#idiot write

[actuel-idiot]

If Billy met Waylon Jones on a trip to Gotham he absolutely wouldn't think he was a monster. There are so many crocodiles talking to Fawcett.

He would be in Gotham when he heard people starting to scream around him. He goes to the nearest person to ask what's going on and it turns out that this charming gentleman crocodile is asking him why he's not afraid of his appearance.

Billy : Are you just a crocodile ? I know things are different in Gotham but this racism is ridiculous.

Waylon adores him and Billy talked Waylon into stopping by Fawcett for a visit. Discovering the culture Billy thinks he's been cut off from. Batman wonders why at the next meeting Captain Marvel is complaining about Gotham's racism towards non-humans.

[mischievous-thunder]

The morning after Althea had to spend yet another sleepless night because of the two freaks:

Meanwhile Logan:

P.S. Neither of the two idiots was drunk.

[ultravioletbrit]

“train” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 336 words

James has his arms around Regulus’ waist and he’s slowly kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, his nose.

“James.”

“Yes, love?”

More kisses.

“James.” Regulus says with a small laugh.

“Mmm hmm?” James doesn’t stop his kisses.

“James, I have to go, or the train will leave without me.” Regulus says, but makes no attempt to pull away.

“Good.”

“James.”

“Don’t go. I’m going to miss you too much.” James pouts.

“You want me to skip my last year because you’re going to miss me too much?” Regulus asks.

“Yes. I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.” James goes back to his kisses.

“James.” Regulus says one last time. James sighs and stops his kissing but doesn’t let go of Regulus’ waist. “We’re going to write all the time. I’m going to see you in Hogsmeade in two months. You’re going to come to all my matches–”

“I know. But it’s not the same.” James says in a sincere tone as he tucks a curl behind Regulus’ ear.

“I know. But it’s not going to be the same for me either. Without you there. In that big castle. So cold and drafty, and no one to keep me warm.” Regulus smirks.

“What are you doing to me?” James groans and drops his forehead on Regulus’ and Regulus chuckles.

“It’s not that long and it’s going to fly by.” Regulus tells him.

“Okay.” James says softly and loosens his grip. “I love you.” James leans down and kisses Regulus.

“I love you, too.” Regulus whispers.

Regulus turns and walks towards the train but just before he steps on, he turns and runs back to James, practically jumping into his arms. He wraps his arms around James’ neck and pulls him in for a more passionate kiss.

“And I’m going to miss you so much.” Regulus says against his lips, and he can feel James smiling.

“I’m going to miss you, too.” James tells him and kisses him one more time. “Now, go or the train will leave without you.”    

[diabeticgirl4]

it's such a quick subtle moment, but I really appreciated the teamwork of grog having percy land on him in their fall (+supporting him w his fist!) so he wouldn't have to slow down in his chase for ripley

[himbosandhardwear]

It's a stupid fucking scheme, and he never would've gone along with it if he was sober, but she really didn't give him much time to contemplate it, she just shoved him into the pantry and yelled for Eddie to come into the kitchen.

Now he's got his head pressed against the slats while Rob asks Eddie if he thinks Steve is cute. Like they're in the fifth grade.

“Uhh,” Eddie drawls, clearly confused and put on the spot.

“C'mon,” she coaxes, “you can tell me, gay to lesbian solidarity.”

That's terrible, using that to weasel the information out of him.

“I mean…sure, I guess he's alright,” Eddie admits. “He's not really my type though.”

Oh.

Well…that's…fine.

“Seriously?” Rob asks like she doesn't believe him. “You don't think he's hot?”

“I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers, but, yeah, seriously. Not my thing. He's too…I don't know, high maintenance or something. I like my guys a little more, like, dingy.”

Steve nods to himself in understanding. He should've seen that coming but he hadn't. It's sobering.

Robin isn't finished arguing her case, the beautiful idiot. “Steve's dingy!” She yells, making Eddie laugh. “He is! He's plenty dingy! And he has other fine qualities! Like, uh, loyalty! And being helpful!”

“Are you trying to set me up with your painfully straight best friend or a golden retriever?”

“Steve's not-”

“Okay!” Steve shouts, bursting out of the pantry, yes he understands the irony, with both hands waving. “This was fun but let's wrap it up.”

Eddie stares at him, wide-eyed, but it quickly melts into anger. “What the fuck, Buckley? What kind of weird, pointless ambush is this?”

“It wasn't pointless, you fucking troglodyte. If you were paying attention-”

“Rob.” Steve didn't mean for his voice to do that but it has the intended effect. She clamps her mouth shut and pouts. “Sorry,” he says to both of them. To Eddie, “Seriously, it was a stupid idea. We're both drunk and being stupid, just forget this happened.”

Unfortunately, it doesn't look as though Eddie is going to forget any time soon. In fact, it's more like he's studying them both for clues, the wheels turning despite the whiskey and weed gumming them up.

Steve's about to turn tail and run when the lightbulb goes off. Eddie doesn't look like he believes the conclusion he's come to but he's figured it out nonetheless. “Wait. No. Seriously? No way.”

His eyeballs are aching. He pushes against them, causing starbursts behind the eyelids. “Can we please not do this?” He begs.

Eddie sputters. “If this is me finding out you're queer, Steve Harrington, then yes, we most certainly are!” He looks at Robin but she's stonewalling him in solidarity.

The fact that neither of them has said anything to the contrary is damning enough. Steve might as well have ‘bisexual’ tattooed across his forehead.

“Holy shit.” Eddie snatches Robin by the wrist, she tries to wrestle her way out but he's jangling her about like a rag doll. “Holy shit! You were trying to set us up! Holy shit!”

“Let go, asshole! You ruined it, remember?”

He does let her go, so he can stare at Steve in horror. “No! Fuck! Steve, I was bullshitting! I was lying my ass off, I swear!” He tries to round the corner of the island but Steve moves to keep it between them, unsure of this sudden development. Eddie stops when it's clear Steve isn't reciprocating.

They stare at each other until Robin breaks the awkward silence. “Prove it.”

Eddie shakes off the cobwebs. “Huh? I mean, how? I wasn't exactly doodling Mr Edward Harrington into my journals.”

She crosses her arms. “Then I guess we're done here.”

Steve doesn't point out that she's not actually in charge of this situation because it seems to motivate Eddie into action. He gives them the ‘one moment’ finger and then dashes outside.

“You believe him?” She mumbles.

“I don't know. At this point I'd probably settle for him looking to turn me into a bedpost notch.”

“Have some self-respect.”

“Nah.”

Eddie comes back, dragging Jeff by the arm.

“Tell him!” He shouts, finger pointed at Steve.

“Tell him what?”

“The thing that shall not be spoken.”

Jeff raises one eyebrow. “How am I supposed to-”

“Oh my god, just tell him.”

“No.”

Eddie blanches. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“You made me swear.”

“So?! I'm unswearing you! This is important! I need you to unfuck this situation, pronto! You can give him all the gory details, I don't give a fuck, just tell him!”

A gleam sparkles in Jeff's eye. “Every gory detail?”

Now Eddie, correctly wary, hesitates, glancing at Steve nervously. “Well, maybe not all-”

Jeff interrupts Eddie, turning fully toward Steve with, “Eddie is bananas in love with you. Probably has been since school, but it's gotten so much worse since this spring. I'd say seventy five percent of the songs he's written are about you. He's also got a fully fleshed out fantasy life involving you, including, but not limited to, five adopted Vietnamese kids, two cats and a dog.” He turns back to Eddie. “Can I go back outside now? Those hotdogs aren't going to eat themselves.”

Eddie, eyes closed, waves him away.

Before he's fully out of the kitchen, he turns and says, “Oh, also he has a VHS copy of one of your swim meets. Bought it off of some AV kid for sixty bucks.”

Steve's stomach, already roiling with excited nerves, erupts in butterflies.

Eddie does not notice this, head buried under crossed arms on the island.

“I think we've swung too far in the other direction,” Rob points out, oblivious to Steve's excitement. When she finally does notice, it's met with rolled eyes. “Of course you're into that. Absolute freaks, the both of you. You know what? Good. Take each other off the market. My job here is done.”

She hops off the stool and leaves them alone.

Eddie cautiously pokes his head up, sees Steve smiling at him and jolts up straight like a prairie dog. “You believe me?”

He wants to toy with him for a minute, a touch of revenge for the dismissal he made earlier. “What swim meet was it?” He asks, like a test.

Without missing a beat, Eddie answers, “March of ‘85. You beat some kid from West Jefferson by four seconds.”

Steve preens. Eddie isn't bullshitting, he really did beat that kid from West Jeff. Only someone who gave a shit to pay attention would know that off hand. The whiskey makes another appearance in his bloodstream, giving him the courage to lean over the counter, into Eddie's space.

“So…you like me?”

Eddie has this incredibly endearing habit of hiding behind his hair when he’s nervous, it takes Steve out at the knees every time he sees it. “I'm gonna be really pissed off if this is some convoluted prank but…yeah, man, I fucking like you. Romantically. In case that was in question.”

“Mmm,” Steve agrees. “What are our kids' names?”

Eddie closes his eyes against Steve's smug stare. “I hate Jeff so much.”

“I don't. I'll thank him at our wedding. Maybe we name one of the kids after him.”

When Eddie peeks at him, one eyed, Steve does his best to convey his amusement and fondness both.

His body goes lax, finally, at seeing Steve take all it seriously. “Okay, so I like the idea of all of them keeping their Vietnamese names, except one who we name James.”

“After Hetfield?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.”

Some time later, after making out in the pantry for a while, Steve vetoes James, but only because he doesn't want the poor kid to grow up with a complex.

“We’ll call the dog Jimmy.”

“Cool.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

Imagine a villain straight refusing to fight another member of the Hero Team just cuz his hero archnemesis is not present

"Where are they?"

"Oh, not again." The protagonist could feel a headache coming on. "Look-"

"-Are they hurt?" The villain's eyes went dark and dangerous. "Who hurt them?"

"They're fine! Oh my god."

"Then where are they?"

The protagonist definitely had a headache. "It's their day off."

"They didn't tell me they had the day off. What's wrong?"

The really concerning part was that the hero probably would tell the villain which days they were working and which they weren't. The two of them were as bad as each other! The hero was going to be unbearable when they came back and found out that the team had fought the villain without them.

"Can we just get this over with?" the protagonist tried.

"No."

The protagonist sighed. They pinched the bridge of their nose and took a few deep breaths. "Okay," they said slowly. "But you realise I'm still going to have confiscate your nightmare robot."

"It's not for you. And don't think I didn't notice you dodging the question!"

The protagonist considered their options; lies, truth, everything in between.

The villain's nightmare robot hunkered down a little more pointedly in the middle of the bridge. Several people honked their horns. It was, honestly, embarrassing for everyone involved at that point.

"Their grandma died."

"Oh no." The villain's whole face softened. "Grandma L or Grandma P?"

Of course he knew the hero's grandparents. Of course he did. "Look, about the robot-"

"-I'll reschedule," the villain said.

"I can't let you keep the robot. My boss would have my head."

"That sounds like a 'you' problem. I have flowers to send."

The protagonist's eye twitched. "If you try and walk away with it-"

"-Do you really want to traumatize this entire bridge of innocent civilians?"

"I'm sure they're traumatized having to listen to you two idiots on a weekly basis."

"I'm taking the robot. When are they back?"

"They haven't said," the protagonist said, through gritted teeth. "As you know-"

"-They'll be doing all the funeral arrangements. Yeah. You know what, give me their number. I'll text them."

"I'm not giving you their number."

"Why not?"

"It's against policy."

"I'd like to express my condolences."

The protagonist looked them dead in the face. "Mm. That sounds like a 'you' problem. I have a robot to confiscate."

The robot slammed a fist into the bridge. It wobbled precariously.

The protagonist raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. They folded their arms across their chest.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" the villain snarled.

"I hate you too, don't worry."

"I should kill you."

"They'd have so much paperwork when they got back from the funeral. It would really improve their month, you killing me."

They ended up glaring at each other.

"If I give you the bloody stupid robot, will you give me their number?"

The protagonist smiled sweetly. "That's the only smart thing I've ever heard you say."

Everyone, generally, preferred it when the hero was around.

They all made sure it didn't happen again.

[adoptable-fanfic-prompts]

DP x DC Writing Prompt

For whatever reason, Tim hires Danny as a bodyguard/assistant (unaware of the ghost powers until later). Tim only did it for appearances but hey, Danny is actually really good at his job and understands completely that sometimes, Tim just needs to disappear for a bit and that it just happens to coincide with there being a problem in Gotham. Danny even lets Tim drink all the heavily caffeinated coffee he wants and doesn’t try to limit it like Tam tries to do (considering Danny drinks just about the same amount… (Tam tried to have an intervention, it did not work)). It’s going great…

… then Tim realizes that Danny has been bodyguarding him and secretly assisting him while Tim is out as Red Robin (how does Danny know Tim is Red Robin? Who knows). Eventually, Tim learns to accept it and you know what? Danny is a great partner to have… on the field… behind the scenes, that is definitely what Tim meant…

Then one day, while Tim is drinking the coffee Danny prepared for the both of them, he realizes where they both are and has just one question:

“When did Danny become his roommate?”

[pidgydraws]

🖋️ sleepover 🖋️

"...to further encourage the bearing of our souls and the telling of our most appalling secrets."

[coloursflyaway]

As much as I love (and understand) everyone being wild about Edwin in Port Townsend, you can't tell me that clients don't fall in love with Charles left and right, too.

Have you seen the boy?

The softest, warmest brown eyes you could imagine, surrounded by the longest lashes. A nose so regal it would make Greek sculptors cry with joy. Cheekbones so sharp you could cut a diamond on them. Curls you want to card your fingers through and never stop again. A smile so brillant it could replace the sun.

I'm sure there's an army of people just swooning over Charles back in England.

And Edwin? Edwin would have hated that ever since it happened the first time, but now he knows why it hurts that much when someone calls Charles babe or luv or darling and I am pretty sure that that would make it so much worse.

[actuel-idiot]

I love stories where Billy and Danny faked a relationship and I always saw Billy as ace: Billy adopts Connor and always pretends to date Danny. Connor has two strange parents, physically younger and super powerful.

Connor thinks he saw Danny cheating on his father and he tells Billy. This is how he discovers the lie.

[mischievous-thunder]

Freaks. Soulmates.

[katiefrog217]

AziraCrow | Book Reading

(Scroll down for mini story vvvv) + (Companion Piece)

Aziraphale liked books, especially the old ones. They were the main reason for owning his bookshop, after all.

He loved reading them, too. Sitting quietly in the back of his bookshop with a good book and the occasional accompaniment of an old record made for quite the delightful evening, in his opinion. Despite his being handless (and therefore, fingerless), Aziraphale was perfectly capable of turning pages on his own. Not with his talons of course; Heaven only knew the trouble that would come from attempting to turn the aging and potentially fragile paper with such unreliable instruments. It would be a simple enough fix if a page did happen to tear, but the memory would haunt him forever. Instead, all it took was a flick of his wing and woosh, the pages would turn themselves. Sometimes he just had to ask nicely. However, there were times that he didn't need to expend the effort.

Those times just so happened to coincide with a particularly serpentine visitor.

Crowley's visits were irregular and not always predictable. Most of the time he would pop in to complain about Who-Knows-What and disappear off to Who-Knows-Where. Sometimes he would stay longer, and they would share a glass of wine or some other alcohol, chatting a lot about nothing and reminiscing about times long passed until the shadows grew long. On rare occasions they would sit in comfortable silence, doing nothing more than enjoying each other's company. Aziraphale would then pick a book to read and Crowley would slither over to join him.

Of course, Crowley didn't like reading - or at least claimed he didn't. 'Not worth his time,' he'd say dismissively. Still, he (bored expression and all) would come, make himself comfortable by coiling around both the book stand and Aziraphale, and just watch. Just about anyone on Earth would likely be uncomfortable being stared down by such an intense gaze, but not Aziraphale. Over the many millennia, he has grown used to being observed by those golden eyes. Dare he say, he even found it comforting in a way, but that was besides the point.

He wasn't sure how it started; perhaps Crowley found himself overly bored that day, but he began turning the book pages whenever Aziraphale raised his wing to compel them instead. It had started him at first, and he had looked to Crowley with much confusion, though the demon had nothing to say in return. He merely shrugged (or at least it could be considered the serpentine equivalent of a shrug) and turned away. A few more pages in, and he'd turn them again. This happened over and over until Aziraphale heaved a sigh gave in, allowing the serpent to do as he wanted. At first, it was quite awkward to give verbal cues, and there were times when he became so engrossed in his reading that he forgot entirely, but eventually they settled into a comfortable rhythm. Nowadays he didn't even bother. It had become almost automatic: Aziraphale would finish the page and it would turn, no questions asked.

Aziraphale suspected it would baffle the minds of many to see a demon treat anything so gently, yet Crowley turned the pages in such a way that they were never bent nor crumpled. In fact, it seemed to him that the older the book was, the gentler Crowley'd be. He seemed... 'content' was the wrong word to describe his attitude towards the activity, but he never said a word otherwise. At least, not to Aziraphale.

He never pointed this out, of course. Crowley would stop doing it if he did, and he didn't WANT him to stop. He enjoyed it too much.

Once in a blue moon, Crowley would make a comment about whatever Aziraphale was reading at the time. It was often snide, mocking, not always audible. Hisses of exasperation or an exaggerated eye roll were not uncommon either. Then he would turn away, bored despondence washing over his face, shutting down any attempts to further the conversation. Not that he would respond if Aziraphale did, though that hadn't stopped him from trying. On one occasion Aziraphale had tried to push the topic, only for Crowley to deflect, insisting that he had only glanced the passage at random. He stopped turning the pages then. Aziraphale never tried again and settled with only giving him sidelong glances when he said something particularly egregious.

And so they would read, the silence broken only by the ticking of an old clock and the occasionally rustle of a page.

...

Aziraphale liked his books.

He liked reading them alone in his bookshop.

But he liked them best when Crowley was there to turn the pages for him.

[honnelander]

go fish! part 2

guyssss i did NOT expect this little series to blow up. y'all are amazing! i'm turning into a Sanji writing blog and am i mad about it? no lmao i received a couple of requests and i'll work on them as soon as i can. i'm really in the zone rn so i'll ride this wave as long as i can. if you want to be a part of the taglist for whenever i post new Sanji content, lmk. i hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8k

pairing: opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: after being humiliated by Usopp earlier, reader stays in her room to decompress. however, she gets a visitor.

prequel part 1 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @smolracoon25 @mischiefmanaged71 @jovialcat123

Mortified. That’s how you felt. Still. 

Ever since you ‘forfeited’ from finishing your Go Fish card game with Usopp a couple of hours ago, you had taken your glass of water that Sanji had poured for you and boarded up in your shared room with Nami, refusing to come out due to “heat exhaustion”. 

Poor Luffy, ever the golden hearted captain, was immediately worried for your wellbeing as soon as he heard that but after multiple reassurances from you and getting up off of your hammock multiple times to prove you were in fact, just fine, he relented from wanting to stop by the nearest island so he could find a doctor for you. Usopp had managed to convince him as well that all you needed was some water, alone time, and that you would be fine by dinnertime. 

You rubbed your eyes as you let out a sigh, vowing to yourself that the next time you wanted some time by yourself, you should just take a bath or something, since any other excuse would cause someone on the crew (Luffy) to lose their mind at the thought of someone not feeling well. 

You readjusted yourself, sitting more upright, as you downed the last of your water, it being warm by this point since it had been poured by Sanji hours ago. 

Sanji. Ugh.  

Your heart fluttered once again at the mere thought of him, but that flutter was immediately replaced by a wave of crashing embarrassment at the thought of the afternoon’s sequence of events. What had happened earlier wasn’t even anything that groundbreaking or special, but to you? It was everything. It wasn’t common practice in your life for the object of your affections to be so kind towards you, so thoughtful, to read and anticipate your needs before you even knew they were even there. But Sanji? He was all of that and more. And you didn’t even know him for that long! You’ve all been a part of the straw-hat crew for 5 months at this point and it felt silly to admit to yourself that you had developed a crush on one of your crewmates in that short amount of time. 

And having feelings for your crewmate? Someone who you literally couldn’t get away from since you all were trapped on a ship together (not that you would ever want to be away from him or anyone else for that matter, besides Usopp, but still), it felt morally wrong. You guys were all a team. Sure, you all were off to sail around the world and chase dreams, but achieving all of that required teamwork and trust, and that was hard to do if two of those people were caught up with matters of the heart every hour of every day. 

Like, what if things didn’t work out in the end? Would you really want to put the crew’s dynamic at stake just because you thought the blonde guy was cute? No, you wouldn’t. It would be selfish so you would never dare to put yourself or Sanji in that position. No matter how much you liked him. 

So as much as it pained you, you could never tell Sanji how you feel. You would never cross that line of being a ‘professional pirate’ into something more, like a pirate wife. Or a pirate chef’s wife. 

It definitely didn’t help that freaking Usopp of all people on the crew knew about your affections for Sanji. Ugh, you groaned. He was the absolute worst person to know about it too. Why did he have to figure it out? Why did he have to be the one that had put two and two together to equal four? That your random bouts of awkwardness and shyness plus ‘heart eyes’ and blushes whenever Sanji was around equaled to you having a forbidden crush on the crew’s chef? It was embarrassing. And complicated.  

He loved to stir the pot too, so whenever he could tease you for it when you both were alone or in front of a clueless Sanji, he would. You remembered the kiss he had shared with Kayla back when the straw-hats had acquired the Going Merry, so you definitely jabbed him right back when you had had enough, since part of you felt guilty for it since Kayla was thousands of miles away and Sanji lived on this ship with you. Your situations were slightly similar but completely different.  

Also, completely different in the way that him and Kayla were basically dating at this point, albeit long distance, and had shared a kiss while you could barely sustain eye contact that lasted more than 5 seconds with Sanji. 

You were hopeless. 

“Knock, knock,” a familiar accented voice came through the closed door. “Y/n? Are you awake?” 

"Sanji?” you blurted out in complete surprise.  

Shit. You weren’t mentally prepared to see him just yet. At all. You were still replaying the interaction you both had earlier in your head, your overthinking mind going over every minute detail to figure out if Usopp’s careless teasing had given away your affections.  

Usopp, you mentally ground out. You were going to kill him. Sanji had never stopped by your room before so what on earth was he doing here now?  

Suddenly, a thought struck you like a bolt of lightning and made your stomach drop fifty miles below sea level: if Sanji had specifically stopped by your room just to gently let you down, that no, in fact he did not feel the same way about you, that he only thought of you as a member of the crew and nothing more....then yeah, you were definitely going to kill Usopp and throw him overboard. 

Before you could mentally plot out more details on Usopp's murder, the door opened and the straw-hat chef’s blonde head appeared. His eyes quickly scanned Nami’s empty hammock on the room’s left side before turning his head to the right, his blue eyes immediately finding your surprised ones, a (relieved?) smile lighting up his face at the sight of you. 

“So, I take it you’re awake?” Sanji asked in a light, teasing tone but not making an effort to move himself away from the doorway. 

“Uh, y-eah,” you stuttered out in surprise as you just stared at him dumbfounded. You still couldn’t figure out why he was here. 

Sanji continued to lock eyes with you, making your cheeks flush the longer you both stared at each other, and your palms sweat as the silence stretched on, making the tension in the air become thicker by the second. He blinked, his eyes darting to the side in confusion, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “May I come in?” 

“OH! Yes, of course- sorry,” you stuttered as you waved him inside, sitting up in your hammock and mentally face palmed yourself. Of course, Sanji was waiting on you to invite him inside. Like always, he was acting like a true gentleman. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Sorry, that was rude of me. Make yourself at home.” 

Sanji stood up to his full height and walked into your room with an easy smile and a small laugh, closing the door behind him. “Ah, don’t ever apologize y/n. You could never be rude to me,” Sanji rebuttalled and waved off your apology as he looked around and took in your very plain and basic shared room with Nami.  

Your room, or side of the room more specifically, wasn’t much to brag about considering you really didn’t have much to your name but for now, it was home to you. Your side consisted of your hammock, a wooden barrel next to it to act as a makeshift nightstand that housed your only book, a journal, and a lamp, along with an empty wooden crate to act as a makeshift seat and another to hold some of your other clothes and small travel bag. Nami’s side was similar to yours but had a touch more personality as she hung up some maps she found at various markets and drew up herself on her wall. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a tad self-conscious about the lack of things in your room considering your current guest was dressed, as usual, to the nines in his signature black suit and blue and white striped shirt complete with a skinny black tie. “Sorry for the sad state of my room-” 

“Sad?” Sanji stopped admiring your room and snapped his gaze to look at you. His eyebrows pulled together as another confused smile adorned his features. “Why would you say that? Your room isn’t sad, I like it. It’s a reflection of you,” his next words came out softer, “and I think that’s beautiful.” 

You could feel heat crawling up your neck at his words as you busied yourself with placing the empty glass in your hand on your barrel nightstand. There was no way Sanji was calling you beautiful, he was just commenting on your room. With Nami. On your shared room that owed any ounce of ‘personality’ to the ship’s navigator because it was obvious you literally brought nothing special to this room whatsoever.  

You stopped yourself from spiraling into ‘I don’t bring anything special to the straw-hats, I don’t know why they keep me around’ thoughts because now wasn’t the time to think about any of that. Those dark thoughts were reserved when you couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night.  

As you placed the glass on the nightstand, you asked, “So, what brings you all the way to my room? Aren’t you usually prepping for dinner around this time?” 

Sanji’s eyes followed your hand and lit up when he saw the sole book on your nightstand. “Oh, a book? I didn’t know you liked to read.” His megawatt smile lit up a couple of notches as his eyes sparkled, he looked like he had just learned one of the universe’s greatest mysteries as he took a seat near you on an empty crate. “What book is that?” 

“Oh, that?” You mentally deflated at the fact you now had to tell Sanji about your favorite book, “It’s Pride and Prejudice.”  

You weren’t ashamed of having that book specifically, you loved it and it was your favorite book of all time, you had lost count at how many times you had read it at this point, but it was the fact that you now had to share this part of yourself with the guy you fancied. Guys normally scoffed and turned their nose up at romance book and romantic things, so you were bracing for Sanji to scoff and laugh at you like all the other guys did (like even Zoro and Usopp did when they first saw you reading it) but it never came. 

Instead, Sanji’s smile remained bright. “Ah, so you’re a lover of classic romances? Pride and Prejudice? Romeo and Juliet?” 

Immediately, you smiled, finding yourself instantly comfortable suddenly whenever you got to talk about one of your favorite things. “Absolutely. I don’t think there’s a problem big enough out there that love can’t solve. Family backgrounds? Wealth and status? At the end of the day, none of that stuff matters. What matters is if two people love each other.” 

Sanji stayed quiet for a moment, looking into your eyes with a twinkle of an emotion that you couldn’t decipher. It made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, never breaking eye contact. “I agree.” 

You swallowed. “You like this stuff too? Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” 

Sanji blinked and that indescribable emotion he had in his eyes was gone. His smile remained, however, and became sheepish as he held up his hands, “Ah ok, you caught me. I’ve never read the full thing, but I know the main parts of the story. My favorite part that I did read though, was the first dinner with Mr. Collins and he complimented the Bennets on their ‘excellent boiled potatoes’.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head slightly as you teased, “I should’ve known that the chef of the Going Merry’s favorite part of the book is when food is discussed!” 

The blonde cook held his hands up again with a good-natured laugh, “Ah, you got me!” His face softened as he asked, “What about you?" He nodded towards the book. "What’s your favorite part?” 

You paused for a second as you mulled the question over. “Well, I'm not sure if you know about this part since you never read the book...” 

“Try me,” he encouraged softly. 

Your face turned to the side, your eyes looking at the wooden wall to your right, unable to bring yourself to look at Sanji as you told him your favorite part of your favorite book. You took a deep breath to steady yourself and calm your nerves, your voice becoming quiet as you told him, “My favorite part is...when Mr. Darcy barges in on Elizabeth for the first time, while she’s at her friend Charlotte’s house writing a letter. He had come to practice ‘conversating’ with her since he admitted that it wasn’t something he was good at and she had told him to practice it. So, Mr. Darcy just barged in and they had one of the most painfully awkward conversations ever...and he did all that just because he loves her. He did something he hated and was bad at, and opened himself up to embarrassment just because he wanted to improve and be better for her. It’s so romantic and beautiful.” 

The air was quiet after your mini monologue and for a moment, nothing could be heard except for their quiet breathing and the occasional crash of the ocean from outside your small window. 

Part of you worried that your little rambling had bored Sanji, so when you finally looked at him, imagine your surprise when you found him leaning in towards you, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees and his eyes watching you, completely engaged. It was like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Sanji scanned your face for a moment, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not familiar with that part in the book,” and before you could open your mouth to bring yourself down, he continued, “but, that doesn’t mean your answer is wrong.” He leaned back and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Hell, it’s a much more insightful answer than mine!” He laughed. “I just liked how they were poking some fun at boiled potatoes.” 

You laughed with him because yes, that part in the book also made you laugh as well. But at the mention of food, you realized that you still didn’t know why Sanji was here in the first place. Wasn’t he normally prepping for dinner at this time? He had to be running behind schedule at this point. 

“Why are you here, Sanji? Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” 

“Yeah, it is actually but I heard you weren’t feeling well so I wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re feeling alright and see if you have any special requests for dinner?” 

You couldn’t help the slight smile that overtook your face, trying to hide the blush at the fact that he was kind enough to check in on you and offer to practically be your own personal chef for the evening. 

You hummed for a moment, acting like you were deep in thought before asking with a raised eyebrow, "And what would you say if I requested some boiled potatoes?”  

The smile that lit up the chef’s face was priceless. He had never looked more beautiful. “To that, I would say ‘Absolutely. If that’s what the missus wants, then that is what the missus will get.’” 

Missus. There it was again. You felt all warm inside whenever he called you that, it made you feel like he was your husband and that you were his wife. But that wasn’t the case. Sanji definitely must have called other women that before. You weren’t special to him, he was just being polite.  

You swallowed down your emotions, putting your sudden wave of sadness away for later, putting on a small smile. “Then that sounds perfect. I would like to formally request some ‘excellent boiled potatoes’ as a side for dinner, please.” 

If Sanji noticed your sudden change in mood, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned as he said, “Excellent choice, Madam. Boiled potatoes, coming right up.” As he stood up and made his way towards your door, Sanji did one of the most unexpected things that nearly knocked the wind out of you. With his left hand on the doorknob he said, “And don’t worry, Madam. I’ll sprinkle in a little bit of extra love in there,” he turned and winked at you, “just for you.” 

With that, Sanji left your room, gently closing the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbstruck in your room, your mouth agape and body frozen. 

Did Sanji just say he loved you? 

You shook your head, because there was no way he did, right? He said he’d ‘sprinkle in some extra love’ into your potatoes, not 'I love you". You weren’t a chef, maybe that was a euphemism for something. 

You sighed.  

Those better be some good boiled potatoes. 

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

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

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

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

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

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart burns.

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

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

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

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

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

Ruination be damned.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who says I’m nervous?”

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

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

"I can feel it.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Brussels sprouts."

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t touch you.

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

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then— then, you see it.

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

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

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

He doesn't touch you.

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

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

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And like always, you never hear him coming.

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

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

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

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

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

"Please," He tries his words again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

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

[goddess-of-silvers]

I know everyone’s mad at Aziraphale right now because of how the season’s ended but I don’t think we’ve talked enough about the fact that Aziraphale has been keeping a diary for centuries (based on the fact the entry we see is from volume 603) and he literally starts his entries with “dear diary, last month Crowley and I both happened to be in Edinburgh”.

[acheemient]

If part 3 of 1941 is not "A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square" coming on the radio and Crowley standing from the table where they have been drinking wine and coming around to Aziraphale's side and offering his hand to Aziraphale to dance, and Aziraphale looking a bit wonderstruck and a bit delighted and taking Crowley's hand, and they slow dance, holding each other so close, and they look into each other's eyes, and Crowley whispers, "Angel," and he's looking at Aziraphale's lips with all the wanting in the universe written upon his eyes, and Aziraphale with a face that says he's never wanted anything more than to swallow Crowley whole so he can Keep him, and they lean in, and at the very last second, Aziraphale stops them and they are standing there breathing heavily with their foreheads pressed together, and Aziraphale whispers, "I want to; oh God, I want to," and Crowley whines and tries again, but Aziraphale pulls back but doesn't leave Crowley's arms, and says, "We can't," and Crowley looks like he's been slapped, and Aziraphale looks so heartbroken and says, "They almost caught us tonight, and they would have destroyed you" and then continues so quietly, like it's a secret, "I don't know what I would do if I lost you," and Crowley tries to protest saying they can be sneaky, they won't get caught, they can have this, together, and Aziraphale looks so sad and says, "Oh Crowley," and Crowley knows Aziraphale is so close to agreeing and so close to pulling away, and he whispers, "Please," and for a second Aziraphale looks like he is going to give in, but he can't put Crowley in danger, so he makes his face colder, and he steps out of Crowley's arms, even though it nearly kills him to do so, and he says, "Besides, you know Angels don't dance," and Crowley remembers himself says, "No I don't suppose they do," and he straightens up and puts his glasses on and pretends nothing happened and says, "Of course you're right," and they nod at each other and Crowley moves to leave the bookshop, and Aziraphale feels like he's about to lose something so precious that he will not be able to ever get back, so he calls "Crowley," and Crowley turns to look at him, and Aziraphale says, "Perhaps someday...," but he can't say what he really means (some day we can have that, someday we can be together how we want, someday I will stop pulling away), so he visually changes his mind and finishes with, "we can dine at the Ritz," and he prays to a God that he, in this moment, hates so, so much for keeping him from the demon he loves more than anything, that Crowley understands his true meaning, and Crowley looks like maybe he does and like maybe he still has hope, and he nods and says, "Stay safe, Angel," and Aziraphale nods back, and then Crowley leaves, and Aziraphale is left looking absolutely devastated and heartbroken and angry, truly angry, for the first time in his long and lonely existence that he has to be loyal to Her rather than to him, and he takes a moment, takes a breath, and walks silently over to the radio and turns up the volume on the song and closes his eyes and gives himself that moment to remember what it felt like to be held, to be loved, to imagine what saying yes would bring, then honestly what is even the point of all of this?