#i thought therapy would be more like shadow work

[algorithmquartz]

Does anyone else think that shadow work is an overlooked and underused tool in a therapist's toolbelt?

[gravedwe11er]

Got hit by a Mecha AU Swerve angst idea in the middle of the night, and I had to put it down on a page. Based on the @keferon Mecha AU and inspired by all the amazing Swerve/Blurr art I see around (seriously, yall are giving me so many ideas and I love it).

More often than not, nowadays, Swerve feels like an imposter in his own frame. His time spent as a human was so short, just an insignificant speck compared to the eons of his real life, his real lifespan, and yet...

Those few scant human years are the realest he can remember feeling.

The medics said it took fifteen cycles for anyone to knock on his door, to even notice his absence. And when someone eventually did, it was just- his boss. One of the engines was giving them trouble, and they needed all servos on deck. That's all.

None of the bots who he talked to every day, the ones he’d worked side by side with for years noticed he was gone. None of the people who would laugh at his jokes and drink with him at the bar had a single thought to spare for him. Nobody missed him, until they needed him for something.

Glum thoughts in the dead of night are one thing. It’s another thing entirely to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s all true.

So of course Swerve figured out the holoform thing again. Sure, it’s still kind of risky, but now that he’s actually doing it on purpose, he’s been taking a few precautions – a good recharge, a full fuel tank, and an automated message to be sent off to the medics after a set period of time, in case he knocks himself out again. Actually, he nearly managed just that, the first time he tried it, overtaxing himself almost to the point of shutdown. The keyword being nearly, though! It did little to weaken his resolve, and after a few more tries, he now has a whole system figured out, one that won’t damage his processor.

Or, it probably won’t, anyway. He’s not about to go ask; someone higher up might order him to stop, which-

Yeah, he’s not doing that.

On this ship, Swerve’s got nothing. He might as well be nothing - he’s a trained metallurgist working as a common mechanic, amongst people who barely even know he exists. On Earth, he’s- well. It’s not like he was exactly a social butterfly, but people invited him for shitty cafeteria coffee, a few pilots liked to stop by for a chat sometimes, and if he fell asleep at his desk, someone would come shake him awake within an hour or two.

On Earth, he has Blurr. And that’s not something he’s willing to give up.

Swerve shutters his optics in his tiny room on the ship, and surrenders gladly to the pulling sensation overtaking his processor as his holomatter generator struggles to cross such a vast distance. Then, with a crackle and a fizz of static across his neural net, he’s gone.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Blurr’s expansive private hospital suite, with the man nowhere to be seen. He’s been hoping for that, though- as a general rule, he tries to catch the pilot between press conferences and physical therapy sessions, so nobody starts asking questions about the dead man loitering around a celebrity’s rooms. Blurr has enough problems as it is.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long. Soon enough, Swerve hears several pairs of footsteps approaching the door, and he ducks into the bedroom, keeping out of sight. “Again, thank you so much for the well-wishes,” carries through the walls, barely loud enough to be audible – Blurr’s voice, he thinks. The ‘business’ voice. “But I really have to go now. The doctor will be visiting soon, you understand.”

There are polite sounds of assent, an exchange of a few more pleasantries before the steps retreat back down the hallway, followed by the quiet whoosh of the front door opening. Cautiously, Swerve peeks out of the bedroom.

Blurr stands in the doorway, back straight, with a bright, practiced smile on the visible half of his face. The other, the one with scars and still healing skin grafts, is covered by an elaborate mask, shaped to look like his mech’s helm. He gives the people outside one final wave, and clicks the door shut.

Then he turns around, notices Swerve and slumps.

Now wobbling slightly, the injured pilot leans his back against a wall, gingerly peeling the mask off of his face to revealed reddened, irritated skin. The smile he turns on Swerve is completely different from before, small and tired and slightly pained.

To anyone else, it would look like an insult. To Swerve, it’s a precious thing, a gift the star shares with very few people in his life - honesty.

“Swerve, hello!” Blurr greets him, sounding slightly out of breath. He’s getting the best care money can buy, but even that only goes so far- recovery will slow and painful, and not everything will go back to how it was. There are some scars the pilot will carry for the rest of his life, and just the thought makes Swerve’s holographic heart ache.

“Hi,” he answers enthusiastically, crossing the room to go help the injured man, only to get waved off.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I need to build up my stamina again.”

Swerve frowns a little, but steps away again. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just be careful! You can lean on me if you need to, yeah? I don’t want you to hurt yourself, so if-“

“Swerve!”, Blurr laughs, interrupting his awkward rambling, and he can feel his holoform’s cheeks going red. “It’s fine, really. I’ll ask you if I need help, alright?”

“Alright,” he mutters into the collar of his shirt and follows after the man, ready to support him if he stumbles. Blurr leads them to his bedroom, laying down on the mattress with a pained grimace, once again waving off any of Swerve’s offers to help. Instead, the man pats one side of the bed in clear invitation, and Swerve does his best to pretend his face isn’t looking like an overripe tomato as he sits, their hands almost touching. Judging by Blurr’s teasing little grin, he fails miserably, but- it made Blurr smile. He’d say that more than makes up for it.

They talk, for as long as Swerve’s holoform generator allows and perhaps a little bit beyond that. He asks after Blurr’s recovery, listens to the pilot bemoan the weakness of his atrophied muscles and endless physical therapy sessions. Learns more about the constant press releases, the pressure from command to return back to duty and perform his star pilot act once again.  They talk about anything and everything the man wants to share, from the important to the mundane.

In turn, Blurr asks him about his life, his day, his work on the ship. Which, here’s the thing- he didn’t really notice much it before his coma, but nobody else actually asks about him. Swerve talks a lot, and sometimes, other bots will even listen, but they never ask.

Except for Blurr. Blurr always asks now, and Swerve always talks and talks and talks, and the pilot never seems to mind. Sometimes, he wishes he knew how to express it, to show the man just how much it means to him, but- in a rare twist of events, the words never manage to leave his mouth.

Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

Every small, honest smile, every real, slightly ugly laugh he gets out of the man makes Swerve’s holographic heart beat overtime. He feels so happy, so at peace when by the man’s side, and he never wants to leave.

But he has to. Eventually, it’s always time to go, his systems warning him of impending shutdown and he hates it, he hates it so much, but he says his goodbyes. Blurr’s understanding about it, of course, and the pilot’s cheeky little wave is the last thing Swerve sees before he closes his eyes and disappears.

When he unshutters his optics, it’s to the sight of his empty, windowless habsuite.  Getting up from his berth, he feels a fleeting stab of vertigo – some echo of his human self’s instinct, warning him of a dangerous height, which, huh. That’s been happening more and more often. Something to ask the medics about, perhaps.

Then again, why bother. It’s not like he doesn’t know what the answer would be.

He misses Blurr already. Misses the warmth of Earth’s sun and the warmth of companionship, the warmth of a soft human touch. Misses his false life and false body, and the very real joy it brings him.

Sometimes, he wishes he never woke up, instead living out his fake human existence in blissful ignorance until his spark eventually guttered from the strain. Occasionally, he wishes he was human. Actually human, not just the holoform- muscle and bone and sinew, just like the rest of them, just like Blurr. It’s clear he doesn’t belong amongst his own kind, so… maybe it’d be better that way.

Most of the time though, he just wants to be on Earth; true frame, fake body, it doesn’t matter. He wants to hold Blurr in his servos, wants to feel like he matters to somebody, wants to-

He’s not really sure what he wants, exactly. He just knows it’s not this.

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 20/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@funnybadger868 ha chiesto:wait so if mk can hear macaques past can he hear wukongs for example the circlet and the spell

Yeah he could. It's now just a matter of if he wants to use this power ever again

@cryptic-theseus ha chiesto:you're paying for my therapy btw, the bill is on the way

Blame it on the gay monkies not me. It's bc of them that my life is ruined/hj

@ayrza ha chiesto:Hey!I have an important question, where do you get your sources for the AU👉🏻👈🏻p? I mean, I just recently entered the LMK fandom and I see that there are parts that are not mentioned much in the series and it frustrates me because I feel like I only watch the anime but I'm missing the manga 🫠I love your art and your work, it's amazing 🫰🏻✨

Hi! Well I' finishing to read Journey to the West (im at chapter 80) and if I need extra info or just check I go to the fandom wiki.

@feyqueen91 feyqueen91 ha chiesto:A question for your Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (btw, I just saw your recent post for More Than A Successor Arc & I thought something light hearted was needed to even out the Angst), is Macaque able to summon something like what Red Son did with the Samadhi Sprite, and he teaches MK to do it too?

Wait what exactly? I haven't understood what you meant by sprite.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: Honestly I expect this to be hidden but i also love your work on both comics, keep it up!! I forgot their names but dude- how would the lotus prince and our moon chef feels about wukong and Macaque being MK's parents? HELL. WHAT ABOUT THE TRIO? YELLOW TUSK, PENG AND THE LOIN (CANT REMMEBER HIS NAME EVEN IF HE IS TECHNICALLY DEAD/GONE). Hell even this chaotic snake man may even use MK to his advantage with the fact he is the child of Wukong and Macaque. So many possibilities and guesses, so many twists and turns we will never know bro

Oh he absolutely woud. Also about the others. They would probably act like protective aunt/uncles to that poor traumatised boy.

@thenerdnico ha chiesto:Oh my GODS that last bio dad's chapter broke me, your expressions are always amazing. I'm going to assume that at the end of Wukong's and Macaque's fight, Wukong realised Macaque wasn't moving and ran up to him, and ended up sobbing and screaming when he realised he was dead??? If that is the case, do you think MK listened to it long enough to hear that as well?

Oh for angst reason yes. He did.

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto:AHHHH YOUR SHADOWPEACH BIO AU IS SOO GOOD!!!! I SCREAMED AT THE LAST UPDATE!!! I have a question though. You know in the series i think season 3 epsiode 5 where Wukong goes into a deep mystic monkey meditation, yeah. Well i was wondering if Mk has ever tried that but got disrupted and lost his memories or started acting strange infront of his monkey parents. It would be hilarious i can imagine him shouting, “TUDI, TUDI!”KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, no pressure though! HAVE A GOOD DAY!

Lmaooo ok ok I don't think I'll go witha small amnesia arc in the AU but this doeß sound adorable.

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto:It will probably be quite heavy, but I suggest that after Wukong saw the monkey like that he had a huge attack of guilt and anxiety and ended up injuring his left eye with his claws

Poor baby!! Nono don't worry his eye is fine.

@raylamoongirl ha chiesto:question for macaque: what was the hardest thing to teach Mk?Lmk bio parents Q&A

Mmmm so they tried really hard to teach him shadow teleportation, but he seems to not be able to do it.

@lmkobsessedmoth ha chiesto:For the Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU What if macaque and wukong go on a date and wukong doesn’t know it’s a date because he’s as dense as the rock he hatched out of

He truly would be. May the gods give him a clue or smt otherwise we wont end up nowhere here

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hey!I love your Shadowpeach bio Parent's AU But I Wonder,Does Wukong and Macaque already dance together before?

Danced??? I think so?? When they still were lovers friends I think (i think i m missing something)

Anonimo ha chiesto:I am on my knees, heart giving out, HOW IS BABY MK SO CUTE AND SHADOWPEACH SO ALLERGIC TO JUST KISSING ALREADY LIKE COME ON YOU TWO Anonimo ha chiesto:When I read the other part where swk and mac where talking about wanting MK to view them as parents at first I thought swk was proposing having another kid with Mac and I went “WOAH HEY- HOLD UP FOR A SECOND THERE U NEED TO GET UR SHT TOGETHER FIRST” and thank god it wasn’t that I thought swk was JUMPING AND ACCELERATING THEIR PROGRESS LMAOOOSo I’m actually glad they are taking baby steps, they need them

This slowburn is gonna be so slow-burning you all are gonna die when they actually kiss (will they kiss? Oh that's just for me to know ahah)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Since macaque is called mama by mk does that mean macaque is like a mother figure to mk in your au mama macaque is adorable and he gives off motherly in his character

Anonimo ha chiesto:Whos mom if there is considered a mom by MK or only dads? Is it Wu or Mac? My headcanons is Wukong basically the mom cuz he gives off mom and dad vibes together and Macaque just gives off dad vibes to me

He gives more motherly vibes, yes (Mamacaque and DadWukong forever)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hi in you bio parent au for monkie kid how were monkey king and macaque as teenagers when they had a good relationship were like they a romantic couple or had secret crushes on each other and never told each other or were they just friends love this au it's amazing

Oh I think they were definitely lovers once. And that makes their past and what happened even more tragic honestly.

@ayrza ha chiesto:I don't know who is more adorable: Baby MK or Macaque and Wukong blushingPsd. I love your AU and your art 💖

Both. Both is good

@diamondwolf23 ha chiesto:THOSE TWO BETTER KISSSSSSSSSSS-I’m gonna miss Baby Mk ;-

Me too. Me too.

Anonimo ha chiesto:You could say Wukong is a...... simpian?(like simian but yknow >>)

LMAO YES

@scififeather21 ha chiesto:You can't believe how much I love your Shadowpeach AU comic series that last part made me grin so much. Mostly because my husband and I have done that exact thing when our kids were small babies and the looks and smiles were the same too. OMG it such a nice thing to see after a long day at work yesterday. :)

THAT'S THE- SWEETEST THING?????? LIKE IM SO GLAD I WAS ABLE TO MAKE IT A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE???? TO HEAR IT'S THE SAME THAT HAPPENED TO YOU IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER

@snsp6 ha chiesto:I love ur bio dads au! I wanted to ask what would happen if smth similar to the baby mk incident happened to the immortal monkeys.Like either they were de-aged to their youth or had an amnesia rules type of situation!(I am in love w the world building in this!!! And ur art is delectable!)

I don't thing the world would be ready for non-reformed Wukong#like-#not really reformed but the guy killed so many people bc of impulsiveness#until he learned that murder is not fine

Anonimo ha chiesto: This might be a stupid question, but for your bio parents, AU is MK just always in his monkey form, or is this just how he permanently looks now?

He's on his monkey form when he trains / stays at the weekends at FFM or when he friendly duels/train with Mei and Red Son.On weekdays he's constantly in his human form

@meisawkwardashecc ha chiesto:Is Wukong potentially shorter than Macaque? 👀🥺Avatar

Yes

@miraclecactus ha chiesto:Can you show us what's going on in the Freenoodles house? I'm looking forward to knowing how they manage to calm MK down :( Puedes mostrarnos que es lo que sucede en la casa de Freenoodles? Estoy ansiosa de conocer como ellos manejan el como calmar a MK :(

They used Wukong and Mac advices until he feel asleep.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I like how Wukong asks Macaque how he knows MK won't hate him after this. Like my guy, you literally killed Macaque, and he still hangs around I think he knows a thing or two

True. Although let Wukong be the dumbass he is.

alizardonfire ha chiesto:I love the idea of macaque being wukongs *rock* if that makes sense? It gives so much character to him.

Aaaahh ty! Yeah I feel like he's pretty good at understanding when he s just out of his mind and bring him back to earth.

Anonimo ha chiesto:If this isn't to much spoiler will the next lmk comic be angsty

This will be answered too late but I will always warn you in advance if there s angst coming.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love your art! Lighthearted question since your about to bring the pain- do you think Mac and Wu fight over who gets to be little spoon/big spoon or are both of them 100% happy with Mac as big spoon and Wu as little spoon every night

So as for now, they are good with Wukong being the little spoon. Both bc Wukong is the the one who constantly craves for touch amd bc Macaque feels more comfortable in a position of "control" let's say. He can decide how much closer or not to get to Wukong.

Then in the future they would be more comfortable to switch (and the bicker about who should be the big or small)

@sallyvanna ha chiesto:HAIII FIRST OF ALL I LOVE YOUR BIO PARENT AU it makes my day every time I see a new page postedI was just wondering, why was macaque kinda nervous when he summoned rumble and savage? He was like 'ah shit I didn't want that-' 👀

It was because the kid would be afraid of them! Of course he wouldn't. But I guess Macaque still feels like his powers are a threat to him.

@redwrathroit ha chiesto:Hey, note this is something you can completely ignore but I wanted to know if you had a ref sheet for your monkey Bois, I'd love to take a try and drawing them plus I had made an Oc character of my own but I did it once and then art block hit me like a train and said; nah, never again. So it would really help me out if you have a ref, if not ignore this and have a nice day/night

Unfortunately I don't. I have a lot of panels where you can see them full body in various stances though.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Wukong being the little spoon is too cute, he spends years being the big spoon platonically to everyone that someone finally gave him what was needed, to be protected instead of being the protector

Yesss he iss!!!!!!

@froggyofdeath ha chiesto:Question abt Shadowpeach bio parents! Sooo, who kills the spiders, who screaming abt them, who the one who picks it up and try to scare the screaming one?🫠✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️☕️☕️☕️☕️

Mk is screaming, Wukong picks it up, Macaque kills it.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Can we see exactly when they decided to prepare the courtnapping room? Like when exactly did they know oh we need to prepare that our son has apparently followed in our footsteps

Unfortunately in this AU for now I don't plan tp draw a full spicynoodle arc as well. There will be moments for the ship as well but more like extras and side stories.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Your shadowpeach bio au reminds me of something..... I remember you saying to someone that they should Read a Son of Two Dad's. Have you read the entire thing? and the sequel?

Yes I did! Also the sequel, but i think it s in hiatus.

Anonimo ha chiesto:In you newest update for the shadowpeach parent au, that one scene of Macaque looking at Wukong as MK holds his finger kind of reminds me those flashback scenes in movies of the dead lover/wife that is looking at the main character from under a flowing blanket. I have no clue why but the image popped up in my head when I read that part of the comic lmao

I bet when they are back together they will re-create this exact image eventually

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love that Macaque is initiating contact with Wukong. Hugging him, holding his hands, cuddling with him. It makes my heart melt 🥹🥰 And Wukong is giving him opportunities to do so

He is opening the door for Mac to come closer, so that it's his choice how much he can get closer. The last thing Wukong wants is to rush things or do something that would make him more uncomfortable.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Omg! I love your art especially your shadowpeach parent bio au, it's adorable! Although I'm terrified for the next page. Anyway, my question is, why won't you let the monkey trio breathe from the trauma? 😅🥹

Bc apparently chat asked for it

[mysteria157]

Unsteady Ground

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light angst, just fluffy but scarred Post-Shibuya Nanami

WC: ~2.1k

Summary: 

Nanami gets more than what he bargained for with the kind receptionist who checks him in for his weekly appointments.

Notes: Hello! Been thinking about Nanami if he was still injured but survived the Shibuya Incident and this is just one of many little thoughts I've had. Hoping to write more soon!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @awenise

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Come Say Hi!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

What was he thinking?

Nanami Kento prides himself on his self-awareness—a man who can map out his strengths and weaknesses like well-worn territories on a battle-scarred map. He’s the epitome of controlled courage, a figure who could march into dank, shadow-filled alleys and pungent sewage tunnels, his fear compressed into a hard knot beneath his ribs, as he methodically tracked and exorcised curses with cold efficiency. 

So this is new. It has to be.

What was he thinking?

He was thinking about you.

You, who he first saw through a haze of discomfort at the reception desk during his initial therapy appointment. His eye patch itched against his brow, a constant reminder of Dagon’s domain and the razor-sharp fish-like teeth that sunk into his flesh. The burns on his left side stretched tight beneath layers of Mederma a constant, throbbing presence. He felt raw, exposed, his mind a blender of pain and misery, haunted by the taunting echoes of a patchwork curse that still clawed at the edges of his dreams.

But then, there was you.

You, whose voice flowed like silk when you asked for his name and date of birth to check him in. Your words, a gentle current, seemed to wash away the stark clinical atmosphere. With each subtle movement, a hint of vanilla across your desk, wrapping him in its warmth, coaxing his tense shoulders away from his ears.

You, who lingered in his mind long after each encounter. Your daily ask about how he was doing, though met with the same stoic response, became a small ritual he found himself anticipating. Your presence had become a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, somehow making the hard recovery of his life a little more bearable.

You, whose eyes lit up many weeks later as you spoke of the Christmas market in town, your voice brimming with excitement about the newly opened rink.

In that moment, driven by an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire—no, need—to simply fan the flames of whatever was licking to life in his chest, he spoke without thinking. The words tumbled out, clumsy and hopeful. His face flushed, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

“We could go together this weekend if you would like?”

Stupid. Absolutely, unequivocally stupid. 

Nanami Kento, what were you thinking?

A soft smile played at the corners of your mouth, your head tilted ever so slightly, curls dancing in a nonexistent wind as you regarded him with warmth and a lifted brow that made his breath catch.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nanami Kento?” Playful and tinged with an essence of hope that made his heart race even faster.

“I—“ He was thinking of you. Only you. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The cool air of the ice rink slaps Nanami’s face with every person that skates past him, his heart racing with a mix of dread and shame that pulses through his veins. A group of teenagers glides by effortlessly, their showboating twirls and spins threatening to pull his mouth into a sneer. They’re no doubt mocking him as he stands stock still against the glass wall, gloved hands pressed flat as if he could suction himself in place.

He’s endured years of Gojo's incessant, annoying taunts and needless provocations. He’s faced cursed spirits without flinching, coolly efficient even as his watch ticked down the final minutes before six. But now, the prospect of revealing his complete and utter lack of skating ability to you terrifies him more than any supernatural threat.

He had every opportunity to reveal his incompetence. He did nothing as you both laced up your skates. Smiled softly as he listened to you chat animatedly about your favorite winter activities. Kept his spine taut as you adjusted his eye patch, fingers trailing feather light along his jaw. Even as you pulled him by the hand towards the rink, his legs wobbling like a newly born doe on the thin blades, he could only clench his jaw and follow.

He encouraged you to go without him, to warm up while he adjusted to the weight of strangers’ gaze when they saw him for the first time. Even with so much practice, the discomfort, even after all this time, burns more fiercely than Jogo's searing touch ever did. 

But he knows he can’t delay the inevitable. Soon, you’ll return, expectant and eager, and he’ll be exposed. The memory of asking you on this date flashes through his mind—a moment of uncharacteristic impulsivity born from longing and evolutionary competition. He’d watched the parade of men filing in for their appointments, each one a potential rival. The brunette who shows up at 3 PM, with his easy smile and effortless charm, was particularly concerning. So Nanami can’t fail now.

Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step. The blades slide across the ice, taking him further than what he intended. His knees lock, his back sways unsteadily, and his arms flail as he tries to find balance.

Somehow, he can hear Haibara laughing from the grave. He can almost see his old friend, red-faced and doubled over, teasing him without shame for never accepting that impromptu hockey game invitation their first year.

“I can do this,” he whispers to himself, desperately praying to whoever will listen for sudden knowledge. He takes another step, a short glide up with his left foot and it’s no good. His legs wobble dangerously, arms windmilling as he grasps for the wall and throws every curse known to heaven and hell, fogging the glass with his acidic words.

The teenagers zoom by again, and he swears one of them snickers, skating backward with infuriating ease as they disappear from view.

“Kento?” Your voice, honeyed with concern, reaches him from behind. It’s too sweet, too kind to quell the embarrassment that runs in rivulets down his back. You appear in the peripheral of his right eye, your lips pinched behind your teeth as you stop in front to take him in. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

For a fleeting moment, Nanami considers trying again, hoping to slip and knock himself unconscious to escape this mortifying situation.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I may have overestimated my abilities,” he admits, his dry tone a thin cover over his embarrassment as he clings to the rink’s walls like a lifeline.

To his relief, your face softens with understanding rather than judgment. You skate backward with effortless grace, hands outstretched towards him. “Trust me?”

He hesitates, eyeing your hands. Part of him wants to refuse, to flail his way off the rink so he can take off these atrocious skates and maintain some semblance of dignity. But a larger part, the part that has been drawn to you from the start, longs to brush his hands against yours.

Your cream-colored gloves intertwine with his. “Just glide. Follow my feet,” you encourage, slowly skating backward and guiding him forward.

You flow like water on the ice, fluid and sure as if you’re a professional, without a hint of hesitation. He’s mildly green with envy because he’s a stark contrast. Legs stubbornly locked, feet shuffling rather than gliding. He tries to focus on the mechanics of skating, on keeping his balance, but he finds his attention irresistibly drawn to you. 

You’ve taken off your winter coat, and a soft navy sweater hugs your curves, accentuating your form. He’s seen it beneath crisp blouses and pencil skirts. Your leggings outline powerful thighs that bunch with your movements, yielding strength and practice. The overhead lights catch the small puffs of air that ghost from your mouth as you guide him patiently across the ice, no sound reaching his ears because he’s not paying attention.

Your hair, a glorious bundle of curls, cascades from beneath a navy beanie, framing your warm face and kissing your cheeks. Small gold hoops in your ears catch the light with each graceful motion, their gentle swaying hypnotizing Nanami, drawing him further into your orbit and away from reality.

He’s lost in admiring you—the kindness in your eyes, the way your presence makes him feel both vulnerable and safe even as his life has been so tragically altered.

It’s in this moment of distraction, his heart full and unguarded, that his skates and your teachings betray him. As you attempt a gentle turn, his feet slip, zipping awkwardly to the side.

“Kento!”

You grip his hands tightly, urging him to regain his footing, but he’s caught in a comical dance, legs churning in place as he fights to stay upright.

“Wait! Kento just—okay, just try to come to a stop. A stop, Kento, don’t—” He attempts to halt, overcompensating with force. 

“For fucks sake—!” He grunts, feet flying out from under him, launching up as if he’s a cartoon villain slipping on a banana peel, bucking him off the ice and taking you with him as you both come crashing down onto the unforgiving cold ground.

Somehow, he doesn’t hit his head, but his back and ass scream from the impact. At least you were able to use him to cushion your blow, and you lay across his chest, face buried in his wool coat.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you both lie there, panting. Nanami fixes his gaze on the ceiling, half-hoping the harsh glare of the overhead lights will burn the cornea of his remaining eye and blind him completely from this whole ordeal.

“Well,” you murmur, voice muffled against his coat, “should we get up?”

“No…no, I quite like it down here,” Nanami responds, deadpan delivery masking the absolute sincerity of his words.

You pull your head from his chest to look down at him. Nanami’s eyes meet yours, staring, unblinking, mortified, and wishing the ground could liquefy and then freeze over, trapping him underneath.

With impeccable timing and bone-dry delivery, you quip, “I guess for a first date, this was a good way to break the ice.”

Nanami blinks, processing your words. The absurdity of the situation—the terrible pun, your matter-of-fact delivery, the undignified sprawl of limbs—hits Nanami all at once. A laugh bubbles from deep in his chest, croaking through years of cobwebs as it grows into a full-bodied guffaw.

The sound of his laughter surprises him as much as it does you. Your eyes and his one widen in delight at this rare display of uninhibited joy and soon you’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the rink.

The scarred side of his mouth twinges uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. His laughter, rich and unbridled, hiccups from slightly chapped and upturned lips.

As your laughter subsides, Nanami realizes he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this—free, unguarded, genuinely happy. He takes in the sight of you: your beanie askew, a cascade of messy curls tumbling over one shoulder; ice shavings glistening as they melt on your cheek; your lip gloss slightly smeared, yet still inviting. 

Your eyes meet his, and for the millionth time in only a few short weeks of knowing you, his heart skips a beat. With a gentleness, you reach up to adjust his eye patch—a gesture so intimate, so accepting of all that he is, that Nanami hopes it becomes a habit. 

He watches, breath hitching, as you shift, sliding yourself up his chest with a soft grunt of effort. For a moment, you hover there, your faces inches apart. Nanami can feel the warmth of your breath, senses the unasked question of what you want to do. And whatever his face conveys, must be enough for a smile that outshines the gleam of the ice around you to blossom on your face as you close the distance.

The press of your glossy lips against his still catches Nanami by surprise. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensation. But only a second later, he melts and softens into you. One hand finds the small of your back, the other sliding against your cheek, drawing you closer as he returns the kiss and opens something within him that he knows you’ve found the key to.

For a second, it washes away the pain of his past, the destruction that he took part in, the friends he’s lost along the way, and he feels okay. If only for a moment, and maybe being with you can help the wounds in his chest and along his left side heal over time.

The ice is cold beneath him, his dignity is probably bruised along with his back and ass, but in this moment, given a second chance at life, hopefully with you, he feels wonderfully, perfectly alive.

Thanks for reading!!

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Drawn to you | Pt. 1

(A/N) My first Alastor fanfiction. Let me know if you want another part!

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: fluff, talk about death, mentions of Alastors human life activities (iykyk)

Synopsis: Alastor had never felt the need for friends, or something even deeper. But now that you're here...what is that feeling in his chest?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Everyone was gathered in the hotel lobby as Charlie was going through a new trust exercise. Angel had tuned out a long time ago and Husk didn’t even come out from behind his bar. The only ones actively listening were Vaggie, Nifty, and Sir Pentious. Alastor, similarly to Angel was physically there but not paying any attention.

Instead, his mind was focused on his radio broadcast comeback. What would he talk about? Who’s screams would he share with the other sinners?

A timid knock brought him back to there and then, as his eyes met Charlie’s. Hers were bright and sparkling, anticipation clear.

“A new guest, a new guest, a new guest.”

The words left her in a sing-song manner as she started to skip towards the front door. But Alastor held out his cane to stop the princess.

“Please, don’t let this interrupt this very important exercise. I will gladly see to whoever is at the door. As is my job, of course.”

His signature smile widened, almost in a desperate way. Anything to get out of this group therapy.

“Ah, of course, Alastor. Thank you.”

With that, Charlie turned back towards the rest of the group and continued to talk, but not without glancing back a few times, to watch what was going on.

As soon as the princess agreed to let Alastor handle the newcomer, he used his shadows to teleport himself over to the door, before energetically swinging it open. His mouth opened to speak his practiced welcome, but no words came out.

His eyes landed on you and he felt his mouth dry up. You were…cute.

“H-Hi. I hope I’m not bothering anyone, I…I heard about the hotel and w-wanted to ask if I-I could help?”

The demon in front of you kept staring without uttering a single word and you started to grow worried. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe they didn’t need any more people working here. Maybe they didn’t even want anyone else working here. Maybe this is all just a huge front for something really sinister. Maybe…

Alastor blinked, once, twice, three times before something pulled him out of his stupor. His eyes snapped to the top of your head, where your long ears had started to twitch while you were overthinking.

“Ahm…”

Alastor started but was quickly cut off when Charlie appeared beside him.

“Hi! We’d love your help! Come in, come in!”

The princess quickly grabbed your hands and pulled you inside, leaving the stunned overlord at the door. You smiled at her energetic display, but couldn’t help but glance back at the sinner, dressed in red, still standing at the door. By now he was slowly closing it before he turned to look at you.

Being caught staring, you quickly averted your gaze and instead focused on what the demon beside you was saying. She introduced you to the others, before she whisked you away, to show you around. Alastor was left in the lobby, mulling over what had just happened.

“Looks like someone left you speechless, huh Smiles?”

It was almost terrifying how quickly Alastor whipped around to glare at the spider demon.

“Would you like to repeat that, Angel?”

Loud static filled the lobby and Angel shrunk in on himself, muttering a quick apology before running to his room. Alastor sighed and fixed his bowtie, asking himself what had gotten him so worked up. His mind only answered with a single image. You, at the door, looking at him, hope in your eyes.

With a quiet growl, Alastor teleported himself to his radio tower. At least there he would be able to find some peace. Or so he thought. He had barely sat down when he heard a familiar voice outside the door.

“And this is Alastor’s radio tower. Do you see this light? When this is on, he’s in the middle of a broadcast and you really shouldn’t disturb him. Just in general, if he’s in here, only disturb him if really necessary. Honestly, I think that’s something that applies to him in general.”

The last sentence had Alastor up on his feet and in front of the door in a split second. He swung it open, his signature grin wide.

“Ah, the newbie.”

He grinned down at you, his grin faltering slightly as he watched you shrink away. Still, he carried on.

“Would you like a tour of my studio? It’s small, but it is mighty.”

Had Alastor spared Charlie a look, he would’ve noticed how her eyes lit up and she started nodding.

“I think that would be wonderful!”

Charlie gently shoved you towards the door.

“I have to get back to the others. Would you finish the tour after the…tour? Just show her to her room, that’s all that’s left.”

Alastor nodded, before placing his hand on the small of your back and gently ushering you inside.

“Of course, consider it done.”

Charlie thanked him, before hurrying back to the lobby.

Once Charlie was gone, Alastor closed the door and turned to look at you. He was about to say something, but the moment he noticed the amazement in your eyes, he lost the words he was about to speak. Instead, he let you look around, walk up to his console, and trail your fingers over the buttons and levers.

This was his holy space. Somewhere where not even the princess of Hell was allowed to enter. But you being here? That just felt right. He continued to watch you, and for the first time in his life, both on Earth and here, he felt something like…love.

“Do you like it?”

His voice was soft, the static almost completely gone. You turned to look at him and after a moment of hesitation, you nodded.

“When I was alive, I used to work in a radio station. I wasn’t a host, but I wrote scripts and corresponded with listeners. I loved it.”

Alastor’s smile turned genuine as he slowly walked toward you.

“May I ask where you worked? In which city?”

You chuckled and turned back to the controls.

“New Orleans.”

Alastor halted in his movements, staring at you with wide eyes.

“A-And when did you die?”

His hands were shaking. What if…?

“Not too long ago. I think one, maybe two years ago.”

Your response caused him to release a breath of relief. If you had died closer to his lifetime, there would’ve been a good chance you knew of his doings and for some reason…he didn’t want you to know. Didn’t want you to fear him, to think of him with disgust in your heart.”

“Well, it seems we’re connected in some ways. I too worked in a radio station in New Orleans! However, I did pass quite some time before you have.”

You look at him, a soft smile on your face.

“That’s too bad. I would love to have met you on Earth.”

He grinned and stepped closer to you.

“Well, you’ve met me now.”

With practiced grace, he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips, ghosting a kiss onto your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up at the gesture and quickly tried to change the topic.

“So you still have a radio broadcast down here?”

Alastor chuckled at your reaction before straightening to his full height again.

“I sure do. Although I did have to take a break. I’m currently working on my comeback if you’d like to help me.”

You nodded, excited at the prospect of working in radio again.

The two of you sat down together and started working, not noticing how late it was getting. By the time either of you realized what time it was, it was well past midnight and both your bellies were grumbling with hunger.

“My oh my, we truly got a lot done. How about some well-deserved dinner, my dear?”

You nodded and accepted Alastor’s hand, and before you knew it, you were standing in a different room. Half of it looked like a standard hotel room with a couch and table, but the other half looked like a forest. A forest you knew all too well.

“Couturie Forest.”

Alastor chuckled beside you.

“You are right. That forest was one of my favorite places when I was alive. I couldn’t resist the urge to bring it here as well.”

You smile at him.

“It’s beautiful.”

With a genuine grin on his face, Alastor offered you his hand, before leading you to the small dinner table that stood inside the forest. He pulled out your chair, before pushing it back in.

“What are you in the mood for, cher?”

You thought for a while before you named one of your favorite dishes. And with a snap of his fingers, it stood in front of you. Your eyes went wide as the smell invaded your nose.

“How…?”

“Well, let’s just say this is a part of my powers?”

You chuckled, before taking a bite, and an almost pornographic moan left your lips.

“Alastor, this is so good!”

His grin widened as he sat down opposite from you, also taking a bite.

The two of you made small talk while you ate, mostly talking about New Orleans and what had changed since Alastor had died. Even after both of you were done with the food, you continued to talk until you could no longer keep the yawns at bay.

Alastor chuckled and snapped, and the dirty dishes disappeared.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

He gently helped you to your feet and with his hand on your lower back, he led you out of his room and across the hall, where an empty room waited for a guest.

“There you go, cher. This is your room, to do with as you please.”

He opened the door and gently ushered you inside.

“But for now, you should go to sleep.”

Once again, he captured your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, before looking up at you.

“Good night, dear.”

You smile at him sleepily.

“Good night, Alastor.”

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

[moosesarecute]

December 11th

December Masterlist

Masterlist

My dearest Y/N,

I have understood now that I must let you go.

Madja and Jonathan believe you might me out there, but I won’t survive if I get my hopes up now only for them to be crushed once more. I want to, but I just can’t. It’s too much.

My sweet, beautiful, amazing, wonderful, thoughtful mate. I love you so much and it hurts so much to have to do this, but it’s what you would have wanted.

I’m going to try to make this a good Winter Solstice. I’m going to keep our traditions alive. I’m going to make a snowfae, I’m going to have the snowball fight and I’m going to make cookies and hot chocolate to stay on the counter every second of every day. I’m going to try my absolute best to be happy. Even if you aren’t here to see it.

I don’t think I can go to see Jonathan any longer. Even though therapy has helped, I think Jonathan is wrong for me. I’ll se if I can find anyone else after Winter Solstice, but right now I need a break.

I’m also going to take a break from these letters. I might start with them again soon, but for right now, I need to put you behind me. I hope this is the best decision, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

My dearest Y/N. I will forever long for the life he had planned. I will forever sit with the feeling that half of my heart is yet to come home.

I’ll always be your shadow

x Azriel

“Can you fly me down to the Rainbow? Cassian has disappeared as usual,” Nesta asked him sounding annoyed at her mate.

Azriel of course knew that Cassian had left to try to get Nesta a Winter Solstice present. But that was three hours ago.

“Sure,” he said and stood up. They walked together out on the balcony. It was filled with snow. Snow that crunched under their feet as they walked. Azriel knew you would love to be outside in the snow, so he tried to be happy too. “What are your plans?”

“I thought I would get started on presents for everybody. It will take some time.”

Azriel drew a long breath. This was hard.

“Can I join you?”

Nesta tried to hide her surprise, but she did a bad job.

“Of course you can.”

He nodded and picked her up to fly down to the city. Signs of Winter Solstice could be seen everywhere. There were cookies and hot chocolate being sold everywhere. He smelled the smell of a fire and heard laughter from the children.

“Are you okay?” Nesta asked him.

He only nodded. This was hard, but it was what you would have wanted.

The two of them went through the streets. They went into some shops and looked at presents, but for the most part they just walked in silence.

That was until they walked past the shop. Your shop. Azriel stopped in his tracks and Nesta did too. The light was on. Which meant that one of your colleagues were at work. He hadn’t been inside since you disappeared. Not once. He had been standing outside many times, hiding in the darkness so that no one would get scared.

“You want to go in?”

Nesta’s words pulled him from his thoughts. He realized that Nesta probably didn’t know what this store meant to him. And for some reason, that made it easier for him. Nesta didn’t expect any reaction from him. Nesta only thought this was a normal place to shop.

This was hard.

“Yes,” he answered. His voice was already shaky.

Nesta walked in first and held the door for him. Shivers spread through him as he walked inside. He was immediately hit by the smell of linen, leathers and tread. The smell hit him, and it was too much.

He got the overwhelming feeling of home. The feeling that this was where he was supposed to be. He felt tears form, but he refused to let them out.

“Azriel?”

He looked up and met the eyes of Camil, your colleague. Azriel gave him a smile and started to follow Nesta.

He could do this. He would do this for you.

“You think Elain would like this?” Nesta asked him. She had picked up a top. A top Azriel knew for sure you had designed.

He couldn’t do this.

He slowly turned around and his shadows joined him as they moved out of the store. It was like his shadows were darker than usual.

Azriel left without Nesta. And he walked alone on his way back home.

He hid in his shadows and tried to not freak people out.

He tried to control his breath. One deep breath in and a long breath out. Repeat. It didn’t calm him down at all.

 “Mate” his shadows sang to him.

“please shut up”

They didn’t.

It took a few hours of crying and screaming, but Azriel decided to continue his plan. The first step: tell Jonathan he wouldn’t come to him anymore.

Azriel walked into the therapy clinic and met Sool, the receptionist.

“Is Jonathan here?” he asked her.

 “I’m afraid not,” she answered. “Do you want me to deliver him a message?”

“Yes, please.”

He received a piece of paper and quickly wrote down thanks for the help, but that he needed a different therapist to continue.

Azriel put down his pen and reached his hand into the pocket of his leathers. He picked them up.

His letters to you. He needed to say goodbye to them.

Azriel wrote in his message to Jo that he wanted him to burn his letters to you. He couldn’t move on with them in his possession. So, he figured Jonathan could help him get rid of them.

He wrapped his message around the letters and handed them to Sool before he walked out.

He could do this, said told himself. Now he only had to convince himself that he could.

Annette reached a hand to her heart the second she woke up. She let out a painful sigh when she tried to sit up.

The pulling was stronger than usual. She felt her ribcage burn. She couldn’t understand why her heart wanted to escape. It was like her heart had a place to be that Annette didn’t know about.

She sat up and leaned against the stone wall of the cave. She pulled the bottle of medicine out of her pocket and took a gulp of the liquid.

It burned in her throat on the way down…and on the way up again.

Annette immediately threw up the medicine. She was heaving for air for a couple of seconds, but then she could breathe better.

Her chest started to cramp up even worse than before.

She looked at the bottle in her hand. She had just thrown up all the medicine she had taken, so she should probably take some more, right?

She took a small sip. The taste was as awful as usual, but she managed to keep it down.

She stayed leaned onto the cave wall until the potion started to work. Her chest felt better, it was still pulling, but she could at least breath normal.

The plan for the day: get some warmer clothes.

Annette was freezing even though she wore two sweaters. She could perhaps get money for clothes if she worked to help some kind faeries. That was at least what she was hoping for.

She stood up and felt herself fall backwards. Mother, her back was sore. She tried to stretch out her wings, but they were too heavy. She ended up having them folded around her. Both to try to keep warm, but also because that’s how she managed to keep them from dragging against the ground.

She regained her balance after a while and started to make her way out of the cave.

The past couple of days, she had spoken to and touched every tree. Today, she used the trees to keep herself standing. She took a small break at every tree she saw. She used them to take a deep breath and to straighten her body.

And then, she started to throw up. And when she first started, she couldn’t stop.

It made her body weaker and weaker for each time she threw up. In the end, she couldn’t even stand on her feet.

She sat down and leaned onto a tree. She picked up some snow to cool down her face, even though the rest of her body was freezing.

Her vision blackened more and more, but she fought to stay awake.

“Hello.”

She screamed at the voice that suddenly was speaking right beside her. She turned her head and saw a tiny fae. His ears were pointed, and he had a long beard. He was just slightly taller than she was as she sat.

“That was unnecessary,” the fae spoke. “You need help. I have help. Come with me.”

He started to move away from her, but she couldn’t move after him. She was too weak to even keep her hands above the ground.

Her head was starting to fall as the male came back.

He simply touched her and then the ground under her disappeared.

She landed on the ground, but it was filled with hay. A barn? It seemed like it, but without the animals.

“What do we have here, Benard?” a deep, but comforting voice filled the room.

“An Illyrian female,” Annette heard the tiny male answer.

“Get her some of the winterberry juice, will you?”

Annette turned to where the voice was heard, and she met the eyes of an older male. He had glasses, a big brown beard and  wore a thick wool sweater. On his head was a weirdly shaped red hat with a white detail at the end. He smiled the kindest smile, and Annette did her best to smile back.

“Okay if I move you to the bed over here?”

Annette nodded without thinking. The thought of sleeping in a bed was enough to take over her entire brain.

The male picked her up and she leaned deep into the bed he put her in.

“What’s your name?”

“Annette,” she answered with a weak and shaky voice.

“Nice to meet you, Annette. I’m Nicholas, but you can call me Nick.”

Bernard suddenly appeared beside them. Annette hadn’t heard him enter the room.

He helped a cup with a red liquid to Annette’s lips. She closed her lips quickly and refused to drink it.

“It’s the anecdote to the poison in your body, my dear,” Nick explained, and Annette’s eyes widened. “You have to drink it to survive.”

Annette didn’t have any energy to figure out if he was telling the truth or not. She didn’t realize what he told her. She just opened her mouth and let Benard help her drink.

It tasted delicious.

“It works the fastest if you sleep,” Nick told her.

Annette didn’t need to be told twice as she closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn @mich0731 @tele86 @mellowmusings @anarchiii @anainkandpaper @donnadiddadog @atomictyphoonkitten

Let me know if you want to be added!

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[bat-mom-writer]

Impulses

Bruce Wayne(Husband) X Reader(Wife)

Summery: you can be very quick to act on your impulse, usually being done with a kind heart. But can sometimes lead to you and some others being hurt.

Note: Something tells me Bruce wouldn't go to therapy, but this isn't real so...

Rate: Loving Bruce, the very small almost of angst

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

"So, tell me Bruce, are you happily married?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you here?"

"Well," Bruce pauses, thinking over his words carefully, "it's not exactly that simple."

The therapist's office was quiet, the kind of silence that felt like it was holding its breath. Bruce Wayne sat in a chair that was a little too small for his broad shoulders, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It was a simple room, with a few plants scattered around and a faint scent of lavender in the air, but it was the last place he ever thought he'd be. He was a man who dealt with Gotham's problems from the shadows, not one who talked about his own in a well-lit space with a box of tissues within arm's reach.

"How so?" the therapist asked again, her voice gentle but firm, bringing Bruce back to the present.

He sighed. "Well, my wife… she's incredible. She's kind and she's the glue that holds our family together."

The therapist nodded, her expression neutral. "But?"

Bruce leaned back, rubbing his temples. "But she's… impulsive. She does things without considering the consequences, especially when it comes to the boys."

The therapist made a note in her pad. "Could you give me an example?"

Bruce sighed heavily, his mind racing with instances. "Once we went hiking, and she found a baby wolf, injured and alone. She insisted on bringing it back to the manor to care for it herself. Most of my sons thought it would be a great idea—until we realized it had a pack out there looking for it, and suddenly we had a bunch of very unhappy wolves on our backs."

The therapist looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I see. And how did that situation resolve?"

Bruce chuckled, a bit nervously. "Let's just say there were a lot of stitches involved. And I haven't heard anyone wanting to go camping again ever since."

The therapist's eyes widened, but she remained calm. "It seems she has a heart of gold, but maybe a bit of an overactive sense of adventure."

Bruce nodded. "Exactly. And it's not just with animals. She once tried to organize a surprise street carnival in the middle of Gotham because she thought the city needed more joy. You can imagine the chaos that ensued with all the traffic rerouting and permits she didn't bother to get."

The therapist's pen stopped mid-stroke. "Ah, so her intentions are good, but the execution could use some work."

Bruce nodded emphatically. "You have no idea. She's the love of my life, but sometimes I worry she's going to get us all into trouble. The boys look up to her, especially Dick and Damian."

The therapist leaned in slightly. "How do Dick and Damian react to her impulsive nature?"

"Dick tries to be the voice of reason, but he's young and still learning the ropes of being a responsible older brother. And Damian," Bruce sighed, "he's more like me—he's intrigued by the chaos she creates, but he's also the one who ends up getting hurt when things go awry."

The therapist nodded understandingly. "It's natural for children to look up to their parents, especially when they see the love and good intentions behind their actions. But it's also important for them to learn about boundaries and the potential consequences of impulsivity. How does your wife react when you bring this up with her?"

Bruce leaned forward, his expression a mix of affection and exasperation. "She's… well, she's stubborn. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities, and she wants to experience all of them. I get that, I do. But we can't live our lives on the edge like that, especially with the kind of enemies I've made over the years."

The therapist nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's a delicate balance, isn't it? Wanting to keep your family safe and also allowing them the freedom to live their lives fully. How have you been managing this?"

Bruce's smile grew a bit wistful. "Well, my wife is also the lively part of our lives. Without her, the manor would be just a fortress, not a home. She brings laughter and light to every room she enters. She's the one who convinced me to let Tim build a skateboard ramp in the garage, and even though it's a hazard to my cars, I can't help but smile when I hear them all out there, having fun."

The therapist nodded, understanding the complexity of the situation. "It sounds like you appreciate her spirit, but it's important to establish boundaries to ensure everyone's safety. Have you tried discussing the potential dangers with her?"

Bruce leaned back, his eyes drifting to the floor. "I've tried," he admitted. "But she's… she's like a tornado of love and enthusiasm. It's hard to say no to her."

The therapist nodded, her expression understanding. "It's clear you care deeply for her and the boys. Perhaps it's time to find a way to channel that enthusiasm into safer outlets."

"I know," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair. "But she's so… so alive. It's like trying to cage a butterfly."

The therapist nodded. "It's not about caging her, Bruce. It's about guiding her. Teaching her and the boys to weigh risks and rewards. To channel their energy into something positive without endangering themselves or others."

Bruce sat in silence, contemplating her words. He knew she was right, but it was easier said than done when it came to his vibrant wife. Her zest for life was both infectious and overwhelming at times. He thought back to the street carnival she had organized. The look of joy on the citizens' faces as they played games and ate cotton candy was something he hadn't seen in Gotham in a long time.

"There not all bad," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "Her impulses have led to some amazing moments, too."

"Like what?" the therapist prompted, her curiosity piqued.

Bruce's smile grew as he recalled a recent incident. "Last week, she found out about a fundraising event for an underfunded children's hospital. Without asking, she decided to host a masquerade ball at the manor. She convinced Alfred to help, and together they transformed the place into a fairy tale. The kids had the time of their lives, and we ended up raising a fortune for those kids."

The therapist returned his smile. "That does sound wonderful. It seems her spontaneity has its benefits."

Bruce nodded. "It does. But it's also a double-edged sword. I want to support her, but I also need to keep everyone safe."

The therapist leaned back in her chair. "Communication is key, Bruce. It's about expressing your concerns without squashing her spirit. Have you tried talking to her about how her impulsiveness affects you?"

Bruce sighed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his words. "I've tried, but she takes it personally. She thinks I'm trying to control her."

The therapist nodded, her expression empathetic. "It's a common misconception. Setting boundaries isn't about control; it's about care and safety. Have you framed it that way?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. I've usually approached it from the perspective of the danger it could pose to the boys."

"It's important to express your feelings," the therapist said. "Tell her how her actions affect you and why you worry. It might help her understand your perspective better."

Bruce nodded slowly, considering her advice. It was true; he hadn't shared his own fears with her, only the potential risks to the boys. Perhaps that was where he was going wrong.

"Thank you, doctor," he said, rising from his chair. "I'll think about what you've said."

The therapist stood and offered a warm smile. "Remember, Bruce, it's about balance. And sometimes, that means taking a risk to find it."

Bruce nodded, her words echoing in his mind as he left the office and stepped into the Gotham night. The city was alive with the pulse of its inhabitants, a stark contrast to the calmness he'd just left behind. His thoughts were racing, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between his need for security and his wife's boundless spirit.

As he drove back to Wayne Manor, the grandeur of the estate came into view, the gothic architecture a stark contrast to the chaos of the city beyond its gates. The manor was more than just a home; it was a bastion of hope in a city that desperately needed it. The lights were on in the windows, a warm glow that promised sanctuary from the cold outside.

When he walked in, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. You was in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you pulled a tray out of the oven. You turned to him, your face lighting up with a smile that never failed to melt his heart. "Hi, honey! How was your day?"

Bruce took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he knew he had to have. "It was… interesting," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "How about yours?"

"Oh, you know," you replied with a shrug, placing the cookies on a rack to cool. "Just the usual—keeping the boys out of trouble, planning the next big surprise for them." you winked at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bruce felt a twinge of both fondness and dread. He knew that look all too well. It was the look you got when she had another harebrained scheme up your sleeve. He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into an embrace. "How about we talk about these surprises together from now on?"

You tilted your head back, your smile fading a bit. "What do you mean?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "I mean, I know you love surprising the boys, and I love that about you. But sometimes, your surprises have… unintended consequences. I want to be there to support you, but I also need to make sure everyone is safe."

You leaned back, looking up at him with a slightly defensive expression. "Not all of my surprises turn out bad," you said, your voice a bit softer than before.

Bruce felt his heart squeeze at the sight of you, flour smudged on your cheek and apron, looking so earnest. He gave a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. But his face was screaming, "Are you sure?"

You took a step back, "Okay, okay, maybe most of them," you conceded. "But the good ones make up for it, right?"

Bruce sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. "They do," he agreed. "But it's the potential for danger that I can't ignore. And not just for the boys, but for you too."

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the flour on your apron. "Me? I'm fine. I can handle myself."

Bruce's grip on your shoulders tightened slightly. "You know what I mean," he said, his voice serious. "How many times have you ended up in the hospital because of one of your… adventures?"

You winced, remembering the last time you had tried to rescue a cat stuck in a tree, only to end up with a broken arm and a bruised ego. "Okay, okay," you repeated, holding up your hands in surrender. "I get it. I can be a bit… much."

Bruce's expression softened, his eyes searching yours. "You're not 'much', you're amazing. I just don't want to lose you."

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling in. "I know," you said, your voice small. "But what about you? You're not much different, Bruce. Maybe even worse. You go out every night as Batman, risking your life."

He stepped back, his expression unreadable. "That's different," he said firmly. "That's for the city."

"Is it?" you asked, looking up at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes. "Or is it because you've convinced yourself that it's your duty? That you're the only one who can do it?"

Bruce's jaw tightened at your question. It was a fair point, one he'd wrestled with in the quiet moments of his life. He knew that his crusade as Batman was driven by his own fears and the need to keep the city that had taken his parents safe. But he also knew that the stakes were higher for him than they were for you.

"I've been trained for that," he said finally. "You… you have the biggest heart in the world, but sometimes you don't think about the risks."

You nodded, looking down at the cookies cooling on the rack. "I know," you murmured. "But it's just so hard to resist when I see something that could bring joy to people, especially the boys."

Bruce stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "I know your heart's in the right place," he said. "But we can't keep playing Russian roulette with our lives, not when we have so much to lose. I don't want to lose you. Or see you get hurt. I'm just asking, please, consider the risks before you act. And come to me, talk to me, let's find a way to make this work."

You searched his eyes, the gravity of his words sinking in. You knew he wasn't trying to stifle you; he was just worried. "Okay," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "I'll try."

Bruce's expression relaxed a bit, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Thank you," he said softly. "Now, how about we sit down and talk about what's been on your mind? Maybe we can come up with some ideas together."

You nodded, swiping a strand of hair from your forehead. "Alright, I'll finish up on the cookies and then we can talk. Until then, want to help? Just to make sure I don't hurt myself?"

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at your attempt to lighten the mood. "Sure," he said, taking the spatula from your hand. "Let's do this together."

As you both worked side by side in the kitchen, the tension began to ease. You chatted about the different flavors of cookies and which ones the boys would like best, while Bruce carefully placed the finished ones on a plate. The rhythm of your conversation was soothing, and it reminded him of the first time he had met you—how your laugh had filled a room and made him feel alive again.

[gaysindistress]

Can I request headcanons for Gale, Wyll, Astarion, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with shy gn s/o who would go out of their way to help others whenever they can please?

This request is so cute and sweet 🥹 I hope you enjoy it my love💓

Bg3 masterlist

Gale

I think he would be the least surprised that you’re the one who always helps others. After all you did pull this mans from an unstable magic black hole without a second thought. He’d also probably get the most excited because he gets to spend time with you and watch you in your element!

He’d tease you about being shy but in a very gentle way with the most loving shy. Please don’t imagine him smiling down at you whilst brushing back a strand of hair and gazing into your eyes as he tells you how kind hearted you are.

On the flip side he’s going to be stern with you if you take on more than you can handle. He will be canceling all plans and making you stay in bed all day if you wake up worse for wear after neglecting yourself in favor of helping others.

Wyll

Wyll would be the most charmed by your selfishness. He prides himself on being the Blade of the Frontiers, the man who signed a pact to protect his city. It would only be natural for him to be someone who matches his level of generosity.

As for your shyness, he would find it enduring that you’re able to sacrifice everything you have for others but you can’t bring yourself to say hello first. Wyll isn’t shy himself but he’s more on the reserved side especially when he’s not ‘working’.

Say that you helped some kid find their parents again and the kid is excitedly telling them how a hero helped them. The kid is gesturing to you who’s standing back and almost shrinking back into the shadows but Wyll won’t let you. I can see him subtly drawing closer to you and whispering into your ear words of encouragement, telling you that you should accept their praise. He knows how much you hate being the center of attention but he also thinks that your actions deserve to be acknowledged.

Astarion

I’m going back and forth between him being drawn to you for this or being lowkey annoyed about it. A part of me thinks your selfishness would be an attracting factor because you have done so much for him. On the other hand though, astarion has a lot of trauma and might see as a threat to your relationship.

At first he would be very upset if you helped others because he doesn’t understand how you can care for him and others at the same time. He’s so used to kindness being a double edged sword that he can’t see how you’re not that way.

After some time (and therapy) he’d be able to understand that this is just how you are and it doesn’t mean you love him any less. Obviously there are days where this is a struggle for him but overall he’s less threatened by it the longer you’re together.

You bet your ass that this rouge shit head will tease you endlessly about being shy especially if you make him help Dribbles the Clown. He’s out here convincing people that you have the cure to smelly armpits because he thinks it so funny to see your reaction when they ask you about it.

Halsin

you can’t tell me that this Druid doesn’t find your selflessness the most attractive part about you. Not only did you save the grove but you also helped him lift the shadow curse. He refused to put himself above the shadow curse until it was lifted but that entire time he’s P I N I N G over you. When he is able to confess his feelings to you, he’s down bad for you and the shy little smile you have whenever someone thanks you.

Since the request didn’t ask for suggestive hcs, I won’t go into full detail about this one but you’ll get the point. Anytime Halsin sees you doing something kind for a stranger, he’s whispering into your ear that you need to return to camp with a strained voice.

Your shyness isn’t something he even thinks about most of the time. He’s reserved much like Wyll but he’s also an observer. He’d rather be in nature or simply away from people so he’d be the type to ask you if a day at home would be okay rather than going into the city.

Dammon

Dammon radiates blue collar golden retriever energy to me and maybe that’s because he’s a blacksmith or maybe it’s because he’d be making you anything you asked for. You need some iron rods to reengineer your neighbors’ chicken coop so predators quit getting in? He’s on and it’ll be ready by noon. Your dagger is dull because you’ve been too busy helping the older lady across the street to even think about? He’ll wait until you’ve fallen asleep to sharpen it and you’ll find it all shiny in your sheath the next morning.

Out of everyone hes the most concerned about your safety. We know that he’s not the strongest or even a fighter so he’d be worried about you helping people without much hesitation.

Your shyness may also make it harder for you to deny people if they ask for help which only adds to his concern. There may or may not have been a few times where you’ve agreed to lend a hand when you really should be staying home and relaxing.

Rolan

anytime you tried to do something for him prior to your relationship, he took personal offense to it. I honestly don’t think he would be react well to someone like this. I think he would get upset if he noticed you going out of your way to help someone but would also get upset with himself for feeling this way. He wants people to mind their own business however it’s very kind of you to do so selfish even at your own expense.

He might see your shyness as a weakness and think that that is the reason why you’re out ‘doing other people’s dirty work’ as he puts it. At first he might be a little too harsh about it and would unintentionally hurt your feelings but over time he’s come to understand that this is simply who you are.

Secretly he thinks you’re brave for being this way but he’ll probably never tell you outright. He’ll be subtle and try to drop hints by complimenting you or telling others about your good deeds.

Zevlor

*dreamy sighing* the paladin is constantly in awe of your quiet and calming presence. He admires how your shyness doesn’t stop you from being a good person and helping others. Often times he’s congratulating you after all is said and done with a proud smile and kiss to your forehead.

This is also how you met so I think these attributes of yours are among his favorite. Without your willingness to stick your neck out like that, you would’ve never met and he doesn’t want to even think about that.

again since the request didn’t ask for suggestive hcs, I won’t go into full detail. Zevlor is good with words, he was a commander after all but they do fail him from time to time. So when this happens, you will be spending the foreseeable future in your bed being worshipped by this paladin.

[littlestarlightseverywhere]

Do Your Worst

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s lover is having a hard time, but no amount of acting out can push him away

Warnings: mentions of violence (torture)

Notes: Sorry for the silence, I’ve been having terrible writer’s block but I think I did okay with this one!

Image Credit: Pinterest

Today was rubbish. Probably one of her worst days yet. 

It had been exactly two months since Hybern captured her from Azriel’s post and took her to their war camp deep in the Spring Court’s woods. Exactly two months since she’d been tortured for information she’d die before giving up. Exactly two months since she’d made peace with her death. Rhys couldn’t track her immediately, Mor and Feyre’s searches came up empty each time, and even Azriel’s shadows couldn’t pick up a clue. Azriel had driven himself mad, downright insane, trying to find her. Each day he spent every waking hour looking for clues, scouring the forests for her scent, and each day he returned to bed with nothing to show for it. It took Amren and Nesta a month to finally locate her. In that month she laid cut and bruised, chained to a wooden post like an animal, struck, cut, and burnt for every question she refused to answer. They left her in the middle of that camp, exposed to the heat of the day, the cold of the night, the rain, the wind, and the thunder. They made her into a spectacle. 

She only thought of her family, her Azriel, the entire time. My Azriel, she’d think each time they brutalized her. My Azriel, my Azriel, my Azriel. Rhys collapsed when she allowed him into her mind after they brought her home. He would never forgive himself for sending her on that mission, nor would he ever show his brother what she’d shown him, for Azriel very well would have sent Prythian to immediate war. 

And while the cuts, bruises, burns, and broken bones would heal completely, the skin of her back would forever be changed, marred with angry, raised scars from a heavy leather whip. She could barely walk. 

The first time Azriel saw the lashes on her back, he was helping her undress the night she returned home. Each movement caused her to cry out in pain. She tried to bite her lip, clench her fist, grip Azriel’s arm, tried anything to keep from crying, but nothing helped– the pain was too much. It would’ve been a mercy from the Mother to fall apart, limb by limb, bone by bone, instead. 

Azriel had seen all the other scars when Madja was working on her; those alone made him sick and wild with a hideous rage, potent enough to crumble the mountains surrounding the city into nothing more than powder on the ground. The lashes on her back– the thought of some wretched male stripping her and lashing a whip over her soft, warm skin in the mud and rocks– filled him with a fury so intense, so horrid, he could’ve wrapped his bare arms around the sun and pulled it down to earth. Set everything on fire. 

That very night, with names in his ear courtesy of the shadows and Cassian and Rhys positioned at her door, Azriel made each of those names pay. He was back by sunrise, tucked into bed beside her, wing draped over her restless body, and she was none the wiser. 

“You’re killing it,” Madja’s appointed physical therapist, Jarrah, encouraged as he watched her do her exercises. He was tall and muscled with glittering, golden-brown skin, looking ever the Summer Court high fae that he was. 

“It’s killing me,” she ground the words out, mincing each syllable as they passed through her teeth. Pain gripped her legs, lower back, and upper arms like a vise as she fought to complete a rep, the movements squeezing every last bit of energy out of her and collecting on the mat below in puddles of sweat. “I can’t do it, Jarrah.” 

“You can and you will,” he squared his shoulders at her, smile fading as he willed her to find her strength again. In recovery, he’d taught her, there were good days and there bad days– healing was not a linear process. 

Some days she did well in physical therapy and pushed herself– the pain only meant she was getting stronger. Azriel would be absolutely beside himself with pride and their friends echoed as much. 

Other days, her body seemed to give out in protest, the pain too unbearable, and she’d wonder if she’d ever be the same again. Azriel would encourage her– she knew it wasn’t pity– but she couldn’t stand it all the same. She’d collapse onto the floor against her will during physical therapy, shoving Jarrah away with shame when he’d tried to help her up each time. Sometimes, she’d wake up in the dead of night, clammy, and nauseous from a nightmare that felt more and more real each time she had one. Azriel held her to his body whenever she’d jostle awake, heaving and shaking, stroking his warm hands up and down her arms. Other nights he held her hair back as she retched her dinner into the toilet, panting and crying silent tears. 

“To expect linearity is to set yourself up for failure,” Jarrah lectured during their very first session when all she wanted to do was get to the hard stuff, to prove that she was alright– that she was still whole. Jarrah did not mind her bad days, but something died within her every time she left training without making any notable progress– every time her body failed her when her mind seemed to be giving its all. 

From the moment they started their session this morning, Jarrah noted her body was fatigued and her mind was somewhere else. Oh dear.

“We can take a break–” 

“No!” She buckled down and held her position, determined to prove to herself that even on her worst days she could succeed. It was the most enthusiastic response Jarrah had gotten all session from her so he allowed it. He watched her body tremble from the strain, the sweat bead at her temples, the fatigue in her eyes as she fought the pain in her spine. 

Her body could not bear it anymore. She felt her traitorous legs give out beneath her and the ground came up faster than she could register, faster than Jarrah could react. A strangled cry crawled from her throat as she collapsed and her body trembled in a pain her mind could barely process. 

“Fuck,” a familiar voice rang out from the gym’s entrance and Azriel ran in. Just great. What was he even doing here? After the first training appointment in which Azriel could barely keep himself from choking out Jarrah and coddling her, he agreed to not interrupt her sessions thereafter. His disregard for their agreement made her feel so small. 

“Fuck,” Jarrah echoed. He was at her side in two steps, arms outstretched to help her up, but she scooted away as fast as her leadened arms would allow, turning her face away in shame. 

“Don’t touch me!” She croaked. 

Jarrah stopped himself by the time Azriel was at her side, crouching beside her and taking up what felt like all of the oxygen in her space. Breathe, she tried to remind herself but with Azriel hovering and Jarrah a foot away, both watching her crumpled pathetically on the mats, she couldn’t. 

“Are you alright?”

“Get her some water!”

“That’s enough for today, let’s get you some food.”

“... My love?”

Azriel’s soft voice pierced through her terrible thoughts. She felt his strong hands reach under her armpits to help her up but she pushed against his biceps, swatting him off in a desperate attempt to move away. But the pain made her so dizzy, it was difficult to create any real distance. 

“Don’t!” she cried out, for it was all she could do, and Azriel dropped his hands immediately. “I can get up on my own.”

Azriel didn’t move. Jarrah placed a comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “We should give her some space.”

Azriel clenched his jaw but it didn’t stop the twitching of his upper lip. He stood abruptly, swiveling on his heels so his face was only mere inches from Jarrah’s, who’d since quickly retracted his hand to himself. To his credit, he kept his shoulders square, but even he wasn’t immune to the pure threat in the Shadowsinger’s glare. 

“My mate is in pain, she can’t even stand up, and you want to leave her like this?” He growled. 

Anger grappled her lungs, stealing whatever air she’d managed to collect. That was the problem. “I can stand up, Azriel. I’m not made of glass.” 

It took her a few minutes, but she did it. She first rotated her hips so she was on her hands and knees. With one foot underneath her, she pushed herself up, trembling, sighing, moaning as her body resisted the upward movement, but she finally stood. 

Azriel clenched his hands at his sides to anchor himself back, to resist from helping her. He knew she was capable of doing anything, that she didn’t really need him. Part of the reason he was so hesitant to pursue her all those years ago was because she was so independent that it intimidated him. Azriel wasn’t sure what he brought to the table, what he could do better that she already did for herself, how he would fit into the life she’d built for herself. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he would still do anything for her. It didn’t take away that primal need to protect her. He tried his best not to suffocate her but sometimes he couldn’t help his instincts when his love for her outweighed everything else.  

She allowed Azriel to link his arm with hers as she waved goodbye to Jarrah, silently apologizing for Azriel’s outburst. 

“Let’s get you something to eat, yeah?” His voice was soft as he led her out of the gym and to the townhouse’s sunlit sitting room. “You did so good today, love.”

“I’m not hungry.” Was all she replied. She couldn’t stomach anything after such a rubbish session. Fear that she would never be the same ever again set in, but nobody would understand. No one could even fathom what it would do to her if she couldn’t keep doing her job, going on these missions, protecting this city. If she was relegated to a desk for the rest of her life, she’d have lost everything she’s ever worked for.

“Sure you are. At least something small to keep the medicine down.” 

Madja had her on a cocktail of herbs and elixirs– something for the pain, something for the scars, probably something for how fucked her mind had become– she couldn’t keep track. Azriel kept track for her. She swallowed the pills and the bitters he gave her and allowed him to rub the salve into her scars before bed. Whatever. This was life now– being shoddily held together by some combination of antibiotics, gauze, and ointments. 

She shook her head in defiance and Azriel sighed, stopping her just before the doorway to the living room where the rest of their friends sat. She was so stubborn– if she didn’t want to do something, no one could get her to do it. It was a quality he admired but also a quality that drove him downright mad at times like this.

“What’s bothering you?” 

“You mean besides healing at a snail’s pace and sitting on my ass all day in this house while everyone else goes to work– fulfills some sort of purpose? I’m doing just great.” The smile did not reach her eyes. 

Azriel tilted his head as if to say No, really. I know there’s something else. He could read her like a damn book– it had always been that way. 

She hesitated for a moment before confessing, “I don’t know if I’ll be the same ever again.”

Azriel’s face softened at the anxiety that weighed on her shoulders so heavily they sagged. 

“Of course you will, love. It’s only a matter of time.”

“It’s been two months and I can’t even climb the stairs without needing a break. My body hurts by the time I go to bed. I can still feel my back– the scars–” the words caught in her throat and she quickly cut herself off before she choked on them, unable to talk too much about it without feeling her body and mind repulse. 

“Come here,” Azriel wrapped his strong arms around her frame and pulled her into his body so close their hearts beat in sync before each other as if in private conversation. “The physical training, the medicines, the therapist, you’ve got it all going on. No one here is working harder than you right now.”

“But what if it isn’t enough,” she mumbled into his chest, a single hot tear catching on the fabric of his sweater. She turned her face into his chest to wipe the tear away completely and Azriel’s heart broke for her. He wished he could reach into her chest and pull out the pain with his bare hands, fly with it to Ramiel and drop it at the peaks where it could never find its way back to her ever again. “You know better than anyone, you could do everything right and it still wouldn’t matter. I just need to get better. Be myself again.”

“I will love you no matter what happens. Even if you are never the same, I will still love you. This changes nothing.”

She pushed him away abruptly, hastily wiping away tears as if Azriel couldn’t see them. He didn’t get it. This wasn’t about him, about him loving her. This was her life. If she couldn’t get back to who she was, fill the roles she’d spent her whole life caring about, where would she stand among her family? Where would she stand in this life? In this world? 

“But it changes everything for me,” her eyebrows furrowed incredulously. “I want my body back, my mind back. Thanks for letting me know you’d still love me if I were to be this fucked up forever, but that’s literally the last thing on my mind right now, Azriel. I don’t want to be fucked up forever, I want to get better, and I need you to want that for me too.”

Azriel tried to find the right words, stuttering in his search to say the right thing. He didn’t mean it like that. He only ever wanted the best for her– would kill for her to have what’s best for her. “I-I didn’t mean–”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” She huffed, storming past him into the sitting room. Instant guilt flooded her as soon as she left him. Azriel helped however he could. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t put himself in her shoes in this very situation, but he’d gone through something traumatic too, and Azriel definitely knew a thing or two about helplessness. Still, she felt so alone. Azriel tried, but he wouldn’t understand what it was like to be a woman tortured in a camp full of males. What that took from her. She wouldn’t explain it. 

Azriel watched her storm off, feeling as if he was failing her all over again. Every night, he watched the dullness in her eyes grow as he handed her the medicines. When she laid down in their bed with practiced monotony so he could rub the salve into the scars stretched across her back, he bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from crying. They were nasty things, raised and swollen with blood and she flinched every time he touched them, as if he were delivering the lashings all over again. She was hurting and he felt so helpless. He vowed to always protect her and take away her pains but he could do neither of those things and the thought of it ate him alive everyday. Only the Mother knew the true lengths he’d go to for her. That man would do anything. 

In the sitting room, Azriel brought her a sandwich that he put together in the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen insisted that would make it, but he politely refused. He wanted to be the one to do it. 

“Az, I told you I’m not hungry,” She murmured as he handed her the plate. 

“You need to eat something if you want to keep the medicines down,” He reasoned again. 

“I know what Madja said, I was there,” She snarked, crossing her arms. She was so tired of people telling her what to do. Jarrah telling her what exercises to do, Madja telling her what medicines to take, Rhys telling her that she shouldn’t try to work again so soon, Feyre telling her she should take more walks, Cassian telling her to drink less wine, Azriel forcing her to eat more food. 

“Okay, darling,” He placed the plate on the table when she wouldn’t take it from him. 

“Turkey and swiss, okay!” Cassian peeked at the sandwich, nudging her arm. “And he cut it in half too.”

“Just the way she likes it. In half though, not diagonal– too much crust in one bite if it's cut diagonal,” Azriel smiled from where he sat across the table from them. She could have cried at the sight of him, at the love in his eyes, in his voice. Words were never his strong suit but Azriel more than made up for it in acts of service. This was how he showed his love. This was him reaching his hand out, begging for her to take it, to let him in. To let him help. 

And she didn’t know why she had such a hard time letting him in. She didn’t want to seem incapable of anything, and letting herself fall apart the way Azriel would allow her to terrified her. She’d never fallen apart before. She didn’t know how she could do it without completely tearing herself and every past wound open again. It broke her heart to watch his smile falter when she didn’t reach for the plate. 

“I’m going to bed,” she stood up as quickly as her body would allow and left the room. It was too much. Azriel’s disappointment, everyone’s expectations, watching her, studying her, readying themselves to be there for her if she did explode. She never needed this much attention in the past– to receive so much of it all of a sudden made her feel like she was made of porcelain and everyone was expecting her to shatter at any moment. She could hardly breathe in that room and needed to get out before something within her cracked further. 

The stairs loomed before her, mocking with how many there were. Grabbing the bannister until her knuckles paled, she hoisted herself up one step at a time, maneuvering her body so that her entire weight wouldn’t be on one leg for too long. 

Nesta appeared behind her, climbing the steps she’d taken over the course of minutes in just mere seconds, with a stack of books in one arm and a handful of her gown in the other. Nesta stopped a couple steps ahead, turning around and looking down at her through long eyelashes. 

“Well this is pathetic,” Nesta snorted. 

“Fuck off,” she meant to sneer, but it came out in a breathless huff instead. Pathetic indeed.

 Nesta let her skirts fall from her right arm as she extended it toward her. 

“I don’t need your help.”

“You definitely do.”

“Don’t you have those smutty little novels to get back to?”

“Shut the fuck up and take my arm, or bust your ass on these stairs, I don’t care.” 

Begrudgingly, she took Nesta’s arm. Neither of them spoke, but Nesta patiently guided her up the stairs, supporting her where she needed it. Out of the entire Inner Circle, she got along the most with Nesta. Their conversations usually followed a very similar pattern as this one did, but only because they each saw a little piece of themselves in the other, even if they never mentioned it. 

“Heard you being a bitch downstairs,” Nesta finally spoke when they cleared the last stair and stood at the landing so she could catch her breath. 

She couldn’t find it within herself to take offense. “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. I don’t know why I do this,” she confessed. She didn’t need to explain further. Nesta automatically understood. When they locked eyes, that silent comprehension flowed between them again and for the first time since arriving back home from the war camp, she felt relief. The kind of relief that made your heart beat out of your chest and go a little dizzy. The kind of relief that came from being completely understood without having to spend the energy trying to put the thoughts and feelings into comprehensible words. 

“I know. It’s not your fault.” The words fell softly from Nesta’s lips. It was the last thing she said before she led her to the library. They sat in arm chairs across the fireplace and read for hours in each others’ company. No one came looking for her. No one tried to force a plate of food down her throat. No one wanted her to do those stupid mobility stretches. Nobody was asking her if she was okay. It was everything she needed. So why did she still feel restless, like something was missing?

Azriel.

She left the library after she’d calmed down. In the quiet, amongst the books, when she thought that was all she needed, she felt misery instead. She needed Azriel. She wanted to lay in bed with him forever, feel his skin on hers forever, stay in his warmth forever, feel their heartbeats sing side by side forever. Azriel forever. Nothing else would compare. 

When she reached their room, it was empty. Disappointment flooded her chest, but she knew Azriel was giving her space. As she moved closer to the bed, she found a new plate of food waiting beside a note. A remade sandwich, cut down the middle as always. 

Your favorite. Was all the note said. 

Indeed it was. She polished off the sandwich in a matter of minutes, as ravenous as she was. Actually, she was hungry when Azriel first offered one to her in the sitting room, but she was too stubborn to take it then. 

The bath towel beside the note on the bed was warm to the touch. From the soft sound of trickling water in the bathing room, she knew he’d run her a bath. The air above the tub smelled of sandalwood– his scent. As she stripped off her clothes and lowered herself into the warm water, the scent encompassed her as if he was in the room with her right then, waiting to join her. 

Surely, an hour or two must have passed. Her eyes pried open, the water and soap around her body in the tub still warm and feathery like a winter duvet. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, only that it was the best sleep she’d gotten these past two months. For the first time since coming home, she slept with no nightmares and no nausea to rouse her from rest. She didn’t even dream. She simply passed out.

When she finally left the bathroom, her body wrapped in the towel he’d warmed for her, she found Azriel sitting on the bed with a book nestled in his large hands. As she stepped through the doorway of the bathing room, he looked up, smiling softly. Pure love shone in his eyes like a beacon, flashing and blinking in the darkness that war camp left her in. 

At the sight of his soft smile, the gentleness of his features, the relaxed sag of his shoulders, she felt something break. 

Sensing a shift in her demeanor, he lowered the book, eyebrows knitting together. 

"What's wrong?"

Those two damned words. She bit the inside of her cheek, walking weakly to Azriel's side of the bed. He placed his book on the nightstand and sat up straighter, anticipating her next move. 

She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, and laid her upper body against his torso, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms wrapped around his body tightly, breathing him in like he was the oxygen she lived off of. Anything else, anything that was not Azriel, and she could just die right there. 

He brought his arms around her tightly, heart sinking when he felt her hot tears on his neck. She did not shake. She did not sob. He only felt the wetness on his skin and the erratic heaving of her chest against his as she fought to regulate her breathing.

He did not say anything else. He held her, unmoving except to rub her back or run his hand over the back of her head, smoothing her hair. His other hand held the back of one of her thighs to keep her in place as she grew increasingly limp in his arms. 

"I've been such a wretch." Her voice was heavy and filled with sorrow. "I've been such a wretch to you. I'm sorry Az."

"Oh my love," He held her as close as he could, willing her to feel the love he held for her in his chest. His love for her ran everywhere his blood did, from his toes to the top of his head, every day and every second, his astonishment of her coursed his body like an electrical current keeping him alive. Without her,  there was no pulse. 

"How do you put up with me?" He felt her wipe her nose on his shoulder and he couldn't help the smile on his lips.

"Because I love you, and I know your anger has nothing to do with me."

"But you should not have to put up with it."

"I will put up with anything when it comes to you. You don’t ever have to worry about that when it’s you and I,” He pulled her back so he could look into her eyes. “You went through something horrible. You’re going to need time to work through it all, but I will be here for every moment of it. I’m sorry if I’ve been suffocating you, darling. I only do it because I can’t help it. When I see you hurting I wish I could take all of it from you and put it in me.”

“I never want you to hurt,” she told him earnestly. The thought of him going through what she did filled her with rage so sudden and consuming she couldn’t begin to imagine what Azriel felt when they finally found her at the camp. 

“I could never when I have you looking out for me,” He smiled that cheeky, boyish smile that came out so rarely. 

“I’ve just been having so many bad days. I should be happy that I’m back home, that I’m safe now. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, and it comes out at the wrong times in the wrong ways. But I don’t know what I’d do without you, Az.” 

“Even on your worst days, you’re the best of us. So do your worst. I can handle it." 

The disbelief in her eyes melted away when he cradled her head, smiling earnestly– and gods, she wished she could commission Feyre to paint him like this– a man smitten. With all the tonics and creams Madja had forced on her, she had a sneaking suspicion that none of them would truly heal her. They helped the symptoms, but never the cause. She’d accepted that it would take a damn miracle to heal the cause. And here Azriel was, pleading and lovely, looking like her damn miracle. 

She let him undo the towel from around her body and lay her into the soft covers, warm from where he sat while she was in the bath. Turning over, Azriel smoothed the salve over her scars as he did every night. But for the first time in months, she finally replied to his attempts at starting conversation as he worked. For the first time in months, she laughed genuine laughs that felt only slightly foreign– much like old friends– in her throat. For the first time in months, as he tenderly slicked Madja’s balm over her scars, praying to the Mother for her health over each one he touched, she did not flinch. 

[arts-bloody-rose]

Blood of A Rose - Turning Point (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - (Y/n) has always dealt with harsh criticism when it came to her work, but that never meant she was immune.

Notes - Sorry for the wait for a new post! I decided that weekends will be my off days from writing to preserve my sanity 💀

Word Count - 2,031

Warning(s) - Bullying, violence, mild gore

Song Inspiration -

Acsida - Privet Privet 2009

(Y/n)’s small living room was dimly lit by soft, flickering candlelight, casting shadows across the walls that seemed to stretch and twist in strange patterns as her TV hummed in the background. She sat on the floor, legs outstretched as her back leaned against the couch, absentmindedly working on a small canvas resting on her lap. 

Art lounged on the couch behind her, his head tilted as he silently browsed through channels, glancing down at (Y/n) and her work occasionally. His now pristine hand played with her hair mindlessly, combing his fingers through it as he found the texture satisfying. 

(Y/n) didn’t mind, though. It made her aware of his otherwise silent presence, which she had come to call home. It soothed her and kept her relaxed as she worked. 

Through their time together, they soon found that regardless of nearly being polar opposites, her more calm and reserved demeanor greatly complimented his boldness and chaos. Their shared interest in death was what drew them to each other, but everything else just seemed to perfectly fall into place for them. 

Art surprisingly came to respect her personality as she respected his. It was refreshing for him, in a way, which he never thought was even possible until she proved him otherwise. 

It started out as curiosity, wanting to understand how someone with such interests could be so tame. That curiosity then grew into an obsession, taking note of her smallest behaviors. Whether it was the way her nose twitched when she didn’t like something, or simply her breathing patterns. He knew everything there was to know about her. 

She dabbed her brush into a deep crimson, dragging it across the canvas in harsh, deliberate strokes. (Y/n) could feel Art’s gaze lingering on the piece, and for a moment, she wondered what ran through his head when he saw her art. 

“You like it?” She asked, her voice soft and curious. 

Art didn’t respond with words, as usual. Instead, he sat up, his silent movements almost ghostly as he leaned over her shoulder. His head cocked from one side to the other as he carefully observed the piece. He then grinned with a thumbs up, patting her shoulder in approval. She placed her free hand over his.

“Thanks.” (Y/n) giggled.

“I just don’t understand how someone would  think it’s appropriate to ever publicize something like that.” 

The laughter stopped, both of them looking up to the TV screen settled on a talk show. 

“I mean, think of the children! They could run into it on the internet and be traumatized and need therapy.” 

(Y/n)’s gaze hardened, heart beginning to race as she took in their insults. She chewed her lip as she watched, nearly drawing blood.

“Trust me, I don’t think they’re the only ones who need therapy -“ 

The channel suddenly changed, remote in Art’s hand as he frowned at the screen and waved it off in distaste. He then looked down at (Y/n) who began to calmly clean up her area. 

Too calmly. 

She stood up, taking her supplies with her as she made her way to the sink to clean everything off. His eyes followed her carefully, paying attention to every minor difference or change. As soon as he caught her mouth twitch he rose from the couch. 

He walked over to her, or rather stalked, and slapped a hand on the counter beside the sink as he faced her, leaning against it. She didn’t look at him until she was finished cleaning, drying her hands and giving him her best smile, albeit fake. 

His grin was wide, encouraging, and he motioned for her to do the same with his fingers. When she didn’t and simply giggled half heartedly, his smile dropped and he tapped his chin in thought. 

Art’s expression then turned mischievous, baring his teeth again with a Cheshire smile as his hands slowly reached for her, his fingers wiggling menacingly. 

“No.” (Y/n) pleaded at first, taking a hesitant step back. “No - Art!”

She shrieked when he snatched her, holding her against him as he tickled her relentlessly. He laughed silently as she squirmed and cackled, using all of her strength to try and worm her way out of his grip, but they both knew he was far too strong for such a feat. 

“Okay! Art, I’m fine - I’m okay now!” The clown stopped tickling, but still held her. He peeked his head from around her to watch her face to determine if she was lying or not. 

As (Y/n) caught her breath, she looked up at Art with the usual glimmer in her eye that he so adored and he firmly nodded before letting her go. 

She sighed dramatically and he wiped his hands off together proudly, giving her an ‘ok’ symbol with a wink and heading back to the couch with a pep in his step. 

(Y/n) shook her head in exasperation, rubbing at her temple before following him. 

The following day, they both worked in silence at their hideout. Art sat at his workbench, tinkering away while (Y/n) sat on the floor against the stove beside the desk, filtering through her photos on her camera. A small radio played in the background, (Y/n) humming to a familiar song every now and then while Art nodded along with her. 

It was one of their calmer nights, the two of them deciding not to go out and to simply spend time with each other, even if it was just sitting in the other’s company. 

(Y/n) saw Art’s hand motion for her in her peripherals, looking up at him finally. He pointed to her then to the stool left unused, then to the floor and flung his hand out as an exasperated question. 

“I’m comfortable, Art, I promise.” 

(Y/n) giggled when his head ticked at her stubbornness. He then pointed back at the stool aggressively, and then next to the edge of the desk with a determined expression. 

“You want me to be closer to you?” Art nodded and she laughed. “Well why didn’t you just say that?” 

She nearly snorted as she stood up when Art threw out it arms, silently telling her ‘what the fuck?’. She brought the stool over to his desk and sat on top of it, camera in hand for her to resume what she had previously been doing. 

Her laughter died down to a chuckle. “You know I love teasing you, I hardly ever get to.” (Y/n) reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Art rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her before turning back to continue modifying one of his weapons. 

“I personally think she’s just trying to use shock value to get some traction on her work.”

Their ears caught as they continued to work, however Art glanced over at (Y/n) every now and then. 

“She’s trying so hard to shove it down our throats for attention when it’s nothing more than glorified gore.”

“Be glad I don’t shove something else down your throats…” (Y/n) grumbled to herself, the initial pain of their insults gradually seeping through into anger and irritability. 

The clown’s movements froze at her words as he stared at the desk in front of him with parted lips. 

With however long they had been together, not once had he heard her threaten another person, regardless if it was empty or not. She had always kept quiet and to herself when met with confrontation while he was the one who dealt with it accordingly. At least, what he considered to be accordingly. 

Art slowly shifted his eyes over to look at her, seeing her click the buttons on her camera casually as if she never said anything. 

And for once, he wondered if he was going crazy. 

He then looked back at the weapon in front of him, glanced at her once more, then slowly went back to working. 

One night, however, they decided to go out once they began to feel a sense of boredom, something they both passionately detested. 

Feeling particularly clingy, (Y/n) took to latching herself onto Art’s arm rather than just holding his hand. He gladly accepted it, throwing her a giddy smile and practically shaking with excitement. 

As they walked, (Y/n) noticed how much more comfortable she had become walking out in public. Art fed into her confidence, deliberately or not, and she held her head higher. He made her feel appreciated, feel important in a world where all she had before him was herself and the captious stares of those around her.

On the more rare occasions where she walked out on the town by herself to grab a bite to eat or restock on supplies, she crawled back into herself ever so slightly. Regardless, she was still more self-assured than she previously had been. 

“Maybe something with feet? I feel like I don’t focus on feet enough.” (Y/n) thought out. 

Art simply listened from beside her, genuinely intrigued and in his own thoughts about what he could do with his next victim - or victims - for her. 

She gasped suddenly and Art, ever the dramatic, jumped with a surprised expression. “A mouth!” (Y/n) looked over at him with an animated expression. 

Art tilted his head at her with his eyebrows raised, letting her know that he agreed. 

“Mouth it is tonight.” The clown wiggled his eyebrows at her perversely and she lightly backhanded his chest. 

“Oh shit, are you (Y/n)?” They heard a somewhat distant voice express. Ahead of them, a woman leaned against a wall, phone in hand as she waited beside a small food joint. 

Art and (Y/n) shared a suspicious look, continuing to walk until they were close enough to decently communicate. “Yes?” She answered with caution. 

Art made a simple decision from beside her, accepting the woman’s unwilling offer that was too easy to pass as he set down his bag while they talked. “This is so weird seeing you in person. I always hear about you but never thought I’d actually meet you!” 

(Y/n)’s eyes squinted with confusion, unsure of where the interaction was going to lead to. “Thanks? Like is that supposed to be a compliment?” She replied warily, almost irritably. 

“Oh no, I’m not a fan or anything, it’s just weird finally seeing someone you hear about a lot.” (Y/n) deadpanned, a familiar feeling of distaste building in her abdomen. 

Art, however, rather than growing defensive and upset, looked over at her curiously, letting the conversation work itself out with underlying mischief.

“It’s like if you met Jeffrey Dahmer in person, you’d just look at them like what the fuck, because of the shit they’ve done, y’know?” 

(Y/n)’s tongue ran along the inside of her cheek, casually looking over at the clown’s bag on the ground. As the woman continued to ramble, (Y/n) stepped over to it and began to search through its contents.

Art’s eyes widened, a grin spreading wide across his painted face in anticipation. “Like if the word edgy was a person -“ 

The woman was cut off as a shot echoed through the town. 

Art watched as the woman slid off of the wall and thumped onto the ground, then eased his eyes to look over at (Y/n). 

Arm straight out, the gun in her hand pointed at the bleeding woman with an indifferent expression, then lowered with a heavy sigh as she turned to toss it back into his bag after turning on the safety.

“I’m tired of this shit.” She mumbled to herself and rubbed at her forehead then looked up at Art. “Sorry. Let’s go find someone else for you.” 

Art was rigid where he stood, staring at her with an intensity that began to pull her out of her vexed state. He took a step towards her with predatory intent, grabbing the back of her neck and tugging her into him, their lips crashing together unexpectedly. 

(Y/n) froze at first, caught off guard by his behavior before she slowly began to melt into it, cupping his jaw in her hands. She gasped breathlessly for air when they parted as he silently heaved. 

“Does that mean I’m next?” She whispered. He flashed his teeth sadistically, leaning in once more.

Tag list: @callsignwidow

[queenshelby]

Massage Therapy (Part One of Two)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

It had been three years since you owned a day spa and, being one of the best in Dublin, you were almost always booked out.

You provided facials, therapeutic massages as well as relaxation techniques, including massages with hot oil ‒‒the last service being the most popular among professionals seeking to unwind. T

he elegant interior of your establishment, with its dim, warm lights, hushed tones, and earthy aromas, lulled the senses the moment clients stepped into the door. 

By word of mouth, you had acquired a loyal clientele, including many businessmen and important figures and, apparently, among them now was the famous actor, Cillian Murphy who had been referred to you by one of his friends.

He was a slim and handsome man, in his late forties, and you were quite excited to be massaging him when he walked in.

You first handed him a form to fill out with details such as his name, age, contact information, and medical history, as usual. While he completed the paperwork, you studied him from the corner of your eye. He moved with quiet grace, his hair glinting under the soft lights, his lips curling up in a ghost of a smile when he saw your spa.

When he finished filling out the form, he handed it over to you and followed you down a hallway lined with a series of private rooms. 

"Mr Murphy, this way please," you said, as you opened the door to the dimly lit massage room, in the middle of which stood a massage table, covered in fresh sheets. 

"Thank you," Cillian said, his voice low and measured, as he stepped inside, eyes trailing over the candles casting dancing shadows on the walls.

"You are welcome," you responded, as you walked over to the corner of the room to retrieve a bottle of warm oil for the session. "Now, when you are ready Mr Murphy, please get undressed. You can place your belongings into the locker over here while I leave the room to give you some privacy. Once you have undressed, please lay face down on the table, covering yourself with the sheet provided, alright?" I continued, nodding towards the locker, gesturing to ensure his comfort and to establish professionalism for the session.

"Sure," he replied, eyes meeting mine briefly, as you turned to exit the room.

As you waited outside the door, you took a few moments to compose yourself, to leave any personal thoughts behind and focus solely on the calming atmosphere of the room and your craft - it was crucial to provide Cillian with the best service possible, regardless of who he was. Although, truth be told, you were a little overexcited to be massaging  such a famous and handsome individual, but you quickly brushed those thoughts away.

Entering the room once more, you found Cillian lying face down on the massage table as instructed, dressed in just his briefs, with the thin sheet that was provided carefully draped over his lower body. 

"Are there any areas  you would like me to focus on, Mr Murphy?" you asked softly, while pouring the warm oil onto your cupped hands, rubbing them together briskly to infuse the oil with your warmth.

"No, just anything is fine," he replied  gruffly, as you began your work on him, starting up at his neck, and working your way down to his upper back. His tension had been obvious, but you could already feel it beginning to melt away from his body as you placed your hands on him. You worked the warm oil into his tired muscles, easing the knots and tension from his shoulders and neck.

As you were massaging his back, you couldn't help but notice the freckles on his pale skin. There were thousands of them  , tiny brown speckles scattered haphazardly across his shoulder blades and back. They were one of the many things about Cillian Murphy that made him an interesting subject to look at, but it was your duty to keep your mind on the job at hand, which was to make sure that he relaxed and felt zero tension. You were a professional, after all.

As you moved down from his shoulders and neck to his lower back, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

Your hand came to rest on his hips, and you could feel him tense slightly beneath your touch. You continued to apply pressure, massaging with long, deep strokes, focusing on the area where his tension remained.

Eventually, you adjusted the sheet slightly, revealing just enough of his thighs and hips to continue your work, while still maintaining his modesty. The tension in his body had lessened, but it was still present, especially in his hamstrings.

You started massaging his right leg first , focusing on the muscles that you knew would be the tightest, and working slowly to coax them to relax. As you worked your way down, you reminded yourself not to let your mind wander, and to focus on what you were doing. But it wasn't easy, for every touch, every stroke, sent a little thrill running through you. He was a handsome man, with a lean, toned body and a distinctive brooding charm that seemed almost palpable.

His legs were covered in some fine hairs. They were muscular, even despite his otherwise slim built and you and you  couldn't help but notice the veins that ran along the sides of his legs, pulsing with life as you rubbed them with your expert touch.

"Is the pressure okay?" you whispered, your fingers tracing the muscle contours of his lower legs with a gentle pressure, coaxing the tension out of them. 

"It's perfect," he murmur-replied, his voice gravelly with a hint of recognition in his tone. You shuttered at the sound of it, feeling a strange mix of pride and nervousness, knowing that he was enjoying it.

You continued your work on his legs, adjusting the sheet again before moving higher, to his upper thighs, just below his buttocks. 

Cillian's body tensed again, but the tension was not present in his muscles. This was different, there was something new, something that you hadn't felt before. 

"How's the pressure now?" you asked again, moving to his inner thigh now. 

He paused for a moment, considering your words.

"It's good," he finally said, his voice strained with a new type of tension that hadn't been there before as, unbeknownst to you, he slowly became aroused. 

Oblivious to this, you kept  on with your massage, your hands working their magic. As you glanced at your client's lower body, you saw the way his muscles were starting to flex slightly, but you did not think anything about it and moved towards the other leg, relishing in the smoothness of his skin under your touch.

You started with his lower thigh again and then moved to his upper thigh, slowly working your way inwards again.

You could feel the built-up tension in his muscles there, and you devoted your full attention to alleviating it. As you massaged the spot that was especially tight, Cillian let out a soft moan that registered on your radar, but you brought your focus back to the task at hand.

After some time, you felt that you had done sufficient work on the back and legs from this angle and you knew it was time for him to turn around.  "Alright Mr. Murphy, I am going to need you roll over onto your back so that I may continue to work on your chest and arms," you instructed him softly, while still maintaining your professional demeanor, even if your heart fluttered at a faster rate.

"Uhm, I," he began , hesitating before continuing. "I can't. I need to...," he stammered, causing you to offer him some assistance.

"Would you like me to help you to turn around?" you offered in a soft tone.

"No, I mean, I can do that myself, but I shouldn't because I'm a bit uncomfortable right now," Cillian admitted, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

A feeling of realization dawned on you, and your cheeks flushed in return. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of your profession and that this kind of situation could arise every now and then. With that, you reassured him.

"Don't worry, that's perfectly normal and I will ensure that sheet provided will cover your modesty," you reassured Cillian with a soft and gentle voice, making sure not to make this moment any awkward or uncomfortable than it already was.

Cillian took a deep breath, and then slowly began to turn onto his back, revealing his lean but toned body. You took a moment to admire the sight while reminding yourself to stay focused on the task at hand.

"I am sorry. This hasn't happened to me before," Cillian murmured. You could see the embarrassment color his cheeks, but there was also an honesty in his voice and eyes that resonated with you.

"It happens, Mr Murphy," you replied with a gentle smile, trying to put him at ease. "It's actually not that uncommon," you reassured him as you covered his eyes with cloth, waiting for him to catch his breath, to compose himself. "Now just relax," you then continued before looking at the obvious. 

His erection was evident beneath the sheet, but you said nothing, choosing instead to continue working as you normally would.

Without saying anything else, you focused on his arms, kneading the muscles to ease the knots and tension before moving on to his chest.

Running your hands through his chest hair,  you could feel each rib, each muscle expanding and contracting under your touch as he breathed in and out and, even though you spent almost twenty more minutes on his upper body only, his erection did not abate.

Knowing that you had caused this made you feel slightly guilty, but also somewhat empowered and, with that, curiosity got the better of you and you decided to return to his legs again.

This time, you focused your attention on the front of his thighs, and you could feel the tension there as well. You did your best to ignore the growing bulge beneath the sheet, and concentrated instead on providing a soothing and relaxing massage experience for Cillian.

You worked your way up his legs with long, sweeping strokes, and felt the muscle gradually start to relax under your trained hands. You could sense that Cillian was feeling more at ease as well, and he let out a deep sigh as he seemed to drift away into a state of pure relaxation until your hand drifted to his upper inner thigh again.

His erection twitched  upon contact, but, determined to remain professional and to finish the massage, you continued with your relaxed, rhythmic massaging motion, allowing the gentle movement to work on his tightened muscles.

Your fingers continued to glide lovingly, assertively, and with focus on the inner thighs, assessing their tension while taking the occasional, surreptitious glance at the sheet covering his lower torso. Underneath it, Cillian's erection still throbbed steadily and, after having now seen this man mostly naked and aroused, you wondered what it would be like to touch him intimately.

You had never before entertained such a fascination with a client, and tried to push the thought aside, but as your fingers moved up his thighs once more, tracing the firm muscles and lingering on the most sensitive areas, you knew you couldn't deny it any longer.

He was straining, almost painfully  against the fabric beneath the sheet and you found it difficult to keep your focus on massaging his inner thighs. You glanced up at him, noticing his lips tightly closed as he focused on keeping himself together.

This moment hung heavy in the air, the tension building between you, almost palpable. It was obvious that he was holding back, and you wondered if you should continue the massage or stop.

But as you looked back at him, you saw his teeth clenching slightly, and he didn't seem to be making any moves to change position.

A sudden realization came over you - this was your chance to act on the desire that had been building inside of you since the moment he walked in, so you asked  him softly, "Mr. Murphy, would you like me to take care of that for you?" and glanced down to his lower body, pointing at the evidence of his arousal pushing against the sheet.

"I can relieve that tension for you too, if you  would like," you suggested, your voice barely above a whisper, though every word was clear and steady. He opened his mouth, about to protest.

"Uhm, I am married, I shouldn't be..." he murmured awkwardly, but then hesitated. You knew this could be your only chance with him, so you pounced.

"That's alright, I do not usually offer this kind of service," you told him. "But, it's just a massage and I can use my hands to alleviate your tension down there, without anyone else having to know about it."

"Uhm, okay," Cillian finally agreed, his voice barely above a whisper, as a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

"Perfect, so I will remove the sheet now and continue with your massage," you stated calmly, doing just that as you were met with the unobstructed view of his throbbing erection.

As expected, Cillian reflexively pulled at the sheet to cover himself, but you gently held it in place while explaining, "Mr. Murphy, please trust me when I say that this will help relieve even more tension in your body."

With a slight nod, he released the sheet and closed his eyes, leaving you free to continue.

Leaning forward, you placed your hands on the insides of his thighs and slowly spread them apart. The oil from the massage made them slick and easy to move, and you took full advantage as you began to knead and massage the muscles there.

As you worked, your fingers grazed the base of his shaft, causing him to inhale sharply. You glanced up at him, but continued your ministrations, moving your hands higher up his thighs and closer to his erection while taking in the sight. 

His manhood  was visible now, pulsating and rock hard, with a thick vein running down its length. Your mouth watered as you felt the steely heat radiating from his body, desires swirling and building within you.

"Ah, fuck!" Cillian groaned as you caressed the sensitive underside of his length.

"Shh, it's alright. Just relax," you whispered softly, running one of your oiled up hands over his pubic  area, gently working your way around his shaft. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you managed to keep your cool. You couldn't believe that you were doing this. You were masturbating Cillian Murphy, a famous actor, during a massage session. It was something that you had never done before, and it was thrilling in a way that you couldn't quite put into words.

With a flick of your wrist and a bit more pressure, you began stroking his shaft with slow, steady movements, making sure that each stroke was deliberate yet soft, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through his form.

"Is the pressure okay for you?" you asked softly, continuing your hand movements up and down his shaft, giving him a surge of pleasure with each stroke.

"Uhhmm, yes..." Cillian muttered breathlessly, unable to form complete sentences from the sensations coursing through his body.

You smiled at his response, feeling encouraged as you continued your hand movements, using the oil to smooth the way, making certain to caress each sensitive inch of him.

You could feel the tension rising in your own body as well, desire pooling between your thighs as you admired Cillian's form beneath your touch. It had been a long time since you had felt such attraction towards someone, and the excitement was overwhelming.

The moan that escaped from Cillian's mouth at your every touch was guttural, and you knew then that he was enjoying the sensation. With one more deep breath, you let your hands glide fully over his straining cock, beginning to massage it slowly with a deliberate pace that caused an air of urgency to grow more prevalent within the room.

You glanced at Cillian and saw him biting his lip, as though trying to contain the moan that threatened to escape him.

"Just relax," you whispered softly, allowing your hand to slide down his penis to cup his balls gently while the other hand worked its way up from the base, tracing each vein that ran along its shaft. 

"Fuck," he groaned, as you continued your steady rhythm, applying the right amount of pressure to cause waves of pleasure to course through his body.

You felt him grow even more rigid in your hands and, with a quick glance, you saw that his eyes were still tightly shut. You knew he was on the brink and, instead of holding back, you decided to bring him over the edge.

"You're so close," you murmured, your breath hot against his ear as moisture pooled between your thighs. "Let it all out." 

You increased the pace of your hands and, with your thumb, massaged the sensitive spot right below the head of his cock. His back arched off the table and a strangled noise left his lips.

You moved your hand faster, dripping oil everywhere, as he gripped the table for dear life. His thighs clenched tightly, and you could physically feel every muscle in his body tensing as his orgasm raced through him. A low, guttural cry echoed through the room, and his seed erupted from his cock, covering your hand and the sheet below.

Watching his cum  spurt from his cock was oddly mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but stare as each spasm took hold of him.

Cillian came hard and fast, his muscles tense and body aching uncontrollably. The sheer amount of pleasure coursing through him was mind-numbing, intensified by your attentive ministrations.

His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your hands slowed down to a gentler stroke.

You marveled at what had just transpired. This famous actor had climaxed all over your hands, and you couldn't help but feel a bit thrilled by the experience.

"Jesus Christ." Cillian mumbled under his breath, clearly in shock of what he had just experienced.

He opened his eyes, his vision a bit hazy as he took in your form - you, his massage therapist, whose hands had just brought him to an unparalleled climax.

Cillian laid there, half-stunned and entirely spent, taking a moment to regain his bearings as you slowly pulled your hands away from his softening shaft.

You could feel the blood pulsing in your own ears as you took in the sight of him - the glistening mess that remained on his chest, the redness from exertion staining his cheeks, and the way his eyes seemed to have lost all thoughtful intensity.

It was a vulnerable, intimate look that he gave you before speaking up softly. "I am sorry for the mess," he stammered , unable to meet your gaze directly, his cheeks reddening once more.

You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, "There's no need to apologize, Mr. Murphy, it is completely natural and to be expected after what we just did," your voice still gentle and soothing. "If you could just lay there for a few more minutes, please, so that I can clean you up and give you a moment to compose yourself before we conclude the session," you offered, with sincerity dripping from your voice.

You took a damp washcloth and gently began to clean Cillian's stomach and chest, taking extra care around his still sensitive area. He groaned softly as your warm hand touched him, but didn't stop you. Once he was clean, you threw the cloth into a hamper.

"Now I will leave you to get dressed and you can meet me at the front desk," you said softly, looking at the gorgeous, satiated man lying before you.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice laced with gratitude as well as a hint of regret. "That was..." he faltered, searching for the right word. "Really nice ."

You smiled at his honesty. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Murphy." You were satisfied to see him more relaxed and satisfied than he was when he arrived.

You exited the massage room, giving him privacy to get dressed. Your heartbeat was still racing as you replayed the events in your mind. It was an unusual occurrence, but something about Cillian Murphy drew you in, and you couldn't help but feel a connection with him.

At the reception desk, you took a deep breath to calm yourself down.

Your hands were still shaking from the adrenaline rush of what had just occurred. The thought of being so close to a famous actor, and satisfying him in this way, was a thrill unlike anything you had ever experienced before. You gathered your thoughts and prepared to greet Cillian as he walked out of the massage room, but the encounter was not what you expected.

As Cillian entered the reception area, his expression was unreadable. You greeted him with a small smile, but his gaze remained distant, as if he was replaying the events in his mind.

"Did you find the massage enjoyable, Mr. Murphy?" you asked, keeping your tone professional and even.

"It was...yes...it was quite unique," he finally said, meeting your gaze with a look that you couldn't quite decipher.

"I'm glad to have been of service, Mr. Murphy," you replied, aware that the tension between you was palpable.

Cillian remained silent for a moment, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

"I should pay for the massage now," he finally said, reaching for his wallet. "But I have to ask, what are the additional charges for the extra services you provided?" he inquired, his expression a mix of curiosity and uncertainty as he blushed heavily.

"No additional charges. Like I said, I do not usually provide this kind of service as this is a reputable business," you answered, with a carefully nonchalant smile, avoiding any appearance of awkwardness. "Your payment for the massage covers the entire session, regardless of how things progressed, although I was wondering whether I would see you again for another session,"  you added, measuring the mood, hopeful that there might be a possibility of future encounters.

Cillian looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a sign of genuine interest, before finally replying, "I, uhm, yeah. I guess I would like that."

"Great, because there is another type of massage that I would love to try on you. It will make you feel even more relaxed," you said, trying to gauge his interest.

"What kind of massage?" he asked with a curious expression.

The anticipation was playing its role, and you took a deep breath, "Well, it's called a prostate massage," you admitted softly, continuing to maintain eye contact as you gauged his reaction.  

"Okay. That's new, but how about next week? Same time?" Cillian said, as he raised his eyebrows at your proposition. He had heard of this kind of massage before but had never tried it.

You completed his checkout and handed him his receipt. Your hands brushed as the paper was transferred and, suddenly, that bit of contact felt incredibly intimate and intense.

"Excellent, I'll see you next week," you said, the excitement clear in your voice.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

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[harrystylesfan2686]

Alone

Pairing: no one really.

Summary: Reader starts to feel left out in her own family...

Warnings: Neglection. Suicide thoughts. Self harm (in detail) please go back if any of these bother you. Your mental heath matters more.

A/N: I think I need therapy too...

Masterlist Part 2(Azriel) Part 2(Eris)

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Ever wondered what it's like to be alone?

It's a game, really. A game of utter self degradation. A game where there are only two players, you and your mind. A game where you never truly win and you always have to keep playing because your brain never tires.

A game which no one else realizes your playing until you lose and it's too late.

It's the game you have been playing ever since the Archerons joined the inner circle. You love them all, honestly. Thier different personalities was the first thing that drew you to them. You admir all three of them but the one thing you hate is how you got left alone after their involvement to your life.

Before them, you all relied on all of you for company and support. Now, everybody has their own person.

Rhysand has Feyre, Cassian has Nesta, Azriel has Elain, and Mor and Amren have found thier partners too but in case they aren't present, Mor and Amren, as crazy as it sounds, rely on each other. Just like that, everybody has a person to go home to, to come back safely for, to turn to for comfort.

You don't have anyone.

You hate going home because your bed is always empty. You hate going on missions because you know no one would be worrying about you every minute you gone. You hate celebrations because you have no one to dance with, to drink with, to end the day with.

You love family dinners. Even though you never get a chance to speak, even though you never talk to anyone, even though no one notices your presence. You love family dinners and meetings because it's the only time youre not alone.

It's doesn't matter if you're lonely, at least you aren't alone.

But in the game you're playing with yourself, after a while, you get too tired to challenge back with same force. You don't push back the mean thoughts your mind throws at you as insults. You listen to them, compare them to your situation and realise, you've been trying to win for nothing.

You slowly stop trying to protect yourself all together.

The first time you didn't go to a family dinner, you thought you would regret it later but you didn't, instead you felt glad that you didn't go because no one had come to get you, no one came to ask why you didn't show, no one cared about you enough to think why you didn't go.

So you stopped going at all.

You stopped doing everything with you 'family' and prefered being left alone.

You only met them when you had a mission together or anything related to work.

Just like that, today you had gone to one of the Illyrian camps at Rhys orders. He got report saying things haven't been going as they should there and wanted you to go check. But on your way back you had been ambushed by a group of six men wanting to kill you in the camp, they couldn't of course but you did come out of the fight with a large sward wound on your left side.

All you wanted to do was go home, rest, tend to your wound and sleep. You can give the report to Rhys tomorrow.

You let out a grunt and step in your house, immediately tense seeing a shadow of a person move the dark room. Your hand placing itself in your dagger straped to your thigh, you other hand on the left side of your waist pressing on your wound.

"Relax, it's just me." A familiar voice fills the silence as the fae lights turn on and Rhysands face becomes visible. You sigh in relief and furrow your eyebrows,"What you doing so late in my house?" You nearly snap, but hold back as respect for your high lord.

"You came late you were suppose to be here two hours ago." For minute it feels like he cares for you, and you allow yourself to believe that he was worried for you but you fantasy shatters the second he opens his mouth again. "You were supposed to deliver your report two hours ago. You know how important this is, I have other things to do too." His voice sharp as he scolds you.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I got attacked while leaving, it took time to fight them of. It was six against one but well I managed to survive, eh?" Rhysand's scowl deepens. "Tell me what happened there now."

Your eyes closs for a second whem you feel dizzy. "Look, how about you give me ten minutes to freshen up, and I also have a wound to–," You try to say but he cuts you off saying,"I don't have more time. Tell me right now what happened so I can get started on fixing things, then you can have all the time to fresh up as you want. My office, now." He doesn't leave much to room to argue and winnows you to his office.

You sigh and start speaking, repeating everything you noticed in the camp as Rhysand listens and writes down the report. Near the end, you feel another wave of dizziness hit you and put your head down to rest it against the backrest of your chair and groan when you feel pain shoot up from your injury from the movement.

Rhysand finally notices the source of your pain and his eyes flare,"You're hurt?" You scoff. "Yes. That's what I was trying to tell you before you winnowed us here."

"I didnt notice it. I'm sorry, you should go tend to it." He quickly dismisses you, finally letting you go back to your house.

As you look at yourself in the mirror, thinking how filthy and hideous you seem, you grit your teeth. Of course no one notices you. Look at you. You are ugly and filled with dirt and scars all over your body.

How could anyone look at you when you can't even look at yourself.

Your gaze falls to your wound, the big cut that spread from under you left breast to the start of your thigh. If was deep enough to bleed you dry.

Would anyone even notice if you did? If you don't heal and let the injury bleed you dead. Would anyone know that you were gone? That your body layed unmoving in the bathroom floor. How long would it take for someone to find you? Who would find you? Probably Rhysand when he needs you for his next mission.

You eye your dagger that you unshielded on your way in the bathroom. How long would it take for you to bleed out? Hours? Days? You didn't want that. That was too much. You don't think you can handle that much pain constantly. Maybe if you took that dagger and deepen your cut, you would bleed out faster. Maybe you would have a faster death. Sure it would hurt but at least you would be gone before someone found you.

You would be free. Free of the loneliness. Free of the feeling like you were a burden in everyone's life. Free of wanting Someone to care for you the way you see everyone else care for their loved ones. You would finally be at peace.

You gasp and blink out the terrible thoughts. Breathing heavy, you search for the cotton and Healing cream in the cupboards. You groan out with you don't find any of them.

You turn back to the mirror. Maybe your brain is right. Maybe this is a sign from Mother herself telling you to not let the wound heal and die right here, right now. Your gaze finds the knife again, eyeing the sharp edge. Would it really be that bad?

Your hand grips the handle of the dagger, bringing it closer to the cut. You let the cold mettle edge scrap the skin, an inch afar the start of the cut. The sharp edge slicing through skin like paper, leaving a line of crimson red blood, seeping out of the newly cut skin.

Your eyes widen as you observe yourself, keeping the knife near the cut but not touching it entirely.

It's... mesmerizing. The way blood slowly comes out of the skin, the small and steady lines created by your dagger are engrossing. And the pain, the pain is hypnotizing, slowing raising to the rest of your body. Your body feels electrified, there's snips of pain tingling through out your entire body, your ears buzzing with excitement. Your hands are shaking and eyes bluring but all you can focus on is how much you want to do this again. Feel your skin open beneath you knife again. Feel the pain that slowing raises with each extra inch of cut.

Oh gods. What have you done?

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[actuallysaiyan]

Then You'll Make Him Happy(Scarred!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader)

warnings: dark themes, yandere, breast play/nipple play, biting, marking, jealousy, paranoia, JJK spoilers, Yandere!Nanami, unprotected sex, creampie, rough oral sex(male!receiving), seriously dark content!!! word count: 2.2k pairings: Scarred!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: you arrive home late one night after Ijichi drives you home, and Kento has been spiralling. don't worry, he gives you the chance to prove to him how loyal and devoted you are! a/n: Scarred Nanami part 2! Sort of a sequel to this! Also a request for the wonderful scarred Nanami anon! art credits for the banner here

Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Taglist: @beneathstarryskies, @an-ever-angry-bi, @seireiteihellbutterfly @adharadotcom,

@heyitsd1yaa, @darkstarlight82, @melisuh123, @galactict3a,

@erebus-et-eigengrau, @aomi04, @isabelzoldyck, @cinnamon-girl-writes,

@felixmr, @typicalemo, @entirelysein-e,

@urfavmars24, @animediplomat, @menag-etroix,

@shycoconutt, @_thecoochirgirls,

@emmaiscool22, @ambiguouslady42, @mx-saph

After the Shibuya Incident, Kento wasn’t the same man. Through many sessions of physical and mental therapy, he became a bit more of the man you knew and loved over time. But there were still parts of him that would just never be the same.

The left side of his body didn’t function quite the same. His left eye didn’t have vision back, so it was a blur of shadows and lights and colors. His left leg would limp on particularly bad days, and most days he walked with a cane if he wasn’t completely bedridden. And the thing that affected him the most was the fact that he could finally be with you the way he wanted to.

Except you worried him. You always worried him. You had stayed to work at Jujutsu Tech to become a manager and a part time teacher. You often worked very late shifts. Kento disliked the fact that you thought you had to work this much.

Tonight was a night like the others. But for some reason, he had it in his mind that you weren’t coming back. He always seemed to spiral like this lately. He had been taking his medication, but the thoughts always came back. 

The thought of you leaving him for someone younger…more capable…less disabled. It hurt him to think these thoughts, but he just can’t seem to dispel them tonight. Despite your pleas for him to stop drinking, he decides it’s a good night to have a glass of whiskey.

It burns in his throat as he tries his best to push away all those thoughts of you leaving him. Tears sting his eyes when he thinks about you out with some other man. Someone younger and more capable, someone who could dance with you and fuck you better. Someone in the peak of their life. Not someone broken and discarded like him.

As the car pulls up to your apartment building, you thank Ijichi a million times over. Despite his close call in Shibuya, it was thanks to your husband that he actually ended up making it out alive. So for Ijichi, driving you home on the nights that he wanted to allow Nanami to rest more, it was nothing. This was just another way for Ijichi to thank his friend who saved him.

The minute you get inside, Nanami stands up so fast from his seat, you swear you haven’t seen him this stable on his two feet since before the incident. You try to help him back to sit, but he’s quick to push you up against the wall. You smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Who is it this time, huh? I bet he’s pretty cute. Does he fuck you just as good as me?”

Tears sting your eyes and you shake your head. You try to caress Nanami’s face, but he’s so quick to push you against the wall even more. He’s not wearing his eyepatch, which makes him look even more menacing.

“Are you going to answer my question, darling?”

You moan, “N-no! It’s ridiculous! How can I show you my devotion?”

Nanami snarls and he pushes himself off of you. He wants to believe you. But he saw you coming out of a car with a man in the driver’s seat. In his fit of rage, he didn’t quite make out that it was his good friend Ijichi.

“Who drove you home? Are you fucking him?!” Nanami asks.

“It was Ijichi-san! He wanted you to rest. This is why he drove me home.”

Nanami looks at you, trying to decide if you’re telling him the truth or not. Then he comes over to you, his hands gripping your blouse.

“If you’re devoted to me, then you’ll have to show it. Prove it to me. Prove to me that you haven’t lost interest in me,” His words are so dark and powerful.

You squeal the minute he rips your blouse open. Your cheeks burn as you realize the underwear you’re wearing under it. It’s a lacy, silky little thing. With you working so much lately, you haven’t been able to get on top of the laundry. So you found yourself with the decision to either go commando at work or wear the cute lingerie set you bought to surprise Kento so many months ago.

“What the fuck is this?! Why are you fucking wearing this?!”

You whine, “I-I didn’t have anything else to wear! I haven’t been able to do the laundry.”

He pushes you up against the wall, his lips pressing down on yours hungrily and in a possessive way. Kento desperately wants to believe you because he doesn’t want to believe the opposite. The thought of you wearing this cute and sexy lingerie set for someone else makes his blood boil. When he pulls away, you’re almost out of breath.

“Get into the bedroom. Strip your clothes.”

You do as you’re told. You make a beeline for the bedroom, opening the door and removing your ruined blouse. Nanami follows you, limping slightly. He watches as you strip for him. You were going to prove just how devoted you are.

“On your fucking knees. Keep those stockings on.”

The command makes you shudder from head to toe. With your blouse off and skirt resting at your feet, you’re left in only your stockings and garter belt. Nanami begins to palm at his erection as you get on your knees. The way you look up at him like he hung the stars in the sky for you, it’s making him throb in his pants.

“Are you my good girl?” He asks, grabbing your hair.

“Yes. yes I am. I’m your good girl.”

He loves the way you’re reacting to this. It’s exactly how he wanted it to go. But damn, those thoughts had very clearly clouded his logic. With his free hand, he unzips his pants and releases his heavy cock from the confines of his pants. He pumps his cock a few times, making it dribble precum.

“Suck.”

Just one word and it has need pooling deep inside of you. You open your mouth; saliva is already drooling out. Nanami loves seeing you so needy for cock like this. He thrusts into your mouth, making you gasp. You nearly choke on his length. His hips begin pumping and he holds you by your hair.

“Be a good girl. Suck daddy’s cock.”

He looks down at you. His eyes are dark. Especially the injured one. It’s always dark, but this time it’s even darker. You try to keep eye contact with him. It’s just too tough to do so. You’re trying to breathe and trying not to choke. The way you tremble under his gaze makes Nanami throb in your mouth.

His hips begin to snap as he fucks himself down your throat. You sputter and cough as you do everything you can to adjust to this rough sex. Your eyes are almost pleading for him to slow down, but you know you want to make your husband feel so loved.

Finally he pulls out and he uses the tip to tap your lips. He smears saliva and precum all over your face. Kento smirks at the mess of your mouth and face. He then releases you.

“I can see you’re still devoted to me.”

He helps you onto the bed, spreading your legs. His hands linger on your thighs, feeling the soft nylon of your thigh-highs. He leans in to kiss you hungrily, reveling in the way you taste of his cock and his precum. It’s so intoxicating to taste himself on your lips. He’s the only man you’ll ever treasure forever.

“You can be a good girl, huh?”

You nod your head eagerly. “Y-yes daddy.”

He smirks when he hears that word coming from you now. Kento leans in to kiss you hungrily again. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, penetrating your lips. You two make out for a few minutes. He loves the way your hips buck up to meet his.

Then his lips trail down your chin, down your jaw and to your neck. You cry out when he nips at your neck. He sucks on the skin for a few seconds, leaving a dark red mark. He then licks the mark, making you shiver.

“You’re mine,” he says as he slams his lips against yours. “Mine.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as he kisses a trail down from your neck to your breasts. He licks softly at one of your nipples. Then he kisses the other. You sigh happily as he’s becoming a bit more soft with you. Then he bites down on your breast, making you gasp and whine.

“K-Ken…”

He looks up at you with sheer possessiveness in his eyes. He bites down a little harder, almost drawing blood. Then he begins to lavish your breasts in kisses, praising you for being so good to him.

“My angel…oh my angel.”

Then he spreads your thighs. Kento gets on his stomach and begins to lap at you like you are the only thing he ever wants to taste for the rest of his life. The moans and whimpers that are ripped from your mouth as he suckles and licks your clit are downright pathetic. You’re shuddering and thighs are clenching as he works you fast to the most earth shattering orgasm.

“Cumming! Cumming!”

He doesn’t need to hear more. You could easily suffocate him between your thighs and he’d die a happy man. Kento loves being able to make you cum so hard you nearly pass out. He looks up at you, loving the way your eyes are so rolled back he can only see the whites of your eyes.

Your release is intense. You desperately try to breathe, but all the air feels like it’s being knocked out of your lungs. Kento’s name is on your lips as your thighs clench and your cunt pulses around nothing. Nanami plunges his tongue into your hole; he’s eager to taste your nectar.

With you trembling and whimpering, he knows you’re ready for the next part. He grasps his cock, slapping your clit with it.

“Tell me,” Kento’s voice is deep. “Tell me who you fucking belong to. Who does this pussy belong to?”

You whine as you feel the tip of his cock slapping against your swollen clit. “I belong to you!”

He grips both your breasts, making you whine as his fingers dig into the previous bite mark. He loves hearing you whine just for him. It’s one of the sexiest sounds he’s ever heard. Kento dips down to suckle on your nipples, going from one to the other.

“I think I need to fuck a baby into you. Then you’ll stay for sure.”

The words make your stomach do flips. You know he’s been talking about this a lot since the two of you have rekindled your intimacy since the incident. Kento growls as he continues to suck on your nipples.

“Imagine how full your tits will be. You’ll let daddy suck on them, yeah? Save a little milk just for me?”

You look down at him and you notice how his expression has changed. His eyes are softer as he suckles on your nipples. You caress his face, making him whimper softly.

“Wanna get you knocked up.”

This is when he changes his expression once more. It’s dark and needy once more. Demanding and possessive. He spreads your legs, spitting on your already soaked cunt and shoves his cock into you. You gasp and try to reach for him, but Kento decides to intertwine your fingers together as he snaps his hips.

“I love you,” he growls in your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Make you a mommy,”

Your legs wrap around him, pulling him even deeper. With every thrust, he’s pushed even closer to the edge. He has to rest himself on your chest to try and ground himself. The fluttering and pulsing of your walls is proving to be almost too overwhelming. Every breath is shaky as he tries to desperately stabilize himself.

“G-gonna fucking cum inside you. Let daddy cum inside you.”

Another moan is ripped from you as Kento releases your hands and he grabs onto your hips. He slams himself into you harder, deeper and faster. Sweat slicks your skin, leaving a sheen on his marblesque body. You’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as him, even with his scars. 

“Cum inside me,”

Your words surprise him, but they please him. He brings one of his hands to your face, his thumb sliding into your mouth. You suck on it eagerly, making him throb and twitch inside you. Then he slides his hand back down to between your thighs, rubbing your clit.

“Cum with me. Please, cum with me!”

It takes so little effort for him to send you careening over the edge. A loud moan erupts from your lips, and the pulsing of your silky walls pushes Kento into his own release. He whines loudly with every sticky thrust that sends his cum even deeper inside of you.

And then everything comes down slowly. Kento slumps against you, and you’re quick to begin playing with his hair and gently rubbing his back. He sighs happily and then he looks up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Shhh…don’t think about it just right now. We can deal with this together in the morning, okay?”

Kento smiles, “I’m going to make an appointment with my therapist tomorrow,”

You kiss his forehead, proud of him for overcoming something like that. Though you wonder…you really did enjoy him being possessive with you like that.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Death Breath! Hey! Wait up!”

Nico bolts. He makes it about ten feet away from his cabin door before Will and his stupid long legs catch up with him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and then immediately tripping over his own foot and sending them both sprawling.

“I hate you,” Nico groans, curling up on the grass.

It’s too early for any of this. He was just trying to get back at Cecil for covering everything he owned in aluminum foil last week — and then he was going to go right the hell back to bed.

He knew he should have fucking shadow travelled.

“Aw, c’mon. You love me.”

Nico pretends to gag. The only thing he gets is Will’s crossed arms and raised eyebrow, so he doubles down and really starts to retch. Whatever. It’s eight thirty in the morning. He fell asleep at five. Rational thinking is a distant, distant memory.

“Whenever you’re done.”

“I will be sick at the thought for the next eight weeks,” Nico informs him. For dramatic effect, he looks up at Will’s face — which he cant even see, since the sun’s in his eyes — and shudders.

“You know, you have a genuine, beautiful talent for the dramatic arts, the likes of which I have never seen. Are you sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”

I better not be, ‘cause then all the staring I do at your calves would be real weird, he thinks to himself, then considers whether he can convince Kayla to give him a lobotomy. He thinks she might like the opportunity.

“Piss off,” he says instead of that, artfully schooling his face into the aristocratic mask he’s perfected from his father, squaring his shoulders and looking at Will like he’s a pebble lodged in the flesh of his heel.

Will rolls his eyes. “Get up, Sharpay Evans. You’re gonna stain your shirt worse than you already have.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “My shirt is perfectly fine, thank you very much. I order them in black for a reason.”

He notices a giant grass stain on the side when he stands. He ignores it. Will does not.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the Goth King.”

“Ghost King.”

“Right, right. That helps your case.”

Nico shoves him, fighting back a grin. “Whatever, Solace. What are you bothering me for?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Nico is a deeply cheesy person. Down to the core of him, past all the sarcasm and prickliness and trauma, or whatever, he’s made of fucking mozzarella, because what business does he have comparing Will’s eyes to the morning winter sky? Huh? That’s embarrassing. It isn’t even original. If Nico caught anyone saying shit like that out loud in real life, he’s collapse into the shadows from embarrassment. He needs electroshock therapy.

“I was thinking —”

“Rare,” Nico quips, just to watch Will’s eyebrow twitch. It does. Nico smiles.

“I was thinking,” he repeats, mocking glare in Nico’s direction, “that you and me go to the city this afternoon.”

“You chased me across camp for that?”

“Oh, please, Zombie Face. I chased you maybe twenty yards.”

“I think all that time sniffing rubbing alcohol has deteriorated your brain.”

“I think I’m going to shove you in the lake.”

“Feel free to try. You will not wake up the next morning.”

“Nah.” Will shoots him a smug smile. Nico trips over air. “I can be as annoying as I want and you still won’t kill me. I have impunity.”

Nico rolls his eyes, refusing to dignify that with an answer. The less he acknowledges his own shame, the more likely it will go away on its own. Probably.

“Anyways. Guess what Cecil told me today.”

“His last will and testament?” Nico guesses, suddenly remembering his reason for being up this early.

“No, no, not that.” Will pauses. “Well, I mean, he did. I passed it on to Chiron. He has requested that when you maul him, you avoid his face, because he wants to be a sexy corpse and he can’t do that if you destroy his prettiest features.”

“Noted. Please inform him I will come for him within a window of the next fifteen hours.”

Theres a very particular face Will makes when he finds something genuinely funny. A smile a little more crooked than his regular one, teeth working at his bottom lip to hold it back, left dimple appearing in his cheek. It makes Nico want to do stupid things like press his thumb into said divot. He instead shoves his hands deeply into his pockets.

“I’ll let him know.” He clears his throat. “Anyways. You know what day it is today?”

Nico squints. “Tues…day? No, Wednesday.” He glances at Will. It’s been maybe….three days since their weekly sleepover? No, fuck, four. He thinks. “Thursday. Final answer.”

“Monday,” Will corrects, “and, gods, you need to sleep more. And a calendar. But no, that’s not my point.”

“Feel free to get to it.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Will finally explains. He tries for exasperated, but it doesn’t work — he’s clearly excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waving his hands. “And The Five Seasons is doing half off for couples, so you and I need to go!”

He waves his hands, as if tying off some grand reveal. His (blue blue blue blue) eyes are squeezed nearly shut by the force of his beam, which lessons slightly with every second Nico does not respond.

“William,” he says finally. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “William.”

Will pouts. “What?”

“Explain how this is relevant to me, William.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nico! Don’t be difficult!”

“William,” stresses Nico again. “We are not a couple. Did you hit your head again?”

“Well, duh, Neeks, it’s about the scam!” He flaps his hand in a way Nico assumes is meant to convey something. “We’re gonna — eat! Cheap! By pretending to be a couple!” Now both hands are flopping, paired with wide, imploring eyes. “Obviously!”

“Obviously,” Nico repeats, slowly. He instructs one half of his brain to keep its focus on not melting into a puddle of blushing embarrassed goo, and the other to exercise restraint and not strangle the boy in front of him. A headache begins to press behind his eyes. “Will, what the shit.”

“You of all people!” Will throws his hands up. “You love scamming people! You hate corporate holidays! You frequently throw pebbles at people who look, and I quote, too obnoxiously happy! You’re the best hater I know! You should be on board!”

He makes a compelling point. Not that Nico is going to make that easy for him.

“You seem very invested in this,” Nico points out. He manages to keep his voice tastefully judgmental, which he’s very proud of.

“Of course I am! I want cheap Five Seasons food, godsdammit!” He pauses, switching tactics. “Nico,” he says softly. He puts a gently hand on Nico’s forearm, making him freeze. He is suddenly very, very close, and wow, did his hair always frame his face in gentle waves? Has that always been a thing? “I really, really want to scam a restaurant with you.” He smiles, small and crooked and gods, Will doesn’t look dangerous very often, but holy Hades when he does — “Will you make my Valentines, and scam a restaurant with me?”

His fingers begin to trace little circles in the inside of Nico’s wrist.

“Yes,” he squeaks, voice cracking.

“Yes!” Will cheers, pulling his fist. “Yes, hell yes, Nico! We are going to scam the shit out of this restaurant! Half off for couples? How about half off for heathens! Free money, baby! Fuck yeah!”

He turns back towards Nico, smile still wide and radiant, blinking eyes pools of sparkling excitement. Nico’s knees go a little weak. “I’ll come get you at 2! Thank you, Neeks!”

He runs off back to his cabin, only tripping twice. Nico watches him go, feeling a little like he’s tripping, too, with all the swooping his stomach is doing.

“Dude,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head. “Be normal. Christo.”

It takes him ten straight minutes to get back to his cabin, even though he’s standing at the porch.

———

The obsidian handle of the Hades’ cabin door rattles.

“Neeks!” calls a voice behind the door, “you ready to go?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Nico scrambles over to the mirror and stares at himself. He turns a little to the left. He scowls. “Shit!” Tugging the shirt off, he turns back to his closet, tossing the piece of clothing to join the rest of its brethren on the floor. “Shitfuck. Fuckshit. Shit.”

“Nico!”

“Coming!”

Tapping his foot rapidly, he looks harder, as if that will magically make the right shirt pop into existence, perfectly pressed, on a hanger. “Shit.”

“What could possibly be taking so long? You’ve had two hours!”

“I care about my appearance, Mr Flip Flops and Scrubs!”

“Bleh bleh! Hurry up!”

Nico bites his lip. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t, really. Five Seasons is not actually a fancy restaurant. He and Will just like to joke that it is, because it has tablecloths. They’ve gone there dozens of times before; they stop every time they’re in the city for supply runs or visits to Olympus or to harass their summer-only friends at school. There is literally no reason for Nico to be stressing about what stupid shirt he should wear. Gods know Will is wearing cargo shorts.

“Nico!”

“I’m coming!“

Scowling, he digs through the pile of discarded clothes until he finds the first shirt he’d put on — a dark green button up that was given to him, along with a bunch of other fancy clothes he never wears, by the Aphrodite cabin. He hastily shoves their buttons through their holes, cursing when he mixes them up and has to start over, and sprints over to the mirror to inspect himself.

The shirt looks good. It’s a little tight on the arms, which he suspects was on purpose, and the colour compliments his skin nicely. The buttons are a dark, shiny brown that match his eyes. They pair nice with his simple jeans and black vans, casual enough that he doesn’t look like he’s going to Prom, or anything stupid like that, but dressy enough that it looks like he put effort in. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make the staticky strands sit right, but gives up pretty quickly. It’s okay if one thing is a little messy, right?

“Finally,” huffs Will as the door swings open. He glances Nico up and down, then grins. “You look great.”

Nico was right. He is indeed wearing cargo shorts, although to his credit they are his one pair without various Head Medic stains. His sweater, too, is a pretty blue, V-necked, long-sleeved, and a completely different style than his shorts. It clashes horribly. His shoes are, for some reason, bright solid pink. Nico suspects Hecate magic. His hair is braided in two French braids, his favourite way to wear it. Nico believes he is also wearing a touch of sparkly eyeshadow.

“You look dorky.”

Will grins wider. “Thank you! I wouldn’t let anyone help me choose something.”

“You should have.”

“I wanted it to be authentic, Nico. Also, got something for you.” From behind his back, he pulls out a handful of daisies, black dirt clinging to their roots, like he plucked them straight from the ground. Nico is inexplicably endeared by the image, and prays the smile on his face is less soft than he knows it is.

“You got me flowers?”

“Well, duh, Avril Lavigne. We gotta sell the scam.”

Nico brings them close to his face and inhales deeply. They smell fresh and earthy and sweet.

“That’s a stupid reason to bring someone flowers.”

“Give them back, then.”

“No. Fuck off. They’re mine.”

Will’s eyes twinkle. “Okay.” He holds out his arm. “Ready to go?”

The jump is close enough that Nico can convince him to shadow travel, and not just because he sadistically looks forward to the shade of green Will’s face will get after. As dangerous as he knows it can be, he misses it, sometimes. There’s something comforting about it, something soothing and familiar. Shadow travelling to the restaurant eases any lingering nerves.

“If you’re gonna throw up, do it somewhere I can’t hear you,” he says as they materialize in an alley.

Will’s cheeks puff out. “I’m gonna do it on your fuckin’ shoes.”

“I will leave your ass here, Solace, I swear to the gods.” Despite his grumbling, he rests a cool hand on the back of Will’s neck until he’s recovered. “Good?”

“Yeah.” He straightens, dusting off his sweater. “Let’s go.”

Nico follows him down the alley and onto the street, elbowing past the crowd of pedestrians until they approach the familiar glass doors. He rolls his eyes fondly every time Will apologizes to someone.

“You need to be meaner.”

Will sticks his tongue out and tries to trip him. Unfortunately, he only manages to throw himself off balance, nearly crashing to the floor of Nico hadn’t caught him.

“Good gods, Solace.”

“That was your fault!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The doors of the restaurant are absolutely plastered in cheesy red hearts and bows and cartoon kisses. And, as promised, a giant sign promising couples a fifty percent discount on their meals.

“My love,” says Will dramatically, holding out a hand, “shall we?”

Nico sighs, resting his hand delicately in Will’s. It sparks with electricity, like it always does. “I suppose.”

“Party pooper.”

“I’m not hearing oh, Nico, thank you so much for doing this incredibly stupid thing with me, you are my dearest friend and I owe you one. Or three, for some reason.”

Will’s mouth twitches. “Oh, Nico, thank you so much for —”

Nico shoves him, laughing. “Shut up.”

They’re seated pretty quickly, server smiling when they take notice of their clasped hands. Will orders chicken tenders, like he does every single time without fail, and water. Nico orders from the adult menu and absolutely does not make any kind of show about it.

“There is nothing babyish about chicken tendies.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Is this about you having a credit card? That does not make you more adult than me. It makes you a nepo baby.”

“Mhm. Sure thing.”

“Nobody likes a nepo baby, Nico.”

“Look, I think your drink comes with a complimentary sippy cup.”

Teasing and joking with Will is so easy that Nico forgets the core of their mission. The pink garlands hanging from the ceiling fade into the background — he’s too busy crying with laughter when Will nearly chokes to death on a french fry, too busy flicking a forkful of food at his shoulder just to make him shriek, too busy kicking his shin under the table. He catches Nico’s foot between his the fourth time he tries it, keeping it trapped for the rest of the meal. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“And your bill,” says their server when they’re done, setting down a slip of paper. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but do you two qualify for today’s discount?”

Will smirks widely. “We do,” he says, with no small amount of pleasure. He shoots Nico the least subtle wink of all time. Nico rolls his eyes, cheeks going a little pink.

“Great! You guys have a wonderful Valentine’s day.”

“You, too.”

The server hurries away, turning to their other tables. Will’s smile is wide and smug.

“I knew it would work.”

“Duh. Easiest scam in the world, Solace.”

He sticks his tongue out. “And thus the best payout. You’re welcome.”

“Blah, blah. Gimme the bill.”

“Um, no way, di Angelo. I’m paying.”

He opens his wallet before Nico can stop him, mouthing as he counts the bills.

“What? No! I’m paying.”

“Are not.”

“Am too!”

“Are not.” He sets down a couple twenties. Nico snatches them right back up. “You we’re just complaining about my credit card!”

“Exactly. Thus my need to continue to pretend you don’t have one, so we can continue our friendship.”

“Solace, I swear to the gods.”

“di Angelo, I swear to the gods.”

Nico stares him down. Will stares back. He doesn’t even try to hide his lazy grin, his laughing eyes.

“You’re not paying for this by yourself,” Nico says firmly. “You don’t have a job. My father invented being rich.”

“Sure, but I made you come with me.”

“Ugh!” Nico throws his hands up, imagining how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around that long neck (followed by his teeth and his tongue and his —). “Why are you impossible? I would’ve gone with you no matter what, stupid!”

As soon as he says it he wants to stick his head in wet cement. For a brief second, something like surprise flits across Will’s face, before he schools it back into his teasing smirk.

“Well, obviously, Death Breath. I’m excellent company.”

“You’re literally the most annoying person I know.”

“And yet here you are, hanging out with me, of your own volition.”

“…I’m paying next time.”

Will grins. “Whatever you say.”

They walk around the city for a while before heading back to camp. Will says it’s because he needs the air, Nico knows it’s because he wants him to rest a little longer before trying to shadow travel again. He tries not to let himself get all melty inside.

(Nobody willingly hangs out around the city for the ‘air’. He’s a shit liar. Nico should be offended.)

It’s nearing curfew by the time they melt back out from behind Thalia’s tree, extra shadows of early evening making the trip easier.

“Those fries are going to make a reappearance,” Will grimaces.

“Not if you don’t want me to kick you in the face.”

“You’d never.”

He would indeed never. But he would rather pass away than admit it, so.

“C’mon, dot face. It’s getting late. You have a cabin to run.”

“Oh, Nico,” Will says in a breathy falsetto, “are you walkin’ me to my cabin? How chivalrous!”

“Nevermind.”

“No no no no no I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Nico allows himself to be tugged, weak to Will’s giggles. “Walk me to my cabin. C’mon.”

Sighing, as if he’s so put out, Nico does. Some point in between Thalia’s tree and the amphitheater, Will’s hand slides down from around his wrist to tangled in between his fingers. Coincidentally, his mouth goes dry.

As they approach the Apollo cabin, Will slows to a stop.

“Hey.” He squeezes their fingers together, smile soft in the dying light of dawn. “I had fun today. Thank you for coming with me.”

Nico swallows. One day, those words will be said in a different context, if everything goes well for Nico, and he’s not sure how the hell he’s going to handle it without bursting into flame. “Yeah, well. Anything to scam a restaurant.”

“Right.”

They walk the last few steps to the cabin, rickety porch steps creaking under their feet as they approach the open door. Will doesn’t let go.

“Hey, Nico.”

“…Yeah?”

Quick as a flash, Will leans in and presses the softest of kisses to his mouth. The noise Nico makes is practically punched out of his lungs, spine going rigid in surprise.

“You can pay for our next date, okay?”

He’s gone before Nico can respond, ducking into his cabin with a small smile and closing the door behind him. Nico stands there, like an idiot, for three solid minutes at the very least, distantly aware of the giggles coming through the open window.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing his bottom lip.

“The little fucker set me up.”

Valentine’s day scam. Please. The only scam today was the scam of Will’s sneaky asking.

Nico smiles.

“You’re a mess, Solace!” he shouts, knowing damn well Will is listening.

He’s right. “Goodnight, Nico!”

Shaking his head, Nico runs back to his cabin, entire body tingling and cheeks aching with his grin.

[acourtofmoonlightandstars]

Find me - Chapter 1

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: At a ball you meet the one person you thought you would never see again, you left him once. Will you leave him again?

Word count: Currently no idea

Warnings: Some sugestiveness, angst and minor details of Azriels work as a spymaster.

Note: So this is loosely based on a dream I once had, it was heartbreaking so I thought I might as well use writing as therapy

Chapter 2

The ballroom was huge and the light flickering from the crystal chandeliers that hung above your head made all jewels, sequin and glitter reflect the light. It was a beautiful sight.

You walked through the crowd of people, looking for no one in particular. You had no idea how or when you’d gotten here, you weren’t even quite sure who had invited you. Usually you stayed within the borders of your own court. But it seemed that you’d made an exception for once.

Everyone seemed somewhat familiar. You smiled at the friends who laughed around the tables filled with food as they filled each other goblets with fairy wine, at the couples who snuck away to find somewhere a little more secluded to steal a minute or two and at those who filled the room with laughter that echoed through the room.

As a waiter walked past you, you grabbed a flute of champagne from his tray. You sipped at the bubbly drink as you scanned the room once more, hoping to see at least one person you recognized. And then you spotted him.

He was beautiful in his black suit, it was such a stark contrast from his usual leathers and blue siphons. His wings were tucked close to him, almost as if he was afraid to take up space. His hair was combed back, revealing his forehead and the slight wrinkle he had between his brows. Your breath hitched, and you suddenly wished you were able to turn invisible at will.

You wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and ruffle his hair, once again revealing his somewhat loose curls that you’d once loved to run your fingers through in the late hours of the night. You wanted nothing more than to once again kiss his lips, to taste him.

But you had left him, that much you knew. But you just couldn’t remember why.

His shadows pooled around his feet, and indicated the constant stream of information that was always available to the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. You felt something cold around your ankle, and as you hiked up your skirt you saw the little rouge shadow that had slipped past its master. It almost looked like a puppy happy to be reunited with its owner as it twirled around you.

You giggled, which only seemed to amuse it even more.

In the hope that you could turn it away before he noticed its absence, you looked towards where he had been mere seconds before, and your eyes met his right away. The eyes you had once loved to stare into for hours at the time, the hazel pools of a man you once knew, seemed sad all of the sudden.

It was an emotion that seemed so out of character for him, and you felt your heart breaking a little at the sight of it, especially knowing that you were most likely the cause of the sadness and the purple shadows that hung underneath his eyes.

Azriel furrowed his brows at the rouge shadow as he no undoubtedly tried calling it back to him. But it seemed like it refused to listen to his quiet command. He walked towards you with a confidence that would make lesser males crumble in his presence.

You felt the blush creeping up your neck before it settled in your cheeks.

“Excuse me” he almost whispered, as he went out of his way to not meet your eyes. He bent down and physically yanked the shadow from you. You could’ve sworn it looked almost sad to leave you behind.

He stood up, and quickly turned away from you, almost fleeing. You don’t know what came over you but you grabbed his wrist and saw him stiffen as your skin came into contact with his.

“Y/N… Please, dont” it was an almost silent plea, one who broke your heart, but there was no way you were letting him walk away from you.

You pulled him towards you, forcing him to face you. He had a pained expression on his face and his eyes were closed. Despite of that you still send a small smile his way. Your other hand found his other wrist and you slowly pulled his arms around your waist.

He reacted instantly and despite not even noticing, he pulled you closer to him. “I’m so sorry” You whispered as you raised your hand to his cold cheek. He leaned into your touch as he finally looked at you, a single tear escaping his eyes. Your thumb quickly whisked it away before anyone had a chance to notice it.

The shadows swirled around the two of you desperate to give you some privacy, and even his wings seemed to be shielding the two of you from wandering eyes.

“I don’t know why I left you, I won't ever leave you again, please just give me another chance” you whispered, your voice threatened to crack, as his eyes searched your face for any sign of a deception, any sign of what you were saying, was nothing more than a lie.

“Don’t say things you might regret…”

You shook your head and sent a small smile his way, it was filled with regret and sadness. “It’s always been you and I’m here now and I promise it won't ever happen again”

But were you able to promise him that? You still couldn’t remember why or how you had left him behind, it was like a distant memory that was locked away, one you couldn’t access.

He pulled you from the ground and you couldn’t help the giggle when he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. Desperate for your scent, desperate to feel your heartbeat against his own. “You better mean it” he whispered against your exposed skin.

You pulled at his hair, ruining it even though he had most likely done his best to bend his curls to his will for the event tonight. But you didn’t care, you always liked him better with his bed head anyways.

He kissed his way from that sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder, he nibbled at your ear and kissed you from there, down your cheekbones until his lips hovered over your own. And in a blink of an eye he stole your shallow breaths from your mouth with his own. He ate every whimper and small moan, as if they all belonged to him and him alone, as if it would be the crime of the century if any other male heard it.

“You do know you’re in a public place right? Everyone can see you” the voice was teasing, but in no way cruel. Without letting you down Azriel turned towards the other winged male that now stood in front of the two of you.

Azriel laughed, and his brother realized he hadn’t heard that sound in months.

“I apologize Cass” and he felt you stiffen in his arms, and sent you a reassuring smile, before once again returning you to the ground. He was here, the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian. But of course he was, they would all most likely be here.

“It’s all good. But Nesta is gonna hate that she skipped this ball tonight, she would’ve loved to see you take a female in front of all these fancy fae”

This time it was your time to laugh, and you flet how your muscles relaxed at his way of addressing the elephant in the room. Azriel couldn’t help but to pull you closer to his side, lips kissing the top of your head.

“So you must be the one who broke my brother's heart” Cassian said as he crossed his arms, to anyone beside you and Azriel, he would look angry, almost disappointed in the way he stood before you. But all you could see was the happiness he held for his brother.

Cassian sent you a small smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t judge, my own mate was indecisive as well”

You couldn’t help but almost wince at his words. It wasn’t that you were indecisive, or at least you didn’t think that was it…

“It’s okay. It all worked out in the end” Azriel said.

The night went on and his hand never left your hip, he pulled you as close to him as he could whenever he felt a male came too close to you. You adored his possessiveness. Now you just needed to feel like you’d earned it.

The two of you spent almost every day together after the ball. It didn’t take him long to introduce you to the rest of his family. The inner circle of the Night Court.

Your father had told you the stories of both their power and their beauty, but despite all the stories, they were kind, welcoming and warm. You felt right at home.

At no point did you regret making contact with him the night of the ball. In fact you could feel yourself falling in love with Azriel, a little more every day.

He adored you, and he spared no expenses in showing you exactly how much you meant to him. Everytime he came home from a mission, he would bring you flowers from the given court. He would either make you homemade meals, or take you out to eat at the most beautiful restaurants in the city.

He would take you on flights over Valaris, on walks near the Sidra or just down to the nearest cafe or bakery to pick up something sweet or warm whenever you felt a little down. Apart from that he spoiled you rotten with gifts, to such a degree you almost had more diamonds than Amren.

You were however your happiest whenever you woke up to him by your side, and nothing beat the beauty that was his eyes as they reflected the morning sun. They were like liquid gold. He was beautiful, and sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a dream.

As time went on he opened more and more up to you. He told you about his life, both the good and the bad. About his childhood, who he had become after Rhys and Cassian had found him. He told you about his role in the court as both shadowsinger and spymaster, and how he had days where he loathed who he was and what he had done, and others where he celebrated the screams he carved from the lungs of his prisoners.

And despite his fears you didn’t flee or coward when he reached out for you. You had instead held him, and whispered sweet nothing in his ear, confirming that you loved him despite all he had gone through, and that you loved him because of who he was. He had cried in your arms at your words.

You saw him, all of him and you loved both the good and the bad.

At no point had you ever expected to be with a man of his profession, but here you were. The people of Valaris were quick to catch on. They always greeted the two of you, they helped you with picking his gifts and selecting his favorite sweets at the bakery he loved to visit each sunday morning.

The fact that you got to be his in Valaris of all places, was more than enough. Being out and public to all fae, to all courts, would only paint a target on your back. One that he feared would take you from him too soon, whereas you feared that you would be used against him. You had no interest in ever letting it come to that.

After All you wanted nothing more than to protect him, to keep him safe, and he felt the same. He had given you one of his shadows, the rouge that had left his side that night of the ball. After all it seemed like it liked you more than him anyways, but this way he would know if you were ever in any kind of danger.

Nesta had told him it was a little much, especially since the two of you were basically joined at the hip, it was rare that you saw one of you without the other. You were one soul separated into two people. It was clear for all to see.

The inner circle had quickly started making bets on just when the bond would snap for the two of you. And despite the fact that you always rolled your eyes when they began speculating, you couldn’t help but hope that they were right.

Your brother had his mate, and so did Azriels brothers. It would only be right if the two of you had one too right? And if so why wouldn’t the Cauldron grant you eachother? With every fiber of your being you hoped that he was yours and that you were his.

One morning you stood in the courtyard at the house of wind as the sun was slowly rising from its usual hiding place beneath the horizon. Azriel was circling you, wearing nothing but his boots and leather pants.

The look of his tattoos and his muscles were now covered with sweat that was glistening in the morning sun, was enough for you to skip practice and go back to bed with him. You wanted nothing more than to be entangled in him and his scent.

The sun that shone through the fine membrane of his wings made him look like a god of death and war. What a sight to see. He sent you a dazzling smirk as he saw the pure lust and adoration in your eyes. He most likely smelled it on you as well.

You smirked back and sent him a little wave. But it wasn't enough for him to lose focus on his task at hand. It rarely was.

“You look so beautiful angel,” he said. Despite what you might’ve thought he couldn’t help but adore you in the morning light either. He was mere seconds away from abandoning his workout only to throw you over your shoulder and have his way with you. Where that would be, he didn’t care. You chuckled. It was his favorite sound in the entire world, and he hoped that he would always be the one to make you laugh.

And then you felt it. It was as if the world shifted on its axis, it was like it had been so many months ago. It was the same feeling you had the first time you had left him. And as the memories came rushing back to you, you paled.

As your smile dropped and your eyes became distant, almost as if a fog now hid them from the world. “Y/N…?” You heard his fear and desperation as he said your name.

“Promise me you’ll find me, promise me” It was all you could say, you struggled with getting the words out as you felt yourself drifting from this reality. You saw him spring towards you, his wings giving him momentum.

And then everything went dark.

When you woke up the darkness was still surrounding you. You laid there with your eyes closed for a few minutes as you tried to recall his features, his name, where you had been. But there was nothing, nothing except an ache in that place that usually held your heart.

All you remembered was the feeling of running your hands through his hair, how his lips sent electricity down your spine as he kissed that sweet spot right beneath your ear, whenever he snuck up behind you. You remember his rough hands, and a feeling of something cold that you couldn’t quite place. Everything else was a blur.

As you opened your eyes you looked towards the small clock that stood on your bedside table. 06:45. You had to get up soon, but the mere thought of leaving your bed made your head spin. It felt like you had lost something precious, it felt like you had lost your heart, and in its stead there was now only a black hole filled with nothing but emptiness and pain.

You had no idea how to start your day, it felt like you should stay right here, stay at home and mourn the loss of him.

Maybe he remembers, maybe he will be able to find me. You thought as you tried soothing the emptiness in your chest by rubbing the palm of your hand over where it ached.

But how could he? He was after all only a figment of your imagination, he was after all only a character in your dream. But he felt real, and you could nothing but hope that someone, someday would ever love you as unconditionally as he had.

At the other end of Prythian, Azriel Shadowsinger, Spymaster of the Night Court, had woken with such pain in his chest that he for a second had been convinced he had been stabbed in his sleep. And as his dream, no his memories of you, flooded his senses he knew what he needed to do.

You had to be real, he needed you to be real. So he sent out his shadows in search of the one person who now held his heart, the one person he would never stop looking for, you, his mate.

I promise you angle, I will find you

note: aaaaah this is my first ever acotar fic! don't be afraid to leave feedback, I would very much appreciate it! I feel like a part two would be absolutely amazing, but maybe I'll just do it as a stand alone since it's kind of heartbreaking. But we'll see!

[millersgirl80]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby (Part 2) 18+

Pairing: Dbf!joelxf!reader

Word count: 1.6k or so

Warnings: unprotected p in v (Joel pull out game strong af, keep it wrapped)

Summary: Joel goes on a date…

Notes: Sorry this took so long. I promise it'll get better! 😫🫣

Previous Part Here, part three here

I leaned against the kitchen counter, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air, when my dad comes downstairs on the phone.

“Just a girl from work. Trust me, you’ll like her. She’s cute and fun. Just hired at the office. Don’t be late!” Dad laughs before hanging up the phone. “Playing matchmaker?” I smile grabbing the coffee pot pouring my cup full. “Something like that, just sat Lisa and Joel up on a date.” I spilt the hot coffee on my hand as those words left my dads mouth. “Thought Joel didn’t date?” I say cleaning the mess up. “Yea, so he says. Maybe this will help him out” dad shrugs.

After sitting in my room after what felt like hours, I got a shower and got dressed heading downtown for some much needed shopping therapy. I went to a couple stores getting some new outfits for the coming fall. After shopping I headed to the diner to meet my friend hanna for some lunch. “So after you fucked, he just left?” He summarizes my experience with Joel. “Pretty much, he’s usually at the house everyday. It’s been a week and dad’s been going over there.” “He sounds like a dick.”

“I just don’t get it, Hannah. One minute he’s all over me, and the next it’s like I don’t even exist.” I say poking at my salad. “Maybe he freaked out?” She sighed. “Maybe” I look down at my untouched salad “It just feels so awkward now. I keep wondering what I did wrong.” I slide my plate off to the side. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong, well, I’m not saying sleeping with your dad’s best friend is right, but if this is what you want. Then go for it!” She smiles. “Go talk to him!”

“I would but he getting ready for a date tonight” I roll my eyes. “I’m just gonna go home and rot in bed with ice cream and watch friends” I huff paying for my food getting up. “Count me in!” Hanna quickly follows.

Joels pov

Joel!” Mike shouted across the diner, waving like a maniac. I sighed, dragging my feet toward him. The place was crowded, the sound of forks clinking and laughter filling the air. I spotted her before I reached the table—a girl with dark curls and bright blue eyes. She was smiling, I straighten up a bit.

“Hey, this is my buddy Joel,” Mike said, gesturing to me like I was an award-winning trophy.

“Hi, I’m Lisa!” she exclaimed, standing and extending her hand. I took it, feeling the warmth of her palm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah? All good things, I hope.” Mike winks to me and walks off. I chuckled awkwardly and slid into the booth across from her.

“Mostly,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m sure you have a lot of secrets.”

I shrugged, trying to keep my expression light. “Nothing too scandalous.”

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, what do you do for fun?”

“I mostly just hang out,” I replied, “You know, work and the occasional barbecue.” I shrug “Just hang out”

“Barbecue, huh? I bet you make a mean brisket.” She smiled, and I felt a flicker of something in my chest. It was nice to be here, but the thought of Darlin’ crept back in, making my stomach twist, like it has been for a week.

“What about you?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. “What do you do for fun?”

“I love hiking and photography. I actually went to Big Bend last month. The stars out there are incredible.” She sighed dreamily. “I took a bunch of pictures. You should see them.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, forcing a smile. The longer we talked, the more I felt the weight of my situation. Darlin’ was always there, a shadow in my thoughts.

“So, Joel, what’s your deal?” Lisa asked, her gaze catching me off guard.

I cleared my throat, trying to focus. “I work in construction. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.”

“Construction? That’s cool! Do you enjoy it?” she asked, leaning forward, her interest piqued.

“Yeah, I like working with my hands. It’s satisfying seeing something come together.” “built the gazebo down at the park. The one with the flowers?”

“You built that?” Lisa exclaimed. “That’s amazing!”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to let the compliment go to my head.

As the night wore on, I tried to focus on Lisa, but every time I would focus on her. I'd find myself thinking about darlin bent over the counter in her kitchen. I was reminded of the invisible thread connecting us. After we finished our dinner we exchanged numbers and headed to our vehicles. “Do you wanna come back to my house with me?” I turned and asked Lisa “sure. Lead the way.” Lisa smiled out of her window. The drive to my house was quick, considering I was arguing with myself about whether I should do this or not.

When we arrived at my house, we raced to the door, I tumbled through the door, Lisa’s lips locked in on mine. Her hands expertly unbuttoned my shirt, as her fingers tracing the contours of my chest. My breath quickened as I undressed her, my hands shaking slightly as I revealed her soft curves.

I guided Lisa towards the bedroom, our lips never parting. I kicked my door shut, as I backed her up and laid her down on the bed, my eyes taking in her naked body, but I couldn’t stop the images of darling playing in my mind.

I positioned myself between her legs, taking a moment to try to get darlin out of my mind. "Fuck me, Joel," she whispered, wiggling her hips, her voice thick with desire.

I thrust into her, as Lisa moaned loudly, her nails digging into my back as she urged me on. The sound of our flesh slapping together filled the room, mingling with our loud groans. My guilt momentarily faded as i moved in and out of her body, my mind starts to betrayed me, flashing images again of darlings innocent face and soft moans. I thrust harder thinking of Lisa to push the thoughts away, but the forbidden fruit of my best friend's daughter was too tempting to ignore.

"Harder, Joel..I’m gonna cum!" Lisa cried out, her body bucking against mine.

I complied, pounding into her with renewed vigor, my own desire reaching a fever pitch. I felt her clench around me as she came. The sensation pushed me over the edge, and i pulled out finishing on her stomach, my body shaking with the force from my orgasm.

As my breathing slowed and returned to normal, I rolled onto my back, feeling a mix of satisfaction and guilt. Lisa snuggled up against me, her hand resting on my chest.

"That was incredible, Joel," she purred, her breath warm on my neck. "I can't wait to do that again."

I nodded, my mind already elsewhere. "Yeah, it was..."

She placed one last kiss to my cheek, before standing up and getting dressed. “I had a lot of fun tonight Joel. Call me anytime.” With a sweet smile, she walked out the door.

Darlins pov

After hearing about Joel's blind date with Lisa, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. A couple weeks has passed since I seen or heard from Joel. I made my way to Joel's house . My heart raced as I climbed the stairs, my mind filled with questions and a growing sense of anticipation.

I knocked on the door, my knuckles rapping against the wood with a rapid rhythm that mirrored my racing pulse.

Joel, unaware of the visitor behind the door, open the door with an urgency. His handsome face, slightly weathered by the years, fell at the sight of me. "What are you doing here darlin?" He stepped aside, inviting me into his house, looking out behind to make sure no one saw me go in.

I entered, my eyes scanning the familiar surroundings, I turned around to face Joel, almost bumping into his chest. "Joel, I need to talk to you," I said, my voice laced with a mix of anxiety and determination.

Joel walked past me and led me in to the living room. "What happened between us was a mistake it shouldn't have happened and it’s not going to happen again.” Joel says sitting on the couch.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered her courage. "I heard about your date with Lisa."

Joel's eyes fall from my face as shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Yea, Mike set us up." He tried to keep his voice steady, but the guilt was evident in his expression.

"W-was it…Did it go well?" My voice softening. "

Joel's heart sank as he heard the pain in my voice."Yes, I had an excellent time.” Joel huffed

My eyes welled up with tears, I held my emotions in check. "Oh," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Did you fuck her?" I asked bluntly, blinking the tears away. The words felt like knives, slicing through my heart, but I needed to know. “Thats none of your business darlin.”

“It is when you were inside me a few days ago,Joel.” I spt back at him. “How was it, was she better than me?” I asked. “Or was she just another body to you?”

Joel's face flushed, and he looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

"That’s great." My voice cracked, feeling my composure starting to crumble. "I uh… I should go, glad we could talk.” I quickly say, making my way back through the front door across the street to my car. Joel called after me a couple of times but I ignored him driving off.

I drove to Hanna's house, getting out of the car, and knocking on her door frantically. “He slept with her.” I walk past Hanna. “He, who?” Hanna ask rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Joel slept with Lisa!” I said plopping on her couch letting the tears fall.

“Oh you poor thing!” Hanna sits beside me rubbing my back. “What happened to me?” I asked wiping my tears away. “I use to be able to do this, sleep with someone and just act like nothing happened, but then I fuck Joel ONCE and I feel like I'm the clingy girlfriend!”

“Look at me, this situation is different, you've had your heart set on Joel as long as I could remember, maybe he does feel the same way and he just can't come to terms with it.” Hanna comforts me for a little bit longer until then tears fade away.

“I know what we need to do.” hanna smiles. “The day of the barbecue, come over and get ready here. We will go together!” she smiles.

I stay the night with Hanna not ready to go home or have the chance of seeing Joel again today. I often ask Hanna what she has in mind for the barbecue and she just responds with, “You'll see” and a smirk.