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florencemtrash · 10 months

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Heads Will Roll | Azriel x Reader Oneshot

Warnings: Violence (aka Reader kills some fae and Rhysand and Azriel are 100% cool with it), fluff

One of Koschei's followers turns up to the Court of Nightmares prepared to make a bargain: your life in exchange for Ataraxia. But he'll soon learn that you are not to be underestimated, and you are always exactly where you want to be.

Azriel bristled from behind Feyre’s shoulder when the male winnowed into the Court of Nightmares in a dramatic display of power that had everyone beneath the dais falling back.

He was all sharp lines, emboldened by the pure black silhouette of his cape that flared out behind him, teasingly parting to reveal the bone white sword strapped to his right hip that seemed to whisper with horrible power. The only piece of him that didn’t look like it was cut from death and destruction were his bright blue eyes - startlingly innocent and all the more unnerving for it. He fit in well with the violence the Court of Nightmares naturally radiated.

Rhysand’s eyebrow curled up in a look of carefully crafted boredom from atop his obsidian throne. The only one who looked more nonchalant than him was Feyre. She tilted her head up, staring down the slant of her nose to the unknown male as he extended his arms and bowed as prettily as a bird.

“Greetings.” Even his voice was sharp and cutting. “To the Lord and Lady.”

Cassian frowned from behind Rhysand’s back at the omission of their proper title. To the outside, Rhysand was anything if not bored. Inside, he was ready to blow the male to bits. He wore Koschei’s stamp on his forehead, red and dripping like a fresh wound.

Neither the High Lord nor the High Lady deigned to reply.

The male only smiled. All teeth.

“I come to you on behalf of my master.” His smile grew. More teeth. “You may have heard his name.”

“Koschei.” The name rolled off Feyre’s lips as easily as if she were ordering a meal - blasé and unimportant. But the name shifted the energy in the room, stirring up hornet's nests of gossip. Heads bowed towards one another like grass stalks in the wind, whispering.

Feyre tapped one finger on her forehead, “He has a fondness for marking his followers.”

“Like a collar on a dog.” Rhysand finished. He stroked the bond, grounded by the feeling of Feyre’s very soul on the other side. She had always been - and always would be - his calm.

“My name is Darwynn.” The male tipped his white head, “And I bring news from my master. News you may find worthy of your time.”

Azriel’s heart picked up in his chest.

He knew what was coming - the words that would soon slip out of Darwynn’s mouth. You’d been gone for over a week and he felt your absence from his side as intensely as if someone had ripped the wings from his back. Empty, cold, and unbalanced.

For the first three days he hadn’t worried, even as the bond lay dormant in his chest. It wasn’t uncommon for you to hunt after secrets, unraveling mysteries like threads in a coat or diving into the unknown with an insatiable appetite.

Three days were nothing. But nine days was getting to be concerning.

“Go on.” Feyre said with a wave of her hand, looking more interested in the glass of wine in her hand than anything else.

Darwynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin string of silver stained with blood - a necklace crafted from unbreakable metal with a deep blue pendant swaying like a pendulum. It was a piece of one of Azriel’s siphons, imbued with a small measure of his power and given to you as a Solstice gift after you’d accepted the bond. In the twenty years you’d been together, you’d never once taken it off. It was unnatural to see it swinging in the cruel male's hands.

Cassian growled. Azriel’s jaw clenched, beautiful brows lifting only ever so slightly in surprise. It was the only expression the Shadowsinger had shown all night.

Rhysand mirrored his expression. “Ahhhh yes, my sister. How long has she been missing for now, Az?” Rhysand looked back at him, some unspoken agreement passing through that brief glance. If this male had truly captured you, he would not be leaving this room with his head still on his shoulders.

“Nine days.” The Shadowsinger said, his mouth twitching to the side in a cryptic mix of a smirk and a snarl.

“You have her.” Feyre said. It wasn’t a question.

Darwynn’s eyes lit up with glee and he nodded, clapping his hands together like a child opening birthday presents.

“And what do you want for her? That is why you are here, is it not?” Feyre said once his “applause” ended.

Darwynn shook his finger at her, “It is comforting to know that since Amarantha’s trials, you’ve learned to - how shall I say this? Read between the lines.”

“Careful.” Rhysand said, a warning trapped within that honey-laced word. Feyre’s illiteracy was hardly a concern for anyone anymore - Rhysand had seen to that - but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a subject that smarted and burned when prodded.

Feyre’s dark red lips only turned up in a small smirk. Her mate would not allow any harm to befall her - even insults from pathetic creatures such as Darwynn.

"But I digress." Darwynn said silkily, “You should know she is uninjured-”

“Obviously,” Cassian huffed under his breath, stealing a glance at his brother beside him. Azriel was handling this surprisingly well. If it were Nesta who’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, Cassian would not be able to school his emotions so readily.

“And my master would like to make a trade.”

“A trade?” Rhysand said, displaying more interest in the subject than ever before. This was an opportunity to play Koschei’s hand. To gain whatever knowledge they could from the slippery sorcerer who was gaining more momentum each passing day. Koschei was still confined to his lake on the continent, but that didn’t mean he was powerless. No, not at all.

Darwynn pointed a knowing finger at Rhysand’s belt where Ataraxia rested as silent as the death that hung over a deep winter’s night.

“I see.” Rhysand said.

So that’s what he wants. Feyre spoke to him through the bond, Some trace of Nesta’s power.

Y/n was right. He wants to leave the lake.

And he needs whatever power Nesta took from the Cauldron to do it.

Rhys hummed in thought, one finger lazily tracing the edge of his drink. He knew his sister, knew the power that raced through her veins, and she was not one to be trifled with. But people loved to underestimate her - the poor second child too weak and damaged to fight after losing her wings to the old High Lord of Spring. The female who rested on her brother’s strength and crown like a sapling tied to a stake. She wielded those assumptions carefully. It was perhaps one of her greatest weapons.

Nine days. She’d been gone for nine days. Nine days since he’d sent her on a mission to the continent to spy on Koschei’s followers. Six days since anyone had heard from her. Three days since her scheduled return.

Azriel stiffened and blinked - a movement so subtle that only Rhys, Cass, and Feyre noticed. All at once the tension left Rhysand's shoulders. Such a reaction from Az could only mean one thing - you'd arrived.

Rhysand clicked his tongue disapprovingly, taking a deep draught of his wine and muttered, “She’s late.”

“She likes to be thorough.” Azriel said with the smallest of smiles.

“Even so. I don’t like to be kept waiting. She could’ve been captured sooner. Escaped earlier. Given us notice that she was coming.” He shook his raven black hair.

Azriel smirked, feeling the strength of the bond in his chest. Never wavering, “Maybe she finally decided to adopt your flair for the dramatic.” His golden hazel eyes flickered upward for the briefest of moments and you flashed him a quick smile from where you hid in the mountain rock above.

You’d only just opened your side of the bond, love and reassurance rolling over him like a flood. You were safe. You were whole. And you had carried out your plan beautifully.

Sorry to keep you waiting, my love. I had business to attend to. You spoke to your mate and only him.

I'd wait forever for you. You know that.

He felt your laughter through the bond like the fresh rain.

Who would've guessed the Spymaster's such a romantic.

Only for you. Only for you.

Darwynn narrowed his eyes, lips flattening into a thin line as pale as the moon. Something had changed in the air and he couldn't put his finger on it. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. He knew the Inner Circle were practiced in hiding their emotions but this… they almost looked pleased. Cassian especially was grinning like a madman, suppressing his laughter as Rhysand sent his thoughts to his mind.

“My master keeps good on his promises. But until you give me the bade, I can’t promise you what pieces of your wife there will be left to bring back.” Darwynn snarled, even as that feeling of dread grew in his stomach. He’d walked in here so confident. He needed to regain that confidence. He relaxed his shoulders. Stood up taller.

A wet thud echoed throughout the hall. Someone screamed - a female with blue-gray skin reeled backward, one hand clamped over her mouth in horror as she tripped over her blood-splattered silks.

A decapitated head - warm, oozing, and less than a day old - lolled on the floor. Its eyes were frozen in a look of surprised horror.

Darwynn’s heart stuttered to a stop when he recognized the bloated and bruised face. The face of one of his strongest males, left behind on the continent to watch over Koschei’s prison.

Rhysand smirked and raised his wine glass towards Darwynn. The High Lord’s power flooded out over the room, knitting together a powerful web of magic that made it impossible for anyone to winnow in or out. Except for you of course - his darling sister who never failed to find the weak points in his magic and slip through as slyly as a cat.

“There’s something you should know about my dear sister.” Rhysand’s voice boomed over the near-silent room without even trying.

A second head dropped from the ceiling. Then a third. Then a fourth. Laid out in a neat little arc around Darwynn.

“She never gets caught. She is always precisely where she wants to be.”

Azriel’s eyes were trained on the slate gray arches overheard where he could just barely make out your form as you winnowed around the room, hiding in the shadows and dropping your gruesome packages in a neat circle around Darwynn’s shaking form.

The male unsheathed his sword, spinning around madly and counting every thud until all twelve of your guards were accounted for.

All dead.

All of them.

He growled dangerously, eyes beginning to glow a brilliant, icy blue as he aimed his power at the dais, right towards Rhysand. Azriel smiled with cruel satisfaction when you slipped out from behind Darwynn’s silhouette, bloodied and menacing. The knife glinted in the faelight, catching the curve of your arm as you spun around and drove the weapon through Darwynn’s eye. The light wrapping around him fizzled out into anything.

The male rocked on his feet, arms going slack and dropping the sword with a clatter on the ground. His legs gave out soon after, his body crumpling in on itself as easily as paper.

You calmly rolled down the sleeves of your blood-soaked shirt, flicking a piece of gore off your shoulder in a manner so similar to Rhysand that your brother couldn't help but chuckle.

You flashed him a grin - a stroke of white brushed across a red splattered canvas.

“Brother.” You said, tipping your chin up in a show of greeting.

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think, sister?” Rhysand gestured out to the Court of Nightmares. You spared them a look. Everyone looked positively sinful in their scraps of silk and exposed skin, silent and trembling as their dinners burned their way up from their stomachs to their throats.

You shrugged and winked at Rhys, “I learned from the best.”

“Go get cleaned up.” He said. It was a clear and direct command, but you didn’t miss the warmth and hint of pride in his voice.

“As my High Lord commands.” You said, bowing deeply.

At home. Rhysand spoke in your mind as you straightened. Get some rest. You did well.

You sighed in relief, happy that you would be free from whatever Court of Nightmare business left to attend to.

Thank you.

There was a brief pause before Rhysand continued, But next time you plan to get kidnapped, let me know. I was actually starting to worry and I’m not sure my old heart can take it.

You snorted, I’ll keep your elderly constitution in mind next time.

You dipped your head once more before winnowing to the River House. The smell of home nearly knocked you off your feet.

There would be more time to joke around with your brother - more time to tell him everything you’d learned - but right now you were in desperate need of a bath.

______________

You sank into your third bath of the night, groaning in pleasure as the hot water rolled over your aching muscles. The first two baths had purely functioned to scrub off the dried blood from your hair and skin. The majority of it wasn’t yours. But this bath, with all the fragrant oils and scents, was for enjoyment and relaxation.

It was no easy business getting kidnapped, and no easy business escaping. But like every other mission, you’d made away like a bandit in the night, carrying with you priceless pieces of knowledge and enough secrets to demolish an entire court.

Your eyes flickered open at the feeling of shadows lacing around your arms, soothing your skin with a cool touch that was no replacement for the hands that followed.

Finally your mate had decided to join you.

You sighed in happiness as Azriel trailed his fingers up your arms, scarred hands landing at your neck and gently tilting your head back so he could plant a firm kiss on your lips.

The bond sang within your chest more joyfully than a songbird. You didn’t like silencing this connection, you didn’t like shutting Azriel out, but sometimes your work necessitated it. It was for your safety as much as his. But no one understood that more than the Spymaster of the Night Court.

“Hello, my love.” Azriel’s voice vibrated through the air, warming your chest and shaking your bones.

“Hello, Azriel.” You murmured, soapy hands trailing through his raven black hair so that he was completely surrounded by your scent.

“Gods, I missed you.” He said. He knelt on the tiled floor behind you, wrapping his arms around your bare chest as he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. “I missed you so much." A kiss on your neck, "So, so much.”

“I missed you too.” You murmured, pulling him around to the side of the tub so that you could see him better. You traced the faint purple bruises beneath his eyes. Not an unfamiliar sight. Azriel had never been a restful sleeper, but since mating and marrying you, he’d been spoiled rotten and now could barely sleep a wink without you curled up in his arms.

“Sorry I messed up your hair.” You apologized, twirling the now damp strands of his hair so they curled around your fingers.

He smiled. It was a rare sight to anyone other than you, but seeing him happy never ceased to warm your bones.

“You did well, darling.” He said, smoothing back your hair before saying more seriously, “But next time could you tell me your plans before you shut me out?”

You winced. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t time.”

“I figured as much.” Azriel said, kissing your cheeks to show that he wasn’t upset. You leaned into his touch as he traced your cheekbones with his thumbs.

You were the most precious thing in the world to him. More precious than his wings. More precious than his freedom. More precious than the 500 hundred years it had taken him to finally realize what you were to him. The thought of losing you was more painful than a knife to the stomach.

“You can trust me.” You said, “I know how to handle myself.”

Azriel chuckled and shook his head, “I am very well aware of both those things,” He tilted his head in thought, “And I’m fairly certain everyone else also knows now.”

You blushed, “Maybe it was a bit much.”

Azriel shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is one thing.”

“And what is this one thing?” You asked, leaning forward and capturing his lips in another kiss. He tasted like cedar and rain. He tasted like home.

“That you should never be afraid of showing your power. Never. No matter what happens. No matter what people say.”

His hand that had been cradling the back of your neck moved down, tracing the scars on your shoulder blades where your wings had once been. You shivered under his touch, but didn’t recoil. He understood. He was perhaps the only person who understood what it meant to have such a physical piece of yourself taken away.

You kissed his hands, taking care to feel every valley beneath your lips and worship them. They were a part of him now, tied to him as much as his shadows were, and so how could you not love them? How could you not love him? This male who was your equal in every way imaginable and who made you feel happier and safer than you ever thought possible.

He helped you out of the bathtub, drying your skin and hair before carefully brushing through all the tangles and knots.

“I should go report to Rhys.” You said with little determination as Azriel laid you out on the bed and then crawled under the covers beside you, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you both under the protective cover of his wings.

“Let it wait until tomorrow. Let me have you tonight.”

You smiled, “I’ve only been gone nine days.”

His hazel eyes melted into yours. “Nine days too long, Y/n.”

You could never deny him anything when he looked at you like that, so full of feeling and a rawness too intense for words. And it wasn’t like you were dying to leave this bed and chase after your brother. Like Azriel had said - it could wait until tomorrow. So you melted into his arms and watched as Azriel slowly fell into a deep sleep for the first time in nine days.

______________

Author's note:

A woman covered in the blood of her enemies is *chef's kisses*

That's it. That's the note.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x rhysand's sister #rhysand's sister #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #inner circle x reader #the inner circle #azriel x you #azriel #shadowsinger x reader #feyre archeron #rhysand #high lord rhysand #High Lady feyre #cassian #cassian acotar

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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 7 months

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Sleepover with Drunk Nanami

Nanami crashes on your couch after a drunken meeting on a rare night out.

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ ONLY. fem! Reader, Soft Nanami, drunk Nanami, slow burn (sorta? Does nine hours count?), discussions of consent, Gojo is in it also lol.

Word count: 13.9k, Ngl this one kind of got away from me 🤭🫣. Don’t have sex with drunk people! let the tension build until that consent is sober and enthusiastic.

This was inspired by the song Get Up by Ciara, and my being very horny. I haven’t written fanfic in almost ten years, so here’s what I have for you. This was so fun to write, I really hope y’all enjoy it. I am so obsessed with this man its actually insane.

Clubs were not his preferred way to “cut loose”. He hated the claustrophobic proximity, the overpriced drinks, the flagrants displays of affection, most of all the inability to hold a conversation. Resounding bass and artificial light blaring against his skull was sure to culminate in tomorrow’s headache. Nanami couldn't be bothered to entertain the idea of joining his coworkers to dance and drink as they so often invited him. He much preferred to keep his own company, drinking at home, indulging in the occasional (and strictly, personally regulated) cigarette, and reading in the bath. Although the last two weeks he found himself working around the clock. It seemed that as soon as he crossed his own home’s threshold he was back to work in some capacity or other. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to turn his brain off completely in between shifts. He hated working, period, let alone working outside of his normal hours, but the work needed to be done, and as the days trudged forward, his work life balance compounded into a singularity designed specifically to siphon any free time he could find.

But that had ended this afternoon, completing a mission’s adjoining paperwork and being released for a three day leave in between assignments. Returning to his small office, he begins to retrieve his coat and pack his bag to depart and return home to finally relax. Already feeling his shoulders unknot themselves, Nanami allowed a blissful sigh to leave his lips. No sooner had he begun to draw in the following breath than had the rapping of angular knuckles against his door frame rung in his ears. Raising his eyes, Kento sees long time (reluctant) friend and daily annoyance, Satoru Gojo, strolling casually inside and plopping across the desk from him.

“So what time should I pick you up?” Although Kento could not see his eyes behind the famous black blindfold hiding them, the blase demeanor and entitlement dripping from his question was apparent.

Already feeling the vein in his head begin to pulse, Nanami sighed out, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come out with us tonight. You’re off the ne t few days. I’m sure even you can recover from one night out in that time. Everyone is goin, Suguru, Shoko, yours truly…even Ijichi said he would come,” Gojo allows his smile to lure in the other man, “So you have to come.”

A familiar feeling rose the skin on the back of his neck as Kento heard his familiar train of thought, Absolutely not. I’m exhausted. I have to decline. Don’t wait up for me, but before the reluctance to break his own routine won over, his shoulders softened, “Okay.”

Gojo snapped to attention, his planned seduction now moot in the face of Nanami’s quick acceptance. He hadn't said yes to going out in two months, and the last time he had joined the group, he left less than an hour in claiming a headache and calling a cab.

“For real?” Gojo couldn't help himself, he was waiting for this to be a joke.

“Yes, 9:00 you’ll pick me up. We’ll go out. I could use the break. Thank you for the invitation.”

Gojo was beside himself, feeling his lips stretch from ear to ear, he rose to his feet and began to head to the door. He had to limit the time for Nanami to come to his senses, fearing this may all be some bought of madness from the usually grumpy man.

“See you then, wear something I like.”

Idiot always had to have the last word. Nanami lowered himself into his desk chair, taken aback by his own enthusiasm, a small smile creeping across his lips. He wasn't sure what had come over him, but he couldn't say he was upset by it, it had been a long time since he had tried to meet his friends like this. He wasn't social by nature, and he was grateful to have people who understood that, allowing him his space but still continuing to include him in their extroverted fun. As much as Gojo’s refusal to allow him peace took its toll, Nanami was pleased to have someone so insistent on pushing his social limits. Although he would never tell him that.

These are the circumstances that lead Nanami to drinking as much as he had, to loosening his tie eventually to the point of hanging on either shoulder, to laying his jacket along the barstool of the hightop table he and his friends occupied. Dancing, actually dancing inside of the group of people gyrating together on the club’s designated dance floor. Eyes closed, hair sticking to his forehead, Kento felt the weight of fall away and the warm embrace of intoxication take over.

Gojo laughed over his dark sunglasses, nudging Geto’s elbow with his own before tipping his head to their large, very uncharacteristically drunk friend. They watched in shared admiration, laughing to each other, remembering fondly the stiff demeanor their friend had always carried. Since they’d known him they had seen him get drunk countless times, but drunk enough to dance? Only a handful. Drunk enough to have undone his top three buttons and reveal a growing flush down his neck and shoulders, maybe twice.

“He really needed this,” Geto praised Gojo lightly, it was him who always insisted on inviting out Nanami once again, despite the likely improbability of it happening.

Gojo smiled warmly before laughing again, this time to himself, he didn't want to reveal how easy it really was. How little he had had to push to get him out, he let the praise wash over him as he admired the usually stuffy man’s catharsis. Shoko returned then from the bar, two shots for herself and one for Ijichi who followed closely behind her, already starting to stumble himself.

That’s when Nanami saw you. Finally opening his eyes, pupils adjusting to the dim light, you appeared to him like a vision. And a vision you were, long legs wrapped in a skirt, a top lightly grazing the hemline at your waist, arms full and strong, hair styled specifically showcasing care and effort as well as routine. Engaged in conversation with a friend of yours, both laughing and allowing the atmosphere to relax you, Kento didn't realize his body had stopped dancing as he now stood dumbly in the center of the dancefloor. With soft pushes and thoughtless instinctual movement, he moved to the outskirts of the dancefloor, although still within sight of you. His breath caught in his chest, his hands ran cold, becoming clammy quickly as he watched you share a shot with your friend, head tipping back and revealing the full column of your neck to him. He felt his face flush further than the alcohol could.

Soon enough his back found the table that Shoko currently occupied, digging in her discarded coat’s pocket for her lighter, cigarette hanging loosely between her lips. Cooly placing her hand atop a few rattled glasses knocked around by his collision, she inquired as to Nanami’s dreamy state, “something got your attention?” her laugh broke through his haze just as she followed his eyeline to you.

“She’s pretty, you know her?” she was finally able to fish her lighter from the correct pocket.

Nanmi shook his head, still not able to tear his gaze away,” do you?”

“Never seen her before.” She observed the dumbstruck look in Nanami’s eyes weighing whether her input was more prescient than her desire for a smoke break, “You should try to talk to her. Who knows when we’ll get you out again. Make the most of it.”

With that she headed back towards the smoker’s patio, leaving Nanami with her words bouncing between his ears. When was the last time he had flirted with someone? When was the last time he had been on an actual date? When was the last time he had gotten to take someone home? When was the last time he had shared a bed with someone? When was the last time someone else had made him cum, not just himself between disgruntled days and nights working too much with little output? He had a break, he had come out, hadn't he? As he had gotten ready tonight he chastised his own mind for indulging in fantasies of meeting someone, But he didn't think he would find someone so ... .magnetic.

He wasn't even sure how long it had been since Shoko had gone outside, Kento snapped back to himself when he saw you set your drink down- nearly finished- and head into the throng of dancing bodies. His body moves before he can consciously decide how best to approach you; feet escorting him to the dance floor, hips following the beat and loosening the rest of him. His hands moved upward around his shoulders imitating a boxer’s stance, the alcohol clearly influencing his dancing style. Pressing forward he found himself just to your left. It was as though you had your own kinespheric bubble surrounding you, people danced near you but not on you. He felt invited in by this space, as though you had saved it just for him. He watched your body move, circling your hips and allowing your neck to follow the melody freely, your arms raising above your head as your eyes fluttered between completely closed and mostly closed. Your lips were parted beautifully, lip gloss catching the light so beautifully.

Maybe it was just chapstick, or it was lipstick, he had no idea, but just seeing the glint along your bottom lip made his mouth water for your kiss.

Would you use your tongue right away, or would he need to draw it out of you with his? Would you want him to guide you, or did you want to lead him yourself? He found his heart quickening at ever new possibility. When you finally allowed your eyes to open, they found him almost instantly. Locking eyes with you finally, Kento thought his skin was going to burst. Heart quickened, hand clammy, breath quick he searched for any reciprocation in your own eyes.

So when your eyes crinkle, following the line of your smile, so clearly directed right at him and only him, Kento can't resist but bring his hands to the sides of your hips.

The blonde man had been watching you since you got here. You noticed, Sophie noticed. As soon as you left the bar and staked your claim on an open hightop bordering the crowded but lively dance floor, she had jutted her chin toward him on the other side of the floor.

“Got one already.” she said impressed with your efficiency.

You turned to briefly meet his gaze, in just a second his gaze was so intense you could tell his eyes were honey brown and they were trained on you and only you, “oh come on. I’m sure he’s just checking everyone out.” you dismissed, still feeling the hot eyes on the back of your neck.

“He’s still looking at you,” Sophie marveled, “still looking…still…wow I don't think hes even trying to hide it.”

You knew. You could feel it, your heart raced. You had just barely looked at him but you had seen enough to see how attractive he was. A tall, broad frame, well cultivated outfit, neat, well styled hair, confidence and stability oozing from every pore. So clearly unabashedly interested. God, he was your type. Before you knew it most of your drink was drained, the nerves of being observed having made you suddenly parched. The liquid confidence settling in your system motivated you to pull Sophie to dance. You two found an open bubble in the sea of bodies and allowed yourself to release your lingering thoughts of the watcher.

That is, until you open your eyes once more, finding a pair of honey brown eyes begging for yours. It was him. He was less than two feet from you, he had sought you out. You couldn't help yourself, his interest and obvious enthusiasm brought a curl to your lips. Your smile locking him into a stare, you didn't flinch when you felt large, strong hands on your hips. It felt right, looking into his eyes the idea of not feeling him touch you felt preposterous. Your hips still followed the music, his soon joining their routine. His hands, once brazen, now stayed still and solid against your hips, moving with you, but never straying from their position. Emboldened by his sudden demure approach,wanting to reciprocate with just as much interested you turned, facing your back to him and pressing the curve of your ass against his hips, you thought you hear a soft groan exit his mouth. Once you had turned away from him, a bit of tension is relieved. You feel braver not looking him directly in the eye anymore. You grip onto one of his hands and trail it up your body, leaving the other gripping your hip harder and harder. Soon your back was fully against his chest, the music carried your pelvis, joined against his, everything else fell away as you guided his right hand across your body, side, hips, stomach and ass. His body felt so solid against yours, it was so solid against yours. He was an imposing figure, six foot or more, strong and cultivated build demonstrating both his personal strength and his own discipline. How you could have not noticed him here before was beyond you.

Nanami was hypnotized. From the moment you had looked him in the eye, he was hooked. Now that your body was flush against his, ass grinding into the front of his slacks, he couldn't think about anything else. He breathed hot against your ear as your fingers curled around his, sliding his fingers up from your hip to your stomach. It was so intimate, your leading his hand along your body, showing him exactly where you wanted his touch. You had your head cocked to the left, opening the side of your neck to him and moving your hair just under his nose, the smell of your shampoo was thrilling, he longed to run his fingers through your hair, to ruin your styling and pull. He wondered if you would let him brush it for you, wash it for you. He could learn exactly how you liked your routine, learn to style, learn to braid, anything to keep this smell close to him.

Behind his eyelids he wondered about your body, how your breasts would look, how your skin would flush through excitement or exertion, how wet you would get, how you would taste. He wondered, too, about your kiss, again thinking about how much tongue you would use, and if you would want to be in charge or him. A soft moan escaped his lips as he thought of your tongue sliding against his, directly against the shell of your ear. As if cued you spun around again, your leg slotted between his, allowing you both to move as one, grinding unashamed as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“You can touch me yourself you know,” You could barely hear the music but Nanami knew exactly what you had said, “Or do you just like being told what to do.”

Your flirting sent a shock directly down his body, feeling his cock swell against the inside of his slacks, he slid his hands up the curves and folds of your back, your skin was so soft, he saw your lips part as he touched you. You were so reactive, he couldn't hear the caught breaths of the soft moans over the club’s speakers, but he watched as your eyes fluttered and your knees pulled tighter around him. One hand traveled down to the side of your leg, brushing down the side of your hip and ass to grip your thigh. The front strands of his hair had loosened and now hung freely in his face, a dark blush settled across his freckled nose and cheeks, one of your hands moved down his shoulder and onto his chest, he wished he had been more reckless and undone a few more buttons for you, he longed to have your fingers on his skin. But for now they held the collar of his shirt in their grasp, he longed for your eyes again, and as if you had read his find they met his own. He prayed you couldn't feel the way the eye contact had made his dick twitch, the blush deepening at the shame of being so crass in his attraction to you. Pulling him somehow even closer, he could feel your breath on his neck, he was panting a bit from the exertion of dance and the intense sexual tension. The song was beginning to end, and the DJ was already beginning to blend it with the introduction of the next song.

Seizing his opportunity, Nanami finally spoke his first words to you, “Can I buy you a drink?”

You nodded, smiling at him, he wanted to make you smile again and again, the warmth of your gazing making the stuffy club feel icy by comparison.

“Thank you!”, you moved a hand down his arm to join your hands together. Guiding him over to the bar. Your hand in his felt electric, you both could feel it. His large, work roughened palm against your own. They had fit together so naturally.

As you made your way over to the bar the music became less and less overwhelming, the pressing of bodies became less insistent. You turned your head to find Sophie, chatting to a few friends she had planned to run into, she caught your eye before giving you a knowing look and a thumbs up. You smiled and winked at her before turning back to the man behind you. You caught him at the end of turning his head from what looked to be a group of his own friends. All of whom were looking at the pair of you. One, particularly tall man with dark glasses was giving an encouraging thumbs up mirroring Sophie’s. You caught yourself wondering if your friends would get along, if he would get along with your friends, if you would get along with his. You didn't even know this man's name, you had barely spoken to him, and here you were ready to merge friend groups and make brunch plans. What the hell was going on tonight?

Finally reaching the bar right as two seats opened up, you both sat, giving your exhausted legs much needed refuge. The air between you two suddenly became thick, without the immediacy of movement you found yourself suddenly worried about how to engage him again in the heat you had just had.

“What do you like to drink?”, he started right as you offered a question of your own,

“So what’s your name..”

You both laughed for a second, the acknowledgement of shared nerves taking a little pressure off. His smile was reserved, seemingly unpracticed. But his eyes betrayed his warmth, you could see.

“Kento Nanami,” He answered your question first, fighting the urge to hold out his hand for a chaste and professional handshake. He lifted his eyebrows to signify it being your turn to answer, you told him your name, and his smile returned again, “That's a beautiful name.” he repeated it back to you, ensuring his pronunciation was correct, when in actuality he could have rolled your name in his mouth a thousand times and never tired of the taste.

“I’d love a gin and tonic,” You offered, answering his question, “Or whatever you’re drinking.”

Drinking, he was drinking. Suddenly he was aware of how much he had been drinking. Skin hot and red, probably sweating all over you, stinking of booze. He felt the embarrassment move throughout his body as he replayed his invitation to buy you a drink. Were you just being nice to him? Wanting to find a polite way to get away from him and return to your friend? He had been so casual, so unhindered.

God, he was an idiot

“Sorry to take you away from your friends, I understand if you want to go back.”He wanted to offer you an out, feeling himself try to straighten up and will the drunkenness out of him before he embarrassed you or himself further. But to his surprise, you cocked your head to the side, eyes narrowing to assess his change in demeanor. You could see right through him.

“Don’t get shy on me now, the nights just starting,” you offered a new, slyer smile, “isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, the bartender finally rounded the bar top to take your orders. Nanami ordered your drink as well as one of his own, you added on the desire for some ice water. Once the drinks were down set, you offered him a little cheers, tapping your glass against his before sipping. The drink was cool and refreshing, the perfect remedy for the heat rising in your neck and face.

He was so handsome, from his carved cheekbones speckled with freckles, you wondered if they were anywhere further down his collar. His bottom lip was full and plump, parted slightly as he tasted his drink, with his face profile to yours you could see a small pink circle on the side of his nose.

“Do you wear glasses?”, you asked.

Nanami’s brows twitched slightly together, “I do.”

“You have those little impressions on your nose. From the bridge of your glasses.” You answer, without him having asked how you could tell, “I bet you look handsome with your glasses on.”

Nanami cursed himself for leaving his glasses in his coat pocket across the bar. He’ll never make that mistake again. Bringing the chilled glass to his lips, attempting to cover his smile. He feels so seen by you, the way your eyes move over every inch of him, he doesn’t know if he’s ever been observed so closely. It’s exhilarating, it’s terrifying. You’re terrifying. You’re exhilarating. You’re still looking at him. You’re looking at him expectantly. You asked him another question and he missed it. He scrambles through the last few seconds searching for what you may have said to him, and how he possibly could have missed it.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if those were your friends over there.” You pointed over his shoulder.

Nanami turned quickly, oh god too quickly, his head spinning a bit as his equilibrium struggled to catch up. Gojo was waving at him, gesturing broadly in unintelligible charades. Nanami felt his frustration flare up at both having been distracted from you and also having to once again decipher another one of Satoru’s riddles. At the meeting of their eye line, Gojo began to move over to where the pair of you were seated, Geto and Shoko sharing the weight of a stumbling Ijichi. The head vein began pulsing again, he ought to name it after Gojo the way he sets it off. Panic set throughout his body, he didn’t want you to meet his friends— or maybe he didn’t want them to meet you. Not yet. He didn’t want to risk ruining what hadn’t yet really started. Suddenly feeling very territorial of you, he turned back, once again sending his head swimming.

“Yes. Those are my coworkers. I’m not—“

“Nanamiiiiin. We gotta take Ijichi home, he’s already thrown up twice. It’s gross.” Gojo was already halfway through his sentence before reaching the bar.

You assessed the new crowd of faces. Odd faces, all so well built and specific. Between the tall man in the darkest sunglasses you had ever seen in an already dark bar, the lithe woman with purple eyeshadow and the most perfect beauty mark, and the embodiment of tall dark and handsome— you wondered what exactly Nanami did for a living. Was there some kind of work force that employed only the hottest people you had ever seen. It took you a second to notice the younger, far drunker man with his arm slung around the black haired man with the gauges. The white haired man was still talking to Nanami, maybe arguing, but they spoke too softly for you to hear specifics. Both were cut off

“So do you want a ride home or are you good here?” Gauges asked eyes moving between you and Nanami coolly, before readjusting his hold of the nearly asleep fourth man.

The woman tapped on her phone, seemingly uninvested in what was happening, now barely holding onto their friend.

The white haired man cut in before Nanami could answer, “you hit those drinks pretty hard, Nanami. We don’t want you getting taken advantage of.” His face turned toward you and although you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt them.

Wow, like really felt them, he was sizing you up, it was clear. It was confusing, his inflection was teasing-almost joking, but his energy was severe.

Nanami was seething, mortified by the intrusion and Gojo’s crass assertion, “I can get myself home.”

It would have sounded more convincing if the slurring of his voice hadn’t married the words myself and home into a mess. You noticed, realizing for the first time that you were much more sober than him. His friends noticed too.

Nanami cleared his throat before speaking again, “I’m a grown man, I don’t need you to babysit me, Gojo. I’m enjoying my evening. Please take Ijichi home.”

Gojo didn’t seem convinced, turning his face back to you and finally sliding the sunglasses down his nose to reveal the bluest pair of eyes you had ever seen. They nearly glowed in the dim club. This gesture caused the others of the group to stiffen up. The woman finally putting her phone down, Gauges eyeing him carefully, even Nanami drew in a tense breath.

“We quite like our friend Nanami, we wouldn’t want him getting hurt.” He spoke directly to you, between his height and your seated position he leaned over you slightly, “are you someone we can trust our friend with?”

Nanami was about to cut in but before he could you met those azure eyes with yours, “I quite like your friend too.,” you copied his inflection, “ I understand why you’d be wary of some stranger taking him home. Since you have your hands full, I’ll watch him for the night. If he decides he needs a ride home, why don’t I call you directly?”

Nanami felt his jaw drop, looking between you and Gojo carefully. He caught Geto’s eye, seeing him smile lightly. No one talked to Gojo like this. Shoko chuckled softly, impressed with your lack of fear in the face of their “strongest” friend. There was no way for you to know the risk you were taking, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

“That is, if he would like to join me back to mine?” You continued, looking away from Gojo and back to Nanami.

“I’d like that very much.” Nanami answered quickly, in any other situation he would be embarrassed at how eager he sounded, especially in front of his friends. But you wanted to take him home, you wanted to keep talking to him, he could see where you lived, maybe you would let him kiss you, or touch you again.

“Give me your phone.”

The request snapped Nanami from his fantasy. Gojo held his hand out expectantly. To his surprise you handed over your cell phone. Gojo typed quickly, “This is my phone number and where Nanami lives. If I don’t answer, stick him in a cab to this address. Okay?”

“Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Gojo.” You attempted to ease the tension created, “I promise you’ve left him in good hands and I’ll return him to you in one piece.” You smiled warmly at him, cutting through the attempts at intimidation, even offering a small wink to Nanami over his friend’s shoulder.

You didn’t back down, you understood why anyone would be concerned about leaving their drunk friend with a stranger. It was a testament to how much he cared, he seemed completely sober himself. Playing DD, you assumed, was not a role he took lightly. You respected his protectiveness, you had done nearly the same on many occasions. If this is what Nanami’s friends were like, you would definitely fit in. You glanced down at where Gojo had written in the notes app of your phone. A string of numbers— his cell, and an address, Nanami’s, and below that another line, just for you.

Be nice to him, he’s more sensitive than he looks :)

Yeah, you would get along with this one. You smiled up at him and Nanami both before the dark haired man slung the full weight of the now completely passed out bespectacled man on his back in an attempt at a piggy back, and smiled to you warmly,

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Kento. Have a nice night.” Before turning and leading the group toward the exit. Gojo handed off Nanami’s jacket before pushing his glasses up his nose and turning around to follow.

With no more company, the two of you were once again alone. Nanami struggled to collect his thoughts before you soothed him, “Your friends are nice. They seem to really care about you. How long have you all worked together?”

“We all went to high school together.”

“And you’re still friends? That impressive, I barely keep up with friends from that long ago.”

“We’re, sort of, stuck with each other.” Nanami started, caught in the trap of having to figure out some way to explain his job without, actually, explaining his job. Thankfully, you cut that conversational thread and moved forward.

“I hope I wasn't too forward. You don't have to come back to mine. I felt like we were just getting to talking and I didn’t want to cut it short yet. But please don’t feel obligated.” You wanted to assure him that he could proceed however he wanted to. Despite how hopelessly attracted to this man you were, you recognized your responsibility as the more sober party to remain respectful.

“No I want to!” He blurted, not thinking about his volume, quickly standing.

You laughed, “I didn’t mean now! If you want to stay and have another drink, or dance more, that's good too.”

His resolve was starting to crack, it had been nearly an hour since he first saw you enter the club. He wanted desperately to be alone with you, suddenly the club was too hot and too crowded and too loud. Everything was overwhelming, and the only thing he wanted to overwhelm him was you.

Still standing he stepped in toward you a sudden surge of confidence lowering his voice and causing his head to dip down to meet you at eye level, “I would, very much like to join you back at your place.”

His voice was dripping with want, the eroticism behind his words lidding his eyes and sending chills down the side of your neck. You let out a small shaky breath before standing up, chest nearly colliding with his, sending him back up to his full height.

“Let me tell my friend I’m leaving. Stay here.”

You nearly ran to find Sophie and your mutual friends at a table of their own. Leaving Nanami to settle his tab and wait patiently at the bar for your return. Your heart was beating so fast you could barely hear the music. When you finally found her, you pulled her close to speak directly into her ear.

“I’m taking blondie back to mine. You all good here?”

She gave you a taunting oooh before smiling, “you really do work fast. Next time lets see if you can last two full hours before taking someone home.”

You rolled your eyes before giving her a tight hug and grabbing your jacket, “love you, text me when you get home.”

Waving to your other friends you turned on your heels and saw Nanami still standing at the bar patiently at the bar patiently. He hadn't pulled out his phone to pass the time, he simply waited, just as you had told him. God, if he could follow benign instructions like this so well, you can only imagine how well he would do with something more salacious. You had to relax, you knew nothing would happen tonight. He would come over and crash, and that was enough for now.

Nanami counted to six in his head over and over, trying to measure his breaths as though if he increased his oxygen intake he wouldn't be drunk anymore. The sides of his vision were fuzzy and dreamlike, ears hot, tongue a bit dry, all his physical indicators of intoxication were present. He paid his tab, the only things on it were your and his brief shared drink. Realizing that since Gojo( maybe Geto?) had purchased the earlier rounds, he actually had no way of knowing how much he had had tonight. What had he gotten himself into? His attempts to sober up proved inefficient because just as quickly as you had left, you were standing in front of him once more wearing your jacket and sliding your purse over your shoulder. You still looked so beautiful,

“Ready?”

He nodded, “Ready.”

And now he sat in the back of a cab, behind the driver, you on the other side. Had he remembered to open the door for you? Had you two waited outside for the cab to pull up long? A window had been cracked allowing fresh, night air to brush past his face. Your thumb ran over the back of his hand. You were holding his hand. He looked down to confirm that your fingers were interlocked with his resting on the middle seat between the two of you. They looked good like that, his long fingers laced with yours. How long had you been holding hands? Eyes wandering he saw the skin of your thigh where your skirt had ridden up, he wanted to feel your leg against his, the space between you in the backseat suddenly feeling cavernous.

“You’re so far away.” he mutters, not really intending to say so out loud.

Without saying anything you giggled and scooted closer to him, moving your joined hands into your lap and your leg right against his. You tipped your head up to look at him, he wanted desperately to kiss you. Just as he began to lean into your lips you stopped him with your fingers.

“Not yet.” was all you offered him as conciliation.

He nodded, lips still restrained by your fingertips. The faint smell of the lime you had squeezed into your drink still lingering. Even just having his lips on your fingertips sent his body into a frenzy. But he was a patient man. Drunk or not, he knew how to wait for what he wanted. Still, he allowed himself to indulge a little, he kissed your finger tips before pulling back with a sigh, nodding silently.

The rest of the drive was quick, or at least it felt quick. You lived in an apartment building and when the cab pulled up outside, you handed over a few bills before sliding out of the door closest to you. Nanami began to move toward his before it opened suddenly. You had opened his door for him and were now offering your hand to help him out. He stared up at you entranced, he felt romanced by you. It dawned on him that he had truly let himself be “picked up”. Taking your hand he exited the car and tried to think if he had ever had this happen before. Women approached him sure, men too, but whenever he allowed himself to spend the night with someone they had always come back to his place. It allowed him a sense of control, and thus comfort in a vulnerable situation. Vulnerability did not come naturally to him, not now anyway. He wasn't prudish or uncomfortable with casual sex, but he liked to remain the organizer of them. Much like everything in his life he liked it to remain under his control. But tonight, you had steered him right to your door and he was so willing, it dawned on him only once that maybe he could have gotten himself in a dangerous situation. He barely knew anything about you, he knew your name, and now where you lived, but the rest of you was a mystery to him. And yet here he was, following you down the hallway to your apartment door truly not caring what could be on the other side as long as it meant more time with you.

You hesitated at the front door, holding your keys in one hand, aimed at the lock.

“I want you to know I’ll call your friend whenever you like. If you decide you want to leave, you just say so and It won't be a problem. You won't hurt my feelings and it doesn’t have to be awkward.” It felt redundant at his point, but you couldn't shake the discomfort of having taken him home in this state. He had nodded off briefly in the cab, holding your hand tightly, before coming too and staring at you with wide eyes. You nearly backed off then and redirected the driver to the address his friend-- neigh, Bodyguard-- had written down. But then he had wanted you to come closer, and tried to kiss you. You knew he wasn't thinking clearly, but still he sought you out.

Gnawing the inside of your lip you looked up at him nervously, waiting for his response. Nanami looked down at you, his already drooping eyes still warm toward you, “I really like you. I think you’re beautiful. I bet you're a great decorator, can I please see what you’ve done to your apartment?”

His response made you laugh again. He Hadn't really answered you, but it was clear what he wanted. You weren't sure if he was intending to be funny, but nonetheless, the anxiety you had just felt slipped away once again and you turned the lock, leading him inside. You liked your apartment, it wasn't the nicest place available. But it was a two bedroom you could afford by yourself, with a good sized kitchen and small personal patio. Frankly, you were lucky to have even found it. You were a good decorator, and you were proud of the job you had done with the interior. A large, well managed and organized bookshelf along one wall with a recliner and side table, art along the walls you had collected since first moving away from home. A medium sized brown couch that was perfect for movie nights with Sophie or an afternoon nap. You had made a home here, and you were thankful for the chance to show it off.

“Wow…” Nanami’s voice sounded nice inside of your home.

“You like it?” you began to shed your jacket, hanging it on a tree rack by the door and clicking on a few lights. You offered to take his coat.

“It’s beautiful, so warm.” Nanami began to slip his jacket down his shoulder, suddenly realizing he didn't actually remember putting it on, “you did all of this yourself?”

You barely heard his question, distracted by the way his shirt stretched over the muscles of his back, “Uh.. yeah. I moved in about three years ago. So it's been a process but I’m pretty proud of how it turned out.”

You turned to hang his coat next to yours, even they looked cute together. He removed his shoes carefully, still stumbling a bit before he took a few steps into your apartment’s main room.

“Why don’t you take a seat.” you gestured to the couch

He sat gracelessly, cushion sinking more under him than he expected. His couch at home was pretty stiff, yours was soft and pliant under his weight. He steadied himself again, feeling embarrassed suddenly.

“I dont usually drink like this, I drink.. Just not so….like this?” He attempted to save some face in the wake of his stumble.

You stood by the edge of the couch before moving into the kitchen area.

“Are you hungry? I could make us something before bed.” You offered, more needing an escape from the building sexual tension than feeling any actual hunger.

“Oh I couldn’t put you out like that…” He started, feeling his limbs get heavy with comfort as the softness of your couch lulled him to lay down. It wouldn't hurt to just lay down a little, right?

“It's no trouble, really! We may feel better in the morning if we eat something now.” you called from behind him. Your voice seemed further away somehow as he pressed his cheek against the soft suede beneath him.

The couch smelled so good, like incense and home cooked food. He wondered if you had a pet he hadn't yet seen, or if you wanted one. Were you a dog person? Or did you prefer cats? Maybe you were one of those people into reptiles, he could learn to love one if you wanted him to. In this state he would do anything you asked him. Which was precisely why he wasn't getting the one thing he wanted from you, he buried his frustrated expression further into the couch. A small groan exiting his lips. Your hand brushed the back of his neck, rousing him back to attention.

“Kento, honey? You still with me?” your voice was so sweet saying his name, he wanted to hear it again. Once he looked up at you he saw you had a glass of water in your hand offering it to him, “Are you good to sleep in these clothes or should I look for something for you to wear?”

He was still in his dress clothes, not his work dress clothes, but not exactly lounge wear. His button up was stiff and pants had been well tailored, hell, he was still wearing his belt, “thank you.” he accepted the water, and by proxy your offer.

He was left alone in your living room. Slurping down the cool water he tried once against to regain his composure. Had he fallen asleep again just now? You seemed to have abandoned the idea of eating so he must have drifted off. This job really had run him ragged.

“They still may not be the right size, but they’ll work for the night I think.” You returned from the side room, presumably your bedroom, with a pair of black sweatpants, “They used to be my brother’s, but they've got some paint stains from when I redid the bathroom. Sorry I don't really have anything else.”

He accepted them graciously, setting the water down on a coaster before standing, “Thank you, this is all very nice of you. Letting me stay the night like this, I'm really not usually like this…”he started to repeat himself.

“It's really no trouble, it's been a long time since I let a man as handsome as you sleep on my couch.”

The couch. So he wouldn't be joining you in bed tonight. Part of him had hoped that even though he wouldn't be sleeping with you tonight, he could at least sleep in your bed, “The couch, huh?” His half awake state allowed the thought to slip out half formed.

“Mhm, the couch. You two seem to have really hit it off. I'm certain the drool puddle wasn't there when I left.” You pointed to a small wet spot on the cushion where his face had been.

Once again the embarrassment of his current state shot through his body like electricity, so he had fallen asleep again. He hung his head cringing at himself, “Oh jesus…I cant believe this.. I’m--”

You cut him off, “You really don't need to be sorry. I like having you here. And tomorrow morning maybe we can have coffee and talk some more. I hope you don't think I was just inviting you over to fuck you.”

His breath caught, “No, I- well.. I thought you--”

“I, of course, want to fuck you. And I don't really see any point in hiding it anymore now that you’re here. But it’s just not going to happen tonight. And I don't think I'll get a wink of sleep next to you when all I can think about is that. Does that make sense?”You were tired, you didn't want to be coy and demure anymore. You wanted to be frank and upfront about how you felt and what you wanted. Nanami nodded understandingly, although still a little surprised at your confession. You continued, “So, you’ll sleep here. I’ll sleep in my bed. I usually wake up at 8, the door to my bedroom is unlocked. If you need anything during the night, please don't hesitate to wake me up. The bathroom is the door behind you, you can change in there.”

Nanami was awestruck by your instructional tone, it sent his mind in a thousand directions; thinking of you telling him house work that needed to be done on the weekend, to you telling him exactly how to please you. He wanted you so badly, pants growing tighter, breath getting heavier. You stepped forward, nearly right up against his chest.

“I hope you're not too disappointed that I won't take advantage of you tonight.” Your voice soft.

“I respect your self control.” His eyes were locked on your lips, so plump and soft looking.

“I’m going to bed,”You leaned in closer, so close he could smell your perfume again, still as hypnotic as it was in the club, “Goodnight, Kento.”

You pressed your lips against his cheek. His body shuddered as your lips lingered there before you pulled away back on flat feet. Trying desperately to regulate his racing heart, Nanmi looked at you desperately.

“Goodnight.”

You turned back to the side room hitting a wall switch to extinguish the kitchen light before closing your bedroom door and leaving him in your dimly lit living room. He could still feel your lips burning on his cheek, he stood for a few seconds not wanting any other sensations that could potentially dull this one. Finally, he shed his pants, folding them haphazardly and setting them on your recliner. He sweatpants you had given him fit okay, the drawstring was broken so they hung pretty loose around his hips, showing just the elastic of his briefs. He undid the rest of his shirt buttons and folded it to stack atop his pants. He hoped you wouldn't mind, but he never slept with a shirt on. Honestly, he didn't usually sleep with pants on either, he already ran hot but sleeping was an entirely different story. Sleeping fully clothed almost always culminated in him waking up in a pool of sweat as though he had just broken a fever. Laying on his back on the couch he pulled a throw blanket over him, mind racing with thoughts of tomorrow.

In your room you stared up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You had returned to your room like every night, put on an old t shirt and shorts as you always did, washed your face and brushed your hair as though it was any old night, turned on your white noise and gotten into bed as if there wasn't the most attractive and charming man you had ever met settling in to sleep on your couch at this very moment. The nights events played and replayed in your mind on a loop, the intensity of his gaze across the floor, the way he had materialized right in front of you, the feeling of his body pressed up behind yours, his hands on your back back, his hand in yours, him asking to kiss you in the cab, him snoring softly on your couch, the way he had looked at you as he said goodnight. You had never felt so pulled toward another person before. It was far from a perfect night, on a perfect night you’d be fucking each other blind until the sun came up at this very moment. On a perfect night you wouldn't have even been in that club, you would already be his, spending romantic evenings reading and cooking. You wondered if he liked to read, what his favorite meals were, if he wanted pets, if he would want to move in here or if he’d ask you to move in with him. You recognized the street name of his address, he lived in a far nicer part of the city than you did. You wondered what his place looked like, if he had decorated it personally or if he had help. God, you haven't even asked if he had a girlfriend. You checked for a ring while you were dancing, but you got so caught up that the idea of a girlfriend hadn’t even crossed your mind. You rolled onto your side trying to relieve some anxiety, he didn't have a girlfriend. You met his friends, they were intense, sure. And sure, one of them had lightly threatened you, but it didn't seem like the threat was rooted in a fear of infidelity. It seemed like the threat came purely from a safety standpoint.

Were you being irresponsible? Was it smart of you to have brought him here so easily? You rarely brought hook ups here, almost always opting to follow them home and politely excuse yourself in the morning. You found yourself bending so many of your usual rules for him, giving your information to his friends, leaving the club so quickly, bringing him to your apartment. Nanami was so big and looked so strong, it probably wouldn't take a lot for him to overpower you. You had practically offered yourself to him on a silver plate. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to be afraid of him. You couldn't say that you knew him well enough to know he was safe, but you just…trusted him. And you felt that he trusted you too.

Your lips still tingled from kissing him. It was just a goodnight kiss, a simple gesture intended to convey continued interest but the end of the conversation around sex. You could call it chaste, even. And yet here you were, lips feeling electrified from a mere two second kiss on the cheek. Whatever product he uses in his hair smelled incredible, like honey or tobacco or sandalwood. Something organic and masculine. The soft sound of surprise he had let out when you touched the back of his sleeping neck resounded in your ears. His voice was so pretty, your mind attempted to conjure what he could sound like when he climaxed. If he would let out a low, husky groan, or if he would whine and beg you for more. You felt your pussy dampen at what your imagination offered you. Thoughts of him were consuming you, seconds moving by glacially as you begged for sleep to take over and bring the beautiful, sober light of day through your bedroom window. When it finally did your dreams were abstract but they were blue and honey and blonde.

Nanami could already feel his head pulsing before he opened his eyes. Oh God. When he finally did manage to pry his eyes open, he found himself not looking at his bedroom wall. He wasn't in his bedroom at all. He wasn't in his bed. Where the fuck was he? He sat up slowly, head pounding and back aching. He took in his new surroundings: he was on a couch, there were his clothes folded on the chair, he remembered taking them off, he looked to the coffee table and saw a glass of water mostly untouched with two small painkillers next to it. It must have been left there by you. YOU! This was your apartment, he had slept on your couch in your apartment! Memories of the previous night came screaming back against his aching head. The club, the shots, meeting you, dancing, you taking him home, you taking care of him-- oh god he was so drunk. Had he really fallen asleep twice? He was mortified. He didn't know if he could face seeing you. He remembered Gojo’s threats and his cheeks burned both in embarrassment and rage, where does he get off acting like some kind of guardian over him. Then again, if he was that drunk then maybe he needed it…maybe just not that one. He stood up on shaky, sore legs, even these pants weren't his. He needed to leave before he embarrassed you or himself any further. This was a mistake, he can't believe he let himself get so carried away, you must have thought he was some drunken fool who cant take care of himself. Maybe he was a drunken fool who couldnt take care of himself.

He unfolded his pants and wracked his brain for whether you had told him which door was your bathroom so he could change back into his own clothes. Just as he was trying to remember which door you had said led to the bathroom, you emerged from the side room yawning.

“Good morning!” You stretched a bit as you walked into the kitchen, “I hope you weren't planning on running off before I got out here. I set the coffee to make enough for two and if you don't drink part of it, I'll be buzzing for the rest of the day.”

The lilt of your laugh brought it all back. He knew exactly how he let himself get carried away. You were magnificent, even more beautiful in the morning light, hair undone, legs exposed under your sleep shorts, what appeared to be a well loved sweatshirt hanging off your shoulders. You took his breath away, he couldn't believe you were actually real. Not some dream his drunken state had conjured to torment him.

You were so grateful to have your back turned on him, it was stupid of you to assume he would have slept in that button up, and you hadn't given him a shirt to wear, despite having an extensive collection of oversized t-shirts that would certainly have covered him. But seeing him shirtless in your living room just for the duration of your walk from bedroom to coffee maker was enough to nearly make you falter right then and there. He was so, fucking, built. How does one even get a body like that, did he live at the gym? He hadn't really explained what it was he did for work, was he a trainer? You weren't really a big gym person, but you could be convinced to start going if it meant watching him huff and puff and sweat.

“Good morning. I don't know where to begin…”, His voice was the same as the previous night, low and smooth, but this morning it was more reserved, more even and controlled, “I can’t thank you enough for helping me out last night. I really can't believe my own behavior. I’m truly sorry.”

You turned to face him, you were expecting some kind of hangover induced remorse, but he sounded genuinely apologetic, as though he had imposed himself upon you rather than having been invited as a guest.

He continued, “I know it doesn't mean much, but I don’t go out very often. I had had a rough few weeks at work and my friends wanted to help me loosen up a bit. Apparently I did a little too good of a job with that part. I'm so sorry to have put you out, I hope your night wasn’t ruined by having to take care of me. I'm grateful to you, I'm just so…”

“How do you take it?” you cut him off before allowing him to apologize to you once again, turning back around to the two cups of coffee you had poured.

“Excuse me?”

“Your coffee,” you opened the fridge to see if you even had any milk to offer him.

“I--”

“I have sugar, or honey if you prefer, and then I don't have any cream but i do have oat milk. I usually take mine with one sugar. How do you take yours?”

Nanami was beside himself, mid flagellation, completely shut down and now once again having to ask something of you, “One sugar is perfect.”

You dropped about a teaspoon of sugar into each mug, giving them both a quick stir before setting the spoon in the sink and walking over to the couch to meet him. Getting close you saw that his freckles did extend down onto his shoulders. Small scatterings of cinnamon dusted on fair, even skin. You handed him one mug, your favorite mug actually, it was dark blue and hand thrown. You had bought it at an art fair when you first moved to town, you’d tell him that story eventually.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. I’m glad I met you last night. And I’m glad you stayed over. And I'm especially glad you're still here now.” You took a seat on your usual spot on the couch, to the right of him. He was still standing, body facing the kitchen but face watching you intently, now holding his mug but not drinking. You patted the spot next to you on the couch. He sat down, silence fell between the two of you as you sipped your coffee again. He followed suit, the steaming drink already starting to soothe his hangover. He couldn't help the soft moan the escaped him, drinking down the relief of caffeine.

“Taste okay?” you checked in.

“Its perfect. Thank you.” he felt himself loosen up, his brain choosing to be kinder and remind himself of the parts of last night that had gone well. Making you laugh, making you smile, dancing with you, the smell of your hair, your lips on his cheek. You were sat facing him, back against the arm of the couch, legs curled in front of you, he sat up right with his feet planted on the ground, allowing his poster to relax a bit and lean against the back of your couch.

You took his relaxation as an opportunity to take him in. So this was what he was like in the morning: shyer, a bit stiffer, still so fucking handsome. His brown eyes were still a bit droopy with sleep (and likely a bit of light sensitivity), a light impression of the hem of your couch cushion had imprinted itself on his cheek, his hairstyle had fallen and his blonde strands now hung loosely in front of his face. And he still hasn't put a shirt on. His torso was like something in a museum. Strong, broad shoulders sat atop full, muscle built pectorals. The hair there was light and looked soft, it became darker and coarser leading down his toned stomach. You longed to run your tongue over every inch of him, but chose instead to sip your coffee and gawk somewhat openly. Finally the silence became too much and you spoke up again,

“When do I need to have you back to your bodyguard?” you teased sliding your knee to bump against his.

“My-- oh, Gojo, don’t worry about him. He’s likely forgotten all about it.” Nanami tried to cover up the hopefulness in his voice. “Do you have anywhere you need to be today?”

It was a Friday, it was plausible you would have to go into a job today, but he didn't know what you did for work so it was equally plausible that you, like him, were off. To his delight you shook your head, smiling coyly over the rim of your coffee cup, leaning back against the throw pillows he had arranged to rest his head last night. Feeling more confident now that he had shaken off the initial mortification, Nanami scooted closer to you on the couch, setting his mug down on your coffee table. He moved one hand to gently take your mug and place it on the coffee table beside his. He then put his hands at the top of your knees and pulled you closer to him, so you were nearly sitting in his lap.

“So I have a question.” He kept his hands on your legs as he spoke.

“Mm?” you were too stunned to form any actual words.

“Last night, you said something to me. Something about wanting to wait until this morning to fuck me,” he shocked himself at his boldness, “how do you feel about that now?”

Your eyes were wide, pupils nearly all encompassing as his hands touched your skin, this was the most you had touched since the dance floor. His fingertips felt like they were burning you, but the way a hot bath burns your skin just before it becomes relaxing.

This was it, you met his eyes, flicking down briefly to his lips, then back up,“I am still, very interested. What about you.”

Nanami moved one hand over your shoulder, to the back of your neck, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your lips and he spoke, “I can't believe you made me wait all night.”

He pushed his lips to yours, finally feeling the kiss you both had waited so desperately for. His lips were so soft, the coffee you prepared lingering on both of you. His hand on your neck rose to tangle in your hair and yours reached out to find his neck, his shoulder, his hair-- fucking ANYTHING. He leaned over you slightly, catching a momentary moan and sliding his tongue between your lips, he found himself moaning, feeling your tongue slide against his. Your hands were on his back now, feeling the muscles flex and retract at every turn of his head or readjustment of his hands. The hand not on your head how found your waist, sliding up and down your form savoring every roll and bump and divot his fingers could find. Finally, fucking finally he could touch you, his lips slotted against yours over and over, allowing your tongues adjust and readjust, it was messy and desperate and so passionate, Nanami kissed you like he would never kiss you or anyone else every again. Like a man who knew he could die tomorrow and never again know the warmth of a kiss this intense. You pulled away briefly for air and before his hungry lips could pull you back down you started to remove your top. He met your hands half way and finished the motion for you, you hadn't put a bra on since waking up, opting instead for the thick sweatshirt instead. Your chest was now as exposed as his was. As desperate as he was to have your lips on his again, he took a moment to admire you. Your breasts were full, and round enough to fit perfectly in his grip, nipples hardened already in your exhilaration, still so reactive for him. He wondered if you were wet already, and if so- how wet were you. He couldn't wait to find out. He was staring, lost in his thoughts of how best to appreciate everything you were giving him. So much care, so much trust, your beautiful body. He wanted to know how best to show you what it meant to him.

You squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. Since you shed your top he was staring at you. You didn't mind it at first, but it was starting to make you self conscious. You weren't insecure about your body, but the intensity of his gaze, how you could nearly hear his mind racing, made you desperate to know what he thought. Finally he broke his gaze away from your chest, raising up one hand to hold your right breast firmly, he looked deep into your eyes moving to kiss you again, softer and more intimately but still just as passionate as before.

“So beautiful…” he said in between kisses, “Even better than I imagined. You’re so beautiful.”

You moaned against his lips as he massaged your chest. He redirected his kisses down the side of your neck, across your collarbone and right to the breast held in his hand. He kissed around the nipple before finally taking it into his mouth. A haughty moan was pulled from you as he sucked hard, eyes flicking up to watch you arch under his mouth. He moved to the otherside, and your hand took refuge in the short hair at the back of his neck. The cropped undercut left little to grip, so your nails dug lightly into his scalp. He moaned around your nipple, eyes rolling back slightly, and hips jutting into the couch involuntarily.

You marvel at his reaction, letting out a small chuckle before moving your nails across his hair again, “You like that?”

He nods wordlessly, mouth still full of you. He knew he was kissing hard enough to bruise, he didn't care. The taste of your skin, the feeling of your body under his, of your fingers in your hair had him feeling drunker than last night. He couldn't get enough of you, he was truly insatiable. He began to move to return to the first side of your chest when you pulled him back up to your mouth, kissing him hard.

“‘Need you.” you pleaded against him

“Need you too, so fucking bad.” He agreed, leaning back upright, and bringing you with him.

You pulled off and stood up quickly, your boobs bouncing as you moved, he would have been embarrassed of the sizable tent growing in the borrowed sweatpants, if he had had any remaining brain power to think about anything other than fucking you. But he didn’t. He stood up and followed you into your bedroom. You had a queen bed, a small wardrobe, a vanity table that appeared to double as a work desk and maybe moonlighted as a craft station. He couldn’t wait to find out what clothes went in what drawers, maybe eventually you would let him keep some of his work clothes here so he could spend the night on weekdays. You turned to face him before reaching the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down once again to kiss you. His hands fell to your exposed waist, the skin so soft and supple, they teased along the topline of your shorts, lingering to be told the next move. Without him having to ask, you nodded against his lips, and his hands dipped underneath the waist band, finding not underwear but only skin. His hands gripped into the meat of your ass, pulling moans from both of you. Your own hands had slipped down his stomach and began to remove the second hand pants from him as well. Finding the tangled up positioning complicated, you both pulled away briefly to remove the last of your clothing before you led him in climbing on the bed. He followed suit, ogling openly at how your body curved and folded and stretched with every motion. You were nearly serpentine the way your hips shifted climbing onto your bed. His cock was so hard between his legs, pre cum dripping onto your comforter as he followed your crawl. As you turned onto your back, he was right behind you, moving himself between your legs to meet your lips once more. A hand started on the back of one of your thighs, causing you to shiver deliciously.

“You're so sensitive.” He praised, sliding a finger feather light from your ass to the back of your knee.

You mewled unabashedly, proving his point. Finger trailing back down, his hands now gripped both of your thighs, he was on his knees before you, parting your legs further to finally, FINALLY look right at your glistening wet pussy. He nearly fainted at the sight. Lower lips parted to reveal the most beautiful, most delicious looking pussy he had ever seen. He couldn't stop himself, he leaned right down and planted a kiss directly onto it. His eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation, the taste, the smell, the feel of your pussy lips against his mouth, soft pubic hair brushing his nose and he gave a long lick from bottom to top.

“Thank you,” he was so grateful to you. For last night, for taking care of him, for being here this morning, for being here at all, he couldn't believe he had found you like this, and he planned to make the most of his chance.

Never in your life had you been thanked by someone eating your pussy. But here was Kento Nanami devouring you like he hadn't eaten in weeks and whimpering gratitudes into your wetness. You hadn't had time to even realize his intentions before he pushed his tongue between your lips, and once he had your brain had short circuited, causing you to assume the initial “thank you” had been all in your head. It wasn't until it was a mantra he clung to while increasing his ferocity that you realized he really was thanking you. Your hands flew to his hair again, this time pushing back the longer strands in the front that had gathered in his face. You pulled hard when he first sucked your clit into his mouth, the moan he let out sent vibrations up your body and added to the pleasure he was already giving you. Your legs were over his shoulders, your hands in his hair, his mouth was taking you apart one lap at a time, one of his hands found your breasts again, there was so much sensation it was like he knew precisely how to make you unravel before him.

Nanami didn't even realize he was rutting his hips into your mattress, his body desperately seeking friction to his painfully hard cock. He didnt think he had been this hard in years, he couldnt think at-fucking-all. The only thing on his mind was how good you tasted, how pretty you sounded above him, he wanted to hear you say his name, he wanted to make you say his name. He brought his free hand up and slid two of his fingers up and down your folds, getting them thoroughly wet before stopping them just in front of your already clenching hole.

“Do you want these?” his voice is even lower than before, mouth pornographically drenched in you.

You nodded helplessly, just looking at him between your legs threatening to make you cum. He gave a rough squeeze to the breast he held, “No.” he corrected, “ask me.”

You knew what game he wanted to play now, you knew he could tell how much wetter you had just gotten at his darker tone and rougher grip, the tiny showcase of his strength already sending your mind reeling to know how rough he could really get with you. But not right now, now you needed him, any of him, inside of you more than you needed air. So you’ll play along.

“Please, oh fuck please Kento, please put your fingers inside me, i need it. I need it so bad, please.”

More than pleased with your efforts, he slides his fingers into you, they go in so easily, youre so fucking wet. He resumes his meal, already itching to taste you again, now using his fingers to draw even more wetness out of you and onto his tongue. He curls his fingers slightly upward and your moans raise in pitch. He’s hit it, if he keeps this up you’ll cum in no time. You're panting, your moaning, you’re nearly screaming and Kento continues to thrust his long fingers into you, hitting your g spot with inhuman accuracy. You can feel it, you’re nearly there.

“K-Kento i’m..oh fuck i..I’m cumming of fuck I--”, a half scream-half moan rips through your lungs robbing you of the end of your sentence as he pulls your orgasm out of you. You're shaking, you’re pulling his hair, you’re repeating his name over and over until it's completely garbled in your mouth. He takes everything you give him, holding your hips down firmly so you stay connected to his mouth, not letting up with his fingers until he's satisfied you’re through the totality of your first climax. He continues lazy licks as you come down from your high, slowly easing out his fingers and sucking those clean as well.

From your spot on your back you look down at him still panting and dazed from cumming harder than you thought possible with another person. You and your trusty vibrator had made some good memories, but you never expected someone could make you cum like that on the first try. He knew it too, he could see it on your face as he savored the remnants of your cum on his fingers. You moved your hands to his shoulders, weakly pulling, urging him to come up to you. He followed your lead and moved his body over you. You could finally see how fucking hard he was. And how fucking big he was. Just by looking you had to assume he was seven or eight inches long, and he was thick, thicker towards the head than at the base, two pretty veins wrapped around him, the tip was so pink it was nearly red, sticky with precum and still weeping. It curved upward, wanting to rest against his lower abdomen, and the darker blond hair there that grew at the base of him. He clearly kept it groomed, it not being too long or unkempt, but you were grateful it was there. The monstrous thing would probably only look more intimidating without it.

He could see that you were doing the same mental calculations he had seen in every partner he had ever had, and he tucked away the immature arrogant pride and chose to instead kiss the side of your mouth, along your jaw, and up to the shell of your ear,

“It’ll fit, you're already so wet for me, and if it doesn't fit all in one go, that's okay. We can work our way up to it. Trust me.” He kissed your neck soothingly, and that was all you needed. You could already feel yourself dampening again, you wanted so desperately to please him, had just made you cum so hard, you had to at least try to settle the score. Finding his lips once again, you pulled him into another desperate kiss, this time trailing your hand down and wrapping your hand around his cock. Using his already collected precum to coat his shaft, you moved your hand up and down a few times, trying to find the right rhythm before his hand gripped your wrist sternly, forcing you to look him in the eye,

“I nearly came already just from eating your pussy, if you touch me like that I’ll cum right now and I have to be inside of you at least once before then.” he moves your hand away from him and above your head. You keep it there, although direction is ungiven, and he seems pleased by this. He moves to his knees between your legs, Wrapping your legs around his waist, he grips his desperate cock and slides it against your pussy, collecting as much arousal as he can. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he knows how big he is, he knows if he bottoms out without enough prep it won’t feel good for you the way it would for him, he wants you to feel good. He wants you to make that sound again. That pretty scream of his name and pure pleasure. You watch him as he becomes laser focused on the point where you'll be connected in mere moments, you feel honored, in a way to see him like this. He’s being so attentive, so thoughtful and he's making you feel so good. Your hand reaches up and touches the side of his face, and he leans into your palm, nuzzling into it.

“I trust you, Kento. Please, baby, fill me up, I need you so bad, please fuck me.”

He presses a kiss to the heel of your hand, the light breaks in your voice making cock twitch in his own hand, he can’t wait any longer, he begins easing himself inside. He tries, he really tries to go as slow as he can, but hes so fucked out and desperate he cant control his movements as well as he usually would. Feeling him push inside of you, you’ve never been so full in your life, he stretches you so nicely, a slight burn but the combination of foreplay and your first orgasm soothe any pain or anxiety you may have had. His eyes are closed, his brows are furrowed, lips parted and still wet. He looks so beautiful like this. You think he's finally gotten all the way in as he stops his movements, you couldn't be more wrong, his hands lift your hips up slightly, more aligned with his pelvis and he slides back out an inch, before pushing the rest of his length inside of you. You feel him against your cervix, you feel him along every inch inside of you.

Looking down at you, he finally opens his eyes, you look so beautiful filled with him. Mouth dropped open, a warm flush settling over your chest and neck, one hand gripping his arm tightly, the other buried in the blanket beneath you. He wants to keep you like this forever, he attempts to push even deeper, seeing how far you can really take him. Gasping your back arches away from his grasp, but he pulls you back to him.

“Just like this, take it all. Look at you, such a good girl for me. Taking every inch.” His praise coaxes you to relax again. He's so deep inside of you, it feels amazing, “You think I can move now, baby?”

You nod desperately. He starts a slow thrust, opening you up little by little. He's hitting every spot inside of you, you don't know how but you can already feel another orgasm building from just the first few thrusts.

“How do you expect me to fuck you properly, when she wont let me go.” he teases above you, sliding his fingers in a V shape along your innermost fold, right where you’ve gripped around him so tightly.

“‘Mm sorry.” you gasp out barely registering the conversation.

“Oh fuck,” he sputters, finally able to pull completely out before diving back in.

Youre finally warmed up enough for him to fuck completely. He pulls on your legs to place over his shoulder as he deepens his thrusts. Your moans are syncing with his, his movements are starting to become jerky again, trying to control himself as much as possible, Kento brings a thumb to circle your clit making you see stars behind your eyelids, when you open your eyes the only thing you can see his him, gripping onto you leg firmly, staring intently at how well you’re taking him, watching himself move in and out of you. He feels you start to grow tighter around him before you can even start to whimper out,

“Fuck, fuck, kento I---aughhh.” you came around him with no warning,the feeling of you pussy spasming and tightening around him is nearly enough for him to lose his own. He releases a deep moan.

“Where can I cum, please baby, fuck where do you want me to cum, i’m so fucking close.” he can feel the sweat dripping down his face, he’s so dangerously close to blowing it inside of you. He wants to so badly, but he needs to hear you want him to.

“Inside, please, inside me, i need you to fill me up, please fuck.”

Music to his fucking ears, he carried on with his thrusts as you continue begging him to cum inside of you. Your wicked tongue is so dangerous, anything you asked of him in this moment he would do, as long as it meant he could stay like this forever. His thrusts grow shorter, faster, more frantic, he’s truly rutting against you, so deseperate for release the only word on his lips is a repetition of “fuck” and your name. It sounds so good coming from him, like he was born to say it. Finally, he lets out a long strangled cry, coming from low in his belly. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you as his release covers your inner walls. He thrusts a few more times, emptying himself completely before stilling his movements, still locked inside of you.

Heavy pants fill the room, cutting through the thickened air. Nanami collapses over you, resting his head on your chest, the sound of your heart quickening underneath him cutting a smile into his face. You brush the front of his hair off his head once more, cycling your fingers through the sweat-dampened strands. Contented, satisfied sighs escaped both of you, neither of you spoke, neither of you wanted to, not wanting anything to break up this bliss of this moment.

Morning light dripped through your window curtains, golden rays illuminating his features, the freckles on his cheeks, the soft wrinkles by his eyes, a small scar cut into the arch of one eyebrow. He really was beautiful, you wondered how many people had gotten to see him like this. A man of his stature, his strength, completely unguarded. One of his large hands found yours, bringing it up to his lips, kissing your fingers, so sweet, so intimate. You really could fall in love with him. Finally, he looked up to face you, eyes catching the light and turning gold, he winced lightly, still feeling the sensitivity of his hangover. You flattened your palm in the path of the sun’s beam, offering his tender eyes solace in the shade. The gesture is short lived as he moves up to press his lips against yours again, his still buried cock shifting and igniting your inner nerves once again. Feeling you begin to tremble, Nanami wills himself to pull out and move onto his back next to you, one large arm wrapping around you, desperate to not be parted from you for even a second. You rest your forehead against the side of his neck snuggling up to his side. His smell fills your nose, the lingering cologne that you first smelled on the club’s crowded floor, mixed with something so uniquely and naturally him. You felt his lips press onto your forehead, arms pulling you tighter to his side.

Kento was the first to break the silence, “would you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

Your lips curve warmly already imagining how handsome he’ll look like in a nice restaurant, candlelight flicking over his face, maybe he’ll even wear his glasses.

“I’d love that.”

Author’s notes:

Okay thank you guys! I hope you enjoyed!I know I did, I know I said it earlie but I haven’t written in forever so I would love to hear some feedback! Don’t be scared, I know I can take it!

it’s up on Ao3 too.

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godihatethiswebsite · 2 months

Text

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night.

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life.

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding.

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage.

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building.

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too.

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen.

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize.

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime?

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace.

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine.

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?”

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope.

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–”

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth.

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil.

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game.

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line.

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa.

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves.

He liked to abuse his privileges.

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior.

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent.

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either.

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks.

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost.

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans.

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul.

The veritable nectar of the gods.

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

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azrielstaylorsversion · 3 months

Text

To remember

Azriel x reader | Angst

Warnings: death, grieve, murder

When Feyre asks Azriel about a certain ring around his finger, the whole room turns quiet. But none of his family members expect him to reply to the question.

Coming home to my family gathered in the living room of the River House was always going to be my favorite thing.

The last week hadn't been a particular easy one, but I had managed to live through it, like I always would.

Cassian passed me a glass of wine, telling me that I needed it. I knew he meant it as a joke, but his sympathetic smile told me enough.

We didn't really speak about it anymore, since it had been decades. None of us did. But the weight of the ring around my finger of my left hand weighed more than usual this week.

I felt Feyre's eyes on me. When I looked at her she smiled, but I soon noticed that her eyes weren't on my face. No, they were on my hand. My left hand.

She was probably just looking at my scars. Most people did. It did bother me a bit, but with my family it was different.

"Azriel, can I ask you something?" Feyre asked. The entire room turned quiet, everyone's attention on me and Feyre.

"Of course." I answered, even though I was not sure I wanted to answer it.

"I keep noticing the ring on your left hand. You seem to play with it a lot. What does it stand for?"

If the room could've turned even more quiet than before, it would.

Feyre looked around in confusion. "Oh sorry, I-..." Rhys put a hand on her arm.

"Feyre, I don't think-"

"No, it's okay." I cut him off. Rhys looked at me.

You don't have to talk about it. He spoke into my mind.

I gave him a tight mouthed smile. I would rather tell her the story myself. She deserves to know about her.

I knew that I wasn't the only one having a hard time with telling this story. Mor had lost her best friend. Cassian and Rhys had lost their best friend. Even Amren had lost a friend that day, if she could even have friends.

And I lost a mate that day.

Feyre looked at me with curiosity, waiting for me to start talking.

"It belongs-.. belonged to my mate." I told her, my eyes on the beautiful ring.

It was gold with a blue stone inside of it. The color of my siphons, like she had requested.

"I'm sorry." Feyre said quietly.

I gave her a sad smile. "I had it altered so it would fit around my finger. I have my own matching one in my room."

Feyre hesitated before speaking. "When did she... pass away?"

"Around 50 years ago." I answered. "51 years to be exact. Just a few weeks before Rhys went Under the Mountain."

"How long were you two together for?" she asked.

I twisted the ring around my finger, smiling to myself. "For a long time. Close to a century." I thought I might go crazy at some point after losing her while having been together for such a long time. But I didn't eventually.

The first few years were super hard. Even harder since I had lost my mate and brother within the span of a few weeks. I remember Cassian and Mor being helpless all the time, not knowing how to help me from going mad.

I blocked everyone out. I didn't talk or sleep for months.

Eventually I got the courage to go into our old room in the Town House, where we would stay most of the time. I found her ring there. The ring she had purposely left there the day she was killed. She had left it there for me along with a note, telling me that she knew she was going to die. That she wanted me to live a happy life.

Something changed after that day. I immediately took the ring to a jeweler who made it fit my finger so I was able to carry a piece of her with me at all time.

I was able to talk again. To sleep, even though the nightmares haunted me.

"What was she like?" Feyre questioned softly.

I had to keep myself from smiling again. "She was the best. She was kind, smart, hardworking, and always selfless." I told her, adding a sad smile at the end.

The rest of my family smiled at the memory of her.

"The selfless part was one of her best qualities, but also the one that..." I hesitated before speaking. But I wanted to tell Feyre. "That got her killed."

Everyone around the room stiffened, but I decided to continue. Maybe it was time I would say something about it. To tell her story.

"She volunteered to go on a mission for us. To check out the next plans of Hybern. Of Amarantha. She knew that there was going to be a possibility of dying from the moment she volunteered, but decided it was best to not tell us." I started. "She knew that if I knew about it, if Rhys knew about it, we would offer to go ourselfs. But still she decided to go. When the bond closed off I got so worried. At one point I stopped feeling her."

"We got a message from the Hewn City the next day that there had been a body found on their doorsteps. We immediately went to look." I swallowed hard. "I will never forget what I saw." I decided to spare Feyre the details.

I had to blink back the tears at remembering the memories of all those yours ago.

"I'm sorry that happened to you Azriel." Feyre spoke softly.

I sniffed. "Not only to me. She was important to all of us. To many people in this court." I said. "She would've loved you." I smiled at Feyre.

Feyre's face lit up at my words.

Rhys raised his glass. "To our beloved friend." Everyone raised their glasses.

The rest of the night was spent talking about her. Everyone shared their favorite stories about her.

It was late when I finally retreated to my room again. My mind kept wandering to her. I kept twisting the ring around my finger until the weight of sleep took over.

I could've sworn I saw a star shine extra brightly into my room.

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst

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jeannineee · 1 year

Text

Closure (Ⅱ)

Azriel x Reader

a/n: part two is here :) comment if you want to be added to the taglist in part 3. Quickly edited!!

PART ONE

PART THREE

warnings: angst, slight hints at depression, smut (18+ please)

“If you’re not going to eat your bacon…” Cassian trailed off, eyeing your half-eaten breakfast.

You slid your plate across the table. “Have at it.”

Mor swatted the back of Cassian’s head as he devoured the food you gave him, a scowl on her face. “She needs to eat, dumbass.”

Cassian spoke with his mouth full, “She was finished!”

“I was finished, Mor,” you interjected, rising from the table. “I’ll be in my study.”

“You’ve been in there a lot, lately,” Cassian said, with Mor shooting him a condescending glare in response.

“I’ve been busy,” you lied smoothly. “I’ve a lot to prepare, especially with the visit to the Hewn City happening tomorrow.”

Something like concern shone in the pair’s eyes, but they both knew better than to speak of it. Cassian refocused his attention to the plate before him as Mor nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You didn’t so much as glance over you shoulder as you made your way to your study. You shut the wooden door after entering, refusing to look in the mirror to your right. You were almost certain of what your reflection would look like, anyway.

Azriel hadn’t spoken to you in almost two weeks. Not a single word, after the night you told him about wanting to end your…whatever situation you had going on with him.

Mother above, you missed him. It wasn’t the sex that you missed, as good as it was. You missed him. You missed his presence, his conversation.

Azriel wasn’t quite ignoring you, but he wasn’t going out of his way to speak to you, either. When it came to Elain, however, he was more than happy to drop everything for her.

You knew you shouldn’t be jealous. Azriel wasn’t yours, nor were you his. But each time he approached Elain, rage boiled through you, so unrelenting you often had to walk away for fear of what you’d do to her.

You could thank the mating bond for that.

Based on his behavior, you were almost certain that Azriel hadn’t felt the bond yet. Or perhaps he had, and chose to ignore it.

Or maybe he didn’t want to be your mate?

Or perhaps he’d never feel the bond, and you’d never know the answer to that question.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hewn City hadn’t changed from your last visit.

Rhys and Feyre stood perched on the throne, overlooking the crowd. Some danced, some conversed, while others outright stared at the High Lord and Lady, and their Inner Circle—likely in fear.

As they should.

You’d joined Rhysand’s inner circle almost three hundred years ago. You were no stranger to the doings of the Court of Nightmares. Still, every visit had you itching to return home to Velaris.

You leaned against one of the columns towards the back of the throne room, unable to hide your lack of interest. Mor and Cassian were lost to the crowd, and Azriel was…you didn’t know where he was.

Sighing in boredom, you picked at the fabric of your dress—which, in truth, left little to the imagination. Such was normal in the Court of Nightmares.

As if in response to your previous thoughts, the bond in your chest roared to life as the spymaster approached you, his blue siphons gleaming, wings tucked in tightly.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Azriel said, voice dripping with sarcasm as his shadows swirled around the two of you.

You scoffed. “That’s all you have to say to me? Two weeks without so much as a ‘hello,’ and that’s the first thing you say?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, and you bit the inside of your cheek as his annoyance flooded through the bond.

“I’ve been busy.”

“With Elain,” you snapped, too angry to rein in your jealousy. “How’s her garden coming along?”

“Why do you care about Elain?”

“Because she’s taking all of your time.”

“You aren’t entitled to any of my time,” Azriel spat, more pissed off than you’d ever seen him.

The words stung, but they were true. You took a step back, trying to ignore the tears stinging your eyes. Azriel took notice, his expression immediately softening.

“I didn’t mean that, y/n.”

You ignored him, instead leaving the throne room, heading out into the empty hall. Azriel was quick to follow, grabbing your arm, and whirling you around to face him as he said, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you replied, pulling away from his grasp, and continuing down the hall. “Your…relationship with Elain is none of my business. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Don’t do that,” Azriel said, closely following behind.

“Do what?” You kept your gaze trained ahead as you stalked down the hall, eyes burning.

“Don’t act like it doesn’t affect you.”

“It doesn’t affect me.”

Azriel grabbed you again, pulling you from the hall, into an empty study. “I see how you look at Elain.”

Your breath stopped short in your lungs. Your surprised eddied into hurt. “Don’t be mean, Azriel.” The words sounded childish; weak as they left you. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not trying to be mean—“

“Then stop mentioning Elain. I know how you feel about her, and you obviously know how I feel about her. I don’t need you to rub salt in the wound.”

Azriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You said there’d be no strings attached.”

“You created that rule.”

“And you agreed.”

“What do you want, Azriel?” You were frustrated. Hurt. But most of all, you were tired.

Azriel blinked—the most surprise he’d ever show. “I want to know what you have against Elain. Why do you dislike her so much?”

“I don’t dislike her.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Azriel answered, taking a step toward you.

There was that word again. That word that carved your heart out each time he said it.

Friend.

“Why do you dislike her?” Azriel pressed again, close enough now that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

“Because you’re in love with her!”

Azriel froze.

Your shoulders dropped, the tears you’d so desperately tried to stave away now streaming down your face. “Y-You’re in love with her. And I can’t—I can’t stand it.”

Azriel only stared. And stared. You’d never seen the Shadowsinger in such a state—in shock.

“Say something,” you breathed, wiping at the tears on your cheeks. “Please.”

Please. Such a pitiful word. Weak. Childish.

Azriel opened his mouth, as if to respond. Instead, he rushed forward, pressing his lips to yours. He brought one hand to the nape of your neck, the other to the small of your back, deepening the kiss.

You melted into his touch on instinct, cursing yourself for the small whimpers that escaped you as his tongue explored your mouth.

Azriel backed you into the wall, attaching his lips to your jaw, your neck. Your hands trailed down his chest, his stomach, before stopping at the waist of his leathers, working to undo the buckles.

It took little time for you to free his length from the confines of his leathers. He groaned into your mouth as you stroked him, the sound heightening your arousal.

Azriel lifted you against the wall, and you wrapped your legs around him. His eyes met yours, and as he slid into you, you decided you could die like this. You could learn to accept having some of him. Something was better than nothing.

You needed him. Needed him like air, or water.

Perhaps you should feel shame, or regret, for being so content with having only pieces of him, while Elain gets everything he has to offer.

But each thrust of his hips silenced any protest that might have come to the surface. Each murmured praise, each caress of his lips on your skin felt like a prayer that only he could answer.

And as he brought you over the edge, his name was the only word you could manage. His touch was the only thing you cared about—anchoring you to the world; a lifeline.

Your name sounded sweet as honey on his lips as Azriel found release within you. He remained connected to you as the two of you regulated your breathing, his lips still sloppily, tiredly claiming your own.

Azriel slowly eased out of you, helping you to your feet. He reverently fixed your dress, your hair, his face so soft, touch so gentle you almost wanted to cry.

Some small, insecure part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he treated Elain like this. Had he taken her to bed yet? Would he?

The thought of Elain and Azriel touching one another…your stomach churned.

“Are you alright?” Azriel asked.

“Yes.”

A pretty lie. You shouldn’t have done this.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Azriel studied you a moment longer, before relenting. “We should probably go back separately…”

As if you weren’t already seen leaving together.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Sure. Go ahead. I’ll be a few minutes.”

Azriel gave you a final once-over. He looked inclined to speak, but decided against it as he left you alone.

The bond writhed within you. It called to Azriel, urging you to go to him, to say anything, do anything.

But you stood, frozen. Unmoving.

~~~~~~~~~

You were unsure of how much time had passed before you finally made your way back to the throne room. You tried your best to shove away your encounter with Azriel—to pretend it didn’t happen.

It was near impossible, with his hazel eyes being glued to you all night. Even more so, as he glared at any male who dared to walk your way.

You told him you wanted to end things, to stop the casual sex. Yet here you were, only weeks later, spreading your legs for him again.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @1nksta1neddesk @naturakaashi @officialleehi @sirenpearldust @j-pendragonx @positivewitch @llovelydove @aria-chikage @kemillyfreitas @librafairy @bbycowboi @theotheory @cat-or-kitten @azriels-shadowsinger @anyzandy @orangecomfortfoods @stargirl1714 @bubybubsters @morrie-rose @rubygirly @woodland-mist @previousloversandmuses @valeridarkness @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @starlight-hope @venuseuripedis @tothestarsandwhateverend @illyrian-dreamer

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acotar smut #smut #female reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #Azriel angst #Azriel #angst #acotar angst

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cherryslyce · 2 years

Text

Holding Hands With Shadows | Tom Riddle

Synopsis: Being the Minister of Magic was not easy for Tom, but you are always there to keep chaos from erupting. OR, you are Tom's assistant and the babysitter of the group and Tom finally confesses.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant (sane!Tom, no Voldemort), Abraxas keeps insulting orphans, Y/N is tired (Knights of Walpurgis? More like Kids of Walpurgis)

You could almost feel the grey hairs sprouting from your head, and not even in a fun, attractive way either. It was a wonder you hadn't even thought about drafting up your letter of resignation until right now.

"Abraxas, you may not buy out that land to raise your peacocks. The Department of Care for Magical Children plan to use it for future projects."

Tom shoots you an amused look from across the room, lips quirked up into a smirk at your exasperated tone. The infuriating man was leaning back in his armchair, far too at ease, as you tried to restrain yourself from slamming your head through the table.

"Frankly, that just seems like a waste of good resources. I mean why do they need it so bad? Could they not just simply find another plot? After all, these children grew up in austere conditions, so they won't even miss it."

"Abraxas."

"Yes?"

"Get out."

"Excuse--"

"Now. Please."

The man looks over to his best friend for help, but Tom simply shrugs as if conceding that you were the one in charge.

"Fine. However, this conversation is far from over. I will see you both tonight, yes?"

"Of course. Safe travels, and please send Lady Malfoy my regards."

The man sends you a pleased nod before twirling on his heels, his cloak billowing dramatically. The door clicks shut behind him just as you drop your face into your hands.

"Stressed, darling?"

You huff and rub your forehead before answering with more bite than intended, "Perfectly fine".

The insufferable man, as unbothered as always, lets out a noise of amusement before slowly striding towards your desk. You slowly raise your head as his shadow falls over you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, fire off your best hex at me and put me out of my misery."

"Abraxas‘ dramatics has rubbed off on you, my love."

The pet name sends a shiver down your spine and you try your hardest to school your expression. You had grown up with Tom at the orphanage, which basically made you his closest confidant, friend, and ally. At times it felt like you were a breathing, judgmental diary to him.

You were privy to all that was bad and ugly in his life, so it was only right that you were by his side when he rose to power and suddenly had access to all the material goods in the world.

And to him--whatever he had, you had by extension.

Of course, you fought tooth and nail to get to where you were now, rebuking any effort Tom made to give you preferential treatment.

Everything would be fine if it weren't for your affections toward him. Growing up, he never expressed interest in pursuing a romantic relationship, he had only ever wanted to subvert the stereotypes and malice aimed at the both of you during your years at Hogwarts.

The closest thing to romance that you could associate Tom with was when he wooed Druella Rosier in sixth year with his signature smile and a kiss to her hand in order to siphon information about her father from her.

The poor girl was an inconsolable lump of misery after Tom got what he needed and tossed her aside like a used handkerchief.

Tom's always been romantically inept like that.

Your spiral of reminiscing didn't cease, not even when you and Tom showed up to Malfoy Manor for their annual ball later that night.

When would it be socially acceptable to turn tail and run?

"Assistant L/N! What a pleasure it is! Is the minister trekking about nearby?"

You spin from looking out the window and come face to face with an older man who you recognized from around the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

His vest hugged him tightly and only served to accentuate his red, puffy face.

Was he about to hit on you or try and kiss your ass so he could get acquainted with Tom?

Merlin. Did you have enough in your savings to retire yet?

"Good evening. I believe Tom is busy discussing foreign deals with Lord Greengrass."

"Ah yes, Cyrus Greengrass is quite ingenious. You and Minister Riddle were friends with him during school, yes?"

Your lip twitched at how casual he was addressing Cyrus. Cyrus would be disconcerted by the man's informality, but Abraxas would surely become vexed on his friend's behalf if he heard.

"Yes. We are childhood friends I suppose."

"Wonderful! Well I was coming to you because I'm sure you're aware that the rules for Quidditch are being tossed into the air. The Ministro di Magia in Italy is trying to--"

You started tuning him out and looked around the room for one of your friends, starting to sweat in the formal wear you had on.

Luckily, Tom caught your eye. Unfortunately, he had somehow rounded up all of your friends and they were all looking quite entertained at your expense.

"Sorry sir. If you'll excuse me, it seems that the Minister is in need of me."

Without waiting for a response, you chugged what was left in your champagne flute before practically stomping over to the circle of men.

As you neared, Tom stepped out to welcome you, encircling a hand around your waist like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"Good evening boys. Thank you for throwing me out to the wolves."

"Y/N! So I assume this would be a bad time to try and renegotiate the land you're throwing away to those orphans."

Bloody hell, he was forgetting that he was saying that in front of two orphans.

Without answering Abraxas, you turned to Tom and let out a sigh, "I'm handing in my letter of resignation tomorrow, I promise it".

The hand around your waist tightened ever so slightly and you ignored the amused looks your friends sent each other, having picked up on your little school girl crush on Tom eons ago.

Damn them.

"Now, now, don't make hasty decisions. I could simply smite Abraxas‘ peacocks and the problem would be solved."

Abraxas let out an undignified noise while Parkinson and Bulstrode snorted into their drinks. Cyrus patted Abraxas‘ shoulder in feign pity, but he knew that Tom would likely make good on his threat if you asked him to.

"I hate you all. How is it that even after all these years, I still feel like an underpaid, underappreciated nanny."

Abraxas looked offended at your words and quickly reassured you, "We love you though. Underpaid, yes. Underappreciated? Never."

Your banter with the group went on for a while longer and as the night started coming to a close, Tom steered you away from peering eyes and towards a vacant balcony.

"Are you alright, darling?"

You only nodded tiredly to the man, leaning your elbows on the railing. You rubbed your eyes as you could sense the man behind you shifting in uncertainty (which was so uncharacteristic of him that you had half the mind to pull out your wand and threaten him to tell you where the real Tom was).

A few beats of peaceful silence pass before you're jumping up at the feeling of hands coming to hug your waist, a hard chest pressing against your back.

"Tom--?"

His chin gently rested atop of your shoulder, loosening his grip slightly to give you the opportunity to push him away.

"Are you unusually more clueless nowadays or are you purposely torturing me?"

"You're going to have to elaborate. Did you accidentally kill someone or do something I would disapprove of? This affection is quite sudden."

"But you don't hate it. Quite the contrary."

"That confidence of yours is going to get you into trouble one day."

"If it's you, I don't mind the trouble."

You don't bother responding, but your silence was satisfactory enough for him.

Clearing your throat, you awkwardly move your hands to rest atop of his, patting them gently.

It felt like the world spun on its head and was reborn anew before Tom spoke again, "Marry me."

His words threw you for a loop and you sputtered a choked, "What?"

"Marry me. I mean we're practically married anyway. You flounder around and make sure the boys are okay, and I rein them in so they don't blow up the country and make me lose face."

"Yes. We are a true dynamic duo."

Your dry response has his chest rumbling in contained laughter, tilting his head and gently knocking it against your cheek.

"We're the parents of the group, haven't you noticed? Abraxas asked me a few days ago if we would end their suffering and ours by just wedding each other."

"I was not aware we were even dating."

"Dating--being partners-- would not even come close to what we are. Don't you feel the same? We are in sync in everything we do. Even hundreds of miles apart, I breathe as you breathe, my heart beats in rhythm with yours, my mind does not simply revolve around you--it is completely infused with your every essence. It is a wonder we aren't already married with three cats."

"Three cats," Tom despised cats, "But...yes, I feel the same. You know I do. I thought that...well, I thought you weren't interested in romance."

"I am interested in pursuing anything and everything with you. Only you. If you'll have me, of course."

Your laughter comes out wet and heavy, filled with relief and disbelief. You turn your gaze upward and watch as the stars blink down on you, permeated across the sky the same way love begins to flow through your veins.

"It was always you, Tom. Thank you for telling me."

Tom pulls back briefly before gently turning you around to face him.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against yours, eyes conveying a tender emotion that you've never seen until now. But now you knew, every time in the past when his eyes flickered across your face and softened, it was out of love.

"Tell me you'll marry me."

You don't give him a verbal response, but as you press your lips to his, he knows that domesticity together is all the both of you have ever needed.

"Tom...does this mean we have to make Abraxas the best man now?"

"Don't be silly, he'll give us no choice in the matter."

(And give them no choice, he did)

masterlist

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle imagine #harry potter #harry potter series #harry potter imagine #tom riddle fluff #knights of walpurgis #pureblood society #abraxas malfoy

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milliesfishes · 24 days

Note

omg you write angst so well😭😭😭 literally been sobbing while reading your latest works 😭😭😭😭😭 anyways here’s an idea: billy finally settles down with you and the two of you start a family and have a little daughter together (girl dad! billy agenda never ends!!) and right before he almost thinks he has it all the world takes you from him :(

⋆౨ৎ𝓘 𝓒𝓪𝓷 𝓖𝓸 𝓐𝓷𝔂𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓘 𝓦𝓪𝓷𝓽, 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: death, grief, illness, *angst* pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: you were the center of billy's world, and the center faded away author’s note: offering my apologies once again <3 tagging @phantomamor because they helped me come up with some of the content <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Everything was bright, the day an endless dawn that rested its rosy cheek on the glass that covered the earth and touched the spot between reality and dreams.

You felt the stirrings of that feeling as you leaned on the porch railing, hair falling over one shoulder and tickling your wrist. The wood was grainy and smooth under your palm, and you shifted from one foot to the other, dulling the ache brought on by the activities of the day. It was a happy thing, borne of the many joys present in your life.

Off in the distance, by the oak tree that sprouted thick and wide, with leaves that blocked the sun on summer afternoons, your daughter sat among the knotted roots, playing quietly by herself. You had always said Annie was born content, evident in the way she minded herself, preferring long daylight hours spent alone. It was a touching thing, how comfortable she was within the confines of her imagination.

Bootsteps thumped on the wood of the porch, the boards creaking under Billy's weight, and then a pair of warm hands were creeping around your waist like the vines that crawled up the walls of the house, pulling you in. You smiled, leaning back and finding his body less than a breath away. He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to your cheek, the gentle prickling of love lingering long after. "How's my wife?"

Five years you'd been married, and still you could hear the way he relished the word like a sweet melting on his tongue. Billy wore his ring proudly, brandishing it for all the world to see. The gunslinger feared far and wide across the south was tied down, and he was happy for it.

You had been pleasantly surprised by how well he took to domesticity after so long on the run. He'd built this house for the two of you, every nail hammered in establishing permanence. It had been a rare luxury for him before, even when you'd met. But he'd proudly given you the brass key to your new house, sweeping you into his arms to carry you over the threshold even though you'd been married for a year at that point.

Now, standing on the porch built with your husband's own hands, sheathed in his arms, you could practically feel the love he'd siphoned into every board, every wall. Billy hadn't only built you a house, he'd built a life. All those nights holding him, promising him he wasn't ruining yours had come to fruition. It had been clear when your belly had begun to swell with his child, a promise of tomorrow. And it was clear now, as you watched that little girl hum to herself under the tree that had been a mere sapling when you'd first moved in.

The first breaths of spring were opening the world up again, sunshine kissing your skin and whispering about new beginnings. It instilled a sense of hope in you, something beautiful brimming with joy. This was your favorite time of year.

"I'm good," you responded to Billy, holding one of his hands against your stomach. "Really good."

He kissed the top of your head, swaying the two of you back and forth. "Should we go inside?" Billy nosed at your neck. "Think you need a little lovin'..."

You laughed, turning around in his arms and pressing your cheek to his chest. "With Annie out here?"

"Aw, she won't come inside 'till it's past dark and we make her." You could hear his smile in his words, and you lifted your chin, tilting your head and letting your hair brush his hands on your waist.

"Hm, maybe you're right," you murmured, reaching up and playing with his collar, straightening it out.

Billy ducked his head to catch your lips in a brief, tender kiss. He pecked your lips once after. "Just make sure to be quiet."

"I'm not the one who-oh-!" Suddenly you were being hauled up, lifted to hang over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He laughed quietly, not wanting to disturb Annie out in the distance, carrying you through the door of the house and shutting it gently. Your hair obstructed your view, and you parted the silky curtain when he bent, setting you down on your feet and grabbing your hand.

"C'mon, pretty-" Billy paused, looking at you and squeezing your palm. "Baby? You okay?"

You were frozen, eyes wide with a sudden realization of the happenings within you. Your skin was icy hot, a blizzard and a wildfire blended into a raging storm that ravaged at your chest. It tore into your bones, filled them with a cloud of dread. Something's wrong.

Billy came closer, blue eyes struck with concern as he searched yours. "Sweetheart...what-?"

Your knees buckled, weakness spreading in a swarm that enveloped your body. Now you were tumbling, poised to hit the ground before Billy's arms caught you, his voice speaking your name over and over like a prayer. "Honey...what's wrong?"

No words found you, only blackness.

The doctor was summoned quicker than Billy thought possible, and he thanked the heavens above for the man's swiftness. You insisted he stay with Annie while you were being examined, and he suspected it was for his own sake as well as your daughter's.

Annie was quiet, staring at the door you were behind. It felt ominous in that moment, and he tore his eyes from the sight. His knee was bouncing, heel of his boot tapping the floor over and over. The voices in your room were muffled, and Billy wished he hadn't listened to you.

The sun was setting now, smearing a palette of color across the sky and shadowing the clouds in hues of orange and pink. He ran a tired hand through his hair, weary already from whatever news awaited.

He reached wordlessly for his daughter, and she crawled into his lap, head resting against his chest. Billy didn't know what to say to her, and so he chose silence. He was grateful for her old-soul tendencies, but also wished she was still naive enough that she was oblivious. More than anything he wanted Annie to be able to be a kid, to be able to forget her mother's distress and go out to play.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. The way you had collapsed so suddenly worried him beyond belief. That was the way it had all started with his mother. And now she was no more than a shadow, a memory haunting him.

When the door opened, he shooed those thoughts from his mind, standing and lifting Annie to sit on his hip. The doctor appeared, bag in hand, expression grim. He nodded once at Billy, gesturing to the room. "We'll talk in a minute."

Billy offered half a nod before rushing in to you, Annie in his arms. The sight of you nearly stopped him in his tracks. Paler than a ghost, nearly the color of the sheets you laid atop.

When you noticed them, a sweet smile brightened your face, and you reached out, beckoning. "Annie."

He set his daughter down, and she ran to you, burying her face in your chest. You hugged her tight, kissing the top of her head. "Sweet girl. Are you okay?"

Annie mumbled something Billy couldn't make out. He was still, like a statue caught in time's grip.

Nothing was going to be the same. He had that thought over and over in the next few weeks.

It was a symphony of the same scenes over and over again. Your illness took hold of you, settled into your bones and became all that had been you. That version of you was replaced with a feverish imposter, weaker than a newborn foal. You still laughed often, but it was a dull, raspy sound that panged at Billy's heart.

He clung to hope that somehow you would pull out of it. That by the grace of a miracle one day he would wake up, and you'd be looking back at him, saying you felt better.

The opposite persisted. Every time you awoke in the throes of a fever, tossing and turning until he wound his arms around you, he felt you slipping away. It pounded at his chest, an awful realization he ignored in the hopes that it would prove wrong. He shut it out, hiding his face in your hair, holding on tight and wishing, praying, pleading.

You seemed oblivious to it, though you were feeble and listless most days. Still, you smiled, hugged your daughter, kissed him. You were bedridden, but still your spirits were high as the heavens. Even now, as you read quietly beside him, thumbing through the little book with the red cover you so adored, he swore he saw glimpses of you before the sickness that had eaten away at your being.

Billy was absentmindedly stroking your side, lost in thought. He kissed your temple. "Why don'tcha rest for a bit, sweetheart? You can read more when you're better."

He reached his hand out for the book, and you waited a moment before handing it over, letting him set it on your nightstand beside the vase of dried flowers, petals withering away. They had been a gift from Annie, picked in the field not too far from the oak tree.

You settled limply against his chest, fingers rubbing up and down his stomach softly. Your quiet spoke magnitudes, things Billy wasn't sure he was ready to hear.

"I'm not going to get better," you whispered, though the quiet did nothing to dull the sting your words ensued. He felt a tide of panic begin to crash, and immediately ran the other way.

"Shh, don't say that," he murmured, squeezing your shoulder. "You'll be better in no time. Just needa rest, baby."

"Billy-" you sat up, lifting your head from his chest. He tried to pull you back down, but you shook your head. "We need to talk about this."

"No. No." Billy looked away, dread crawling over his insides. He felt as though he were in the middle of an ocean, waiting for it to swallow him up. "You have to get better. I need you-"

"You're going to be okay," you promised, taking his face in your hands and turning it back to you. "It's gonna be okay."

He was struggling for air. "It can't...I can't...how am I supposed to do a damn thing without you? I can't..." Tears were pricking at his eyes, threatening to spill over. "Baby..."

"I need you to be there for Annie. She'll have questions," you murmured, making sure he was looking at you. "She's gonna need you."

"I need you," he whispered, arms tightening around you. "I can't do this without you. I can't raise her. I-" Billy swallowed thickly. "I can't live without you."

"You still have me," you said softly, and he could see tears in your own eyes now. "You have Annie. She is me. She's got all the good parts of both of us, none of the bad."

"There were never any bad parts of you," Billy breathed, and you took in a breath, smiling in a bittersweet way.

"Promise me you'll be there for her," you said, voice firm despite your gentle hold. "Please."

"I promise," he managed, biting the side of his cheek. "Baby-" An unborn cry cut him off, and he looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. Everything he'd tried to avoid had him pinned down now, shaking his shoulders and screaming at him to wake up.

You took in a breath, pulling him closer, down so his head was on your chest. He clung to you, feeling like a child. Your fingers stroked his hair, delicately roving through his curls in an attempt to soothe. Billy only let himself cry then, tears soaking the front of your nightdress. You breathed, "Oh, Billy," and he fisted your bodice, trying not to imagine what things would be like if you were no longer here.

When you were no longer here.

He wasn't ready. How can anybody ever be ready?

Grief hunted him down, made him miss you before he was gone. It stripped the skin from his bones, buried itself into his being and filled the spot where you were. He couldn't remember how it had felt before.

You were slipping away too quickly, and he was grasping for you, milking every second he was allowed. This was a familiar notion- he'd known it before, so he'd thought. But it was different now. You were a new love, one he'd embraced wholeheartedly. He'd given up everything to be with you and done it gladly. You were the center of the life he'd built so far from the land of outlaws and wanted posters. You were epitome of everything good and pure in the world.

Had his sins truly been so unforgivable that you were now being taken from him? Was he so far from absolvable? Billy had repented with every second since he'd met you, knowing that men who kept doing bad things didn't get to keep women like you. It had all been for naught now, because you were turning into memory.

"Give Daddy extra love, okay?" you whispered to Annie, holding her in a tight hug despite your growing weakness. "He's gonna be sad for a while. Can you give him love for me?"

Annie nodded, and you kissed her forehead, squeezing her to your side one last time. You said one last soft thing to her, and she nodded, leaving your side and shutting the door behind her when she went into the other room.

When she was gone, you gave him a tired smile, one that told him everything he needed to know. Billy crawled in beside you, pulling you to lean against his chest. He felt tears wet his shirt, unsure if they were yours or his.

"I don't want to die," you whispered, the pain in your voice making him want to sink into the earth.

Billy squeezed you, tears raining into your hair. "I know. I know, angel."

"I don't want to leave you." Your hand found his, winding fingers together and clenching.

He felt the lonely rise of grief's dull ache seize him again. "I know, angel." Billy's lips parted, something he both wanted and didn't want to say lingering between them. It escaped before he could think further. "Just rest. We're...we're gonna be okay. You can sleep now. I'll hold you the whole time."

"Billy-" you were grasping, breathing faint. He could see life draining from you, your body growing heavy.

"Shh," he whispered, tears like rivers down his cheeks. He brushed them aside, sitting up and pulling you into his lap, so your head was resting against his shoulder. He was still in one piece, strong for you as he rocked you steadily, holding you tight. Love...that was what you needed right now. To know you were loved.

He wouldn't fall apart yet. Not when you were still here for now, clinging to him and holding on for every moment you could squeeze out. Billy leaned down and kissed you tenderly, trying to convey every bit of what had always been yours. His heart. "I love you."

Your body relaxed, and sunbeams spotlit the floor through the windows. He could hear birds outside, singing their merry tunes. It was the birth of summer, the sister of spring. Your essence alone existed in these few months, and it would echo at him for the rest of his days.

Billy held you close as your expression grew peaceful. The veil separating life and death was thin, and you were answering its call. He whispered over and over like a mantra. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Your body went still.

And now he fell apart.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x you #william h bonney x reader #billy the kid 2022 #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x you #billy bonney #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #tom blyth x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney imagine #william bonney #tom blyth #milliesfishes billy

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rae2velarisart · 5 months

Text

Azriel's ongoing theme is to find...

PEACE. WITHIN AND AROUND HIM

To realize that he is:

Worthy of love

Loved by his family for WHO he is as a person

Not defined by his traumatic past and actions

Allowed to fight for who or what he wants

This male has been:

Locked up in a cell for ELEVEN years by his stepmother, only being let out an hour a day and an hour a WEEK to see his mother

Burned ruthlessly by his half brothers at the age of eight, resulting in burns on his hands that didn't fully heal, leaving scars (which he's STILL extremely self-conscious about after 500 years)

Surrounded by darkness and shadows for years without sunlight as a child

Forbidden to train and fly while he lived with his father, something that's taught to Illyarians as a BABY

Shipped off to an Illyarian camp when his father found out he was a shadowsinger

Mocked as a bastard child alongside Rhys and Cassian

Hated by the Illyarians for his immense power due to being a bastard child (Illyarians valued patricharcy more than anything)

Separated from his friends for seven years during the war. (Rhys' father was FEARFUL of the bat boys being together because of their power)

Assigned as the spymaster by Rhys' father and was forced to do all his dirty work (we don't know what ALL Rhys' father made Azriel do during the war, and he was a ruthless male)

Pinning over Mor for over 500 years, even finding out Cassian slept with her

Thinking he is only of value to his friends for his work as a spymaster

Almost killed twice (once when trying to save Elain from Hybern and second when he was pierced by an ash arrow)

Finally able to move on from Mor, finding solace and peace with Elain (who is interested in him as well) only to be ordered to stay away from her due to Lucien being her mate ( even though she doesn’t show interest in Lucien)

Azriel needs some all-around PEACE in his life.

What about a love interest?

The fandom seems to debate on this topic, but one thing for sure is that he doesn't need to be "challenged" by someone... Where do we even see THAT being anywhere in the books?

Here's what we are shown...

1. Where do we find him most at peace/relaxed?

With Elain

Even Feyre states that Elain would find PEACE and QUIET with Azriel... and liked the idea...

2. Who do we find Azriel's focus on?

Elain

3. Where do we find the IC being the most surprised by Azriels reactions/actions?

With Elain

4. Who does Azriel ALWAYS try to beat Feyre to greet/assist?

Elain

5. Who does Azriel always volunteer to help?

(Omg I hit my limit with photos 🤣)

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

Elain

6. Who stills Azriel's razor-sharp thoughts?

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike."....

Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?"

His head went quiet.

Elain

7. Who was Azriel willing to give up his LIFE to save?

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Elain

8. Who openly accepts Azriel's scars, one of his BIGGEST insecurities?

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks,

Elain

9. Who actually SEES him and notices his needs?

“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” Silence. Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.” Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

Elain

10. Who is Azriel thinking about every night?

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make

Elain

11. Who does Azriel want to kiss and have a lovely pussy eating feast on?

Wrong -- it was so wrong.

He didn't care.

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --

Elain

ELAIN IS THE ANSWER TO HIS PEACE...

TO HELPING HIM FIND PEACE WITHIN AND AROUND HIM.

#elain acotar #elain archeron #elriel #elain x azriel #azriel #elriel supremacy #azriel acotar #pro elriel #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acosf

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evilminji · 4 months

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Okay it's been BUGGING ME...

Because it's been years n I've never seen it used?

Let's say you're Reincarnated as an Uchiha. Le Fuck ™. WELL'P, you're fuckin doomed, ain't cha? But WAIT! You think. You DONT want to die!

What can you do?

You don't stand a chance IN HELL against Super Ninjas!

You KNOW WHAT YOU DO? What you should FUCKIN DO?

Don't BE THERE.

In FACT? Be SO FAR Not There, that there is NO WAY IN HELL they could possibly REACH you! Ever! Even a LITTLE BIT. Not even the HOKAGE could! Not ALL THE NIN IN LEAF!

You know where that IS?

The👏 God👏 Damned👏 Summons👏 Realm👏!

Good FUCKING LUCK stabbing you THERE motherfuckers! You packed a BAG. You brought RATIONS. Today is the day you CAMP OUT FOR A WEEK. Are your potential Summons impressed by you squatting on their lawn? Irrelevant. Fuck off, maybe!

You explain the situation and ask they not be a dick about it.

Yeah, a contract would be nice! But LIVING is better. Lend you their lawn! In FACT, what's it gonna take to immigrate? I'ma stay until it become physically hazardous to my health! FUCK ninja perma-wars!

And if they DO have to send you back? Can they send you back somewhere OTHER then where you originally stood?

PLUS!

Reverse Summons!

The "Fuck This", get out of stabbings, free card! Can your Summons reverse Summons JUST themselves or can they take other people? Say, small people? Like kids. If you sprinkle your Summons across the Uchiha youth, secretly or otherwise, when murder time comes? Can you just...

NOPE™

And fuck off with like? 50+ kids to the Summons Realm? Yeah, it's an energy debt you'd have to pay BACK to your Summons, but what Animal Spirit is cool with the butchery of kids? Take it. You'll siphon all your Chakra too um each day every day for the rest of your life if you gotta. Live like a farmer.

Frankly you'd prefer it.

Just?

There is a set a hand signs that has a One Shot Guaranteed "Removes You From Situation" Move? And no one USES IT! Yeah, it's ALSO dangerous. But against certain death? Why NOT use the Dangerous Maybe Death Jutsu?

#naruto summons #naruto #summons #minji's rantings

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eliteseven · 6 months

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Soft Shadowheart x Tav Cottage-core Hc’s

These are specifically brainstorming hc’s for my fics (ft. Human/ex-noble Tav) but I feel like most of them are general enough:

*potential for spoilers, obvs

Tav has a really good relationship with Arnell and Emmeline. I think Shadowheart was already in love with her by the time they rescued her parents, but seeing Tav interacting with them makes her fall all over again. Tav is extra gentle w Emmeline and never lets her or Arnell do too much labor around the grounds. Idk this is just very important to me

Before they find the cottage, Tav scouts ahead while Shadowheart cares for her parents in the city.

Tav buys a mount just so Shadowheart’s parents can make the trip out to the cottage they want to renovate.

Tav camps outside at nights and offers the warmest (and only indoor) space to Shadowheart’s parents while they build up the rest of the cottage. Naturally, Shadowheart is incredibly endeared by this and camps out with her :) it’s just like old times for them

Shadowheart taking lazy cat naps in the sun (with her cats!) on Tav’s lap on the sunnier, warmer days.

It is only suitable that they be in close proximity to a lake for nightly “swimming lessons”.

Shadowheart LOVES PDA. She feels she has squandered so much of her life, plus Tav is a human and she only has so much time to spend with her- so yeah Shadowheart is all over that!! All the time! Stealing kisses from Tav while they work in the garden, slipping her hands into Tav’s back pocket, yanking Tav behind the barn and Tav stumbling out with kiss marks all over her face lol. (And trips to the city!! Shart is 100% on go mode anywhere)

Tav was raised a “proper lady” noble and she SQUIRMS bc she does not want to get caught absolutely devouring Shadowheart in front of her parents! Shadowheart knows this and takes the utmost joy in making Tav uncomfortable like that (affectionately)

When they get around to decorating, Shadowheart realizes she’s never had a space of her own in the cloister (aside from her tent when she travels)! I think she takes a lot of joy in self discovery. Exploring what she likes, realizing she’s so into color and vibrance after so many monotonous years. She also likes the domesticity of just…seeing her items next to Tav’s atop the dresser, or their shared garments in the wardrobe. She can’t remember the last time anywhere ever felt like home.

Tav regularly wakes up to the last remnants of her body heat being siphoned away by Shadowheart, Buttons, some of their cats, and any of the other animals they care for. Sometimes she also cannot breathe bc her gf’s hair is splayed out (and Shadowheart has looooong hair) all over her face. It brings her immeasurable joy and she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Shadowheart tastes Emmeline’s apple and plum pie and it brings back strong memories of childhood, so Tav takes it upon herself to get all kinds of recipes from Emmeline. In her spare time, she tries to surprise Shadowheart with them. Sometimes they prompt memories, sometimes they taste awful and they laugh so hard they make new memories 💕

Shadowheart’s mark eases up, but once in a while it causes her flashes of pain. If it occurs at night, Tav refuses to sleep. Moonlit walks, curling up by the fire, anything to keep Shadowheart’s mind off it, depending on how much pain she’s in. But the best distraction is usually between the sheets tbh. Shar whom??

Tav regularly beefs with that squirrel. She swears it loves Shadowheart and hates her (it does).

#just organizing my brainrot don’t mind me 🥲#shadowheart x tav #shadowheart #bg3 #nls series #my hcs #oc: Serena Tavyndír

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cressidagrey · 3 months

Text

Something good and right and real - Chapter 3

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing, Azriel has a horrible time

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

“What exactly are you doing?” Oriana finally asked after she had spent a good five minutes watching Azriel fuss at his armour.

She had first started watching because seeing the way the scars wrapped around his hand fascinated her. And then she continued to watch because, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand what he was trying to achieve.

He was keeping her company in the forge for the evening, mostly because he would be going away for a few days somewhere. She didn’t ask, he didn’t volunteer…she just hoped it wouldn’t end with him bruised and dazed sitting at her kitchen table again.

“I burned out one of my siphons. So I need to fix that,” Azriel answered, still fussing with it, until finally he managed to pop out the siphon…out of a side seam?

Now, she was interested. She watched more carefully, having realised that he had opened one of the side seams as the siphon was held in place between the two layers of leather.

It was the stupidest construction method she had ever seen.

“Why do you take apart the whole armour for that?” she asked him carefully. What was she missing?

“It’s not armour. It’s fighting leathers,” he corrected her with some amusement.

She just raised an eyebrow and he held them out for her perusal.

She took them, and one quick look made her realise that there wasn’t one bit of metal in there at all. It was all just…leather. Not even particularly thick in places. How was that supposed to stop anybody from stabbing him?

“Is there a specific reason why you don’t wear armour?” she asked him. Wouldn’t that…be much safer?

“I need to move to be able to fly,” Azriel gave back like it was crystal clear why he couldn’t possibly wear anything but this.

Still, Oriana couldn't believe that there wasn’t a way to somehow make the metal work so that it wouldn’t be too heavy for him to carry around and also not impede his movement.

That was just impossible.

She stared at the hole that held the Siphon in place, thinking back to the leather straps with a similar construction method that she had seen wrapped around his hands.

“And why do you take it apart to put a new siphon in?” she asked.

Why like that? Why not some kind of setting, where the siphon was held in place and there was a mechanism to remove it easily? A setting that didn’t mean that he spent a good 20 minutes easing it out of the place it was.

“It’s the only way to do it. It’s held in place between the layers of leather,” Azriel explained, grasping hold of the chest piece and showing her the hole.

“Is there a reason why it’s done like that?” she finally asked. “Do the siphons get hot with use so they would melt metal or…” she trailed off and he shook his head.

“No?” he responded questioningly. “This is just…how it always was,” he admitted.

Right. And because this was how it always was nobody ever thought about the idea that maybe…maybe there was another way? A better way?

Oriana’s mind was already reeling with all her ideas to improve it. This was what she used to do. She found something that already existed and then she perfected it.

“Do you have an old set of these that I can borrow?” she asked, still staring at the black leather.

She had used to do leather work, more of a hobby than anything, and she hadn’t been bad at it…if she had something that she could copy…then she had a chance.

“Why?” Azriel asked her.

“Because I am going to fix your Siphon problem,” Oriana said drily. “Or do they have some kind of religious significance that I should be aware of and trying to make them better is blasphemy?” she wondered and he snorted.

Out of thin air, suddenly the shadows dropped an old pair of fighting leathers on her workbench and she couldn’t help but grin.

“Thank you!” she sing songed. “Do you also have some old siphons I can use? Burned-out ones preferably that are still intact?” They were dropped right next to the fighting leathers moments later. “There we go,” she said pleasantly. “I’ll get back to you in 3 to 5 business days, Azriel,” she told him, already pulling the old set of fighting leather closer to herself for a new perusal.

She was going to fix this and they were going to be so much better when she was finally finished with them.

“You don’t need to do this,” Azriel finally said quietly and she looked up to find him staring at her, dark eyes earnest. “You don’t need to…” he trailed off, seemingly searching for the right words.

Right.

She still had her work cut out for her on that front.

She came back around her workbench, walking towards him who was still sitting in the chair that she had gotten him…and then sat sideways down on his lap, ignoring the soft noise of shock that he made.

She settled the dress she wore around him, as always floor length, tight around the waist, laced shut at the back.

Even when she no longer lived in the mountain, she was still…more comfortable in the fashion off the mountain than she was with the cropped tops and flowy pants of the Night Court.

Azriel said nothing as she made herself comfortable, scarcely breathing as she settled on his lap, curling one hand around the back of his neck.

“Look at me,” she murmured, waiting until hazel eyes settled on her. She took in the flecks of emeralds in the dark brown that reminded her of a smoky, dark and beautiful quartz. A thumb gently swiped over his cheekbone, holding him like he was the most precious thing in her life.“You are my mate ,” Oriana said.

“And you still don’t need to do this,” Azriel disagreed. She smiled at him, softly, leaning up to press a chaste kiss against his lips. Her necklace warmed in warning and she pulled back slightly.

“I am always going to do anything in my power to make your life easier for you,” she whispered. “I want to do this. I am going to do my damnest to keep you safe. Even when it’s the last thing I do.”

It was the most she could say right now, the most she wanted to say. She wasn’t sure if it was enough, but it was the right words because there was Azriel, his eyes bright and near golden as suddenly strong arms pulled her against him tightly, burying his face against her neck. He said nothing.

She said nothing as well, just trailed a hand through the edges of his hair and hummed softly.

Still, it made her wonder if he ever had that before. A person willing to go to the ends of the world to keep him safe. A person willing to make his job even a little bit easier. She didn’t think so, especially not if such tiny things garnered this sort of reaction.

The more puzzle pieces she collected that made Azriel who he was…the more Oriana’s temper flared.

Not at him.

Never at him. Not when he had done absolutely nothing other than thinking that she was going to turn him away again every time he turned up on her doorstep. Not when he thought that clearly, she deserved so much better than him, regardless of how ridiculous that notion was.

At all the people surrounding him who seemingly took and took from him and never thought about the consequences of their actions.

There was seemingly only her who was there to protect him when Azriel took on the world of the world on his broad shoulders and didn’t expect anybody to help him, to take some of the weight off him.

And Oriana was going to do her damnest to keep him safe.

And so, when he left for his next mission, she handed over the shop to the two females she kept hiring for a few hours then and there, and buried herself in her work.

She didn’t just do things that involved Azriel. She still needed to keep her shop stocked, though Azriel was at the forefront of her mind.

Always was. Especially with his tendrils of shadows keeping her company.

She talked to them, a non-stop commentary on her work and sometimes they answered her once again. Most of the time they stayed wrapped around her wedding necklace and out of the way as she soldered and engraved.

She wasn’t one step closer to a prototype of armour that was actually useful and not just something that would hinder his movement, but she did manage to solve the Siphon problem in less than the 3 to 5 business days she had told him.

Mostly because after she had spent a day trying to solve it the magical way and nearly signed off her eyebrows because siphon didn’t like it at all if you put magic on them that wasn’t the magic that they had been locked onto in the first place apparently…well, Oriana had solved it the mechanical way.

A holder that slid in the hold the siphon had used to sit in that the siphon then clipped onto from the outside. To open it, you needed a simple screwdriver and it would take less than 3 minutes to change it out. She knew that. She had tested it.

And as in the evenings she crawled into her bed and left her forge behind…Oriana was happy. She had missed this.

There was only so much jewellery she could make which was a challenge to her.

All the things she sold these days were not a challenge to her anymore.

But having a problem and figuring that out… made her fingers itch to go back for more.

And so she did.

The longer she spent in her forge, the happier she was, giddy with excitement, her brain flowing over with ideas upon ideas of other things to make, to create, to enchant, to learn and to work…

She couldn’t even remember the last she had felt like that.

She was in a good mood when Azriel suddenly stepped out of the shadows a few days later, even when she nearly lost control of the flames that danced in her hands as she finished with the pieces she had been working on.

She looked up, decided that she was jealous of his shadow-travelling abilities and then pushed up her magnifying glasses into her hair, only to hop off from her stool and happily throw herself at Azriel who caught her with a surprised oomph.

“You are in a good mood,” he told her with a laugh, the sound one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard.

Oriana grinned wildly at him.

“I spent all my time in my forge, I solved your Siphon problem, I still have no clue about armour, and I need to do some research, but it was so much fun!” she told him excitedly, as he leaned down to press a kiss against her unresisting lips.

“Want to show me?” he asked her and her grin widened.

She got to show off her new toys to somebody willing to listen to her ramble on? Perfect.

He did watch her new Siphon mechanism with the kind of intense focus that she had gotten used to from him, fingers carefully probing the edges and listening to her.

“Test it in training. Tell me if you have any problems that I need to iron out. I’ll fix it and then we go again,” she told him as she pressed them into his hands.

“You are remarkable, Oriana,” Azriel said quietly and she couldn’t help but blush.

“Well, thanks on remarking on it,” she quipped but pressed his hand in thanks. “And now as you have listened to me ramble on and on, what’s new in your life?”

He snorted in amusement at that segway.

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?” he asked her and she stared at him.

“No?” she answered. “Penelope has the shop in hand for the day…she can lock it up too, if…we have somewhere to be?” she told him questioningly and he nodded.

“I want you to learn to defend yourself,” Azriel told her earnestly.

He looked like he was getting ready for an argument but Oriana was really not holding out to argue with him, right now when she just got him back. And really, how bad could it possibly be?

“Alright,” she agreed and he looked so taken aback by her agreement that she couldn’t help but laugh at his dumbstruck expression. “What, did you expect me to complain?” she teased him.

“You keep surprising me,” he muttered under his breath. “I should be getting used to it now.”

“I’ll keep you on your toes,” Oriana corrected him brightly. “And if me learning to defend myself gives you any kind of peace…then I’ll do it,” she promised.

It was such a small thing for her to give him. She could spend a few hours a week trying to learn it. What was the worst that could happen?

The last thing she had expected was for him to suddenly push her back against her workbench or the way his hungry mouth descended on her…but Oriana was nothing if not highly adaptable. Hey, her mate wanted to make out with her, she was on board with that .

Especially if that meant that she could bury her hands in his wavy curls and keep him as close to her as possible, as his tongue hungrily licked into her mouth and she moaned in response.

The necklace of her throat warmed up, heated up to something that would have burned another person and for her was nothing more than a nuisance. (She really needed to figure out how to deal with it.)

Still, she pushed it out of her mind, because she was going to do her best to enjoy that lovely kiss, to feel Azriel wrapped around her, and even ignore the way her workbench was biting into her hip. After all, it meant that he was still keeping her cornered against it, broad chest and arms casing her in.

He pulled back a moment later, pupils blown wide, breathing hard.

“I…sorry,” he apologised, his voice hoarse.

Oriana wasn’t having that.

“Don’t. It’s all good,” she told him fiercely, pressing another peck on his lips.

“I still have both my arms,” he said nearly wonderingly and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Definitely not complaining,” she promised him. (Note to herself: Fix that stupid necklace.)

He stepped back and she let him go, even when there was heat knotting low in her belly in a way that she…couldn’t even remember.

Azriel cleared his throat.

“I brought these for you,” he told her, holding out a a pair of knives that were very much not the ornamental, gem-studded ones that she made.

These were far more practical. “I know you can make your own, but these are a bit more practical than your works of art,” he explained, reaching out for her hands and placing one of them into them. He mustered it for a moment, changing her grip until she held them in a way that he judged to be right. “They should be lightweight enough for your hands. Looks about right for size,” he murmured under his breath.

“Am I supposed to throw these?” she asked him finally and he shook his head.

“No. Stab people, yes,” he told her seriously. He said that like that was fully something he expected in her future and she wanted to grimace at that. Her people kept out of fighting and wars out of principle. “We’ll practice, of course,” he added.

That was probably for the best. Just so that she didn’t accidentally stab herself.

“Alright,” she agreed. “…So where do you want to practice?“ Oriana asked him. “I don’t think the forge is a good space for it.“

It was probably. going to mess up her careful organisation that only she understood. And she would much rather not fall into her own fire. She would be fine, but her clothing wouldn’t. And she liked the dress she wore.

“It’s definitely not. Not enough room,” Azriel agreed. “So…how do you feel about flying?” he asked her, a hesitant smile on his face.

Oh.

Oh, yes.

“Well, I am willing to try anything once,” she finally said. Did that mean that she was finally going to see his wings in all their glory?

“Do you have anything to wear that’s not a gown?” Azriel asked her and she stared at him.

“Well, will somebody that wants to hurt me allow me the time to change my clothing?” she gave back drily. “Shouldn’t I train in the clothing that I would most likely wear when I need to use my newfound fighting abilities?”

She much preferred gowns over trousers.

“You are right,” he agreed and she shrugged.

“I often am,” she quipped. “So, do we need to go on the roof or something?”

They did not need to go on the roof. They did find themselves in her stamp-sized backyard though, and the wings unfurled off his back with one single stroke.

They were bigger than she thought they would be. That was her first thought. They were massive . They reminded her of a bat, with their black colour, though it seemingly shifted through a dark rainbow as the spring sun shone through them, shoving every vein. They were tipped with claws, so sharp that it seemed like he had honed them like she had seen him do with his blades.

It was…beautiful.

She couldn’t help the shocked sound that escaped her.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered, still staring at them. They shifted again, nearly like they had a mind of their own as Azriel held out a hand for her and she took it, because what else was she supposed to do?

He pulled her closer to him.

“You need to hold onto me. I won’t let you fall,” he promised her. She swallowed.

It had seemed great in theory. In practice, it scared the shit out of her to be completely honest.

“You have done this before, right?” she asked hesitantly and she could nearly feel the amusement rolling from him in waves.

“Yes,” he promised her. “I swear, you’ll be perfectly safe,” he told her. “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

“Alright,” she agreed, carefully holding onto the back of his neck with both hands as he leaned down slightly to hoist her up like she weighed nothing at all.

And then, with one mighty flap of these enormous wings, they were airborne.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The noise that she made when he launched them into the sky was something between a squawk and a whimper, her hands clawing themselves into his leathers, and she kept her eyes tightly closed.

He did his best to keep his movement as even as he could, easily adjusting to the extra weight that he was carrying.

“Are you alright?” he asked her when they had finally reached a proper height and he turned towards the mountains and the forest. He had a clearing in mind for their training, somewhere where there would be more than enough space for them to move around freely.

“I think I just realised that I am terrified of heights,” Oriana admitted and he bit back a laugh, feeling the wind whip around them. “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” Oriana complained.“Leave me alone, I was literally born underground.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologised but couldn’t help against the laugh bubbling up inside him.

Every time he was with her, he felt so much lighter. Like all the weight in the world had been taken off his shoulders. Something in Oriana made him feel invincible.

She still kept her eyes closed, her lips tightly pressed together. “I am not going to let you plummet to your death,” he promised her instead.

He wasn’t. And there was a part of him that wanted Oriana to love flying as much as he did. Love the feeling of freedom that it brought, the wind that was whipping around them, the sigh of Velaris beneath them.

“I trust you, I don’t trust my stomach,” Oriana shot back.

“Come one, just one look,” he cajoled her. She blinked open one eye, staring over his shoulder.

Her stomach held strong and he relaxed as he felt her muscles stop being quite as locked up as they had been. “Sometimes I forget how beautiful Velaris is,” she said softly, the muscles that held her close to him relaxing a tiny bit. He chalked that up as a win as he circled the forest until he started a slow descent that brought her to cling to him tighter once again.

He took more care to land than he would have if it was just him, making sure that she wasn’t jostled all too much and then slowed to a stop right there in the middle of this clearing.

It was just at the edges of the land belonging to his house and there was a reason for that. If something went wrong, he would only need to push Priana over the ward boundaries he had set and she would be as safe as he could manage.

“Alright?” he asked her and she hummed.

“I’ll get used to it,” she murmured and he couldn’t help a grin, because that wasn’t a I am never going to do this again, you lunatic.

He let her down to stand on her own two feet, even when he would have gladly kept holding on to her for longer.

“So, you promised me to show how to stab somebody?” she asked him and he couldn’t help but grow serious.

He wished that he didn’t need to teach her that. But he wasn’t stupid. And he was very much aware that Oriana was the biggest weakness anybody could exploit. He would lay waste to an entire world to protect her.

“We’ll start with the most important thing,” he told her and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t stab myself?” she suggested and he snorted.

“That’s a given,” he gave back. “Balance. You don’t want to be knocked off kilter.”

He demonstrated the way every Illyrian boy was taught so that he could move in any direction immediately and easily.

Slightly bent knees, ready to be attacked at a moment's notice. Keep on your feet, because if you don’t, you are dead.

Oriana watched him, moving slightly. It was hard to tell if she had the stance right, especially with her swathed in the long dresses she tended to favour. They were modest to a fault, with a high neckline, and sleeves that always at least reached her elbows, leaving her hands and forearms free, because otherwise, she was going to accidentally set them on fire while working in the forge. Swishing along the floor at the wide hem.

Still, this would be easier, if she wasn’t wearing them.

His brain came to a screeching halt.

If she was wearing trousers .

Trousers. Not…not nothing at all, that wasn’t what…

Yeah, that was exactly what had been engraved into his mind now and he swallowed against the sudden stab of arousal.

“Azriel?” Oriana prodded, staring at him.

“If you stand like this, you can move easily,” he said calmly, his voice not betraying everything that he had thought about just moments before.

She moved a step to the left, then to the right, a hand tucking up her skirts so that he could see the surprisingly sensible and sturdy leather boots that she wore on her feet.

He opened his mouth to correct her, but she already moved her feet exactly like he would have corrected her.

“Oh, it’s like dancing!” she exclaimed happily. He blinked.

Well, he supposed, it was…not that different?

“You like dancing?” he asked her dumbly.

Oriana nodded, a fond smile taking over her face. “I do. In the mountain, we used to dance every evening after dinner. I miss that,” she said softly. “One of the few things that I miss from there.”

“What don’t you miss?” he couldn’t help but ask. He was still hoarding every bit of knowledge he got to have about her and feeling horrible that he couldn’t get his mouth open to tell her much if anything about himself. It was like…there was a block there that he could do nothing against.

“The fact that you are surrounded with the same people day in and day out. I was my mother’s daughter and that brought with it some…courtly duties of sorts. There wasn't really much to do other than being in the forge and dancing after dinner,” Oriana said with a shrug. “In Velaris…I can go out and about as I please and nobody gives me a second look.”

He could understand that.

“So I move like that?” she asked him and he nodded.

“Yes. Try to keep the distance between us the same,” he told her. Oriana frowned, brow furrowing in concentration.

He stepped forward, and she stepped back, easily keeping her balance.

And so they continued. He was surprised at how quickly she caught onto it, and that she had a surprising amount of stamina but then he supposed, she spent her days in the forge, using a surprising amount of magic and strength to bend metal to her will.

“Alright. Good job,” he said, her cheeks growing pink. He held out one of the knives he had bought for her and she palmed it carefully. He reached out to correct her grip so that it wouldn’t go flying the first time she moved faster. “Try to get used to the weight.” She nodded.��

They picked it up again.

The knife didn’t seem to match her, not when he had seen the kind of knives she made. Deadly works of art. just like the hairpins she had made. Nesta had gotten a kick out of them.

These weren’t the prettiest knives he could have picked out, he had bought a lovely one set with ruby and given it to Morrigan, mostly because he had felt horrible that he had given Feyre and Nesta both gifts and hadn’t given one of his oldest friends one.

He called an end to that round of practice quite quickly.

“Good. Now try to stab me,” he told her and Oriana stared at him.

“Excuse me?” she asked him.

“Try to stab me,” he repeated.

“This is life steel. What if I hurt you?” she asked him and he bit back a smile.

“You won’t,” he assured her.

“How could you possibly be sure?” Oriana said, crossing her arms. “I could have beginner’s luck! I don’t want you to bleed out!”

He considered that. “Fine.” He held out a sheath for the knife. “Put the sheath on, and try to hit me with the covered blade. Go as hard and as fast as you possibly can. And I’ll show you why I am sure.”

He’s genuinely impressed by how hard and fast she moved. Still, he was faster.

He didn’t survive 500 years without honing his reflexes. And so he caught her wrist in his hands, as gently as he could, gently enough not to bruise her and held down her weapon away from him.

“See,” he whispers in her ear, breathing in the scent of warmth and fire and she grinned at him, the fire in her eyes flaming.

He hadn’t actually thought that he would enjoy this any more than sitting in the forge with her. Enjoy it because he liked spending time with Oriana and not enjoying it because…well.

Still, seeing her with a knife was surprisingly appealing.

He hadn’t expected that.

He didn’t think that he would like to see her in an actual battle, he would be too worried about her but like this, right here, where he knew that nothing bad was going to happen…and she had some fun with it, a grin covering her face…

He did enjoy it.

She stepped back, and he let go of her, only for her to lunge for him again.

And so they continued until she had enough, sweat covering her forehead. The sun was starting to come down and on the flight back to her house she was watching Velaris wide-eyed over his shoulder.

All in all…a pretty good way to spend his afternoon.

He was still in a good mood the next day, even when Cassian cornered him and had for some cauldron-blessed reason decided that…Azriel didn’t even know.

The only thing he did know was that Cassian was really interested in the knife that he bought Mor.

“Where did you get it from?” Cassian asked him and Azriel just stared at him.

“I picked it up in a market in the Summer Court?” he answered. “I saw it and I thought Mor would like it.”

It wasn’t even a lie.

“It’s…nice that you…thought of her,” Cassian said, even when his words were in stark contrast to his facial expression.

“Cass…just spit it out,” Azriel said with a sigh. “What does it matter that I bought Mor a knife?”

Why should Cassian even care? If his brother was pissed off that he gave Nesta a pair of hairpins at least that would make sense. She was his mate after all. But about Mor and a stupid knife?

“I just mean that…Mor and Emerie are really happy together,“ Cassian blurted out.

So what, did Cassian think that Azriel was trying to steal Mor from her girlfriend?

But as he looked at his brother, he realised that that was probably exactly what Cassian was thinking.

“Yeah, they are,” Azriel agreed. Cassian stared at him like he had gone insane. “Cassian, whatever you are thinking…that’s not why I bought Mor the knife,” he said drily.

“Well, why did you?” Cassian challenged him.

“Because I bought Feyre paint and I got Nesta these hairpins,” Azriel gave back drily. “Seemed unfair to Mor.“

“Az, you hate giving people gifts,” Cassian said, sounding aghast.

Yeah, he did. Or at least he hated trying to desperately come up with one and failing horribly.

But none of these things had taken any time out of his day. They had appeared before him and he had thought the recipient would like them. Maybe he should just start to stockpile gifts away over the whole year for solstice. Why hadn’t he come up with that decades prior?

“Yes, I do,” he agreed, “but I just across them,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t worry I’ll bring you back something next time if you feel like I am neglecting you,” he teased Cassian who made a squawking sound in protest. “Maybe some flowers.”

“You are an asshole,” Cassian said darkly.

Azriel bit back a smile.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #my writing #A Court of Gold and Shadows #Something Good and and Right and Real

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ninthcircleofprythian · 4 months

Text

Unbound

Part One - They Don't Know About Us

Series Summary - Not having a mating bond didn't stop the love Azriel and Celeste have for each other or their commitment. When an unknown magic lingering from Celeste's past causes her to lose all memories of the last century, will they be able to rebuild their life without a bond tethering them together?

Word Count - 4.2k

Authors Note - This is part one of a continuing series. This first part is establishing background. Fluffy with a pinch of angst.

Warnings - references to past domestic abuse/injury, some sexual innuendo.

“I hope you’re prepared to be annihilated this year Az,” Rhys drawled as he pulled gloves over his slender hands. “And please — let’s refrain from being petty in your concession speech.”

Azriel flashed a furtive smile. “I’m not even worried. Cassian’s the sore loser – not me.”

“I am not!” Cassian lashed out a sideways punch at Az’s shoulder, which he effortlessly dodged before kicking out and knocking Cassian leg right from under him.

Cas landed in a hard wallop on his back onto the snow covered ground. “Hey! Watch the wings!” With a nimble move he popped straight to standing again and shook the icy crystals from his webbed appendages. “What’s the count up to now anyway?” He directed at Azriel. “Three hundred and thirty something isn’t it?”

“Three hundred and thirty three this year. When I win.” Az adjusted his own winter leathers in preparation to begin. “Feels like a lucky number,” he added, rubbing his siphon clad hands together and blowing into them, his shadows responding to his breath and scattered before him.

“You know what they say Az, good things come in threes.” Cassian punched out again, hitting both Az and Rhys in the shoulders in jest, his boisterous laugh rang out in echo across the empty clearing they stood along the edge of.

Rhys let the punch land, rocking back slightly and laughing in return. “Alright, we all know the rules here. Let’s get this show started.”

“Well–what’s the verdict?” Feyre exclaimed, popping her head up from the sofa as the three imposing Illyrians filed into the River House foyer. “Do you have a surprise for me?” She narrowed a questioning look at her mate who stood behind the sofa, hands clasped behind him. Rhys’ normally hidden wings were out on full display which she assumed was a sign of the news.

“My money is on Cassian,” said Mor cooly from where she was painting her nails a shocking red on the coffee table.

Rhys gave a sly noncommittal nod. “Hmm. I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders without releasing his grasp behind him.

“C’mon! Let me see!” Feyre kneeled on the sofa seat reaching over the back and playfully grabbing at Rhys’ arms to get a look at his hands. He halfheartedly attempted to evade her before bringing up his hands showing empty palms.

“Sorry darling, maybe next year.” He bent over and planted a wet kiss in the center of her forehead.

“I knew it!” shouted Mor. “Pay up Nes.” She held her freshly manicured hand out toward Nesta sitting in the chair nearby. Nes slid an icy glance up from the pages of her novel and then immediately went back to reading.

“Wait–you bet against me?!” Cassian wailed, flying up from his slouch in the other armchair. “Your own mate?! Gods spare me!” He promptly flopped back into the seat, adjusting his wings with a loud thump.

Feyre immediately snapped her gaze back and forth between Cassian and Azriel, who had nipped into the dining room to snag one of Elain’s pastries.

“Alright, fess up you two. I want my present.” Feyre huffed, a dramatic pout and hands on hips like a toddler.

The ridiculous tradition had begun one year when Rhys got the idea to craft a trophy for the winner of the annual Solstice snowball fight, which just happened to be him that particular year. The tiny pewter cup had been plastered with gold foil and wrapped into a lavish package which Rhys had then presented to his mate as her birthday gift. He had tried to pass it off as his only gift before whipping out a lovely necklace to adorn Feyre’s neck instead. Every year since, the tiny cup had been passed off from that year’s winner to Feyre as her first official birthday gift of the year. Feyre, Mor and Nesta however had started their own tradition of betting money on who they predicted would be the winner.

Sauntering past the sofa arm and settling into the empty half, Azriel balanced his pastry with one hand and reached into his leather’s chest pocket with the other.

“Happy Birthday Feyre,” he said quietly with a smile and passed off the cup into her waiting hands. The darkened strands of shadow curled excitedly around the small gift as if they were showing it off before quickly returning to his fingers.

“Oh Az! Congrats! You shouldn’t have,” she said with mock humility. “No but really,” her face turned serious. “You shouldn’t have. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Feyre shot her mate a teasing look as Az threw his head back and laughed, mouth still full of pastry.

“And you thought I was the sore loser.” Cassian grumbled playfully.

“Oh Cas,” Feyre started gently, “if it makes you feel any better my money was on you too.”

Rhys choked in surprise on the whiskey he was sipping as he leaned on the mantle. “What the fuck! Seriously Feyre?”

Az threw his head back further this time, nearly dropping the plate from his lap and let loose a deep belly laugh.

From the other side of the room Cas pointed his fist at Rhys as if to bump it from a distance. “Solidarity brother.” Turning his attention to his other brother on the sofa, “And I don’t know what you find so funny over there. In case you didn’t notice – that means no one bet on you.”

Nesta had finally closed her book, nestling it next to her in the chair and joined the conversation. “Az was too obvious a choice,” she stated, her hard face showing no sign of a smile. “Betting on the underdogs gives a higher payout.”

Cassian made a throaty gurgling noise as he mimed stabbing himself in the heart and flexed his wrist. “Twist a little harder, why don’t you Nes.”

“Underdog huh?” Rhys quipped from over his whiskey glass, his violet eyes flaring a bit.

“I would have won, you know,” Cassian argued. “If it wasn’t for Az’s unfair advantage I would have totally been victorious.”

“And what exactly was my ‘unfair advantage’ Cas?” Snaking lines of shadow writhed down his legs as Azriel lengthened his posture into a relaxed lounge.

“C’mon brother. Don’t play dumb. It’s time to fess up.” Cassian’s eyes twinkled with hints of a secret knowledge.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about,” Az answered lazily.

Mor began fanning her hands in the air in order to dry the second coat of her polish. “Let’s hear it then, Cassian. If there was foul play we should know.”

“I think Az was right, Cassian.” Rhys chuckled to himself. “You are the sore loser.”

“Oh c'mon Rhysie darling,” Cassian teased. “I know a mating bond chafe when I see one. I remember ours well.”

Everything stopped. Any rustling or whispering or shifting of bodies abruptly halted. Mor’s fanning paused in mid-air, hands hanging comically in front of her face. Even breathing seemed to be on pause. At least it was for Azriel, as all eyes in the room fell upon him. He didn’t even notice the shushing whisper of his shadows curled around his face trying to tell him something because all he could hear was the slamming of his heartbeat in his ears. And he wasn’t convinced that everyone else couldn't hear it either.

“What exactly do you mean by chafe, Cassian?” Nesta broke in.

“Oh, so you can give it but you can’t take it?” Cassian quipped as he stood to cross the room. “I don’t mean anything by it, my love.” Dipping his frame he extended his arms in an attempt to embrace his mate. She very quickly shot out one palm, planting it in the center of his chest and shoved.

“And what exactly about me having a mating bond would be unfair?” Azriel rumbled darkly, sitting rigidly upright now.

Cassian’s head whipped in Azriel’s direction. “That’s not what I meant,” he said tensely as he made his way back to his chair next to the sofa. Then softening his voice, “You know that’s not what I meant.” Cas reached out and placed a hand to Az’s knee.

“So what did you mean?” Az responded, his tone menacing.

“All I meant was that with Rhys and I, we all knew about our bonds before the annual fight. We all knew what we were walking into. You could have told us in advance,” Cassian’s hand squeezed Az’s knee gently. “Level the playing field a bit.” Cassian winked with a laugh for the benefit of everyone listening, but leaned in with another squeeze. Lowering his voice to a soft pitch he said, “You could have told us.” He smiled sadly before dropping his hand and Azriel’s gaze.

“A mating bond?” Feyre asked astounded. “Az? Is it true?”

“Who is she? Do we know her?” Mor chimed in quick succession.

“A secret lover? How scandalous. How long have you been hiding her away?” Nesta asked dreamily, thinking what a good plot to a romance novel this would make.

The questions erupted in a flurry.

“There is no bond.” Azriel said flatly, fortifying his face into an unreadable cover.

Feyre sighed out the breath she had been holding and rubbed her hand on Azriel’s forearm. Mor’s fanning resumed at a slower pace, her eyes still fixed on Azriel gauging his mood. Rhys still stood languidly against the mantle wearing a similarly unreadable mask.

“No bond–,” Nesta said lowly. “But there is someone isn’t there?” Her hard stare penetrated into Azriel as he met it. Ever since he had seen her emerge from that bog long ago as a frightful Goddess of Death, he swore she could see things in him that no one else could.

It was true he had once yearned for a mating bond so badly that he thought he’d rather retreat into his own tortured mind than live without one. But the time after meeting his love had changed that. From the time she had first started entering his circle as an acquaintance to the time they were inseparable as lovers, Azriel had come to find that she was worth more than every mating bond he was never granted.

He held Nesta’s stare just a moment too long. A shiver spread through his wings and he pulled a sharp inhale through his nose. There was no use lying about it. He had indeed kept her a secret for some time now but they had both already agreed to make it public, they just hadn’t exactly decided when yet.

The length of time it took Azriel to answer Nesta’s question led all the eyes in the room to shift back to him.

“Yes.” Azriel said and heard Mor gasp, also noticing how Rhys’ whiskey glass remained touching his lips but he wasn’t swallowing. “There is someone.”

“I knew it.” Mor whispered breathlessly.

“No you didn’t, Mor,” Feyre shot. “You always say that.” Turning to Azriel next to her she flashed him a beautifully authentic smile. “We are happy for you Az. I can’t wait to meet her.”

Rhys had broken his frozen stance and moved lithely over to the small bar cart in the corner. He held a glass out to Cassian and then turned to do the same to Azriel. “We are very happy for you Az,” he offered out the heavy crystal whiskey glass matching the one in his own hand. “Cheers brother.”

Azriel accepted the drink, tipping it gently towards the one in Rhys’ hand until they clinked together.

“May the Cauldron bless you both,” Cassian added genuinely as the motion of tapping glasses was repeated between them.

“You should invite her to Solstice dinner tonight.” Mor uttered from the floor.

“Yes!” squealed Feyre “Az, invite her! If she is free that is.”

Az brought the whiskey to his mouth and drained the glass in one gulp. “We’ll see,” he said through the burn.

“Yes, if she’s free, please do invite her tonight.” Rhys offered. “And let’s hope she is free, or I might never hear the end of it.” He winked a teasing wink at his mate, who then belted out a ringing belly laugh of her own.

“No. He won’t” Feyre agreed. Azriel couldn’t help but smile to himself at that, knowing it was entirely true.

Celeste sat hugging her knees on the sofa in her apartment listening intently, wide-eyed at Azriel’s recollection of the conversation that had taken place earlier that morning.

“Oh! This is so, so good Az. No really, it’s delicious,” she crooned, bouncing in her seat on the sofa. “We couldn’t have planned it better ourselves! They are going to be so surprised!”

He listened with amused distraction as she began plotting and planning the whole thing, exacting how they would make their grand reveal. As she jotted down ideas and paced around the small apartment living room, he could only focus on her and not her words.

In her flurry of excitement she had swept her dark brown curls up atop her head and out of the way, exposing the soft expanse of her neck and the whole of her face. His eyes lingered along the scar that traversed her features, beginning its snaking path in her right eyebrow cleaving it entirely in two. Barely missing the corner of her eye, it continued over the bridge of her nose, through the flesh of her left nostril and slipped down into the plump pillow of her top lip. Although it had been healed for decades now, it was still fiery bright red in color against her lightly tanned skin.

The scar itself had never bothered Az. It did nothing to detract from Celete’s beauty and charm. It was the origin of the injury that had his blood boiling. The mark was a relic of her former partner. A vile and cruel male who had enacted punishments upon her for any perceived slight. The scar came about after one of the times Celeste had attempted to escape him. Ever since Azriel had first heard her recount a particularly awful recollection to Nesta after walking in on a girls night in the House of Wind, he had attempted to find the man named Tyrik. As spymaster, Azriel might have abused a few of his court powers in order to do so. Every lead for the last three decades ended in a dead end. One day though, Azriel was convinced that Tyrik would be the one dead.

Azriel mentally tugged his thoughts away from that male before the anger began showing in his body language. His hazel eyes continued to trail Celeste across the room, still pacing animatedly. How anyone could hurt this wonderful female before him, he would never understand. He answered the flurry of questions Celeste asked him in quick succession and offered his opinion on how things should be timed for the surprise.

“Oh. Oh, Cauldron boil me!” Celeste suddenly exclaimed with a squeak. “I have to pick a different outfit!”

Jumping up from the sofa across from where he sat, she wound her way around the coffee table with ease. Grabbing his face between her two hands with more force than she intended she yelped out, “Az–oh! Sorry. But I need your help.” Planting a quick kiss to his lips, she was already scurrying down the hall before she finished. “Don’t go anywhere. You have to help me pick. Wait there!”

“I’d rather watch,” he shouted back. Her sharp laughter rang back down the hallway.

Az just chuckled to himself as he heard her rummaging around the tiny closet in her bedroom. Alone in the now quiet living room, he began to think about how much she had changed since he first laid eyes on her. The version of Celeste he had met in a dark tavern was a stark difference to the Celeste that had just bounced off frantically.

She had been working in a shabby tavern on the outskirts of the city. It was where he went when he didn’t want to engage in the ravelry of Rita’s with the rest of his friends. Azriel had quickly picked up on the fact that her feisty attitude with the male customers wasn’t an attempt at playing hard to get or to garner increased tips. As spymaster he recognized it immediately for what it was – a defense mechanism. She piqued his interest like a puzzle he wanted to solve. In typical Azriel fashion however, he kept to the shadows, never approaching her or striking up conversation. Only silently observing.

It wasn’t until Celeste had met Nesta on one of her nights off years ago, drinking alone at Rita’s, that he had even entertained the possibility of knowing her. Their blossoming friendship had carried her into his circle with increasing frequency until it was nearly every other day that they were in each other's presence for one reason or another.

Azriel’s private struggle over a lack of a mating bond and his terrible habit of choosing unavailable love interests kept him at an emotional distance however. He had joined group nights out and laughed shyly at Celeste’s jokes with others without ever attempting to grab her attention. From the fringe of their friend group he had watched as Celeste transformed from the defensive and harshly playful female he first noticed into a confident, easygoing, empathetic and kind friend.

Once she had begun to discover her healing abilities, Rhys had generously offered to send her to Dawn Court for extensive training. As her time away from Velaris turned from weeks into months, Azriel had begun to realize what was missing from his life. Her.

Every missed opportunity to approach her on his own and every gap in conversation she had purposely left open to him replayed over and over in his mind. He mentally kicked himself over the fact that he wasted so much time pining over others in the past.

The week of her return from Dawn, Azriel had commandeered the healer rotation schedule from Madja under “official court business”. The first date that he had seen her name penned on the calendar was when he enacted his plan. One well acted slip during training with Cassian and the priestesses that morning left him with a nasty gash along his forearm and a healer was called to the House of Wind.

The minute she laid her light supple hands along his deep golden skin he had nearly lost all nerve and backed out entirely. Minutes of silence on his part passed as she cleaned and stitched and bandaged, talking all the while to fill the void. When the last wrap of bandage was taped down and she had started to pack up her supplies, he rushed into action before he could lose his nerve again.

“Celeste?”

“Hmm?” she purred softly, still packing her things.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight? Just the two of us I mean.” He stammered nervously. “Like – like a date.”

Her hands had stilled atop her bag after clasping it shut before she slowly lifted her gaze to him. Those dark tawny eyes meeting his had sent his pulse into palpitations but the smile that spread across her lovely face had threatened to stop his heart entirely.

She released a laughing sigh that was like the calming breeze after a storm. “I thought you would never ask,” she answered.

The best part of the entire plan, according to Celeste, was that Azriel’s someone had already been invited to Solstice dinner well before Rhys and Feyre had extended their invitation through Az. Being a part of Nesta’s circle of girlfriends had left Celeste with a standing invitation for the last few years.

“Are you sure no one has any idea?” Celeste questioned as she stood by the bed toweling her still wet hair.

“I’m sure about everyone,” he answered, calculating mentally. “Except Nesta. You really don’t think she would tell Cassian first if she thought it was you?”

“Absolutely not,” Celeste insisted. “She would have approached me about it before ever mentioning it to him. I’m positive.”

“And what makes you so sure about that?” He peered at her quizzically.

“Have you ever taken a peek at the books she’s always lending me?” Celeste raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes. The scar that spanned the entirety of her face tightened with her animated expression. “She would have come running to me first for all the details. She would have wanted to know all about—” she pulled her hands apart in front of her before throwing her arms out fully “ — your wingspan.” She flashed a wink before ramping herself up into a fit of giggles.

Az let out a shocked huff of a laugh before pulling his palm down his face, color rising to his cheeks. “Mother above,” he sighed.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, Celeste started shooing him off the bed with her towel. “Az, you have to get going. The shop will be closing soon and they said they are holding the rings for us. Go!”

“Alright, alright. I’m going,” he teased with his hands up in playful defense. He pushed himself up to stand and then gracefully swooped his arms around Celeste’s waist, pulling her body against his. “A kiss goodbye at least?”

“You’re coming right back,” Celeste narrowed her gaze in a comical frown but leaned in with sincerity, brushing her mouth gently over his before nipping at his bottom lip. Her eyes darkened with promise, “Hurry.”

The promise of that word hung in the air as Az grabbed his coat and headed out of the apartment. Unfortunately he knew that he wouldn’t be able to join in on that promise, at least not before dinner. He had to stop home for one last thing after the shop and his return would cut it close to when they had timed their departures.

Kicking off from the cobblestones on the corner in front of the apartment building Az launched into the air. He made quick work of locating the jewelry shop just a short flight away. It wasn’t the one that Rhys often frequented for his mate’s jewels but it was the only one open this late on Solstice night. It didn’t matter to Azriel though, as long as Celeste was happy.

She had gotten this idea in the final hour of their planning, which had forced them to rethink nearly the entire plan. The joy that had radiated from her at the thought of being able to pull it off was well worth the hassle. Azriel had been sent out in search of an open shop that could fulfill their request last minute which luckily didn’t take as long as he thought it would have. A pile of coin and two hours later he was walking out of the shop, the proud owner of two simple and plain gold bands.

Azriel had insisted that they didn’t have to rush, he would give her the commitment ceremony of her dreams if that’s what she wanted. Celeste had teased him back that he could still do that for her even if their new plan went smoothly. Committing to each other was something they had spoken about before at great length. Their feelings for each other, mating bond or not, were serious and true.

After arranging the pickup of the rings, she had told him very seriously that this is what she wanted. She didn’t want a huge party or ice sculptures. The fact that this was a surprise to everyone involved was thrilling enough. The only thing she wanted was to declare themselves committed in front of their family and to slip that ring on his finger. Celeste had even proposed the idea to adopt the usual mortal terms of husband and wife.

“I like the sound of ‘husband’ so much better than ‘partner’,” she had said. “It feels better rolling off the tongue.”

Azriel’s chin had dipped in a seductive grin. “There are other things I can think of that feel better rolling off the tongue.”

Slipping the newly purchased ring box into his inner coat pocket, Azriel kicked off once more, heading to his townhouse before circling back to meet Celeste one last time. This flight was longer, as he didn’t live in the downtown district like Celeste did, but instead closer to the quieter outskirts of the city.

He glided smoothly through the drafts above the clouds. The path between the two dwellings was something he knew by muscle memory having flown it so many times over the last many months. Az allowed his mind to wander as it usually did in times of quiet. Spending so much of his life inside his own head had made the habit a hard one to break.

Celeste’s face alight with excitement was the first thing that popped up. He felt his heart clench as he sifted through all the expressions and laughs she had produced tonight as she plotted out everything. The fact that the reveal of their relationship hadn’t happened until now was not lost on him. It was his hesitancy that had delayed this moment – her moment. The throb of guilt, knowing that he could have allowed Celeste this joy sooner, sent his heart into a squeeze.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfiction #acosf #acofas #acomaf #acotar #acowar #acotar fluff #azriel fluff #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #acotar series #acotar fanfiction

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