes that were clouded with tears back and forth to gaze into his, “Did you… did you want her instead?” 

And there it was. 

Right there. 

Everything that you had held back for the better part of the three months you had known he belonged to you, everything you had held back since Starfall. Months upon months of insecurity. Months of anguish over the love of your life who had caused you this pain. But you wanted to- no you needed to know what he was thinking. Because even if he was drunk that night, even if he said those words in anger… they were unacceptable. And you would not stand for it. And he needed to know that. He needed to know that if you ever moved forward… you would never ever let him speak to you that way again. Because you and him both know that you deserve better than that. 

“No.” Resounding. Definite. Said like an indisputable fact. 

Azriel’s shadows had disappeared the moment you started rambling, deserting their master for what was probably the first time in the shadowsinger’s life since they became servant to him. His eyes were tinged red, blinking to force his tears away. He took a deep breath, wings tucked in so close, it looked painfully tight. His lips were pressed together, holding his open palms out to you, praying to the mother and all the gods above that you would reach out and hold them. And his prayers were answered. 

Even in this moment of anger and rage and unbearable pain, you reached out to him. Letting your mate ground you. His eyebrows furrowed, his face mirroring his earnesty, “I did not want Elain. Nor will I ever want her. Her beauty is undeniable,” your heart seized as it dropped into your stomach, you nearly snatched your hands away but he didn’t let you, interlocking his fingers with yours, thumb grazing your knuckles, “But it will never, ever compare to yours. And I am sorry. So so so fucking sorry, that I ever made you feel like it did. I offered her my friendship, and absolutely nothing more, my love. Because my heart. My soul. My entire being. It all belongs to you. It always has, since the moment I met you.” He reached up speaking with such fervor, brushing your hair back behind your ear as he thumbed at your tears, stroking your cheek, never breaking eye contact once, “I want to start by saying I never meant for it to seem as though I wanted her, but I know now how my actions lead you to feel that way. I will never, ever forgive myself for how I have made you feel, my love. I will spend the rest of my life apologizing and trying to make it up to you. And I am so fucking thankful, so fucking thankful, that you opened up to me. That you told me how you felt then and how you feel now. Because we haven’t been able to move forward, and now I understand why. I know why. And you don’t have to forgive me my dove. You don’t. What I did was inexcusable. It is unforgivable. I can only pray to the mother above, to the gods, and the cauldron that one day, you will find it in you to forgive me. And even if you don’t, that is okay because I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I- I stupidly thought I was doing the right thing. I thought at the time that I was doing the right thing in distancing myself from you, but I realize now, I recognize now that it was my own selfish need that caused me to distance myself from you.” You sniffed, not sure you fully were understanding what he meant. And he… 

He huffed, turning his face to hide it against his shoulder, “Gods, I- I didn’t know how to be around you anymore. All I wanted to do was pull you into my arms and claim you as my mate. And I didn’t think you were ready. I knew that you hadn’t fully recovered from under the mountain, from the war. And I didn’t want to hurt you anymore by changing the friendship, the relationship we had. Because it seemed like you were content with it. And honestly? I was scared. I was so fucking scared that you wouldn’t want me, and I was scared that if I did tell you, I would lose you and your friendship. And I was worried about how you would deal with the loss of our friendship. And now? Now I scoff at my own stupidity. My own failure.” His jaw clenched so hard, you could hear the grit of his teeth as he ground down. He reached his hands up to rest against your neck as he pulled you in, resting his forehead against yours, focusing his hazel iris’ into yours, staring deeply, intently. 

“Y/N, my love, my light, my mate… of course I missed you. I fucking ached for you. I still fucking ache for you. I have missed you since you went under the mountain, I have missed you since you came back, I have missed you since the war, I have missed you since Starfall and every day since. Anytime spent away from you is agony that I can’t help but think I deserve. Agony that I brought on by my own actions. And yes, I was an asshole. Starfall… it was one of the worst nights of my existence beyond the five decades of you being trapped by Amarantha. I… I said some horrific things to you. I was drunk, and I was angry at myself for pushing you away, and I was terribly jealous that you had spent the evening with Lucien. It is no excuse. I could feel it… your anger… your pain… I didn’t know what to do with it. Because yet again, I had failed you. Failed in protecting you. Failed in making you content, in making you happy. And the fury I felt was supposed to be direct at me. I hated myself, deeply, in that moment. And it fucking- it ravaged everything around me including you. Those words I said… I wish I could take them back. I wish I could turn back the clock, and go back to that balcony, and pull you close and hold you, and promise you to never hurt you again. I wish I could do that, but I can’t. Words… words like that, they can’t be taken back. They are something that I have to live with. But you… you have the option of choosing, dove. You have the option of choosing to live with them, of choosing me and all my mistakes that I have made in the past and will make in the future with the knowledge that I will spend my existence trying to make the love I give you outshine those mistakes, or– or you could… you could choose to let my mistakes pull you away from me, let my mistakes be the reason you… you reject me. And gods, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Because I have made a lot of mistakes when it comes to you, my love. And I will probably make some more. All I can do is promise you myself. Promise you that I will live for you. Live to make you happy. Live to make you safe and protected. And Gods, even if you do choose to reject me, I will still make these promises to you. Because it wouldn’t change how I feel about you. Not one bit. I was supposed to be your best friend. And yes, I broke your heart. But I never abandoned you. Not once. I would check on you. Every night. I would check on you after you had fallen asleep. I would stand out on that balcony for hours, ensuring that you were resting well. I warded off your apartment from danger… I had Helion show me a couple of spells, and it was fucking hard but I did it. Because I needed you safe. And my shadows would sneak under the door and check the kitchen to ensure dirty dishes were present in the sink so I could know you had eaten that day. I would read books and annotate them, thinking about you, saving them for the next time I would see you finished with your own. I- I know I should've been more present. I should’ve been more courageous. I should have told you the day I found out we were mates. And I am sorry, so fucking sorry I didn’t. And I know this isn’t the last conversation we will have about this, nor do I intend to let it be. I want you to feel secure in our relationship moving forward. I want you to know there will never ever be anyone else in my life besides you. Even if you don’t want me anymore. I will give you some time to think on it. I would wait an eternity for even a taste of the sweetness of your love. And I will keep trying, every day, to show you how much I love you. Okay?”

He was nearly out of breath by the time he had finished speaking, sucking in your exhales for reprieve, baring out his soul to you. Yes. He had made mistakes. He is not a perfect male. And he never will be a perfect male, and it is not right to expect him to be. Because at the end of the day, everyone makes mistakes. And he was leaving it up to you. He was giving you the option. Wording it so beautifully, so truthfully, letting you know that either way, whatever you chose, he would always be there to put his life on the line for your happiness, even if that happiness was without him. Your heart had skipped a couple of beats, knowing that Azriel hadn’t forgotten you. That he had come by, even if you were asleep and unknowing. That he had looked after you to make sure you were getting better, that he had learned incredibly difficult warding spells by Helion just to protect you. Even while he was making mistakes, bouts of his love would shine through the darkness surrounding you. And he was giving you time… time to decide what you wanted out of your relationship. If you could find the strength to forgive him, to move on, to never forget his mistakes and hold him accountable, but to let his love be the center of his decision making, let his love be the dominating thing you clung to instead of fear. “Okay, Az,” closing your eyes, relishing the feeling of his chapped lips brushing on your forehead in silent thanks.

Taglist: @paasrin @positivewitch @fieldofdaisiies @judig92 @sv0430 @highlady-ofillyria @wrensical003 @brekkershadowsinger @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @mrs-azriel @cityofidek @nova-stardragon @thewarriormoon @ilovespideyyy @azzydaddy @bookish-dream @nobody00sthings @marigold-morelli @solossweater @rubygirly @hanasakr @ellievickstar @shadowcrossworld @lucyysthings @cameronsails @peachycandy10 @bruhhv @flyingsquids @adreamerforthestars @lahoete @mis-lil-red @his-sweet-nightmare @esposadomd @blurredlamplight @elizarikaallen @tiffthebookworm @valeridarkness  @wifeofcamillamacaulay @everyonehatescarmen  @azriels-favorite-simp @goldentournesol @marina468 @elsie-bells @slvtherinseeker @cafe-inaaa @honeyrydernot @itsonlymemyself-and-i @nemesis6666 @thegirlintheshadows101-blog @kennedy-brooke

[vibinginthedreamlands]

Another craft shirt painting! This one isn't an older one, admittedly. It's actually my newest. I spent a while working on the concept and hands and I'm rather proud of it, as well as just a really big fan of the source material.

Malevolent episode 43 chewed me up and then spat me back out so it's only fitting that I would have a collection of art ideas for it.

This one is based off of John's line when he's scared Arthur will truly and finally die: "Not like this."

Excuse the photo quality, I had to take it at a weird angle because of my light source.

Below the cut is just going to be a detail breakdown of it because I love symbolism and other such silliness.

So obviously we've got Arthur' heart, the thing that, if I'm being honest in my perception at least, John absolutely covets and in this image is attempting to protect. He's a little to late though.

Mostly! The Witches Rapier is going through the heart of the man he loves but if you see there are the other two items.

The one on the left is the speared tale of the creature in the Mines in the middle of season 3. John will not be in time to block this attack either but his hand still reaches out and is ready to provide aid and save his friend. (Some what representating the distance and disconnect between them in this season, after John's absence, Arthur's darkening morals, and John's greater lean toward personal morality.)

The one on the right is Kayne's dagger, the weapon Arthur used to try and kill himself with as to evade the King in Yellow. For this, John's hands are already around Arthur's heart (this being the same interaction where Arthur first admitted to loving John and therefore he has no need to yearn, for the man's heart is already his). In spite of this the dagger will either slip past his fingers or pierce through his flesh and still harm his friend, the same way John's sacrifice to the King did not negate the harm already done or that Arthur himself would inflict. But it matters. It matters that John defends him and in the end it will do him enough good that he survives long enough to broker a deal with the owner of that near fatal weapon.

The Rapier itself struck high and struck true, already having completed its gruesome deed long before John's hands even had a chance to move. And yet he reaches, hopes, strives to defend a dead man from harm even still.

Speaking of John's hands. There are two of them. This is obviously for piece symmatry but also I decided to personalize them as well.

I lean more toward the headcanon that John, if granted a physical body, would be POC.

For outlining the hands I used gold, *his* color as well as something that both compliments his skin tone and, imagery wise, contrasts against the slew of silver weapons leveled against them.

You, if anyone makes it down here, may have noticed that his pinky is an entirely different skin tone. That is correct and intentional! I've got a fun Lil headcanon that if John ever gets a body, specifically in some kind of ritual, he and Arthur would split ownership of their scars. So Arthur would have the cut on his throat as that was self inflicted, but John might have the gouge in his stomach because he was the one who sewed it up. With the pinky, Arthur wouldn't lose his wooden one, but because it happened *to* John, by Arthur, and as a shared decision, John's own pinky would be lighter, closer to scar tissue or Arthur's own skin color. This way they both have an off pinky in a way that matches, differs, and compliments.

Finally, I just picked the color yellow for his lettering. I thought about gold, because again, his color, but I didn't think it would stand out against the red enough (though the yellow might be a bit much itself lol). Additionally, because in 43 he tries to protect Arthur by calling up his KiY roots and the episode culminates in him accepting himself for who he is and wants to be, and allowing himself grace and full range of identity.

Anyways that's a lot for a 2" by 2" painting on a t-shirt but I enjoyed it and wanted to get the work and thoughts out there. If anyone made it this far, thanks! I hope you enjoyed my over analysis of my own work and thoughts on Harlan Guthrie's fabulous podcast lol.

I'll be painting more for sure and posting older pieces intermittently so there are going to be more of these in the world eventually.