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florencemtrash · 2 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Seventeen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None. Some angst. Some fluff. AHHHHHHHHHH just look at the gif guys

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will.”

The wet cloth soothed his burning skin as you carefully cleaned away the smattering of blood dashed over his high, bruised cheekbones like freckles. You were both holding your breaths, only daring to move when your lungs demanded it. Azriel sat on the chair you’d dragged into your bathroom, face level with yours as you leaned down to inspect his face with two fingers tucked beneath his chin.

Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch you somewhere. Anywhere.

“You said you’d tell me if I hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me, Y/n.”

Azriel could have told you that he was well versed with cleaning blood off his body and clothes. He could have reminded you back in the dining room that Feyre and Rhysand stood only ten feet away and could have whisked away his injuries and the bloodstains with a single touch or snap of their fingers. But instead he’d said nothing. He’d let you close your hand around his, fingers dangerously close to his thrumming pulse, and followed you to your bedroom while ignoring the throbbing pain of his cracked ribs.

Feyre called your bedroom The Wisp after having decorated it with all manner of airy, cream-colored furniture accented with soft browns. Your desk was overrun with neat piles of papers, books, and journals. The windowsill by your bed was dedicated to pre-sleep novels and clusters of lavender tied with twine and left to stand upright in vases fashioned from ink bottles. The scent of old books and parchment paper clung to every surface along with something that smelled clean and entirely like you.

Your bathroom was similarly orderly. Bottles of perfumes, lotions, and oils were laid out on the countertop like little soldiers, catching and scattering the moonlight from the window in a rainbow of color.

You brushed the cloth over his lips, eyes lingering on the two splits already scabbing over, then down the curve of his jaw to his chin.

It was reverently quiet here in your bathroom. Nothing but the faint and steady drip from the faucet into the quartz basin and your breathing filling the space.

Color had been spilled over Azriel’s face like a watercolor painting, equal parts painful and beautiful to look at. Because he was still so, so beautiful looking up at you with those whisky eyes that made your head spin. Those dark curls that hung over his forehead like seafoam waves. Your hands fluttered over the bottles on the countertop before settling on a pale green one that smelled strongly of mint. You smoothed the oil over Azriel’s face, leaving a cool, tingling sensation wherever you touched.

“I’m sorry about Lucien,” You whispered. “And Helion. I never wanted you to get hurt like this.”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled sadly. “Cassian was right when he said I had it coming.”

You winced. “How bad was it when you fought Lucien the last time? When you invoked the Blood Duel?”

Azriel didn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never left yours as you quietly restoppered the bottle. “I was a second away from stabbing him through the heart when Elain stopped us. There are a fair number of scars we both left that fight with, but we did walk away,” He stiffened at the memory, “Barely.”

“Do you… do you regret it?”

“Yes,” Azriel said quickly. Firmly. “I will regret what I did and what Elain and I did together until the day I die.” His hands flexed by his sides and he dared to lift them up to your hips, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, he continued on. “I wanted what my brothers had and in my desperation I think Elain and I chose each other because we just wanted to do something. I wanted a mate and proof that I belonged alongside Rhys and Cassian, and Elain wanted to break the rules for the first time in her life. To feel in control. But we never should have done it knowing everyone would get hurt.”

“Sometimes love is like that,” you murmured, “Messy and hurtful… or so I’ve read.”

“I didn’t love Elain. I don’t love Elain. At least not romantically.” Not the way that I love you.

You tried to ignore the flutter of relief in your chest. It didn’t feel like the right time for it. Not with Azriel bruised and hurting before you. You dropped your eyes to the pale green tiles and caught sight of Azriel’s gloved hands.

“You’re wearing them again.”

Wordlessly you picked up one and gently began tugging the leather off his fingers. One by one. The whole time you kept your eyes on him, tracing the tension in his shoulders and between his eyes as his ruined skin was exposed inch by inch. The air felt foreign on the skin of his palms. The feel of your body so close to his felt exhilarating.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, “I never meant to hurt you in all the ways that I did. What I did—”

“I know, Azriel.”

His eyes traced every line of your face, hands shaking. “You’re not a fourth choice. You’re not broken... But I think I might be,” he confessed. The words hung in the air between you two. Words you could wrap around his neck and hang him with.

He felt every stroke of your fingers over his knuckles. Every flutter of your eyelashes as you looked at him with the faintest tilt of your head.

“So what?” You breathed out.

Azriel shook. “Y/n?”

“So what if you’re broken? Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” You leaned your forehead against his, noses brushing, “But you’re still Azriel.” You smiled gently at him, eyes fluttering closed as you sighed. “And I think that’s a wonderful thing.”

Azriel stopped breathing as you brought his hands up to your lips and brushed them over every scarred knuckle. Every touch of yours was sacred. In their sincerity. In their rarity. In their preciousness to him.

“Do you… do you like me, Azriel?” Your words were nervous and soft. Softer than the finest bed Azriel had ever laid his head down on. Softer than the clouds that turned to rain when he flew through them. Softer than your ink-stained fingertips landing on the sprinting pulse of his neck.

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “You can’t even begin to know, Y/n.”

And then your softness was all around him. It was your lips against his lips, pillowy and tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d drank at dinner. It was your hands and arms looping around his neck and keeping his head squarely on his shoulders so he could experience this vibrance. It was the feel of your body as he held onto your hips and then flattened his hands against the small of your back, pressing you as close as he dared. River-soaked robes long since forgotten.

You were like water threatening to slip through his fingertips.

You hoped you were doing this right. Reading about kissing was very different from the actual thing. Your lips felt too stiff or too fervent. You worried your hands were too greedy as you plunged them into his raven-wing hair and tangled silken strands. But while you lacked experience, Azriel surely seemed to be making up the difference. He held you as close as possible, until it felt more like breathing than kissing.

Salty tears landed in between your lips until you could both taste their sharp tang on your tongues.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over in between shaky gulps of air. “Y/n, please believe me. I—”

You kissed him harder just to make him stop, swallowing his pain as best you could until his breathing evened out.

“I’ve got you, Az.” You brushed his black waves away from his forehead before kissing him there too. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tell her. Tell her. Tell her.

Azriel’s shadows chanted in his ears. But he made them go silent.

Another day.

Let him just hold you like this for now. For as long as you would let him. Here in the stillness with you — the only person who’d ever brought him a real sense of peace and quiet — he felt it was safe to hope again.

The long stream of kisses ended too early for his liking, although he didn’t dislike the sight of your heaving chest and blushing cheeks. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing as you stood between the walls of his legs, his arms wrapped loosely at your sides and yours dangling off his shoulders.

You’d kissed him. You’d kissed him.

You touched your fingertips to your lips, worry in your eyes. “Was it bad? Did I do a bad job? I’ve never—”

Azriel would have none of that. He tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you all over again. You relished in his heat and the faint tickles of shadows that encased you both in darkness, like a veil had been thrown over the room leaving everything gauzy and soft.

“You, my Y/n,” his lips brushed over the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your neck when he sighed so, so softly, “Are a marvelous kisser.”

Had you melted into a sack of bones on the floor? It certainly felt like you had. You were blushing uncontrollably, searching for something, anything, to comment on. You thought your heart might just burst out of your chest.

“You have frosting in your hair.” You plucked the white blobs off his head, feeling the sugar grains crumble between your fingers.

“I think that was meant to be dessert.”

“I think you might be right.” You tried controlling your breathing when Azriel leaned forward and kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, and failed miserably. “It’s a real shame,” you stammered, “I was looking forward to cake.”

He kissed the center of your chest next and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll buy you all the cake in the world to make it up to you.”

“That’s a hefty promise, and a waste of cake.”

“Do you doubt me?” Azriel asked honestly. You could ask him for moonlight in a bottle, or a dress spun from spider silk, or all the stars in the sky and he’d find a way to make it happen. Some way. Somehow. He’d give you everything that was his to give, and then some.

“No. I don’t doubt you.”

“Good.”

He couldn’t help himself. He kissed you again, reveling in the faint sighs that he swallowed up and the few that escaped between your locked lips to sing in his ears. You traded kisses for hours on end, slipping them in between conversations and gentle touches. It was an exploration in intimacy that you worried might sweep you away, but Azriel was as he always was — patient and gentle — from the tips of his black hair to his scarred hands to his leather boots. And you loved every inch of him.

You clung to his shirt, the scent of soap still clinging to his skin after he’d returned from his bath and laid down in bed beside you in cotton instead of leather.

“Azriel,” You said, your voice thin and tired. The candles burned low casting shadows that flickered and twisted on the wall. But you didn’t pay any mind to shadows any longer, not when you knew they belonged to Azriel as surely as you did. “Stay.”

And who was he to deny you? He held you close, your cheek pressed against his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his heart, and he fell asleep to the rhythm of your breathing.

You woke up to the weight of Azriel draped over your body, face pressed against your breasts, arms wrapped around your waist, and the rest of him nestled in between your legs. He grounded you, wings splayed out and bathing in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

You were pleasantly surprised that he was still asleep and you took the time to lightly trace his features, weaving your fingers through his hair until he made a sound that had your heart speeding up. Something halfway between a sigh and a groan.

He was slow and sluggish to wake, eyes blinking languidly as he registered the warm, supple body beneath him.

You.

He’d fallen asleep here with you, wrapped up in your scent until the world had faded away into blissful nothingness. He could have been asleep for eight hours or eight years and he would be none the wiser. All he knew is that you were running your fingers through his hair, and he didn’t want you to stop.

“Hey, you,” You murmured when his whisky eyes fluttered open, eyelashes casting spidery darkness over his cheekbones where his own shadows curled as if still asleep.

Azriel hummed, burying his face in your chest and sighing with his whole body. His arms rubbed up and down your sides leaving molten heat in their wake. “Please don’t tell me it's morning.”

“I’m not above lying, Azriel. It’s the middle of the night.”

His wings shook with quiet laughter, the movement of his body tickling your skin until you were grinning unabashedly.

“Then why are you awake?” Again, his words were muffled by your skin.

“Because I’m currently being crushed beneath the weight of an Illyrian warrior.”

His head shot up in alarm. He was no small male and although he’d spent centuries gaining enough strength for his wings to feel weightless on his back, he knew they were anything but. And you’d let him stay like that all night. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffocated.

Stupid. Stupid.

“I’m sorry. Gods, I didn’t mean—” He began to slide off of you. But you were laughing.

“Wait! No! I was joking. I was joking. Come back!” You wrapped your legs around his back, the sudden movement pulling him flush against you in a rush of heat that made him go stone still.

Mother, help me. He thought to himself, feeling blood travel both up and down his body.

You guided his head to your chest by the strands of his hair until he was following the curves of your silhouette once again. “I like it when you hold me like this, Azriel,” you confessed. “I don’t feel like I’m going to float away anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he whispered. He felt the same way. “You make the world go quiet, Y/n.”

It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve bells and the House’s cooking wafted through the hallways that you and Azriel finally peeled yourselves off one another, shuffling to the bathroom in a cluster of wings and loose night clothes.

Azriel watched you closely, finding new ways to love you even as you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping hips and smiling at one another shyly. He watched as you brushed your hair and washed your face, stealing kisses that left minty cool tingles on his skin.

Lucien was noticeably frowning when you and Azriel walked into the dining room, Azriel’s scent still clinging to your skin and yours to his. You’d done nothing more than sleep in the same bed, everyone was looking at you with shit-eating grins like you’d taken Azriel on the living room couch for the whole House to hear.

“You look well rested, brother,” Cassian noted over the lip of his coffee cup.

It was the best night of sleep Azriel had gotten in centuries, perhaps in his entire life.

You wordlessly traded seats with Elain at the table, leaving you and Azriel on one side and Lucien and Elain directly across. When no one was looking, he reached down and pulled your chair closer, pressing his knee against yours beneath the table. Lucien noticed — of course he did — but the blush on your cheeks was so innocent and the love in your gaze so honest that he couldn’t bring himself to make any comment. Although, he did throw a few dangerous looks Azriel’s way, looks that plainly said, If you hurt her, you’re a dead man.

Azriel only nodded faintly in reply, as if he knew what Lucien had been thinking all along and was in agreement.

But in the following weeks your brother would come to be grateful that your care for one another was not loud. It wasn’t desperate, groping hands in hallways or sultry looks that heated up crowded rooms and made people uncomfortable. It was reserved smiles and knowing glances when you independently formed the same thought at the same time, eyes latching onto one another until one of you inevitable broke away laughing.

For the first time in his life, Azriel had someone who wanted him back just as fervently, even if it was difficult to believe.

Azriel always needed to be touching you, whether it be a hand at the small of your back or the press of your shoulders together as you leaned over one of the desks at Cagniv — now that Azriel was allowed inside — with papers strewn about like dove feathers.

You were no better. You stuck close to his side where shadows lingered and sought him out in every room until you may as well have owned the space within the curve of his wings.

But things were changing. Koschei loomed taller and taller over the House like an avalanche ready to wipe Velaris off the map. Once again, everyone heard Vassa’s cries at daybreak and nightfall, and when Jurian slipped out of the attic for his own rest, he looked a little thinner and paler each time and no amount of medicine or food you and Lucien brought upstairs seemed to be helping.

Azriel tried to steal every extra second with you in the mornings. If he had his way, he’d never leave his bedroom again, content to admire the splash of sunlight over your body and your sleepy sighs. But he was still the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court and you quickly got accustomed to waking up to an empty bed with only a note on the nightstand. On those days you migrated out of whatever room you’d spent the night in — yours or Azriel’s, although the lines were blurred — often trekking to Cagniv to escape a house where strange, new faces were coming and going with more frequency: ash-pale fae from Winter, a white-haired female from Summer with skin so dark it was almost black, and golden males from Dawn with downy hawk wings. They locked themselves in Rhysand and Feyre’s office where bargains and plans were made in blood and salt.

Other days you carted your books to Feyre’s studio with Nesta and Ione in tow, perching on a stool while the High Lady crafted life out of brushstrokes like she was the Mother herself.

Feyre stood at her easel, as she had been every day this last week, with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she ignored the faint aches in her lower back and her wrist. Every line, every detail, was attended to with painstaking precision as she mapped Nesta and the old woman’s faces onto the blank canvas first with graphite, then with a thin wash, then with layers of paint that added dimension and familiarity to the two stoic faces. Feyre didn’t let her passion overtake the more clinical approach she was taking with this piece. This was not the time for free flowing movement and modernism.

This was all about realism.

Exactness.

When the High Lady placed her brush on the muddied water cup beside her, you jumped up. “Is it finished, Feyre?”

“As finished as it will ever be,” Feyre responded gravely as you took in the sight before you. Three women: Nesta, Ione, and some mixture of the two. Feyre had captured their likeness with incredible precision, using the painting to familiarize herself with their faces and the ways they could be warped and molded.

You peered over the corner of the canvas to where the two women were standing side by side. Ione lengthened her spine, cane clasped in her hands that you’d never seen her lean on with her full weight. Time had condensed her bones and stolen some of the height from her frame, but none of her sharpness. It was a trait that granted her a strange degree of likeness to Nesta, as if you’d glanced into a future where she’d never turned fae.

You looked at Feyre, then down to the vials of blood you’d collected from the pair. Already your magic was seeping into the burgundy bottles, testing its boundaries with such an unfamiliar medium as you released any hold you had on it. You looked at the High Lady and nodded.

It just might work.

“My brilliant daughter,” Helion praised, kissing you on the top of your head before disappearing in a flash of light. His empty teacup spun on the saucer.

You felt a familiar flicker of pride grow within you. Helion had spent hours pouring over your notes, your manuscript, and leaning his ear towards your plans. He was in agreement.

It just might work.

Lucien slunk out of his room after Helion’s voice disappeared and sank into the abandoned couch with his whetstone and white-bone blade. The ring of metal echoed through the room, melting into the birdsongs that slipped in through the cracked open window and the clatter of sugar spoons against a porcelain plate.

“You should tell him,” you said again, pushing a teacup over to your brother. It was a common refrain after Helion’s visits.

Lucien stared at the three cups now strewn across the coffee table. Two empty. One full and untouched. Had Helion noticed the extra one?

“I’ve had enough of High Lords for a while,” Lucien said as you poured yourself another strong cup, “When this is over, I’m taking Elain, Jurian, and Vassa back to the Human Lands.” His eyes flickered over to you briefly, “You should come live with us. You’d find it interesting how they conduct themselves. You might even learn something.”

“I’ll visit for a short time, but nothing longer than that.”

“Why not?” You lowered your gaze and blushed, unconsciously tugging your sweater higher up your neck. The sweet marks Azriel’s lips had left on your skin were long gone, but you swore you could still feel them. “You know why.” You murmured softly.

Your swollen eyes spoke of restless nights without the Shadowsinger’s hands to lull you to sleep. Azriel had gotten into the habit of stroking your cheek while you talked in bed, until the steady brush of skin against skin finally had your eyes closing shut. You missed him.

“Lucien, I understand that you want nothing to do with Helion or any other High Lord, but… You could be better. I know you could be. You could be the best High Lord of them all, if you’d only be open to it.”

Because that was Lucien’s worst fear, wasn’t it? That a time would come when Helion would leave this world and any hope for a quiet, peaceful existence with Elain would be gone.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

You touched his wrist and the blade stopped its strange singing. “‘It’s often those who think they deserve it least, that deserve it most.’ Pippin Clodshot from—”

“A Duel of Two Faces by Aechtion.”

You reared back in surprise and Lucien grinned, tapping your nose. “I do read, sister.”

The sarcasm in his voice was laid on so thickly you could only grumble in response. “I wasn’t aware you had two brain cells to rub together, brother.”

Lucien laughed so heartily and for so long that Elain and Ione stuck their heads out from the kitchen in conern.

“I thought someone was dying.” Ione rolled her eyes before her grey head disappeared once again.

You slid further under the covers, burying your face in Azriel’s pillows as the sun finally slipped behind the mountains and shadows raced each other to the Sidra.

Seven days.

Seven days of waking up to empty sheets after Azriel had jerked awake halfway through the night, bloodshot eyes searching for something you couldn’t see and that he didn’t tell you about. He’d only kissed your forehead, smoothing back your hair and murmuring something about a task he needed to take care of before shrugging on his leathers. You’d sat in bed, comforter tucked under your arms and over your chest even though you were fully clothed, and watched Azriel move around the room with a practiced air as weapons flashed in the moonlight and disappeared into his bag.

You knew all the hiding places in his room now — one of the many secrets you’d unearthed — so you didn’t find it at all strange when he captured your lips before dipping his hand beneath the mattress and pulling out a long serrated blade, perfect for sawing rope and wood.

“Where are you off to this time?”

Azriel had gone still, taking his time to shake away his thoughts before sweeping a handful of stoppered vials off his desk — sleep potions, draughts for pain and healing, subtle, painless poisons. You would know because you had helped make them.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/n,” He’d whispered, eyes boring into yours with a haunted look that hadn’t left him since that day in the market square.

Ten days.

Ten days of carrying around a heavy ache that every so often tightened with a feeling you couldn’t name. Almost as if it didn’t belong to you.

You paced back and forth in Azriel’s room, trying to calm a heart that hadn’t stopped racing for the last hour. You’d tried opening, then closing the windows as you curled up beneath the covers of his bed, mountain air blowing the curtains open and chilling your too hot skin. But none of it helped.

Chasing his scent in the sheets wasn’t enough anymore.

You tiptoed out of Azriel’s room, copying his silent steps and sticking to familiar shadows as you slipped through the House. Like Lucien, you tended to stay hidden whenever representatives from other Courts visited the River House. They were people Rhysand and Feyre trusted, but that didn’t mean you could erase centuries of wariness from your bones.

You heard nothing coming from Feyre’s studio, but you knew that if you were to sneak through the layers of air she’d sealed around the space, you’d meet a male carved from molten heat.

You waited in one of the spare studio rooms for the High Lord of Autumn to leave, eyes peering through the slit between the door and its hinges. If you stared for long enough, you swore you could see the air beside the door rippling with Autumn heat.

Finally, Eris Vanserra stepped into the hallway in all his striking glory, followed closely behind by Lucien. Violently red hair hovered over a pale, freckled face composed of angular lines — striking but not unkind. You thought he looked like a lit match with his wiry frame wrapped in resplendent browns, reds, and golds that spoke of forest riches. Or maybe he just looked narrow when standing next to Cassian. That was always a possibility.

“Thank you, Eris.” Feyre squeezed his hand reassuringly. She wore similarly decadent clothes. The moonstone and diamond crown perched atop her light brown hair was a rare sight, but Feyre wore it as naturally as she wore her paint splattered overalls. She was an artist and a High Lady in equal measure, and she sacrificed no part of one in favor of the other.

The newly minted High Lord of Autumn chuckled darkly, eyes flashing like a living flame. You’d heard horrible tales about Beron Vanserra, his cruelty, and his violence. But whatever traits Eris had inherited from his father he’d sloughed off like a second skin. The molting process had been full of its own pains, but as you assessed him now, you saw only the characteristics he shared with Lucien.

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until my feet have touched the Continent.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Eris tipped his head, a smirk on his face, then disappeared in a flush of woodsmoke.

Spring, Winter, Summer, Day, Dawn, and now Autumn. The seven courts had slid into an uneasy alliance once more, weary but willing after decades of war. Feyre wasn’t sure how much more Prythian could take if this transformed into another bloodbath. But if the fledgling plan you’d all helped nurse came to fruition, it wouldn’t come to that… at least that’s what Feyre kept telling herself every night so she could sleep.

The High Lady jolted back when you slipped out from your hiding spot, cast in a halo of cool-toned light from the dying sun. Cassian shared in Feyre’s surprise. They hadn’t heard you come up the stairs or pass by the door. They hadn’t even sensed you until you made your presence known.

Maybe she’s picking it up from Azriel? Feyre said with some amusement.

Gods help us all. There’s two of them.

“Where’s Azriel?” You looked to the High Lady for an answer, hands held stiff at your sides. You felt that strange anxiety clawing at your throat. It had dripped into your feelings slowly since the morning, growing like a weed until you couldn’t stop clenching your fists. “I haven’t heard from him in days.”

Feyre felt a familiar coil of guilt settle in her stomach.

Don’t tell her about this, Fey. Azriel had begged her, his eyes hard and tired before taking off from the back porch towards The Warren.

He’d made all of them promise not to tell you about that place. About what he did. About what he was doing. But you weren’t a fool. You knew of his reputation as a Shadowsinger and a Spymaster and the work that came with it. You’d traced some of the scars on his body, plucking the stories from his skin whenever he let you, and you woke up when he did from his silent nightmares. The slightest change in his breathing pattern, the barest flinch of his arm wrapped around your waist was all it took for you to open your bleary eyes and shake him awake.

But there were some secrets he was still too afraid to reveal, and some secrets he’d buried so deeply he didn’t even know what their monstrous faces looked like anymore.

“Y/n—” Feyre began.

“I want to know.” You reached for Feyre’s wrist, grasping it so tightly your knuckles paled and Cassian stepped forward. It was a silent reminder that you had the power to take that knowledge from her if you wished. You loved Feyre. You considered her a friend. But the panic wasn’t leaving you. You stared at her desperately, pupils blown wide open. “I need to know he’s alright.”

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, then froze as Rhysand’s velvety voice entered her mind, strained to the point of breaking.

Feyre, you need to bring Y/n to The Warren.

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Author's Note:

85K+ WORDS AND FINALLY THEY'VE FUCKING KISSED HOLY SHIT

I really must applaud you all for your patience because hot DAMN I am FLOORED!!! And yes, yes, I know, I know y'all want Y/n to figure out their mates and I will simply be pleading the fifth and hiding in my room and not telling anyone of you when that will actually happen because I simply cannot! ASFDK;JABSLDFIGUH

*takes a deep breath* Thank you all so much for reading and for your engagement whether that be leaving comments or liking or literally anything because it makes my day and I'm just happy that my passion project/hobby is able to bring people some smidgen of joy because the world really sucks but hey at least we have fanfics

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x you #azriel x helion's daughter

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f1fnatic · 7 months

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LIAR ⤿ c. sainz 55

→ ( in which. . . ) you and carlos have been dating for three years. carlos started to grow distant. after charles shows you a picture of his infidelity, you catch him in the act after a day at work.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) cheater!carlos sainz x longtime!girlfriend!reader

→ (content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) mentions of sex, language, yelling, cheating, alcohol consumption, angst

→ ( author's note. . . ) this was my first time writing angst/cheating. it was fun experimenting with this type of writing. i hope you enjoy! see end for more.

→ ( masterlist )

"you fucking liar!" echoed through the otherwise quiet apartment. hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, another pair following the first close behind. was this what everything came to? walking out on your supposed soulmate after years together? how did you get here? and what did you do to deserve this?

one week prior ↴

you had noticed the distance growing. carlos was becoming closed off and almost secretive. he didn't confide in you as much as he used to. you didn't think twice about it and assumed it was something to do with work. ferrari had been going through a rough patch, both him and charles struggling to start or finish a race for the past three weeks.

you understood how stressful being a driver was. you had been around formula 1 for a while now, because of him. you and carlos met when he drove for redbull, in 2015. the two of you started dating shortly after in 2017.

you were always there for him, through thick and thin. through the blood, sweat, and tears. after every win, podium, loss, dnf, dns, etc. you understood how hard it was for him to perform well but not get the results wanted.

so, when you received a picture of carlos with another woman, a blond, on his lap, hands on his shoulders and lips touching, you were livid. charles had sent it to you, with a simple caption that read "i am sorry." it was the after-party of a not-so-successful qatar grand prix.

rage, confusion, sadness, and disgust coursed through your veins. the thought of him finding comfort in a woman who wasn't you made you sick. your hands shook, eyes blurred, and breath quickened.

you could not believe that carlos would ever cheat, especially on you. you had given him everything. love, attention, comfort, and compassion. and this is what he gave you in return? you had sacrificed so much to make him happy. you felt useless. had you thrown away six years of your life just to get cheated on? did he feel guilty? did he regret his choice to kiss a random girl? thoughts sped through your mind.

what did you do until he got home? your apartment no longer felt like a home. it felt gross and unnatural to be in there. to think that the person you shared it with was sharing a different room across the world. did he share your bed with someone else as well? the pictures of the two of you that hung on the wall seemed to mock you.

every passing minute became more and more painful. could you act like everything was fine when he eventually did get home? or would you lose it immediately the second he walked in through the front door?

unfortunately, you knew that only time would tell.

present day ↴

today was the day that carlos got home. you were at work, trying to distract yourself from the inevitable conflict about to occur. you reached the front door of your shared apartment. shaking hands held the key and you placed it in the lock and turned it. pushing open the door, the apartment was quiet, suspiciously quiet.

you noticed that the kitchen was a mess. plates and cooking utensils were in the sink, dirty and waiting to be washed. two wine glasses left discarded on the quartz bar. a bottle of red cabernet left opened and almost empty. one of the glasses had lipstick stains littered around the rim.

your heartbeat quickened. adrenaline began to pump through your body. you quickly toed off your shoes, and your feet ached after a long day. you also discarded your purse and jacket, making your way to your and carlos' bedroom.

as you got closer, you heard moaning. your heart dropped to your stomach. you opened the door as soon as you reached it. low and behold, it was carlos and the same blond from the picture that charles sent you. the blond was on top of carlos, head back and mouth open in euphoria. carlos had the same expression as her on his face.

tears immediately welled in your eyes and quickly fell. you felt defeated. it was one thing to see a picture of your boyfriend kissing another girl, but to catch him with that same girl in the bed that you shared, in the same bed that he fucked you in, was different.

finally, carlos opened his eyes and noticed you in the doorway. his hands found the blond's hips to stop her from moving. his eyes widened with guilt and surprise; mouth wide open in shock.

"y-y/n?!" he shouted. the blond turned to look at you and god, she was pretty. you partially understood why he did it. she covered herself with one of the loose sheets and unstrattled carlos, allowing him to get up.

"y/n, i can explain-" he starts.

"explain what, carlos?!" you shout, cutting him off. "how on earth can you explain me walking in on you fucking another girl in our bed?!"

"it was a simple mistake, mi amor, that's all." he tried to reason, smiling meekly. the nickname that once held so much love now held nothing. the name that made butterflies flutter in your stomach now made them sink.

"you fucking liar!" you screamed. "this was on purpose!" it echoed through the now quiet apartment. you turned your back on the pair and walked away. your hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, carlos' pair following yours closely behind.

"y/n, stop!" he yelled, grabbing your wrist and turning you around to face him.

"do not fucking touch me!" you say, yanking your wrist from his grip. the complete and utter audacity he had to try to attempt to explain why he cheated. "was i not enough for you? did i do something wrong? did i not fuck you the right way? did i not get you off fast enough? huh, carlos? what made you decide to throw away six years together huh? six fucking years!"

carlos stares at you, his brown eyes that you thought were breathtaking were now filling you with disdain. "tell me carlos!"

"i-i don't know why," he stutters, turning his gaze to the floor, taking a sudden interest in the hardwood paneling. "you were enough, you still are enough. please y/n, we can move past this. i was drunk and stupid, my judgement was clouded." he tries to reason, reaching to grab both of your hands.

"no, stop it. no amount of time can get me to forgive you for this. i will never forgive you, carlos." you said his name with such disgust that he flinched. "charles showed me a picture of you kissing her in qatar in a bar during an after-party. i have known for a week. but to think that you would take her into our home and fuck her?"

"wait, wait, wait. charles texted you?" carlos questioned. there was anger present in his voice. "why the fuck did he text you?" it seemed that he was upset at the fact that charles told you he cheated.

i scoff, crossing my arms. "unbelievable, you are unbelievable. you cheated on me and you are caught up on the fact that your teammate texted me proof? how much of an egotistical cunt do you have to be?"

"me? i'm the unbelievable one? you're the one walking out on me because of a stupid, drunken mistake." he says nonchalantly, glossing over the insult. it's almost like he didn't care that your relationship was ending.

"fuck you, carlos. i am done. we are done. do not call me, do not try to find me to convince me to come back to you." the tears were flowing vigorously down your cheeks. you knew your makeup was running, but you didn't care. "i am fucking done. thanks for nothing. i hope have fun fucking that slut and that you are happy with the choice you made." you finish, walking away through the home that once brought you so much joy to be in.

you gathered your things. purse, shoes, phone, coat, and keys. you would get everything else later. you opened the door and then slammed it once stepping outside. it was then when every emotion hit you at once. violent sobs wracked your body making you shake. you slid down the door hugging yourself. you could not believe it. you don't know if you ever would.

after eventually calming down, you decide to call the one person who made you aware of this whole situation. you clicked on his contact's name and then the call button. you placed your phone on your ear to hear two rings before he picked up.

"hello? y/n? why are you calling." asked the voice.

"charles," you pause. the question of 'was this a good idea?' ran through your head. but, at this point you didn't care. carlos and what he thought was the least of your worries. "i need you to pick me up."

low key happy with this one, wrote it last night and like where it went. i think i might turn it into a charles x reader :P let me know in the comments if you want that :) thank you for reading! as usual, feedback and requests are welcome; make sure to leave a comment and kudos! (only if you want :P)

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flawseer · 4 months

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Jade Mountain Academy students

#3 - Nightwing chapter

The Jade Mountain Nightwing chapter, also known as "the part where Mightyclaws carries the entire weight of the Quartz winglet's canon characterization by himself". There are a bunch of wacky headcanons that have snuck their way on here. Shout-out to the deliberation on Nightwing powers by my partner @flamebringer0.

Moonwatcher

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Jade

Color - Iridescent black and blue

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Kinkajou (Rainwing), Carnelian (Skywing)

Favorite subject - Literacy

Least fav. subject - did not disclose

Physical characteristics - three prominent silver-colored scales on face (two adjacent to each eye, one in center of forehead); scale clusters of iridescent blue and green along neck, torso, and tail; small stature, round features with well-defined musculature

Other characteristics - socially subdued, quiet, mother reported history of migraines (suggest keeping stock of pain-relieving herbs on hand in medical cave, monitor hydration habits); appears ostracized from fellow Nightwing students (suggest communication seminar)

Bigtail

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Gold

Color - Dark ash

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Pike (Seawing), Flame (Skywing)

Favorite subject - History

Least fav. subject - Science

Physical characteristics - nasal ridge sloped; large stature, uneven distribution of body mass; tail size and length medium to underdeveloped

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition (suggest dietary seminar and monitoring of food intake); caught bringing bottle of cactus wine into classroom (confiscated, reprimanded after incident but monitor future behavior)

Fearless

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Silver

Color - Charcoal black and red

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Sepia (Mudwing)

Favorite subject - History

Least fav. subject - Literacy

Physical characteristics - long dorsal spines; localized reddish accents; stature is noticeably small and thin

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition (suggest dietary seminar and monitoring of food intake); fixation on Nightwing culture (gently encourage diversifying interests)

Mindreader

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Copper

Color - Charcoal black

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Alba (Icewing), Snail (Seawing)

Favorite subject - Cultural Exchange

Least fav. subject - History

Physical characteristics - black teardrop scales adjacent to both eyes; size is average, features appear very gaunt

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition (suggest dietary seminar and monitoring of food intake); appears socially open and well-adjusted

Mightyclaws

Tribe - Nightwing

Winglet - Quartz

Color - Shadow gray

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Barracuda (Seawing)

Favorite subject - Art

Least fav. subject - Anatomy

Physical characteristics - light horns, bent; prominent jawline; small stature with uneven distribution of body mass

Other characteristics - body shows signs of extreme long-term malnutrition, noticeably stressed during meal times (suggest dietary seminar, monitoring of food intake, and counseling); artistically inclined, has started therapeutic painting to cope with post-traumatic stress (at behest of staff)

#wings of fire #wof #dragon #digital art #wof art #flawseer art #wof nightwing #wof moonwatcher #wof bigtail #wof fearless #wof mindreader #wof mightyclaws #jade mountain academy

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celestialtarot11 · 2 months

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How to Turn Your Situation Into Something Positive 🍵💗

Hi friends! Welcome to another PAC reading where we’ll be looking at how to transform any current situations you’re in! Keep in mind there are many different groups here and there will be messages which you won’t resonate with, just leave it for someone else 😊❤️ Please like, comment and reblog to share the love ☮️

Pile 1 🌟- Hi there pile 1’s! Someone definitely did ya’ll dirty in a situation and it left you feeling sad and lonely. A loss was created because someone handled a situation unfairly, and you’ve been feeling very down. This situation felt like it was weighing on your chest, and possibly there was a misunderstanding of feelings, or someone took something the wrong way and blew up here. And I feel like you took the brunt of the situation for a long time. I feel like this is something that was happening for a long time, and you’ve been wanting justice to come to this situation, or karma to hit that person to show them where they went wrong. Its also very possible for some of you this person reached out and reignited those triggers and you’re finding it difficult to be compassionate towards them. Your anger is understandable and so are your triggers, I feel like spirit is saying it’s important to know your boundaries in this situation and have your back. Look after you first. There are/were people who benefitted from you having no boundaries because they liked the feeling of power, and that needs to change. There’s this feeling of stepping up or no longer accepting their bullshit, which I’m so proud of you pile 1! Know your worth and value. Thats how you turn this situation into a positive one. Knowing your true worth and value will help you walk away from anything that is less than what you want. This person could be bread-crumbing you and as of now you’re done with that energy! Im also hearing whilst its very understandable you’d wish someone their own karma, spend your time wishing yourself the blessings you’ve always wanted instead. Feed yourself empowerment and start thinking “how can I support myself now?” be there for yourself pile 1, and also once you heal you begin to see a lot of things that you didn’t before. Within yourself and everyone else. Happy healing pile 1 💗🌟 Wishing you the best! Please like comment and reblog to support this blog ✨

Pile 2 ☮️- Hi there pile 2! ❤️🌟 Welcome to your reading. For you I see you need to distance yourself from a community or situation here and really really focus on your self confidence. Your esteem, body, and health. There’s something about getting your life in order and no longer letting external factors or people tell you what to do. Become your own boss in this situation. Some of you need to take an active role in this situation as well and know you’re the shit! 💗 like speaking up, setting boundaries, deciding what YOU’ll do, not focusing on them. You’re everything anyone could ever want, and some of you may have forgotten that. Your true power is meant to come out in this situation. What would help as well is remaining unbothered by this person or situation. I’m hearing it’s a silly situation, for some of you. Like petty high school drama. There could be someone trying to compete with you and show they are the best, but truthfully insecurities are loud, confidence is quiet. I’m hearing from spirit let them make a fool out of themselves because they are responsible for themselves only! What they say and what they do is on them. Continue working on yourself because I feel like whoever this is, is trying to undermine your confidence or skill, and you won’t stand for it and shouldn’t! 😤 I also feel like spirit will be giving you messages in your dreams about this situation so definitely sleep with amethyst, clear quartz or lavender herb under your pillow. If not allergic, drink lavender and chamomile before you bed ✨either way I feel like your presence is truly amazing and its like royalty, and what you need to know is that don’t give those haters your attention. Focusing on yourself is literally the best outcome here. Thank you pile 2’s! Please like comment and reblog to spread the love 💗🌹

Pile 3 ⌛️- Hi there pile 3’s! First of all I just want to ask if ya’ll are okay? 🥹❤️ Ya’ll seem to be going through it. Either a relationship with someone got unhealthy and controlling, or there has been a loss and you’re struggling to cope with it. Spirit is offering a lot of support and healing right now, and although you may not see it or feel it, spirit is protecting you heavily now. There’s a veil around you. I also feel that this ending was necessary because it was getting toxic, controlling and brought out the worse. I think someone here had to make a decision to choose themselves over toxicity. And it’s okay to hurt by that too. Honor and acknowledge your loss without shaming yourself for making the healthy choice 💗 I received the Queen Of Cups so I feel like there’s something about focusing on your growth and healing now. “Let growth be your mission. Let healing be your reward. Let freedom be your goal.” I love this quote and I go by it. Spirit wanted me to share it with ya’ll. I feel like ya’ll have been working on your healing for a long time and revisited something of the past, and its been tough processing it. In a way, its allowing this new version of you to come through and grow every time 💗🥹 This new version of you has a lot of emotional abundance and knowledge, and is definitely patient and caring. I feel like your higher self is coming through to also say it’s important to feed yourself kind words. If harsh words worked it would’ve worked a long time ago is what I heard too. Call yourself the names you wish to be called, like nicknames, talk gently, and use respectful words to yourself the way you would with anyone else ✨💗 I feel like you guys used to give everyone your secret wisdom, or the things you’ve healed from like all of that information, and now you are being asked to remain private and selective about it. This will help you a lot in this situation to focus on yourself. Thank you for being here pile 3 and I sincerely hope this helped you ❤️🌟 Please like comment and reblog to help this blog grow 🌟😊

Thank ya’ll for stopping by! Its highly appreciated and I really hope this PAC got ya’ll the clarity you needed ❤️🥹 Thank ya’ll for being here always.

Paid Readings 💗✨

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ereardon · 3 months

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Five

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Jake and Ducky dance around each other the morning after the big fight; Bob overhears a conversation he shouldn't

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The silence was deafening. Just as Bob opened his mouth to speak, a crack of lightning broke across the sky, the loud bang following a few seconds later. You were used to counting the seconds between lightning and thunder. Back in Tennessee, that was something you learned as a kid, how to tell how many miles away the storm was. That felt like a million years ago. The easy innocence of being a child was a million miles away.

Jake looked at the floor. Bob looked at you, eyes wide but words caught in his throat.

You shook your head, tears falling slowly down your cheeks. “I deserve more,” you whispered softly. “We both do.” And then you turned on your heel and walked to the bedroom, locking the door behind you, sealing them out.

***

You could hear Jake in the living room. Pacing. You laid in bed as long as possible, but you had to face the day. Gently, you eased open the door, the bright light of the living room invading your senses.

“Y/N.” Jake’s voice cracked. You turned to see him standing at the kitchen counter, both hands on the quartz island top. “Listen, about last night—”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I came over,” you said, picking up your purse from the ground. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s OK,” Jake whispered.

You turned to him. He looked scared. Green eyes soft and warm and terrified. “I need you to know I never meant for this to happen,” you said quietly. “It was an accident. But I’m tired of running from my mistakes. I have to grow up.”

Jake was quiet. Then, “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” You reached for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Let me drive you home.”

You shook your head. “I need to walk. Clear my head.”

He frowned. “Bob’s house is way too far to walk.”

“I’ll be fine.” You scrambled out of the door before Jake could protest again. The air was fresh and clean the way it can only be after a hard rainstorm.

Every step felt like a penance. You couldn’t shake the way Bob had looked. So quietly devastated.

All you could hear was the pounding of blood in your ears, but after a while you felt a presence on your left and you stopped, turning with wide eyes. Jake pulled his Jeep up next to you on the shoulder of the road. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked.

“Get in the car.”

“No.”

“Get in the fucking car, Y/N,” he demanded.

“I’m fine walking.”

Jake sighed. “I can’t in good conscience let the woman pregnant with my child walk by herself on the highway. Now get in the truck. Please.” The last word was strained. You could hear the pain and exhaustion in his voice. Against your better judgment you pulled open the door handle, sliding into the passenger seat. Jake let out a ragged sigh, yanking the car into drive.

A silence enveloped the car. Just the sound of the bumpy road and the tires screeching against asphalt and your heart pounding in your ears and Jake’s labored breaths on the driver’s side of the truck. You kept your eyes glued to the windshield, his fingers tight across the steering wheel.

When Jake pulled into Bob’s driveway you gulped. Bob’s truck was there. You hadn’t let yourself think about what would happen when you went back. Jake cut the power and the two of you sat in silence for a moment before he said, “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“That would be a suicide mission.”

“I’m not afraid of Floyd.”

“Well you should be.” You unbuckled your seat belt and sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Y/N.” Jake’s hand was hot on yours as your palm slipped against the leather seat and you pulled away, leaving him leaning over the center console in the truck. “You can call me,” he said. “If you want me to pick you up. Or you need to talk.”

You closed the door. The window was still rolled down, Jake’s face framed perfectly between the metal sides. “I know you’re trying to do what you think is right,” you whispered. “But so am I.”

You turned before you could see Jake’s face. Inside, the house was dark. A part of you had expected Bob to be sitting in the living room, waiting for you to come home. The way he had when you were a preteen and got home late from your first date. But instead, the house was quiet. Eerily quiet.

In your room, you sat on the ground, pulling your knees to your chest.

What had you done?

***

You had dated a few guys in college, but you thought you were going to marry the last one.

Peter. He had been tall and handsome. A political science major from Washington. His family were WASPs. They did things like rent out private villas in the US Virgin Islands and go golfing with senators in Chevy Chase.

He took you home to meet them during spring break of senior year. You hadn’t known what to expect. Surely not a mansion in Palisades overlooking the Potomac. Not a three-story marble foyer and little sisters in Gucci mules with matching sweater sets and cocktails at six o’clock sharp and grandparents who didn’t hug. It was miles and miles away from the life you and Bob lived with your mother — hand-me-down quilts and warm nights by the fire playing Settlers of Catan and reruns of Desperate Housewives on the background as you stirred soup at the stove and summer nights spent frolicking in the tall grass behind your high school with a few bottles of beer and someone’s playlist echoing loudly from the open doors of a parked car.

Peter lived in an alternate universe. And still, a part of you thought you were going to marry him.

It wasn’t until a week before graduation when you realized it was over.

“I want to be a mom,” you said. Peter looked up from his drink, eyes wide. “Not now,” you rushed out. “But eventually.”

He set his rocks glass down. “Baby,” he whispered. “I don’t want kids. They’re just not for me.”

That was the beginning of the end. You watched the light drain from his eyes and he watched the hope leach out of yours. By graduation morning you had broken up, and that afternoon you were one of the first cars to peel out of the parking lot, headed East to Chattanooga, the tears filling your eyes, making it hard to see.

You had known all along you wanted to be a mother. Have a family. But you had mistakenly thought you’d do it in the right order. First comes love then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.

You had never been so wrong.

***

Bob was always the first person to apologize after a fight. He would knock on your door with a sleeve of Oreos hidden behind his back as a peace offering or offer to take a midnight drive in the country with the windows rolled down and the music blaring until finally you were calm enough to talk.

You were the hot head and Bob was the even tempered one.

Until now.

For two days you danced around each other. You got up after he had left. He was in his room by the time you came home. You had taken the library job. It was a small library near the beach with a daily reading session for kids that you had volunteered to lead. Even though Bob said it was a waste of your talent and degree, there was something so nice and calm about going into the library and settling into a pile of books, helping to set up the coloring station in the corner, assisting older people with finding the right book or manual.

On the third day, you came home from the library with a tote bag full of parenting books to find the Dagger Squad in the living room. You stopped dead in your tracks as the room was enveloped in silence.

One look at their faces and you knew that they knew. Jake was conspicuously absent.

“Hi,” you squeaked, stepping into the hallway. “I’ll just get out of your way.”

“Y/N.” Phoenix’s voice cut through the stiff air. “Let’s chat.”

It felt like a Bachelor moment where the contestant steals the bachelor on a group date. But this time no one else was interested in speaking to you. Least of all Bob, who sat in the corner with his face turned down toward his shoes.

Outside, the warm air licked at your face. You and Phoenix settled into the two Adirondack chairs Bob had set out on the back deck. She turned to you. “I just wanted to say, congrats.”

“You know you’re the first person who has said that to me,” you replied. It felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“I know Floyd is having a hard time with this,” Phoenix said. “But he’ll come around.”

“What if he doesn’t?” you whispered.

Her face softened. “He will. He has to. I’ve known Floyd for two years now and there’s only three things I know for sure. First, that Hangman will never beat me in a race. Second, that he might try and hide it but I’m pretty sure Bradshaw’s middle name is Joy. And third, that Bob loves you more than anything in the world. He’s gone on and on about his perfect little sister so much that we all felt like we knew you before you even showed up on North Island.”

“I’m not perfect,” you said quietly. “Nowhere near it.”

“Does it matter?” Phoenix asked. “He loves you. You’re the one thing he cares most about.”

“Then why doesn’t he care that he’s hurting me?”

“He’s too stuck to realize it. He thinks that he let you down.”

“He has let me down,” you said. “Not because he let me get pregnant. That was never his decision to make. His reaction to all of this, that’s the only time I’ve ever felt let down by my brother in my entire life. It’s the one time I’ve ever found myself wondering what a life without him would be like. It’s made a part of me hate him.”

The sound of the door sliding open caught both of your attention. You and Phoenix turned to see Bob with his head poking out the sliding glass door, ears red, eyes wide. He had heard you.

Every last, terrible word.

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away @mycobrakai1972 @xomrsalliej4787xo @na-ta-sh-aa

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muwapsturniolo · 2 months

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✯Sturniolos as Half-bloods✯

Goddess version

God version

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Chris would be the son of Aphrodite

Aphrodite is the goddess, of love, beauty, and desire. I think it makes perfect sense for him to be her son. I could see him always wearing some shade of pink (preferably a baby pink), pearl earrings, and just being the most wholesome person ever. He already is wholesome (besides the times when he is being an absolute menace) but it would definitely be elevated. With his mother being the goddess of love and beauty, he would do his best to ensure everyone feels loved and beautiful. Being stationed in camp half-blood, he would give all the girls flowers, brightening up their day and complimenting them on their beauty. When it comes to males, he would hype them up and play cupid, encouraging them to talk to the girls/males they have a crush on.

His cabin is number ten, and I would imagine it to be right by the water, the sun always shining in. His room in the cabin would be white with pink and creme accents. Pink silk bedding, a white desk, and a gold-encrusted mirror. It's no secret that Aphrodite is a bit vain, so he would put a lot of effort into his looks. His hair would sit perfectly, being brushed and combed with a rose-quartz hair tool. His skin would be clear and almost reflective. His lips would never be chapped, tinted softly with a pink lip balm. He would often show off his body, going for swims with the son of Poseiden (Nate possibly) his shirt being off, his abs prominent. A smirk would adorn his face knowing both males and females were fawning over him.

Going on to the desire and sexuality aspect. He knows he's handsome asf and he would use it to his advantage. He would flirt with multiple girls, even managing to get a few in his bed, but it would stop when he meets who he believes is the love of his life. The daughter of Hades.

Aphrodite's animal representation is usually doves and swans. In Chris's case, I think his would be a baby doe.

In the Percy Jackson series, Aphrodite's children didn't have many powers but the one that stands out would be charm speaking, almost like a siren song. Chris would definitely possess this power, being a smooth talker to get who and what he wants. As for a weapon, I could see him having a rose quartz shield paired with a sword, the handle of the sword being gold and white. The shield would be disguised as a ring, and the sword would be in the form of a pearl necklace.

his songs:

" He want lipstick, lipgloss, hickeys too" kiss me more- Doja cat

"Drop of a hat she's as willing as ,playful as a pussy cat" killer queen- queen (i like the 5sos version)

"i was made for lovin you baby and you were made for loving me" I was made for loving you-kiss

can't lie, all I was thinking about while writing Chris's part was @gamermattsgf fic silk ribbons 😭

Matt would be the son of Demeter

Demeter is the goddess of agriculture/harvest. Considering Matt has been the designated driver, does the laundry, and is labeled the navigator, I feel like this suits him. Agriculture is very important and tbh, without it, nothing in the world would work. I could see him always wearing jeans or overalls (barking at the thought of him wearing overalls omfg), he would wear a wife beater or a simple black t-shirt (preferably cropped teehee). He always would have his horse chain on, never taking it off, even when he's getting his hands dirty. Matt's quiet so I feel like that would carry on into the halfblood universe. He would stay near his cabin unless he was training or cooking in the camp kitchen. He would talk to a few people but would mostly keep to himself.

His cabin is number four, I would imagine it to be located near the back of the camp, close to mountains, and having a lot of land to farm. I would think it would be more of a rustic vibe, very serene. A lot of browns, cremes, with hints of green. A statue of his mother would be perched right in the middle of his backyard. He would sit next to it, offering her grains and cups of water as the sound of nature buzzed around them. Due to his mother being the goddess of harvest, he was in control of the food for the camp. He's basically a farmer. With being a farmer, there are multiple animals, his favorite being the horse. He would have an array of horses, his favorite being a pearl white horse he named Lucky. He would always take hikes along the trails, and teach other half-bloods how to care for the horses and how to ride them as well.

I could see him having a crush on Poesiden's daughter. It would be a beautiful relationship, after all, you cant grow plants or food without water.

In the Percy Jackson series, Demeter's children did possess powers. The ones I feel Matt would possess would be enhanced growth, (manipulate plant growth which would come in handy during battle.. He would also possess the power to manipulate seasons. It wouldn't be anything crazy, but he could make the temperature rise or fall drastically. His weapon of choice would definitely be a lasso, made with a golden thread. He would definitely ride on a horse, Lucky being the horse in question. The lasso would be disguised as the chain to his horse necklace, and the horse pendant itself would be Lucky.

Demeter's animal representation is usually a snake, pig, turtle doves, and a screech owl. The horse was also mentioned due to Poseiden creating the horse as a form of affection for Demeter. For Matt, I know for a fact his animal would be a horse (like I said multiple times) and a dog. Since I do think his love choice would be the daughter of Poseidon, he would gift her a horse.

His songs:

"I climbed a mountain and I turned around, and saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills" Landslide-fleetwood mac

"The dog days are over, the dog days are over. Can you hear the horses? Cause here they come." dog days are over- florence + the machine

"I've been searching for a trail to follow again, take me back to the night we met." the night we met- lord heron.

Nick would be the son of Athena

Athena is the goddess of war, wisdom, and craft. It's no secret Nick loves the idea of wielding a sword in a horse-drawn chariot, so this is perfect for him! He would always wear reds, golds, and black. I can deff see him wearing black docs for training, as well as jeans and some type of long sleeve. His attitude is very fierce, and he has a slick mouth. With his slick mouth comes wisdom, he's just very harsh with it. He is definitely the best fighter in the camp, being labeled as the winner and leader. I wouldn't say he was always looking for a fight but, he isn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

With his cabin being number six, I would think it's located near the training center of the camp. Lots of dirt and mud trails, and weapons being thrown across the front of the cabin. His room would have wooden flooring, with a four-post bed. The bedding would be plain white sheets with red satin pillowcases and a big red blanket. A bust of his mother would sit on his nightstand, a blade perched next to it. With fighting being in his blood, I could see multiple shields and swords in the bedroom as well, maybe some mounted on the walls.

As far as relationships go, he would want someone who is equally as skilled in fighting and can handle his mouth. With that being said, he would deff have his eyes on the son of Apollo. His archery skills and knowledge would captivate Nick.

In the Percy Jackson series, Athena's kids didn't have powers, they just had really good intelligence and fighting skills, as well as craftsmanship. Nick would have very good craftsmanship, constantly fixing things for people in camp half-blood, building buildings, etc. I also think he would be the one to come up with battle strategies during dire situations. His choice of weapon would switch between a sword and a staff. The sword and staff would be much like the son of Poseidon's, disguised as a pen. His staff would be disguised as a ring as well, throwing it up into the air and catching it in a dramatic yet impressive fashion. A horse-drawn chariot wouldn't be possible, so he does take one of Matt's horses instead.

Athena's animal representation is an owl. Despite Nick's fear of birds in real life, I do think he would take after his mother with the owl. The owl would alert him when there is danger near , and guide him in battle.

His songs:

"If it makes me a king, a star in your eyes" all for us- labyrinth

"And if you complain once more, you'll meet an army of me" army of me- Bjork

"And I had a thought about wreaking havoc on an opposition, kinda shocking, they want static with precision." enemy- imagine dragons

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im in love with this!!!! im deff going to do a version for the gods!!!

TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3 @mattslolita

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7ndipity · 11 months

Text

Falling for a friend: Hyung line

Hyung line x Reader

Summary: How they would handle and confess to having romantic feelings for a friend.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking,

A/N: This was a reaction I started while working on the dating hcs, but then I got distracted, and when I came back to them, I got a little carried away, so I'm splitting into two parts. Maknae line will hopefully go up tomorrow💜

Masterlist

Requests are open

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Seokjin:

If he was being honest, Jin kinda knew he was catching feelings from the beginning, but he just kept pushing them down because you two had become really close, and he was not about to mess up the relationship you already had together.

Probably thought you wouldn't feel the same, even if you're dropping hints and complementing him left and right.

As a result, he tried to content himself with being the best friend that he could possibly be to you.

Saves all his best dad jokes for you, because he loves your reactions, whether you love or hate them.

Let's you win when y'all play video games together(but only sometimes. He loves you, but he's not giving up his high score)

Almost choked on his food when you nonchalantly said you loved him one time.

Lowkey starts panicking if he sees any other guys talking to you

The breaking point comes one day when you noticed he seemed kinda down and was being quiet during dinner, so you tried to crack a joke to perk him up.

"Hey, did you know that the most common type of rock is Quartz? And yet, most people take it for Granite." You grin at him.

He just stares at you for a long moment before he can't take it anymore and just blurts out "I love you..."

...

"...It wasn't that funny." You finally say.

"I'm serious. I'm in love with you." He says, looking at you with the most serious expression you've ever seen on his face.

"Good, me too." You say simply.

He blinks. "Really?"

"Why else would I put up with all your jokes?"

"Because they're funny?"

"They're really not."

"What a terrible thing to say to your boyfriend!"

"Who said anything about boyfriend?!"

"Me, you're boyfriend!"

"Really?" You ask, in a softer voice.

He looks at you. "If you'll let me."

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, making him grin as he leans closer, pressing a small kiss to your cheek.

Yoongi:

Absolutely whipped for you, it ain't even funny.

His unofficial nickname is Shadow, because that's what he's become for you. Whatever you're doing, he's there.

Grocery shopping? He'll carry the bags.

His love language is definitely acts of service, but he gets defensive about it. "Did you wash my dishes?" "What are you, a cop?"

I mean, he's defensive in general, but he goes into full-on tsundere mode when you start catching on to his feelings, which leads to you teasing him to try and crack the facade/cut the tension.

"You know, it's okay if you like me." *bombastic side-eye* "I think I'm safe, thanks."

Gives you relationship privileges, even though you're not in a relationship(yet).

"What do you mean he lets you stay over?!" Jungkook whips around in disbelief. "Hyung! How come you never let me stay over?!"

Yoongi just shrugs. "I like them more."

Weirdly casual about skinship with you, like if you're walking somewhere together, he'll grab your hand to guide you and make sure you don't get separated in crowds.

Keeps quiet about his feelings for the longest out of the members, even if he thinks you'll reciprocate, because he wants to be absolutely sure this isn't a passing thing before he risks fucking things up with you.

By the time he does confess, it's already obvious.

He rolled over during the night, becoming aware of the faint sound of typing drifting through the open bedroom door.

Cracking his eyes open sleepily, he noticed the vacant space next to him in the bed before glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 3:36am.

With a groan, he rolled out of the bed and quietly made his way through the house in search of you.

It was always one or the other of you that gets inspiration in the night, and apparently tonight was your turn. In a way, it was a blessing, know you had been suffering with major writers block on an upcoming project, but it was still three in the fucking morning.

"Ugh, remind me why I do this again?" You groaned, shoving you laptop back as you stretched.

"You said it was fun." He said, picking up your glass and taking a curious sniff.

"I think I lied." You grumbled, watching as he took a tentative sip, wincing at the overly sweet taste.

"There's whiskey on top of the fridge." You said, having bought it solely for him.

"God, I love you." He sighed.

"I know." You replied, watching him make his way to the kitchen.

Hobi:

If you don't know this man's in love with you, you're the only one because the heart eyes on this MF, someone help!

We all know that he's far from subtle, and his poker face is absolute shit, so yeah, it's obvious.

He doesn't act that different from how he acts with his other friends, but everything's amped up by like 10.

Invites you to do everything with him. Shopping? Rehearsals? Romantic dinner at that new place you mentioned wanting to try(that's a friend thing to do right?.. Right?!)

Worries about you alot. Showed up at your place at like 2 in the morning, because he heard you sniffle while talking on the phone earlier.

Pretty sure you feel the same about him, so he casually shifts into more couple-y behavior with you, like putting an arm around your shoulders or giving you cute nicknames.

Like, you walk into the room and he starts. "Ooh there they are! The love of my life! The light of my world."

Doesn't matter if you're in sweats with rats nest hair, he thinks you're beautiful and will take every opportunity to tell you so.

Wants to make some big, romantic gesture to confess, but things end up going off the the rails.

He had it all planned out: He'd rented the perfect place in the mountains for a weekend getaway for the two of you a few other friends, he had a whole speech prepared to tell you how much you meant to him. One thing he couldn't plan, however, was the weather.

As you were taking a walk together that evening, and he was building up the courage to speak, he felt a raindrop hit him in the forehead. And then another. As a sudden rumble of thunder rolled overhead, you both took off for the house, only realize once you arrived that you've locked yourselves out.

Turning, you made a mad dash for the covered pavilion next to the house. By the time you make it under the cover of its roof, you were both soaked, but one look at each other and you can't help but start laughing.

As you catch your breath, you can't help but notice how good he looks like this, all flushed with his hair hanging in his eyes. Instinctively, you reached up to comb it out of his face, but as you do, you notice him staring at you. Embarrassed, you start to pull back, but he quickly catches your hand.

"What?" You finally ask.

"You're beautiful." He says, no trace of the usual jovial glint in his eyes, the level of sincerity causing you to blush.

The simple reaction causes the words to finally come out without any of his former hesitancies. "I love you."

You look up wide eyed, and before he can say anything further, you're pulling him into a kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you again.

Namjoon:

Ah Joon, God bless him. Man's so deep in denial, he could hug a crocodile(I'm sorry, I had to)

As I've said before, as smart as he is, and with all the love songs he writes, you'd think he'd be a bit more tuned in to this kind of thing, but I honestly don't think he'd realize until he was in deep.

He just kinda kept brushing it off, just thinking that those kind of feelings were platonic. Even though he only thinks about you like that.

It would end up hitting him really abruptly when he's just sitting there watching you do something and he's just like, "They're so great, I love them... Uh-oh."

Tbh, you probably already knew he was into you, but were waiting for him to make the first move to be sure.

Might end up confessing the first time when he's drunk(like that clip of Ross on Friends).

Like you're at a party or smth, and he comes over and kinda flops down next to you. "hEeY! i LikE yOu." He sing-songs while leaned on your shoulder. "I like you too." You chuckle, giving him a lil boop on the nose, but this had an adverse effect to his usual blush. "nOo, yOu DoN't gEt iT!" *slumps in your lap asleep*

Understandably horrified about this the next day, and is afraid to bring it up for like a week(or two days because he's impatient), so he'll ask to meet up for coffee, and he just kinda goes for it.

"About the other night..." He starts awkwardly.

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you, right?"

"I love you too." You smile at him reassuringly.

He sighs. "But, the thing is, I love you."

"I love you too." You repeat.

"No, I mean-"

"I'm in love with you, dumbass." You cut in before he can dig a deeper hole for himself.

*blink blink* "Wait really?!"

"Oh, for fucks sake!" You nearly faceplant on the table in frustration. "Yes! I have for a while."

He just starts grinning. "Does this mean I can ask you out?"

"If you don't, I'm gonna be pissed."

"Can't have that, then." He grabs your hand. "Will you go out with me?"

"Yes, please."

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historiaxvanserra · 2 months

Note

30 with Eris and reader 🍁

I’m very sorry anon but this one got away from me a bit! girl!dad eris just does something to me 🥵 this was cute a fuck though and super wholesome 🖤✨

Your labours had been long. That much you know. They had come this morning when the sun rose, flooding the room in hues of carnelian and topaz.

Now the moon hangs in the sky like polished quartz as a pitiful little cry permeates the quiet of your rooms. It’s a pathetic, whimpering cry that brings with it a sense of trepidation as half a dozen midwives flock to attend the tiny babe.

The midwives tend babe with care and their words of affirmation only do so much to comfort you in those moments where all seems to hang in the balance.

“Congratulations High Lord, a girl!” The most senior midwife says as she places your babe in Eris’ arms.

She looks so fragile.

The thought occurs to you as Eris holds her to your chest expectantly. You look at him, eyes wild and wet, lined with silver tears.

“You did so well, my love” Eris’ voice is thick with emotion. Reverence and adoration as he regards you and his daughter.

He kisses you deeply then. An anchoring sort of thing means to tether you to him in that moment. To comfort you into those spaces between the seconds when you lay eyes on your daughter for the first time.

Looking down at her now you see that she has inherited her father’s dark auburn hair and her eyes, alert and curious, shine a lustrous amber.

“She’s so tiny,” you say, your own voice wavering as you run a gently finger over the sulk of her lips and along the line of her nose.

“She is, and she looks just like her daddy.” Eris says proudly, kissing you again on the forehead and twirling a strand of your babes auburn hair in his careful fingers.

#acotar #acotar x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #acotar fanfiction

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temozarela · 3 months

Text

-> spectating

GOJO X GETO X READER MDNI, smut, masturbation, dubious consent, rough sex, anal sex, tears, bottom gojo, top geto

whoever decided to play seven minutes in heaven with three people owed you. no, they really owed you

WORD COUNT: 2k

ao3 version

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It had been Gojo’s turn to spin the bottle, and when the green glass neck had pointed at you, your cheeks had burned with embarrassment. No, maybe anticipation. Perhaps you had been shy in the spotlight of his amused gaze. It didn’t matter, because when the bottle had spun again and pointed at Geto, you wanted to bury your head in your hands. They weren’t exactly quiet about their sex life, and since The Incident of 2015, you knew that a third party wouldn’t deter them from their goal. So there you were, palms pressed against the door behind you as you leaned against the wall, the two men already lip-locked. Cucking the worst people you knew hadn’t been on your to-do list but seemingly God endorsed spontaneity. You guessed he also endorsed plain cruelty. Gojo whimpered against Geto’s lips as the buttons of his shirt were undone, the white linen crumpling on the floor. His torso was toned… No fuck that, he was ripped. His biceps and abs rippled with each frantic pull at Geto’s body, his stomach hollowing with each desperate breath. Pink blossomed over his pale chest, matching the rosy nubs of his nipples. In any other circumstance, you may have teased him for the way his upper body curved in a gentle hourglass. Girls would kill for that figure, you thought begrudgingly. Then Geto’s Hawaiian shirt was lost and your mind buffered. Nipple piercings. Geto had nipple piercings. They were gold and gorgeous, barely exposed to your wide eyes before they were being pulled and pinched between Gojo’s fingers. He was even bigger than Gojo. Gojo was lean, but Geto was built. There wasn’t an inch of tanned skin that wasn’t stretched by bulging muscle.

Gojo tipped his head back and moaned breathily as Geto peppered kisses down his throat. It occurred to you then that they had barely acknowledged you. However, their bad etiquette disappeared from your mind as Geto sucked at Gojo’s milky neck, leaving red and purple bruises as he went. The room you were in was suddenly filled with wet smacking noses as his lips and tongue worked at the pristine skin. With mild dread and overwhelming anticipation, you noticed that Gojo’s long fingers were working at his own belt. As soon as it was thrown to the floor, his black jeans bunched around his ankles and he was left in only his tight, blue boxers. You couldn’t even pretend not to see the massive mountain in the fabric. Everything began to feel far too real as your lustful stare honed in on the wet spot at the summit. Geto pulled away and assessed Gojo’s crotch. It was then, the man spared you a distracted look.

“If you get off to this, I won’t blame you.”

His voice was low and smooth. It wasn’t an instruction, nor was his tone forceful, but you sank to the ground. Once Geto had returned his attention to rubbing his thumb over Gojo’s clothed tip, you felt under your skirt for your panties, not able to take your eyes off them. When your fingers found the lacy fabric, you slipped them under it. Soaked. A spike of pleasure rippled through you as you experimentally rubbed your clit. Fuck. Gojo moaned sluttily as his boxers were pulled down his long legs. Fuck. His cock sprung up, his tip touching his stomach. Fuck. You hadn’t seen many cocks before in your life, maybe one or two in person, but you knew he wasn’t small. The head was pink, so glossy with precum that it looked like it was carved from rose quartz. Your fingers had returned to subtly spreading your slick up and down between your folds, resisting the urge to jolt every time your fingertip brushed your sensitive clit. Geto’s jeans were next, his boxers pulled down with them. He was smaller than Gojo in length, but thicker and- fuck, his tip was pierced. Their naked bodies collided with a slap, their hands roaming, grabbing, scratching, and pulling as they sloppily made out. If you weren’t so absorbed with the way their cocks twitched and rubbed together as their hips absentmindedly thrusted in an animalistic frenzy, you may have noticed Gojo’s whiny pleads as Geto’s palms slid lower and lower down his back. Your fingers had sped up on your clit as Gojo bit down on Geto’s shoulder.

“Please, please, fuck! Suguru, please-” Gojo whimpered, clawing at Geto’s back as he licked the bite mark on his shoulder almost apologetically. “Pleasepleaseplease, I wanna cum-”

“Patience, Satoru,” Geto cooed as his finger prodded Gojo’s opening, “Good things come to good boys who wait.” That must have been the moment when he pressed down on Gojo’s hole, because Gojo trembled. Geto pulled back his hand to spit on his fingers before returning to their previous position. You watched, breath held, as Geto slipped a finger in. Gojo wailed, cock jumping at the intrusion. And you? You were dripping onto the cold tiles below you.

It must have been seven minutes by now.

Watching Gojo be stretched by Geto’s fingers was erotic, to say the least. You had never seen Gojo so submissive. If you had it in you, it would’ve made amazing bullying material. Another finger went in, and Gojo buried his face in the crook of Geto’s neck, moaning like a bitch in heat with each movement of the digits inside of him. Soon enough, Gojo must have been deemed loose enough, because Geto slammed him against the wall next to you. Startled, you shuffled back, hand still nested inside your panties. Though the assholes didn’t acknowledge it of course, because Geto was now positioned at Gojo’s entrance and pushing in.

It was far too much excitement for one night, a voice at the back of your head reasoned, but was drowned out by the mantra of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’ which echoed from every corner of your mind like a tornado siren. Gojo’s blunt nails clawed against the wall as crystalline tears began to drip down his flushed cheeks. The pinkness of his under-eyes only emphasised the startling blueness of his azurite irises, the tears glinting in the low light like diamonds. A familiar burning in your lower body caused you to tip your head back, your eyes fluttering shut against your will as you attempted to stave off your orgasm. Next to you, the wet slaps of the boys’ bodies got faster, Geto’s low grunts and Gojo’s whorish mewls and cries fuelling your imagination as your back arched. You edged yourself, tearing your hand from your panties at the last minute. Then, you opened your eyes. One thing you realised, was that you weren’t prepared for the sight in front of you. You hadn’t realised that they’d changed positions, and this was so much more… intense. Gojo now had his back to the wall, long legs wrapped around Geto’s string hips and arms around his shoulders. One hand had found purchase in Geto’s hair, pulling the ebony strands with strength which might have made you wince if you weren’t so turned on, the other hand was leaving fresh, red lines across Geto’s shoulder blades, droplets of ruby blood welling up in his wake. You might have felt sympathetic for Geto, if his teeth weren’t buried in Gojo’s trapezius as he snarled against the sore flesh. Amongst the moans and vicious sounds of skin-to-skin contact, a faint shuffling noise was coming from where Geto had set a punishing pace, fucking Gojo into the wall and moving him up and down the wooden columns. At a closer glance, Gojo’s cock was bouncing with every thrust into the air. He was so wet. Precum was dripping from his slit like a leaky faucet, creating a loud schlick noise as Geto’s hand worked his cock in time with his thrusts as he abused his prostate and sensitive shaft simultaneously. Your hand was back on your clit before you knew it. Fuck waiting for those two. You tried to set your pace with Geto’s powerful thrusts, but it made you over-sensitive, so you slowed down, leaving the abuse to the other two.

“Suguru, fuck! Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!” Gojo screamed, his grip on Geto’s shoulders leaving red marks. He humped the air uselessly as Geto released his grasp, effectively edging him.

Geto grinned, his expression edging on animalistic. “Now, what did I say about patience?” He sped up his thrusts, almost out of malice as Gojo whined, shaking his head.

“I wanna cum- ‘Guru! Please- fuck! Lemme! I’ll be good!”

Gojo’s cheeks were wet with tears as Geto laughed, reaching to cup his face with one hand. In return, Gojo seemed to give him his best puppy eyes. With his eyes shrink-wrapped in tears, he almost looked adorable, you thought. There was definitely a ‘please, sir’ thrown into that stare, but maybe a ‘daddy’ too, if you looked hard enough. It came across that then Geto decided to be merciful as he reached with his other hand to massage the base of Gojo’s cock, his thumb tracing a prominent vein at the bottom of his shaft. With the hand cradling Gojo’s face, Geto tapped his red, bitten lips with his thumb, slipping it inside when Gojo ever-so obediently opened his tongue and stuck his tongue out.

“I have a feeling they might get fed up and open the door soon…” Geto cocked his head, slowly fucking Gojo’s mouth with his thumb as he jerked him off in ernest, “As much as I’d like them to see you like this…” He mused, “I’d hate to leave our witness disappointed.”

You straightened up a little at some sort of acknowledgment.

“Yeah, don’t leave me traumatised and blue balled.” You muttered, tracing circles around your clit, stalling.

Geto hummed in acknowledgment, “You hear that, Satoru?” He whispered, looking into Gojo’s half-lidded eyes, “It’s the least you could do.”

Geto removed his thumb from his mouth, licking the excess of saliva which dripped from the appendage. His pace of his hips and hand sped up and Gojo moaned, mouth wide open as he clumsily gripped the sides of Geto’s face, leaning forward to lethargically lick into the other man’s mouth in what, you guessed, was an attempt to make out. After sucking on Geto’s lower slip he leaned back again, a mixture of their saliva dripping from his glistening lips.

“Fuck, Suguru…” Gojo whined, fucking faster into Geto’s hand, “Oh fuck, I think…” He swallowed, “I think I’m gonna-”

Geto shushed him, his thumb moving to rub the tip of the other man’s cock. Gojo’s legs trembled, his moans getting higher in pitch and volume as his back arched. Your own pace sped up as you rubbed your clit, the noise of the copious amount of slip dripping from you was almost embarrassing. With a final twitch of his cock, Gojo squirted over his own abdomen, his seed dribbling over the contours of his abs. Then, Geto sped up, and so did you. You were the first to cum, clenching around nothing as your clit throbbed and swelled. Then Geto, whose thrusts slowed as he pumped Gojo full of his spend.

When they were done, Gojo swore loudly.

“Fuck! My back!” He scowled, stretching stiffly.

Geto laughed.

You adjusted yourself, albeit awkwardly, as you stood, attempting to erase any evidence of the fact you had just gotten off to the most obnoxious couple in the friend group.

“Not even a warning?” You spare them a withering glare, and they freeze comically. Gojo scratched the back of his head sheepishly whilst Geto just smiled, slyly.

“What? Are you complaining?” Geto teased.

Your cheeks felt warm, “No.”

Gojo looked up from where he had started wiping cum from his inner thighs and chest, “No?” He grinned.

Geto narrowed his eyes as he looked at Gojo, “Is that my shirt?” Gojo winced.

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Leaving that room was the single most awkward thing you had ever done. It had been over twenty minutes. Twenty. You weren’t scared for Gojo and Geto, since everyone either knew what had happened, or didn’t want to. No, everybody wanted to know what you had done. You weren’t exactly proud of it.

You had leaned over to Gojo before you left the room, your voice a hushed whisper.

“Can you just say we had a threesome? I don’t want people knowing that I got off to you two.”

“Ha! Sure.”

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk gojo #satosugu #jjk geto #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk smut #smut

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quaranmine · 1 year

Text

the here and now

After dying in Limited Life, Joel wakes up in his bed on Empires. Except he isn't alone when he does.

Words: 2312; Joel and Jimmy centric.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Joel wakes up thrashing, sitting straight up in his bed. It feels like breaking the surface after nearly drowning, lungs burning and filled with a desperation to live. He gasps for air, and finding it available in acceptable quantities, breathes it in greedily.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’s awake now. He’s awake now? Why is he awake? Where is he?

His skin feels hot and clammy to the touch. His head is fuzzy and heavy. His rest was not restful. He feels like he has a fever that has just broken, or is about to break. Some sweat runs down the side of his face, and it’s warm.

It takes him a moment to get his bearings, but Joel is actually well-accustomed to this feeling. He just isn’t red anymore, that’s all. Joel has been red enough times and for long enough periods of time to be intimately familiar with the feeling. And everybody wakes up like this, in the end. There is always an end, and even when you don’t remember it, there is always a bed to wake up in afterwards.

Being dragged from red and dead back into the world of the living is like being yanked out of a bloody haze and splayed onto the ground. He’s still shaking.

Joel blinks and takes in his surroundings. The room is mostly dim, but there’s a dusky slice of light coming in from partially ajar window shutters. He can see little bits of dust hanging in the air, almost like little sparkles in the golden sunbeam.

He isn’t in the Bad Boys base. He’s not on top of the burned out and flooded mansion, or in his submarine, or alone and exposed on the rocks of spawn. Instead, he’s in a room he recognizes well, surrounded by massive pillars of regally carved quartz. The room is filled with marble and stone with intricate carved detail. It’s massively oversized too–fit for a god, and nothing less.

So. He’s home.

So. That was the end for him, after all.

He exhales slowly, letting his breathing steady out. The extra minute of thinking has graced him with a little more clarity. The desperation and madness he felt upon waking up–the desperation and madness of before, of ticking clocks and red names–is trickling away, slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass. He doesn’t feel the blood rushing in his ears anymore. He just feels tired.

Something catches Joel’s attention suddenly, though. He’s not actually alone in this room. There, leaned up against one of the walls and sitting on a marble windowsill is the sheriff himself.

Jimmy is here.

Joel’s first thought is that Jimmy looks small. Well, that’s a given. He is small. He is a small little toy-sized man. Jimmy’s feet are so far off the floor that Joel wonders how he even managed to climb up onto the windowsill in the first place. After all, Stratos is sized for a god.

But the thing about Jimmy is this: his presence is always large. When Jimmy enters a room, he is noticeable. He has bravado, and a healthy dose of unearned swagger, and certainly too much ego, but he nonetheless cannot be ignored. He’ll trip over his own shoelaces and then claim to be the most agile person on the server thirty seconds later, and his easy confidence makes you think he might actually believe that.

Sometimes, though, Jimmy fills a room with better things. He is often loud when he is agitated or indignant, but he is especially so when he is excited. His happy shouts liven up the atmosphere and his laughter fills a room. Jimmy is a presence unto himself, and somehow a magnetizing one. He’s easy to tease and somehow impossible to hate, even at his worst. Joel can never tell him that, though, or he’d be even more insufferable than he already is.

But today Jimmy seems quiet and small.

It looks like he might even be asleep. His head is tilted to the side, resting against the wall. Like he was trying to stay awake but drifted off.

Joel swings his feet around and over the side of the bed, standing up quietly. He takes a step forward, but the room is large, empty, and full of polished stone, so his footsteps are louder than anticipated. Jimmy stirs at the noise, and suddenly sits straight upright. He always did react to the slightest of sounds, even when you thought he was otherwise oblivious.

Jimmy startles upon seeing him. “Joel!” he yelps. “You’re–you’re here.”

“Hello, Sheriff,” Joel says. “Were you actually watching me sleep? That’s so weird.”

“No! I wasn’t watching you sleep!” Jimmy cries indignantly. The energy in his voice peaks at Joel’s jab, and all is familiar for a moment, before Jimmy suddenly gets somber again and his voice swings low once more. “I was…I was watching your bed, actually. You weren’t in it before.”

“That’s not any less weird,” Joel decides, but what he can’t admit is that he gets it. Joel was gone. He was in another server, another plane of existence. He was a different Joel. He wasn’t God Joel of Stratos over there. And then he died for good and when he respawned he woke up on his home server, just like Jimmy did. And…Jimmy knew that would happen.

It’s weird, but it’s no less weird than the way the Bad Boys slept in beds pushed up next to each other out under the stars, or the way they woke up in the mornings accidentally snuggled together.

What comfort did Jimmy take in Joel’s empty bed? Comfort in seeing every minute that he lived longer? What disappointment greeted him when he woke up to see Joel was back so soon?

Jimmy looks concerned and gives Joel a once-over. “Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is earnest, urgently pressing him to answer.

“Why aren’t you in Tumble Town?” Joel asks instead.

“No, you don’t get it, you don’t get what I’m saying,” he pushes, and stands up on the windowsill from his sitting position so he can look Joel in the eyes from across the room. “I’m asking you why you’re here.”

“I get it, Jim,” Joel says softly. “I got it the first time.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Jimmy demands. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” Joel says. “Before everyone else?”

“You know why I’m here first,” Jimmy says bitterly. “I’m always here first. It was inescapable. But it wasn’t for you, you were supposed to live longer!”

“It didn’t have to be inescapable,” Joel whispers. “You could have lived.”

“I never live.”

“You could have,” Joel insists, and he crosses the room in a few long steps to look at Jimmy more closely. “I was going to sacrifice myself for you, you know. I was going to give you my time so that you wouldn’t be the first to die. It didn’t have to be like this.”

“But it did,” Jimmy says. He drags his eyes away from Joel’s. “And it was like this. Because it is always like this.”

“I was going to sacrifice myself for you,” Joel repeats, nearly at a whisper. “And you went and died anyway.”

“I didn’t–I didn’t ask you to do that,” Jimmy says.

“It didn’t bother you with Scott or Bdubs. You took their time happily. Why couldn’t it be me?”

“They aren’t the Bad Boys,” Jimmy says. “They aren’t you or Grian.”

“It should have been me because we’re the Bad Boys,” Joel says sharply. “That’s what we do, we look out for each other. I was going to give you time. God, I wish I gave you time. I shouldn’t have waited.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Jimmy says miserably. “You couldn’t have saved me.”

“Ugh!” Joel throws up his hands. “You’re so–you’re so blimmin’ annoying! You’re impossible! Why do you keep acting like you wanted to die? Why do you keep arguing with me?”

“I didn’t want to die!” Jimmy cries. “I never do! But wanting to live isn’t enough in those games. You didn’t need to die instead of me, Joel. There was never a chance of winning if I was there, but I thought that maybe since I had gone…”

“Well, a fat lot of good that did me,” Joel snaps, gestures dramatically, “because as you can see, I’m dead anyway!"

“You were too reckless,” Jimmy says. “You were supposed to live.”

“Reckless? Coming from you?”

Jimmy flinches a little, and clenches and unclenches a fist. “I tried,” he says, words clipped.

“That’s what makes it worse, Jim.” Joel laughs, but it’s strangled. It’s cutting, and it sounds a lot more like the way God Joel of Stratos used to harass the Sheriff of Tumble Town, and not like a friend.

“I don’t need your pity and I didn’t need your time,” Jimmy snaps.

“It wasn’t out of pity, Jimmy,” Joel says. He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe someone actually cares about ya a little, you know. For once.”

Jimmy doesn’t speak.

Joel shakes his head. “And I know you would have taken my time. Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have. I know what you felt ‘cause I felt it too before I died. That panic just takes over and…yeah. You would have accepted my bloody time!”

Jimmy looks down. “I thought you and Grian would have lasted longer once you stopped having to worry about me.”

What Joel doesn’t say is that he was never going to have lasted without Jimmy. It was his plan from the start–play recklessly, lose a lot of time, and then donate the rest to Jim, thereby breaking the cycle and making Joel die first. He never planned to live a long time. Live fast and die young, yeah?

And without Jimmy, well–well Joel hardly remembers most of it, in truth. He went a little mad, maybe. He remembers Grian withdrawing a bit. He remembers bloodshed and TNT minecarts and the high adrenaline of battle. He remembers the desperation of the final minutes on the clock, how it felt like he was clawing for scraps that might let him hang on a few moments longer. And he remembers thinking that maybe he could have delayed this fate for Jimmy, just a little longer, if he’d only died earlier.

But for the life of him he doesn’t remember a single thing about his thought processes from then. There’s only Jimmy’s death, and then a haze of actions he can’t quite rationalize. Probably because none of them mattered at all anymore. He should have been dead by then, anyway. He was never supposed to watch any of the Bad Boys die before him.

“Jimmy,” Joel says quietly. “How long did you plan to wait on me?”

“The whole time, I guess,” Jimmy says. “I was hoping it would be a while.”

“That could have been more than a week. You were gonna watch an empty bed for days?”

“The longer the better,” Jimmy mutters. He’s embarrassed now, cheeks flushed pink and eyes averted from Joel’s. “Is Grian–because Empires isn’t his home server, so I can’t just check–”

“Grian was still alive,” Joel confirms. “At least he was when I died.”

He told me not to leave him alone. But Joel had left Grian alone, in spirit at least, from the moment Jimmy died. And Grian had known it, because he had already been making arrangements for a new alliance afterwards.

Joel wanted to feel betrayed about that, but all he felt was emptiness right now. He's so tired. He's too tired to care about it anymore.

“Do you think he has a chance?”

“He had a lot of time,” Joel says. “I think he’ll be fine.”

“He could win it for the Bad Boys,” Jimmy says.

“Since we couldn’t, you mean?”

Jimmy chuckles a little and ducks his head. “Well, I think expecting me to win for the Bad Boys was a little much.”

“Ugh,” Joel says. “I didn’t even want you to win, I just wanted you to not be out first.”

“I’m sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “You’re fine.”

“You didn’t really do much better did you?” Jimmy says. “Like, I seriously thought it would take longer for you to get here.”

“You’re so rude, Timmy,” Joel says. He pauses for a moment to think. The name of the game is inevitability. Jimmy could have received more time, but he still would have died. Joel just wouldn’t have been around to see it. “There’s really no point though, is there?” he says after a moment. “To doing better, I mean. Dying just means we get to leave and come home faster.”

“It never seems like that though,” Jimmy says. “When you’re actually in the game, I mean. It feels like winning is everything.”

“So here’s to not winning, then.”

Joel raises an invisible glass. Jimmy returns the gesture.

“Here’s to not winning.”

Joel turns toward the door, takes one step, and then pivots back around to Jimmy once more. “Actually, uh, do you want to go to the tavern with me, the one in Sanctuary? El Caldero de Colores? We could get a real drink and maybe some food that isn’t bread for once.”

“Hey, what was wrong with bread?” Jimmy says indignantly. “Joel, get back here. Tell me what’s wrong with bread!”

Joel’s already halfway out the door, but he calls back over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or do you need help getting off that windowsill? Unfortunately, Stratos doesn’t make step stools, but I’m sure I could find something that works.”

“I hate you,” Jimmy calls back.

“We’re not in our hater arc anymore Jim, can’t you read the sign I made for Tumble Town? Or do your schools not teach reading out there?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jimmy grumbles. “We’re best buds.”

#smallishbeans #jimmy solidarity #limited life smp #lilsmp #trafficblr #empires smp #empires s2 #limited life #solidaritygaming #quara fanfic #traffic series #this came to me at like midnight last night and now i present it to you 24 hours later at midnight once again:#limited life spoilers

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ladyosiriscreates · 4 months

Note

hi lady osiris!! thank you for offering to take my soap request 💛

can we get a little something about soap x stressed out reader? where she’s had a super long, difficult week?? how would he help her unwind?

Oh I do love this, as someone who is a permanently exhausted pigeon herself and stressed to the max. Let's explore shall we?

Please forgive me, I've never written an x reader before so I do hope you enjoy lovey!

Soap x Fem!Reader for sweet @soapsgf 4.1k words

Tags: Comfort, Smut, mans is good with his hands and better with his mouth. m on v, unprotected sex, fluff, so much fluff.

It had never been uncommon for John Mactavish to fill the silence with his voice, the lilt of it a familiar sound within your apartment. But he'd noticed little changes through the week, what silence did remain wasn't comforting, the dishes and clutter piling up around you even as your eyes darted anxiously about, making tallies on an ever growing list of things needed to be done.

He noted the way you counted on your fingers, twisting and pinching at the skin of your knuckles as if looking for something to ground yourself. Your hands always seeking in their restlessness, a mind that couldn’t quiet even in your sleep.

“M’eudail… What's eating at you? You know I can help you better if we talk about this…” He beckoned, nearly pleading as he drew you into his arms. “Ye cannae deny it at this point, I’ve watched you circle the kitchen four times holding a glass and doing nothing with it.”

“The dishes-” you gasped, pressing your palm to your forehead and groaning. “That’s right, I have to do the dishes so I can take back the casserole dish to Diane, and then I can clean the counter, and make-”

His lips cut off your words, silencing them as his hands found your cheeks, thumbs massaging at the supple flesh. “Fuck the dishes and fuck Diane, she’s been a right cunt lately anyways, I remember you complaining about her monday. She can wait a day or two more for a damn casserole dish. Now. Do ye work tomorrow?” He asked, forehead gently pressed to yours. It was the first he’d felt you relax in days as you melted beneath his touch, your only reply a soft nod to his question.

The glass was stolen from your hand and placed onto the counter as he turned and ushered you towards your bedroom. A sacred place often shared between the two of you. Though he hadn’t moved in yet, it didn’t stop either of you from sharing a wardrobe, having drawers in each other's dressers, a toothbrush in each other's holders, and more haircare products than two people could ever possibly use. Your room was a haven, draped in soft pink and gray blankets with candles and trinkets brought back from his deployments. His favorite was a large glass jar full of rocks. On every deployment since you’d met, before you even started dating he’d brought back a rock, writing in sharpie the day he had picked it up for you. You each set your favorite rock in front of the jar to always be well and truly displayed- the pair having been chosen on one of your first dates together. You’d gone camping, and at the lakes rocky beach you proposed a game. Find rocks that looks like the others eye colors, closest to matching won. It had been almost too easy a win for you, finding a rock so bright and blue-gray with speckles of quartz that made it glitter. The smug look on your face when you’d found it, the gentle whoop and cheer as you won had been more than enough for him to fall in love right then and there.

Gone was that smile from your face, something that ached at him as he closed his eyes for a moment to picture its light. “Yer gonna rest here, okay? I’ll go wash Diane’s damned casserole dish. Ye can take it to work with you in the morning. S’alright if I stay here with you tonight? Miss my girl.” He teased, hooking a hand beneath your thigh and lifting you up onto the edge of the bed. It never failed to surprise you just how easily he lifted your weight, tossing you around like his own personal ragdoll from time to time.

He set you on the bed, slowly peeling away layers of clothes and tossing them into a nearly full hamper before bringing out one of his tee shirts and pulling it over your frame. “There’s my bonnie little thing.”

“‘M not a thing.” You muttered, biting down on the inside of your cheek indignantly- just to hear his soft laugh.

“Yer right, not a thing. No… M’eudail, yer everything.” He mused, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before drawing his arms about you and nestling your anxious body back to the sheets. “...I know you’re not ready to talk about it now, that you need to sort through the things in your head yourself first before you can explain it… but I’m here, I will be here until the day you no longer let me stand beside you.” He promised, the words flowing forth like water from a spring. It comforted him just as much as he hoped it comforted you when he felt you nuzzle into his chest, eyes closed and breathing beginning to settle.

But for all your stress, the things you wouldn't talk about- you didn't snap. You didn't take it out on him or silence him. He almost wished you would. Anything to hear your voice and coax you back to him. Johnny knew you tended to isolate when your mind climbed to new and stressed heights, so to be allowed this glimpse into your mind, to be walked hand in hand through the turbulence of your soul- it was a greater gift than he knew how to accept. Only to hope that you would allow him to do it for the rest of your lives.

“Ye don’t know it yet…” he whispered against your settling form, kisses pressed to the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair. He was glad you fell asleep quickly, keeping his words soft as not to rouse you. “But you saved me. Took a man with aimless devotion to his work and grounded him. Brought him back from a ledge so many walk off. I used to dread coming home, craved the firefight and relentless rush of fighting for my life. But god damn it all, you’ve given me something real to fight for. Now you’re just the one thing I come home to. I wake up glad for you… I guess, what I’m trying to say- know we haven’t said it yet… but I’m in love with you. The good, the bad, every piece of you that you show to me just gives me more to love. I’m so in love with you, and I can’t wait for you to wake up so I can say it to your face.”

He waited an hour or so more before temporarily untangling your limbs, taking his phone to the living room and sitting down to make a call. A familiar voice made him smile, though it sounded annoyed to be woken so late.

“Tavish, what do y’need?” Price asked, clearing his throat of sleep. “Better be good if yer waking me up for it.”

“Aye, know you need yer beauty sleep, Cap. But I’m hoping to get the next couple of days off.” He exclaimed, knee bouncing as he rested his other arm over his knee.

“Everything okay? Not in trouble are you?” He followed up, clearly more alert. Because while not as bad as Simon, getting Johnny to take time off from work was like pulling teeth. “No one died?”

This caused a small laugh to escape him, unable to contain his own humored emotion. “No, Sir. No one died… i… ah.” he cleared his throat. “My girl needs me. She’s having a tough time, and always makes herself available f’r me… ‘bout time I returned the favor. ‘M gonna tell her I love her.”

The silence that spread between them was thick, nearly audible surprise in Price’s voice when he spoke again. “How long-”

“Eight months. Last time you sent me on leave for a month, I met her picking up some books for my ma and sis. I didn’t want to say ‘nything till I knew it was… serious. But it’s serious… I think this is it for me Cap. She is it for me.” He exclaimed, eyes warm as he stared at the coffee table before him. “She feels like home just as much if not more than the 141 does. She’s patient with me, accepts that she may never understand what I do but will never stop me from doing it… I want you all to meet her soon.”

Price’s voice was notably softer now, pride swelling within him. It was all he’d ever hoped for his boys, to find something just as important to him as the work. To open themselves up in ways he hadn’t yet been able to. “Is a week enough?”

“Cap- I was only asking for a few days-” Johnny began.

“A week. If she’s having a hard time, give ‘er the world… show her the meaning behind your feelings and your words, Tav. Do Simon and Kyle know?” He asked.

“They’ve had inklings… but you’re the first person I’ve confirmed anything to.” Johnny admitted, turning over a book that rested on the edge of the coffee table, the phone resting comfortably in his other hand. “Thank you, Cap. I… can’t wait for you guys to meet her. She’s absolutely brilliant… and mine. ‘M not sharin…” He exclaimed.

Their conversation ended with pleasantries and the agreed upon reasoning that would be put on his paperwork before he returned to bed, pulling you back into his arms to keep you there till morning came.

He pretended to remain sleepy and nestled in after you kissed his forehead goodbye, only jumping from the bed when he heard the door lock behind you. So much to do and so little time to do it. Eight hours and counting as he cracked his knuckles, putting on some dance-y pop music to get the day going. There was nothing like hearing a scottish lilted rendition of Dirty Mind by 3OH!3 and Last Friday Night by Katy Perry. And he made sure to record little bouts of it between chores, saving the videos to show you later.

His start was the rest of the dishes, picking them up from all over the apartment, handwashing what needed a bit of extra help before loading the rest into the dishwasher and running it. Next, he took your laundry, sorting it and starting the largest load he could. All of this was about you, for you… his love. To ease the burden resting on your shoulders, the weight that threatened to bend you till you broke.

While the dishes and laundry ran, he swept and vacuumed, rearranging the furniture to make sure no spot was missed. Your books were stacked on the coffee table, his sketchbook and pencils set beside it. It was your best friend he called next, asking for the recipe for her chicken and gnocchi that you loved so dearly, making a quick run to the grocery store to pick up ingredients. There he also picked up an assortment of desserts, cannolis, ice cream, and cheesecake, a lactose intolerant persons nightmare… or daydream, knowing how willing to ignore their intolerance most were. When you texted to say that work was making you stay a couple hours extra, he only sighed in relief. While it annoyed him that they were keeping you from coming home to him, he was glad for more time to better set up his surprise.

Some people would think perhaps it was strange to buy three of the same candle, but now that he was back in your apartment, he put one on the coffee table, one on your desk, and the third in the kitchen. Sweet Mint and Grapefruit. Something comforting and uplifting, just like how he hoped to have you. On the chair closest to the door, he laid out soft pajamas, intent to have you out of your work clothes and leaving that world behind you, if even only for the weekend. Clothes were folded and put away from the laundry, your bed made as a pot simmered on the stove. The realization that he loved you had hit him like a freight train, making his heart soar and sing, so to see you so stressed and pained… he felt it at his core.

The door unlocking had him perked like a dog, vaulting the back of your couch to meet you at the door, his hands on your forearms with an earsplitting smile. “Mo ghràdh…” He swallowed, watching as the startled confusion faded to recognition, a tired and strained smile pressing to your lips.

“Johnny, sunshine… lemme get my shoes and stuff off- WHATAREYOUDOING JOHN AIDAN MACTAVISH-”

But your shriek only spurned him further, soft laughter tearing from his throat as he lifted you easily past the threshold and taking your bag to set it on the ground. “Turn your brain off, Mo ghràdh. Just let me handle… everything.” He cooed, catching your eyes as they wandered about your freshly spotless apartment.

“Johnny… when did you…” but your words stalled again as he sank to his knees before you, eyes light with hunger and reverence.

“Called into work. I’m yours for the whole next week… Cap pulled some strings for me.” He explained, watching your eyes widen and water. Any words of dissent fell away as his hands smoothed over your hips, bringing his face to your abdomen as his fingers dipped into the waistband of your clothes. “Ya had a long day, hen… tha’s not lost on me… and the weeks been so hard for ya… just let me take care of it, let me take care of you. Can ye be a good girl and let me do that for you?” Johnny hummed, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Only when he felt you melt into his touch, your eyes closing a nod consenting to his actions, did he continue. His hands left your hips to remove your shoes and socks, a kiss pressed to your clothed knee as he did. “My pretty bird… so sweet for me… working so hard to make everyone happy, you just forget about yourself do ye? Not a soul in this world deserves your kindness, your smile… hell, let alone me. The fact that I get it at all?” He sighed contently, tugging the waistband of your pants down, and your underwear with it. “Perhaps that’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven… and I couldn’t be more glad for it. Glad for you to have waltzed your way into my life and made a home in my heart.”

The flush that had grown on your cheeks, the warmth that spread through your body as his touch wandered over beautifully scarred skin, kissing freckles and dimples, anything that could be considered an imperfection by a society that had forgotten what love and devotion truly were. His hands caressed from thigh to waist, bringing your shirt up over your arms, guiding you forward just enough that he could pull it over your head and press his lips to your forehead once more. “Yer perfect f’me… so perfect.” He breathed, pushing up on his knees to wrap his arms around you, chin resting just at the lowest part of your sternum as he flicked his fingers, your bra coming undone and falling slack off your shoulders.

He relished in the sigh that left your lips, enjoying that bras existed only so he could remove them from your beautifully painted body. “My cliodna, my venus, my very own aphrodite. Not a single thing in this world is more precious than my girl…”

“Johnny…” You groaned, turning your head away to hide the ever growing flush at your cheeks.

“Please look at me…” He bid, eyes wide and almost puppyish as he pressed ticklish kisses to your naval, facial hair gently scratching at the skin to make you jump into him. When he saw your gaze back upon him, a boyish grin crossed his face, wedging your legs apart as he walked you back to the door to lean against it. “Oh, Mo ghràdh, don’t look at me like that, makes it hard to think.” Johnny teased, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder. “Hold on if you need to, but I promise I’ve got you.”

And when he looked at you like that, as if he were a man gazing upon salvation, how could you not believe him?

Any thoughts were quickly interrupted by his kisses as they trailed lower before pressing against the sensitive apex at the top of your heat. Unbeknownst to you, his devotion had already taken affect as he felt wetness against his tongue, savoring the ragged gasp that left your lips like a starved man.

Fingers dug at the fleshy part of your hips, his chin inclining as his lashes fluttered, eyes rolling back as he began a sweet and unyielding pace. He was yours, so deeply and entirely yours as he doted upon your body, seeking only to hear those familiar and sweet moans that showed just how you were feeling. Because while your mind may betray you, your voice and body never could, not when he was between your legs.

Your hands fell to the longer, thickened and somewhat curly hair of his mohawk, fingers curling into it as you momentarily debated whether to push him back or- no, no, you pulled him closer, hips canting against his lips with a breathy cry as his other hand slipped down between your legs, two fingers finding their way inside to curl and thrust against the spongy heat that craved to be full. As you whispered a soft apology for pulling his hair so roughly, you were silenced by his own moan, your eyes meeting for only a moment as you caught sight of his flushed cheeks and blown pupils. It was a romantics painting in its own right, the visual opposition of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel, this angel full of endearing passion and idolization.

Your eyes rolled back as his tongue delved deeper, circling your clit as he traced letters over it, something only for him as he savored your sweetness upon his tongue.

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U. Over and over until he felt your hips begin to tremble, leg buckling as you grew nearer and nearer to release. On different terms, he would have stopped, wanting to draw out and prolong your pleasure as long as he could, torturing you with your release- but not today. Not now, no. That was for a day where his focus was on not only you.

“Sunshine-” you whispered, the breath stuttered along with your hips when his fingers curled against that spot deep inside you, stars bursting in front of your open eyes as your vision went white. Did you scream? Did you moan? You briefly felt a bit of pain on your tongue, a metallic taste spreading across it as you subconsciously bit down, weak whimpers sending your body trembling and tumbling forward into your Johnny.

He was all too happy to sustain you, holding you up and pinning your hips to the door as he lapped up the thick and creamy juices that spilled onto his tongue, face glistening when he finally pulled away with a rough gasp. “All that f’me, princess?” he hummed, rubbing his chin across the inside of your thigh, just to feel your sensitive and overstimulated body jump beneath his touch.

Johnny stood then, carrying you to the bathroom and turning on the shower. It was easy to ignore- well, not easy, but he was more than willing to ignore the aching strain in his pants as he guided you through a shower, your sweet, starstruck gaze on his as you kissed the taste of yourself off his tongue. He didn’t care as his clothes got wet, making sure to take his time as he ran the loufa over your body, scrubbing away the sweat and grime of the day before cleaning each part of you more gently and tenderly. Your hair was washed, your scalp massaged as he hummed softly to you, crooning sweet words of praise and pride. “My pretty girl… so perfect f’me… look at you… jus’ look at you… so gorgeous.”

When the shower ended you were wrapped in a still warm towel and whisked back to the living room, your feet barely touching the ground long enough for you to register it. So this was what it meant to be loved? The words hadn’t been shared between you two, not yet, but it was undeniable now. These acts of service were hardly acts at all, only the truest form of love and devotion as he dressed you just as slowly and tenderly as he’d undressed you.

“Wait…” you slurred, lashes fluttering as you glanced around. “What’s that…”

A cheeky smile crossed his face as he pulled your nightshirt over your body. “Might’ve called your friend for a bit of help…” he exclaimed, taking you to the kitchen and grabbing two bowls. “Think you can eat fer me? I know it’s hard when yer stressed so… thought I might tempt you.” Johnny laughed.

Bowls of food were brought to the table, and when you hesitated to take a bite, he ran his thumb over the corner of your mouth and lifted the spoon to it, feeding you slowly. “There we go… tha’s a good girl… don’t gotta eat it all, just gotta eat enough for me. I’m here, I’m with you… won’t make you talk about it…” He stated, watching as your eyes watered, overwhelmed by the love and devotion shown to you.

“I love you.” You blurted, the words causing your eyes to widen. Stress had melted away as his hands had earlier explored your body, but now it was back, tension coiling in your chest. “I mean-”

“I love you, too.” Johnny exclaimed softly, a slow smile gracing his face- like the sun cresting the horizon after a rainy night. “I love you. Tha gaol agam ort. You and I… this… it’s everything to me. You’re everything to me, and I wanted to show you, really show you just what you mean to me. Not in grand gestures, but… just like this… I want it to always be like this, or better. I want us to keep working towards better, as long as it’s… together.” He stated, setting down the spoon and pressing your foreheads together.

Tears fell as the floodgates burst, your head bowed and elbows resting on the table. It had been too much before, your work life, family life, even health feeling like it was all working against you- and in a moment of anger, you’d convinced yourself you were alone.

But how could that have been true when you had the literal sun before you? You understood now, Icarus and Apollo, Achilles and Patroclus, Odysseus and Penelope. The all encompassing love that drove people to war and compassion.

“I love you.” You wept, the words more freeing than you had ever known them to be.

Dishes were forgotten on the table as he swept you into his arms, an increasingly common action as of late and led you back to your bedroom, laying you down upon soft and silken sheets. “I love you, M’eudail… every piece of you that you had long since abandoned, the parts you didn’t think were capable or worthy of being loved, I love all of it, and if you’ll give it to me, I’ll show you… I promise, and promises are meant to be kept.” He whispered, caging your body in with his own as he acted like a weighted blanket pinning you to the bed.

Your chest screamed for air, as laughter bubbled out between your tears, one hand threading into the back of his mohawk, the other rubbing small circles into his back. “How did I get so lucky?” you whispered, the words a betrayal of your mind.

“You didn’t do anything, Mo ghràdh, just by existing you are worthy of love. Worthy of living a life lighter of stress. Just by existing you have earned and deserved kindness… I am sorry that I am the first one to show you that, especially now.” He whispered, the words soft upon your skin.

“I’ll call into work next week…” You whispered, hiccuping softly as his hands slipped beneath your shirt.

“I didn’t plan to leave you for a moment anyways.” He mused in return. “I love you, M’eudail… my perfect, bonnie love…”

“I love you too, Sunshine. If there’s a place for me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

“I’m counting on it.”

#cod mw2 #fanfiction #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #soap x reader

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