#fics & everything in between

[stevebabey]

Dustin denotes his plan as a stroke of genius. Steve calls it fucking crazy.

It is crazy — going down to the police station and giving a completely faux alibi for Eddie is crazy.

But then, Steve recalls the handcuffs on the hospital bed, keeping him strapped in even though Eddie’s hardly in a state for escape, all bandages and wires. Steve remembers the fitful sleeps he’s witnessed when visiting, remembers Eddie’s ashamed whisper of fear that one of the officers would smother him in his sleep if no one stayed with him.

Steve remembers the bats. Remembers all the other shit Eddie got dragged through.

And if Steve can lessen that blow… well, then maybe he is crazy for going through with the plan.

There’s no prepping Eddie for it, of course, considering he’s being guarded around the clock. Steve thinks it’s ridiculous considering how feeble he feels just looking at Eddie. When he— when they had gotten him out, there was a moment where he was more blood than boy. Just jagged skin held together by Steve’s hands and sheer will.

He shivers involuntarily. This is crazy, Steve thinks, shifting a bit in the chair out the front of Eddie’s room, waiting for the discussion across the hall to meet its end. It’s crazy, but he’s already done it now.

Sharp footsteps sound across the hallway and Steve’s head yanks up. His heart beats too fast and he presses his palms down into his jeans to wipe them, standing up quickly.

“So?” He asks, eyes darting between Chief Powell and Deputy Callahan.

“That’s quite the alibi you’ve provided, Mr Harrington.” There’s a cool expression on Chief Powell’s face, giving away nothing. “One that not many would be so willing to give.”

Steve swallows. Presses down the panic tied to the implications of what he’s told them— him and Eddie. Him and Eddie together.

“We’d like to question Mr Munson a little as well, get everything settled. You know,” He makes a little gesture with his hand. “Make sure your stories line up.”

A new strain of panic jolts in Steve’s stomach and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he peers between the blinds and tries to find Eddie’s face. He can only see the hospital bed, stark white sheets and hundreds of tubes. Steve tries to remember that he anticipated this, he prepared for this.

“Now?” He asks, turning back to face the officers. He tries to appear like his uneasiness comes from concern, instead of panic. “He’s just had another dose of morphine, I’m not sure how up to questions he’ll be.”

Chief Powell narrows his eyes. Steve silently begs him to take the bait — he doesn’t want to defer the questioning, he just needs a little more wiggle room in case Eddie is slow on the uptake. He’s a performer though. Steve hopes that’ll be enough to convince them.

“Now is best.”

Steve nods, his face grave. “I understand. Just… if he’s a bit slow, give him time to find his answers. He doesn’t know that I’ve… told you.”

Steve’s hand presses down on the handle to the room and the door opens with a hiss. He enters the room, his eyes landing on the officer posted by the door first before they travel onto the bed, to Eddie.

The chair beside the bed is empty for now which means Wayne must be off getting some food. Good, Steve thinks. This will be easiest with a smaller audience to convince.

Eddie’s eyes are closed, resting as best he can, but at the new noise they peek open. The ripple of happy emotion will help their case immensely but Steve delights in the fact that that reaction is genuine. Eddie is happy to see him.

“Big boy!” He rasps as a greeting. He waves one hand up, wires sticking out of it and the handcuff on it clinks uncomfortably, and he begins a spiel. “Welcome back to my humble—”

He cuts himself off when he sees there are other visitors today besides Steve. The heart monitor jumps and Eddie’s hand drops, eyes back onto Steve in an instant.

“What’s going on?”

Steve strides to his side, his hand reaching out to curl his fingers around Eddie’s limp hand. His skin is cool to touch, fingers icy. Surprise jumps onto Eddie’s face but his fingers tighten their grip, holding his hand too. Steve sits down in the seat beside the bed and lets the real nerves of the situation make his voice tremble when he speaks.

“I— I had to tell them, Eddie. About your real alibi.”

To his credit, Eddie only lets confusion wash over his face for a moment before it turns to some mixture of anger and sadness. A furrow forms between his brows, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening, and Steve doesn’t think he’s acting at all when he says, “You didn’t.”

Huh. Maybe he’s figured it out after all, Steve thinks.

Steve nods solemnly, letting his thumb wander over the back of Eddie’s hand. He remembers what it’s like to dote on girls, on Nancy, and find it’s not nearly as hard to bring it all out for Eddie either.

“I had to,” He murmurs, reaching a hand out to brush back some of Eddie’s hair. The heart monitor spikes again and Eddie’s cheeks glow pink.

Behind them, Chief Powell clears his throat and Steve jumps, remembering himself and what he’s trying to accomplish here.

“Excuse us, Mr. Munson, we have a few questions for you.”

There’s a moment where they let their words register and Eddie takes a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand and giving a little nod. Chief Powell continues.

“Mr. Harrington here has come forward with a statement that would place you elsewhere than the scene of the crime at the time of Miss Cunningham’s murder. Can you recall where you were that night?”

The mention of Chrissy’s name makes Eddie flinch and Steve’s glad he’s already holding his hand so he can squeeze it gently. Eddie’s gaze drops to their intertwined hands and stares hard for a moment. Shuffling puzzle pieces into place.

Steve leans down, presses a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles, and says “Tell them the truth.”

Eddie inhales sharply, steeling his nerves and turns his attention back to the officers. “I was with Steve. We were… we were at his house.”

Chief Powell nods, scratching words down in his notepad. He hums in a way that tells Eddie to keep going.

“We were…” Eddie trails off and looks to Steve, trying to follow the story already planted. Steve nods, hoping it comes off like he’s trying to be comforting boyfriend, instead of a subtle nudge.

“…Kissing.”

Steve resists the urge to snort at the absurdity of the whole situation. This whole thing is so convoluted and it’s twisted that Eddie’s even been accused but Steve’s putting his fuckin’ reputation on the line and Eddie says they’ve been kissing?

He doesn’t even need to turn around to know some eyebrows have raised behind him.

“Kissing?” Steve hears Chief Powell repeat. “Just… kissing?”

Eddie’s attention snaps forward again and Steve can see him piece together the snappy persona, the Freak, the scary dog privileges that come with being an outsider. He straightens up a bit, shoulders squaring but Steve can feel the quake in his hand.

“I’m sorry, did you want a play by play of the whole act, Chief Powell? I can go into detail if you want, who took who’s pants off first, yanno, but I didn’t peg you for that kinda guy.”

Steve can’t miss this reaction, turning his head to watch both officers shuffle uncomfortably on the spot. Chief Powell tries to keep his power, eyes narrowing, but it’s hard to maintain when Steve dots another quick kiss across Eddie’s knuckle.

“Very well.” He seems to land on. “We’ll be back to collect a formal statement later—”

Eddie gives a faint squeak, his hand grasping Steves that much tighter.

“—but I’m happy to have the guard and cuffs removed from your room for now.”

A sigh so large escapes Eddie that his chest deflates a good couple inches and Steve feels his own shoulders relax a bit. Chief Powell steps forward, key retrieved from his belt and Steve winces seeing the ring of irritated skin around Eddie’s wrist. No doubt caused from the thrashing of night terrors.

He releases Eddie’s hand long enough for it to be freed, scooping it back up in his as soon as he can, properly this time. All fingers intertwined, palm to palm. Eddie eyes their hands again and Steve pretends to not hear the jump in the heart monitor.

The officers leave, including the one holding post, the door sliding shut with a gentle click and Steve holds himself still— unsure of how to start explaining what he had sprung on Eddie. He feels bad, dropping him in the deep end, even if it was for his own good.

“Eddie—” He starts.

“Hug me.” Eddie hisses out the corner of his mouth. When Steve doesn’t react, he says it again, fiercer - it doesn’t match the way he’s smiling so sweetly at Steve. “Hug. Me.”

Steve does as he’s told, shooting up onto his feet and hesitating only for a moment before Eddie’s arms are creeping around his waist — he leans over and tries to keep his weight off him. Eddie’s frazzled curls tickle at his cheek and Steve just burrows his face in further.

There’s a faint whisper into his ear. “They were watching still.”

Steve pulls back a bit, not to check over his shoulder, but to see Eddie’s face. He’s serious, eyes skirting the window behind them but the moment Steve pulls back, his eyes shift down and he softens.

“And now… kiss me too?” He says. His tone conveys that he knows he’s being far too cheeky. Steve’s wonders if the officers are still watching. Wonders if he’d still kiss him even if they weren’t. He casts a glance over his shoulder and is met with a empty window, the officers retreating down the hall.

He turns back to Eddie with an incredulous expression. “What? Getting you off murder charges not good enough for you?”

Eddie’s face shutters for a moment, as though every emotion to do with Steve’s sacrifice floods him at once. There’s a burst of gratitude when he doesn’t mention it — doesn’t mention everything Steve might be giving up for Eddie, everything that might crumble should the details of the case become public.

He chooses the joke again. Eddie always does.

“Yes, but remember, we’re madly in love,” Eddie sings, brows wiggling about on his face and making Steve snort. “So feel free to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

Steve snorts. “Duly noted, Munson.”

Eddie throws his head back softly against his pillow and pretends to wail in pain. “Munson? That’s all I am to you? That’s how you treat your boyfriend?”

Steve can’t help but grin a little at the theatrics and finds himself thinking that of all the people to be stuck pretending he’s dating, at least with Eddie, it’ll be enjoyable. Well, at least interesting. It will certainly be an experience.

“You have no idea how I treat my boyfriends, baby.” Steve says, voice low, just to see if he can get Eddie’s heart monitor to jump again. It does, a steady beeping as the BPM climbs up a few numbers.

Steve can feel the blush on Eddie’s cheeks, he’s so close, and it’s so nice to see colour on his face — such a stark comparison to the paleness of- well, of older memories.

Steve grins. Despite every nerve that feels singed beneath his skin, overworked from all his anxiety — despite considering every potential backlash that faces both them outside this room, outside the hospital, Steve searches within himself.

He can’t find one single ounce of regret.

next part.

[izzystizzys]

TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog

“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”

High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”

Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.

Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.

“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”

“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.

High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.

Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”

“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”

“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.

“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.

He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-

Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.

Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.

Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!

And catch him, High General Windu sure did.

“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”

“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”

“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.

Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”

[lil-lemon-snails]

"I can't ignore what's under dancefloor boards, The rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat, But I still move my feet, to slip out of this groove, I'm free" ~ 2econd 2ight 2eer, Will Wood, The Normal Album

I have been plagued with visions of LDR Sun every time I listen to this song and I NEEDED to get this out of my system @spadillelicious when do we get to smooch the boy pLEASE

v textless version and close ups under cut!! v

[justaz]

semi-dark king merlin au, someone from ealdor tells king cenred about merlin and he is captured and held as a slave in essetir. since merlin despises captivity and servitude, he’d rather be dead and free than alive and in chains so he acts out and pisses people (especially the king) off so they’ll think him too much trouble and kill him. at first they stick to beatings until merlin manages to get his chains around a few necks and now has a body count so they kill him…..only he wakes back up a few hours later and king cenred is Intrigued and keeps him close. merlin keeps acting out but no matter how many times they kill him, he won’t stay dead. merlin has this moment after waking up perfectly fine after his twenty seventh death where he is hopeless and believes there to be no escape, not even thru death. a few other sorcerers in chains come and help him clean up and give him a lil peptalk, realizing him to be emrys, and then they revolt and take over the kingdom and crown merlin as king and now uther is like “wtf” bc his neighboring kingdom who was kinda sorta on his wavelength about sorcery, though uther did not approve of keeping them alive, is now a kingdom ruled by magic. he goes to war with them but with magic running free and fucking emrys on the throne, they don’t make a lot of headway. anyways merthur meet on the battlefield, enemies to lovers, you get it

[mugmegan]

[firehose118]

but boy, you've got a face i can't ignore

eddiejosh | rated e | 12.8k

Josh doesn’t even recognize Eddie at first. He’s out at a gay bar, trying unsuccessfully to be picked up, when he sees a guy with a mustache sitting alone at the bar. He’s about to slide up next to him when he realizes, oh shit, that’s Eddie Diaz. They haven’t exactly kept in touch since Eddie left dispatch to go back to firefighting full time, but they run in such tight circles that it’s not like they’ve been able to avoid each other either. Josh has seen Eddie on a number of occasions over the last few years, most recently at Maddie’s wedding. He did not have a mustache then. Eddie looks… well, he’s always been hot, but this is on another level. He’s got a kind of Freddie Mercury thing going on now. Maybe Tom of Finland, if he were wearing more leather and less clothing. It works on him. It really, really works on him. But Eddie also looks miserable. He’s staring down into his drink (Josh thinks maybe it’s whiskey?) not even frowning, not like he’s deep in contemplation, just completely blank. Empty. The mustache is hot, obviously, but it’s not a good sign. Something happened to Eddie that made him need to change who he sees in the mirror, and from the expressionless way he’s throwing back straight liquor he’s not dealing with it well. A wave of annoyance washes through Josh. Fuck. This is his problem now. Josh would love to walk away, would love to leave Eddie to do whatever he came to a gay bar to do, but he’s so clearly in the midst of a crisis. Josh’s first responder instinct won’t let him walk away from someone who needs help.

{read on ao3}

tags under the cut!

Tagging people who showed interest in this as a wip: @bucksbignaturals @untitledbychoice @cliophilyra @alchemistc @devirnis

[eruptedinlight]

do you have a moment to talk about my lord and savior

[midnightdemonhunter]

But don't worry. By then, he wants to.

(@romanromulus :D )

[poisonousquinzel]

if y'all ever want a bit of modern harlivy angst that ends happy and doesn't feel laced with ooc toxicity in the like "oh the writer's apparent reference for ivy's characteristics in their relationship is plant ivy and that's it wow..." I'd recommend their little story from DC's Harley Quinn Romances cause <33333 it's very special to me

they make me unreasonably emotional

Ivy after reading Harley's au fic where she gets to punch Joker with her at prom:

[decaffeinatedpartymuggoop]

I love how PJO was written to be a silly little children’s book and then the fandom decided to be sad all the damn time

[duskandcobalt]

Everywhere, Everything: Chapter Seven

Chapter Summary: Elain heads back to Velaris for Christmas after rejecting Graysen's marriage proposal.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: mentions of dv (please see authors note below), smattering of smut (18+ pls)

Missed the first six chapters? You can find the Masterlist for this fic here 🥰

A/N: *peaks out from the hole I've been hiding in* heyyyy  😅

Once again, I must begin by saying thank you for all your lovely comments and messages about this fic and all the others. I cannot appreicate how much it means to me. A special thank you to everyone who's checked in with me over the past few months and given me kindess, support, and patience. There are some lovely people on this app and I am so honoured that you choose to read and engage with my fic.

Please note that there is a very brief mention of domestic violence in this chapter within the context of a conversation. If that's something you'd rather skip reading, please feel free to do what's best for you.

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

The fire was dwindling down, empty cups were scattered on every available surface, Christmas music played over the speakers, and wrapping paper was strewn on the floor of Azriel’s living room. 

It’d been a Christmas like all the others - drinking and eating and lots of gifts exchanged, though Nyx had made out the best of  anyone, spoiled rotten by all of his aunties and uncles. They’d played a few games, exchanged a bit of gossip about mutual acquaintances, and throughout all the festivities, Azriel had kept a careful eye on Elain. 

He watched her now, his brows pulling together above the rim of the whisky glass he’d raised up to his lips. She was sitting quietly in her usual spot on his couch, lazily tracing circles around the rim of her nearly empty wine glass. 

There was something different about her tonight that he couldn't quite place but he was determined to figure out. While everyone else had been enjoying themselves, he could sense a peculiar cloud of something sad that seemed to follow Elain around no matter how hard she tried to smile and laugh and pretend like everything was okay when it was clear - to him, at least - that things were far from fine.

His first sign that something was wrong was when Elain had walked into his house earlier, avoiding eye contact and barely even bothering with a proper hug as she muttered a ‘Merry Christmas’ and a ‘thank you for hosting’ all while hiding behind a pile of gifts stacked tall in her arms. Even when she'd come back home with Graysen in tow she hadn't held back from him like that and her iciness had caught him completely off guard. 

He’d been so anxious to see her again after all this time, that he hadn’t fully considered the reality of the situation. Azriel knew that the last time they’d seen each other had been tense but it hadn't ended badly by any means. And sure, he hadn't spoken to her properly in well over half a year but she replied to his sparse texts and he still woke up to a voice note from her on his birthday so he’d figured that that had to count for something. That maybe that was to be their new normal. He’d resigned himself to taking what he could get - that’s what he’d told her after all on Nesta’s porch that night. He wanted her in his life in whatever way he could have her. 

The second thing to clue him in that something was wrong was that right after she’d placed the presents under the Christmas tree, Elain had made a beeline to the kitchen and poured herself a shot of whatever bottle of alcohol her eyes had landed on first.

It wasn't that he wasn't used to seeing her drink, although she’d certainly never been a drinker in the way the rest of their friend group indulged, but he’d never once seen her drink like this - knocking back shot after shot when she thought no one was watching. It was rare for her to even pour a drink without asking if she could. Almost a decade of knowing her and Elain always asked permission no matter how many times he insisted that she help herself to whatever she wanted. 

Azriel had counted at least seven trips to the kitchen tonight - all for a drink, none for food. Even the speciality cheese she adored and that he’d purchased just for her after she confirmed her attendance, sat untouched. But for having downed a minimum of seven drinks, she didn’t really appear to be all that drunk. He had to give her credit because she held her alcohol surprisingly well - the only real give away that she was drunk was a slight stumble as she stood up from the sofa the last time she went to the kitchen and a droop to her eyelids that could be attributed to exhaustion.

Elain had sat quietly most of the night, speaking only when spoken to and channelling most of her attention on Nyx when he’d been awake but now that her nephew was fast asleep on the sofa next to her, Shadow curled up at his feet, she had no real distraction and Azriel watched curiously as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, opening her mouth a dozen times as if to speak only to seemingly decide against it and retreat back into herself. 

He’d planned on once again cornering her to try and figure out what the hell was going on and to see if there was absolutely anything he could do to ease whatever clearly ailed her. He’d intended to follow her into the kitchen the next time she went to drown her sorrows but he never got the chance because after a prolonged moment of silence amongst the group - she finally spoke. 

Azriel all but froze as Elain cleared her throat and wrung her hands together in her lap, tugging at the sleeves of the long sleeved black top she was wearing. Her empty glass of wine had been carefully placed on the coffee table in front of her.

“Graysen proposed,” she hiccupped, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears as she delivered her news without even a second of preamble. 

The two words were softly spoken and she’d said them in one breath with no break in between but Azriel heard her loud and clear.

His stomach dropped, the three or four drinks he’d consumed turned sour in his stomach and did very little to ease the pain of his heart slamming against his chest as Nesta and Feyre began firing off question after question - all of which were ignored by Elain and none of which he could actually hear over the incessant buzzing in his ears. 

He prayed that he’d heard her wrong. Prayed that there was no way she’d actually said what he thought she’d said. It wasn’t until he saw Feyre reach for Elain’s left hand that Azriel forced himself to focus, his eyes zeroing in on her fingers - at the vacant space where one would expect to find a ring after an announcement such as the one Elain had just made. 

“I said no,” she whispered, catching Feyre’s confused expression as her sister’s index finger slid over Elain’s bare skin. 

No. 

She’d said no. She’d said no. She’d said no. 

Azriel repeated the words to himself over and over again as it was his own personal mantra, drilling it into his head as he finally allowed himself to breathe. He couldn’t look at her face, couldn’t bear to find out what expression he’d find there. All he could do was stare at her hand - at that perfect, unadorned finger - no glimmering diamond to be found. 

“A few months ago,” he heard her tell the girls. 

“Why’d you say no?” Nesta asked, her voice soft although Azriel could hear the smallest inkling of relief in it that mirrored his own feelings. He wondered if maybe Nesta had seen through Graysen’s facade as well and had quietly hoped that her cousin would come to her senses and leave him. 

Azriel tore his attention away from Elain’s fingers and up to her face only to watch as her eyes lifted to meet his for a fleeting moment before she quickly looked away from him and back to Nesta. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “We hadn’t even talked about it and I was caught so off guard. It just didn’t feel right.” She took a deep, staggering breath, Azriel could see the shimmer of tears beginning to well along her lash line. “I don’t think I ever really loved him…. I never really like them all that much.”

She said the last part to herself, a drunken admission whispered to the floor. It was a confession that she’d spent her entire adult life with men that she didn’t even truly care for. Azriel couldn’t bring himself to wonder why she did what she did or why she’d finally admitted it. He wouldn’t let himself consider that maybe she found herself staying in meaningless relationship after meaningless relationship for the same reason he found himself avoiding them all together. 

“I think… I think I may need to lay down,” Elain muttered after a moment of tense, awkward silence. It was clear that no one in the room quite knew what to say or do. Feyre and Nesta were staring at her dumbfounded. Cassian and Rhys were exchanging mildly panicked looks as they tried to figure out what to do in this situation. “I feel a little dizzy all of a sudden.”

“Come upstairs,” Azriel was on his feet before he could even think to stop himself, speaking without even consciously meaning to as he bypassed Feyre and Nesta to get to Elain. He stepped forward, one hand outstretched towards her. 

He didn't miss the look Feyre gave Nesta. A silent enquiry as to whether they should let him take her upstairs - as if the two of them knew what had happened the last time he and Elain had been left alone on Christmas. Nesta just nodded, one subtle dip of her chin that had Feyre watching in stunned silence as Elain placed her hand in Azriel’s. 

Neither of the girls had ever said anything to him about that night other than to acknowledge that Elain had, in fact, flown home the following morning. An emergency at work was the flimsy excuse Nesta had given him the following day when he’d called her and done his best to enquire about Elain’s whereabouts without raising any suspicion. 

Azriel carefully pulled Elain up, keeping her hand in his as his other arm wrapped around her waist to keep her upright as he slowly and carefully led her up his stairs, guiding her to the guest room a couple doors down from his own bedroom. 

He flipped back the duvet and sat her down on the bed. He could feel her eyes on him as she silently watched him lower himself to his knees so he could unzip her boots and slide them off her feet. 

“Lay back,” he tapped gently on her calf, hands hovering around her in case she needed help. 

“Not the first time you’ve said that to me,” Elain quipped, flopping back in a less than graceful manner before turning onto her side to face him. There was the tiniest smirk on her lips, the smallest bit of amusement shining in her sad eyes. He almost found himself smiling at the drunken comment until her expression changed, those pretty lips of hers turning down at the corners. 

“Az.. will you stay with me? After everyone goes?” 

Azriel grimaced, ignoring the pull from the part of his heart that was ready and willing to bend to her every whim. “I can’t, Elain.” 

“Why?” Her eyebrows pulled together to create a small crease on her forehead. He fought the urge to reach out and smooth away that visible line of tension with a gentle pass of his thumb. “You always used to stay with me.” 

“It’s different now,” he exhaled, shoulders dropping as he absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not mine, Elain.”

“That’s not true,” Elain frowned, fighting to keep her eyes open. “I’ve always been yours.” She said it with every bit of drunken sincerity in the world, whispered soft and sweet even as she lost the battle to sleep and her eyes began to flutter shut. 

Her words were like a knife to his heart. He knew she never would’ve said it if the amount of alcohol in her bloodstream didn’t outweigh her good senses. He had no idea whether she’d even remember any of this in the morning. 

“Why did you stay with him? If you didn’t love him? If you didn’t like any of the others? Why would you stay with them?” Azriel couldn’t help but ask, going against his better judgement to seek an explanation for the questions that had haunted him for years even if he knew that whatever answer she gave him, it was unlikely to offer him any semblance of peace. 

“It’s easier to pretend if there’s someone else,” Elain’s hands came up to her throat, her fingertips mindlessly searching for something. She frowned when she came up empty, her nails digging into the space between her collarbones instead. The sight unsettled Azriel enough to momentarily distract him from what she’d just said. 

The necklace he’d given her on her birthday a few years ago, the one she’d worn religiously every day since, the one that tethered her to him, was missing from her neck and it was like a punch to his gut. 

“The chain broke,” Elain whispered, having followed his line of sight to where he’d been openly staring at the place the gold pendant had sat against her skin for half a decade. “It’s in my bag, I was hoping you’d be able to fix it.”

Azriel nodded, relieved that she hadn’t actually taken the necklace off herself. He stood there, arms hanging uselessly at his side for a couple more seconds until her eyelids drifted shut once again. He walked towards the door, deciding to let her sleep this off, but he paused before he could leave, turning towards her once more. 

He thought maybe he was a sadist because asking these questions, pushing for these answers, would only serve to expand that ever growing crack in his heart. Still, he couldn't seem to help himself. 

“Lain?” Part of him hoped that she’d already drifted off to sleep, that she wouldn’t answer and he wouldn’t get to ask his question and have to hear her response.. 

“Yeah, Az?” The corner of her eyes crinkled as she looked at him, squinting. 

“What did you mean?” He asked. “When you said it’s easier to pretend?”

She paused for a moment, teeth scraping over her bottom lip as she turned so she was on her back, her eyes focused on the ceiling. 

“When I’m with someone else,” she started, voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear her over the music carrying up the stairs and under the gap in the door. “It’s easier to distract myself from the fact that sometimes I want you so badly, I think it might kill me.” 

The ache in his chest was so sharp and so immediate that he had to grip the handle on the door harder just to feel like he had some sort of control over his body. He had no idea what to do with that information. Had no idea what to say back. He’d waited what felt like a lifetime to hear her say those words to him, he’d just never imagined that it would be so painful. 

He couldn’t speak, could barely even remember his name. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been silent until he noticed that she’d fallen asleep, her head now tilted towards him. 

Azriel set his shoulders and backed out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. He took a deep breath, pushing back every bit of emotion that he felt, before slowly making his way back downstairs.

Elain stuck an arm out from under the covers, her fingers blindly reaching to her nightstand for her phone. It wasn’t until she felt the sharp corner of a wooden surface instead of the rounded edge of her own bedside table that she realised that she wasn’t at home in her own bed. She peeked out from under the covers, taking in her surroundings with one blurry eye. 

Light was beginning to filter in through a pair of cream curtains covering a rather large window. The bed she was in was comfy and not completely unfamiliar, the bed linen looked similar to a set that she’d helped Azriel choose back when they’d gone shopping for… 

“Fuck,” Elain groaned, sitting up and dragging her hands over her face. 

She wasn’t at home. She wasn’t in her designated room at her sister’s house. No - she’d been fast asleep in Azriel’s guest bedroom. 

It didn’t take much to figure out just how she’d ended up here. The pounding in her head and the dryness in her mouth were enough to tell her that she’d maybe taken it a little too far with the alcohol last night.

She’d started drinking before they’d even left Feyre’s, just a couple of glasses while getting ready that she told herself were for liquid courage. She’d known the second that they pulled into Azriel’s driveway that she’d need far more to get through seeing him again under a whole new set of circumstances that only she was privy to and so she’d thrown caution to the wind and had been throwing back drinks any chance she got. 

She really hadn’t even been planning on telling anyone about the proposal but after an hour or so of drinking, she’d felt the urge to say it - to let them know what had happened. To let them know she and Graysen were done. Elain couldn’t remember much past the moment she’d drunkenly blurted out the news.. she remembered Feyre and Nesta’s surprised faces and the faraway look on Azriel’s face when she’d dared to glance at him but everything past that moment seemed to be a blur. 

If she really tried to push for details, she could vaguely remember being helped up the stairs because she was too far gone to manage on her own but that was all her hungover brain could string together.

“Lain?” The low register of Azriel’s morning voice rumbled through the door as a knock lightly sounded on the surface. “You up? Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, come in!” She called back, wincing at how sore her voice sounded in her ears.

Elain sat up, quickly running a hand through her tangled hair as she propped up a pillow behind her and let the duvet fall to her waist. It was so much colder in this room than she’d expected and she didn’t fully register why until Azriel walked in. 

“Morning, how you feeling? I brought some -” he’d been halfway through his sentence, sleepy eyes scanning over her until they widened at the exact same time the tips of his ears went red. 

She’d lost her top at some point during the night - something she hadn’t realised until the cold morning air had hit her bare skin. Azriel turned around quickly, the glass of water in his hand sloshing over slightly with the speed at which he averted his gaze.  “Fuck. Sorry! I thought.. You said to come in and I thought… fuck .” 

Elain quickly tugged the sheets back up to her chin, fighting the urge to pull them over her head altogether and suffocate herself from embarrassment. Twice now, she’d woken up in Azriel’s house on the day after Christmas naked in one of his beds. Maybe next year she’d check off the last remaining room. 

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise I - wait, you can turn around…” she fumbled with her words, watching as he slowly turned to face her. His cheeks were pink and the hand that wasn���t cradling a glass of water and an entire pack of headache tablets came up to fidget with the worn neck of the old t-shirt he’d chucked on this morning. “I always get so hot at night and I usually sleep with a fan and I just must’ve… taken it off. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I should’ve gotten you a change of clothes but I didn’t want to…” he trailed off, coming closer to hand her the water as he opened up the packet of tablets and slipped out a few. “I barely saw anything, if that helps.” 

Elain took the tablets from him. “Barely anything, huh?”

She took a small bit of satisfaction from the way he frowned in confusion before he caught on, the blush that had finally subsided from his cheeks came back full force. 

“ Not what I meant,” Azriel shook his head, raking a hand through his hair as she tossed back the tablets. “There’s plenty to see… just the right amount.”

“I’d stop speaking now if I were you,” Elain rolled her eyes. “Thank you for the tablets and the water and for letting me stay the night.”

“It’s nothing,” Azriel shrugged, gingerly sitting on the very edge of the bed. His eyes scanned over her again, lingering on the bare skin of her shoulder that had escaped the cover of the duvet before they slid to her fingers and then back up to her face. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“Could be better,” she answered, realising that she hadn’t actually gotten around to responding the first time he’d asked her. “Can’t drink like I used to, I suppose.”

“You’ve never drank like that, Lain.” Azriel chuckled. “I think that’s part of the problem.”

He was right. She was notoriously a lightweight when it came to alcohol and had never needed more than four or five drinks before she was just the right amount of drunk. 

“A shower and some food and I’ll feel brand new,” she sighed. 

“I’ll grab you a towel and some clothes,” he nodded, fingers mindlessly tapping at his knee. “Have a shower and come down, I’ll make you some breakfast and then if you’re up for it we can go over to the studio and I’ll fix your necklace. Fresh air might do you some good.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Az. I’ll call Feyre to pick me up and get out of your way.” Elain started to look around for where she might’ve tossed her top, suddenly anxious that she’d been here too long. That she was eating into his day, once again taking up time that she didn’t deserve. 

“I know that I don’t have to, Elain. I want to.” He insisted, voice gentle as ever as he looked over at her. “You aren’t in my way.”

Elain didn’t say anything, just looked down at her lap as he stood up, adjusting the waistband of the plaid pajama pants he had on. “Chocolate chip or blueberry?” 

“What?”

“Pancakes,” Azriel clarified, a shy grin on his lips. “Chocolate chip or blueberry?” 

“Blueberry, please.” Elain couldn’t help but mirror her grin, especially when her stomach audibly grumbled at the mere mention of food. 

An hour or so later, Elain sat quietly, perched  on a bench top in Azriel’s workshop. She was warm from the scorching shower she’d taken and clothed in an assortment of clothes that he’d handed her with a towel this morning - his shirt, his sweatpants… a lacy pair of underwear she recognised as the ones she hadn’t bothered to search for when she’d snuck out of his house the previous year.

She watched him as he took a seat, sliding a frame of protective glasses over his eyes before he fired up a small torch. He situated himself, leaning forward as he began to carefully solder Elain’s necklace back together. 

She told herself she was just watching a master at work but her attention had drifted from the actual work being done to focus on the movement of his deft fingers, the shifting muscles of his strong back and shoulders. She studied the side of his face - the slope of his nose, the concentrated furrow of his brows, the way his lips pressed together as he worked. 

She didn’t realise just how intensely she’d been staring at him until she found herself looking into his actual eyes rather than just his side profile. Elain quickly sat up straight, rolling her shoulders as she lowered her eyes and tried to keep her cheeks from flooding with colour. 

“You said the necklace broke while you were changing,” Azriel stood up, pushing his glasses back, using them like a headband to keep his thick hair off of his forehead. It was ridiculous that he managed to look good even like that. 

“The way the chain was broken,” he spoke carefully as he approached her. “It didn’t look like a simple snag, it looked like there was some force behind it. 

Elain swallowed, her cheeks now burning for an entirely different reason. She turned to look out of the window to her right, pretending to watch the snow as it drifted lazily from the cold, gray sky. 

“Lain?” Azriel tried again. He was standing in front of her now, just inches from her knees. “How did the necklace really break?”

Elain paused, unsure how to proceed or what to even say. She couldn’t lie to him. Not again. She’d told herself in the shower this morning - after she’d had a small cry and wallowed in self pity - that this needed to be a new start, that she couldn’t keep shutting him out. Especially now that she no longer had the excuse of having a boyfriend in the picture. 

“Graysen… he didn’t like the necklace very much,” she started. “He always had an issue with it, even before he met you. He didn’t like that I never took it off or that it was from a friend . It only got worse after he came home with me and saw us and then when I… when he proposed and I said no, he said that if I didn’t want to accept the ring, I needed to take off the necklace. I guess to prove that I cared about him even if I didn’t want to marry him just yet.” 

“You didn’t take the necklace off,” Azriel stated, eyes boring into her even though she couldn’t quite bring herself to look back at him. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Elain’s voice shook slightly as she thought back to that night. “He obviously wasn’t happy with my choice and so he just… he reached forward and pulled it off of me.”

Elain’s eyes were shut, her heart racing at the memory of how she’d felt that night. How alone she’d been, how momentarily afraid. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Azriel that she’d woken to a small, raised scar on the side of her neck the next morning. She hadn’t realised that she’d been crying until Azriel’s hand cupped her face, the rough pad of his thumb gently sweeping across her cheek to brush away hot tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

“What are you apologising for?” Azriel asked. 

She could hear the restraint in his voice, the underlying anger that he carried on her behalf. 

“I don’t know,” Elain finally looked at him, giving him a sad smile. “I’ve just been so awful to you for so long now.” 

“You haven’t,” he assured her. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Lain. I just hope you know that how he acted - pulling this off of you - that’s not okay. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“I shouldn’t have led him on…” she shook her head. “I wasted his time. I wasted yours… he was right to be angry with me.” 

“Look at me,” Azriel demanded, palm sliding from her cheek down to her jaw so that he could tilt her face up towards his. “None of that matters.”

“It does though because I -” 

“Elain, did he ever…” Elain’s eyes travelled to the clench of his jaw, the way his throat flexed as he trailed off. “If he put his hands on you…” 

“No, Az.” Elain lifted her hand up to cover his where it still cradled her face. “There were words occasionally and he’d… when we… never mind,” she blushed, swallowing away the bitterness at remembering what the sex had been like after an argument or whenever he’d been jealous. “It was never… he never hit me.” She said finally.

Elain studied Azriel’s face carefully. Let him see that she was okay. That the only marker that anything had happened was a broken necklace that was easily mended. 

She knew where his mind had gone - knew his fears of her being treated the same way his mother had been treated. 

He’d confided in her years ago - told her about what he’d witnessed growing up and the anger he felt towards the man he didn’t even care to call father. Explained how ashamed he felt at being too small to really be able to do anything to help. 

Elain couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling like that again. Certainly not over her. 

“Azriel,” she squeezed his fingers to get his full attention. “He didn’t hurt me. I promise.” 

“Okay,” he nodded eventually, worried eyes meeting hers for one more moment as if to confirm that she was in fact unharmed before he leaned back and picked up her necklace from where he’d sat it on the bench next to her hip. “Here, just like new.” 

Elain didn’t reach for the necklace, instead she just gave him a shy smile and echoed the question she’d asked him when he first presented her with this necklace all those years ago. “Put it on me?” 

Azriel returned her smile with one just as shy, waiting as she gathered her hair and twisted it up to move it out of the way. His hands slipped around her neck, the chain cold against her skin. 

Azriel’s head dipped so that he could see what he was doing, his cheek skimming her hair as he took his time fastening the necklace. She’d missed the feeling, the reassuarance that the small bit of gold nestled against her chest provided her. 

“Last night… Did you mean what you said?” His question was so quiet, half hushed by the way his face was tilted into her hair. 

“Oh god,” she groaned, dread seeping through her veins. 

She’d been wondering all morning what had happened last night, had been trying to fill in the blanks between the bits she could remember… which wasn’t all that much. She was scared to even ask - afraid to know all the ways she might’ve embarrassed herself the previous night. “I don’t really remember what was said, to be honest.” 

He finally pulled back and straightened up, hands reaching forward to gently maneuver the necklace until it sat just right around her neck. Each brush of his fingers against her skin made her shiver in a way that she couldn’t possibly hide from him. 

The way that he was looking at her certainly didn’t help. Neither did the drag of his thumb against her neck, right over a pulsing vein that gave away her racing heart. 

“Right,” Azriel gave her a nervous smile that made her stomach drop in anticipation. “When Nesta asked you why you said no…”

“I do remember that part,” she cut him off, unable to bear hearing it again although she knew it could only get worse. 

“Well, when it was just us upstairs, after you’d asked me to stay -”

“Jesus, Az, I’m sorry -”

“Not something to apologise for,” the fingers of his other hand tapped out a pattern on her knee that caused yet another shiver to zip up her spine. “I asked you why you stayed with Graysen or with any of the others if you didn’t even actually like them and you told me that it was easier to do that than admit that you, um… wanted me.”

Elain bit the inside of her cheek as she glanced away from him yet again.

“Is that true?” Azriel prodded her for an answer and when she found the courage to look at him again, the look in his eyes, the unmistakable heat, threatened to stop her heart altogether. 

“What happens if I say yes?” She felt breathless, a little dizzy. Just like she felt a year ago when she’d been in a very similar situation - sat on a countertop, Azriel standing in between her knees. Their entire world balancing on a precipice. 

She wasn’t sure when she’d started to lean into his touch. Couldn’t pinpoint when her face had moved so close to his that his nose practically grazed hers. She had no way to tell if he had leaned down or if she had keened upwards, her body arching up to him like a flower seeking the sun. She didn’t know when any of it had happened but she didn’t fight it as her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted in anticipation. 

Waiting. Wanting.

He didn’t answer her, only smoothed his thumb over her throat once more before repeating his own question. “Is it true, Elain?” 

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice verging on desperation. 

Azriel swallowed once, eyes tracing a slow path from her eyes to her lips before he answered her with action. 

Their lips met, clumsily at first though they fell into rhythm quickly, muscle memory kicking in as their mouths came together in a way that bordered on frantic. Her hands tangled in his hair while his ventured to her waist, pulling her into him while simultaneously pushing her further back onto the workbench until she was practically flat against it, his body pressing hers down.

“Elain…” Azriel’s voice was almost pained as he said her name, his lips coasting along her jaw, a different kind of restraint in his tone than the restraint he’d spoken with a few minutes before.

“Please,” she all but whimpered, desperate to feel his lips on hers again. 

“Can’t do this if you’re going to run again afterwards, Elain.” He told her, his hands still wandering, sliding under the soft fabric of the shirt she wore. His shirt. 

“I mean… my flight is booked for tomorrow,” she couldn’t help but joke, squealing and squirming as his fingers pressed into her side as punishment. 

“S’not funny,” he grumbled. 

“Sorry, sorry…” she schooled her face into a serious expression. “I do have to go tomorrow but it won’t be because of this, Az. Not this time. I promise.”

“We have a lot of talking to do,” Azriel told her, all the while his hands travelled further up her torso until his fingers grazed the soft skin of her breasts. 

Just that slight touch had her tugging him down towards her as she leaned further back once more, presenting herself to him. His for the taking. 

“Later,” she told him. “Talk later.”

She knew it was stupid  - to once again go down this route without having properly spoken about what they were doing. What this was. If it was even anything. All she knew was that she was tired of pretending. Tired of being afraid of the unknowns, of the what ifs. She wished she had any idea how this would all end, how it would play out. But that was a conversation for another day. Right now, all she wanted, all she needed , was this.  

“Later,” Azriel agreed, smiling into the crook of her neck before coming back up to kiss her again. This time it was unrushed, almost lazy. He took his time familiarising himself with her mouth the same way he took his time circling her nipples with his thumbs. She moaned into his mouth - half at the blissful feeling of his hands on her skin, half at the memory of what that same motion had felt like when he’d slid his hand up under her skirt the last time they’d done this. 

“Always want you like this,” she admitted, mind hazy as his mouth travelled down her neck and over her sternum as he pushed up her t-shirt until his lips were on the bare skin of her stomach. 

“Yeah?” his fingers tucked into the waistband of her sweatpants, tugging them down as she lifted her hips to aid in the process. Her underwear was pulled to the side, his fingers gliding over her entirely too easily with how wet she was for him. She heard him swear under his breath, in awe at his effect on her.

“Always,” she reiterated, gasping as he slowly slid a finger inside her. “For you. Always like this for you. Az, please can we just -”

She was speaking complete gibberish, anxious to get what she’d been coveting all this time even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. She didn’t want to waste any more time.

“Don’t have a condom with me,” he told her with a kiss to the inside of her thigh as he continued to touch her. She was distracted from her disappointment when he added another finger - tested the stretch of her. 

“You don’t have any here?” The lack of a condom hadn’t been an issue last time but it had been a year and she knew Azriel had a rotation of girls that he occasionally saw so when he didn’t follow up with a but I haven’t been with anyone, she didn’t let herself linger on it for too long. 

“Don’t really make it a habit to have sex in my workplace very often, or ever, to be honest. Safety concerns and all…” he trailed off, his breath hot over where she ached for his touch. “So this might just have to do for now, wanna make you co-”

His words were cut off by a shrill ring from somewhere besides them. 

“Ignore it,” she told him, hips tilting up in search of more as she flung a hand out to the side in search of her phone. Her fingers blindly fumbled on the screen until the ringing stopped. 

Azriel continued, fingers curling in just the right way as he circled her clit with his tongue - ever so slowly bringing her closer and closer to the edge. 

“Az, oh my God, I think, I think -” Elain gasped, grasping at his hair. She wanted to tell him she was close, to not stop, that she was going to come. But the shrill ring of her phone sounded again, effectively ruining the moment.

“You should probably get that,” Azriel reluctantly pulled away, fingers slipping out of her. He sighed deeply, forehead resting against her bare thigh as she reached for her phone and glanced at the screen. 

Two missed calls and fourteen unread texts. If it wasn’t for previous trauma of missed calls and texts, she might’ve let it go and urged Azriel to continue. She tapped on the screen a little harder than necessary.

“Hello, Nesta.” Elain huffed as she sat up, gently pushing Azriel away as she adjusted her underwear and pulled her pants up and her shirt back down. 

Azriel grinned, shamelessly watching as Elain made herself decent to speak to her sister while she tried to pretend like she hadn’t been splayed out on his workbench half naked, with his mouth in between her thighs mere moments ago. 

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been texting you all morning, it’s almost one in the afternoon. I’m glad to know you’re alive.” Nesta rattled off, exasperated. “Azriel wasn’t answering his phone either.” 

“I’m alive. I’m with him. I’ll be home soon.” Elain’s words were short. She couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice at having their time so rudely interrupted. 

She knew the moment was over, that she’d need to go back to her sisters and explain herself. God knows they’d be anxiously waiting for answers now that she’d sobered up. But her disappointment faded because the way Azriel was watching her with bright, happy eyes and lips swollen from kissing her more than made up for it. 

She half listened to whatever Nesta was saying, too focused on the man in front of her - his dark, messy hair. His broad shoulders and strong arms. His calloused hands. All those tattoos that snaked up his arms and over his chest - old, familiar ones and a few new pieces that she longed to learn about. His enviably long eyelashes. Those kind emerald flecked eyes.

This was Azriel. Her Azriel. Her best friend. 

How could she have ever thought this was anything but exactly right?

[youchangedmedestiel]

Men will join team sports and win to touch, hug, stroke and kiss other men.

[sugarpasteltmnt]

hm.

TNV.... is almost over.... but I have other AUs rattling in my brain... i'm torn between talking about them a little, or keeping everything secret but like. i think i need a little break from writing after TNV. but i wanna. share my ideas now...

[ninyard]

it’s unfinished but if you liked that betsy pov thing here’s ur reminder that i have like nine chapters of an andrew/bee dual pov fic starting from his first session with her :))

[starrbright]

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐒 || 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐄

Creatures of nightmares that crawl from nothing to land he's dealt with for so long, he himself bounded to those, unthinkable abilities he wields; he never questioned reality. But there's an impenetrable sense of high he's in as he fixes in your softness, it doesn't feel real. It's peaceful, he thinks that is what dreaming is.

Kishibe finds his demise not to be of devils, fiends, wars—not even of death.

images used: X | X

April 2023 - April and June 2024. about fucking time. to the ones that encouraged me to start writing for csm, i'm truly so sorry for the long delay. when i started this piece for him, i was focused and suddenly i wasn't and a lot kept happening and i didn't want to touch this until i was on it entirely, i wanted this to be perfect, so i shelved it. and i hope the waiting does the justice. the lack of works for this anime with us fat readers is what started this all and you encouraged me, so thank you for that🙇🏽‍��️🙏🏼. writing the end of this was so difficult, i'm so sorry again this kept delaying.

if you've read the manga or watched the show, you may have noticed or not—and that i've only realized i didn't address reader's contract with devils in the previous works in this series and in this one, the case is still the same 😁 because, honestly, i just forgot about it. apologies for that

nearing 8k words. all my y/n are afab, fat and of color. Reader is in 50's. with two children. a ten and four years old. divorced. ex-devil hunter. kishibe hums a lot here because he does that a lot. he barely talks as well, that's how i headcanon him, i just can't see him saying too many things that wouldn't be from someone like him🙁 slight slowburn. a tiniest tinge of crack. one thing about me in my works is i will always inject my pride in my characters! masturbation. light sparring. spit play? pussy eating. fucking.

I'll be disappearing for a while for another work, this drained me. enjoy!!! as always, thoughts are more than welcome!! thank you💌

On routine, that's how Kishibe's life was, all the same everyday. Even in the unusual situations with his job, all the same as well; natural. He's not sick of it, no. He's just....bored. Sure, he gets laid most of the time, but that, too, was routine. Funny thing to say for an old man like him, who has nothing going on in his life, on purpose, chooses to be.

Though just to say the least, he's quite getting sick of the boredom. But he doesn't do anything about it, there was nothing to come across his mind. So instead, his fate did it for him.

Delivering him something new, and that something was someone.

Someone moving into the building where he lives, in the top floor he's in, no less. In a building where it looks so lonely because it was a bit far away from the city and only a few buildings were surrounded by the place. It's literally lonely, one could say, because there are only three tenants in it and he's already included among them--and said three tenants don't know each other, let alone have crossed paths before. He preferred it that way.

For probably enough time that one could bear until they went mad, it was like that.

Until it was broken off by you.

And what's new is that you're there standing in the elevator with enough bags that one could carry sitting on the floor.

You know each other. He knows you. Only a few years younger late when you got in the division from him. Never worked with you but still knew of each other. One of the reasons is because you're known in the division, respected rather. A few of the primes, same like him. But that is until you switched to working in the office rather out in the field, still you were esteemed. That was all he knew. He never paid much attention to trivial things anyway; not unless it was something he should be concerned about.

"Kishibe?" You voiced, eyebrows furrowed.

"L/N." He replied, voice ever nonchalant.

As you stepped out of the elevator, he took a few of your bags from the floor as you did and you didn't say anything to it. No such thing as shyness or awkwardness between two grown people like you, let alone that you know of each other.

"So you're the one living here?" You asked, both of you walking in the long hallway.

"And you're moving."

"Guess we weren't both told then."

"That's the rule anyway."

Confidentiality was the top rule of the apartment, no introductions, not even background checks or anything. Closed off and expensive. That piques his interest, just a little though.

Though what you both find odd—even a little amusing is how you didn't even get to see each other when the two of you figure that of the day you checked out the place. And only now. What coincidence, you supposed.

Of you seeing how he was the only one living on the floor, you spoke your thoughts. "...And I suppose you being the only one here on this floor is ruined by me." You chuckled a little.

"Doesn't seem so bad." He answered just as easily and simply. Any other time back then, he wouldn't have liked this, it would have made his eyes sharp and lips fell even lower....but today, he's not gonna complain.

You nod, a small curve of your lips turning up. "...That's good to know," you say and not a second later, you arrived at your door. "....Well, thank you."

Kishibe laid the bags inside on the floor just as you opened the door, "Hmm," he just voiced before going his way.

This didn't deter you or anything, seeming to know that he's always been that.....rather reserved, you could say....anyone will, actually.

And as you went on to fix your things up, you thought of the man. That you were surprised to see him, much more that he lives here. You weren't bothered by it...just surprised—rather curious to what comes next.

This was him after all, the prime of the primes. The so reserved man, so as you now find new (the place he lives at could say a lot already) but suppose that's normal for his age, close to your age rather and especially in the kind of work you both have, let alone his.

"Shouldn't this be interesting?" You say to yourself just as you folded the last bag to its place.

Something new is what you came here for anyway,

As night has come, you made dinner not only for yourself but as well.....well, Kishibe. You'll be living closely for such a time and it's always right to give something for your neighbour. Though at the back of your mind, you can't help but think, does he even cook? eat for himself properly? It encouraged you more to give him something. Be it as a nature of a mother, and who was once a wife, you believe.

So late of the night when the time has come that the devil hunters usually go home from work, specifically in his rank—a few minutes after that said time, you went out from your apartment to head over his. Walking down the hallway, holding the small and still heated ceramic pot. As you reached the door, you knocked, successfully.

Seconds later, the door opened to show the man, looking a bit tired more than usual, just out from his coat but still in his attire, white shirt messily opened and hair ragged.

He has always been quite handsome, hasn't he?

"I'm sorry if I disturbed but I made you something as a gift of me moving in, I suppose." You spoke, putting up the pot slightly and he eyes it down.

He only said nothing but took the casserole from your hands and just hummed, walking back in, leaving the door open for you to just stand there, contemplating to leave as you figured the man was much more....him than he was.

Then you heard him speak, his usual voice that was gruffly. "Beer?" Coming from the kitchen.

You almost chuckled in surprise, thinking for a second he'd just leave without saying anything and now he offers you beer. Daring to take that as an invitation, you went in and closed the door. "I'm fine, thank you." You answer as you follow where he was. You see him took out a glass pitcher from the fridge and was holding a glass in his other hand, pouring the water in it as he put it on the table just beside the bottled and unopened beer.

Kishibe was a bit surprised, if he admits so. He actually thought you would have gone along just like everyone does.....just as he does normally. But here you are now, just at his door earlier, offering him a gift you made for him. So yes, he was surprised.

Opening the glass bottled beer, he took a light sip from it before opening the casserole that stood out on the table...well it was empty anyway. It was pasta, something he haven't had in a while, and something he'd devour in a while as he was damn hungry and haven't had dinner yet.

.....He was liking this new thing already.

The savoury scent immediately flourishes in the air, putting off the smell of musk and alcohol of the place. Kishibe didn't mind, though he just went to the wide terrace that lets the wind come in strongly, you follow shortly and he leans on the railings, a cigarette already in his mouth.

You placed yourself a bit far across from where he was leaning your waist back on the railings, the sound of night faint in the background. "How long have you been living here?" You asked.

The man let out the smoke before answering, still looking ahead, "Don't exactly count it,"

You nod, looking at him for a second as you lightly chuckled, uttering a small, "Of course."

Kishibe then gave you a side glance, looking at the view again. "Why'd you choose this?"

"I wanted to be away from the city but not so far that it'll be inconvenient for me and my children, and there this place was."

This made his eyebrows furrow but he wasn't looking at you, though you saw that. "They're separated from me as I'm divorced from my ex-husband....let him gain custody of them." You spoke but just stopped there, not wanting to say too much.

He looks at you this time, not tearing it away. "Is that why you switched to the office?"

Trivial things....trivial things he doesn't get involved with, nor even asked questions about.....but maybe this one won't change a thing and normal he thought it was to be curious at the very moment.

"Yes," That's what you only answer, he doesn't ask more and just looked away from you. Only smoke lingers in the air, no sense of any discomfort but you're both just there.

Until you spoke again, "I'll be off now, good night." You bid as you crossed your arms over your robes and stood up straight before walking. You only hear him hum as you did.

It was the beginning of a new thing to become a routine.....one that he wouldn't be sick of.

As it was the same for you. Just after finally settling down, your new abode made, you began to get more comfortable in the place. That meant with your neighbour. Well, maybe not so much but just enough to give him what you cook when you have time to make such meals at night. Just enough to let yourself in his place as every time you brought him something. Always in the terrace, the man will always smoke and drink his beer or just from his flask, and you'd just be there, not talking of anything but work, at least after a few nights then you both began speaking of said work, all the ordeals you go through...but still words were only kept short and few.....and just only that.

.

.

.

Stacked papers in your hands piled up on your arms as you're in the elevator, just walking out of it when it reaches your floor. Just as you're halfway in the hallway, Kishibe walks out of his place and he stops when he sees you, looks at his watch then back to you, not even fazed with the countless papers you have.

This makes you chuckle, slowing down. "Yes, my office was quite busy this afternoon because of the new recruits and what happened in the city." You spoke, Kishibe barely tuts his head, knowing how paperworks after hunting, its casualties and much more that comes with it—can be a bitch.

Figuring that with how late it is and the fact the man has been getting his dinner from what you've been giving him lately—you asked simply. "Are you getting dinner?"

That and maybe getting laid, he's had a damn day after that shit happened in the city. But maybe not tonight after all.

Kishibe took some of the papers and folders from you and began to walk towards your door. "What are you making?"

Your lips curved slightly, "Harako Meshi, been a while since I've had it and my friend gave me sake, so I figured."

Kishibe doesn't think there's been a second for him to think that he hasn't liked it every time you bothered him ever since you showed up. Yeah, he can't see that he'll be getting sick of this thing soon.

There he smokes on your balcony just as he laid the papers and folders on the table in the living room. And you're already in the kitchen just after you changed into a more comfortable clothes....a clear view of you as you work.

Your space was much more different from his ( Untouched and just left how it was. Dull. ) you damn turned the place upside down, one wouldn't think this one room was inside a soulless building. It reeks of home.

Home. He's unfamiliar with that since he was young and until now, let alone of the very word.

Kishibe sought to think how someone like you could still be in this kind of life. And he thought he's thinking enough, so he turned to the view and took a long drag.

You weren't oblivious to his stare, it doesn't bother you. Clear was how you hear his unspoken thoughts, it doesn't bother you as well. Anyone would think the same.

As you continue to work in the kitchen, you thought....how long it must have been for him since he's been in a home.....to feed well. A part of you smiles in daring to hope to give him a taste of it...no matter how...cruel it was if one were to see it in the other way. Give the satiated man he knows he doesn't...wouldn't...couldn't have.

Your conscience lies in just doing something nice for him.

You begin to prepare the table and Kishibe walks in, unhesitantly bringing some of the things you made on the table and the sake, of course. Now there you both are sitting across from each other and started to eat.

"I've heard that you'll be training the two recruits." You spoke.

Kishibe nods as he continues to eat-he really was damn glad he didn't go out. "Two fiends, nothing I can't handle."

"I'm sure." You spoke mindlessly....then you speak again. "She's planning something, isn't she?"

"She's always planning something."

That much was unfortunately and thankfully known. "Teach the boy well."

"I'll give him hell."

"You better."

You two didn't even miss a beat.

Kishibe's lips almost quirked as he drank. It was...quite...good to know that there lies an agreement between the dangerous notion. Nothing but truth in your voice as you speak every time....expectedly rare in the life of you both live.

"You stayed even if the cause of your separation is because of it." He spoke, no tone of anything but just his own voice.

Again, you were quite surprised as he said that, clearly not expecting him to take any interest, let alone even a bit of curiosity from him. But you didn't show it, nor were you offended by what he asked.

"Because this way, I can still protect them without risking my life so much before and not worry them anymore."

Of course.

"You and Quanxi were a loss to both the divisions." He'll give you that much.

And you were proud for that one. "We're all lucky that they let me switch without anything in return and that you remained to shoulder all the shit."

He couldn't agree more.

Now you both are done eating, with you fixing up the table and Kishibe on your balcony once again smoking—before you join him, nothing but the distant sounds of the city.

"Hayakawa?" You asked.

"Close."

"Have you warned Himeno?"

"He's set straight to it. Screws all lose."

You took a sharp breath from your nose as you looked up at the sky. "Kind boy," you spoke mindlessly.

Kishibe just hums as he let out his smoke. Silence came in and it was welcomed..a few more while, his cigarette ran dry....and there he bids. "Good night," and you just stood there still ahead to the view and him not sparing a glance as he spoke.

Normal night, you supposed.

Work was work. Walking in the corridors in the division, headed to your office...Kishibe was there walking in your opposite direction. As you both continue to walk, no glances were made but kept straight. A few times in that and left in the back of your minds.

And...now...he walks in the elevator of the apartment just as you did earlier seconds ago.

"You making something?" he asks as the elevator closes. It seems he likes your cooking more than you thought.

You hum, nodding. "Vegetable curry."

Kishibe raises his brow, "At night?"

You chuckle a little, "It seems so."

He just hums.

As you now cook in your kitchen, the door is left opened for the man who is still yet to come.

Then, what an odd mixture of the night was; aroma of the dish, cigarette and alcohol. It was welcomed nonetheless.

.

.

.

For some fucking reason...Kishibe hasn't had sex for a while...well...ever since you moved in, that is. And he's a simple man but dumb...he knows the reason why; you. Some fucking reason, huh.

Blind. The notion coming as unexpected...maybe...but is it really unexpected...really?

After all, what is to be expected when two grown people share the same floor together, what is to be expected when each night they share dinner together...what is to be expected when those two persons have some needs and those needs untouched?

Yeah, you. You've been...having thoughts about the man, you weren't bothered by it...if anything, again, you deemed it normal...and you aren't denying it as well. The man is fucking appealing. You know you can't blame yourself for it and you don't. But of course, that doesn't mean you'd act upon it. You are in need, needy, sure...maybe even aching but you have your....yes—your pride.

Oh, you're well aware that there lingers something in the air, it's palpable but still subtle...however hidden, it's there and you feel it. You both do.

But what does Kishibe do? Nothing. Went with his day and night like his mind hasn't thought of running his cock through a certain fucking someone. He's not exactly sure of what's keeping him from doing the exact thing.

But what's not keeping himself from doing is letting his hand go down on him, his free hand loosening his tie as he sits back on his couch lazily. Hardened length straining so tight against his boxers and black slacks.

"Hmghm..." He groans. That sinful sound...that rumbles through his chest so good even with his lips just closed. Kishibe took his already lit cigarette from the ashtray on his table, taking a long drag as he continues to palm himself. His fingers firmly pressing on his clothed cock.

He let out the smoke from his mouth. Pent up heat in him almost leaving along with the smoke, staring to nothing at the ceiling, his eyes clearly seeing your tempting figure. Engraved you were in his mind, he can thank himself for always letting his eyes linger on you, taking you all in when he stands on your balcony as you cook in your kitchen. Not turning his gaze away anymore ever since his...needs gotten the best of him and satisfied his eyes.

With one hand, he unhooked his belt and took seconds to free his aching cock, standing proud and leaking already. Kishibe closed his eyes, his head still laid back on the couch, exhaling deeply once his fingers wrapped on his base...allowing whatever was enabling him to feel it as your own fingers, it slides down so slowly, the closed palm confining his cock so warm and good, what he has been depriving of.

Your hands....your hands that moves fluidly when you handle your cooking, his mind flashing him visions that your hands are on his cock whenever he's there in your balcony.

Kishibe takes another long drag as he continues to suffocate his cock, still so slow, up and down, a strained groan this time as he slowly let out the smoke, eyes still closed. Feeling your hand go a bit fast now. Sweat and pre coating his length and your plush skin, it makes his chest start to rise and fall now. Droplets of sweat gathering on his skin and it drips down from his neck to his chest and down to his abdomen.

A rhythm being found. Still not that fast but enough...so enough to build fire in him as you circle your closed palm on him up and down, all while you run your thumb on his tip every time.

.....The fuck you do to him...penting him up just by watching you cook there...a humanly ritual...a domestic act...one he was barely familiar of and he's getting all hot about it. The cigarette he takes is blameless for it, but what he's familiar of humanly ritual...is need.

And what he needs is release.

Kishibe's throat strains as he hums….an animalistic growl as the ministrations on his cock continues. The pace still the same but filling in his peak slowly, and he likes it that way. Just as how the alcohol he drinks burn slowly in him. He savours it each and every time, just like right now, Kishibe feels you take your sweet time fisting him hard and steady. His tip continuously leaking, leaking more each time the pads of your fingers would go over his tip and press on it.

He held his cigarette with two fingers as that same hand reached out to get his glass on the table. Taking a drink of his whiskey as your hand never stops on him. Fucking hell...that flaring smoke of his cigarette, the alcohol, the burning waves from his straining cock, it engulfs him, enough...more than enough to send any being into euphoria. Deep and long groans rumbles from him as he feels it all, his throat and all the way down, burns. Clenching him.

However he was drowning in fire already, however enough it was...he wants more...he wants more than your hand. So what he does is grab the crown of your head and make you take his cock into your mouth, fingers gripping your hair to guide you in. Lips sliding against his thick and long length, tongue flat above him, the walls of your mouth and the end of your throat. "Fuck." Kishibe growls, the glass got put down on the table too hard that it might have cracked, his cigarette almost falling from his fingers.

Gurgled sounds vibrates through him and he hears it, he hears you. His grip on your hair strong as ever so as to keep the pace going, fast and hard, he assaults your mouth, his drips spilling to your tongue, down to your throat. His peak long gone from burning tantalizingly slow and turned to wildfire, overflowing, his hips now twitching, rising to make the pressure he gets in your mouth stay. Kishibe feels your breath going away as he doesn't let you breathe but just continues to hold your hair so tight, still making you take him. He can't lose his end...so whatever what was left in him is now gone as he moves his hips to fuck your mouth better. Slowly he does while he makes yours only faster and harder if it's still possible.

"Mhmgr fuck..." His growling sounds never stops as it continues, his hips slapping to you, abusing your mouth with his cock again and again. It didn't take much longer for him to see his release; all of him strongly clenched as his cock stilled in you, reaching the end of your throat, he feels it go down while his cum flows in you. The cigarette on his fingers now being crushed in his hand as he closed his fist so tight, the burning pain on his skin was nothing as he stays in his high, cock flinching in you while his lower body continues to slowly move against you to feel it all.

"Mgrhm…” It's what echoed in his walls continuously, his chest slowly comes down from its rising and falling, shirt soaked with sweat, hair falling with droplets of it as well.

"Kishibe."

He hears you call out to him from your kitchen. Dead eyes, he looks to you. "I think you wasted your cigarette." You nod to his cigarette on his hand...and as he now noticed, realized—it was crushed by his strongly closed fist, burning his skin once more. Kishibe opened his hand, showing his long before scarred flesh now freshly tainted...bits of its remains falling...because he was thinking of having your hand on his cock and fucking your mouth last night when he was only doing it by himself.

His thoughts long left to ashes the moment he stood in your balcony once again this night.

He needs to end this. He will have you soon.

Anticipation fills you. You know one way or another something will happen, you don't know when but you know it's hanging on by a thread...it has your heart racing...and your cunt beating.

The air of the night was fucking thick as you eat together.

And it's getting thicker with each passing second as the morning comes. It had to be fucking Saturday, where it's both your day off. But thankfully...as fucked up as it's sounds, you'd be luckily distracted as your two children will come over in the afternoon. And hopefully, he won't be in his place or anything to not cross paths with him today. The last thing you want right now is to see him at the moment...some part of you knows that if you do—it would be not too different from your thoughts.

But even that, of course...us creatures are nothing to the will of time; just another words to say it ended how one would normally expect. Bumping into each other...well, not exactly that, maybe worse than it. With him walking into your place with your two children walking in front of him.

The moment you heard a heavy footsteps along with a light and rapid ones, your eyebrows furrowed as you took a few steps aside to see who it was and you almost dropped the tray of freshly baked cookies from your hands as your eyes met his.

It took you not even a second to figure out the reason what's happening right now; you let your children just play around and inevitably went out of your place to go and play around on the floor. Either they knocked on his door or ran into him—either way, you knew your children likes to be friendly...and that says a lot, given how only a few children would approach a man like Kishibe.

You should have known better.

Though what could you have done to avoid it from happening, anyways. Finding your composure inside of you. "Tell me they just ran into you and didn't knock on your door." You spoke, laughing lightly as you went back to work.

"They knocked," Kishibe answers simply, as always.

"Yes, of course." You nod as a little laugh escapes you once more. Setting the cookies on the cooling rack. The sounds of your children in the background as Kishibe now stood in your kitchen, leaning the back of his waist on the counter, his eyes on you.

You were glowing...he hasn't noticed that before. He's sure he hasn't heard you laugh that much as well, probably normally because of your children...something is gotta be wrong with him...no, that's just his...desires that's making him notice.

You could strangle yourself right now, maybe even do something worse, because what the fuck is his problem staring at you while you're trying your best to not even so much show an ounce of waver in your composure and you know he knows what he's doing. What the fuck is he even gonna do here?

...Yeah, your mind was all over the place and that has rarely happened before, almost never. Yet you can't find the urge...the guts to ask him why he's staying right now this time.

Instead, you fucking ask him if he wants coffee, he just nods as he took one of your cookies.

Maybe...he stayed for your cookies

You almost bash your head on the counter as the thought occurred.

The kettle made its noise and you made your coffees. "You gonna have them over for dinner?" He asked.

"Mmnn, yes," you answer. But you hesitate to ask if he'll join.

"What are you making?" he asks once more. Your lips quirked as your mouth is now close to your cup. Well, you didn't have to worry about that after all.

"Pasta. It's their favourite." You spoke. And Kishibe remembers the night you gave him that dish. He still has the taste at the end of his tongue when he lets you in his door, he cannot wait to taste it again.

Which he does as the night falls, with your children across from both of you as your besides each other this time. The laughter of you and your children...it's nice. Pasta and among other things he can barely remember the names of, nonetheless he eats so well. Lots of it tastes unfamiliar and yet it's so welcoming...he wants more of it.

Kishibe's mind is stirring, the smoke is fogging his mind, so as he believes....or something must be in your food—he's really losing it.

And through his silence with only little of his words, through his eyes with your subtle glances besides him; you see through him. It almost worries you...you really gave him a taste of it. Where it goes from here next, you don't know but possibilities, of course, runs in your mind...more possibilities.

And it fueled even more when you caught a glimpse of his eyes when you got embraced and kissed by your ex-husband as he arrived to pick up your children...and Kishibe met your gaze as your former lover did.

The mere act alone...nothing needed to be said more.

The night hangs quiet when your children goes with their father, with Kishibe still there with you. If it was possible, the beating of your heart could echo loudly in your place as you fix up the table, with him following you to do the same, it's the first time he helped you with it....it's enough to say what it could possibly mean.

The glasses in your hand clang against one another as your said hand trembles a little to lay it down in the sink, while he walks close to you to put the plates in it as well. You're both so close to each other. He towers over you, he's just that damn tall. Kishibe only stands there as you did, his eyes looming above and behind you, his breathing turning deep that it was now heard in the deafening silence.

He can have you right there and then. Be relieved of his insanity.

Yet instead he speaks, "How long has it been since you sparred?"

Your mouth has already exhaled a light laugh before you could stop yourself. "It has...been quite some time."

In his mind, what he's to do could compensate for what he doesn't yet—"Why? You gonna run my memory?"

Before you know it, you're trapped by the counter and him, the edge of a knife on your throat, your hand on his wrist firmly—your eyes dead on him in sheer stun, laced with thin provocation. Seeing his gaze doesn't change at all; it was more maddening. "You doubted me." You at last utter in a calculating disbelief, your fingers tightening around his grip.

Kishibe lives by your nerves resonating through him, they're loud and strong because of him. It feeds him. "I wondered." He spoke, still having the blade directly on you.

You don't feel anything from him but now that the proximity grants you to fully look him in the eyes, you can finally see he's burning.

The evidence is more worrying than the weapon dying for your throat.

"That's wounding." You breathe.

"Everything is."

You only scoff at his reply, before your other free hand swiftly went to get another knife of his from one of his pocket and aimed it for the side of his head—only for him to stop it by his hand that once trapped you, his hold just effortlessly firm, barely a strength to keep you from driving the blade in his brain.

Even when you never worked together, your reputation has never doubted you and that he can see now right in front of him.

"Proof enough?" You ask.

Not enough of you.

He only huffed a short hum. Just like that, he retracts the knife against you and that you held against him. "Good night."

Not now. Not yet. The burning in him, he wants to feel it more before anything.

The exchange has you falling to your knees as your hands weakly hold on the sink. A warning for what's to come more.

What deprivation can do to a being.

Yes, indeed what it can do to a being; it has Kishibe filling his glass with whiskey, trying to wash away whatever he's thinking, whatever he's feeling. But no matter how many downs he takes, it doesn't go away, it won't, it can't. Especially not when the sight of you and your ex-husband...lovingly held each other, even when it was short, it was undeniable there was.....love between you both still. He doesn't know the bits of your remaining relationship with your ex-husband, but he sees well enough that there isn't something between you both....and yet, when he saw that sight, it bothered him, something went off.

Another man clinging to you like that, it comes crashing down. It's getting ridiculous. He's gonna turn into ashes if he continues to let this burn.

Icarus' wings could only bear so much of the sun after all.

.

.

.

The day is going too fucking slow and it's driving you crazy. You're at work and you haven't even had a glimpse of him in the apartment nor at work. Just what is happening to you, acting like a damn puppy who can't seem to keep it in. It has you tired as you come home. Heels heavy as you walk through the corridors, eyes lingering to his door as you pass by.

You were left nowhere but to wait. So wait you did. Your door left open—you begin to prep for dinner after taking a long time under the water, composure building up again all while. But of course, your mind was still somewhere else, your insides never stopping of its fluttering as you mindlessly go.

By doing that, it was only a mere expectation of yours for it to now actually happen.

Though a complete lack on your part, really, that even with years of being a hunter and still having whatever you've learned and throughout all the years even when you switched from being one—you missed that someone has walked in your place.

Now you find yourself suddenly dropping the knife you were washing, the water left running as you felt a strong presence loom behind you. You stood there unmoving, breath caught in your throat the moment you felt it. Felt him.

The seconds turned slow but your heart was the opposite being filled with...thrill. "Kishibe." A breathless murmur echoes faintly but he hears it greatly and there comes his rope snapping. Your voice that's been plaguing him, it finally mutes everything.

Kishibe laid his hand on your right arm and the other around your waist as he pulled you tightly close against him, immediately meshing his fingers on your belly. Your breath being taken away from you again. He won't say he can't believe what's happening because he expected the boundness when he grew close to you.

His hand on your arm has been rising up, rough palm on your skin, his grasp heavy; feeling the softness of the fat on your arm to your shoulder, kneading you there with his mouth heated on the side of your forehead. "Been too long." In a low breath he says as he continues to tightly caress on your shoulder, before going down to slip under your dress then slipping his fingers in your bra, his thumb and index finger now playing with your nipple, the rest of his palm fondling your breast.

Creatures of nightmares that crawl from nothing to land he's dealt with for so long, he himself bounded to those, unthinkable abilities he wields; he never questioned reality. But there's an impenetrable sense of high he's in as he fixes in your softness, it doesn't feel real. It's peaceful, he thinks that is what dreaming is.

"I think it's just about time." You merely replied, finding your hand relying firmly on his nape, as the other reaches for the faucet to stop the running water while he goes on. Your waked mind still there before you let yourself go in a haze later.

Kishibe ghosts his face down on the side of yours, his nose breathing you in so much before he opens his eyes and looks at your lips—then to your gaze.

He feels foolish again but he feels it more so the more he thinks about it, so he just simply kisses you now.

It has been too long.

It's humorous; a simple kiss making you want to fall on your knees.

The remnants of cigarette and whiskey you're now familiar with, you can taste with mouths being held together, and he begins with mildly sucking you. His hand that was groping on your belly trails up to your neck, pushing his mouth to yours even more as he drags it open—only to suck your lips once again out of hunger that he spills freely, swallowing roughly each kiss he takes after the other, soaking his dry mouth with you—only then he uses his tongue against yours, tangling on one another, roaming it inside you, swimming his tongue in whatever saliva that gathers in your mouth. Dragging you in.

A simple kiss.

So much for it when you pull away before you could no longer breathe—your chest heaves, lips parted with air heavily leaving in and out of you. He's no different; gaze darkened as blown, you could almost hear the growl that threatens to echo from him, his grip creasing on your neck to your nape and he turns you around to face him. He pushes you just slightly to put the back of your waist against the edge of the sink, leaning his body down so he's levelled to you.

The hand of yours on his neck slides to lay it on the side of his face, it's the first time you're looking at each other this long, for more than five seconds directly, let alone this close, gazes straight through your souls. Kishibe always looks at the person he talks to straight at them without falter, and you've seen that having him done it to you only a few times, before you both always turn your eyes away as the days kept going. Now you see all of him as he allows himself.

A voracious kiss.

When has a man been so…..desperate?

When have you ever been so wanting? Shameless; rapid, messy, strong, wet.

Drowning in need you seek. Your sex has long gone weeping in your panties. Kishibe’s throbbing cock only soothed by the tightness of his clothes below, even as he was starting to drip of his own arousal, he just left it before he took you up to lay your back on the counter after suffocating your lungs in that kiss, simply pushing off the things that's there and shattered on the floor but never parting his mouth away from you, from your face, your neck, to your chest and belly while his hands took off your undergarments below as he goes down more.

It's incomprehensible. Your fate that brought you upon him, that has led to a path of the Kishibe barely on his knees to finally have a taste of your pussy. The feeling of his mouth and tongue latched on your cunt the first second was already the last thread of your hold on your existence. That hold became your fingers wading through his hair, thighs already trembling in his tight grasp, sounds of pleasure etched to your erratic breathing.

Kishibe is not at all rough when he began—subdued; each kiss he gives, each suck he takes is heavy. He doesn't want to rush. He has suffered to simply hurry and not feel every thrum he could get. His wide and long tongue flat on your whole mound, drinking your slick with each drag he licks, his stubble grazing against the hair and flesh of your cunt.

There's no words from you both, it doesn't exist. Only flesh and unruly power that conjured from your desires. Only the sounds of a hungry man one with his devils as he feeds.

It begins to rise more, the fire your body collects, his ceaseless hunger. Your grip on his hair deepening. The grind of your hips for your cunt to ride his face. The unstoppable tremble of your limbs as you move against him, thighs barely clutching to his head despite his hurtful grip to keep your sex tact to him. The repeating shock and clenching of your pussy with each spit he threw. His mouth nor breath not once waver until he gave your end, only for him to take it out of you again and again. All numb, nerves just wildly spiking everywhere within you—pussy left raw and still weeping, throat dry and eyes in tears.

However his boundless hunger, his mouth is at least given a little bit of your pussy for now for it to be enough and move next. So Kishibe then stood up, your tearful eyes following. It remains unreal to you. His lips so red, half of his face soaked. He swipes his thumb on his cheek, jaw and to his chin, catching what drips from his mouth of the myriad of your cum and swallowed it like the rest. Before that same hand ran over his dishevelled wet hair, and simply took off his tie in one go. Eyes kept on one another the whole moment.

You no longer own your breath….the sounds you've been making…the fog clears more, blinking the tears away, the coldness of the metal in spite of all the heat, your dress clinging on your skin, drenched with sweat; there's a little of shame that seeps back in you.

But you don't turn away from his gaze. Kishibe holds it. You follow him. It took you that long to make a decision. Desirably, you accept it.

Amusing as it is for Kishibe seeing you unfold, he doesn't know how much longer he could stand to not just fuck you senseless. The sound of his belt snapping as he took it off from his pants wakes you up. “Done being in your head?”

Coherent words exist again. You tirelessly breathe out a little laugh, “Barely.” You keep cursing in your head and they're louder now as he frees himself.

He couldn't help the tut on the edge of his lips when he saw the fleeting look of stun from you once he now held his cock. “Just about time, huh?” he plainly taunts as he spits on his palm before he strokes himself.

It's been so long. And he's damn big.

“Fuck you.” You scoffed.

Kishibe swears there was laughter that swirled inside him but didn't reach his mouth. Only the strain in your breath as his left hand gave your still drooling cunt attention again, your body involuntarily tensing before easing again while he slid two of his thick fingers in and barely loosened you up for just mere seconds.

The bits of pain remains treads you on edge, expecting it to double soon. His blood prevails to course so explosively.

You both expected it, nonetheless still by the skin of teeth when Kishibe grazed his cock in. Your walls a soaked and snug furnace, barely halfway—"Fucking,” he trailed off in a mutter, the fingers of his left hand digging on your thigh, the other lightly choking your throat. Each trudge he makes fill the fullness of your cunt takes. It's plain insanity.

“Just about time, huh?” You get back, barely.

Kishibe's laugh is at last freed. It really is madness. It was just an air of laugh, teeth shown; it was priceless. One that you beheld before he just plunges in with no more room left for hesitation. “You fucking—” you growled after he slammed into you, your sudden glare sharply closing as your body took in that shocking goodness against the pain.

“This is nothing yet.”

It is.

It was.

But once again when he began, it's slow and kept. The sting that drags melts more to tight fondling sensations from every thrust he pushes deep in your pussy. You didn't think you would have had a cock fuck you to be this staggering, render you brainless—or more so believe it that's it now happening after having……fantasized of it. Kishibe's cock feeds your pussy so well. You keep him in too well. Soon then again, his abilities are not held back and it's just quite pitiful how you're holding back to not just already break and cum for the nth time. It doesn't matter to him, not really—he wants nothing more than to wring you empty for him.

That's just what he does. He let it go by unsaid as he kept fucking you, making you break no sooner. Your mind barely comprehends he's kissing you as your cum spills and he's still ramming again and again, not making you ride your high, letting his drool make a mess on your mouth again.

You don't stop him however, nor you could in your state. And when he reaches his first end, how is it still possible you break more? Kishibe's left hand holding a death grip on the edge of the counter above your head once he stilled deep inside you, his pulsing cock floods your pussy of his cum. Much of it. He'll be moulding you to a greedy creature in no time, meeting his own ruin. Eyes mirroring too clearly upon one another. You're far gone than you'd have thought you'd be with him, and you don't want to ever go back.

Kishibe has long made that decision before he invaded your home tonight.

The high strongly lingers, still burrowing himself in you before he slowly moves and relives that beating high again. Thick drools of hotness webs in your walls that keeps you full even as he pulls out entirely and seeps out from your folds.

Heats still raging and barely satiated after having much of it.

Your kitchen is a mess and reeking of sex. He takes you standing and bent over the counter after, easily holding you up as he railed you like so, drenching your cunt again with his cum. Keeping his prowess in his wield, when he just carried you to your living room after and had you on his lap as he sat on a couch. Your clothes finally ripped off of you and had you bare as you rode him while he watched and felt the glory. Remnants of your sex left on the couch when he took yourselves to your bedroom, taking you again with your face buried in the sheets, back arched for him as he fucked you from behind. And when you both break again, he doesn't stop, instead loomed himself over your back and still delved his cock in and out endlessly while cum flows out messily, your loud moans strained from his hand squeezing your throat and head deep on the bed. Even as the dawn rises, Kishibe remains.

No end in sight.

[babblingeccentric]

Sanji + gender play (fem reader) for kinktober! Wanna ride him while he's all dolled up in lingerie with a vibrator in his ass 🤤

I didn't quite capture the letter of your request but I think I at least got the spirit. I wrote this in half an hour tipsy on mulled cider and I think I got possessed by the spirit of a novel writer from the 1860s

Kinktober 5: Gender Play, Sanji/Reader

Contains: Sanji's fucked up thoughts on gender, feminization, humiliation, lingerie, cross dressing, hand jobs

The kitchen door is locked, and most have gone to bed. But here on one of the chairs Sanji sits disheveled and full of shame and lust. You’ve removed his tie and jacket a long time ago, and tugged open his shirt and slacks to the soft sweet prize that’s been waiting for you all day beneath stiff wool.

It’s a set of lacy pink underwear, a matching bra and panty set that you bought with Sanji under the pretext of wearing it yourself. So consumed by thoughts of you in lacy bralettes and bikinis spinning through his head Sanji had neglected to notice they didn’t match your measurements (which he had of course memorized, as any good shopping companion should).

The long hours since you had connived him into the set this morning with soft kisses and softer touches had become tortuous, with Sanji hyper aware of the soft lace against his cock, and then comfortably forgetting, before swells of guilt at the thought that he was so little a man he could forget such a humiliation sweeping over him in turns throughout the day. 

Finally, finally, you had come flouncing into his kitchen long after the dishes were done, eyes full of mischief to offer relief to him.

And that’s how he had ended up here, eyes tearing as you stood between his legs softly stroking his cock through delicate pink panties until he came and soaked them through as you called him, “Good girl~”