#btw SCAR SWEEP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

my2phetaliaheadcanons · 8 months

Note

Hello! Can you please write about the 2p Axis (btw I especially love your writings about 2p Italy and 2p Romano! Love, love,love!) about the darling ask of the escaped and vanished for about a year and then one day they see them out in public ? Please and thank you for all that you write, it makes my day better ,always.

I don’t think I can iterate how thankful I am for how patient you guys are when you get your asks done.

The popping of colorful, confetti from their paper cannons and the cheers of a crowd full of delight rang out like the happy howls of a wolf pack.

Their loud songs of joy were directed toward the mayor’s marble balcony as he marched to the end of the platform. He looked down at them with a stressed smile as he welcomed them all to the summer celebration while sweeping his large arm to open the holiday event for everyone.

As the crowd thinned, with people moving about to start various activities, the mayor shivered. The dark glare burning into his back forced him to face the shadow that awaited in his office.

With the speed of a child knowing of an incoming scolding, he nervously shuffled into the dim room. His eyes were downcast as he looked at the feet of the sleep-deprived man, slouched on his navy couch.

“The festival’s begun.” The mayor licked his lips. “Is there anything else that you need to observe?”

The man spoke a simple “No.” as he slowly raised himself from the couch. His steps were heavy as he dragged himself to the blind-covered window. His cold hand pulled on the flimsy panel as his eyes slowly moved through the crowd.

The mayor’s continued cowering and questioning went ignored when familiar (H/C) locks flittered through the masses.

Locked on the locks his eyes followed them like a road map to gaze upon her face.

She looked so familiar, with the same faint scars and quirky grin. Yet, he noticed something new, the light in her (E/C) eyes that was once dimmed to mere dying embers had returned to their blaze. Instead of the fearful shuffle, there was a pep in skip that reminded him of the first time they met.

He couldn't deny the rising hope at the sight of his long-lost wife. It felt like seeing the sun for first the time in a year, and yet a dark cloud quickly covered it. Reminding him of what had occurred almost a year ago to the day.

His darling wife had deserted him. Destroyed their happy home by slipping him a fatal concoction of medications, before slithering off into the night. Disappearing from his life, leaving nothing to hint at current her existence, until now.

Today, he thought, would change that. Today, she would be coming home whether she wanted to or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Italy: The Mafia Don never lost sight (Y/N)’s form, even as she began to blend back into the crowd.

The moment his eyes could no longer track her form, his hand dug into his pocket. The force that he used to pull a phone from its cloth confinements popped the seams of the pocket as he activated the device.

Two simple beeps before he held the silver phone to his ear. He waited with an intense focus on the crowds, searching for his wife again before a deep voice rumbled.

“Si, Don Vargas?”

There was no hesitation from the still-scanning leader as he gave his order. “My-a wife’s here at the-a summer festival. Find her.”

A simple ‘si’ came from the underling as he hung up the phone. A near-silent whimper made the magenta-eyed Italian turn to the trembling mayor.

He smirked as he pulled a knife from his brown suit and lifted the blade toward the coward. “If you-a value your-a short existence, you’ll say a-nothing.”

The mayor’s sweat-covered face bowed in a submissive nod before Luciano Vargas walked out. Leaving the mayor in the darkness and summer heat.

While Luciano’s men searched from the back alleys and dark corners, he walked more forward among the civilians. His pace was quick as he ducked and weaved.

Hours ticked by in the hot sun, and his stride never faltered even as his phone rang. The words that greeted him upon its answer, did make him stop. In fact, it made him smile like a crocodile that cornered squirming prey.

“Boss, we’ve got her.”

Luciano’s men hadn’t failed him. After last time, with the vivid memories of Medieval levels of torture and Pollock type of red mess, they refused to.

The confirmation of his darling wife’s capture, Luciano slipped away through the happy crowds. Allowing the alleys and shadows to guide him back to his car.

The drive was short as he sped over all limits and it screeched to a halt at the manor's stairs.

Sauntering his way up through the oak doors and the large halls of the mansion, his men above breathed a small sigh of relief at their master's joy.

It was only a few turns along the marble corridor before he stepped down the stairs toward the dark, medieval basement.

The Roman torches from long-forgotten eras cast long shadows along the iron cells. Each prisoner within attempted to hide when the Don walked by.

He paid no mind to the heavy chains shaking as walked to the heavy, iron door at the hall's end. It screeched open as he pushed against it.

The opening revealed a small, dark cell; furnished with only wall-mounted chains, a large pile of pillows, and a woman sitting upon it cuffed at the neck.

Luciano smiled wide as he reached up and pulled on the cord for the single lightbulb. He watched with joy as she flinched away upon its suddenness. Then trembling as she realized who stood in front of her.

He stepped closer. A large smile on his face as grabbed the struggling woman's face. Dragging her toward him and tilted her head to the left as he whispered.

"Welcome back, mia Moglie." Luciano licked the shell of her ear before pulling back to look her in the eye. "I've missed you. Did you miss-a me?"

(Y/N) didn't answer, quietly shivering in his hold. Tears bubbled as Luciano's grin became feral.

"Because I'm all you have left."

Romano: (Y/N)’s body trudged forward with the unseen weight of exhaustion that comes from a day of excitement. Her lone footsteps were the only sound on the lamp-lit street that was still littered from the confetti released that morning.

She sighed heavily, but happily as she turned the final corner that would lead to the last leg of her journey.

Usually rounding the turn filled her steps with enough pep to skip her way home like a fairy tale bunny, this time however, she shuffled like a nervous horse stopped by an ashen rattler.

That serpent was no living thing, but a white limo with the nearest door opened like a snake’s jaw. Its light seeped out like venom from a bite, cascading along the sidewalk and highlighting her shoes.

Despite the shine, she could only see the shadows of a man within. His nice, white suit contradicted the black interior of the vehicle as his leg bounced. Whether it was excitement or nervousness she didn’t want to know.

Gulping, (Y/N) moved off the sidewalk to give the long automobile a wide berth.

As her path aligned with the open door, a sudden push came from her right. Shoved her into the door before being pulled into the limo that was now slammed shut.

The wheels screamed as the force caused her to crash into the man’s legs. Clutching onto them for some form of stability as the limo swerved.

Gentle fingers ran through her hair in a futile attempt to calm her down, but it only made her heart pound harder as (Y/N) finally looked at the mysterious stranger.

Her throat tightened as tears blurred her vision of the smiling Fabrizio. It wasn’t the loving smile he gave when he thought she had been broken. No, this one contained the traces of madness, obsession, and relief.

Like a spooked cat, she prepared to jump away, ready to duck and roll on the fast-passing terrain, but the hand tightened on her hair pulling her back to his feet.

“Now, now Bambola.” She flinched when he placed his silver stiletto against her neck. “You wouldn’t want-a make it worse when we get home, right?”

Germany: Like an old hound after a young vixen, Luther walked out of the office. Ignoring the mayor’s whimpering calls.

His steps were quiet, yet quick as he slunk his way out of the City’s Hall. Into the streets, blending in with the crowds while his eyes searched for flickers of her clothing.

For moments, Luther felt that he was being led in circles. That his mind had played the cruelest of jokes as various flickers took him to multitudes of dead ends.

As the summer sun descended from its peak, the crowds thinned.

The lessened numbers brought out quiet conversations. One that made the German freeze.

The main voice was familiar, sounding like a lullaby that one’s mother no longer sang.

He followed like a bloodhound after a criminal. Its trail brought him to a small café with black wire seats under a cream-colored awning.

In the darkest corner were two women. The one to the right quickly faded into the shadows. The left one, his missing piece, was at first glance, like the warm blaze that welcomed heroes home from their quest.

Part of Luther wanted to embrace the blaze. Take in all the burns that would allow him to reunite with his heart. The other wanted to smother her. Place (Y/N) back into her hearth to prevent another wildfire like the one that gave her the chance to escape. To harness her passion to warm him alone.

Slinking toward the café, Luther went unnoticed in the dark as he entered the alley to the building’s right.

He watched with aid from a streetlamp as the women parted, hugging before they waved going their separate ways.

Luckily, Luther’s alley ran along (Y/N)’s route, allowing him to follow her like a shadow at sunset.

Eventually, the sparsely filled streets became empty.

Luther moved further ahead. Waiting at the next opening, back pressed against the near brick wall.

He held his breath as her footsteps approached.

At the same moment, his lamp-lit angel began her cross, his hands shot out. Grabbing (Y/N) and drugged her to his chest. His gun clicked as he lifted it from his waistband, muzzle pushed onto her temple.

Tears began to pour as she trembled in his hold. Small pleas for freedom and attempts at deals to prevent a return to their home fumbled from her mouth.

Luther heeded none of it.

Instead, he led her away. Far from the summer sun. Forcing her back into the damaged, cold hearth he called home.

Japan: As (Y/N) swam among the flood of sweat-covered people, a cold shiver vibrated her spine. The type that whispered the warning of danger to our ancestors on open grasslands. That gave way to the primal urge to hide from bloodthirsty beasts.

Yet, as her head snapped left, then right. Nothing stuck out. No one staring from amongst the crowds, no aggressive shoving, or screams of terror.

Swallowing her fear, (Y/N) shrugged off the feeling before jogging to the meeting point of all her friends. Trusting that the demon, who had claimed her as a wife, was nowhere near.

Not once did the feeling return as (Y/N) went about the festivities with friends. As the hours passed, she had long forgotten it ever occurred.

Even as she separated from the herd to return home, she felt relaxed. Safe, even as she moved through the empty, evening streets, but as she climbed the stairwell through her dark, apartment building that same shiver crept up her spine like a million, skittering centipedes.

Despite her glances showing nothing abnormal, the dark corners and shadows of the grey stairwell offered no relief with their shifting shadows. Instead, they seemed to reach out with long claws that caused her heart to race.

A door from the floor below slamming sent her running.

Up the stairs, she flew. Her arm acted as a balance as she swung the corner entrance to her floor. Panting, she leaned against her door as she struggled against her keys. Pushing them against the metal lock until the right one clicked in before a harsh turn allowed her to fall into her home. A simple kick, shut her own door as she scrambled away from it.

(Y/N)’s terrified clamber had become frozen mid-movement. She had hit something that did not exist within her dark entryway. It was warm and tall. Covered in loose-fitting cloth that felt of rough cotton. Her left hand moved backward and slowly slid across the smooth leather of military boots.

“Hime” At that simple pet name the tremors returned in full force. Tears collected on her lashes as she felt a gloved hand rake its way through her hair. With a little force, the hand angled her head upward.

Above her was the man she feared most. Kurai Honda.

As she opened her mouth to scream, he covered it with a tight hand.

(Y/N) struggled against him. Flailing her arms and kicking at his arms. Kurai acted as though he felt nothing. Maneuvering (Y/N) like a doll into a choke hold and suffocating her.

As the dark spots crossed her vision, she heard him whisper.

“When you awake, our honor will be restored.”

Spain: Armando’s typically stoic face twitched for a moment before stretching into a mischievous grin.

A smile so sinister that the mayor’s teeth chattered as he backed away from the Spaniard. His spine shook as he cursed the hip bump that knocked the glass cup off the desk, it shattered upon impact with the wooden floor.

Like a predator mid-hunt, Armando’s head snapped toward the noise. His smile never waned as he stared.

“My apologize, Señor Mayor. But we will have to finish this discussion another day.”

The monster of a man turned on his heel, losing his smile as the mayor trembled with a prayer on his lips for the new target.

The Spaniard’s loose-fitting shirt fluttered as he walked quickly through the administrative building, it whooshed backward as he stepped into the humid, summer air.

His eyes scanned the crowds once more from the marble steps. Another flick of (H/C) locks disappeared between the people at the market row.

Instead of forcing his way through the crowded streets, Armando sped his way along the edges. Cutting through the alleys like they were foxholes.

Immediately, he caught up. Watching his wife, like a lion prowling through tall grass.

She had changed so much, growing out her hair and wearing (F/C) jewelry. Yet, he noted upon closer examination her voice hadn't changed. It still sounded like his favorite lullaby.

Armando’s smile returned as she wandered closer. Leaving the sweet stand with a simple baggie in hand.

He stepped out, jogged to her side, and grabbed her hand in a constricting grip.

Before (Y/N) could scream, he hugged her tightly. Pressing her squirming form into his chest, before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Continue the fight and everyone will think you’re mad.”

For a moment, (Y/N) stilled. Armando could see her eyes were wide as he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

But that moment of peace didn’t last as her struggle returned. (Y/N) pushed and clawed at the Spainard like a fractious cat, yowling for help. Begging for someone to get her away from the madman.

He tchhed as the crowd formed a circle, tightening his grip on his woman before lifting her over his shoulder. Seemingly unaffected by her screams, Armando yelled over her, requesting the enforcers of the law appear as well.

Shocked, (Y/N) stopped mid-wail. Scrambling to figure out why he would demand to speak with the ones that would save her. Never once believed his warning.

It only took a minute for two black-clad uniformed policemen to shove their way to the front. Their gruff faces were marred by the annoyance of an easy shift gone wrong.

“What’s going on.” Questioned the taller of the partners. His eyes were sharp as they bounced between Armando and (Y/N).

“He’s trying to kidnap me!” (Y/N) shouted and attempted to fight. “Get me away from this freak!”

At her statement, the duo’s hands dropped to their holsters. Fingers grazed the leather-like excited hunting dogs on a thin tether. One wrong move and all hell would break loose.

The shorter of the duo lifted an open scarred, palm toward Armando. “Señor. Put her down.”

He complied but didn’t let go. Instead holding tightly to her hips with one arm as she squirmed. The other reached into his shirt to remove a letter, somehow maintaining its blinding whiteness while being pressed against his olive skin.

(Y/N) stared at the letter, while he made a silent gesture to the cops.

They approached and the taller took it from his hand. Opening it with a quick rip before scanning its contents.

The crowd remained silent as the shorter was then handed the letter. He read it much quicker, biting his lip before nodding to the first with pity in his eyes.

“Do you need any help getting her home Señor?”

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped as she looked between the three men. “What are you TWO DOING!? HELP ME!”

The taller policeman turned to her with sad eyes as he sighed. “Señora,” He nodded toward Armando. “Your husband just wants to take you home.”

“He’s not my husband!” (Y/N) insisted as she leaned down to rake the inside of Armando’s thigh with sharp nails, causing him to hiss and release her.

“Señora, you are ill. Let us help you.”

“Ma’am calm down.”

(Y/N) backed up panting as everyone approached. Citizens throwing in their voices, begging her to stop. Men stepped into the circle to help corral her.

As her head moved on a swivel, she noticed his dark grin. The smile never faded as the strangers held her down like wolves to prey. Presenting her toward their Alpha. Feeding her flesh to the beast she had tried to escape.

Never to be seen nor believed by anyone again.

Austria: His joy could not be contained as loud, frenzied laughter left him like a busted damn. Its power caused the monstrous nation to lean against the window as tears beaded and dripped down his ivory face.

As his guffaw slowed to silence, the room chilled chasing away any lingering summer heat. The darkest shadows shifted as they stretched themselves toward their master. Whipping like thin tentacles like cat tails as they curled around Jonathan.

Their curling slowly turned into climbing as they pulled him downward like warped quicksand.

There was no fear from the Austrian as he looked to the terrified mayor. His serrated smile was wide as he called the government official before disappearing into the ink.

“Keep jour end of the deal, and jour family vill be zpared.”

The shadows fell away, revealing an upside-down office to Jonathan. A thump drew his attention to his feet, where he watched the mayor tremble before collapsing.

“Mortalz.” He chuckled before pulling out his umbrella from his jacket and bolting out of the office.

The change in orientation didn’t seem to affect him as the empty halls and streets aided him in his hunt.

As Jonathan approached the last location of his beloved queen, his carmine eyes returned to the ground. Quickly his vision bounced from person to person under him, scanning for the familiar (H/C) and (E/C).

The dense crowd on the other side of the dimensional plane created a dizzying rainbow of features and colors that just weren’t right. It felt like hours for Jonathan as he worked through them, street by street and stall by stall.

The melodious sound of a guitar that was accompanied by the tender vocals froze him. He took in the words; broken love, unfair capture, and a promise to never allow love, created seismic shivers that rivaled earthquakes down his spine.

Only one bat could sing such a divine tale.

(Y/N).

Toward the town center, he sprinted. Kicking up dirt as he slides to a stop at a stage at the town center.

Mere feet from him stood his Angel of Music. Singing the songs, he had once thought he would never hear again. A healthy glow had returned to her sunken skin and a brightness in her movements that had existed at their first meeting.

Jonathan licked his lips as his mind concocted the perfect reunion. He prowled toward the stage and climbed down to the lights at the top.

He lined himself up so perfectly that a single jump would flatten her.

Jonathan crouched, hanging his umbrella off a single light, wiggling like a stalking cat. Allowing his muscles to tense like a coiled clock spring.

He jumped. Launching himself upward. The shadows opened, allowing him out.

He tackled (Y/N) mid-song. A gasp choked in her throat as they both tumbled back into the shadows.

(Y/N)’s fight did nothing as he kept her trapped in his arms. The sounds of hysteria from the world above were muted as he nuzzled into her back. Enjoying the warmth of her flesh.

The sickly groaning was ignored as Jonathan muttered a welcome home. Promising that this time they would be together until their final song was sung.

Prussia: Wilhem’s movements were stiff as the blinds snapped back to their original tension. His pale hand slowly dropped to his side as he turned toward the mayor.

The icy stoicism caused the low government official to shuffle in place like a nervous gelding. Rubbing his arm, the mayor spoke to the cold knight.

“Iz there anyzing elze jour bruder needs, Herr. Beilschmidt?”

“Nein, jou preformed az expected.”

With a simple nod in farewell, Wilhelm turned to leave the office.

The mayor, on the other hand, prayed that they wouldn’t meet again until next year.

For many the festival ended too quickly as the sun set and the streetlamps lit up like fireflies in a field. Vendors closed their stalls with a mix of clicks and tings as merchandise was packed away and doors were locked.

Soon enough, only a small group of young adults were left on the streets. Their laughter echoed like drunk parrots as they pushed against each other in youthful fun.

The loudest of them was (Y/N), her smile wide as she ducked and weaved between the members like in an impromptu game of tag. Jogging in place she watched them fumble in their reaches.

The gaggle unleashed a riotous roaring as (Y/N)’s jogging became teasing gestures. Peals of laughter bloomed as she danced along the street edge, allowing the crowd to convince her to create grander displays.

Panting with excitement, she failed to disappoint as the center of the empty road became her stage. Jokes and burns were shot off in rapid fire while she moved in swift excitement.

Just before the euphoria could reach its peak, a loud whinny silenced it.

Everyone looked to the source. Shocked gasps were heard at the sight of a large, grey and white horse. Upon its back was a man dressed in dark armor, his face hidden behind an enclosed helmet.

The mysterious being forced the horse to rear back. Its dark hooves waved in the air, the shoes catching the light like lightning before crashing down like thunder. Sparks flew as it galloped down the road.

(Y/N)’s friends called for her to move. Screamed for her to run to either sidewalk.

She couldn’t. Something about the knight had frozen her stiff.

As the thunderous hooves encroached her mind wondered why. Was it the feeling of familiarity with the entity? The way his hidden gaze seemed to command her to remain put like the monster she had killed or was it because apart of her believed that this knight was his ghost? Coming to drag her to his grave. To forcefully bury her beside the man she detested most of all. Combining their souls as one for all eternity.

The horse was five feet away when ancient instinct overrode the fear. She attempted to dive at her friends. Arms stretched out toward them. But she never connected. Never felt the touch of those who helped lift her out of the darkness.

Rough hands tugged her away. Throwing her across his lap as his steed sped off. (Y/N)’s screams disappearing into the darkness.

For hours (Y/N)’s friends and the authorities searched the city. Neither the hide nor hair of the beasts or the woman was found.

Some of the cops whispered about the Ghost of Order. Blaming his centuries of loneliness on why the woman was taken. Others were quick to silence that speak around (Y/N)’s worried friends.

It was a shame that no one knew how right they all had been. Except for (Y/N). For the ghost had been the man she once killed and had pushed her back into their shared crypt. Only this time, should one of them die then they both shall perish.

#2p hetalia #2p headcanons #2p axis #yandere #yandere hetalia #2p yandere #2p romano #2p italy #2p germany #2p japan #2p prussia #2p austria #2p spain

83 notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Note

heyy goodmorning / goodevening / good afternoon :))

can you write steve x reader where steve woke up from a nightmare and reader comforts her? 🥺 btw your fics gives me comfort n i love the way you write ur stories omggg ily!!‹3

Hi! You’re so sweet, thank you so much! I loved this idea, I hope this is good enough! 🥹🧡

Sweet dreams rarely come to you.

The night held too many secrets now, cracks in the earth, monsters in the dark, biting at fresh wounds, lying in wait underneath your bed so that even in sleep you weren’t safe.

You saw red behind your closed eyes, whispered threats in your head, hisses and growls, a world that you never seemed to escape from, wrapped vines, scarlet skies, a constant rain of dust and death.

There was always a boy in the middle of it all, wild hair, wilder eyes, telling you to run, to leave him.

Your boy.

More often than not, Steve was there when you woke up from your nightmares, body slick with sweat, sheets wrapped around your limbs, trapping you in an all too familiar way. It would take you a second, maybe two, sometimes three, to adjust to the dark room.

You’d find yourself in the blue safety of Steve’s bed, breeze coming in from the just cracked window, the boy hovering above you, panicked, wrecked at the sight of the tears that would soak at your lashes, making stains on his pillow.

“Baby,” a hand on your forehead, smoothing back your sticky hair, another on your jaw, a thumb at the corner of your lip, trying to calm the way you sucked in a desperate breath. “Baby.”

Steve never made you talk about it. He knew, he understood, because of course he did. He’d gather you in his arms instead, helping you to climb into him, falling into his lap clumsily because you were still crying and the world around you was blurry and on its side.

But Steve was there and he was breathing, his bruises fading, no blood on his skin.

Scars glitter silver in the moonlight, you discovered. Lilac night skies matching fresh marks, deep hues of blue that eventually turned the same colour as his bedroom walls.

He’d pull you into the cradle between his spread legs, back against the headboard, sleep long lost and forgotten as he held you to his chest. You’d cling to him until you left crescent shaped marks on his arms, not that he ever cared. He kissed away the salt that slipped from the corners of your eyes, face pressed messy into your because nothing else really mattered except the closeness you both needed.

You’d let the boy sweep your hair back from your face, hand achingly gentle on you, finger tips soothing over your cheekbones, the line of your jaw, the slope of your neck. Steve would press a kiss into you when you settled, hiccups gone, breathing back to normal and you’d push your nose into him, silently asking, begging for something to feel.

His lips would be a slow slide over yours, overwhelmingly careful, not giving you too much, always just enough, never asking for more, only gifting you what you needed.

It was a grounding feeling, being encased in his arms, a soft warmth, cedar and spice and leftover mint toothpaste. Steve was all strong arms, wrapped muscle, bare chest and sleep mussed hair. Bed warm and still lazy, rocking you both in the middle of twisted sheets, whispering what you needed to hear.

“I’ve got you, I’m here, we’re okay, I love you.”

On the nights where it was all too much, when your breaths only rocketed when you woke up with a gasp, he’d coax you out of bed, away from the source of your bad dreams and switch on the bathroom light, softer and warmer than the one in his room.

He’d lift you onto the countertop, or perch you on the edge of the bath, spreading your legs for him to fit between, always getting as close as he could to you. Steve would claps your chin in his hand, never right, never suffocating, just enough to get you to look at him, eyes soft on your wide, wild ones.

“C’mon baby, you know what to do.”

Joined hands, placed on his chest, a slow breath in, a slower breath out. A game of copy me, Simon says, do what I do. It always worked, some nights in minutes, some a little longer, but Steve never gave up.

The bathroom tiles cooled you down and Steve made you gulp down a glass of water, the same gentle hands soothing over teary eyes, pillow creased cheeks.

He’d say the same things before he led you back to his bed, your bed,his shirt on your body, his lips pressed to your neck.

“I’ve got you, I’m here, we’re okay, I love you.”

The night made it difficult, but you always believed him.

#Steve harrington #Steve baby blurbs #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #Steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things fic #Steve baby blurb

564 notes · View notes

idrellegames · 6 months

Note

So this is might seem like a stupid question/request and also something that wouldn't change or affect the story in any way (I think), but have you ever thought about adding an option when customing the MC for people with heterochromia? I know it's not that important and it's just a small detail, I just thought about it while making my MC since I wanted it to kinda have my appearance uhgsgsysu I don't know if it's something that has been already asked but I was just curious(/ω＼) (btw: I love this game a lot, I really don't know how to express the respect and admiration I feel for your hard work, all the routes are amazing and personally the low romance hit me so hard I love it, so thank you so much(シ. .)シ（Ｔ∇Ｔ）)

Not a stupid question at all!

Heterochromia is not something I'm going to add. It wouldn't be a complex addition, but more of a finnicky one. Outside of making it work in the CC with the numerous different eye colour options, there's how it works in the game itself to consider.

In the game's text, when eye colour is called upon, it's done with a variable like this:

His eyes sweep you up and down, searching for resemblances and lingering on your $eyecolour eyes.

With the variable being filled by a single colour, I don't need to do anything additional. If you select blue, then it will be "lingering on your blue eyes" or if you select brown, then it will be "lingering on your brown eyes".

If I were to implement heterochromia, then that sentence might end up being something like:

His eyes sweep you up and down, searching for resemblances and lingering on your blue and brown eyes.

That flows easy enough here, but there could be circumstances where fitting a reference to two eye different eye colours doesn't work nicely with "your [first colour] and [second colour] eyes". There may also be situations where I would want to be more descriptive then just first colour, second colour.

Making eye colour more complicated with additional descriptors can either lead to situations where I either have to live with awkward phrasing or add in a whole separate bit of flavour text to ease out the stiltedness. I already am doing something like this when hair texture and hair length come up.

I absolutely understand wanting to see yourself in your MC's design. I think heterochromia is an excellent addition in a game with visuals, but since this is a text-based game where you don't actually see your character and physical appearance doesn't matter much in the long-run, it's addition would be extra work for not much reward. Ultimately eye colour is not important to the game and it will not be referenced very often in the text.

I would rather spend my time incorporating parts of the CC that impact the game in more ways than just a off-handed flavour text - such as crest colour and pattern for aeda, or the MC's (potentially/optionally) growing collection of tattoos and scars.

I hope that makes sense! 💖

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #answered

43 notes · View notes

darkaviarymc · 9 months

Note

mumscarian....? i haven't heard that name in YEARS......... and. and . you're asking ME for headcanons?!! oh gee...

anyways

* mumbo k. jumbo loves taking pictures of scar/grian. especially candid ones. so whenever one of them is not looking, he just.. yknow. sneaks a lil' picture. nobody has to know! (everybody knows)

* y'know confident and collected scar? yeah forget that whenever he gets called handsome or complimented by either of those two. he melts. MELTS. he's gotten better at it in recent years, but still. whenever either of them call him handsome hes like ME?!

* grian loves to just. murder them in kisses. its like an attack at times. you never know when its coming.. you just deal with it until grian flies away like nothing ever happened.

* mumbo's love language is quality time, scar is physical touch and words of confirmation, and grian is acts of services btw.

that being said, scar and grian will just hop over to mumbo's base for fun whenever they feel like it. mumbo might be an introvert, but he just loves to spend time with his partners.

grian and mumbo pick on scar a lor, sure, but they also love to just. call him handsome in the middle of conversation. especially when scar isn't really paying attention and its just them too. and he gets all the hugs and cuddles at night i swear (hes just like me frfr)

scar loves to cook/bake for grian, and mumbo usually cleans around his base (but not too much... thats pearl's job.) not much too add there but still!

anyways rhats it. teehee. much love from anonymous mumscarian enjoyer xx

I'm sorry I only just got to answer this! I love them so much! It's all so sweet and wholesome and made me smile. If I may also add:

* Mumbo’s favorite picture is one of Scar sitting cross-legged in bed, half asleep, while Grian sits behind him on his knees unbraiding his har (sleeping with the braids is uncumfy)

* One time Scar was planting flowers around Scarland, and Grian landed right behind him and greeted him with, "Hey, handsome." Scar's brain immediately quit because like? He was covered in dirt and sweat and his hair was an absolute mess and face was a bit sunburned? Grian thought he was handsome even like that? Yes. Yes he did.

* Grian doesn't even have the good sense to wait until Mumbo is done with his redstone contraption first. He'll just tackle the poor man while he's in the middle of setting a line of repeaters and once Grian leaves, Mumbo will have lost count and have to start over. (I don't know how redstone redstones)

* Sometimes while Mumbo in engrossed in a project, Grian will just perch on a ledge somewhere and keep him company. Sometimes Grian will talk about funny things that happened around the server, sometimes Mumbo will think out loud about whatever he's doing. Then Scar will come swooping in to join them, and Mumbo will greet him with, "Hello, handosom," before he's landed and... welll...

GoodTimeWithScar experienced kinetic energy.

* Sometimes after Scar bakes, Grian will go around and sweep the flour off the floor. None of that flour got there because they were goofing off. Not at all.

Thanks again for sending this lovely ask!

#mumscarian #avi answers things

24 notes · View notes

b1odeuwed · 1 year

Text

i will be pushing for the scar sweep in mcyt sexyman poll btw. He deserves it for being like that

#gtws #mcyt sexyman poll

34 notes · View notes

ink-ghoul · 1 year

Text

Also, btw, I'll slow down all the mcytblr sexyman related posts

Don't get me wrong I've been having fun like a madlad!, seeing so much support people have for their little guys is inspiring, artists creating fanart, people campaigning, reblogging old fanart, making text posts, memes, videos, gifsets, has been fantastic!

But I'm spending more time and energy on this silly event than I should, I have responsibilities to attend!

I'll just make sporadic posts in favor of Scar's sweep raaahhh

#mcytblr sexyman #mcyt sexyman poll

21 notes · View notes

surrealsuriel · 1 year

Text

Pulling Your Strings and Pushing Your Buttons (Gwynriel Oneshot)

Masterlist // AO3

Summary: Six months have passed since Gwyn and Azriel made up their friendship after she found out about the necklace. Despite the blowout argument that ensued and Gwyn's insistence that he both buy her something for just her and apologize to Elain, their friendship has never been stronger.

But, Gwyn is tiring of dancing circles around Azriel and with advice from Nesta, she begins to scheme.

A/N: Should I be writing a gwynriel one-shot while still being in progress for my Elucien chaptered fic? Ehhhhhh... I'll let you decide. This is just a fun little fic I have always wanted to write, nothing new or groundbreaking happening here-- just fluffy gwynriel realness. Also, I am tired of reading the necklace plotline so that is why that is so far in the past of this fic. Lols. Lastly, this is literally just fluff, so Gwyn's past is very lightly mentioned btw.

Word Count: 6129

Warnings: Smut, Pure Self-Indulgence

If Gwyneth Berdara was anything, it was persistent, stubborn some would even say. She blew out her breath rapidly as she dodged yet another one of Nesta's kicks. Gods, Nesta could get her leg up there-- a fact Cassian loved to make ridiculous innuendos about that would always turn Gwyn into a color that matched her hair.

Gwyn threw her fist out desperately and managed to catch Nesta's shoulder with her blow, but this maneuver left her center completely defenseless. Before Gwyn could even think, Nesta's right fist, the one unaffected by her jab to the shoulder, connected with Gwyn's abdomen. Since Gwyn wasn't one to give up, she desperately sent out her fist again and it barely skimmed Nesta's jaw before Nesta landed her killing blow-- a sweep to her feet that knocked her off balance and onto the mat below.

With the wind knocked out of her, it was all too easy for Nesta to pounce and lock Gwyn down in defeat. As cheers went up among the surrounding crowd at the spar, Nesta leaned down, smirking. "C'mon Gwyn, just gonna let me win like that?"

Gwyn huffed out a laugh and shoved Nesta off of her, as she cackled in victory, raising her fists above her head. "Shut up, Nesta. I knew you needed a win after I handed you your ass yesterday in knife-throwing," Gwyn taunted in return. "Ooo Gwynie! You're really getting a mouth on you. Spending too much time around Cass?" Nesta giggled. She continued to lay on the mat to catch her breath as Nesta got up in search of some water and a victorious high-five from her mate.

Gwyn's hair had been pulled up into a braid when she began her fight, but now much of her hair hung loose and stuck to her sweaty neck and brow. Her leathers were now soaked with sweat and Gwyn knew she was in desperate need of a bath. As Gwyn debated taking a nap on her mat, a scarred hand appeared above her, the last to leave the ring and first to offer her a helping hand.

"Rookie move, Berdara," the rumbling voice of Azriel only sounded slightly disgruntled and held much more teasing. "You know not to leave your center open like that when you strike. Cassian must've taught you that."

"As I recall, the only one who has been sparring with me these past few nights has been you. Maybe I got rusty." Gwyn rebutted, taking his hand as he hauled her up to a standing position like she weighed nothing. She had decided long ago that she would just simply never get used to all that was Azriel-- the feel of his hand in hers, how freely he allowed her to touch those hands, the size of him, or how despite her own height, she felt dwarfed besides him. It was all so much for her, but she tried her best to keep her mind focused.

As Azriel looked her up and down to check for injuries, Gwyn tried her best to hide her blush at his caring gaze. This gaze always seemed rather analytical when he was checking her over for injuries(a common occurrence), but it still made Gwyn flush to have his sole attention on her. This flush spread as a few of his shadows rather obviously swirled around her to continue a search for any pain.

As the shadows reported back to Azriel that she was, in fact, fine, he released a breath. "Gwyn... that would be a killing blow in a real fight. You fought well, but we will go over that tonight to make sure it doesn't happen again." One of his shadows remained on Gwyn's shoulder-- her favorite one, not that she'd ever tell the others. She wouldn't want to hurt their feelings.

She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to it, knowing full-well Azriel could hear, "Look, kitten, he's mother-henning again. How should I tell him Nesta, Emerie, and I are having a sleepover tonight and we will not be sparring together?" Azriel gave her an incredulous look. "Did you just call my shadow kitten?" Gwyn grinned at him. "I'm afraid to ask," he continued," But I have to know, is kitten a name you gave it... or a term of endearment?"

"Kitten isn't a name, Az!" She huffed at him as if he should know. "His name is Barry. Kitten is what I call all the ones I'm fond of!" His cheeks tinted slightly pink, and Gwyn couldn't help but take great pleasure in ruffling his feathers a bit. He tilted his head slightly, and Gwyn realized his shadows were whispering to him. "What secrets did they just divulge?" She demanded.

Although he was the spymaster of the night court, a feared male in every land, he managed to nervously shout out, "Nothing!" Gwyn's grin widened. "That was a horrible lie! Now you must tell me what they said!" His blush got deeper as he frowned but gave in. He was always so bad at telling Gwyn no. "They said that they hope you're fond of all of them," Azriel cocked his head to the side again in annoyance, "They are actually all trying to argue over which of them you are most fond of."

Gwyn grinned gleefully, "Well, they should know that I am actually most fond of their master." As Gwyn skipped away from their conversation, she couldn't help but feel all too pleased at the blush she had drawn from Azriel and the blush that had remained as she left to get water. Her own redness and heart rate betrayed her pride, but she reveled in the flirtations all the same.

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

Hours later as Emerie, Nesta, and Gwyn all giggled themselves into madness, Nesta recalled their conversation from her perspective. "Gods, Gwyn! I swear I have never seen Azriel turn that red! Did you flash him or something?"

Gwyn grinned as she told them about how she had simply told Azriel she was fond of him. "He must be totally gone for you to look like that after such a simple admission. Are you sure you didn't just up and proposition him with sex?" Emerie cut in. "No!" Gwyn squealed, "I think I just surprised him. I am sure he doesn't feel that strongly for me. If he did, he would've done something about it by now, right?"

At that, Nesta made a face. "Gwyn," she began delicately, "You already know about his history with Mor and Elain. I don't mean to deter you, but there is a good chance he would rather drink poison than make a first move--especially with all your... history."

Gwyn winced at the reminder of the entire necklace fiasco. She had been so excited to receive such a beautiful gift for the winter solstice. All that joy lasted about a week before it came crashing down when Elain spotted her wearing it at a gathering at the House of Wind and then stormed out of the room with Azriel in tow. Elain hadn't meant to hurt Gwyn, but her scathing yells at Azriel had echoed through the house, meaning everyone immediately knew that Gwyn was wearing a necklace not meant for her.

She had ripped the necklace off her own neck and hurled it over the balcony. When Elain came back with a particularly miserable-looking Azriel, Gwyn had taken her turn to rip into him. Once they had been alone, he was all but on his knees begging desperately for forgiveness. They had come up with a deal-- he would properly apologize to Elain, and if he really wanted to gift Gwyn something, then he would get her a present just for her. That was six months ago and he had yet to fulfill the second half of that promise-- luckily his apology to Elain had gone well and there was peace between them now, though.

Her and Azriel's friendship had picked back up after a little groveling, and so Gwyn hadn't brought up her gift and often wondered if that meant he didn't want to get her one after all. Gwyn shook that thought away and fixed Nesta and Emerie with a pointed look, "Then what do you suggest I do? I can't make the first move. Not after everything with Elain and especially if I am not sure. Is there a mutual move option? Can we both make a move?"

Their expressions turned into pure feline delight at that which worried Gwyn. "Our sweet, sweet Gwyneth. I think it is time you learned the art of seduction," Nesta replied. Gwyn blanched, "I am not seductive in the slightest, Nesta. Even if Azriel maybe had romantic feelings for me, there's no way he sees me like that."

Emerie glared at her in what would be an intimidating way if not for the fuzzy pink pajamas she was wearing that matched the blanket wrapped around her she had requested from the house. "Gwyn, do not even! You are stunning. I can watch you talk with Azriel for 10 seconds and I know he sees you that way." Gwyn wasn't convinced.

"Look," Nesta began, "Don't do anything you are not comfortable with. If you don't want to feel that way or present yourself that way, then don't. You could always just tell him how you feel. However, this isn't suggesting you be like me and Cass-- fucking before we ever admitted our feelings. But, this could help draw you both out to perform this mutual move. It could give both of you guys a little encouragement. Azriel doesn't fully know what it is like to be desired, maybe showing him could help if you really are set on not making that first move."

Gwyn had spent the past few months with counselors in the library and her training had helped extensively with the traumas she held. While she wasn't ready for sex and her sisters knew that, she also knew the heat she felt when Azriel was around. She had even grown accustomed to pleasuring herself, often to thoughts of Azriel and all he could draw out of her. She wanted him. Not just for his body, but for him.

Resolved, Gwyn steeled her gaze and straightened her shoulders. "What do I have to do?"

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

Nesta's tips about her seduction involved their midnight sparring sessions. While Gwyn initially rejected the idea of tainting their midnight ventures, Nesta's smirk when she mentioned Azriel sweaty and frustrated was enough to have her rethink all of her morals. So Gwyn agreed to enact her plan while training.

Step One. Gwyn had never been one to show much skin. With her past and her current standing as a priestess, even the leathers had been a bit much initially. So her first task had involved the help of Nesta's wardrobe. As Gwyn walked out onto the roof, she felt a little silly in the loose pants and cropped tank top Nesta had provided for her. The tank top stuck to her like a second skin, but luckily held enough padding to hide her breasts a little. Her midriff was on display and as were her arms, though. The linen pants were far more forgiving as they hung pretty loosely and admittedly felt pretty nice for the warm summer evening.

Azriel arrived just at midnight, as usual. Unusally, Gwyn had arrived early in order to begin a new stretching routine Nesta had insisted would display her curves perfectly. As Gwyn went through the moves she had recently learned, she took too much satisfaction in hearing Azriel's intake of breath as he finally spotted her. A few shadows immediately left him and zoomed over to wrap around her arms and legs as she folded herself over with her chest protruding up to the sky, leaving her exposed abdomen and breasts in a perfect position for Azriel to openly gawk at.

First step: Complete.

After exchanging pleasantries with a rather tense Azriel, Gwyn insisted they got to sparring to go over the mistakes she had made in her fight with Nesta. It was time to put Step Two into action. While Gwyn refused to dumb herself down for the sake of seduction, she did genuinely need help learning how to remain defensive when she did decide to take the offensive approach. This was a common weakness for Gwyn, and one she planned to finally take advantage of. If it won't help her in a fight, it may as well do something for her romantically, she reasoned.

As Azriel led her through the motions of throwing a punch while moving your other arm down protectively, Gwyn allowed herself to be more vocal as she threw her punches. She grunted as she extended her arm and groaned when she knew she had messed up. She could see Azriel's face progressively getting redder and redder, and she hadn't even done the worst of it yet.

"Let me try on you, Az. You'll be my real opponent soon enough and I need to know how to do this against a real person," she requested. "Fine, yeah let's get to it," He answered gruffly. "I won't fight back yet. Just use me as the dummy for now and I'll continue to correct you as we go."

Gwyn smirked and thought to herself, Yes, you are a dummy. As if he could read her thoughts, Azriel rolled his eyes but got into stance. Gwyn began to slowly map out what her punches should look like against him. At this stage, she still wasn't fully hitting him, just slowly moving her body in the angles and steps he taught her and he would move in response to show her what would happen.

"There," Azriel pointed, "That's where your elbow drops. You have to keep it up or I could just--," and then he mimicked punching her in her stomach. Gwyn groaned again, finally ready to really get into step two of Nesta's plan. "Again."

Gwyn put up her stance again, and went to slowly let her fist connect with his shoulder in a mock punch. She felt her other elbow drop slightly again, but didn't stop it. As Azriel began to correct her again, she allowed her hand to remain on his shoulder. "C'mon, Berdara. Get that elbow up. What's going on with you?" His gaze was dipped in a bit of concern now.

Gwyn rubbed his shoulder with her hand that still remained there as she looked up at him through her lashes, a trick taught to her by Emerie. "I guess I'm just distracted, Az. I'm sorry. I'll get it I promise. That hit to my abdomen yesterday really did hurt-- it just knocks the breath out of you, huh?" At the mention of the abdomen area, Gwyn let her fingers slowly trace down Azriel's body, scraping her nails against his own abs. "Do you even feel hits here?" She asked breathlessly as she was reminded with a hands-on example of how rock hard he was everywhere.

She heard Azriel audibly gulp as she kept her hand pressed against him. "I feel everything, yeah," he gasped out. Gwyn felt a bit like she was on fire but she took it one step further, "Everything, huh?" She slowly raised her other hand to rest against his stomach and then slowly dragged her fingernails up the area, over his pectorals, and up around his neck. He visibly shivered and Gwyn felt triumph at the reaction she had drawn from him. She saw his eyes darken with desire as his pupils overtook the comforting brown shade she so loved. His scent Gwyn found herself addicted to of fresh rain and burning embers turned spicier with musk, and Gwyn realized with a start that she had well and truly turned on the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

Gwyn stepped back slightly, then. Tease him, the voice of Nesta echoed through her mind, Don't give up on the game in the first round. "Well," Gwyn began as she backed away and began gathering her things, "I think part of my distraction must be exhaustion, so I will see you in the morning because I am going to go ahead and turn in. Night!" Before she could lose her courage, she raced up to Azriel and kissed him goodnight on his cheek.

As she escaped to her dormitory in the library, the last thing she saw was a dumbstruck Azriel-- turned on, red, and lightly touching his check where her lips had branded him.

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

Training the next morning had been tense, as both of them could barely look at each other while still reeling from their desire the night before. Thankfully, Gwyn managed to escape training without running into him. As Emerie had decided that the next phase of her seduction should include literally running into him under much different circumstances. Nesta had helped work out the whole plan.

Gwyn would claim she was staying at the House of Wind that night for another sleepover with Nesta and Emerie. It was a little soon since their most recent one, but they all hung out so often no one really questioned it. Her sisters would dress her in a ridiculous nightgown that was made for the purpose of being taken off, not to sleep in, and then she would prance around until she happened to run into Azriel. After that point, their plan's extensions rested fully on Azriel's willingness.

That night, Nesta and Emerie outfitting her into a fitted tank top that fluttered out at the bottom with thin straps and lace detailing around the edges of the bodice. The whole set was obviously a deep blue, Azriel's blue. The shorts paired with it were practically underwear with how much of Gwyn's ass was in view, but she couldn't deny the satisfaction she felt upon seeing herself in the mirror and feeling comfortable with being thought of as sexy. Just a year ago, being in a garment like these would have made her want to crawl out of her skin-- now she felt empowered.

Nesta and Emerie squealed like teenage girls as she spun before them. "If Azriel lost his composure at a tank top, he is going to drop dead when he sees you in this. Gwyn you are one sexy bitch and Emerie you are an evil genius," Nesta praised. Soon after, Gwyn was pushed out of the room and into the hallway. Gwyn's first stop would be the kitchens, she decided.

As Gwyn wandered and wandered, she progressively became more and more hopeless. Where could this oblivious Shadowsinger be hiding around here? As Gwyn rounded the corner towards the library one last time, ready to throw in the towel, her face smashed directly into the chest she had been feeling up the night before. "Azriel!" she exclaimed.

"Gwyn?" He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. Then taking her state of undress and skin on display a more startled, "Gwyn!" left his mouth. "What are you--?" His breath caught as he continued to ogle her. Here was the tricky part for Gwyn. Lying to the Spymaster was never easy, but she was counting on his discombobulation to aid her.

"Nesta and Emerie went to sleep, but I still feel wide awake. I was hoping to find a good read in the library to keep me company at this hour. Want to join me and my potential book?" She asked hopefully. She saw a battle war in his eyes as he chose between continuing on to bed or following after a scantily clad woman who would test every thread of self-control he was currently gripping onto for dear life. "Sure..." he replied uneasily, "I can keep you company for a little bit."

As they entered the library, Gwyn took her time admiring the back before her. Gwyn shut the doors to the library, and as she turned around she caught the final moments of Azriel's shadows tattling on her to their master. Shit. He slowly turned around, a smirk spreading over his features. "Gwyn, the shadows have just informed me that you are lying. Care to defend yourself?"

Gwyn stuttered out her response, "I'm not--I just wanted a book. I don't... I don't know why they think that," she shot a sharp look to Barry. So not her favorite anymore. The shadow shrunk back behind his master, only making Azriel's smirk deepen.

"See, Gwyneth, I think I believe my shadows here which leaves me to question what you could possibly be doing wandering around at night, wearing that," Azriel slowly stalked towards her as he said those words in a low tone, practically a growl.

"Do you not like it?" Gwyn breathed out as his proximity backed her up against the doors. Azriel closed his eyes, taking a few steadying breaths before tensely admitting, "I have the opposite problem Gwyn. I like it too much. I like everything about you too much."

Everything went still for a moment while she considered his words, but his eyes never stopped roaming her body, as if she was a mirage in the desert he was scared to lose sight of. He sighed, taking her lack of response as a rejection. As he began to back away, Gwyn decided that maybe admitting her liked her could be his move. And so now it was time for her to parry.

She quickly fisted his shirt and dragged him towards her. With their lips only a few millimeters apart, Azriel quietly begged, “Don’t look at me like that, Gwyn.” Puzzlement filled her gaze, “Like what?”

He let out a sigh, “Like you want me to kiss you.” She searched his eyes and saw only raw desire there, so she arched up toward him again, offering herself up to him.

Gwyn managed to gasp out a helpless "Please, Azriel" before he was devouring her. His hands landed against the door behind her with a thud, caging her in, and she released his shirt in favor of trailing her hands up to tangle and pull on his hair. She found that with each light tug, he would release another groan, so she tugged as much as she could to elicit as many as possible. He kissed her like a man starved, finally receiving his favorite meal. His lips attacked hers hungrily and with each bite of his teeth and swipe of his tongue, Gwyn felt herself becoming more and more lost to his kisses. His muskier scent of arousal drifted to her nose, setting her sense on fire as she allowed herself to drown in Azriel, Azriel, Azriel.

For the first time in years, she yielded herself completely and wholly to another, trusting Azriel fully with her heart and her body. This surrender left her flying free as she moved against Azriel, whose hands remained fisted against the doors behind her. Gwyn separated her mouth from his, desperately sucking in air. Azriel breathed heavily against her neck for a moments reprieve before diving in there, nibbling and sucking at every sensitive spot she hadn't known existed in that zone. "Azriel," she let out, stretching out his name in a wanton moan. His hips bucked against her at the sound, but he quickly moved his body so once again, only his lips touched her.

"Azriel, please," she begged against his onslaught of pleasure that was both too much and not nearly enough. "Please touch me." Azriel reared back, a wild and feral look in his eyes. "Gwyn, I can't. If I start touching you like this, I don't know if I can stop. I just.. I need--," He was gasping in air through his rambling. His left hand came down against the door again, nearly punching a whole through it, but thankfully just leaving a large dent instead. The noise startled Gwyn a bit, but she was overall surprised to find that his outburst didn't scare her. Rather, seeing him so unraveled left her nearly melting. I did this to him.

"I'm sorry," he finally released before stepping away from her and vanishing into his shadows. Well, that wasn't what she was expecting.

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

Gwyn hadn't seen Azriel the two days following their incident in the library. When she had returned to Nesta's rooms dejectedly and looking incredibly ruffled following their excursion, her sisters had been pissed, wanting to storm his rooms and set him straight. But Gwyn had calmed them down and insisted that it was okay and she'd figure it out. Now, 48 hours later, she was feeling much less optimistic.

As a hail mary, Gwyn last minute decided to head to the training ring that night to see if he would appear for their usual nightly lessons. Despite hoping he would be there, she was still incredibly surprised to find Azriel on the roof, gazing out towards the city below lost in thought. A shadow wound its way up to his ear, exposing Gwyn's presence.

Slowly, he turned around, and Gwyn was not prepared for the sight before her. Azriel looked absolutely wrecked. The bags under his eyes were heavier than usual, his hair ruffled, face unshaved, and she was pretty sure he was wearing the clothes she last saw him in. Without a second thought, Gwyn raced towards him. He shuddered as she wrapped her arms around him in a hug and then he broke. "Gwyn, I'm so sorry," he choked out, "I can't believe I would take advantage of you like that. I should have asked or checked in or anything. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I cannot lose you. I'll do anything. I'll forget my feelings for you, I'll clean the ring for a month, take your shifts in the library, just please don't hate me."

Gwyn stepped back to look him in his eyes that were now red-rimmed and puffy. "Oh Azriel. Is that what you think? That I didn't want that or that you somehow took advantage of me? I should be the one apologizing. Nesta and Em got into my head about seducing you. I should've focused on communication. Please forgive me." His eyes full of sorrow quickly turned shocked.

"You planned that?" He asked, mouth agape. "Well technically Emerie did..." she admitted guiltily. "But I did actively participate in it which means you're innocent. You did not do anything I didn't want, Az," she added more softly. His head dropped against her shoulder as he took a steadying breath. "Even if you did plan it, you couldn't have wanted me to take it that far. Gwyn, I basically attacked you like some wild animal. Gods, look at you, I can still see marks on your neck," he despaired.

Gwyn hadn't realized the cut of her shirt allowed his markings to show on her, and she took great satisfaction in the evidence of their moment together.

"Azriel," Gwyn said, adding authority to her tone. "How about I decide what I do and do not want okay? It may surprise you but I actually enjoyed what took place in the library. It felt nice to know that I could...," Gwyn sighed and placed her fingers under Azriel's chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "It felt nice to know that I could trust you, Az. Trust you with my desires, my needs, my body. I wasn't scared at all because I know you'd never hurt me."

He nodded along, his eyes glazing over a bit. "I would never hurt you, Gwyn," he echoed. "I am honored to have your trust, and I hope you know that you have mine." He backed himself away from her slightly. "You should also know, Gwyn, that I have feelings for you-- romantic feelings. Feelings that stretch beyond physical attraction." He seemed to hold his breath after his confession.

Gwyn grinned at him. "Well that works out just perfectly then doesn't it Shadowsinger? Because I feel the same way." His face cracked into a wide smile, probably the biggest she had ever seen from him. Something inside her blossomed at that thought, and so she took his face in her hands and kissed him with everything she had.

Like two nights before, his reaction was immediate, practically diving onto her and fully consuming her with every brush of his mouth against hers. Despite his frenzied kissing, Gwyn couldn't help but miss the feel of his hands against her and when she looked down she noticed that he, once again, was keeping his hands off of her. She separated herself from him. "Azriel," she demanded, a fire in her eyes, "Touch me, I want it." His eyes widened slightly before he was on her again, this time desperately touching and stroking any skin he could find.

He started by trailing his hands up and down her arms, then moving around to her back to pull her impossibly closer, and finally her gave in and fully cupped her ass, hauling her against him. They both released a groan at the contact made between Gwyn's clothed center and Azriel's own erection that strained against his pants. "Azriel," Gwyn gasped out, trying to find any part of her reasonable mind. "Not here." He nodded along, stepping her straight back into his shadows. They fell through the darkness and landed in Azriel's room.

As his close friend, she had been in here a few times, but she had always pointedly ignored his bed. Now, it was all she could think about. He returned to kissing her, but Gwyn was determined as she slowly guided Azriel back and onto his bed. Once he was fully laid down across his bed with his wings strewn behind him, Gwyn stepped away. With pure male satisfaction, he sat himself up on his elbows. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you're trying to send me some signals Berdara," his expression turned more serious as he added, "I only brought us here for privacy. We do not have to do anything."

Gwyn basked in how safe she felt with him. "I'm not ready for everything yet," she said slowly. Her face turned bright red as she then hastily admitted, "But please, I need some sort of release. I am going crazy, here." Azriel's smirk widened, "I can work with that. What are you comfortable with?"

Without giving it a second thought, Gwyn already knew her answer. "Your hands. I want your hands. On me," she clarified at the end unnecessarily. This wiped the smirk off of his face as he blinked in surprise. "Y-you want my hands?" he asked incredulously.

Gwyn immediately understood his pause, so she stepped forward between his knees. He sat up from his lounged position so they were face to face. Slowly, Gwyn reached down and took his hands. "Your hands are beautiful, Az. They are warmth and safety for me. They are good," she took a heavy breath. "You are good."

Azriel swallowed thickly, taking his hands from her and cupping her face, kissing her sensually and full of emotion. He brought Gwyn down beside him, keeping their kiss up as best he could as he slowly undressed her. First removing her robes, then her bra, so that all that was left was her underwear. He fully separated from her, then, to admire her. "Beautiful," He breathed out as he kissed her neck. "Exquisite," a kiss against her collarbone. "Beyond words," a final kiss between her breasts. She arched up into him as he trailed his hand lower.

Gwyn felt a small rush of panic burst through her and she hurriedly asked, "Can we keep my underwear on for tonight?" He looked up at her through his eyelashes. "Gwyn, whatever you want tonight is yours. You tell me to stop, everything stops. Do you understand?" Gwyn closed her eyes as she felt her burst of panic dissipate. "Yes," she breathed out. "Keep going, then."

While still mouthing at her neck, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear, stroking against her folds. That simple touch had her arching her back and moaning brokenly. He pressed harder against the her apex, rubbing in small, tight circles to bring her as much pleasure as possible. And gods he was succeeding. Even her own hand had never felt this good. The texture of his scars combined with how big he was drove her absolutely crazy and felt like heaven against the most sensitive part of her.

With a kiss below her ear, Azriel whisper, "Can my girl take one of my fingers, do you think?" Gwyn wriggled her hips against him, letting out a cry at the suggestion. "Yes, please, Az. I need it!" He chuckled darkly against her before continuing his ministrations.

"I don't know, Gwyn. You said you've been trying to seduce me lately. Is that what good girls do?" Azriel interrogated her as she writhed beneath him wildly. She had no idea what he was saying, all she knew was that it made her soak his hand that continued to rub at her without actually entering her. "Answer me..." he taunted.

"No," she finally gasped out, "I was bad. I'm sorry, just please," she begged, tears pricking her eyes. "Since you asked so nicely," he said darkly as he slowly breached her entrance with his middle finger. She swore she could feel every inch of that finger and every last scar as his one singular finger stretched her. Gods, her fingers were so much tinier. The stretch of his middle finger brought a pleasant burn throughout her bones as he began pumped it in and out, being sure to curve the digit up whenever he bottomed out. As he then began dragging his palm across her clit, Gwyn heard herself begin to scream out his name. "That's right, baby," he whispered against her ear, "Let the whole house hear who you belong to, who brings you your pleasure. Tell me, who is the only one to make you feel this good?"

"You!" Gwyn sobbed out around another plea. "You are, just please!" Gwyn wasn't fully sure what she was asking for at this point. All she knew was that she was slowly unraveling before him and this was the quickest she had ever found release. With renewed vigor, Azriel curved his finger up higher and pressed his palm down harder against her. With his left hand, he then pinched one of her nipples and took the other between his teeth. She arched up into him, so close. With a pop, he released her breast from his mouth. "Gwyn, let go," he commanded before diving back down. And that was all it took for Gwyn to finally release her hold on that thread inside her. Her body bowed off the bed, both pursuing Azriel's continued torture and trying to get away as her body strained from her sensitivity. With a scream, Gwyn fully blacked out.

She came back to as Azriel pulled his digit out of her, the emptiness making her grown dejectedly. "I know, baby," he whispered soothingly. "You did so good for me," he continued his praise of her. Slowly he rolled her until she was under his blankets, then settling beside her. She curled up against his chest, too exhausted to dress herself again. "Thank you," she whispered.

He looked down at her adoringly and squeezed her body against his in a horizontal hug. As she drifted off to sleep, he whispered back, "You are everything." She fell asleep to the smell of fresh rain, burning embers, and a soft kiss to her forehead. Settled at last.

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

When Gwyn awoke the next morning, fully sated and still blissed out, she was a little disappointed to find a note in Azriel’s place. It read: At River House for “urgent court business” according to Rhys. I believe I owe you a gift. Sorry it took so long to get made. Don’t get dressed. I’ll be home soon. ;)

She giggled at the Shadowsinger’s wonky face before lifting the note off of his nightstand to reveal a small velvet box. She smiled to herself as she opened it. She couldn’t help but allow a gasp to escape as she looked upon the necklace inside. A braided silver chain with a single charm— a dagger that looked suspiciously like Truthteller. She made sure to put it on quickly so he could return to her with the necklace on and only the necklace on.

Although the gift signaled an end to a chapter of their friendship, Gwyn felt giddy at all the possibilities their new relationship held. And in the quietness of her heart, she let that perfect, golden thread within her sing and glow for her future with Azriel at her side.

#pro gwynriel #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #azriel acotar #self indulgent #fluff and smut #azriel x gwyn

41 notes · View notes

pinkiegiu · 10 months

Text

I wrote a fanfic abt my own ocs bc i love them so so much

could be seen as romantic, platonic, or anything really, its sfw btw hell yea

warnings: non sexual nudity, scars

word count: 2064

Akira walked through the swordsmith village, still shaken up from having to be blindfolded, deafened and carried. They were headed to the village's chief along with Amamiya Shie, another demon slayer, the two of them having been told to go speak to him before doing anything else, much to Akira's dismay. They absent-mindedly follow Shie, drowning out the sounds around them, not focusing on anyone or anything they pass.

The meeting went well, at least Akira thought so, they did not pay much attention to what was said. The second they left the chief's house, they started speedwalking to their swordsmith's own residence, what they came for in the first place, not caring whether Shie followed them or not.

A few days ago, Akira had received a letter from Mikane, mentioning a surprise for them, and having requested for their and Shie's presence. Despite being busy with missions, Akira was determined to go, having not seen their first- and so far only- human friend in quite some time now. They went at the same time as Shie, feeling safe enough around him to help handle the sensory hell that was the trip to the village.

Akira quickly reached the house, seeing Kosei, Mikane's younger brother, sweeping dust out of the house peacefully. The teenager quickly noticed the slayer, speaking up in the shaky voice that Akira has grown somewhat used to.

"A-ah, Kitaichi, you're here!" His grasp on the broom tightened under Akira's unchanging cold gaze. "Um, Mikane is waiting for you inside... I-I'll leave now, Amamiya is probably waiting for me." With that, the young swordsmith quickly put the broom back in place and passed by Akira, still too intimidated by them to try and speak to them further.

Akira stepped inside, letting their worn-out boots at the entrance. They looked around the main room, their eyes settling on blades scattered around, some finished, some still in progress, some by Kosei, most by Mikane. Akira had always admired their swordsmith's dedication and talent, and seeing how much work she put on any blade she makes, whether for decoration or for slayers, only deepened that feeling.

"Mikane. I'm here." They raised their voice louder than they're used to, their barely-used vocal chords already straining from the slight volume change alone. Akira heard shuffling and a muffled "In here!" coming from Mikane's bedroom, making them head to it.

They slid the door open, their neutral expression turning into one of surprise as Mikane just stood there, not wearing her swordsmith mask, a large grin on her face as her hands hid behind her back. "Hi there, Kira!" Akira stays silent for a few seconds before speaking up. "Hello. You said you had something for me?"

Mikane's expression turned more excited. "Yeah! Since we're starting to get along better, I wanted to make you a little something!" Akira tilted their head to the side in confusion. "That's completely unnecessary though. Why would you do that?" "Just felt like it!" Mikane shrugged. "Hand over your blades and get out for a minute, you'll see!"

After doing what was asked of them, Akira stood patiently outside the bedroom, absent-mindedly picking at their nails and the skin around it. Not too long after, they were snapped out of their daze by the sound of the bedroom door, their head turning towards where Mikane stood proudly.

"Sorry for the wait! Here, look at this!" Mikane excitedly shoved one of Akira's daggers into their hands, much to their confusion. "Huh? What do y-" "Just look!!" Akira raised a brow, but soon enough lowered their gaze, their eyes focusing on the blade. Mikane looked at them with sparkling eyes, waiting for them to notice what she added.

After a couple seconds, Akira's eyes widened, finally noticing the guard, much to Mikane's joy. "So? Do you like it?" They nodded at her question as their fingers traced the snowflake pattern, honestly impressed by the work Mikane put in her gift. Mikane bounced a little in joy and went back into the bedroom to get the other blades, Akira following without thinking.

Mikane handed over the tantō's sheath, along with the second dagger and the katana, both also having brand new snowflake-shaped guards. The faintest hint of a smile crept its way on Akira's face at the sight, a warm feeling spreading throughout their chest. "Thank you." Mikane's face lit up even more, feeling giddy from Akira's slight smile.

Akira slid their tantō in its sheath, setting it and their other blades at their sides. Their gaze fell to the ground, fidgeting with their own fingers while they waited for anything to happen, not having anything to add to the conversation. Mikane silently enjoyed the peaceful, friendly silence for a couple more seconds before clapping her hands together.

"Anyway! You smell like shit, I'm guessing you're still not taking proper care of yourself, huh Kira?" The slayer turned their head away, wanting to avoid the question, which only resulted in making Mikane chuckle. "I'm right, aren't I? Come on, today is going to be self care for you!" Akira shook their head, already starting to walk away to escape Mikane's pampering.

Akira felt a tug on their sleeve, already knowing what was about to happen. "Akiraaaaa! Let me take care of youuuuuu!" They looked behind them and their suspicions were confirmed. Mikane looked up at them with a sad, pouty face, successfully managing to male the slayer's eyes soften. "You don't do anything for yourself, at least let me do something!"

Akira looked away, then let out a deep sigh. "Fine, just once, alright?" Mikane threw her arms up in joy, letting out a victory cry. She quickly headed towards her bedroom to grab her mask. "We're going to the hot springs, you can leave your weapons here if you want!"

Akira hesitated for a few seconds, but ultimately chose to do as Mikane said, setting their blades on a table in the living room. The swordsmith soon passed by them, already sliding open the front door. She looked back at them, bouncing happily on her feet, and a small smile forming on Akira's lips again. They quickly caught up, the two soon walking side by side to the springs.

Once they arrived, Mikane drags Akira to one of her favorite spots, one not known by most slayers but well-liked by swordsmiths, a perfect spot to be alone and unbothered by others. Mikane quickly undressed and got in the water, not minding Akira's presence. The slayer gazed away with a faint blush, nervously picking at their nails.

"Shouldn't I... you know... clean up before getting in..?" Mikane looks back at them, laughing a little. "Yeah, my bad, I forgot! This spring has something for that around though, I'll show you!" Akira sighed at her forgetfulness, then quickly looked away once more as she got out of the water, their blush deepening slightly.

They timidly and slowly removed their dirty worn-out coat, and started undoing their belt. "You don't need to be embarrassed, I'm not gonna judge you." Their eyes snapped towards the swordsmith, then back at the ground as she got closer. They stayed silent, even when they felt her hands starting to undo their uniform's button.

If it was anyone else, they would probably be biting and scratching, their skin feeling as if it was burning at the touch. But instead they stood still, the care and attentiveness in each movement made them feel comfortable and safe, and soon enough the bandages on their chest were the only thing left on their body.

They shyly covered themself as Mikane carefully took off their bandages, the tightness of them leaving red marks on their pale scarred skin. The swordsmith gently took the slayer's hand, pulling them towards the washing part of the spring, and sat them down. Akira let the water run over them, shuddering once they felt Mikane's hands starting to massage their scalp, not used to the sensation.

The odd feeling did not leave the slayer as she washed their hair, a constant shiver running down their spine and holding back from moving away. They felt her being careful, having noticed their conflicting feelings over her touch, and their chest felt warm again.

They've always noticed how considerate she was towards them, from modifying their katana to fit their left-handedness better, to trying to watch her tone to not overwhelm them, to making sure all of her touches are easy to get away from. And each time without fail, their chest would warm up, feeling more comfortable around her. She was their friend. She was their spark of hope, a blooming flower in the rot they saw as humanity.

They were snapped out of their thoughts as they felt their eyes and nose sting. They tried to ignore the feeling to not alert Mikane, feeling her hands move from their scalp to their shoulders. She made no comment on how tense they were, knowing that the touch was the cause, but continuing to gently wash and massage the slayer, as they haven't moved away or asked her to stop.

After going over their shoulders and back, Mikane pulled her hands away. A few seconds passed, and Akira looked over their shoulders to Mikane, which made her smile. "What, you want me to wash your whole body or something?" The slayer looked down, a soft blush dusting their cheeks. "No." Mikane chuckled and gently ruffled Akira's hair, walking away as they started to continue cleaning themself.

Soon enough, Akira finished and got up, heading back towards the hot spring, where Mikane was relaxing, facing away from them. They slid in the water, a bit further away from her. They felt the warm water soothe the tension and pain in their body, closing their eyes and humming contentedly at the sensation.

Mikane smiled, glad to see Akira enjoying the calming moment they were spending together. Her eyes were glued on them, tracing each of the scars visible, focusing on their relaxed face, following any droplet sliding down their hair or skin.

Akira's eyes fluttered open, glancing quickly at Mikane before looking away with a faint blush. "Stop staring at me. It's weird." Mikane chuckled quietly and tilted her head back to look up at the sky. "Sorry, sorry, I couldn't help it! You have so many scars, I love looking."

Akira's eyebrows raised, though hidden by their bangs, and they looked at Mikane again. "That's a very weird thing to say, you know?" "Hah, as if you don't do the same! You know I do see you looking at my burn, right? Just because one of my eyes is blind doesn't mean the other doesn't notice!" She laughed as Akira splashed her, their cheeks dusted with a light but visible pink. "Shut up." They soon settled, a peaceful silence filling the air as they both relaxed in the hot water of the spring.

After a while, Mikane broke the silence, though she spoke in a soft, quiet tone. "Thank you." Akira turned to her with a puzzled look on their face. "For what?"

"Just... Being here. Being my friend. Opening up to me."

"..."

Akira turned to look in front of them again.

"I should be the one thanking you."

Mikane smiled softly. "Is that so?" Akira nodded, though neither were looking at each other. "Yeah. I may not show it much but..." They looked up, sinking slightly deeper in the water, not managing to finish their sentence.

"I get it. You mean a lot to me too, Kira." They smiled slightly as Mikane spoke up. She always found a way to read the deepest parts or their heat somehow. Or maybe she did have gut feelings that never lied like she claimed. Either way, they appreciated not having to step too far out of their comfort zone around her, each step was on their own terms, they could go back at any time they wanted.

Taking a deep breath, Akira scooted closer to the swordsmith until they nearly touched. Neither said anything, but both knew how the other felt, even with no words spoken. They simply sat in the hot spring's water peacefully.

Eventually, a small contact was made, just a small bump shoulder to shoulder from Akira. Both remained silent still, though the bump was returned, a smile on both of their faces.

~~ Shie belongs to @manta-reys ~~

#pinkie writes fanfics n shit noway #demon slayer oc #kny oc #pinkiegiu's ocs #i love making tags for my ocs <3 #demon slayer akira #kny akira #demon slayer mikane #kny mikane #oc x oc

11 notes · View notes