#// with a nod towards dawn too :3

[murderofravens]

DUSK TILL DAWN

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader.

part: 1/3 [finished]

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, inho is in his late 40s) slowburn. oral fixation. thigh riding. plot with porn. yearning. sexual tension. canon compliant. slight infantilization. no y/n used.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 6.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

please ignore any mistakes.

as you wipe the blood from your face, the reality of your situation sets in. you never thought you'd get used to the smell of blood— much less the sight of it. or the texture. and now you're covered in it. the white of your uniform splattered with crimson, the metallic smell of it almost overwhelming. in a situation like the one you're in, you can only laugh. the mere sight of blood used to make you feel faint; make you want to throw up because you're squeamish. now you're covered in it from head to toe.

it's not yours. it's of the people they shot dead during the second game.

you barely remember how you made it out alive. the second one was all thanks to your team— thanos and nam-gyu were the closest to your age, and teaming up with them worked in your favour. your age and gender was a liability to the others, but they were kind enough to take you in. or perhaps they were thinking with their dicks. would it really matter either way?

but with the way they act, you're not sure if you want to continue being in a team with them. especially since thanos keeps trying to woo you with his poor rapping skills. they're way too loud and reckless for you, and you're scared they might get you killed. they're not willing to give up the game anytime soon, either.

then there's the first game— you're alive, because of 456. that crazy man who supposedly had played the games before. if it wasn't for him pulling you behind his back, you would've left the premises in a cardboard box. especially because you fucking sneezed as soon as the doll turned back.

since then, you've decided you don't want to play this game anymore. 456 has been desperately trying to change the other's mind— but they're greedy and insistent. you pressed the cross for his sake, and for the others, and for yourself. hell, you can live in debt, but what use is that money if you die trying? you're not that much of a hard worker. you value your life above anything else.

you walk over to their team— 456, and his two loud team members. another man is sitting there— player 001. the one who ruined your chance of going home on the first vote. he seems ordinary, but you know of him because you saw him beat the shit out of thanos. that was another reason you decided to abandon that team— you could not be seen with a bully, or a loser. as you approach him, you give him a slight nod of acknowledgement, which he returns. you turn your attention to 456, and thank him profusely for what he did for you. he's kind, you'll give him that. you like kind people.

"if you don't mind me asking—" a voice interrupts, and you look over your shoulder. it's player 001. he looks at you curiously. "how old are you?"

"old enough." you retort cheekily. he doesn't look amused as he cocks his head to the side.

"i'm curious as to why a little kid like you would compromise herself for money."

that shuts you up. you're offended, to say the least. who is he to call you a little kid? the entire team also looks on, seemingly baffled. the question makes sense. you're sure you're the youngest out of all players. and people can tell because you look it too. you don't really know how to respond, so you just look on with a frown, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"forgive me—" he lets out an awkward chuckle, "i didn't mean it the wrong way. i'm just worried."

you give him an uneasy smile, rubbing the back of your neck. the others go back to their conversations, and you shrug. he shoots a glance towards gi-hun before sitting back down and shifting slightly, as if making room for you. you take a seat beside him. there's silence before he glances at the symbol on your jacket— the cross.

"i'm sorry." he says with a small smile, looking straight ahead, "you wanted to go home but you had to continue because of me. i put a kid in danger."

"i'm not a kid," you huff softly, straightening up, "i'm twenty. but yeah, you should be sorry."

you give him a small smile to ensure he knows that the last line is lighthearted. he seems to understand and returns it.

"dont worry about it," you sigh, fiddling with the zip of your jacket, "im sure you had your reasons. just like i have mine for coming here."

"and your parents?" he asks. he's so polite, it warms your heart. polite and soft spoken. and visibly tough. probably some officer, you think, judging by his skills you previously saw.

"that's what i need the money for." you sigh, leaning back against the bunker. "i need enough money to establish myself. continue my studies. bring my mom and my sister to come live with me. settle off my father's debts because he's a coward who decided to pass down his sins onto his daughter."

he raises his eyebrows, and you take a sharp breath. there's a moment of silence between you two— you think for a moment, and feel your eyes get slightly glassy. you're not going to cry in front of a stranger. you put on a brave face. "if i die here, my mother—"

he stares at you silently, before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, interrupting your cursed sentence. "you'll make it out alive."

the doors open, and the staff comes in again. they reveal the number of players left, showcase the money that each person would get, and then the voting starts again.

this time, player 001 doesn't disappoint you. he goes first, and clicks on the cross. the hope it gives you eventually shatters as more and more players begin to vote in favour of continuing the game. you see 456 get increasingly agitated as he begins to make his way towards the front of the crowd. before he can speak, he's interrupted.

001's voice rings out loud and authoritative, and worried. he reprimands the voters in favour, calls them out on their selfishness.

"we'll all die if we keep playing!" he chastises the crowd urgently. "you have to survive first, or there won't be a next step—"

"there's no next step for us!" he's interrupted by player 100. a stout old man who had been at odds against 456 since the start— you remember him having 10 billion won in debt. it makes you snicker. he eggs on the crowd. "with that money, we won't be able to pay our debts. we need to play one more game, then the money will increase to 240 million. with that we can pay atleast a little of our debts! isn't that right!?"

"you're going to die trying!" you snap, making your way to the front of the crowd. you glare at player 100, at all his little supporters cheering at the back. "your greed is going to get you killed. how can you be so confident to say that you'll survive the next game? what if you die?"

"you shut up, young lady!" he hisses, mouth scrunching bitterly. "is that how you speak to your elders? your brain is too small to comprehend real life problems. we can't continue with our lives with that little money!"

"continue your lives?" a laugh bubbles out of your throat. "look at that greying head of yours, you barely have a life ahead of you! why don't you let us live ours?!"

that seems to have ticked him off, because he quite literally turns red as he takes a threatening step towards you.

"what did you just say?"

"i said—" you step forward, shooting him a challenging glare, "you're too old to be playing children's games. vote wisely and let us go home."

he lets out a snarl before trying to lunge at you, but you're pulled back as player 001 steps between the two of you. like a wall. he looks at the old man, eyes cold, his voice low. "that's enough."

since the incident with thanos, nobody has really tried anything with 001. it's obvious enough they're intimidated by him, and they don't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. 100 doesn't either, with the way he collects himself and steps back, embarrassed. you look over 001's shoulder, make eye contact with the old man and shoot him a taunting smile. you know it's childish, but you've resented him from the start.

before the old man can say anything, player 001 drags you to the side where you can't argue with people anymore. and the voting continues.

"you can't talk to people like this," he says lowly, gaze focused on the crowd. staring at something that you can't figure out. "you never know what they might do."

you huff bitterly. you know what he means.

"i don't care. i fucking hate bullies."

"potty mouth." he chastises, but theres a smirk on his face. he's teasing. you chuckle.

"remember you need to get out of here alive." he repeats, looking at you with an intensity that is almost terrifying. "you can't do that if you keep this up."

"jeez, okay dad." you joke, rolling your eyes. your words make him smile lightly.

"thanks for having my back there." you tell him sincerely. he looks at you for a bit before nodding in acknowledgement.

the voting ends, and they announce that the games will continue tomorrow. it makes your heart drop.

that night, you feel uneasy when you try to sleep. your clothes stick to your skin, and the side of your face keeps itching. with an irritated grumble, you get off the bunker and walk over to your new friend's side. you squint your eyes before looking for 001— and when you find him, you gently shake him.

"are you sleeping?" you whisper.

he opens his eyes, wincing slightly before sitting up. his voice is hushed as he responds, "not anymore. what is it?"

you bite your lower lip nervously before reluctantly asking, "will you go to the restroom with me? i'm kinda scared to go alone."

he blinks at you, confused. you continue out of sheer desperation.

"those guards just stare weirdly with their weird little masks and it makes me nervous." you hope your voice doesn't shake as you speak. "last time one of them kept knocking on the door while i was in the washroom and it just— scared the shit out of me. and my face is itching and i really need to go. please?"

he listens patiently. for a moment you think he'd decline but he just sighs and nods, and you cheer just a little as he steps out and follows you to the door. you bang on it, loudly telling the guards that you need to go. one of them opens the sliding window, and then immediately opens the door. it makes you feel strange, because usually it takes a lot more effort to convince them. either way, you're grateful.

you know your better option would've been to take one of the girls with you, but the sad fact is you haven't had the chance to get friendly with any of the female players yet. and for some reason, player 001 makes you feel a sense of safety and security that is almost strange— you feel at ease around him.

"i'll be in the men's room," he tells you, and you nod. he shoots a glance to the guard standing outside the women's restroom before walking away. you quickly go inside, and the first thing you do is splash water on your face.

you quickly clean the blood off your skin, holding back the urge to cry. you scrub at your cheeks till you're sure you can scratch the itch away for good. your nails dig a little too deep, and a little blood oozes out of the scratches on the side of your face. you clean that too, and then try to scrub the splatters of blood off your t-shirt. it's white, and you have no soap— so the stains remain. a faint reminder. you take your time, and anticipate the knocking— but it never comes.

you look in the mirror, at your tired face and sunken eyes, before giving yourself a nod and stepping out. 001 is waiting for you outside, looking to the side. he gives you an odd look as you step out, before walking alongside you.

"are you alright?" he asks gently, concerned. kind as ever.

you look at him again, give him a nod. "thank you."

when you two reach the room, he returns the smile with one of his own.

as you make your way to the bunker, he grabs your shoulder, "why don't you start sleeping on our side?" he says quietly, "join the team. there's a bed near mine. you won't feel so scared that way."

you blink, trying to see his face in the darkness. the offer is enticing— and most of all, it warms your heart.

"really?" you ask hopefully.

"really." he says kindly.

you follow him to the bunker, and he covers the railing with his hand to avoid you getting hurt as you bend down to get into the bed. he looks at the slightly wet patches on your shirt— blinks before getting a bedsheet and putting it over you. "get some sleep. we got a game to play tomorrow."

you smile softly at him. as he turns to get into his own bed, you grab his hand. it's warm against yours— big and rough. you don't allow your mind to drift that way. it's not right. he looks at you, gaze questioning.

"thanks again," you say softly, "it means a lot to me."

he leans down a little to ruffle your hair before going back to his bed and laying down. you close your eyes and drift to sleep— unaware that he stays up, thinking.

breakfast is boring— bread and milk. you sit on the bed, scowling. player 456 is surprised as he sees you there, before you two share understanding smiles. you bow a little and he bows back before going along with his friend. 001 comes to sit by you then, munching on his own breakfast.

"i miss home," you mumble, "how am i supposed to survive on just this? it's not even chocolate milk."

001 laughs, "don't worry, you can have whatever you want once you get out of here."

"will i?"

he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. you take his silence as a cue to continue, "im scared i'll die in here."

he looks down, before shifting to be closer to you. "you made it this far, didn't you?"

you look at him, voice getting shaky. "and what if i dont make it till the end? what if i die here and my family thinks i abandoned them? i don't want to die. i haven't even lived my life yet."

his expression is hard to read. "you'll make it out of here alive," he tells you with conviction, "ill make sure of it."

your lips wobble as you stare at him, and he smiles before poking you in the nose. "finish your food. you need the energy for the next game. we'll make it out alive, then we'll try to get the voters on our side and go home. sound good?"

you snort, rolling your eyes before nodding. "sounds good."

he gives you his bread then, tells you to eat more. when you protest, he sends a warning glare your way— the one with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing gaze. you roll your eyes, and happily eat it.

you were hungry. perhaps he can tell things like that. you're just grateful.

today, you decided to be a little rebellious. when you first joined the games, you used to spend a long time in the bathrooms— analyzing, looking for a way out. during that time, you'd discovered that one of the screws in the ceiling vent was loose. you hadn't really bothered checking it before, but since it's daytime and you have some time before the next game, you decide to explore.

your hairclip works— the screws were not tightly fixed, so it unscrewed easily. you'd contemplated checking it out last night, but you didn't want to take any risks, especially since player 001 was with you. so now whatever you do, the responsibility will be yours.

when the bathroom gets empty and all the women leave, you pull it down and try climbing up. it's moments like these that you can pride yourself on your agility— work that usually required two people, you could do alone. with one leg on the flush and the other on the top of the cubicle, you climbed up, scratching the side of your arm slightly before finally getting in the vents. you groaned to yourself, and then started crawling inside. there were two ways to go— you chose the left one. you looked down, trying to understand the layout of the place where you were practically held hostage. you keep crawling, making sure not to make too much noise before finally seeing a place through the gaps that you hadn't seen before— you carefully remove the screws and pull it apart.

the place looks empty. the walls are all sorts of pink and green. you put your head down and look both ways, seeing a door at the end of the hallway. carefully, you climb down and lower yourself to the ground with a thump. your shoulder hurts a little. you stand up, and aim for the door. as soon as you begin walking, you hear footsteps. it's as if someone splashed cold water on you— you realize the grave mistake you just made. guards walk here with guns, and you made the impulsive decision to explore a dangerous place like this by yourself?

you look around, running towards the other end of the hallway. the footsteps get louder, and as you look over your shoulder, something grabs you. out of reflex, you go to scream, but a hand clamps down on your mouth, and your back collides with a hard chest.

"shh, it's me." the voice hisses. your wide eyes look up, scared, before realizing who it is.

player 001.

your chest heaves as you break out into a sweat, a tear rolling down your cheek. he keeps you in a tight hold, looking to the side, your breath dampening his hand. the footsteps suddenly become faint, as if walking away. your breaths sync together, and after a moment, he relaxes.

he takes his hand off your mouth before harshly twisting you to face him. his voice is hushed but angry, "what were you thinking?!"

"what are you doing here?" you whisper shakily at the same time.

"everyone was back in the room except you. i came to find you!" he chides, eyes hard. he shakes you slightly, "do you really plan to get killed like this? is this how you want to die? can you go one moment without being a reckless brat—"

his words make you want to cower in on yourself.

"i wanted to find a way out." you try to sound assertive, but your voice betrays you. your words come out panicked, "I wanted to help and— fuck— i got you in trouble too— you shouldn't have come looking for me! fuck— how are we gonna make it out of here?"

he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you tiredly. "the game is about to start. we'll mix in with the crowd when they leave, i doubt they'll notice."

"are you sure it'll work?" you ask. you hear a faint announcement. the game is about to start.

he looks up at the speakers, alert. he grabs you tightly and drags you away with an air of confidence. "let's go."

you don't encounter any guards on the way back. it's strange, but you figure it's because they're all preparing for the next game. player 001's plan worked, because you two mixed in with the crowd, and the guards didn't notice. one of them turned back to look at you, and you panted, staring back at him. your heart raced, but you felt the presence of 001 next to you, and you felt at ease again. the guard looked away.

"i told you to stop being reckless." he says quietly, looking at 456 and 390, before looking back at you. your legs hurt from climbing so many stairs. "what would you have done if they found you?"

you swallow the lump in your throat, staring up at him intensely, eyes glassy. he saved your life. "i guess you stopped that from happening."

he clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering up and down your face before looking away. "i won't always be there to save you."

you look away, heart dropping. "thank you, 001."

"call me young-il."

you look up at him, blinking back tears, quirking an eyebrow as you two walk. "only if you allow me to add 'sir' at the end of it."

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. he has such a nice laugh. "why's that? respect?"

you nod, giving a little bow. "respect is very important in my culture as well. so thank you for saving my life, young-il sir."

he grins a little and pats your head. you thank him again, and decide you like him enough. so you tell him your name.

he tests it on his tongue, and you quite like the way he says it.

the next game had to be the most terrifying so far.

it was called mingle, and you had to run to the rooms in groups according to the number announced. things like these were where you got scared— where you had to group with people. in dangerous situations, you know people usually only look out for two types of people— themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

you were not dear to anyone here. you really should've interacted with more people.

the platform rotates, before the number is announced. six. your eyes widen and you frantically look around, but young-il is faster. he grabs you and drags you to the room with the rest of the team. you pant as the 30 seconds pass, and then look out the window in the door to see how many people were left— quite a few. your eyes widen as the red guards move forward with their guns raised.

young-il leaps forward and covers your eyes with his hand before pulling you into himself as the gunshots ring out— you flinch and shudder at every single one, breathing sharp and your entire frame trembling violently. when there is silence and the doors open, you look up. young-il gently lets go of you, looking around. he's panting too, and you look at him with the most crushed look on your face before he meets your gaze. he can tell what you want to know— why would you do that?

"you shouldn't have to see all this." he says quietly, adjusting his jacket and putting a little distance between you two. 456 pats your shoulder and makes sure people are okay before moving out. you just look at young-il for a while, but he simply looks around, seemingly lost in thought. as if fighting a war within himself. you wish you knew how to reassure him like he did with you, but you realize you barely know anything about him.

the entire floor is painted with blood. the sight makes you want to vomit. you walk carefully, but your foot slips in someone's blood and you begin to fall over. 456 catches you. "are you alright?"

instinctively, your gaze tries to find young-il but he's standing away. his head is lowered.

"yes, thank you." you give 456 a smile, before assuming your place on the platform again.

you play a few more rounds. you're lucky enough to have someone to team with each time— young-il and 456 don't let go of you even once. but then the voice runs out again, and they announce the number 3. this time, 456 is dragged along with the old woman and her son. you look around frantically, and meet young-il's panicked gaze with your own. you begin to run towards him, but two people grab you and drag you towards one of the rooms.

thanos and nam-gyu. you shriek at them, clawing at their arms and trying to run back out. what if young-il doesn't make it? what if something bad happens?

this time, you have no one to cover your eyes or ears. thanos and nam-gyu talk shit within themselves, and you look outside the little window, flinching with every gunshot ringing out, trying to pinpoint if it's young-il's body falling to the ground. you can't help the light sob erupting from your throat, and thanos chooses the wrong moment to come bother you.

"watcha looking for, señorita?" he laughs, poking your side, "is it your old man? did he finally—"

you turn to him and punch him in the face. he falls back and groans dramatically, rubbing the blood running down his nose. nam-gyu rushes to his rescue, giggling. they're both high as a kite. the doors open, and you rush out before they can bother you further.

you look around. 456 is with the rest of the team, but you can't find young-il. frantically, you look towards the dead bodies, heart pounding against your chest and head throbbing. suddenly, there's cheers from your team, and you look up to see young-il walking over with a bright grin on his face.

you don't know what compelled you to do it. you were acting on your emotions— overwhelmed by the relief you felt on the sight of his face. before you can even stop, you're dashing towards him and crashing into his body, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

he's shocked, that much is obvious by the way he tenses slightly. but then he returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you and placing one hand on your head, gently patting. "i told you we'd make it."

you choke on a soft sob, nodding, burying your head further into his chest, as if ready to climb inside him, "i thought you—"

he shushes you softly, voice gentle as he runs a hand through your hair. you can feel his heart racing against his chest too. you wonder if it's for the same reasons as you. "i'm okay."

you wish the game ended there. but there was one more round to go. as you rotated on the platform— the moment you were dreading finally happened as young-il predicted it. the number announced was two.

you were ready to die there. things seemed to happen in slow motion— 456 took his best friend 390, 149 was dragged by her son. you didn't get the chance to see who took who next, because young-il had grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards one of the rooms. there were only fifty rooms— the first one you two got to was taken. he dragged you to another with a mere ten seconds left.

you sighed in relief as you got in, before seeing another man was already there. he was shaking in fear, and you jumped at the harshness of young-il's voice when he ordered him to get out. when the other player refused, young-il lunged at him and put him in a headlock.

your eyes widened and you stepped forward, panic stricken but he looked right at you and called your name, "close your eyes!"

you flinched. you looked at the man, then at young-il, before squeezing your eyes shut. you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as soon as you heard a 'crack' before opening your eyes.

the player was dead. young-il cracked his neck.

the timer finished at that exact moment, and young-il crawled over to you before pulling you into his chest. the gunshots rang out, and you flinched, sobbing.

young-il killed someone.

"i had to do it," he whispered against your hair, holding your head against his chest, "we both have to make it out alive. i had to do it. you know that right?"

you wanted to believe him, you really did. but in that moment, you felt scared of him for the first time.

the doors opened, and the game finished.

while you wanted to revel in your victory, the incident during mingle had rattled you to your core. the others checked up on you, especially 388 and 456. young-il maintained some distance. you could feel like he thought it's what you wanted. but you could really use his comfort. you just don't know how to talk to him again without being nervous. you force yourself to relive your previous interactions with him— he's still the same young-il who has saved you and comforted you countless times.

he did what he had to do to ensure your survival. that wasn't something you could hold against him. not when both of your lives were on the line.

the voting this time was just as challenging. you made your way to the front of the crowd, praying that they'd choose wisely this time. you need to go home.

one of the players in the old man's team showed you the finger before clicking the 'o' button. the action made your eye twitch, and you grit your teeth before straightening up to attack that guy and scratch his face off, but a hand to your chest held you back.

if looks could kill, young-il's glare could've sent that guy home in a body bag. as the votes in favour of continuing the game increased, you pushed his hand off you and addressed the crowd, "have you all lost your fucking minds?!"

their chitter chatter stopped and they looked at you. you clench your jaw, "after losing so many people out there you still want to play? what the fuck is wrong with you people? are human lives that invaluable to you?"

player 100 steps forward, insufferable as always. "don't you see how much money we're getting for each person? it could settle our debt! we can't give up after how far we've come."

"you're gonna die!" you snap, pointing at him, "you could take this money and go home and be happy instead of risking your life for something that is not assured to you! why won't you listen?! i want to go home!"

the others in favour of terminating the game start chanting with you, a string of 'i want to go home' echoing across the room.

player 100 glares, urging his own team to chant against you. he looks towards young-il, yells something along the lines of, "look after your fucking kid!" before the barell of a gun presses against the back of your head. the whole room freezes, and so do you.

"disruptions against a democratic vote will not be excused." the robotic voice calls out. for a second you think this is it. you look at young-il. if you die here, you'd prefer the man who saved your life to be the last person you see. he glares at the guard, his jaw clenching. the guard lowers the gun and steps back and you let out a breath of relief.

you immediately saunter over to him, gritting your teeth. the vote is a tie— and they announce the next voting to be held tomorrow.

456 says there's about to be a fight. the rest of the team got busy setting up a barricade— and you didn't get the chance to talk to your player. you knew his concern though, when he made sure to especially hide your side of the bed with two mattresses.

you play with the hem of your shirt as you sit in your bed by your lonesome. your food sits by you, untouched. you dont feel like eating. the weight on the bed shifts, and young-il appears into view.

"you're not eating."

you swallow the lump in your throat. "i don't feel like it."

he contemplates, eyes lowered before he looks at you again. "im sorry you had to witness that. I don't want you to be scared of me."

you want to cry. "im not." you whisper, "you.. you had to do what you had to do. to save us."

he blinks, nodding.

"back there, i thought that was it. it's over." you chuckle bitterly. "but you saved me again. you acted on impulse. i could never resent you for it."

your eyes are bloodshot as you look at him again. fat tears roll down your cheeks, and he frowns. he sighs before leaning closer, brushing the tears away. "why are you crying?"

"i wouldn't have survived this far if it wasn't for you." you whisper, voice cracking. "promise me you wouldn't abandon me. promise me you won't die."

his gaze softens. he's silent for a bit, his hand coming to rest on your knee, "i promise."

you sniffle, wiping your tears away. a small smile appears on your face, "i punched thanos."

"thanos?" he frowns, confused before raising his eyebrows in recognition, "ah, the loud kid with the purple hair?"

you nod proudly. "he said something like 'did 001 finally die?' so i punched him."

he laughs heartily— face scrunching cutely, eyes crinkling. he shakes his head fondly before ruffling your hair again. "attagirl."

it makes you blush slightly and you smile, looking down at your lap. he grabs your dinner— the roll sitting next to you and unwraps it, taking out a piece before holding it out, "eat."

you snort before leaning forward and taking a bite. he looks at you for a while with that faraway look in his eyes, before wordlessly continuing to feed you the rest. the words go unsaid. 'what are we doing? why are we so comfortable with each other?'

some sauce sticks to the corner of your mouth. he raises his hand to hold your chin, his thumb gently wiping it off. your breath hitches.

neither of you protest when his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, gaze focused on it like he's hypnotized. he's thinking, mindlessly feeling the plush texture of it.

you've always been impulsive. especially in situations where you shouldn't be. it happens so naturally— how your lips part just slightly. and maybe he's impulsive too, because his thumb slips inside, and his breath hitches as soon as your lips wrap around his thumb.

his gaze raises to meet yours— and you blink almost dazedly. his thumb presses down on your tongue, and he calls out your name in the softest voice.

"i'm too old for you." he whispers, shaking his head in disapproval.

your eyes flutter, and you lean forward, grabbing hold of his wrist. he pulls his thumb out, and you almost whine in protest. to your utter delight, he replaces it with two of his fingers, and your eyes almost roll back as you crawl forward till you're situated on his lap, mouth stuffed with his index and middle finger. you suck on them enthusiastically. they're long and thick and perfect and you don't want them out of your mouth ever again. it elicits a soft moan out of him— and if you could put that sound on repeat for the rest of your life, you'd be happy.

he pulls his fingers out and grabs the back of your head, pulling you close till your foreheads press together. you try to lean forward, to capture his lips with your own. he chuckles slightly, eyes closed, playfully rubbing his nose against yours. you whine.

"so impatient." he whispers, and then his lips are colliding with yours. it would be embarrassing if someone were to catch you two like this— more so for him than for you. thankfully, the others are busy strategizing for the night, and are not looking for either of you.

you moan softly and he bites down on your bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. it's desperate and reckless and so full of spit— it makes you whimper into his mouth and he pulls you further into himself, as if telling you to shut up. his experience is obvious in the way he kisses, and you follow his lead. unknowingly, your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and he lets out a soft hiss. he pulls away slightly, strings of saliva connecting your mouths. he licks it away.

"come on, sweetheart," he whispers, one hand coming down to help your hips grind against his thigh, "make yourself feel good— that's it, that's my good girl."

you moan softly, and his free hand clamps your mouth shut. he speeds his movement, clenching and unclenching the muscle of his thigh, guiding your hips to move faster against his lap. it's been so long since you've masturbated— and this is unarguably the hottest situation you've ever been in, with the hottest man you've ever seen. so you're already close. you cry out into his hand, your voice muffled. he understands what you mean and lets you move on your own speed then, pulling your head into the crook of his neck as he whispers soft words of praise into your ear.

the moment he calls you his good girl again, you cum. he muffles the sound with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut before he looks at you intensely. you collapse against him, slightly sweaty, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you cling to him. he runs his hand through your hair, breathing sharply. it's a small moment of bliss in the hell you've found yourself in.

soon, the lights go out, and dread settles in your stomach once you feel his body tensing. player 388 pulls one of the mattresses back slightly, hisses a quick "get under the bed!"

and the next game begins.

A/N: this was incredibly fun to write. i love writing him a little soft and fatherly, so deal with it. i might write a part 2 for this, if anyone wants that. this idea has been in my head for a while. i love him so, so much. this fic is my baby and i truly hope you guys like reading it as much as i liked writing it.

tags! @carolinevoight @lovers-roq @wildtigerlili @menabuser16 @deadlyobsessivfennec @watasinekoru @hanakokunzz @cowuies

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest. 

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then." 

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here? 

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby. 

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk. 

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing. 

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin. 

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions. 

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?" 

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants. 

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

[hsnlv]

“all mine.” (altered) | s.jy

pairing: boyfriend!jake x fem!reader

synopsis: a moment of doubt clouds your mind, but jake’s gentle touch and heartfelt words remind you just how loved and perfect you truly are in his eyes.

warnings/others: insecurity, jake is sickeningly sweet in this one :(

wc: 1.04k

a/n: as written, this is actually my old work that i decided to re-write! i hope this will give you comfort like it does to me <3 reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!! happy reading my loves🎀 here’s my masterlist!

🎧now playing!🎧: take you there- h.e.r

“c’mere,” jake pats his lap with that playful grin you can never resist, the one that makes your heart do flips. his voice is soft but teasing, like he’s already expecting you to curl up in his arms. it’s your spot—his lap, his warmth, his everything. it’s where you feel safest, where you always feel loved.

but today, you hesitate. something in you feels… different. heavier. you glance down at your thighs, your stomach, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror out of the corner of your eye. it’s silly, really. you know it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but the thought sneaks in anyway.

“i’m fine,” you mumble, staying rooted in place. your arms fold over your stomach as you avoid his gaze, hoping he won’t push.

but he’s jake.

he notices everything.

his teasing smile fades just a little, replaced with that soft, tender look he gets when he knows you’re feeling off.

“baby,” he says, his voice gentle as he scoots closer. his arms reach for you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, trying to brush it off. “nothing. just tired.”

“hmm.” he doesn’t buy it. not for a second. instead, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin as he murmurs, “tired of what, hmm? me? ‘cause if that’s the case, you’re breaking my heart here.”

you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, though you try to smother it. “jake…”

“there she is,” he teases, pulling back just enough to look at you. his fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “there’s my girl. now, are you gonna tell me what’s really going on? or do i have to guess?”

you hesitate again, biting your lip, but the way he���s looking at you… like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters. it’s too much.

“i don’t know,” you finally mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i feel… different today.”

his brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face for a moment before realization dawns.

“oh,” he breathes out, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “it’s one of those days, huh?”

you nod, feeling a little silly now. “yeah.”

jake sighs, but not in frustration. it’s that soft, loving sigh he does when he’s about to say something that’ll make your heart melt.

“baby,” he starts, pulling you closer until you’re practically sitting in his lap, your legs draped over his. his hands settle on your waist, holding you like you’re something precious. “you know none of that stuff matters to me, right? like… at all. i don’t care if you think you feel different or look different. to me, you’re always gonna be my favorite person.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not!” he insists, looking mock-offended. “do you want me to prove it? i’ll prove it. actually—hold on.”

before you can stop him, he’s reaching for his phone, typing furiously with one hand while the other keeps you firmly in place. a second later, he holds up the screen.

“you’re literally the prettiest person i’ve ever seen and i will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“there,” he declares proudly. “proof. now you can’t argue with me.”

you snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re gorgeous,” he counters, his voice dropping to that soft, serious tone that always makes your chest ache in the best way.

his hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing gently. “see these? i love these. and this?” he taps your nose lightly, grinning when you scrunch it up. “adorable. and don’t even get me started on your smile. do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on anything when you’re smiling at me?”

“jake…” you mumble, your face heating up as you try to hide your grin.

“nope. not done,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “this face? my favorite. this laugh?” he pokes your side, earning a giggle. “even better. and don’t even think about arguing with me, because i’ll just keep going until you agree.”

you laugh again, the sound light and genuine this time, and jake’s smile grows even wider.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice warm and full of adoration. “that’s my girl.”

he leans down, guiding you gently onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he peppers kisses across your face.

“mine,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“all mine,” he adds, brushing his lips against your nose.

“the most perfect girl in the whole world,” he finishes, punctuating his words with a kiss to your lips.

you can’t help but giggle. “jake.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours while his face is plastered with that stupidly handsome boyish grin he has always had.

“you make it really hard to stay upset, you know that?”

his lips twitch into a smile. “good. that’s kind of the point.”

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your features like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. “it’s actually unreal.”

“stop,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up again.

“never,” he replies, grinning as he leans down to press kisses all over your face. each kiss sends a flutter through your chest, the warmth of his lips chasing away the lingering insecurities in your mind.

“you’re impossible,” you manage through a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“and you’re perfect,” he counters, his voice soft and earnest.

his hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

it’s in the way he says it—like it’s not just a compliment, but a promise. and for the first time all day, you feel the weight of your doubts start to lift.

wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and love, you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[wzrd-wheezes]

Smitten - James Potter x Reader

AN - Here's a little James fluff that I wrote and completely forgot about lol. Enjoy <3.

He’s smitten. Completely and irrevocably captivated. One glance from her and the world shifts on its axis. When she smiles, his imagination soars and his brain is all white doves and champagne toasts.  

Her laugh isn’t just a sound. It’s church bells on a spring afternoon. He’s not a religious man, but for her, he’d build a cathedral with his bare hands and worship at her altar forever. A simple curve of her lips and he’s envisioning vows under a canopy of twinkling lights, her name being the only prayer he’ll ever need. 

Pathetic. That’s what he tells himself when her hand brushes his. The fleeting touch sparking fireworks he swears other people could see if they looked close enough. In his mind’s eye, he’s already down on one knee, slipping a pretty ring onto her finger. He doesn’t even know her that well yet, but one thing he knows for sure: he’s done for. 

This isn’t like anything he’s ever felt. He’s dated before – flirted, kissed, even thought he’d loved once – but none of that prepared him for this. His heart races, his palms sweat, his cheeks flush whenever she’s near. 

“Mate, you’ve got it bad.” Sirius drawled, taking a long sip of his beer, “I’ve never seen anyone go full Romeo like this before.” 

“Romeo wrote poetry. I’m not writing poetry.” James shot back, leaning against the table. 

“Yet.” Sirius quipped, “Give it a week. You’ll be sitting in your room scribbling odes to her in your journal.” 

“That’s Moony’s thing, not mine.” James teased, raising his glass in mock toast towards Remus. 

Remus raised an unimpressed eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat, sticking two fingers up at James and rolling his eyes, “At least I have the self-respect to not get googly-eyed over someone I’ve spoken to, what? Twice?” 

“Three times.” James corrected automatically, only to wince when his friends dissolved into laughter. 

“You fall in love quicker than Sirius can down a pint.” Remus quipped, clearly enjoying himself. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Sirius tormented, “or have you not planned it yet? Here, Moony, do you think Prongs is a spring wedding guy, or more of an autumn kind of thing?” 

“Spring.” Remus replied dryly, “Flowers blooming. Birds chirping. All very poetic.”  

“Obviously, there’ll be doves,” Sirius added, gesturing grandly as if arranging the scene. 

“Maybe throw in a harpist for good measure,” Remus suggested, deadpan. 

James groaned and dropped his head into his hands, “You two are insufferable-” He froze, mid-protest, his groan dying in his throat as the sound of laughter drifted across the pub. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but the soft sound hit him square in the chest. 

 She was here. 

Of course she was. The universe had an impeccable sense of irony. 

Sirius, ever observant, followed James’s line of sight and grinned like the Cheshire Cat, “Oh, would you look at that.” He said, far too loudly for James’s liking. 

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed, “Shit. What’s she doing here?” 

Sirius and Remus exchanged a shifty glance with each other and Sirius took a slow sip from his pint, his grin growing more smug by the second.  

“You bastards!” James gasped, realisation dawning on him, “You knew she was going to be here! I thought it was weird that you picked this pub and not the Broomsticks!” 

Remus snorted, his mouth splitting into a cocky smile as he nodded. Maybe the universe wasn’t cruel, but his friends sure were.  

“Guilty as charged.” Remus sniggered. 

“Yep.” Sirius replied, popping the ‘p’, “Mary mentioned that they were coming here tonight. Thought you could do with a little push in the right direction.”  

“You planned this?”  James said incredulously, “You’ve been conspiring behind my back!” 

“More like wingmanning really,” Remus shrugged, “You go on about her all the time Prongsy. We were just... facilitating the inevitable.”  

“Right, and what was the grand plan?” James pretended to look annoyed but his heart was racing a little, “I’m supposed to just walk up to her now and –what? Spill my heart out?” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “If you want to. Or you could just start with ‘Hello’. You know, like a normal bloke.”  

“Or go and buy her a drink.” Remus drained the last drop of his beer and waved the empty glass in James’s face, “It’s your round anyway.” he winked. 

James hesitated, glancing across the room to where she stood. 

“Fine.” He muttered, raking a hand through his hair, “but if this goes sideways then I’m blaming you.” 

Sirius grinned, “Oh, it’ll go brilliantly. Go get her, Romeo.” 

Okay, Potter. Play it cool. Don’t trip. Definitely don’t trip. 

James’s heart hammered in his chest as he crossed the pub, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses fading into the background. All he could focus on her- and the pounding in his chest. She looked so effortlessly radiant, standing with Mary and Lily, a drink in her hand.  

Just say hello. He told himself. It wasn’t hard. Two syllables. Completely manageable.  

When her reached their table, she turned, her smile softening when she saw him. “James, hey! I didn’t expect to see you here.”  

Step one: complete. She remembers your name. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting, leaning casually against the table. Or at least, what he hoped looked like casually. 

“Hey. Yeah, funny coincidence, huh? Was just on my way to the bar when I saw you guys. Thought I’d come and say hello.” 

From across the room, Sirius fake coughed something that sounded suspiciously close to “liar!”. James ignored him, focusing entirely on her. As always. 

“Are you out with Sirius and Remus?” Mary asked, smiling at him knowingly. 

“Sat planning their next scheme I assume?” Lily grinned.  

“Probably.” James tried to slyly wipe his clammy palms on his jeans, “I’ve learned not to ask questions.”  

“Smart man.” Y/N smiled softly, “So, are you here to escape them?” 

“Something like that.” the tightness in his chest eased a little, “I’m just heading to get a drink. Do you want anything?” he directed the question towards her. 

“Oh, I'll come with you.” She said, standing up, “It’s my round anyway.” 

He barely managed to keep his face neutral as she fell into step beside him, the warmth of her presence making his brain short circuit.  

“So,” she said, glancing at him as they approached the bar, “Did Sirius and Remus drag you here, or was this your idea?” 

He hesitated for a second, scared that he’d been caught red handed. He could like, pretend this was all a coincidence, but something about the casual way that she asked made him think that she’s just making conversation. She doesn’t know. She can't know. She has no idea how often she’s occupied his thoughts, how ridiculous he’s been about her. 

“They had opinions of the venue,” he settled on, trying to keep his tone light, “Remus often drags us here – cheaper pints and all that.”  

She hummed, considering his answer and then picked up the menu, “So, what’s your usual?” 

James blinked. “My what?” 

“Your usual drink,” she clarified, throwing him a bemused look, “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those blokes who just orders whatever.” 

“Absolutely not.” James lied. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully, “You so are.” 

James shrugged, trying not to look thrown off, “I like to keep things interesting.” 

“Yeah?” she said, clearly unconvinced, “So what are you ordering then”? 

He opened his mouth to speak before realising that he doesn’t actually care what he drinks. He couldn’t order a beer, could he? That was far too predictable. A cocktail maybe? Then, to his horror, he blurted out, “What are you getting?” 

She lifted an amused eyebrow, “What, are you going to copy me?” 

“No,” James scoffed, as it that would be ridiculous, “I’m just... curious. Looking for inspiration.” 

She pursed her lips a little, scanning the selection of bottles behind the bar, “I was thinking a rum and coke.” 

“Excellent choice.” James said, as if he had any thoughts on rum and coke whatsoever. 

“That’s what you’re getting, isn’t it?” her lips twitched into a smile. 

He gestured vaguely, “I mean, if I happen to want the same thing-”  

She laughed, shaking her head as she places their order. James exhales, wondering if this conversation is going as awfully as it feels, but she seems relaxed, like this is normal.  

Which for her, it probably is. She doesn’t know. 

“You didn’t properly answer my question earlier.” she turned back to him. 

“Which one?” 

“Why this pub?” she tilted her head, “You guys are always at the Broomsticks.” 

Shit. Shit. 

“Oh, are you stalking me now?” he teased, “Change of scenery I guess.” 

She hummed again, clearly not buying it, but before she can dig deeper, the bartender returns with their drinks.  

James latched onto the distraction like a lifeline as he paid.  

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass. 

She clinked her against his, smiling easily, “Cheers, Potter.” 

His name sounds too good when she says it.  

When he returned to the table, Sirius is grinning like he knows exactly what’s going on.  

James pointedly doesn’t look at him. 

She doesn’t know.  

And maybe, for now, that’s for the best. 

“You’re gone, mate.” Sirius smirks. 

“Completely gone.” Remus agrees. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

[achilles-rage]

Is She Mine?

summary: when buck left pennsylvania, he unknowingly left you there, pregnant with his child. four years later he runs into you and your daughter at the grocery store.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: another buck with a kid fic, another baby name from my baby name list used<3 if you don't like the name argue with the wall. someone gave me this idea months ago, but i can't find the ask, and i know birthmarks like that aren't hereditary or anything, but just pretend lol. anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: barely edited (sorry), reader has a daughter (obviously lol), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

“Delia, come back here right now!” you whisper-yell down the grocery aisle, looking up right as you see your daughter disappear around the corner.

You’ve always been against kids on leashes, but lately, your three-year-old daughter has been single-handedly changing your opinion on them. You can’t take your eyes off of her for more than a couple of seconds before she’s gone; chasing after nothing in particular and probably talking to a random stranger or two along the way, if you know her at all.

You see flickers of her father in her; not merely in her appearance, but in who she is on the inside as well, and she’s never even met him. She’s extremely outgoing and talkative, and stubborn, and has a heart of gold. As much as you hate to see the painful glimmer of her father within her, it also makes you happy to think of your time with him.

You haven’t seen him since shortly after you realized you were pregnant. You were both in college in your home state, and when you took the pregnancy test, you couldn’t figure out how to tell him. You had ended up waiting too long, and when he told you that he was leaving to travel the world, you couldn’t stop him, as much as you wanted to.

You knew how miserable he was with his parents, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ruin his dreams. You knew all he wanted to do was get out of Pennsylvania, and you didn’t want to force him to stay with you just because you had done something stupid. 

You abandon your cart in the middle of the aisle and race after her, haphazardly pulling your purse up your arm as your eyes frantically look around you for a glimpse of her hair, or her light blue shirt. Or was it purple? God, you really need to start taking pictures of her before you go out with her, you think to yourself as your heart hammers in your chest.

Finally, you hear her loud giggle, and you let out a relieved sigh, following the noise and finally setting your sight on her curly hair and her blue shirt. Good to know you were right about that, at least.

“De, what are you doing? You can’t run away from m-” your words catch in your throat as you see that she’s talking to a man who’s bent down to her level and smiling fondly at her. 

When he turns and locks eyes with you, the smile drops from his face, and he stands up straight as his eyes travel down your body. His breath has been ripped from his lungs as he watches you pick up the little girl and set her on your hip, but before either of you can speak, your daughter squeals excitedly in your ear.

“Mommy, he’s got dots, too!” Her tiny hand shoots out toward his eyebrow, pointing at the birthmark above his eye, and you nod slowly, eyes still focused on Buck. Your sweet girl is completely oblivious to the tension between you and Buck; all she can focus on is that this random man at the grocery store has the exact same birthmark as her.

“Buck,” you breathe in disbelief, watching as the realization dawns on him. He knows exactly what he just heard. Mommy. And unless he’s suddenly extremely bad at math, he knows exactly what this means.

His eyes dart between you and your daughter, now seeing the mix of your features on her face. She has your eyes, and her hair is the exact same, but she also has his bright smile, and his nose, and of course, the same birthmark above her eye.

“Is she-” he begins, trailing off as he shakes his head. He’s trying hard to wrap his head around this situation, and the only thought running through his mind is why the hell didn’t she tell me?

“She’s three,” you reply softly, unable to bring yourself to say the real truth. He’s not stupid; you know you shouldn’t need to, and you don’t want to say a thing around Delia, anyway. 

“Why didn’t you-?” he begins again, but you cut him off, keeping a firm grip on your daughter as she wiggles around in your arms.

“You were miserable in Pennsylvania, I couldn’t make you stay,” you explain, your throat feeling tight as you feel all the emotions you’ve been shoving deep down for the past four years fighting their way to the surface again.

“You wouldn’t be making me stay, if I knew, I would’ve wanted to stay. You know that,” he tells you, brows furrowed. 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you since he left. Leaving you in Pennsylvania was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he knew how important it was for you to graduate, and he couldn’t ask you to leave with him and throw away your own dreams for his. 

Now, looking at you, and the little girl in your arms, his heart feels heavy. He feels guilty for not being there for you for four years. He wishes that he never left.

“And I wasn’t miserable. I had you,” he continues, his fists clenching at his sides as he watches his daughter wrap her arms around your neck and rest her little head on your shoulder. He wants more than anything to hold her, but she has no idea who he is, and that causes a pain in his chest.

“I’m sorry. We were young, and I didn’t know what to do,” you explain, guilt filling your belly. In hindsight, you know you should’ve told Buck; he had a right to know, but you didn’t know what to say.

“Well, I can’t just forget about this now. I can’t just go back to not seeing you, not seeing her,” he says, his tone pleading as he looks down at your daughter again, his eyes soft as he takes in her drowsy eyes.

“Delia,” you tell him with a small smile, tilting your head to the side and resting your cheek against the top of her head.

He smiles too, and you think you see tears forming in his eyes as he nods, then clears his throat.

“Delia,” he whispers. “She looks just like you,” he continues, louder this time. 

You laugh softly, shrugging as you squeeze Delia tighter to you. You’re thankful that she’s been quiet while you talk, clearly tired after a long day at the park, and then running errands.

“I think she looks like you,” you reply, and he chuckles softly, feeling a sense of pride fill his chest. He can’t believe he hasn’t been there to see his little girl grow up, and that you’ve had to do this all alone.

“Please let me see you again. Please.” You smile at his words; you knew Buck would want to help out as much as he could if he ever found out. You feel guilt eating at you as you see the longing in his expression, but this feels like a second chance, and you don’t want to cut him off again.

“Okay. But, can I call you later? I should get her home and ready for daycare tomorrow. We shouldn’t really talk about this here, anyway,” you say quietly, gesturing down to Delia. She may only be three, but she understands a lot, even in her sleepy state, and you don’t want to confuse her before you know what this is.

He nods quickly, then gives you his phone to get your number, and when he has it, you say goodbye before you go your separate ways. 

Your daughter waves haphazardly at Buck as you walk away, and you can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. She’s asked about her father before, and you never quite knew what to say. Maybe now she’ll actually be able to have the father she’s always asked about. The one that you’ve longed for for the last four years.

Later that night, when Delia’s in bed, you call Buck and set up a day for him to come over to spend the day with you two. You both agree not to tell Delia who he really is, at least not right away. First, you’ll just get her used to him, and then you’ll cross the next bridge when you get to it.

You weren’t at all surprised when the first time Buck showed up on your doorstep, Delia welcomed him in with a bright smile, grabbing his hand and bringing him into the living room where all her toys were scattered around. You weren’t surprised when Buck sat right down with her and played with her all day, either, only stopping for snack breaks.

Anything she would ask for, he would do, whether it was playing hide and seek, or painting with her, or throwing her up in the air as many times as she wanted while playing what she calls “rocket ship.”

Eventually, his afternoon visits ended up ending later and later, and you’d sit on the couch and talk long after Delia went to bed. You missed hanging out with him, and seeing him being so good with Delia had you falling for him all over again. 

It wasn’t hard to see that he felt the same; you could see the way his eyes wandered down your body, or down to your lips when you were speaking, but you never did anything about it. Your number one priority is Delia, and you don’t want to do anything too early and confuse her. 

One day, a few months after you had run into Buck, he’s sitting on the carpet with your daughter, holding two of her Barbie’s in his hands with furrowed brows as she explains to him who they are. You’re sitting with them, watching with a fond smile, when Delia stops, looking up at Buck quizzically.

“Are you my daddy?” she asks softly, her brows knit together in confusion as she eyes him.

Both you and Buck’s eyes widen, and your lips part as you try to figure out what to say. You knew this was coming, but you couldn’t figure out how to go about it.

“Why do you ask, sweetheart?” Buck finally says, tilting his head to the side as you watch them.

“Everyone at school has daddies. And, you love my mommy,” she explains, looking between the two of you. You tilt your head to the side and steal a glance at Buck, seeing the smile growing on his face. He meets your gaze for a second, raising a brow, and you nod once. You don’t know how this is going to go, but you want to try.

“Of course, I love your mommy. And I love you, too,” he assures her with a smile, bringing a hand up and tracing her chubby cheek with his fingers.

She smiles bashfully, tilting her head to the side, then stops for a moment, thinking. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she looks at the space between the two of you, spaced out, and then she looks back up at Buck.

“Will you be my daddy?” she asks, and your heart shatters when you see the nervousness in her eyes. Buck can feel tears forming in his eyes as he looks back into her eyes, and his heart somehow feels both full and empty at her words. He’s been hoping to eventually become Delia’s father for real, but hearing the uncertainty in her voice makes him want to hold her close and never leave her again.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll be your daddy,” he says after a moment, not wanting her to wait a second longer. He lets out a huff as Delia suddenly shoots up and launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and settling into his lap with an elated giggle.

“I love you, daddy,” she says breathlessly, nuzzling into his neck and squeezing him hard. You watch with a smile, tears forming in your own eyes as you see a tear slip down Buck’s cheek.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice shaky as he hugs her close to his chest.

He’s always wanted a family, and now that he has this one, he never wants to let it go. He just can’t believe he missed out on the first three years. He’ll have to make it up to his girls, he thinks to himself.

“I’m gonna go talk to your mommy for a second. We’ll be right back, okay?” he tells your daughter when she finally gets off his lap and goes back to playing with her Barbie’s.

When you’re both in the kitchen, and sure Delia’s distracted, Buck closes the space between you two, cupping your cheeks and bringing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. You hold his wrists as you kiss him back, caught slightly off guard but quickly regaining your composure as you move your lips in time with his.

When you finally pull back, you’re both out of breath, and he looks down at you with sparkling eyes, studying your face for a moment before bringing your foreheads together. 

“I want to be a real family. I don’t just want her, I want you, too.” he whispers, letting his thumb trace along your skin as he holds your face in his hands. You laugh in slight disbelief, then nod, letting a tear finally fall down your cheek. The last four years without him have been exhausting, and all you wanted was this, but you never thought you could have it. Except now Buck is standing right in front of you, telling you that he wants exactly what you want.

“I want that, too.” you tell him softly, then bring your lips up to his again, kissing him with newfound fervour. 

Your hands go to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer as you part your lips and let his tongue slip into your mouth, searching. He keeps one hand on your face as the other goes down to your hip, holding you flush against him as he tilts your head further up into the kiss, and a low groan escapes his throat as he feels your plush middle pressed against him. 

You finally have to pull away when you hear your daughter’s squeal from the other room; yelling a high pitched “daddy!” 

You both race to the living room, letting out sighs of relief when you see her sitting in the same spot on the carpet that you’d left her, with a cheeky smile on her face.

“Can we have ice cream for dinner?” You scoff, laughing softly as you shake your head. You’ve seen that sweet little expression before; she knows exactly how to ask for what she wants, but unlike Buck, you’re more used to having to say no.

“Yeah, we can have ice cream for dinner, baby,” Buck replies before you can, and your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowed. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, however, as he’s smiling fondly at Delia as she squeals excitedly and makes her way to him.

When Buck picks your daughter up in his arms and finally turns to face you, you can feel the sliver of anger slip away, seeing how Delia is looking up at Buck with a dazed smile; clearly happy about finally having her daddy. 

“You’re already wrapped around her finger.” you tease, and all he does is shrug, a smile plastered to his face.

“Happily.” he replies, then leans down and gives you a gentle kiss. You both laugh when you hear Delia’s fake sounds of disgust, and when you pull back, Buck throws her up in the air, then catches her.

“Hey, if I’m gonna be your daddy, you’re gonna have to let me kiss your mommy, that’s part of the deal.” he teases as he throws her up in the air, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from her lips. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” she gets out through breathless gasps, and when Buck hums in victory and lowers her back into his arms, he gives her a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

You watch with a grin, and you can’t believe that you lived for four years without Buck. But now that he’s back, you never want to leave him again.

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[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 3 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 4.0k (i know)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), much cussing, some adult themes (again, no smut y'all), bkg and reader go through one stage of grief: bargaining, the plot thickens!

a/n. wrote all this in one day—i couldn't put the doc down until i finished it. this chapter is jam-packed and has lots going on, but we're only at the beginning. i hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it!

links. masterlist, ao3

“…Though I trust you’ll understand if we set some—” he pauses, and you’re 99% sure it’s for dramatic effect, “—precautionary measures in place?”

“Waddya have in mind?” asks Bakugou, his rough tone laced with unmistakable skepticism.

“Well, for starters…”

Their leader glances back at the bionic woman. “Sayaka, are they ready?”

Sayaka nods. “Ready for installation, Masaki-san.”

You scramble to take a mental note of their names—as well as try to ignore the fact that the robotic girl sounds like a robot, too—as you watch Masaki gesture to the escort from earlier who’s standing at the sides and in the shadows.

He emerges into the dim lights with a wide stride, but to your surprise, another leg steps forward right beside him. Your eyes trail up until they land on the other person, widening in confusion because they look just like a carbon copy of the intimidating escort—tall, ginger head, pale skin—only it’s a girl.

There’s no mistaking it.

They’re twins.

Twin bodyguards. In a quirk supremacist group.

You fight the urge to let out a dry laugh.

But apparently, neither of the two finds the situation funny, because they’re nothing but serious as they approach Masaki and bow politely, before heading to Sayaka and taking what looks like tiny…metal pieces?

You don’t get the opportunity to wonder about what those were, though, because, in the blink of an eye, the twins are already stalking straight toward you and Bakugou, glaring daggers.

“Those are bugs,” Masaki explains just as the twins arrive right in front of you, with the guy from earlier towering over Bakugou and the female staring you down a few inches away from your face, decidedly a little too close for comfort. You barely manage to stop yourself from gulping and looking away.

“They’ll be tracking your speech and movements 24/7. And don’t worry, they’re waterproof.”

You sense Bakugou’s about to spit some smart-ass comment, judging by the way he puffs up like he tends to do when he’s about to drop a curse-riddled quip, but he doesn’t get the chance to deliver the blow because the twins are on you in an instant.

You accidentally let out a yelp as the woman grabs the hem of your tank top so roughly you think it’s gonna tear, before she stuffs her right hand up. Mortified, you struggle against her hold, but her left has a death grip on you.

“Relax,” she seethes, obviously very much already done with you. “I’m just installing it.”

At her words, you manually will yourself to calm down, and it quickly dawns on you that she’s not touching you violently or inappropriately. You tamp down a shiver as her cold fingers come into contact with the center of your chest, right at the dip of your bra and between your breasts, feeling the surface before sticking something that you promptly identify as the tracker.

And as she retracts her hand and steps away from you, right at the same time as her twin like they’re wired for synchrony, you reflect on how it’s so light that you barely feel an added weight to your body. It’s circular, too, and you debate for a second whether or not to peer down at your chest to see what it really looks like, before ultimately deciding against it.

You can do that later, in the privacy of the (hopefully not downstairs) bathroom.

If such a concept even exists.

“Thanks, you two,” comes Masaki’s gentle voice, before shifting to regard you and Bakugou. “You can get to know your designated guards later on, but for now, let’s continue.”

As if on cue, the twins take a further step back before eventually returning to their dark corner.

“What we just affixed on your chests are special devices, again, designed to monitor any sound you make as well as your specific locations. They’re not your ordinarily engineered trackers—they’re Sayaka’s thanks to her quirk—which also allows her to directly receive the feedback and project it for others to see and hear.”

Ah.

You don’t know how that works exactly, but you bet the expensive ass perfume that you got for your birthday last year—the very one you wear for special occasions like now—that it’s got something to do with her robotic parts.

“Does everyone in your group get one, too?” questions Bakugou, who’s now looking a bit miffed. You’re sure he didn’t enjoy getting felt up by a stranger who he just called someone’s little lackey.

“Only the new members,” Sayaka answers succinctly, her voice sounding like it’s filtered with autotune.

But especially you two, you finish for her in your head. And really, you can’t blame them. Taking in a pro-hero, let alone Japan’s #2, is a huge gamble, and Bakugou quite literally can make or break their whole plan to attack. This level of precaution is not at all uncalled for. You’d even go so far as to say it’s not enough.

Bakugou must be thinking the same thing, too, because he doesn’t offer a follow-up question.

Masaki takes your silence as a sign for him to go on.

“Of course, that’s only the first layer of protection.”

Shit.

You hope you didn’t just think that into existence.

The plain-looking leader puts on that prudent smile of his, before turning to look at the old man. “Kouki-san here has a very handy quirk. Teleportation,” he glances at Bakugou, “A sought-after power in the hero world, isn’t it?”

Bakugou shrugs, although you’re guessing the answer is yes and that he’s just too stubborn to admit it.

Figures.

“Well, he’s gone and mastered his quirk, and has since been indispensable to our organization. Essentially—” Masaki huffs, like he’s preparing for the bomb he’s about to drop, “—the very moment you even hint at betraying us, we’re gone,” he snaps his fingers, “Just like that. And you won’t be able to trace us.”

“Really?” drawls Bakugou. “You’ll abandon this cushy, not at all seedy ass headquarters of yours?”

“This is only one of many, Dynamight,” Masaki responds, seemingly unbothered by Bakugou’s taunt. “And this is actually not our headquarters.”

He picks up his glass of alcohol and lightly twirls it around in his hand. “I also trust that you’re aware of what a distinguished group such as ours entails? Naturally, we need to have somewhere safe where we can conduct all our activities under the radar.”

“As you can imagine, it’s not just us five. We have many, many members who share the same principles, and this club can’t possibly be large enough to host all of us.”

“Where are you going with this?” Bakugou demands.

“What I’m saying is that we have a separate place as our headquarters, a place much bigger than this. And—” he cocks his head toward Kouki, “—we get there via teleportation.”

“Obviously,” sneers Bakugou, “Otherwise that’d be a huge waste of the old man’s quirk, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s only one of the reasons. You see, it’s also so that you won’t know where it is located,” Masaki pauses once again, which you decide in a split second is warranted because of what he’s going to say next.

“And for that to work, we’re also going to have to lock you inside.”

Your breath hitches. Bakugou bristles.

“The fu—”

“We’re going to have to make you stay with us—” the plain-looking man interjects with a slightly louder voice, “—at least until the day of the attack, as we cannot risk you two being seen constantly going in and out of this club every night.”

You’re about to contribute to the conversation for the very first time but Bakugou beats you to it. “Fucking stay in? Isn’t that gonna cause even more suspicion?”

“It wouldn’t if you both come up with a good excuse to disappear,” Kouki retorts with a smidge of attitude. He eyes Bakugou with a raised brow, “Wouldn’t now be a great time to have a top-secret ‘mission’ overseas? And I’m sure your friend here can whip something up.”

You brush off the annoyance that shoots through you at the dismissive mention. Instead, you finally bring yourself to speak up. “I thought you just said we’ll be stuffed in a secret hideout?”

“Ah,” Masaki sounds out, “You are, but this is our gateway, so to speak. You go here to get teleported to the headquarters, and from there, get teleported back here to return to the outside world. We won’t hesitate to teleport away from both places the second we have to, but that doesn’t mean our HQ is easily disposable to us, hence all these measures.”

“All this to say,” he furthers, his timid tone juxtaposing the threatening words you’re sure he’s about to utter, “You two better think twice about betraying us.”

There it is.

He smiles again. “Do either of you have any questions?”

Beside you, Bakugou mutters to himself for a second, before clearing his throat. “You’re yapping on and on about what you’ll do if we betray you and shit. Ain’t that such a warm welcome for your new members?”

—A rhetorical question, because he doesn’t let anyone get a word in. Instead, he presses on.

“But what if we don’t? What’s in it for us?”

“You get to live out your ideals, boy,” comes the old geezer’s snappy reply.

Bakugou snorts, and you’re sure it’s not because he found the guy hilarious.

“That’s a shitty deal on our end, don’t ya think so?” the pro-hero shifts his weight on his other foot. “How ‘bout this, you guarantee protection for my…friend here, and we’re even.”

You hold your breath.

Looking past the way he just so awkwardly referred to you as his friend, that segue just now wasn’t exactly the smoothest.

Still, you have no choice but to roll with it. So, with much conviction, you morph your face into that of shyness—one that you hope is charming enough to win their graces.

“Just her?” asks Masaki, placid as ever.

“I can get by,” comes Bakugou’s confident response.

Once again ignoring the mildly degrading remark, you ready yourself to use your quirk. You closely examine the leader’s features as they transform into an expression of contemplation, even as he turns to the other two and engages them in quiet conversation.

You and Bakugou stand there for a few moments, waiting, before Masaki finally turns again.

And all that preparing to utilize your quirk goes out of the dilapidated windows once you catch a glimpse of his face.

“I guess that’s settled, then.”

Called it.

Masaki then raises an eyebrow at the two of you. “Any more concerns?” he smiles to himself, “Heartwarming requests?”

Neither of you says anything.

“None?” he asks again, before patting his thighs in a gesture of finality. “Well, then, I believe it’s time for you to see your new home! Kouki-san?”

At the mention, the old man slowly gets up from where he made himself very comfortable on the couch, and walks leisurely towards you, planting himself in front of and between you and Bakugou.

“Hang tight,” Kouki smirks, reaching out for both of your hands, and you’re just about registering how eerily cool his are when the ground that was perfectly carpeted and steady just a second ago suddenly collapses from beneath you.

A violent wave of nausea instantly hits you as the room completely vanishes before you, replaced by pitch-black darkness in a second. You scramble for purchase—tightening your grip on the person responsible for whatever the fuck this is—as the noise instantaneously gets sucked in a vacuum, leaving you in full silence. Your legs are jelly as you stumble on your feet, and you’re convinced you’re going to fall to your death down to the abyss below you when—just as fast as the lounge disappeared—a warmly lit hallway materializes in front of you.

But it’s too late, you’re already out of balance and lurching forward—inch by excruciating inch—right until you feel a hand grab your forearm and you’re unceremoniously yanked back into an upright position.

You whip to look at Bakugou as you wobble on your feet, and he’s staring at you with such alarm that makes you feel so…vulnerable. He retracts his left hand a beat later when you eventually steady yourself, his serious and unrelenting gaze fixated on you before shifting to study the place you just got teleported to.

You follow suit, eyeing the hallway as you place the hand Kouki was holding into your pocket to warm it up.

Similar to the club and the room you were just in, the area is barely illuminated, but it’s bright enough for you to make out the dark wooden doors that line both sides. You’re right in the middle of the hallway, and at one of the ends you think are staircases leading both to a lower and an upper level, while at the other end is another door.

If these lead to what you think they lead…

Then, damn.

They weren’t kidding about lodging.

From the corner of your eye, you see the old man look at you and follow your line of vision, shifting to study the aforementioned door at the end of this hallway.

“That’s your room,” he offers curtly, like this job of chaperoning you to your place of residence for who knows how many days is beneath him.

Room, you parrot in your head.

Room singular.

“Well?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his impatience when neither you nor Bakugou makes a move. “Aren’t you going to check it out?”

You hesitate, glancing at Bakugou to find him frowning at Kouki, before turning to look at you.

“We don’t have all day, you two,” Kouki adds on with a sigh at the same time you raise your eyebrows ever so minutely at the pro-hero, as if asking for confirmation. “Go on, I’ll wait here.”

It only takes a small nod from Bakugou to pull you out of the paralysis, and the minute that he does, you’re already moving to the spot beside him, matching his pace as you trudge towards the door.

As inconspicuously as you can, you check the corners of the room along the wall facing you for cameras, only to find none.

And so you do it.

With your backs turned against the Teleportation master, you finally let your emotions show on your face.

You also chance a peek at Bakugou, only to find him already eyeing you with the very same expression you’re sure is written all over your features.

The one that says you’re fucked.

You don’t get to dwell or comment on the shared sentiment, though, mainly because they’ll hear every word you say, but also because you arrive in front of the door. Bakugou looks at the knob and then at you warily, and you can only nod in encouragement.

That seems to be enough of a push for him, because he reaches for and turns the handle, pushing past the entryway so you can walk in from behind him.

Now, the first thing that registers after you startle at the door closing is the fact that the room is small. Tiny, even. There’s another door at the back, which you think leads to the comfort room.

But that’s pretty much it.

That, and there’s only one bed.

To your credit, though, you’re able to refrain from gasping in horror at the sight of it, which you can chalk up to the next thing that you see—a couch.

It doesn’t seem like it’s foldable or can be converted into a larger bunk, but it’ll have to do. It’s brown and hopefully real leather this time, and is crammed right next to the bed. You remind yourself that they were only expecting Bakugou, and so you can’t really complain and that you’ll have to make do with sleeping on the couch for the next n days.

Aside from all those, though, the room is relatively bare.

Well, apart from the cameras with the blinking red light at the upper, four corners of it.

But you don’t get to wordlessly warn him about it, let alone come to terms with the fact that they’re deadass going to be watching your every single move, because something seizes your wrist, spinning you around, leaving you face to face with Bakugou.

You’re too preoccupied with the sudden motion and the fact that you’re just a breadth’s width away from each other to notice the darkened look in his eyes.

Which, in hindsight, you should’ve noticed.

If you wanted any chance at bracing yourself for what he’s going to do next.

“Wha—”

You yelp—cutting yourself off—when Bakugou, the Bakugou Katsuki—Japan’s #2 Pro-hero, Vogue Japan’s Hottest Bachelor of the Year, and the dickhead who used to be your biggest, fattest crush—grabs at your neck and smashes his lips against yours.

You involuntarily jerk away from him, but his free hand shoots up to roughly clutch your hip just as his grip on your neck tightens, pinning you in place and right against him.

And you don’t know how the fuck it happens, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t know at this point, and frankly, you don’t want to know, because coupled with his scalding hold on your body, it causes you to do the unthinkable.

You moan.

And again, you don’t even get the opportunity to feel the utter humiliation, because just as quickly as he pounced on you, Bakugou pulls away, but not before scowling at the cameras as if he just noticed them—which you doubt—then taking your hand, dragging you out of the door and into the hallway.

The old man glances at you. “Are you don—”

“Take us the fuck back now,” Bakugou spits as he pulls you right beside him.

At that, Kouki’s eyebrows furrow. “You ought to know better than to speak to an elderly like that.”

But the man who just fucking kissed you apparently can’t give a single flying fuck, because he retorts without missing a beat. “Take us back now.”

That must’ve been the final straw, because Kouki’s face finally morphs into the scowl that you think he’s been trying to suppress this entire time, but to your surprise, he moves closer to the two of you and once again, reaches for your hands.

You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but what you do know is that Bakugou’s onto something here, because he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt just now without any reason, which means the last thing you should do is resist.

And so you take Kouki’s hand, just as Bakugou snags the other, and when you do, the floor gives out from underneath you.

You’re still overcome with a sense of dizziness as your surroundings shift and the noise dissipates around you, but as you find the lounge slowly appearing before your eyes, you find that it’s not as bad the second time.

Bakugou’s still holding your hand when you arrive at the second floor of the club, right back where you stood from a while ago.

Sayaka is the first one to notice you, most likely thanks to her quirk and the goddamn device stuck to your chest, but it’s Masaki who speaks up when he catches wind of your arrival.

He puts down the deck of cards you think he’s just been shuffling before shifting to look at you. “Back so soon?”

Kouki turns around to face him, “Bakugou demanded to—”

“Why the fuck are there cameras in our room?”

Offended, the old man whips around again to glower at Bakugou, seemingly ready to unleash the sermon of the century. “Young man—”

“Turn them the fuck off,” the pro-hero interjects, “And the mics, too.”

Bakugou hesitates, as if unsure of how to properly say the next few words. He glances at you, expression inexplicable, before turning back to face them. “…At least at night.”

Silence.

“Oooh, I see where this is going,” comes Masaki’s reaction a moment later, a knowing smile creeping on his face. You feel yourself flame. “You weren’t being clear with us earlier, Bakugou. You didn’t say you brought your girlfriend.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary to point out,” comes Bakugou’s terse reply.

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter either way. The surveillance is for our safety, which comes above everything else, even the privacy of our esteemed members.”

“You promised you’d protect her at all costs,” Bakugou counters. “Protecting her modesty from the perverts you call your surveillance people is part of that.”

Now, you’re not a hundred percent certain, but you’re pretty sure he just shot the cyborg a look at the latter half of the sentence, which you think would’ve been a noble gesture—if it weren’t for the fact that it’s not just her, judging by the sheer number of cameras in this room alone.

Your attention drifts back to Masaki, however, when he heaves a sigh, leaning against the couch with a tired expression on his face. “Tell me, then, Dynamight. How do you propose we make sure you don’t brew something behind our backs off surveillance?”

“I can turn off the bugs,” Sayaka pipes up before Bakugou can answer, her mechanical voice drifting across the room. “They emit a blue light at their circumference that shuts down when I turn the device off.”

“As for the cameras…” she drones on, “The blinking red light should be gone when they’re offline.”

“That shit won’t do,” Bakugou declares decisively, not even letting the suggestion simmer. “There’s no knowing for sure that they’re actually off and aren’t just hacked to seem like they are.”

“The cameras should also face down. And—” he huffs, “—We get to remove the tracker.”

A chorus of protests erupts from the group—particularly from Sayaka and Kouki—but even the twins who are still stationed at the sides. Masaki, in contrast, only sits in silence as he studies the pro-hero, but there’s no missing the uneasiness decorating his features.

“It’s only at night,” Bakugou reasons, voice now a bit louder to be heard amidst the sea of complaints. “You can set up guards around the perimeters of our room. We’ll surrender them at the door before entering, and we can’t go out beyond the doorway until they’re attached again.”

And when no one says anything, Bakugou pushes. “How does that sound?”

You chance a glance at Masaki, who does not seem to be getting anywhere near convinced.

Bakugou must be noticing it, too, because he squeezes your hand so imperceptibly that you almost miss it.

But you don’t, and quite honestly, you could have and be okay with having done so, because you were on it, anyway.

You quickly scan the room.

One, two, three, four, five.

Five.

You can do five.

And so with the most innocent tone you can muster, you speak up.

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

All five whip to look at you, and the second that they do, you pull—swiftly and in succession—eyes jumping from Sayaka to Kouki to Masaki to the male twin and then to the girl.

Your gaze darts back to the leader right after to make sure you got him, but his remarkably serene countenance is enough to tell you that you’ve successfully done it.

You did it.

You just won Bakugou and you the window of time to discuss the mission in the privacy of your own room.

And Bakugou must be seeing the palpable shift in their demeanors because he squeezes your hand once more, only this time you think it’s in gratitude.

You feel a surge of pride swell in your chest.

Let the games begin.

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[chaepink]

(re-sent) hello dear! i just found your account and i adore your content, i don't usually bump into writers with preferences for femdom!readers and i'm here for it! keep it up ‹3

could i bother you requesting a drabble/oneshot for fem!softdom!reader x sub!tenya iida? in which reader decides to go to tenya's dorm just to find him enjoying some alone time (since he missed reader so much), he thinks they're going to get intimate, but reader tells him to continue as she watches (ocassionaly kissing his cheeks/earlobe and marking his neck). iida might get a little too desperate for touch so he starts begging for a hand or two for help, he can't do it without her. (reader calls tenya: "baby", "hun", "iida". tenya calls reader "baby", "darling") plus: he's a soft moaner ‹3

i hope this isn't too much! no hurries in writting this, i hope you have a nice day/night! —♡ (i made a few subtle changes, i hope you don't mind!)

Your Own Private Show | sub!iida tenya

wc: 740+ words | masterlist

dom!reader, fem!reader, consensual voyeurism, masturbation, begging, pet names, marking

note : i am SO sorry that this took so long, it got lost in my drafts 😭

"ah!- f-fuck.. [name] please!" You and your hand hovering over the doorknob freezes. Is iida?...

Your heartbeat quickens as the noises keep flooding your ears from iida's room. Whines, sobs, pleas. He adds your name to each and every single one of them. He's begging for you.

With bated breath, you quietly and slowly open the door and holy shit was you not ready for the view on the other side of the door. As if he is posing for a portrait, his head is thrown back, his cheeks are flushed, and his body is exposed as he sits on the bed. His legs are spread almost as if he was used to it. And well, he rather is.

He looks absolutely breathtaking.

And well, the thing that takes your breath away the most is the thing right between his legs.

His cock was red and there was a little pre-cum on the tip. Iida's hand was rapidly stroking it and it looked absolutely sinful.

You can't help but walk in, attracting your boyfriend's attention. He whines as you continue to stare at him, his hand stopping.

"p-please..." You raise an eyebrow.

"Please what? Please help you with your little problem?" He whimpers at you. "Aw," you say with a feign pout, "is my iida all hard and horny?"

Iida shivers at how possessive you sound as you say the word 'my'. He nods as he looks up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging you to help him.

You walk over to him, making sure to take your very time. You stop right in front of him, eyeing him up and him. Iida's breath hitches as you duck down towards his ear. Your hot breath makes him shiver and he lets out another whine.

"How about you put on a little show for me first, baby?"

Iida's freezes and as realization dawns on him that you won't be touching him anytime soon, he pouts at you. He reaches to try to grab your hand but you manage to dodge his grasp. He lets out a yearning whine.

You shush him with a finger to his mouth, silencing him. He stares at you with pleading eyes, his hand still wrapped around his dick.

You lean towards his neck, slowly biting and sucking on it. Iida lets out a soft moan when you bite down rather harshly, making sure it'll bruise for a few days.

His body trembles as you continue to suck and lick his neck, leaving a trail of marks.

With a hand placed on his hips, you begin touching his body all over but making sure to avoid his dick and other sensitive parts.

"Go on, Iida. Touch yourself." Iida hesitates a little but starts to slowly touch his dick. Even though he's embarrassed to do this in front of you, the pleasure pushes away that thought and he begins to shamelessly bucking his hips into his hand.

Little 'ah's and 'please's fill the room along with his whines and pleas for you to touch him.

"T-Touch me, darling. P-Please!" You chuckle a little.

"But i'm already touching you, darling. Or is it here you want me to touch?" You raise an eyebrow at him as you point towards his aching dick. He nods frantically at you and you coo at him. He continues fucking into his fist but you start to see tears well up in his eyes.

One of your hands goes to touch his dick and Iida lets out a whine. It doesn't take long until iida is begging you to cum with moans and whines that follow after. Your hand replaces his hand on his dick as Iida's hips begin to jerk into your hand, desperate to chase after his release.

After a while without you, he feels as if his orgasm is coming quicker than usual and before he could warn you, he cums all over his chest and your hand.

Eyes wide and chest heaving, iida flushes red at how quick he came but when you continue to pump his dick, he gasps.

"Baby w-wait." His shaky hands try to push your hand off his dick but it doesn't budge. Rather, you just speed up your movements.

"You wanted me to touch you, right?" You give him a grin that makes Iida's dick twitch and a whimper to leave him. "Well be a good boy and sit still for me, I'm not done yet."

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[hypnobeauty]

A Chance Encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 5)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, fluff, slowburn, pre-squid game, slice of life. a/n: hello! bigger chapter for you guys! some more background on our girl and other people in her life. next chapter is the date. i'm currently on a trip with friends, so posting schedule might be crazy. enjoy xx as always, comments are appreciated ♥ taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon - comment if you’d like to be tagged.

part 5. nerves and anticipation

hyun-ju’s eyes opened before her alarm buzzed—a habit she hadn’t been able to shake even after leaving the military. twelve years of structure and discipline didn’t disappear in a matter of months. the steady rhythm of her mornings was a comfort, even now.

she swung her legs off the bed, her muscles stiff but familiar with the motion. stretching her arms over her head, she felt the faint pull of her shoulders, then stood to stretch her legs. the sheets were swiftly pulled taut and tucked neatly, her bed transformed with military precision.

padding to the bathroom, hyun-ju caught her reflection in the mirror. she stared for a beat longer than usual, then peeled off her clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin before stepping into the shower, turning the knob toward the coldest setting. the icy water shocked her system into wakefulness, a ritual born of her time in the military. in those days, mornings had started early—often before the sun had risen. as a sergeant first class, she had been responsible for overseeing her unit’s readiness and welfare. she would lead them in grueling physical training sessions at dawn, barking commands through frosted air as their breaths formed clouds.

by midmorning, her time would be consumed by inspections, briefings, and tactical drills. she had thrived on the structure, finding solace in the rhythm of endless tasks. between training her soldiers and mentoring junior officers, she had carved out time to pursue a degree in business administration at the korea military academy. the balance was precarious, but hyun-ju had been proud of the way she managed it all, even if the exhaustion had been bone-deep.

but it wasn’t all discipline and grit. she’d been a mentor, too—a steady presence for her team. her soldiers had come to her with everything from strategic questions to personal fears. she’d thrived on the structure and camaraderie, even as it tested her limits. now, the rigor of those days was a memory, but her mornings remained sacred. 

after drying off and wrapping herself in a towel, she began her skincare routine, methodically layering products while her mind wandered. teeth brushed, hair brushed, oiled and tied, she returned to her bedroom to pull on her favorite sports bra, loose joggers, and an oversized shirt. she was sitting to put on her socks when the alarm on her phone buzzed.

6:30 a.m., right on schedule.

in the kitchen, she boiled water for black coffee and set out her pills for the day—vitamins, hormone supplements, phytoestrogens, collagen. beside them were her gym staples: creatine and bcaa powder. after swallowing the pills with a gulp of water and sipping her coffee, hyun-ju laced up her sneakers, grabbed her phone and headphones, and headed out.

the faint hum of seoul awakening surrounded her—bakers pulling down shutters, early commuters shuffling to the bus stop. she greeted mr. soo, the building janitor, with a polite nod before breaking into a light jog. her pace quickened as her muscles warmed, the steady rhythm of her feet striking the pavement grounding her in the present. by the time she reached the gym, she was ready for the burn of leg day. the familiar ache in her quads and calves was like an old friend, a reminder of what her body could endure.

after her session, hyun-ju walked home, stopping by a fruit vendor to grab an apple. she peeled the sticker off absentmindedly as she walked, biting into the crisp sweetness and savoring the small indulgence. back in her apartment, she showered again, made a quick breakfast, and settled at her desk with her laptop.

job hunting had become a necessary part of her routine, though not one she enjoyed. she scrolled through listings, tailoring her résumé to each one. she wasn’t applying for anything lofty—assistant positions, entry-level management roles—but the rejection emails piled up all the same.

it wasn’t her qualifications. she knew that. her degree spoke for itself. her twelve years in the military had taught her leadership, logistics, and discipline. she could oversee teams, conduct training, handle logistics, and more. but none of that seemed to matter.

hyun-ju suspected why. the truth was, being trans made her an easy target for rejection. employers didn’t say it outright, but she saw it in their hesitation, the way their smiles faltered when they met her in person.

the thought stung, but she pushed it aside. she had other things to focus on today.

*

the rest of her morning passed in small, familiar rhythms: emails, light cleaning, and a quick lunch. by early afternoon, she was heading out again for her endocrinologist appointment. the check-in on her hormone levels was routine but reassuring—a reminder that her body was aligning more closely with her sense of self.

from there, she walked to her therapist’s office, the quiet space a sanctuary from the noise of her thoughts.

“i still feel stuck,” she admitted, her hands gripping her knees. “like i’m not moving fast enough. not doing enough.”

her therapist’s voice was calm and measured. “you’re doing what you can, hyun-ju. progress isn’t about speed—it’s about showing up for yourself, day by day.”

the words echoed in her mind as she left, the late afternoon sunlight painting long shadows on the pavement.

with time to spare before her evening support group, hyun-ju headed to her favorite café. the scent of roasted coffee beans and the low murmur of voices welcomed her as she settled into a corner seat with her laptop.

she had planned to work on budgeting for her next surgery, but your laugh caught her attention first, light and easy as you chatted with the barista. when your eyes met, her pulse quickened.

the conversation that followed was natural, though hyun-ju felt a mix of relief and guilt. you’d teased her gently about her unread messages, and she’d explained, hesitantly, how much she had overthought replying.

by the time you left, her heart felt lighter. the warmth of your presence stayed with her, your parting words—“see you tomorrow”—echoing in her mind.

hyun-ju lingered at the café long after you had left, her laptop open in front of her but forgotten. the noise of the café—the soft murmur of conversations, the occasional hiss of the espresso machine—faded into the background as her thoughts took over. she had tried to focus on her spreadsheet, crunching numbers for her next surgery, but her mind kept drifting back to you.

you had been kind, patient even after weeks of her silence. your teasing had been gentle, and your warmth felt genuine. it was disarming. hyun-ju wasn’t used to people like you—people who stayed, even when she gave them every reason to walk away.

she closed her laptop and stared out the window. the evening light stretched shadows across the pavement, and she wondered if she was finally ready to let someone into her carefully constructed world.

her thoughts drifted to the support group and the friends who had helped her get this far. she hadn’t been looking for a support group when she found it, but it had become a cornerstone of her routine, every thursday evening. the meetings were an anchor, a place where she could exhale and be herself without fear of judgment.

hyuk, one of the first friends she’d made there, was impossible to miss. his energy filled every room he entered, his sharp humor often breaking the tension during heavy discussions. hyuk was a dj—loud, lively, and unapologetically himself. he had once shown her a gallery on his phone of all the noise complaints he’d received from neighbors.

“what can i say?” he’d joked. “some people just can’t handle the bass.”

his girlfriend, mina, was his opposite in many ways—soft-spoken, with a melancholic air that balanced hyuk’s boldness. she attended the group occasionally, offering her perspective as the partner of a trans man. mina’s kindness was unassuming, but her insights often stayed with hyun-ju long after the meetings ended.

hyun-ju had other friends there, too. autumn, an american, and jaidee, a thai woman whose stories of her homeland painted vivid pictures in hyun-ju’s mind. through jaidee, hyun-ju had learned about the strides thailand had made in lgbtq+ acceptance. she dreamed of visiting one day, maybe even moving there to find the kind of freedom she longed for.

the group was a patchwork of stories and identities, each person carrying their own struggles and triumphs. for hyun-ju, it was a reminder that she wasn’t alone—that there were people who understood, even if the rest of the world didn’t.

a week ago, after a meeting, hyuk and mina had pulled her aside. the support group meeting had just wrapped up, and hyun-ju lingered by the snack table, fiddling with the edge of a biscuit. across the room, mina caught hyun-ju’s eye and waved. hyuk followed her gaze and grinned. 

“you’re not sneaking out without talking to me, are you?” hyuk called as they approached. 

“i wasn’t sneaking,” hyun-ju said, though her tone lacked conviction. 

“you absolutely were,” hyuk teased, gesturing to a pair of empty chairs in the corner. “c’mon. spill it.” 

mina offered her a cup of tea. “peppermint. figured you’d like it.” 

“thanks,” hyun-ju said, cupping the warm drink and trying not to meet hyuk’s expectant gaze. 

hyun-ju hesitated but followed them, sinking into one of the chairs as mina sat on hyuk’s lap, her legs crossed neatly. 

“so, what’s got you looking like you’re carrying the weight of the world?” hyuk asked, leaning back with his typical grin. 

mina gave hyun-ju a kind smile, her soft brown eyes full of curiosity. “if he’s being too pushy, just tell me. i’ll rein him in.” 

“no, it’s fine,” hyun-ju said quickly, her fingers tightening around her tea. “i just… i think i messed something up.” 

hyuk tilted his head, his grin fading slightly. “with who?” 

hyun-ju hesitated, glancing between them. “there’s this girl. she helped me after my surgery—got me home and everything. she gave me her number, but… i haven’t replied to her messages. it’s been weeks.” 

mina leaned forward slightly. “that’s really sweet of her. why haven’t you replied?” 

“i don’t know what to say,” hyun-ju admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “and what if i say the wrong thing? or what if she doesn’t actually like me that way, and i’m just reading into things?” 

hyuk blinked at her. “how many messages?” 

hyun-ju pulled out her phone and reluctantly handed it over. hyuk’s eyes widened as he scrolled through the unread texts. “hyun-ju, this is brutal. she’s practically writing you a novel.” 

mina peeked over his shoulder, wincing. “oof. yeah, this isn’t great.” 

hyuk grinned, holding the phone up like it was evidence in a trial. “you’re leaving her hanging like this? no wonder you’re fidgety. the guilt must be eating you alive.” 

“it is,” hyun-ju admitted, burying her face in her hands. 

mina reached out, patting her arm. “it’s okay. you can fix this.” 

hyuk let out a soft snort. “you’re overthinking this. she wouldn’t have given you her number or sent all those messages if she didn’t care. you think she’s texting you for fun?” 

“hyuk,” mina said gently, placing a hand on his arm before turning to hyun-ju. “what he means is, she sounds like someone who genuinely wanted to connect with you. what’s stopping you from reaching out?” 

hyun-ju shrugged, staring at her tea. “i don’t think i’m ready.” 

mina tilted her head. “ready for what? a relationship? a conversation? something more?” 

hyun-ju opened her mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words. “i don’t know,” she said finally. “sometimes it feels like… like i’m not enough yet. like i need to be further along before anyone would really want me.” 

hyuk let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “hyun-ju, listen to me. i have been there before, okay? you’re enough right now. not next year, not after your next surgery, not when you feel like you’ve checked all the boxes. right now.” he frowned and sighed before continuing.

“sorry, but that’s crap, and you know it. you’re enough right now. you don’t have to hit some magical milestone to deserve to be happy.” 

“oh, absolutely,” mina said dryly, rolling her eyes. “but seriously, hyun-ju, the right person isn’t going to care about where you are in your journey. they’ll care about you.” 

hyun-ju blinked, her eyes stinging. “but what if i ruin it? what if i say the wrong thing, and she decides i’m not worth it?” 

hyuk gave her a pointed look. “and what if you say the right thing, and it turns into something amazing? you’re too busy focusing on the worst-case scenario to see the best one.” 

mina reached over, her voice warm. “hyun-ju, it’s okay to be scared. but don’t let that fear make decisions for you. even if she doesn’t feel the same way, at least you’ll know. and if she does… well, isn’t that worth the risk?” 

hyun-ju exhaled shakily, the knot in her chest loosening just slightly. “i don’t know. maybe.” 

“take your time,” mina said, her smile kind. “but don’t wait so long that you lose the chance.” 

hyuk grinned, leaning back in his chair. “and when you do text her, let me know. i want updates.” 

hyun-ju laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “thanks, both of you.”

“anytime,” mina said, standing and brushing off her skirt. “now, we’ve got a party to drag you to this weekend, so get ready.” hyun-ju groaned, but the smile lingering on her lips was genuine.

so when hyun-ju walked into her support group later that evening and locked eyes with hyuk smiling, he gave her a grin and a knowing look.

“well?” he asked, crossing his arms.

hyun-ju smiled. “we’re going on a date tomorrow.”

“finally,” he said, clapping her on the back. “now don’t mess it up.”

“thanks for the vote of confidence,” hyun-ju said dryly, but her smile lingered.

*

the following night, the weight of the day began to shift. therapy had left hyun-ju with a lot to think about, and the memory of her conversation with you at the café lingered in her mind like a warm ember. the way you’d smiled at her, the light teasing in your tone, the easy way you’d leaned across the table as though the space between you didn’t exist—it had all felt surreal.

now, standing in front of her wardrobe, hyun-ju realized she was nervous.

she wasn’t the type to get flustered easily. growing up, she’d been the one to speak up first, the one who led the charge in games and group projects. even in the military, she’d been confident and self-assured, her voice steady as she commanded her unit. but this—getting ready for a date with you—felt entirely different.

her fingers trailed over the hangers, her eyes scanning the options. most of her wardrobe was practical—clothes meant for comfort or the gym. but tonight wasn’t about practicality. tonight was about showing you a side of herself she rarely let others see.

she settled on a sleek black turtleneck that hugged her figure without feeling too tight and a pair of loose black trousers that tapered neatly at the ankles. simple, understated, but polished.

after laying the outfit on her bed, she turned to the mirror. her hair had grown longer over the past month, the ends now brushing her shoulders. she brushed it carefully, smoothing out any tangles, and debated whether to leave it down or tie it back. after a moment’s hesitation, she decided to leave it loose, the straight strands framing her face.

her makeup routine was straightforward—just enough to enhance her features. a touch of foundation, a hint of blush, a swipe of eyeliner to accentuate her eyes. she paused when she reached for her lipstick, her mind flashing back to the way your gaze had lingered on her lips at the café. she chose a soft, rosy shade, something subtle but noticeable.

by the time she was dressed, her nerves had settled into a quiet hum of anticipation. she checked her reflection one last time, smoothing the fabric of her turtleneck and adjusting her hair.

her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she smiled when she saw your message:

“just finished getting ready. heading out soon. see you at 7!”

hyun-ju’s heart skipped a beat. she typed back quickly:

“can’t wait. i’m on my way now. i’ll share my location with you.”

she grabbed her coat—a long, dark wool one that had been a gift from her mother two winters ago—and wrapped her blue scarf around her neck. the scarf was soft and worn, the kind of item that carried memories with it.

as she stepped out of her apartment, her breath visible in the crisp evening air, she felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. the last time she’d let herself hope for something like this, it hadn’t ended well. but tonight, she wanted to believe.

*

your apartment was a flurry of activity as you got ready, ha-neul sprawled on your bed, her face stuck in her phone, offering unsolicited advice.

“can i crash over tonight?” ha-neul asked “viktor is going to mine to get his stuff, i don't want to see his fugly face.”

“yes.” you said from your place on the floor in front of the mirror, where you finished your makeup.

“are you really going to wear that?” she teased, pointing at the outfit you’d laid out.

“yes,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “it’s a date, not a fashion show.”

ha-neul sat up, smirking. “but it’s your first date with her. you have to make an impression.”

“i think she’ll survive if i don’t show up looking like i stepped out of a magazine,” you said, though your tone lacked conviction.

ha-neul raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. and yet, you’ve tried on three different pairs of boots in the last ten minutes.”

you threw a pillow at her, laughing despite yourself. “fine, maybe i’m a little nervous.”

“a little?” ha-neul said, dodging the pillow. “you’ve been talking about her nonstop since the yesterday.”

you paused, your cheeks warming. it was true—you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about hyun-ju. the way she’d apologized for not replying to your messages, the softness in her voice when she said your name, the way her dark eyes seemed to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts.

“she’s… different,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

ha-neul’s teasing expression softened. “i know. that’s why i’m rooting for you.”

you smiled, turning back to the mirror. your outfit was simple but flattering—a fitted coat over a sweater dress, paired with tights and heeled boots that added just enough height to make you feel confident. you added a pair of earrings, small and understated, and ran a hand through your hair.

when your phone buzzed with hyun-ju’s message, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“can’t wait. i’m on my way now. i’ll share my location with you.”

“she’s on her way,” you said, glancing at ha-neul.

ha-neul let out a dramatic cheer. “look at you, all giddy. go get her, tiger!”

“shut up,” you said, laughing as you grabbed your bag.

as you headed out the door, your phone buzzed again. this time, it was hyun-ju sharing her location. you opened the map, watching the small icon that marked her position move steadily toward the restaurant.

in the backseat of the uber, you snapped a quick selfie, angling the camera to catch your best side. the photo was playful, your lips curved into a soft smile, your eyes bright with anticipation.

“on my way,” you captioned it, hitting send before you could overthink it.

her reply came quickly:

“you look amazing. i’m waiting inside. it’s too cold to stay out.”

you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. hyun-ju’s straightforwardness was one of the things you liked most about her.

*

when hyun-ju saw your selfie, her heart skipped a beat. you looked radiant, your smile soft and inviting, your confidence practically leaping off the screen. she stared at the photo for a moment longer than necessary before typing her reply.

inside the restaurant, she sat at a corner table, her hands resting lightly on the surface. the room was warm and inviting, the soft hum of conversation and the faint clinking of glasses creating a cozy atmosphere. she glanced toward the door every few minutes, her anticipation building with each passing second.

when you finally walked in, hyun-ju stood, her breath catching as your eyes met. you smiled, your face lighting up in a way that made her chest tighten.

and just like that, the nervousness melted away.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 10

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 10k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Yo everyone! Hope you’re all doing well! <3 Here’s a new chapter (it’s pretty long, btw) packed with fluff, hehe. Writing slow burn is so fun because it lets me dive deep into the characters’ stories—but let’s get this shit started right (nothing too intense, but still lol). I’m still trying to settle into a proper posting schedule, so for now, it’s once a week (even though I’d love to post the next chapters already because I’m obsessed with them hahaha). Also, I’m thinking of writing a one-shot soon, so if anyone has requests, feel free to share! Enjoy the chapter and see you soon! <333

previous ✧ next

The city was breathtaking in the fading light of the setting sun, each building bathed in warm hues of gold and amber that seemed to shimmer like something out of a dream. The streets were alive with the soft hum of evening life—merchants closing their stalls, children laughing as they chased one another down cobbled paths, and couples strolling hand in hand beneath the glow of lanterns that flickered to life as dusk settled in.

You walked a step ahead of Azriel, trying to steady yourself and brush off the strange unease that had lingered since your encounter with the healers earlier. The tension in your chest felt misplaced here, in this beautiful city where you had spent some of your most formative years. It was supposed to feel like coming home, yet the ache in your heart made you question every step. You tried to mask it, keeping your voice even and your steps steady as you spoke.

“Welcome to Solterra,” you said, your tone light but practiced. “The city’s divided into three main areas. We’ll start with the Artisans’ Quarter—that’s where most of the skilled crafters live and work. The Dawn Court is famous for its glasswork, pottery, and textiles, so you’ll see some of the best of that here.”

Azriel, walking quietly beside you, gave a small nod, his gaze scanning the streets as if he were cataloging every detail. His shadows curled at his feet but didn’t stray far, as if even they were captivated by the tranquil beauty of the city. He looked entirely at ease, which was a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions you were trying to push down.

“And after that?” he asked, his voice calm, his golden eyes flicking to meet yours.

You gestured toward the northern part of the city. “We’ll head to the Markets. They’re more chaotic but worth the visit. You can find almost anything there—spices, jewelry, rare herbs, even weapons.” You paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Though I doubt you’ll need those.”

Azriel raised a brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I think I’ll survive without adding to my collection.”

The ease in his voice and the faint humor in his expression eased some of the tension in your chest. He was behaving like nothing had happened earlier—no awkwardness, no lingering tension, just calm and steady as ever. It surprised you how much that helped, grounding you when you felt like your emotions were spiraling out of control.

“And after the Markets,” you continued, trying to match his calm tone, “we’ll end in the Gardens. They’re best seen at night when the lights from the palace reflect off the fountains.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected before he nodded again. “Sounds perfect.”

The Artisans’ Quarter unfolded before you like a scene from a painting. Intricate mosaics adorned the walls of buildings, their vibrant colors glowing in the dim light. Glassblowers worked behind large windows, their movements graceful as they shaped molten glass into delicate forms. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea wafted from a nearby bakery, mixing with the earthy smell of clay and paint.

“Most of these families have been here for generations,” you explained, gesturing to the shops and studios. “The skills they pass down are considered sacred. I spent so many hours wandering here when I lived in Solterra. I’d sit for hours watching the glassblowers work—it’s mesmerizing.”

Azriel listened intently, his sharp gaze taking in everything around him. “It’s... peaceful here,” he said after a moment.

You smiled softly, nodding. “It is. That’s one of the things I missed most when I left. No matter what’s happening in the world, this city always feels like it’s standing still, like nothing can touch it.”

As the two of you continued through the quarter, the tension that had been sitting heavy in your chest began to ease. Azriel’s quiet presence was surprisingly reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing, falling into the rhythm of the city and the steady cadence of his steps beside you.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets, and you turned toward the northern part of the city, leading Azriel toward the bustling Markets. The sight of the vibrant stalls and the hum of voices filled you with a sense of nostalgia, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply and let go of the thoughts that had been weighing on you.

Azriel didn’t say much, but the way his shadows softened around him and the faint smile that played on his lips told you he was enjoying himself. It made you smile in return, a genuine expression that reached your eyes as you began pointing out the different areas of the city with renewed energy. Whatever awkwardness you’d felt earlier had been replaced by something lighter, something that felt almost... normal.

The climb up the narrow, winding stairs was not for the faint of heart, but you had done it countless times before. Your steps were steady and sure, though you were keenly aware of Azriel’s presence just behind you. The sun had fully set by the time you reached the top, the last few golden rays fading into deep purples and blues that painted the horizon.

When you stepped onto the open terrace, you paused, waiting for Azriel to join you. His footsteps slowed, and when he emerged from the staircase, he stopped short. His sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but you caught it nonetheless. He stood still, his golden eyes scanning the view before him.

From this height, the entirety of Solterra stretched out like a glowing tapestry. The city lights flickered like stars in the dark, and the streets wove intricate patterns that mirrored the constellations above. The palace, with its gleaming white spires, stood at the center, its reflection shimmering faintly in the waters of the fountains and canals that crisscrossed the city. The glow of lanterns, their light soft and golden, spilled over the edges of the rooftops, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his shadows curling back as if to let him fully take in the scene. “It’s... stunning,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You turned slightly, watching his reaction with a small, knowing smile. “It’s my favorite spot in the city,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the view. “Whenever things felt overwhelming, I’d come here. It has a way of making everything else seem... smaller. Easier to manage.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the scene before him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the distant murmur of the city below and the faint rustle of the wind. Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, catching the faint light and adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the moment.

The terrace itself was simple—stone tiles worn smooth by time, bordered by a low railing carved with intricate designs of stars and moons. Small, glowing orbs floated at the edges, casting a soft, magical light over the space. Ivy climbed up the sides of the railing, its dark green leaves adding a touch of life to the otherwise serene setting.

“It’s hard to believe places like this exist,” Azriel said finally, his tone softer than usual. “It feels... untouched.”

You glanced at him, noticing the way his usually guarded expression had softened, his features lit by the faint glow of the orbs. “That’s the beauty of Solterra,” you said gently. “Even when everything else feels chaotic, it stays the same. Like it’s frozen in time.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the city below. There was a stillness in him, a quiet reverence that you hadn’t expected. It was rare to see him like this—unguarded, almost at peace.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said after a while, his golden eyes meeting yours.

You gave a small shrug, your smile warm but playful. “You needed to see it. Besides, I couldn’t let you leave the Dawn Court without experiencing this view.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his shadows curling around his feet again. “You were right. It’s worth the climb.”

You let the silence settle between you again, a comfortable quiet as the two of you stood side by side, taking in the beauty of Solterra under the night sky. For the first time in a long while, the weight of your responsibilities felt a little lighter.

You rested your hands lightly on the cool stone railing, your eyes fixed on the glittering city below, the soft hum of life drifting up from Solterra. The weight of the earlier conversation with the healers lingered, no matter how much you tried to push it aside. Finally, you took a breath and broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," you said softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet night. "For what you overheard earlier."

Azriel, who had been standing a few steps behind you, moved closer, his shadows weaving gently around him. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his tone steady. “If anything, I should apologize for hearing it. It wasn’t my place to intrude on something so personal.”

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s not your fault. And besides...” Your voice trailed off as the bond hummed faintly in your chest—a painful, persistent ache that you couldn’t ignore. Shaking your head lightly, you added, “It’s nothing I haven’t faced before.”

Azriel studied you, his golden eyes unwavering. “Are you better now?” he asked, his question simple but weighted with genuine concern.

You reached up, running a hand through your hair as you exhaled slowly. Turning back to the city, you said, “Much better now. That was... centuries ago. But I suppose it’s not surprising that some healers would talk about me like that. When I arrived here, I was a mess.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Azriel interjected, his voice firmer now. His shadows curled closer to him, as if reflecting his inner tension. “It’s not normal or acceptable for anyone to speak about you that way.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, but it’s fine. Really. I’ve grown used to it, and... in some ways, they’re not wrong. Back then...” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on a distant point in the city. “When I lost my wings, I only wanted one thing. To die.”

Azriel’s entire body stilled, his shadows frozen in place as he processed your words. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said quietly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Not if it’s too painful.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint, almost sad smile. “It’s fine,” you replied softly. “And besides, you’ve already heard most of it.”

He didn’t argue, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes told you that he was still grappling with the weight of what you had shared. You turned back to the view, the city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gathered your thoughts.

“For a long time, I thought losing my wings was the end of everything I was,” you admitted. “It felt like I was no longer whole, like the only thing that made me... me had been ripped away."

“I left the Night Court after it happened,” you admitted, your voice quieter. “It was too hard to stay. Everything reminded me of what I’d lost. It took me months just to be able to walk properly again.”

Azriel’s brows knit together, his gaze intent on you. “Months?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “How did you manage to keep going?”

You let out a faint, humorless laugh. “I think if I’d been clipped younger, it would have been different. But by then, I’d already spent seventy years flying above Velaris and the Night Court. Losing that freedom…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize at first.”

His shadows shifted around him, curling gently as though reflecting his own unease. “But you came here,” Azriel prompted softly. “To the Dawn Court.”

You nodded. “Thesan and Talyen helped me through it. During my training, they gave me purpose again—something to hold onto when I couldn’t see the point of anything. And you know how it ended with Thesan.” A wistful smile touched your lips. “It took me a long time to be able to come back to the Night Court. I wasn’t sure I ever would.”

Azriel frowned slightly, his wings twitching as if in reaction to your words. “Why didn’t you stay here? If they helped you so much, why leave?”

You tilted your head, considering his question. “Because this wasn’t home,” you said simply. “The Night Court was still my home, even if it hurt to admit it at the time. And deep down, I knew I needed to face what happened. Running away might’ve been easier, but it wasn’t what I needed. I don’t have a family, the Night Court, Velaris, Madja, Illyria, they were the only thing grounding me and actually giving me a feelling that I had an attached somewhere.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, his golden eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” you replied honestly. “But what happened shaped who I am now. And even though it’s not the life I imagined for myself, I’ve found meaning in it. I’ve found a way to be okay.”

The bond between you hummed faintly, the ache of its presence both comforting and painful. Azriel seemed to sense it too, his expression flickering with something unreadable.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the cool night air wrapping around you like a second skin. Then, as if to shift the weight of the conversation, you leaned back against the railing and offered him a small, wry smile.

“Now, enough about me,” you said, your tone lighter. “Have you talked with Rhys?”

Azriel’s jaw tensed slightly, and his shadows coiled closer. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to deal with that right now.”

You nodded, your gaze softening. “That’s fair. But don’t let it fester for too long, Azriel. Things left unsaid have a way of turning into walls between people.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll handle it when the time is right.”

“Good,” you said simply, letting the moment settle between you.

Azriel’s jaw tightened as the question lingered in the air. He glanced away, his shadows curling around him protectively as if to shield him from the conversation. “I haven’t spoken to Rhys yet,” he admitted, his voice low and tense. “It’s... the first time I’ve been this mad at him for so long.”

You tilted your head, your gaze searching his face. “Because of what he said?”

He nodded sharply, his wings shifting in agitation. “It wasn’t just what he said. It’s how he said it. As if... as if I’m incapable of making my own decisions. As if my feelings aren’t valid.”

Your chest ached at the pain in his voice, the rawness of emotions that he so rarely shared. “Have you thought about what you’ll say to him when you’re ready?” you asked softly.

Azriel shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No. I haven’t even been able to think about it without... without wanting to hit something. And that’s not who I am. Rhys and I—we’ve always been brothers in every way that matters. But this time...” He trailed off, his shadows curling tighter. “This time, it feels different.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what he was saying. “It’s hard when someone you care about deeply lets you down.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon as the light from the city below reflected in their depths. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “And then there’s Elain.”

The name hung between you like a heavy cloud. You didn’t press him, sensing he needed to find his own words.

“I don’t even know what I feel anymore,” Azriel admitted, his tone laced with frustration. “When she first came here, after being dumped in the Cauldron, I was the one who helped her. I saw her at her worst—terrified, broken, unsure of everything. I wanted to protect her, to help her find her footing in this new, impossible life. I guess... I grew attached.”

You nodded, your expression neutral but your chest tightening as you listened. “Attachment can be powerful,” you offered carefully. “Especially when it’s built on moments like that.”

Azriel exhaled deeply, his shadows flickering faintly around him. “But it’s not just attachment, is it? There’s something more. Or at least, I thought there was. And yet, every time I look at her, I’m reminded that she has a mate. That no matter how I feel, she’s bound to someone else in a way I can never be.”

You leaned slightly against the railing, watching him closely. “Do you love her?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Azriel didn’t answer. His jaw worked as if trying to find the right words, and his shadows stilled, almost hesitant.

“Maybe not love, at least not anymore...” he said finally, his voice raw with honesty. “But I care about her. More than I ever thought I could. Enough that it hurts to think about letting go. And yet...” He trailed off, his wings drooping slightly. “Maybe I should. Maybe I need to. Because this... this thing between us, it’s just a reminder of what I’ll never have. What I’m not meant for.”

Your heart clenched at the pain laced in his words, the quiet resignation that seemed to settle over him like a heavy cloak. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said softly. “And it doesn’t mean what you felt wasn’t real or valid. But sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “And what if I can’t? What if the bond... or the absence of it, keeps pulling me back?”

You offered him a small, sad smile. “Then maybe it’s not about forgetting or moving on entirely. Maybe it’s about finding a way to hold onto the parts of her that made you better, while still leaving space for yourself to grow. To heal.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his shadows curling around him as if to guard his thoughts. Then, he gave a small nod, though his expression remained conflicted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted. “It’s one of the hardest things to do. But you’ve faced worse, Azriel. You’ll find your way through this too.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, Azriel exhaled slowly, his gaze once again drifting to the city below. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the breeze.

You didn’t respond, but the faint hum of the bond between you seemed to carry your unspoken understanding.

Your hands trembled slightly, barely noticeable, as Azriel’s words lingered in your mind. It was hard—hard to hear him talk about someone else with such care and longing, even as you tried to remind yourself that the bond between you wasn’t something he knew about, let alone wanted. Lost in your thoughts, you startled slightly when you felt a soft tug at your hair.

Glancing to the side, you saw one of Azriel’s shadows twirling a loose strand between its wispy tendrils, as though it was curious. It tickled, and despite the heaviness in your chest, a small smile broke through. “It seems your shadows have taken a liking to me,” you teased lightly, brushing the strand back.

Azriel’s brows furrowed in surprise, his gaze following the shadow as if it had acted without his permission. “They don’t usually...” he began, trailing off as another shadow curled lazily around your shoulder. He looked genuinely perplexed.

You laughed softly, the sound light against the quiet night. “Well, I don’t mind,” you said, though the sensation made you squirm a little as it tickled the back of your neck. “It’s... endearing, in a way.”

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “They have a mind of their own sometimes,” he admitted. “But this is... new.”

You smiled, brushing the shadow away gently, and turned toward him. “Let’s get something to eat,” you offered, eager to change the tone of the evening. “I know a place nearby. It’s simple, but it’s one of my favorite spots in Solterra.”

Azriel tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “Lead the way.”

This time, you didn’t walk ahead; the two of you moved side by side, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. The city had transformed under the night’s embrace, its streets illuminated by warm golden lights. Lanterns strung above the narrow alleys swayed gently in the cool breeze, casting soft, flickering shadows against the sandstone buildings. People bustled around, vendors calling out their wares while laughter and chatter filled the air. Musicians played lively tunes on street corners, their melodies weaving through the lively hum of the crowd.

The stand you brought him to was modest—a small, well-loved cart tucked away near the edge of the marketplace. The scent of spiced meat wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted vegetables. Azriel’s sharp gaze took in every detail, but his focus lingered on the way the vendor’s face lit up when he saw you.

“Y/N!” the man greeted warmly, his voice carrying over the din of the street. “It’s been too long. What brings you here tonight?”

You smiled, stepping closer to the stand. “You know me, I can’t stay away for too long,” you replied, the warmth in your tone genuine. “Azriel, this is Nadir. He makes the best sandwiches in Solterra.”

Nadir grinned, nodding at Azriel. “You’ve got good taste if you’re with Y/N. She’s a regular—used to come by late at night after long shifts. I always knew when she’d had a tough day.”

Azriel inclined his head politely. “It smells incredible,” he said, his shadows coiling faintly as if curious about the food.

“What do you like?” you asked Azriel, glancing over the menu scrawled on a wooden board.

“Anything,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I trust your judgment.”

You ordered for both of you, chatting with Nadir while he worked. The sound of sizzling meat and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the space as the sandwiches came together. A few moments later, Nadir handed over the wrapped bundles with a cheerful “Enjoy!”

The two of you found a quiet spot near the gardens, a place where flowering trees lined the edge of a small fountain. The night’s quiet was punctuated by the occasional ripple of water and the faint laughter of passersby.

Azriel unwrapped his sandwich, taking a tentative bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in approval. “This is... really good,” he admitted, the faintest hint of surprise in his tone.

“I told you,” you teased, taking a bite of your own. The warmth of the spiced meat and the fresh crunch of vegetables was exactly what you needed.

At some point, Azriel glanced at you, his expression softening as his sharp eyes caught something on your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing his thumb gently across your skin to wipe away a small streak of sauce.

The touch startled you, and you froze, blinking at him. A rush of heat bloomed across your face, and you stammered, “Oh, um—thanks.”

Azriel pulled his hand back quickly, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he murmured, his own cheeks faintly pink. “It was—there was sauce.”

You laughed, the sound a little too loud in your effort to ease the tension. “Yeah, I’m a mess when I eat these,” you joked, trying to wave it off.

The two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of the city lights around you making everything feel oddly peaceful. For a moment, it was as if the weight of everything—the bond, his struggles, your past—had lifted, leaving only the quiet companionship of a shared meal under the stars.

Your evenings had fallen into a quiet rhythm over the past few days. After the meetings, Azriel would find his way to your room in the palace, and the two of you would settle into an easy companionship that felt strangely natural. It had started with a simple offer of tea and had grown into these shared moments—both of you working, sometimes talking, and occasionally just enjoying the calm silence.

Your room, one of the largest in the palace, was warm and inviting. Soft golden light filtered through tall windows, casting a gentle glow over the plush rugs and intricately carved wooden furniture. The bed, draped in deep teal and gold linens, sat against one wall, while a wide desk occupied the other, covered in neatly organized stacks of notes, scrolls, and ledgers. A small sitting area near the hearth had become your favorite spot, with two armchairs and a low table perfect for tea and conversation.

Azriel’s presence in the room had become so routine that it no longer surprised you when he knocked lightly before entering. Tonight was no different.

“You’re getting predictable,” you teased as he stepped inside, carrying his reports under one arm.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “I could say the same about you. Tea’s already ready, isn’t it?”

You laughed softly, gesturing to the steaming teapot and cups on the low table. “Touché. I figured you’d show up.”

He sat across from you, setting his reports aside for a moment as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Busy day?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Always,” you replied with a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “The logistics for the next round of resource exchanges are a mess. Half the courts aren’t sure what they can spare, and the other half want more than they’re willing to give.”

Azriel nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea. “Sounds familiar. Negotiations between the High Lords aren’t much different. Everyone wants something, but no one wants to compromise.”

You chuckled dryly. “At least with the healers, we have the same goal. It’s easier to remind them what we’re working toward. The High Lords, though...” You shook your head. “I don’t envy you.”

He gave a small shrug, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. “It’s what I’m used to. But I imagine dealing with this,” he gestured to the neatly organized papers on your desk, “isn’t much easier.”

You followed his gaze and sighed. “Not really. It’s a lot of juggling—balancing what each court needs with what they can offer. And on top of that, making sure it all gets where it’s supposed to go.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “If anyone can handle it, it’s you. I’ve seen how you manage these meetings. It’s impressive.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a flush creep up your neck. “Thank you,” you said softly, glancing down at your cup. “But it’s not just me. The other healers make it work. They’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught them.”

The room was quiet save for the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional rustle of parchment. You had been glancing at Azriel for a while, noticing the slight tension in his movements as he wrote. His fingers occasionally twitched, the pen faltering for just a second before resuming its sharp, precise strokes.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, setting your own quill down.

Azriel paused mid-sentence, looking up at you. “What do you mean?”

You gestured subtly toward his hands. “You’re struggling a bit. Does that happen often?”

He glanced at his gloved hands, flexing his fingers briefly. “The scars don’t hurt much,” he admitted. “But sometimes they make it harder to grip things properly. I usually use a cream to help, but since we’ve been here, it feels a little worse.”

“That’s not surprising,” you said with a faint smile. “The climate in the Dawn Court is much drier than Velaris.”

Azriel nodded, his expression neutral, though there was a flicker of discomfort in his golden eyes. Before he could brush the matter aside, you stood and rummaged through your things.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and exasperation.

“Hold on,” you replied, pulling out a small jar of salve you’d mixed during one of your quiet evenings. You turned back to him, holding it up triumphantly. “This will help.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—”

You shot him a pointed look, cutting him off. “Azriel, it’s nothing. Stop being difficult,” you said, your tone teasing.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and to your surprise, he chuckled. The sound was warm and low, and it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile back, your cheeks heating slightly.

Pulling a chair in front of him, you sat down, your knees brushing his. “May I?” you asked softly, gesturing to his hands.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Slowly, you reached forward, peeling off his gloves with gentle care. Your breath hitched slightly at the sight of his scarred hands—marred by burns but still strong and capable.

“How did it happen?” you asked hesitantly, looking up to meet his gaze. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes darkened slightly. “When I was younger, my half-brothers wanted to see what oil and fire would do,” he said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of pain. “They decided my hands would be the perfect place to test it.”

Your horror must have shown on your face because he added quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve learned to live with them.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the jar of salve. Scooping a small amount onto your fingers, you reached for his hand, your touch feather-light. “You shouldn’t have had to learn to live with this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. As your fingers gently massaged the salve into his scarred hands, it was as if the world outside the room ceased to exist. Each movement was deliberate, your touch light but firm as you worked the cream into the roughened skin, tracing over every ridge and scar with quiet reverence.

Your magic stirred softly, a faint glow emanating from your fingertips as you worked. The light was subtle, a pale shimmer that seemed to dance across his hands, sinking into the damaged tissue and soothing the strain beneath. You weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself, this act of care. But as the magic melded with the salve, you could feel the tension in his hands ease, the tightness in his skin softening under your touch.

The air between you seemed to thicken, becoming charged with something unspoken yet deeply felt. Azriel’s golden eyes followed your every movement, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as if reacting to the moment. They reached out tentatively, brushing against your arm like curious tendrils, almost mirroring the gentle care you were giving him.

Your fingers paused for a moment, resting on a particularly deep scar near the base of his thumb. You traced it lightly with your thumb, your expression unreadable. “Does this one still hurt?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel shook his head slightly, his voice low and steady. “Not physically. Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you didn’t press further. Instead, you resumed your work, your fingers gliding over his knuckles with a featherlight touch. The warmth of your magic pulsed faintly, and you let out a small, satisfied sigh when you saw the way his hands relaxed under your care.

The room felt smaller, quieter, as if it were holding its breath for the two of you. Azriel’s gaze never wavered, his focus locked on you with an intensity that made you acutely aware of every movement, every shared breath. The way you worked—your brow furrowed in concentration, your lips slightly parted as you focused on him—it rooted him in place, a grounding point he didn’t realize he’d been seeking.

Your touch was meticulous, almost reverent, as if you were trying to undo some of the harm etched into his skin—not just with the salve and your magic, but with the quiet care you poured into the act itself. It wasn’t just about soothing his scars; it was about showing him, in a way words never could, that he was worth this kind of gentleness.

Finally, you set the jar aside and rested your hands lightly on his, letting the warmth linger for a moment longer. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, the depth of emotion in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Better?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Azriel nodded slowly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “Much better,” he murmured, his tone thick with something unspoken.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was full of unspoken understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had deepened between you in those stolen moments. And as you both lingered there, the faint shimmer of your magic faded into the stillness, leaving only the warmth of your touch and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

At one point, he broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady. “What about you?”

You glanced up, puzzled. “What about me?”

Azriel tilted his head, his expression softening as he studied you. “You spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Do you ever take time for yourself?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This,” you said, gesturing around the room, “is my time for myself. These moments... they’re enough.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “Good,” he said softly. “You deserve that much.”

The sincerity in his voice stirred something deep inside you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply bask in the quiet companionship. In a life full of chaos and responsibility, this small corner of peace felt like a gift—one you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

 

Azriel arrived outside your door, punctual as ever, only to hear a frantic shuffle on the other side. He knocked lightly, waiting.

“Coming!” your voice called, muffled but rushed.

The door flew open, and there you stood, dripping wet, wrapped only in a towel. Your hair clung to your skin, and water dripped onto the floor. You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard.

“My bad—go wait inside, please,” you stammered, stepping back to let him in. “I’m so sorry—give me two seconds.”

You turned, slipping slightly on the wet floor, your arms flailing as you barely caught yourself on the doorframe. Azriel blinked, clearly fighting back a laugh, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but amused.

"Fine!" you chirped, disappearing back into your room. "Totally fine! Just... give me a minute!”

The space felt as alive as you were—vibrant and lived-in. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books, jars of herbs, and an array of trinkets collected from various courts. Your desk was a study in organized chaos, papers and notes sprawled across its surface, mingling with teacups and a few candles. A large, open window let the morning sunlight pour in, illuminating everything in a warm glow.

Azriel took a seat on the edge of a cushioned chair, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He couldn’t help but notice the quiet hum of comfort that seemed to radiate from the space, much like its owner.

A few minutes later, you emerged, struggling with the intricate ties of your top, the fabric stubbornly refusing to cooperate. "Azriel," you called, your voice slightly frantic. "Help me out here!”

Azriel stood, stepping closer. “Sure,” he said simply, taking the ties of the top in his hands. As he moved behind you to secure it, his gaze fell on your back.

There, faint but unmistakable, were scars. They cut across your skin in jagged, silvery lines, a stark contrast against the smooth canvas of your back. He froze for the briefest moment, his breath catching. His shadows stirred restlessly, betraying his thoughts.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t let his hands falter as he tied the delicate laces with precision. But something tightened in his chest, a mix of sorrow and admiration for what you must have endured.

You, oblivious, continued fussing. “Usually, it’s Ydle who helps me with this,” you muttered.

Azriel blinked, his brow furrowing. “The bird?”

“Yes, the bird, Azriel,” you said, glancing over your shoulder with an incredulous look. “He’s actually quite good at a lot of things, you know.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Right. A lot of things.”

You turned fully, giving him a pointed look. “Stop with your nasty thoughts, Shadowsinger. Not all winged beings think with their dick, you know.”

That earned you a full, genuine laugh from Azriel, his shadows swirling around him in amusement.

"You’re late," he reminded, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, grabbing your notes and practically running around the room to gather the last of your things. "I ended up drinking with the girls last night—like, a lot—and I went to sleep about... oh, two hours ago."

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "And now you expect to lead a meeting?"

"I’ll survive," you said, waving him off. "Let’s go, or we’ll both be late."

As the two of you left your room, Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You might have been chaos incarnate that morning, but there was no denying you’d pull it together the moment you stepped into that meeting room—and he admired that more than he’d ever admit.

When you and Azriel entered the meeting room, it was clear that the tone of the day was already set. The head healers, though composed, bore an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air. Your sharp eyes quickly took in the details—slightly rumpled clothes, dark circles under a few pairs of eyes. A quick glance at Farah and Amara confirmed your suspicion: you weren’t the only one running on minimal sleep.

“Rough night?” you murmured to Farah as you passed, taking your seat at the head of the table.

The Day Court healer offered you a tired smile, golden strands of her hair slipping from her loose braid. “You could say that. Seems the city’s festivities are hard to resist.”

Amara groaned softly, resting her elbows on the table. “Why do they schedule these meetings the morning after celebrations? We look like we’ve been dragged through the ocean.”

A few chuckles broke the tension, and even Azriel’s lips twitched faintly at the comment as he took his place near the doorway, his shadows drifting unobtrusively.

“All right,” you said, your voice firm but warm as you tapped the table lightly. “Let’s focus. We have a lot to cover, and not much time.”

The healers straightened in their seats, the atmosphere shifting into something far more serious.

As the meeting pressed on, the air in the room thickened with the weight of the topic now at hand—Koshiev’s growing influence. The earlier camaraderie and trust among the healers gave way to grim determination, each word spoken heavy with the stakes of what was to come.

Rordan from the Autumn Court began, his amber eyes burning with frustration. “Koshiev’s forces aren’t just expanding—they’re leaving devastation in their wake. Entire villages along the borders have been wiped out because of sickness that, mother above, look like they come straight from hell, and the survivors are trickling into the courts as refugees. Camps are overcrowded, and infection spreads like wildfire.”

Veras from the Winter Court leaned forward, his braided hair falling over his shoulder. “The frostbite cases we’re seeing aren’t just from the cold anymore. It’s as if something in the air itself is making the wounds worse, harder to heal. We suspect Koshiev’s forces are using some kind of dark magic, but we have no way to confirm it.”

You nodded, taking in the information with a furrowed brow. “If they’re using magic to weaponize the environment, we’ll need to prioritize protection. I can look into shielding spells that can be used alongside standard care. Farah,” you turned to the Day Court healer, “your court specializes in purification. Do you think you could develop something to counteract this?”

Farah’s golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s possible, but we’d need samples to understand what we’re dealing with. Without knowing the exact nature of this magic, we’re working blind.”

Azriel, silent until now, spoke up from where he stood at the edge of the room. His deep voice cut through the air like a blade. “I can get you the samples. If there’s something in the air or water, I’ll have my spies retrieve it.”

The room turned to Azriel, some with surprise, others with relief. You caught his eye briefly and nodded, grateful for his quick offer.

Amara from the Summer Court exhaled heavily. “Even with countermeasures, this is a problem we’ve never faced before. Koshiev’s forces are using tactics that defy every natural law we know. We need more than just defensive strategies—we need to be proactive.”

“You’re right,” you said, standing straighter. “It’s not enough to react to what Koshiev does. We need to anticipate his next moves. That means gathering intelligence—not just on his methods but on his motives. Why is he targeting specific regions? What does he gain from leaving the lands uninhabitable?”

Teylan, the healer from the Dawn Court, added, “And we need to coordinate evacuation protocols. If entire regions are to be affected, we must ensure that civilians can be moved quickly and efficiently. It’s not just about healing the injured—it’s about preventing the injuries in the first place.”

The group murmured in agreement, and you saw Azriel’s sharp gaze shift to Teylan. There was respect in his expression, though his shadows swirled slightly tighter around him, as if unsettled by the weight of the conversation.

“Let’s assign specific roles,” you suggested, your voice cutting through the growing tension. “Veras, work with Farah to develop purification methods. Amara, focus on distributing resources—we’ll need herbs, salves, and antidotes ready for immediate deployment. Rordan, can you focus on organizing supply routes and establishing safe zones within the Autumn Court?”

Each healer nodded, their expressions set with determination. You turned to Azriel. “And Azriel, if you can retrieve those samples, it will give us the edge we desperately need.”

Azriel inclined his head, his shadows flickering like flames in response. “Consider it done.”

The meeting continued with precise planning. Containment strategies, resource allocation, and magical countermeasures were all discussed and debated. Each healer brought their expertise to the table, but the weight of Koshiev’s looming threat was undeniable.

By the time the meeting concluded, the atmosphere in the room was heavy but resolute. These weren’t just plans—they were the foundation for survival, the first step in a war that would test every ounce of strength Prythian had.

As the healers began to file out for a much-needed break, Azriel lingered near you, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, your tired smile barely masking the exhaustion. “We all are, Azriel. But this is the work that needs to be done.”

His shadows flickered faintly, and for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more. But instead, he simply nodded, his silence speaking volumes.

The battle against Koshiev had already begun, and you both knew it would demand everything from everyone involved.

The meeting had finally drawn to a close, the weight of the discussions settling heavily on your shoulders. You bid farewell to the other healers, offering last-minute reassurances and final notes for the upcoming plans. As the last of them departed, you made your way back to your room, your steps slower than usual. The exhaustion from the day's intensity pulled at you, but your mind refused to quiet.

Your room greeted you with its familiar warmth and quiet elegance. You sighed, stepping inside and shedding your outer coat. Moving to the small kitchenette, you set about preparing tea. The rhythmic motions of boiling water and selecting herbs gave you a rare moment of peace.

The sound of a knock at the door broke your focus. You turned, half expecting Azriel, but instead found Thesan leaning casually against the frame, his smile warm and familiar.

“You didn’t think I’d let you retreat so easily, did you?” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “I thought you’d be busy catching up with your court, not chasing after me.”

“Multitasking is one of my many talents,” he quipped, settling into a chair with an ease that spoke of years of friendship. His gaze swept the room, a fond glint in his eye. “Still feels like you’ve left your mark on this place. It’s alive, somehow—like you.”

You scoffed lightly, pouring two cups of tea. “You’re being dramatic again.”

He accepted the cup you handed him, his smile never faltering. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

The lighthearted banter faded as his expression turned more serious. “You handled yourself well today. The meeting was impressive, even for you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

You hesitated, sitting down across from him. “Then why are you here, Thesan?”

“To check on you,” he replied simply. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. And I know you—sometimes you carry things alone when you shouldn’t.”

The words hit closer to home than you cared to admit. You stared into your tea for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “There is... something,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Something I haven’t told anyone.”

Thesan waited patiently, his gaze unwavering. Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

“It’s not just the war or the plans,” you admitted finally, setting your cup down. “It’s... Azriel.”

Thesan raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “The Night Court’s spymaster? What about him?”

You inhaled deeply, the words tasting foreign as they left your lips. “He’s my mate.”

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. Thesan’s expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“And does he know?” he asked gently.

You shook your head, the weight of the secret pressing down on you. “No. And I don’t plan on telling him. He’s... attached to someone else. Elain. One of the High lady’s sister. And there’s the war, the chaos. It’s not the right time.”

“Is there ever a right time for something like this?” Thesan asked gently. “Do you... love him?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But being around him feels... different. Like a part of me is at peace when he’s near.”

Thesan leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. “Mates are rare, yes. But they’re not infallible. If you feel this strongly, maybe you shouldn’t dismiss it. Just... be careful.”

His advice hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Before either of you could say more, a soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. Thesan rose smoothly to answer, his calm demeanor never wavering.

Azriel stood in the doorway, his shadows curling faintly around him. His sharp eyes flicked to Thesan, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “High Lord,” he greeted, his tone polite but clipped.

Thesan smiled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Spymaster. What brings you here?”

Azriel’s gaze briefly shifted beyond him, but he couldn’t see you from where he stood. “I was going to ask Y/N if she wanted to take a walk through the city before we leave. But clearly, she’s... occupied.”

Thesan’s smile deepened, and there was a hint of something playful in his tone. “We were just catching up, but...”

Azriel nodded curtly and cut him mid sentence, stepping back. “Another time then, I don’t want to disturb you both.” he echoed, his voice neutral.

He left without another word, his shadows lingering briefly before disappearing into the hallway. Thesan watched him go, a knowing look in his eye as he closed the door and turned back to you.

“Well,” he said, his tone dry, “he’s certainly... something.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

Thesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his expression softening. “Take it one step at a time, Y/N. You’ll figure it out.”

Azriel sat on the balcony of his assigned room in the Dawn Court palace, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and deep indigo. His shadows whispered faintly, their tones uncertain, as if they too were trying to process what he was feeling.

He hadn’t intended to overhear you with Thesan, but the sound of your laughter, followed by the soft murmur of your voices, had drawn him to the door. He had stopped himself from intruding, reminding himself that it was none of his business. Yet, the sight of Thesan’s easy smile as he stood in your doorway, the familiarity in his posture, and the casual way his hand rested on the frame had stirred something in Azriel—something sharp and unwelcome.

He knew you had a history with Thesan. He knew that Thesan had a mate. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of jealousy. The knowledge that you and Thesan had shared something once, something real and intimate, unsettled him in a way he couldn’t fully understand.

You weren’t like Mor, whose vibrant energy had captivated him for centuries. You weren’t like Elain, whose gentleness and quiet beauty had drawn him in, offering a fleeting hope for something he could never truly have.

You were you—Y/N.

There was an effortless strength in you, the way you commanded a room without raising your voice, the way you navigated delicate situations with a calmness that belied the fire in your heart. You carried yourself with grace but never hid your scars. You worked tirelessly, yet somehow always found time to smile, to offer comfort, even when you were the one most in need of it.

And that smile—Mother above, that smile. It wasn’t a demure thing meant to appease or charm; it was genuine, lighting up your face in a way that made everything around you seem brighter. Your laugh was low and warm, the kind that lingered in the air long after it faded. The way your eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when you were truly amused stayed with him.

He thought of the way you spoke to him—honest, unafraid to challenge him but never cruel. How you had listened to him in the clinic that night, your words carrying a weight of understanding he hadn’t found in anyone else.

Azriel exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know when it had started—this attachment to you. But he knew it had grown steadily since the moment the two of you arrived in the Dawn Court. You had drawn him in with your unwavering dedication and the quiet vulnerability you allowed to slip through your defenses.

It wasn’t like him to let someone in so easily, to let himself care so quickly. But with you, it was different.

And now, the thought of Thesan knowing you so intimately—knowing parts of you that he could only hope to uncover—gnawed at him. It wasn’t rational, he knew that. But the thought still burned.

His shadows curled tighter around him, as if trying to shield him from the onslaught of emotions. But they couldn’t muffle the truth. He had grown attached to you. Too attached. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do about it.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside Azriel’s door, a faint sense of unease settling over you. You had to talk to him about organizing your departure, but something felt off. You took a deep breath and knocked softly, waiting until you heard his voice.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside to find Azriel sitting in a chair by the window, his shadows swirling lazily around him. His face was unreadable, the sharp planes of his features cast in soft shadows from the lamp beside him. He looked up briefly as you entered, but his gaze quickly flicked back to the papers in his hands.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you began, your voice light but careful.

He shook his head. “No. Don’t worry. What do you need?”

You hesitated for a moment, noting the slight edge to his tone. “I wanted to go over the plan for tomorrow’s departure,” you said, stepping closer. “We need to coordinate with the palace staff for supplies, and I wanted to confirm our route.”

Azriel nodded curtly, gesturing for you to sit, but he didn’t offer much more. His responses were short, his demeanor cooler than usual. You frowned, watching him as he scanned the papers in his hands.

“Is something going on?” you asked softly, leaning forward slightly in your seat.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, a sure sign of his tension. “No, everything is ok don’t worry.” he said flatly, not looking up.

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Azriel, I’m not leaving this alone. We’re going to be stuck together for at least four hours during the flight, and I promise you—I will not stop bothering you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush you off entirely. But then he set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes locking onto yours.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Do you still have something going on with Thesan?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the question. “What?”

He pressed on, his shadows flickering erratically. “It’s just... sometimes, even if people are mated, they still—” He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before continuing, “They still keep things with their previous partners.”

You stared at him, the words settling over you like a wave of confusion and exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

Azriel met your gaze, his expression unreadable, but his eyes carried a flicker of vulnerability he was clearly trying to mask.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Azriel, do you honestly think either Nesta or Feyre would be okay with Cassian or Rhysand running off to sleep with an ex-partner? Because, no. They wouldn’t. And it’s the same here.”

His brows furrowed, and you continued, your tone softening slightly. “Thesan is a friend now, Azriel. Nothing more. I don’t want anything else, and neither does he. And his mate would probably kill me if I even consider him more than that.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, though his shadows still hovered around him. He nodded once, his voice quieter now. “I... I just wanted to be sure. Not that it was an actual problem, but...”

You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You could have just asked, you know.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, his shadows finally retreating a bit. “Maybe next time, I will.”

“Good,” you replied, standing and smoothing the front of your shirt. “Now, can we get back to the actual reason I came here, or should I start worrying about more questions?”

Azriel chuckled softly, a rare sound, and gestured for you to continue. The tension between you had eased, and as you began discussing the logistics of your departure, you noticed that his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than usual.

After clearing the air, you sat up straighter, your tone turning more professional. “Now, about tomorrow’s flight. The weather reports show strong winds in the region where we flew last time, so we’ll need to make a detour.”

Azriel’s brow lifted slightly, his focus sharpening. “A detour?”

You nodded, gesturing to the small map you had brought with you. You spread it out on the desk between you, pointing to a marked path. “Instead of cutting directly through the mountains, we’ll follow the coastline for a bit. It’ll take us an extra hour, but it’s safer than risking the turbulence.”

Azriel leaned forward, his shadows quiet as he studied the map. “The sea route?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “The winds over the water should be calmer, and there’s a better chance of clear skies. I checked with the palace staff earlier—they’ve used that path before in similar conditions.”

His expression was thoughtful as he traced the route with his finger. “It’s a smart call. And the scenery will be... different.”

You chuckled softly. “Different is one way to put it. I hope you like ocean views.”

Azriel glanced at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’ll take ocean views over unpredictable mountain winds any day.”

“Good,” you said with a small smile. “I’ll let the staff know to adjust the flight plan accordingly.”

He nodded, his demeanor more relaxed now. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitated for a moment, then added, “The winds might still be a bit tricky when we’re closer to the coast, so we’ll need to stay alert. But I think we’ll manage just fine.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened. “You sound like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

You shrugged lightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “Maybe not a hundred, but I’ve healed enough Peregrins to know what I’m talking about. Trust me on this one, Shadowsinger.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his shadows flickering faintly around him before he nodded again. “I trust you.” 

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[adascore]

One For The Money, Two For The Show

pairings: lionesses x captain!reader

warnings: swearing. england’s captain gets a red card for the very first time, and it doesn’t go down well with the team.

author’s note: first time writing for the woso community lol :) anyway, hope you guys like it !!

•••••••

''I went for the ball! You have eyes, right?''

The referee gave her a look, the same one a disappointed parent would give their child after letting out a swear word. ''Keep it clean, you know better.''

The England captain had raised an eyebrow at that last bit of the sentence, the officials usually not keeping her experience as a player in mind. Y/N just gave her a mindless nod, the yellow card was given- no need to fight it anymore.

''Clearly not a foul.'' Georgia said to her teammate, sticking out her hand for a subtle high-five.

Y/N chuckled at the midfielder’s words. ''Don’t worry about it, G.'' She slapped her hand, jogging back to her position.

The game continued, more yellow cards having been handed out to both the English and Scottish players. The referee’s patience seemed to have run out by some weird, unknown reason that none of the players had worked out.

Despite this, Y/N wasn’t too worried about her own yellow card. She’s had them plenty of times in the past, for the right and wrong reasons, so she was practically chilling on the pitch as her team led the match 3-0.

However, this changed as Hempo received her first card of the night.

She and the Manchester City player had a great friendship. Lauren joined the squad at a young age, and Y/N knew how hard it could be as the youngest of the team, so she took her under her wing. The younger one had been immensely grateful for the striker’s support, finding a role-model and older sister figure in her.

The captain hadn’t seen what had caused the referee to lift up the yellow card towards the winger, so she separated from the players as they were waiting on a corner, and walked over to the official.

''Why did you give her a yellow card?''

For some reason, the question was too much for the woman in the neon clothing, and without any words, she pulled the same card she had given out seconds ago and held it up high.

Realization dawned on her, the outcome of two yellow cards was one of the easiest rules in football.

Y/N didn’t even see the red card being brought out, her heart dropping to her stomach working as a distraction to her surroundings.

''No, no, no- what did I even do?'' As soon as the gears in her head started going again, her mouth started speaking.

The referee didn’t answer her question, simply letting out a deep breath as she could see the sea of Lionesses running up to her. ''Fucking hell, she didn’t even do anything!'' Rachel yelled, a big frown on her face as she fought her way to the front.

While a large number of her teammates argued back-and-forth with the referee, Millie and Alex brought their younger captain into their arms.

''It’s okay, don’t worry~'' They chorused, repeating the words over and over again, seeing the distress on their teammate’s face.

''I just asked her a question! I swear, it was just a question!'' Y/N defended herself, rambling almost.

''We know, we believe you, don’t worry about it.'' Alex assured her, feeling sad as she watched the captain’s distress unfold.

The referee tried getting closer, urging Y/N to get off the pitch. ''You have to get off now, Y/L!''

''Why are you giving me a fucking red card? I just asked you why Hempo got a yellow! What, we can’t ask questions now?'' She was going through all the stages, anger taking over as she pulled herself out of Millie and Alex’s embrace, stomping over to the referee.

''It was the tone, Y/N.'' She answered, although she didn’t seem too sure herself.

The striker’s eyes widened. ''What tone?! I asked you a simple question!'' She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

''You’re going to give red cards for questions now?!'' Ella spoke up, her voice booming above those of the others.

''Y/N, get off the pitch now, you’ve wasted enough time now.''

The captain had an uncharacteristic, defeated look on her face. She was about to take off her captain band, but a hand stopped her. ''No, you’re not going anywhere.'' Millie grabbed her arm, and gently dragged her behind herself, so the Chelsea player worked as a human shield between the referee and her teammate.

Y/N was touched by her team’s protectiveness. As the captain, she was often the one to stick up for others or argue with the officials a little longer than necessary if it pertained members of her squad. The fact that the center forward had never received a red card in her professional career, must have been an extra factor. She wasn’t a clean player, per say, but she knew how to toy with the boundaries of the game, and her great argumentative skills greatly helped in avoiding being booked.

''You alright?'' Lucy asked, pulling her further away from the chaos.

''I got a fucking red card, Luce! No! I am not okay!'' She let out, the older woman instinctively caressing her back at the visible frustration. ''You’re good, it’s alright.''

''It’s not- oh, fuck sake.'' Y/N swore, glancing away from Lucy to her teammates still fighting her red card with the referee.

LJ joined them, watching the chaos unfold. ''I turn around for one second, and suddenly everyone is running towards the ref.'' Lauren said, her indifferent tone making Lucy chuckle.

''The boss got a red.'' The Barcelona defender explained.

The youngest James sibling's eyes widened. "What? You?" She pointed at the captain, who nodded, unamused.

Y/N could see the official signaling for her to come closer, ignoring the arguments the Lionesses were giving her. ''You have to get off now, this is becoming a hazard. I’m not going to change my decision.'' She said, matter-of-fact.

It was evident that whatever the captain would tell her, would fall on deaf ears. ''Whatever, you’re fucking miserable.'' She looked her in the eyes as the insult was spoken, not an ounce in her mind or body caring about the consequences of it.

The truth was that she was the miserable one. It might have been naive of her to think she could go her entire career without receiving a red card, but she didn’t expect today to be the day.

She walked over to Millie, taking the captain's band off and handing it over, without saying anything further.

The rest of the English squad watched with sad eyes, and disheartened feelings as their captain, and arguably most important player, walked off the pitch with still double digits in game time left.

Sarina had jumped out of her seat the minute the referee pulled the second yellow card out of her pocket, infuriated over one of her key (and personal favorite) players being expelled from the game over something silly as asking why her teammate was being booked.

As Y/N passed her to go inside the tunnel, the Dutchwoman grabbed her hand, her eyes still on the game. ''We’ll talk, okay?'' Sarina didn’t expect an answer back, having worked with the player long enough to know she would want to chat with her about it.

It was a despairing sight to see the world-class player stroll all alone to the changing room, her usual confident aura replaced for hung shoulders, and eyes that told the entire world what she thought of herself.

Disappointing.

That was the best word she could come up with to summarize her feelings; disappointed in herself, disappointed in the officials, but above all, she felt like she had disappointed her team and staff- and as the captain, that was something hard to swallow.

She sat alone in the changing room- members of the staff figuring she wanted to be left on her own.

That changed as the door opened.

Keira had been subbed off a few minutes before the incident had happened, Katie taking her place on the midfield. She, along with the entire bench, had a hard time believing what was happening in front of them.

A bad feeling settled in her as Y/N walked off the pitch all by herself, not a single soul following her. Therefore, the Barcelona player excused herself and trailed their captain.

''You mind?'' She already knew the answer, but asking didn’t hurt.

Y/N shook her head, motioning for Keira to take the spot next to her. ''You? Never.''

''How you feeling?''

''Like shit.''

''Yeah, I predicted that.''

The striker chuckled at the monotone voice, feeling some sort of delight after what felt like forever. ''I’m so confused.''

''You’re not the only one. I didn’t hear what you said, but it couldn’t have been that bad for you to get another yellow- and don’t even get me started on the first one, obviously not a foul.'' Keira rambled, yet sounding sophisticated.

''I just- I feel like I let everyone down. I know we’re leading the game, but still- I should be out there playing. I’m the captain for fuck sake.'' Y/N swung her arm towards the door, before letting it fall on her knee with a hard slap.

Keira sighed at her words. ''You’re always so hard on yourself. No one is angry at you or disappointed.''

''I’m not hard on myself, Kei. I just have an important role in this team, so I can’t afford to make mistakes.'' The captain clarified, although it didn’t do much to dispute the midfielder’s words.

''Yeah, that sounds like someone who is not a perfectionist.'' The sarcastic tone didn’t escape Y/N, and she bumped their shoulders. ''No, but, come one. You know what I mean- not only do I have to keep the entire team together, I also have to score goals or make sure that someone else scores them.''

It was the first time she had truly expressed the pressure that was being put on her, she was known in the team for keeping it all to herself. Keira attentively listened, feeling almost honored it was her that the captain was venting to.

''I like the pressure, though. I know I can handle it, I’ve been doing that for years, I know I was only made captain cause Steph got injured, but it’s still a huge deal to me, you know? I know I don’t always say it, but it really does.''

''We know it does. You might not say it, but it shows. You’re the best captain I’ve ever got to work with, you have a way of getting everyone together.'' Keira interjected, complimenting her leadership skills.

Y/N raised her eyebrows at the praise. ''Best captain, huh? So better than Alexia?'' She mentioned the captain at Barcelona.

Keira lightly slapped her arm. ''Yeah, you like that, huh? Don’t tell her that, though.''

''You know I’ll tell her as soon as I get the chance.'' Of course the England captain wouldn’t mention it, but making her friend think that didn’t hurt.

''If that makes you smile, then I’ll take it.''

''You’re flattering me, Kei.'' Y/N muttered, not quite believing the praise that was coming out of her mouth.

The midfielder scoffed. ''Hey! I’m being genuine!'' She exclaimed, almost offended. ''Don’t let this one game affect your confidence. I know you like everything perfect, but these kinds of things are out of our hands,'' she referred to the referee’s decisions, ''you’re still the boss, you know? Or what did they say after the Euro’s… you’re an icon.''

The captain gave Keira a little shake at the mention of the compliment she had been given by a reporter after the final at Wembley, embarrassed by being called iconic. ''Oh, shut it, you!''

''It’s true, though! It stings right now, but you’ll get over it. By the time the next game comes around, no one will be talking about it anymore.'' Keira’s words did give her some comfort, knowing it was the truth.

''Yeah, I know… It was kinda cute, though- the way everyone was defending me.'' A small smile found its way to the player's face.

''You always do it for us, so it was time we all do it for you.'' She simply said, as if it was not a big deal.

Y/N did not answer, unsure of what an appropriate follow-up could be.

''Did you see Tooney’s face? I know she was being serious, but it was too good.'' Keira chuckled, reminding the captain of the way Ella immediately started yelling with a scowl.

The striker laughed a bit louder this time, starting to see the humour in the situation. ''Yeah, what a lovely girl.''

''She was ready to start a revolution for you. Probably still is.'' Keira grinned, enjoying the shift in Y/N's mood.

''And then you had LJ who didn't even know what was happening, she came up to me and Lucy- totally confused.'' Y/N explained. 

The midfielder bursted into laughter at Y/N's revelation. ''Wait, LJ didn't get the memo?''

''No, she just casually walked up to us and was like 'why is everyone running towards the ref?' I guess she thought it was a new halftime tradition or something. Lucy filled her in and her eyes almost bulged out of her head.'' The captain chuckled at the memory. 

''Classic LJ.'' Keira remarked. 

As they chatted, the sound of the crowd outside the changing room echoed, reminding Y/N of the ongoing game. 

''I should apologize to the team later.'' Y/N considered, realizing she hadn't addressed her teammates properly after the incident. 

''No, they know you're not the problem here. Besides, we all know you're not a fan of early showers.'' Keira teased. 

She chuckled at her friend's joke, but couldn't shake off the feeling of dejection. Keira noticed her demeanor was shifting again. 

''Don't worry about it, they know you didn't do anything wrong,'' Keira reassured her. ''Besides, half of them are probably still arguing with the referee about the whole situation.'' 

Y/N snorted at the mental image. ''True, they're a protective bunch.'' 

''Well, we've got a great, certain center forward to look up to,'' the Barcelona player winked, ''you're still our captain, Y/N. Red card or not.'' Keira added, a genuine smile on her face.

''Thanks, Kei,'' Y/N said, appreciating the support. She leaned back against the locker, trying to let go of the frustration that still lingered. 

''You know, you should focus on the positives,'' Keira suggested, her tone thoughtful. ''We're winning 3-0, and I'm sure the girls have got an extra motivation now.'' 

''I guess you're right,'' Y/N sighed, ''I just wanna fucking play.'' 

''I know, but you can still analyze, see things you wouldn't notice on the pitch.'' 

''Always the optimist,'' the captain teased, a small smile breaking through. ''I'll try to channel my inner tactical genius from the sidelines.'' 

As they continued chatting, a sudden knock echoed through the changing room, drawing both Y/N and Keira's attention. The door swung open, and in walked another teammate, a familiar face with a sheepish expression. 

''Are you fucking kidding me, Hempo?'' The striker exclaimed, though there was an amused grin present. 

Lauren shrugged her shoulders, sitting down in her cubby. ''I figured I'd join the exclusive red card club with the captain.'' 

''Seems like it's the trend today.'' Keira added, joining in on the laughter. 

''Y/N always tells me to just follow her lead, so…'' 

''Hempo, this isn't what I meant by that.'' 

The trio shared more laughs as they bantered through their early exits of the game. The tension of the match outside seemed to disappear as they focused on their camaraderie. 

requests are always welcome!

[tora-ken]

the art of holding hands

genre gojo x gn!reader, fluff, domestic life with satoru

warnings none

wc; 273

please do not plagiarise or share my works on any other social media platforms. as always, reblogs are appreciated <3

satoru finds himself bound to you in a plethora of ways, emotionally, spiritually, telepathically, any way, you name it; but his heart beats a little bit faster when he confirms those bounds through the physical affection you give him.

sure, your kisses bring him life, and making his giant ass little spoon fixes his entire week, but there’s nothing that squeezes his heartstrings more than when his hands are intertwined with yours.

the physicality of your fingers tangled with his, in such a simplistic manner, yet held in such an intimate regard, reminds satoru why he loves you all over again. he’s reminded of your first dates, first kisses and first i love you��s and how you had held hands each and every time.

they say the only constant in this world is change, but satoru begs to differ, because his existence (that which involve worshipping the ground you walk on), proves otherwise. the simple fact that you never let go of his hands, even if he complains that they’re sweaty, will always surpass the statement that change is the only constant.

“baby, where are you going?” he voices out, although groggily.

“-gonna go brush my teeth. wanna come?” you hold out a hand for him as he slowly rises out of bed, and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

nodding with a gentle hum, satoru trails behind you, hands interlocked, watching your quiet footsteps towards the shared bathroom and the ambience of your apartment at dawn repeats the same revelation he’s always had, through his lips.

“i love you, beautiful.”

“i love you too toru. now brush, our breaths stink.”

a/n ー short fluff!!

©️tora-ken 2024

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 19)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, sex, anal, double penetration, fingering.

Word Count: 4689

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18)

_________________________________________

Day 195 Part 5

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“What did you just say?” Nesta’s tone is flat, as if all of the emotion that was previously pouring from her soul miraculously disappeared as her walls slammed back up. It’s eerie, how she does that. She sounds like death incarnate, and not the undead zombie kind. Her face is stony, silver glare sharp as a blade, and the way she won’t stop staring at you makes your throat seize.

Maybe you shouldn’t have blurted the conclusion you’d come to upon examining Elain’s wounds. She’s surprisingly coherent for someone bitten by a zombie four weeks ago, and with the symptoms you noticed, her mucus changing from black in color to clear, her fever on the verge of breaking, coherent enough to form full sentences, she seems as well on the mend as she would be with any other sickness.

But how could this disease possibly work that way? Yeah, it seems too fucking simple, really, like an age-old gotchya! movie moment that’s going to kick you all in the ass later on. How could any of these creatives possibly have nailed such an ending like this? A cure for the zombie apocalypse? In the blood of a singular family? Well, as far as you can tell, anyway. Been there, done that, seen that in the cinemas three times over, but you ate it up every single time.

Now that you’re living it, you can confirm that everything about the apocalypse is not that exciting and not that cinematic.

The only sound in the room is Feyre’s soft whimpers of pain. She’s out cold, succumbed to the virus threatening to take control of her body, but she’s breathing, even if it sounds like she swallowed a harmonica. Her restless unconsciousness, at least, draws Rhys’ attention from where he’s still being stiff-armed by Cassian. You’re not angry with the way he reacted to your help…or lack thereof. You’re just as worried about Feyre as he is, as anyone in this house is, and you glance at your best friend as if you can will it into her to survive by looks alone.

It's hard to see her like this, but you hold firm to the notion that the Archeron family can defeat the odds stacked against humanity, and that she’ll pull through.

You give yourself a nod of reassurance and straighten your spine as you shift your gaze from Feyre to her oldest sister. Those piercing gray eyes are soul-sucking in their own way, but you know that Nesta is a terrified girl somewhere beneath all of that iron and nails. Not only has she almost lost one sister to a zombie bite, but now two? You can’t imagine how she’s feeling in a time like this, and you feel helpless that there isn’t anything more you can do.

“Your blood,” you answer, and are shocked by how strong your voice sounds. Even Rhys looks up from tenderly attending Feyre when you speak, stroking her damp hair from her forehead. You shake your head, continuing. “Look, I couldn’t even begin to explain the science behind my thoughts, but from what I’ve seen of Elain’s wound, it’s that the virus is no longer eating away at her. It’s like when her body finally began combatting against the bite, it just…” You trail off, chewing on your lip as you think. You begin pacing, sorting through your racing thoughts. You hardly notice Eris gently steer Nesta away from you and toward a chair, helping her lower into it. Her spine stays rigid, there is no admitting defeat in front of strangers.

“Froze,” she supplies, and a knowing look washes over her face. She’s still glaring at you with those sharp, silver eyes, but at least she isn’t looking at you like she’s actually going to slit your throat for your crazy theories.

“Right,” you agree. Feyre makes another weak noise of protest, like she’s reliving the nightmare of when she was bitten. How scared she must have been, out there alone with Rhys, searching for you, Azriel, and Cassian and a place to call your own. You should’ve never split up.

You tear your gaze from your friend, sliding it down to the arm you wrapped in gauze. You’re terrified to look, to see if the black of the virus in her veins is actively eating at her. The onyx blood polluting her veins travels from the site of the bite, winding all the way down to the tips of her fingers, the black leeching into an intricate spiderweb pattern of her veins. Slowly, carefully, you ease the sleeve of her shirt back above the wound and peek under. The release of breath you let out makes you realize how truly exhausted you are. The wound hasn’t crept any higher yet, hasn’t continued making its way toward her heart, so you take it as a good sign, for now. You’ll have someone monitor her throughout the night.

 “Whatever is in their blood is fighting back against the infection,” you explain. “I don’t know how, or if there’s anyone else out there who’s blood can do the same,”—that is a conversation for later, you note, noticing the weary glance shared between Nesta and Eris. You redirect the end of your sentence to Rhysand, who murmurs something softly in Feyre’s ear, his attention completely focused on what you’re saying. “But all we can do now is wait.”

You lean into Azriel’s side when he sidles up beside you, reading your wearied fatigue on your face. His body is solid and warm and you want to both nuzzle closer and step back, all too aware of how you might smell, the things you’ve touched today. It’s the first time you’ve felt this dirty in a long while. You’ve gotten used to the second, and third, and fourth layers of skin in the form of muck and grime. You ache to get clean.

Azriel doesn’t let you get far, sliding a hand around your waist and pulling you into his broad chest. You hope that the few layers of filth can cover the blush creeping up your neck. This still feels so new with him, the silent, stoic man who you’d figured wouldn’t dare show his rivals his weakness like this. Something must have happened while he and Cassian joined Nesta and Eris in finding your friends if he’s allowing them to see the intimacy between you two.

Public displays of affection are definitely more Cassian’s thing. Case-in-point, he’s grinning like his smile is going to split his face in two, hazel eyes sparking at the picture you and Azriel paint. It’s one that makes his cock twitch, the urge to drag the both of you somewhere private is strong.

He bounds over with a swagger that looks more like he should be striding shirtless down the beach instead of across a fancily decorated zombie shelter in the form of a man’s home that tried to kill you. You can’t take your eyes off of him, how his muscles jump with each long stride, right until he smothers the both of you in a warm embrace in which you easily accept.

“And what of Elain’s progress?” Nesta clears her throat. You open your eyes and catch Eris giving her a nudging reprimand that she ignores. That’s fine, because you don’t feel bad about being with your boyfriends, either. “She’s been like this for weeks. Borderline delusional, spouting lines like she’s a psychic. She may have been able to fight off the virus, but at what cost? Will we ever see our Elain again?”

It's the first tremble of fear you hear from the unfaltering eldest Archeron. And it’s the money question, the one that you have no more of an answer to than how their blood is stopping the infection from the bite.

You shake your head softly and Nesta’s jaw clacks as her teeth snap shut. She shoves up from the chair she’s sitting at and casts a longing look to Feyre. “Well, then. You’ve upheld your part of the bargain and brought my sister back to us, so you can stay.” It looks like it just about kills her to say it, but Eris looks proud. He even offers you a genuine smile. “We’ll take shifts monitoring her health. Until it’s your turn, you can sleep in the basement.”

You hide the instinctive shudder that spindles down your spine. You and basements don’t have a great record, but Eris’ accompanying words do sweeten the deal.

“There’s a fully stocked bathroom down there, with running water. Please, utilize it to your liking.” You don’t know if this is a polite way of telling you that you stink to the high heavens, but you don’t care. They have running water.

You almost sprint down the stairs on that promise alone, but the two men holding you close don’t let up when you try to squirm away.

Cassian grins at you, amused. You try not to pout, but you can’t wait to step under that clean water. You don’t even care if it’s warm, you just want to rid yourself of too many days of filth to count.

And the idea of showering with Cassian and Azriel…your brain almost short-circuits in your head. You’ll feel much more comfortable with their mouths on your skin if you’re freshly clean, which means that there will definitely be loads of fooling around tonight, if the exhaustion doesn’t drag you down first.

“I’ll take first watch,” Rhys says, already planting himself in a chair beside Feyre’s bad arm. He takes her hand gently in his, cradling it as he watches her face contort and sweat drip down her temples. You hurt for the both of them, wishing that there was more that you could do.

Azriel’s lips catch your temple in a long peck. You meet his gaze as he pulls away, and the look on his face tells you and Cassian to go ahead, that he’s going to speak to Rhys.

You nod and allow Cassian to guide you back into the depths of the home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I don’t know how the fuck we’re supposed to sleep under the same roof as that,” Cassian shivers and you glare.

“Cassian,” you hiss, swatting his arm. He winces, rubbing his bicep and shooting you an apologetic look. “Her name is Elain, and she’s clearly still alive,” you bite, because he’s being unnecessarily rude. Yes, she looks like she looks like the mother of zombies, but she’s still a person, or half of one, anyway.

And Feyre’s currently in the same boat.

You wanted to wait for Azriel to shower, you really did, but the enticing call of the clear waters and the steam when Cassian switched the faucet on was like a siren call. There was no denying yourself any longer, and if Azriel finishes his conversation with Rhys within the next hour or two, you’re pretty sure he’ll be able to join you.

For now, you have Cassian. Honestly, you would have taken a small bucket of water and a rag and made do. You were not expecting a luxurious bath in the basement of this luxurious home, and not only is the shower humungous, but it has multiple showerheads.

Multiple.

You think that your bad luck might finally be turning around.

“Sorry,” he shrugs, sheepishly, and you tug him closer to you by his forearm because the suds dripping down his face almost slide into those big hazel eyes of his with the way that his head is turned down to stare at you apologetically. Quickly, you wipe away the soap. You don’t need to hear him whining if it gets in his eyes, you’d like to enjoy the rest of your shower.

You tut, reluctantly accepting his apology. It’s much easier to when his large hands slide around your waist and tug your body into his. The both of you have refrained from touching thus far, much too interested in the running water and scraping your bodies free of dirt, but now that you’re significantly less dirty, you allow yourself to roam your eyes across every inch of delectable skin he has on show. And you mean every single inch.

Your breath catches in your throat as your body slides against his, leaving no room between you. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck where you play with it, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

You can feel his cock filling with need. Despite the hot water beating across your back, your nipples pebble when your chests meet in a deep inhale.

“Cassian,” you breathe, fingers tightening between the strands of his hair. His eyes grow with need, the same need that’s coiling in your gut, begging for attention, for the friction pressed against your stomach.

“Yes?” He teases, but his voice is deep with need. You trail your fingers across his shoulders, unable to keep yourself from wandering. You’d press even closer if there was room to, but there isn’t, so you continue your path down his muscular arms, back up, and then trail your touch down his chest, right between your bodies where you can grip his cock.

Cassian hisses out a sharp breath as your fingers wrap around him. It’s been days since you last fooled around, and he’s never cared about cleanliness, but the fact that he can see what you look like not covered in grime and old blood…you’re fucking breath-taking.

“Touch me,” you beg softly. “I need you to touch me.”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate. His hands wind around your thighs and then he’s hoisting you up into his arms with ease. You wince, nails clawing at his shoulders while you worry about his leg but he shakes his head. He doesn’t even give you the chance to ask because his head dips low, his mouth capturing yours in a desperate kiss.

You part your lips for him, kissing him just as hotly, moaning when his tongue traces yours. You pour everything into the kiss, the emotions wearing on you from days spent locking them up. The loss of half of your group, Feyre being bitten, finding all this. It’s overwhelming in the best way, even more so when Cassian’s fingers skim across your slit, causing you to moan loudly, arching into his chest.

“Fuck,” he curses. His chest heaves against your own as he pulls away to drink in your features as he grips your hips and pulls you even harder against him. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the friction of his cock against your soaked slit. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“No, you,” you protest breathlessly, unsure if you’re even making any sense. It doesn’t matter right now, anyway, not with the way you’re dragging your nails down the muscle of his back, telling Cassian that you want more.

His laugh warms your body. It settles between your thighs, the ones that he looks like he wants to settle between. The door opens, stealing both of your attention.

Azriel steps through, running a hand through his dark hair. His lips are pressed in a firm line, his eyes downturned toward the ground. Whatever happened during his conversation with Rhys weighs heavily on him, you catch the flash of sadness in his eyes when he lifts them to meet yours before they fall down you and Cassian’s bodies, drinking in the way you’re entwined with each other.

And Azriel’s gaze heats. Makes you squirm in the best fucking way because you need him just as badly. You want him pressed up against your back, kissing at your neck with his fingers trailing possessively down your body and he and Cassian fight for dominance over you. As he worms his way into your ass, Cassian at your front.

You want both of them, and you want them now.

The words are stuck in your throat, but Azriel sees them. He always does, which is why he wastes no time at all shedding his clothes before entering through the glass door of the shower when you raise your hand to him.

His hazel gaze doesn’t leave yours, not even when Cassian gets back to work, growling deeply against your neck as he ravages you. You release a mewl of pleasure, one hand clamping around the back of his neck to keep him buried against your throat.

Azriel doesn’t stop under one of the many showerheads pouring water. Doesn’t pause at the warmth that drapes itself down his body in a way you could only wish to imitate with the flat of your tongue. He wears the water as well as he wears anything, and his stride doesn’t break until he reaches you.

He caresses your face with a firm hand to your jaw, guiding you right to his lips. He’s sinful with the way that he kisses, knows exactly what to do to make you fucking melt. Even Cassian pulls away to watch the both of you devour each other, and you can feel him growl lowly in his chest, pleasure spiking the temperature of the room to boiling.

You’re so dazed after Azriel’s kiss that you barely catch his words, too busy chasing the taste of his mouth to hear. “Let me wash up first, and I’ll be right here,” he explains, his fingers trailing scalding lines down your back. The tips of his fingers trail right between the crease of your cheeks, a teasing brush over your hole. You shudder with pleasure, automatically leaning further into Azriel for more. You whine when he pulls away, but he kisses you harshly before stepping away completely. “I’m filthy, sweetheart, and you’re all pretty and clean.”

“Make a mess of me, Az,” you keen as Cassian slips a thick finger into your cunt. It slides in with little resistance and you clench around his digit. The both of them threaten to overwhelm you already, and you don’t even have one of their cocks inside of you. How will you be when both of them are sheathed inside of you? “Please.”

“Fuck,” he groans, staring at you up and down. You look like a pretty doll all perched up in Cassian’s arms, ready for the taking. Azriel forces himself a step away, but his hot gaze doesn’t slip from yours. “Let me clean up while Cassian stretches you and I’ll be right there.”

You agree with a huff that shifts into a whine as Cassian teases that finger in a circle, brushing up against your sensitive spot. You hardly get to revel in the feeling before he’s moving further back, pulling out just to press the tip into your ass.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your cheek, peppering encouraging kisses to your face as he slowly works his finger inside of your rear. It’s a foreign feeling, but it doesn’t hurt. You focus on the feeling of his lips on your skin, craning your neck to find his mouth with your own as you force your muscles to relax. “That’s my girl.”

You shudder at those words, liking them all too much.

Half of your time is spent kissing the daylights out of Cassian while the other half of the time is spent ogling Azriel. The delicious curve of his body as he washes the sins of the apocalypse from his body, all so that he can revel in the sins of yours. You can’t help but watch him, the way his muscles contract and contort with his motions. You wish you were the bar of soap he drags down his abs. You swallow harshly when that bar of soap makes it to the vee of his hips and he circles his cock, cleaning himself.

When you rip your eyes away from the display, you catch his hazel ones, glittering with amusement.

You don’t think you can wait all that much longer.

“Quit teasing her, Az,” Cassian groans when you slide yourself against his cock again. It’s a lame attempt at trying to catch his tip so you can sink yourself on him, and when it doesn’t work, you find yourself reaching a hand between your bodies. You can’t wait any longer, you need something inside of you right now or you might burst, but Cassian quickly catches your wrist in his hand, drawing you away from your trophy. “She’s ready.”

You preen at his words, turning to look at Cassian eagerly. His grin is so fucking charming that it makes your heart skip in your chest and you can’t help but lift yourself up to catch his lips against yours, thanking him for being so gentle with you.

“You want to do this in here, pretty girl?” He asks, wiping a strand of hair plastered to your cheek away. His thumb strokes softly against your face, and his eyes are filled with adoration.

“Yes,” you plead. “Yes, yes, please. I want the both of you right here,” you shake your head profusely. Emotions well your eyes. You don’t think that you’ve ever been this aroused before, and not only by one man, but with his companion that has taken you so long to win over. It’s the best thing you’ve ever done and you would do it all over again if you had to.

You turn in Cassian’s arms, reaching for Azriel as he finally nears. He’s as squeaky clean as you are, and he looks utterly fucking edible, even more so when he falls easily into your kiss and plasters himself against your back, trapping you between him and Cassian.

“Please,” you whine again when his lips move from yours in favor of tracing down your skin. His fingers are hot, impatient as they glide across your body, gripping and squeezing every inch of you. Cassian’s doing much the same, and the feeling of the both of them against you is overwhelming in the best possible way.

Azriel hushes you, nipping at your earlobe. Over your shoulder, he makes eye contact with Cassian, who nods. Oh-so slowly, does Azriel take his cock in hand and tease it through your seam, notching the head of himself right against your hole.

“Do it,” you breathe, already arching backwards into him. Azriel doesn’t waste any time, and the both of you release a long, drawn out hiss as he slowly edges his cock into your ass.

“You okay?” He mutters into your ear, though he doesn’t think he could stop himself if he fucking tried. You’re too tight around his cock, if he doesn’t squeeze his eyes shut, he’s going to cum, and he hasn’t even given one full pump inside of you yet. Hell, Cassian hasn’t even worked himself inside of you yet, either. He needs to chill the fuck out.

“More than,” you groan in pleasure. Your fingers curl into the back of his thigh where you’re holding onto him for dear life. “Cass, baby, please!”

“Alright, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your mouth, distracting you as he presses slowly into your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

And they’re so big. Gods, it’s like they’re fucking ripping you in half. You’ve never felt better though, being stretched by the both of their cocks almost makes the apocalypse and everything you went through worth it.

Azriel grunts at the feeling of Cassian’s cock grinding slowly into you. He can feel it through the wall of muscle that keeps him away from Cassian, and holy fuck, it’s better than anything he’s ever done before.

When Cassian comes to an agonizing stop, his hips meeting yours, there’s a stillness in the air. The three of you take a deep breath as one, and it feels like everything that has been waiting to click into place finally does.

It feels like you can finally breathe.

The three of you are attached as one, and you know that in this moment, that there is no leaving each other again. All for one, and one for all.

You love them, and they love you, even if no one is emotionally available to admit it in this very moment.

“Move,” you grit, before you take matters into your own hands.

Neither man wastes a fucking second, and you cry out loudly as they both begin jerking their hips into yours.

“Oh, my Gods,” you moan loudly, uncaring if the sounds you’re making seep through the floorboards to the floors above. You wouldn’t care if you took the mountains down with your pleas, with the noises they’re forcing out of your body as long as they keep fucking going. “Don’t stop!”

“Never,” Cassian agrees huskily, and you can hear the promise in his voice. He readjusts his hands under your ass, keeping you upright. He revels in the way your fingers drag down his muscle, how your other hand is thrown behind your head, keeping Azriel close as you kiss hungrily. Cassian watches, enjoying the view.

When you and Azriel break apart, it’s because your head is too busy falling back against his shoulder in pleasure. Azriel’s hazel eyes meet Cassian’s heady look. The both of them are sweating, beads mixing with the water that’s still pouring from the spout above. This is unlike anything either of them has experienced before, that either of them ever thought could happen. They found you, and you’ve all accepted each other. It’s a match made in fucking hell, but there’s nothing better.

Cassian can’t take it any longer. You cry out when he shifts forward, capturing Azriel’s mouth against his own. It’s a messy kiss, one where they grapple for dominance, but it’s so fucking hot that it has the pit of your stomach coiling. Their cocks drive into you even faster as they kiss, more teeth than anything, and you trip into your orgasm, gripping onto them as they continue to plunge into you.

Both men rip apart to watch your orgasm ripple over you. You’re so fucking beautiful, and you arch, preen under their heavy, hungry gazes. Fuck, you want their eyes on you always, you’ll do anything for it.

Your body tremors with pleasure, tightening around their cocks in a way that makes them release twin groans of pleasure.

“I’m not going to last,” Cassian pants, and Azriel agrees with a choked moan. That, and the way that your eyes flutter open, your face contorting with pleasure so quickly after your first orgasm, is Cassian’s undoing. He cums with a loud groan, jerking his hips into you once, twice, thrice more before he’s emptying himself inside of you.

The feeling cascades over Azriel last, and he cums, burying his head in your neck. You moan as his canines pierce your skin, harsh but not enough to break skin. You’d be worried about the feeling if you weren’t drowning in fucking pleasure, the feeling akin to what you’ve come to fear the most. Instead, you bury your fingers in his black hair to keep him in place.

“One more,” Azriel encourages softly, voice weighed down with pleasure. His hand snakes around your body and his fingers find your clit, rubbing in tight circles. Cassian groans when you tighten around them again, milking their cocks for all their worth. To help you out, Cassian dips low and sucks one of your pert nipples into his mouth.

You cum again with a scream that nearly shatters the glass shower door.

“There she is,” Cassian grunts against your wet skin, cuddling you close when you deflate into his chest. You whimper when Azriel slowly removes himself from your ass, and Cassian cradles the back of your head. “You did so well, pretty girl. So good for us.”

You can only nod, exhaustion weighing your limbs.

“Sleep,” Azriel encourages, and his hands find your body in a soothing motion as he helps clean you off. There’s a light press of lips against your cheek but you don’t know if it’s Cassian or Azriel’s doing. Maybe both. You let your fatigue carry you into a dreamless sleep, entrusting both men fully to care for you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36  @bionic-donut @queserasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamerdreamer @reiincarnatiion @fuckthatfeeling @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001 @fallmyriad @sstrohma @tcris2020 @jeannineee @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite @lees-chaotic-brain @eternallyelvish @lilah-asteria @randombibitch @st4r-girl-official @nanisearchinginnerpeace @aemondsb1tch @chxosangxl @marigold-morelli @w0nderw0manly

[i-cant-sing]

Salauddin screaming and THROWING UP because Princess reader won't stop picking up stray animals from outside and bringing them into her bedroom because "it's too hot for them outside ;( " "you said my room was the coolest soo..."

on the contrary, Salauddin himself is an animal lover. They're Allah's creations that cannot speak, that cannot ask for help, they're just vulnerable. He cares for his horses very greatly, no expenses are spared for the their stables, their caretakers and the best medicine from around the world. The pain of thirst, its one of the worst ways to dies, so Salauddin makes sure no one in his kingdom ever goes to sleep hungry or thirsty, humans or animals. He's had special water systems and pots designed practically everywhere in Egypt so birds and dogs and other animals get to drink their fill.

BUT as much as Salauddin cares for animals, he doesnt... exactly appreciate his palace turning into a zoo because of all the animals you keep bringing in. Its kinda his fault really. All Salauddin did was get a pretty white kitten that had blue eyes- it was so cute, so he gifted it to you. When you asked him why, he couldnt say that its because the cute kitten reminded him of you. So he said that it was too hot outside for small animals like Fatima (as you had named her) and he saw the realisation dawn in your eyes as you looked out at the pyramids, nodding your head along.

Salauddin sighed in irritation as he felt something furry rubbing against his legs. He looked down under his desk to see a black kitten with green eyes- Bilal. You took him in and said "but Salauddin! Fatima is all alone and she needs a playmate! Besides, Bilal is bullied by the street kids cause he's black and they think that he was a jinn!" You used such excuses to adopt 3 more cats (Mustafa, Haider, Zahra) and now you spend dressing them in cute hijabs- yes even the males.

He picked up the black cat and tickled his chin as he began making his way towards your- or what used to be your room. On his way, he passed by servants chasing after your chickens- Emir, Ahmed and Riyaan.

The doors opened as he entered, the room was in complete chaos. Feathers were falling down as birds flew around the room with the maids hot on their tails. Your cats were resting in one corner with your dogs- Shams and Talia standing guard over them. And you? You were in the center of all this chaos, sitting on the ground with a pet sheep- Mihirmah in your arms as you sheared it carefully. You had found her last night on your way home, not even bothering to ask if you could keep her along with your rest of the petting zoo.

Then again, why would his wife need to ask him? Whats his, is yours.

He walked over and sat down beside you and you finally looked up.

"I found Bilal." He stated, petting the kitten that nuzzled his face against him. You smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you! I was so busy with Mihirmah, I didnt realise he had left. I think he escaped when they took the chicks out for a walk."

He hummed before nodding his head at the sheep. "And how many that makes it now?"

"One." "Y/n." He deadpanned. "Well, one sheep. In total, 52 animals."

"Y/n." He looked at you in disbelief. "How- what- it was 45 last week." You looked at him sheepishly. "Well... its not my fault, really. You see- um, well you know how we thought Shams and Talia were just siblings? I think they were confused and um, Talia just gave birth to 6 pups." You avoided his eyes as he stared at you.

"Y/n-"

"I am not getting rid of them, Salauddin." You warned him, petting the sheep in your arms. "They need us to care for their babies! They're new parents!"

"Y/n-"

"Yes, Yusuf?" You used his name, batting your lashes at him. You know how to get to him.

Ya hayati. (My life)

He sighed, petting Bilal in his hands. "I'm going to put Bilal down for a nap."

"Yeah! Just put him with his siblings-" "No. I'm going to separate him and his brothers. They will not be giving babies to their sisters." Salauddin grumbled as you pouted and muttered about how cute new kittens are.

Maybe he can give you a litter of your own to keep you preoccupied. (Not because he likes you or anything- he just doesnt want you to fill his palace with more animals.)

Despite what Salauddin says, he still remembers each name of all your pets. All of them. He also talks to the cats, especially to Bilal about how he needs to behave for him mama and protect her and stuff.

[hanafubukki]

Can be seen as a part 3 to these fics: part 1 and part 2 (each part takes place after some time has passed) or can be read as a stand-alone.

“My son, is he loved?”

You startled and looked at the knight in front of you.

He had a look in his eyes, a look that you couldn’t decipher. No, it was a look you couldn’t bring yourself to decipher.

The Knight of Dawn had found you a way home, ironically with the help of the three fairies. The same fairies that would end up giving that fated blessing to Silver in the future.

You thought about his question. You thought about all the people who loved Silver.

“Yes, very loved.” You replied confidently. “He is very, very loved.”

The Knight of Dawn smiled; you tried to keep the tears at bay. Time must run its course, you knew that all too well. That didn’t stop the fragments chipping away from your heart.

The wind picked up and you could tell, the portal home would open soon.

"Thank you for telling me. It brings me peace knowing my son is born in a world of harmony."

Unlike my own, was left unsaid.

And then it opened, your way home. A portal made with swirls of colors.

"YN." You turned, facing the Knight of Dawn, drinking him in one last time.

He raised his hand, and you placed yours gently on top of his. He leaned down and kissed your fingertips. The tears you tried so hard to keep away finally fell.

He pulled you into a hug, shushing you gently as a sob broke through. You whispered his name repeatedly. His name, not his title, but his name you learned as time passed. His name that you would only say when you two were alone and no other ears around. His fingers tangled in your hair; his embrace tightened.

Once you calmed down, he wiped at the drops clinging to your lashes.

"You have to go."

You nodded, pulling away.

"Thank you."

"There is nothing to thank me for. I only wish for your happiness, YN."

You bid him farewell and he returned it back as softly.

You squeezed his hand one last time before stepping towards the portal, returning home to your time.

“Goodbye, my first love.”

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion-- Chapter 2

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Thank you everyone for reading! This chapter features mostly soft, domestic fluff as I work out the plot! Next update in ~3 days. Enjoy!

[Ao3 link]

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

“Hehehehe!” Is what you awoke to, followed by the heart-stopping blare of cars passing by way too close for comfort.

You jolt, held in place by Mr. Crawling’s firm arms. He laughs again, giving your face a poke. “Not ∎∎∎∎!” He coos rather loudly, and you sigh.

“Yeah, good morning, Mr. Crawling,” you say, despite the sun hardly being up. It’s actually still pretty dark, and as you survey your brand new area, you notice that you’re on a rather steep part of the mountains, adjacent to some dirt roads and the scarce road lights illuminating the area.

“∎∎∎ stops!” Mr. Crawling says, rocking the both of you gently in a soothing back-and-forth motion. Huh, for being dead and rather thin-looking, his lap was actually pretty comfortable. 

You eye the area, trying your best to repeat “∎∎∎?”

Mr. Crawling nods quickly with a smile. “∎∎∎!” He says, pointing at the road.

Oh, road?

But– wait, the road is very obviously continuing off towards somewhere, you muse quietly. Perhaps something more like… the path? If you look from his perspective, the monotonous dirt mounds, roots, and rockers were most definitely cut off by the road.

So, path will probably fit somewhat better.

You nodded, “Mhm, path stops. Go with me.” As you stand up, you groan a bit, stretching stiff limbs held tightly together for an extended period of time. Judging by the sky, he must’ve been dragging the two of you for a good amount of time.

You look right and left, and upon seeing no cars, you hurriedly cross the road, watching with relief as he does the same– in fact, he moves much quicker here, traversing the flat land with glee.

Upon crossing the road, you see the lights and tall buildings of your city, numerous of which you recognize based on the shape, ads, or colors. 

“Oh thank god,” you smiled, looking back once more to check on your ever loyal ghost. Though he most definitely didn’t understand your relief, he seemed to mirror your relaxed and happy demeanor, swaying ever so slightly as he waited patiently for you to continue.

You grinned, then began to carefully trek through the remaining hills and bushes, mostly following the road from a safe distance. After all, you weren’t quite sure whether or not other people could see your new companion, and you’d much rather get back to your tiny apartment without any extra screams or the need to act like Mr. Crawling wasn’t 2 feet behind you. 

Fortunately, Japan is much quieter at dawn than at midnight with most office workers having already gone home after a night of drinking or overtime. The few that remain were early risers much too tired to give their surroundings a second thought or still half drunk and passed out near the station or a random nook in an alley. 

Lucky, lucky, lucky you think to yourself as you made steady progress to your apartment building. Feeling slightly more rested and in a better mood, you allowed Mr. Crawling explore the new setting for a few minutes, laughing at his reaction to window displays or any vending machines you passed by.

You felt far more secure walking around an area you know compared to the mountains.

“∎∎∎∎!” Mr. Crawling says, stopping to inspect a small collection of Gachapon outside a large convenience store.

You let out a small snort, his amusement infectious. You can't remember the last time you were that excited over a capsule machine. Maybe it was elementary school? 

“Want one?” You ask, giving your bag a small shake to confirm that it still had coins in it.

Mr. Crawling brightened even more, “Me can?”

You fish out your coin pouch, digging around for some 100 yen coins. You pull out 2, handing them over to his hand and placing them in his palm.

You grab 2 more coins and demonstrate, picking out one depicting cute foods. You inserted the coins and twisted the lever, watching as a yellow ball rolled out. You picked it up, popping it open, and unfurling the wrap covering your brand new keychain, revealing a piece of cartoony buttered toast.

Mr. Crawling scooted closer, giggling out “cute cute cute!” as he poked and prodded at the small plastic thing.

Without a moment of hesitation, he inserts his coins into the same machine you had picked out, his hand turning the lever making a suspicious creak and clicking that, in your heart, signified something breaking. 

Ah, shit… you thought half-heartedly as he took his yellow capsule, popping it open and tearing off the plastic covering. He let out giggles, staring at his tiny new keychain.

A cute fried piece of mackerel with little x marks over its eyes.

You let out your own laugh, absentmindedly patting his head as he poked and moved his keychain. His head jerks up, grin radiant, as he says “Me like ∎∎∎! Thank you!” 

You felt your heart melt as you gave his head a rougher pat. “Of course. Me happy…uh– me happy you happy.”

Mr. Crawling gushed, lunging up to give you a tight hug that nearly brought you to the ground again. Your far more controlled yelp was cut off by your own laughs paired with his giggles as you combed your fingers through his hair. It wasn’t as neat as before, slightly ruffled up and tangled around small pieces of dirt, leaves, and rocks.

Yikes, he needed a bath. Do ghosts need baths? Well, regardless, you probably weren’t that far off, and the remains of dried blood would probably stop looking like the dried mud you knew other people assumed it was when the sun fully rises. 

And so, the moment was rather brief, interrupted by some cars passing by, but it was more warmth than you’ve ever really experienced since childhood, and you truly cherished it.

“Alright, c’mon,” You grinned, taking a half a step back to indicate you wanted to move. “We go.”

Mr. Crawling, as sweet as can be, followed after, keeping his new keychain as… safe as can be tucked between his razor sharp teeth, the little mackerel swaying against his chin and jaw.

You tried your best not to laugh at the sight.

The journey to your apartment afterwards was as tedious as you recalled, the same streets looking hardly any different despite the fact that you were basically kidnapped into a new world and nearly died quite a few times. And, while the rush of laughter was nice, you could feel the remaining exhaustion built up from the past 24 hours weighing heavier on your shoulders with every few steps, your hour-or-so long nap hardly the rest you actually needed.

But, you can’t deny, having Mr. Crawling by your side was the motivation you needed as you hiked up roads and through narrow roads as you began to walk away from the most busting parts of the city, entering a residential area that was fairly secluded from the main streets. 

Your building was more run down than most, cheap with some decent space for one person and some nice, elderly neighbors (that you really don’t want to traumatize). So, you opened the creaky entrance as quietly as you could, feeling confident that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t make much of a peep of noise until you reached your room.

You were 3 floors up, and you stopped yourself from letting out another huff of laughter at how at-home Mr. Crawling appeared to be on familiar concrete floors and stairs. That was too bad, honestly, as your house had wooden floors and some tatami mats, but a part of your mind, despite knowing how sturdy his limbs were, felt better that he wouldn’t be constantly kneeling and crawling on cold concrete floors like before.

And, really, it would be best for the both of you to leave that place as far behind as possible. In fact, you’d like to convince yourself that everything was a dream, and you simply found a ghost in the mountains like all the ghost stories had warned you about. No blood, no torture room, and no man in red.

All normal. Regular life. No deaths or blood or a creepy face peering at you from every dark crevice. 

You pull out your keys, giving your doorknob a soft rattle as it opens, and you breathe in a lungful of air you didn’t realize you could miss so much.

The air was slightly stale, but it was nothing an hour or so of airing out could fix. 

You walk in, kicking off ruined shoes by the doorway and hesitating for a moment when you see Mr. Crawling’s… attire.

It wasn’t bad. For crawling in a damp mountain, it was actually very clean, but you were still on the edge of letting dirt and grime inside.

But when Mr. Crawling tilts his head, mackerel clicking against his cheek, you felt yourself give in with a small sigh, and nod with a smile that you simply couldn’t help.

You walked in, waving him in, and once settled upon the hardwood floor, you shut the door tight, ensuring everything was locked.

“∎∎∎?” Mr. Crawling asked, mouth free of a charm. It was now back in his hands.

You hummed, giving him a blank look that you knew he knew meant you didn’t understand.

Mr. Crawling, hardly deterred, points at your home. “∎∎∎? You ∎∎∎?”

Hmm… You contemplate, looking at your room. Was he trying to say home?

“Home,” you say patiently in your language, watching as Mr. Crawling had a turn of looking confused. “...H..” He mumbles, and you nod.

“Home,” you pointed all around your home. “Home. Me home.”

Mr. Crawling followed where your finger was pointing rather comedically, head craning backwards and torso twisting around to see everything you were showing him. “You ∎∎∎. You… home?”

Your smile was instantly matched by his as you nodded quickly in affirmation. “Yes! Me home! Me language. Home.”

Mr. Crawling giggles, then crawls further into the house, exploring. You take the time to get settled, placing your bag on the hanger and plugging your nearly dead phone into the nearest outlet. Stretching your tensed, spent muscles, you finally took the time to look at yourself in the mirror and cringed at the sight.

Firstly, your hair was an utter mess, grime and browned blood crusting up in it, on your face, and on a good amount of the rest of your body. Your clothes were frankly ruined, and you’ll have to burn them or something. There’s no way you’ll be able to explain why that much blood from a presumably missing person is all over you.

You give a glance at Mr. Crawling who paused his cabinet-inspection to, in turn, look at you. 

… surely… you contemplate, not even registering the way he’s shuffling a bit under your gaze. Surely I can leave him alone for… 20 minutes? I need to shower at least… scratch the bath. I’ll probably fall asleep if I stay there. 

Mr. Crawling hurriedly began shoving stuff back in, the clacking and banging drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” You question, eloquently, as Mr. Crawling asks, holding a dustpan, “You mad?”

… Oh? “No, no.” You quickly reassure, crossing the room to bend down a bit and pet his head. “Me happy you happy. You… uh..” You pause, eyes scrunching shut as you begin digging in your mind for a word.

“You… can.” You eventually settle with, feeling assured that he understood when he smiled. You watched for another few seconds as he re-emptied the now-messy floor cabinet, digging out items that you’ve frankly forgotten about, before turning away with a small laugh and walking off to the bathroom.

You pulled out a spare set of clothes, dumping your current ones into a pile, and watched as grime and crust poured into the drain.

________________________________

When you step out, feeling refreshed and relaxed, you spotted a mini pile of mess surrounding your brand new roommate who seemed eager, mackerel keychain in mouth, to explore.

You hummed, observing his dirty appearance, before making a decision.

After all, you can’t have someone that dirty resting on a clean, white futon– or even the tatami mats he thankfully hasn’t walked over yet. He needed a bath earnestly. 

“Mr. Crawling,” You say, watching him turn in excitement.

“Hello!” He greeted, crawling towards you.

A brief half-second thought ensures that you truly had no word associated with water, wash, or anything along those lines, so you simply pointed into the bathroom, motioning towards yourself and your clean body.

“Uhm, wash. Bath,” You said, heading inside the still steamy room as you rinsed the tub and began filling it with water.

Mr. Crawling inspected it, peering at the warm water. “You,” you said, pointing inside the filling bathtub, followed by the motion of you washing your hair.

He tilts his head, jaw gently chewing at the keychain in his mouth. Then, when he sunk his arm in, you nodded fervently. “Yes yes,” You encouraged, motioning for him to get in.

When he sinks in, clothes bubbling to the surface, you contemplate asking him to take it off, but…

Yeahh, maybe not. You weren’t ready to see… whatever male ghosts had down there.

You pushed the fabric into the water, letting it soak up water until it sunk on its own and grimaced at the small wave of dirt that rose to the surface.

Yikes.

_____________________

Giggles erupted from the bathroom followed by small shouts of laughter periodically for the next 30 minutes as Mr. Crawling enjoyed the bath, splashing water out the tub and nearly melting when you firmly scrubbed his scalp and feet-long locks of hair.

You had drained and refilled the tub about 3 times now, the water finally a consistent clear color, that allowed you to wash and rinse the poor guy with some peace of mind.

“Good good! Happy!” Mr. Crawling cheered as he pushed his head up against your palms and fingers pressed against his head. “Thank you! Thank you!”

You laughed yourself, rinsing out the shampoo by scooping up buckets of water and pouring it over his head. “You really needed this,” you mused, gently layering a thin amount of conditioner onto his hair and letting it sit out on the side of the tub.

You can already see your bank account taking a foreseeable hit once your hair products run out.

Mr. Crawling giggled, taking out his now-warm arms to pet your (thankfully still wet) hair as you briefly scrubbed his legs and arms and attempted to wash his torso through his clothes. They seemed to be thin enough, after all, and it doubles as washing the fabric.

You snorted as hair fell into your face, large damp fingers clumsily pushing them away before you could really react. “You safe!” Mr. Crawling chirped, using his warm hands to cup your face and keep anything else from falling onto your eyes.

You felt your heart skip a beat as your cheeks began to warm themselves up, a soft smile firmly planted on your face. “And you’re very sweet,” you hum good naturedly, finishing up with a last rinse, drain of the tub, and wash down with the nearby showerhead.

You squeezed out as much water as you possibly could from your brand new sentient, crawling mop before helping him out of the tub and onto a towel. You gave him a small warning, motioning him to cover his ears as you plugged in the hairdryer, doing your best to dry him off.

He giggled, pulling his hands off his ears after a few moments and observing the hairdryer, reaching out to touch it a few times. “Cool! Noise ∎∎∎.” He said, watching his hair fly all around the room.

By the end, your arms were sore and your eyelids were heavy with the need to sleep, but he was dry and clean– very, very clean, skin no longer various shades of gray and clothes a step lighter than they used to be.

Before you could stand up and begin your voyage to your bed, he gently tugged you down, pulling you to sit on the towel.

“Huh?” You ask, watching as he fiddled with your hairdryer. He giggled when it roared to life, pointing the heated air at your head and clothes.

Oh… You relaxed, smiling as he tried his best to dry off whatever remaining moisture was in it. It was only slightly damp anyways, the air having done its job, but the tenderness of his fingers trying to run through your scalp and the warmth of not only the hairdryer but also the comfort of returning to some sort of semblance of a normal, soft, and loving life was enough to give rise to brand emotions that surged up from your chest and into your eyes. 

You did your best to choke out anything threatening to escape your throat, but there was no hiding the tears burning in your eyes or the way your body tensed up against the knees pressed against your back. 

Suddenly, the hairdryer shuts off, and a head smelling like your favorite shampoo pops in your vision, followed by “You sad? Hurt? Sad, you sad, me ∎∎∎.”

You sniffled, giving yourself that at least, and shook your head, quickly wiping off any tears. “No. No, me happy. You… nice. You nice… much. Me happy. Thank you.” 

Still, Mr. Crawling looked concerned, giving your body a quick check over and closely inspecting your head to ensure he really didn’t hurt you. When he finds nothing, he leans back, crawling to your side.

“You rest?” He says, and you give a jerky nod.

“Yeah, me… rest. Need rest.” You mutter, standing up and kicking the towels off to the side as well. You could clean that up later.

You lead Mr. Crawling out the room and into the small alcove covered in a tatami mat, opening a cabinet and pulling out 2 futons, unrolling them onto the floor. You then grabbed your pillows, blanket, and hurried to make yourself as comfortable as possible, handing him his set so that he could do the same.

But, instead of setting up his bed like you, he just sat right beside you intently, merely laying down the futon and pressing his pillow against your side.

“What are you doing?” You mumble, voice slightly nasally and eyes a bit puffy. You simply laid down, too tired and half-embarrassed to remain sitting up, but let out a small noise as his body laid on top of yours.

“What are you–”

“You rest,” Mr. Crawling says with a smile, face pressed against your abdomen and his blanket resting against his legs. “You rest. Me ∎∎∎∎ you safe.”

And, honestly, you don’t bother with trying to refute anything anymore. You sighed, letting your overworked muscles relax and gently resting your hand on his head. You were home, you were safe, and you… you weren’t alone. You had someone there with you now. Someone who protected you and could keep you safe in your sleep.

You blink open your eyes briefly when you felt something cold and foreign press into the other hand resting at your side, but upon seeing the small mackerel and toast keychains resting in your palm, you let out a small snort and let your eyes fall shut once again, mumbling a small “goodnight..” as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

.

.

.

.

“...g…goood…niight…”

That's all! Gave you guys a bit of a longer chapter (~3.2k words) as an extra thanks! Hope you enjoyed ^^

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[Ao3 link]

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: Chp 3

masterlist part 1 part 2

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The first rays of dawn had barely brushed the horizon when Azriel slipped out of bed, careful not to wake YN or Knox. The apartment was still cloaked in the quiet calm of early morning, and Azriel took a moment to watch them both, his heart swelling with a fierce, protective love. YN was curled up under the blankets, her breathing soft and even, while Knox lay peacefully in his bassinet, his tiny fists curled beside his face.

Azriel felt a pang of guilt as he prepared to leave them behind, but he knew it was necessary. The inner circle had already been questioning his absences, his lateness, and as much as he wanted to stay, he had to keep up appearances. No one could know about Knox or YN. Not yet. It was too dangerous—too many uncertainties that he couldn’t risk.

He dressed quietly, pulling on his usual dark leathers, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. Before he left, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to YN’s forehead, then one to Knox’s tiny brow. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, though neither of them stirred.

With a final, lingering glance, he slipped out of the apartment and took to the skies, his wings carrying him swiftly toward the townhouse. The cold morning air helped clear the last remnants of sleep from his mind, and he felt more refreshed than he had in days, thanks to the night of rest YN had insisted he take. For once, he wasn’t late, and it felt like a small victory.

As he landed gracefully in the courtyard of the townhouse, Azriel was immediately greeted by the sound of laughter—high-pitched and full of mischief. He barely had time to fold his wings before a blur of movement came barrelling toward him.

“Uncle Az!”

Azriel braced himself just in time as his nine-year-old nephew, Nyx, tackled him, wrapping his small arms around Azriel’s waist with surprising strength for his age. Not a moment later, another figure joined the fray—Agnar, the seven-year-old son of Cassian and Nesta, who was no less enthusiastic in his greeting.

“Gotcha!” Agnar declared, his eyes bright with triumph as he latched onto Azriel’s leg.

Azriel couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he looked down at the two boys, their faces beaming up at him. “Looks like you two have been practicing your sneak attacks,” he said, his voice filled with affection as he ruffled Nyx’s hair.

Nyx grinned up at him, his violet eyes—the same as his father’s—glinting with pride. “We’ve been waiting for you! Mom said you might be late again, but you’re on time!”

Agnar nodded vigorously, his dark hair a wild mess that mirrored Cassian’s own unruly locks. “Yeah! Dad said he was gonna make you run laps if you were late!”

Azriel chuckled, though he could easily imagine Cassian issuing such a threat. He knelt down to their level, pulling them both into a tight hug. “Well, I’m here now. And it looks like you two have gotten stronger since the last time I saw you.”

The boys beamed at the praise, and Nyx puffed out his chest with pride. “Daddy’s been training us! He says we’ll be warriors one day, just like you and Uncle Cassian.”

Azriel’s heart warmed at the thought, though it was tinged with the bittersweet realization that Knox, too, might one day want to follow in their footsteps. But that was a future he wasn’t ready to think about just yet.

As the boys finally released him, their excitement still palpable, Azriel straightened up, his eyes scanning the courtyard. The rest of the inner circle was gathered near the entrance to the townhouse, watching the scene with smiles and knowing looks.

Rhysand stood with his arms crossed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he observed his son’s interaction with Azriel. Feyre was beside him, her eyes soft with affection as she watched Nyx practically bounce around Azriel’s feet. Cassian and Nesta were also there, Cassian’s arm slung casually around Nesta’s shoulders, though there was a distinct glint of amusement in his hazel eyes.

“Well, well,” Cassian called out as Azriel approached, Nyx and Agnar still clinging to him like shadows. “Look who finally decided to show up on time. I was starting to think you’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of making me run laps,” he shot back, his tone light.

Cassian barked out a laugh, clapping Azriel on the back as he joined the group. “Smart move, Shadowsinger. I’m not sure Nyx and Agnar would’ve let you get away without a proper wrestling match, though.”

“Uncle Azriel could win!” Nyx piped up, looking up at Cassian with a determined expression. “He’s the best fighter!”

Cassian grinned down at his nephew, his hazel eyes sparkling with pride. “He sure is, kiddo. But even the best need their rest.”

Nesta, who had been watching the exchange with a slight smile, narrowed her eyes playfully at Azriel. “You do look like you finally got some sleep,” she observed, though there was a hint of a question in her voice. “It’s about time.”

Azriel shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. “Had a quiet night for once,” he replied smoothly, though the truth of where he had spent his night—who he had spent it with—remained locked away behind his usual stoic demeanour.

Rhysand, ever the observant one, raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t press further. Instead, he glanced at Cassian with a smirk. “Looks like we might not need to stage that intervention after all.”

Feyre elbowed him lightly, her own smile softening as she looked at Azriel. “We were starting to worry, you know,” she said gently. “But I’m glad you’re here. On time, no less.”

Azriel nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for the concern he had caused, though he masked it well. “I’m here,” he said, his voice steady. “And I’m ready to work.”

As the group turned to head inside, Nyx and Agnar finally released their grips on Azriel, though they remained close by, chattering excitedly about their latest training sessions. Azriel listened with half an ear, his mind already shifting to the tasks ahead, though part of him remained anchored to the quiet apartment he had left behind.

No one knew about Knox. No one knew about YN. And as much as it pained him to keep that part of his life a secret, he knew it was necessary. The inner circle might have noticed that he looked better, more rested, but they didn’t—couldn’t—know the real reason why.

---

The streets of the Hewn City were as dark and foreboding as ever, their twisted architecture casting long, jagged shadows across the cobblestones. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint, acrid tang of smoke from the forges deep within the city’s belly.

YN walked with purposeful steps, her heart heavy as she navigated the maze of narrow alleys and crowded marketplaces. The city’s bustling energy had always made her uneasy, but today it felt especially suffocating.

Knox lay nestled in his buggy, a small, sturdy contraption that allowed YN to keep him close while still moving through the crowded streets. The buggy's wheels bumped over uneven cobblestones, but Knox remained calm, his tiny form swaddled in a soft blanket, his dark eyes peeking out as he watched the world pass by. YN glanced down at him every few moments, reassured by the sight of his peaceful expression.

But despite the calm her son exuded, YN couldn’t shake the discomfort gnawing at her. The Hewn City wasn’t a place she ever wanted to bring her child, but she had little choice. She needed new clothes for work, and as much as she loathed the task, it was unavoidable.

Passing by gaudy displays of shops filled with shimmering silks, lace, and jewels, YN felt a pang of discomfort. The garments on display were designed to entice and seduce, and she knew all too well their purpose. They were a far cry from the simple, comfortable clothing she preferred—clothing that allowed her to disappear into the background, unnoticed and unbothered. But here, in the heart of the Hewn City, blending in meant conforming to the expectations of the lords and ladies who ruled this shadowed realm.

As she approached one of the more discreet boutiques, the door creaked ominously behind her, announcing her arrival. The shopkeeper, a tall, willowy female with sharp features and a calculating gaze, glanced up from her counter. Her eyes flicked over YN with a cold, assessing look before they landed on Knox in the buggy. A flicker of disdain passed over the shopkeeper’s face before she smoothed it away, her expression becoming a mask of polite indifference.

“May I help you?” the shopkeeper asked, her tone clipped, though she kept her voice level.

YN lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by the woman’s unspoken disapproval. “I need a few outfits,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Something for tonight, and for the rest of the week.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes lingered on Knox for a moment longer, her gaze sharp with barely concealed judgment, before she nodded and gestured for YN to follow. YN pushed the buggy forward, the wheels rolling quietly over the polished stone floor as she trailed behind the woman to the back of the shop where the more provocative garments were kept.

Each piece on display was a reminder of the life YN had chosen—or rather, the life she had been forced into by circumstance. A life where her worth was measured not by her skills or her kindness, but by how well she could please those who held power over her. It was a bitter reality, one she had long since learned to endure, but it stung all the more now that Knox was in her life.

As the shopkeeper began to pull out various garments—delicate lace, rich velvets, and silks that shimmered like liquid night—YN forced herself to focus. She needed to choose quickly, to get this over with and return to the relative safety of her mother’s home. But as she sorted through the options, the weight of the stares from other patrons in the shop bore down on her.

They whispered behind their hands, their gazes flitting between her and Knox with thinly veiled judgment. To them, she was a curiosity—a young female, barely 137 years old, already burdened with a child and working in one of the most notorious pleasure houses in the Hewn City. They probably thought she had wasted her youth, thrown away her beauty for a life of servitude.

But YN had stopped caring about their judgment a long time ago. She had learned to build walls around her heart, to shut out the whispers and the stares. They didn’t know her, didn’t know the reasons behind her choices or the sacrifices she had made. They saw only what they wanted to see—a pretty face, a young mother struggling in a harsh world—and they passed their silent verdicts accordingly.

Knox let out a soft coo, and YN instinctively reached down to brush a finger against his cheek, soothing him with a gentle touch. She made her selections quickly—three outfits that would suffice for the next week, each one designed to catch the eye and hold it. The shopkeeper wrapped them in crisp black paper and handed them over with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Thank you,” YN murmured as she paid, her tone polite but detached. She wanted nothing more than to leave this place, to escape the oppressive atmosphere that clung to every surface.

With the bundle of clothing tucked under one arm and Knox safely secured in his buggy, YN stepped back out onto the street. The air was thick and humid, a faint mist curling up from the damp stones underfoot. The stares followed her as she walked, the whispers fading into the background as she focused on her next destination—her mother’s house.

Her mother lived in one of the quieter quarters of the Hewn City, a modest home nestled between two larger, more opulent residences. It wasn’t much, but it was a refuge for YN and Knox, a place where she could leave her son without fear. Her mother had always been her anchor, the one person who had supported her through every trial, and YN knew that Knox was safe in her care.

The door creaked open as YN approached, her mother’s familiar face appearing in the dim light of the entryway. There was a warmth in her eyes as she took in the sight of YN and Knox, though there was also a shadow of concern that hadn’t been there before.

“You made it,” her mother said softly, stepping aside to let YN inside. She reached out to take Knox, her hands gentle as she lifted him from the buggy and cradled him against her chest. “How is my little warrior today?”

YN managed a small smile as she watched her mother coo over Knox, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “He’s doing well,” she replied, her voice softer now that she was in the safety of her mother’s home. “He’s a little restless, but nothing too bad.”

Her mother nodded, her gaze lingering on YN’s face as if searching for signs of strain. “And you? How are you holding up?”

YN hesitated, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She didn’t want to burden her mother with her worries, but the concern in her eyes was too much to ignore. “I’m managing,” she said, though it was clear that it took effort to keep her voice steady. “It’s just… hard, sometimes.”

Her mother sighed, the sound filled with a deep understanding that only years of experience could bring. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” she said gently. “I’m here for you, and so is that boy of yours.”

At the mention of him, YN’s heart twisted with a mixture of longing and guilt. She knew Azriel would do anything for her and Knox, but the secrets they kept weighed heavily on her soul. She had chosen this life, and she would bear the consequences, but sometimes she wished things could be different—wished that she could walk through the streets without fear, without the burden of judgment and expectation.

But those were just wishes, fleeting and impossible. What mattered now was Knox, and keeping him safe. As long as she could do that, she would endure anything.

“Thank you,” YN said softly, her eyes meeting her mother’s with gratitude. “For everything.”

Her mother smiled, though it was tinged with a sadness that mirrored YN’s own. “You’re stronger than you know, my darling,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Knox’s brow before turning back to YN. “Now, go get some rest before your shift tonight. I’ll take care of him.”

YN nodded, her heart heavy with love and sorrow as she watched her mother carry Knox into the cozy living room, the firelight casting a warm glow over them both. Knox settled quickly in her arms, his tiny face relaxed and content.

It was a bittersweet sight, one that filled YN with both relief and an aching sense of loss. She didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to spend another night in the pleasure house, but she had no choice. This was the life she had to lead, the sacrifices she had to make.

With one last lingering glance, YN turned and headed upstairs to the small bedroom that had once been hers. The bed was simple, the blankets neatly folded at the foot, but it was enough. She would rest, gather her strength, and then face the night ahead.

---

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the city of Velaris. It was a beautiful evening, the kind that often filled Azriel with a rare sense of peace. But tonight, as he made his way to the River House for a meeting with Rhysand and Cassian, a heavy weight pressed on his chest. He hadn’t seen YN since the night before, and the lingering exhaustion from sleepless nights with Knox gnawed at him. The secrecy, the distance—it was all starting to take its toll.

Azriel landed softly on the balcony of Rhysand’s office, his wings folding neatly behind him as he stepped inside. The familiar scent of leather-bound books and parchment greeted him, along with the rich, heady aroma of Rhysand’s preferred tea. Cassian was already there, leaning casually against the edge of Rhys’s desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey in hand. Rhysand sat behind his desk, his violet eyes sharp and assessing as they met Azriel’s.

“Az,” Rhys greeted, a hint of warmth in his voice. “Glad you could finally join us.”

Azriel gave a curt nod, ignoring the playful jab about his tardiness. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up with some… business.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his gaze lingering on Azriel for a moment before he shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “No worries. We were just getting started.”

Azriel took a seat in one of the plush chairs by the fireplace, trying to push aside his exhaustion and focus on the discussion at hand. Rhysand began outlining the latest updates on trade routes, security measures, and potential threats from the borders. Azriel listened intently, his mind absorbing the details as he always did, but there was a part of him that remained distracted.

He couldn’t stop thinking about YN. The way she had looked last night, trying to soothe Knox while surrounded by the evidence of her return to work, haunted him. He hated that she had to go back to that place so soon after giving birth, hated that he couldn’t do more to ease her burden. But the reality of their situation left him with few choices. The secrecy of their relationship was paramount—not just for her safety, but for Knox’s as well.

As the conversation in Rhysand’s office shifted to more mundane matters, Azriel’s mind began to drift. He thought of YN’s smile, of the way her eyes lit up whenever she looked at their son. He thought of the nights they spent together, hidden away from the world, and how desperately he missed those moments of peace.

“…we could use a night out,” Rhysand said suddenly, his voice pulling Azriel back to the present. “It’s been too long since we’ve all just… relaxed. Had some fun. What do you say?”

Cassian grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I’m in. There’s not much to do around here after dark, though. Any ideas?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his gaze sliding over to Azriel, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet. “Az? You’ve got that brooding look on your face. Any suggestions?”

Azriel hesitated for a fraction of a second, his mind racing. He knew exactly where he wanted to go—where he needed to go—but the thought of bringing Rhysand and Cassian there, of risking them seeing YN, made his heart pound with anxiety. But he also knew that if he didn’t see her tonight, it would eat at him. He needed to make sure she was all right, needed to remind her that he was there for her, even if it had to be in secret.

“There’s a place in the Hewn City,” Azriel said slowly, his voice carefully measured. “It’s not exactly like the taverns here in Velaris, but it’s… interesting. Plenty of drinks, good music. A little different from what we’re used to.”

Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “The Hewn City? You’re serious?”

Azriel nodded, his expression unreadable. “Why not? It’s been a while since we’ve been down there, and it could be… fun.”

Cassian let out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d hear you suggest a night out in the Hewn City. But I’m not opposed to it. We could use a change of scenery.”

Rhysand studied Azriel for a moment, his violet eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to discern the reason behind the sudden suggestion. But Azriel’s face remained impassive, his shadows swirling lazily around him in a way that offered no clues.

“Alright,” Rhysand finally said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Let’s do it. A night in the Hewn City it is. Maybe we’ll stir up some trouble.”

Azriel’s heart thudded in his chest, a mixture of anticipation and dread swirling within him. He knew it was risky, knew that being in the same room as YN while hiding their relationship would be agonizing. But he needed to see her, even if it was from a distance.

As they wrapped up their meeting and prepared to leave, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a knot of tension tightening in his gut. He had to be careful—had to make sure that neither Rhysand nor Cassian caught on to the true reason behind his suggestion. The thought of them finding out about YN and Knox, of the potential danger it could bring, was enough to make his blood run cold.

But for tonight, he would have to play his part. He would go to the Hewn City with his brothers, keep up the façade, and somehow find a way to check on YN without raising suspicion. It was a delicate balancing act, one that left him feeling more on edge than ever.

The Hewn City had never looked so alien and yet so oddly comforting. The architecture, with its dark, angular lines and oppressive shadows, felt both oppressive and familiar. Azriel led the way as he, Rhysand, and Cassian navigated through the labyrinthine streets, the trio cutting through the evening fog that clung to the air like a shroud.

The pleasure house, with its lavish façade and inviting yet illicit allure, stood in stark contrast to the grimy alleyways surrounding it. It was a place of excess and secrets, and Azriel was acutely aware of the mask he had to wear tonight. He was here to keep up appearances, to ensure that his personal life remained hidden while still satisfying his need to see YN.

As they entered the pleasure house, the atmosphere was immediately different—louder, more vibrant. The interior was opulent, with rich fabrics draped across the walls, low lighting casting a sultry glow, and the murmurs of patrons mingling with the strains of live music. Azriel’s heart quickened as he scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of YN.

Rhysand and Cassian were distracted by the surroundings, their eyes taking in the provocative displays and the carefully orchestrated sensuality of the environment. Azriel, however, remained focused, his gaze fixed on the server who moved gracefully through the room. It took a moment for him to catch sight of her, but when he did, his breath caught in his throat.

YN was dressed in the attire of the pleasure house—an outfit that accentuated her features while still remaining tantalizingly understated. The black satin cowl neck crop top, dark navy jewel-encrusted pants, and black heel sock boots all combined to create an appearance that was both alluring and vulnerable. She was carrying a tray of drinks, her movements fluid and practiced, her eyes scanning the room with a practiced detachment.

Azriel’s pulse quickened as he approached her, forcing himself to remain calm. He was here on official business, after all. The act he would need to maintain was a delicate one. Rhysand and Cassian followed closely behind, their curiosity piqued by the unusual location.

When YN finally approached their booth, her gaze flicked briefly over Azriel before she began her routine of serving the drinks. It was only when she neared their table that her eyes finally locked with his. Her expression didn’t change immediately; it remained a practiced mask of professionalism. But there was a brief, flickering moment of recognition that passed between them—a silent exchange of emotions that spoke volumes in an instant.

“Good evening,” YN said, her voice smooth and polite as she set down the drinks. “Can I get you anything else?”

Azriel cleared his throat, forcing himself into the role he had chosen. “This is YN,” he said, gesturing to her with a casual air. “When I’m here for business, she usually serves me.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, it’s certainly a different experience than what we’re used to. Do you have any recommendations, YN?”

YN offered a polite smile, her eyes never lingering too long on Azriel. “It depends on what you’re in the mood for. The house special is always a good choice. It’s popular for a reason.”

Cassian leaned back in his seat, his gaze wandering over the surroundings. “Sounds intriguing. I think we’ll take you up on that.”

As YN moved away to fulfill their order, Azriel watched her closely, noting how effortlessly she slipped back into her role. The act she was playing was flawless—she was all business, her demeanour cool and detached, just as it needed to be. But he could see the strain in her eyes, the subtle tension in her posture. It was a reminder of the sacrifices they both had to make to keep their relationship hidden.

When she returned with the drinks, Azriel allowed himself a moment of indulgence. “So, YN,” he said, turning his attention back to her. “I haven’t seen you around much lately. Where have you been?”

YN’s smile didn’t waver as she set the drinks on the table. “I’ve been here, just covering different shifts. We all rotate through different times, so you might have missed me.”

Azriel nodded, maintaining the pretence of casual curiosity. “Ah, I see. Well, it’s good to see you again.”

YN inclined her head slightly, her gaze flicking over to him with a fleeting softness before she turned her attention back to Rhysand and Cassian. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Rhysand shook his head, his attention momentarily diverted by the lively atmosphere around them. “No, we’re good for now, thanks.”

As YN moved away to attend to other patrons, Azriel felt a pang of longing. The way she carried herself, the way she interacted with him while keeping her professional mask firmly in place—it was a testament to the life they had to lead. It was a life of secrecy and sacrifice, one that left him both aching for her and filled with a deep, unspoken pride.

The evening wore on, and the pleasure house buzzed with activity. The soft music mingled with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian continued their evening, each conversation and interaction designed to blend in seamlessly with the environment. But as the night progressed, Azriel found himself increasingly distracted by YN’s presence.

He had noticed her earlier, her graceful movements now tinged with a weariness that seemed to grow with each passing hour. She was doing her best to maintain her professional demeanour, but the exhaustion was evident in the slight droop of her shoulders and the faint shadow beneath her eyes.

Azriel felt a pang of sympathy as he watched her from across the room. The sight of her working so hard, so tirelessly, while still trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, tugged at his heart. He needed to see her up close, to make sure she was alright.

When YN’s shift brought her back to their booth, Azriel decided it was time to act. He raised a hand, catching her attention with a nod. “YN, can you come over here for a moment?”

YN approached their table, her steps steady but her fatigue evident. She offered a polite smile as she reached their booth. “Yes? Is there something you need?”

Azriel’s eyes softened with genuine concern as he looked at her. “I just wanted to check in. You seem a bit tired. How’s the shift been?”

YN glanced around, making sure there were no eavesdroppers. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s been… eventful. You wouldn’t believe the drama tonight.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged curious glances, their attention piqued by the conversation. Azriel’s lips curled into a teasing smile. “Oh? Do tell. I’m sure we could use some entertainment.”

YN sighed, her expression lightening slightly as she began to recount the day’s events. “Well, apparently there’s been a bit of a scandal with the staff. Some of the girls got caught up with this new money group in the area—supposedly they’re making quite a stir. It’s causing quite a bit of gossip.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A money group? Sounds like there’s more to it than just a bit of gossip.”

YN nodded, her smile a mix of amusement and frustration. “Oh, there is. They’re making a lot of waves, and not in a good way. The staff’s been buzzing about it all week, and it’s starting to affect our business.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and affection. “It sounds like you’ve had your hands full. Maybe you need a break.”

YN’s smile widened, but there was a hint of exhaustion still lingering in her eyes. “Maybe. But we all have to pull our weight, right?”

Rhysand and Cassian watched the exchange with growing interest. The playful banter between Azriel and YN was evident, and it was clear that there was more to their relationship than met the eye. Rhysand’s gaze flicked between them, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, while Cassian’s curiosity was piqued.

Azriel continued, his tone softening. “How have you been otherwise? It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

YN hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a hint of sadness. “I was actually on maternity leave. Just came back tonight. My babe is only two weeks old, so it’s been a bit hectic.”

Azriel’s heart ached at the mention of their son. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but he knew he had to keep up the pretence. “I’m sure it’s been a challenge. How’s everything at home?”

YN’s smile was faint but genuine. “It’s manageable. I’ve been living with my boyfriend, and he’s been helping out a lot. It’s just a lot to juggle right now.”

Rhysand’s curiosity was piqued by the mention of YN’s boyfriend, but he remained polite, offering a nod. “It sounds like you have your hands full. But I’m glad you’re back and that you’re managing.”

Cassian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “So, you’re telling me you’ve got a little one and a boyfriend? And you still manage to look this good?”

YN’s cheeks flushed slightly, though she kept her composure. “Well, it’s not always easy, but you make do. Besides, a bit of distraction can be helpful.”

Azriel watched her, a mix of pride and longing in his eyes. The way she handled the conversation, the ease with which she maintained the façade—it was both impressive and heart-wrenching. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, to offer her the comfort and support she needed, but the world they lived in demanded otherwise.

As YN prepared to move on to her next table, Azriel reached out, lightly touching her hand. “Take care of yourself, okay? We’ll catch up soon.”

YN’s eyes softened, a brief flicker of something deeper passing between them before she nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

As YN moved away, Azriel forced himself to turn his attention back to Rhysand and Cassian. The playful banter and the hidden exchanges with YN had left him feeling both elated and frustrated. He had managed to keep their relationship under wraps, but the curiosity of his friends was a persistent challenge.

Rhysand, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, broke the silence. “So, Az. How long have you been gathering information from this place? It seems like you’ve got a regular routine going here.”

Cassian nodded, his gaze sharp and inquisitive. “Yeah, you mentioned that YN usually serves you when you’re here. Is this part of your regular intel-gathering operations, or is there something specific that brought you here tonight?”

Azriel took a sip of his drink, buying himself a moment to carefully construct his response. He had to maintain the guise of a casual informant while keeping the true nature of his visits hidden.

“It’s been a while,” Azriel said, his tone nonchalant. “I’ve been coming here for a few months now, usually just to pick up some intelligence on local movements and activities. The Hewn City is a hub for a lot of different groups, and you never know what you might overhear.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Really? I didn’t realize it was such a hotspot for information. And you’ve been coming here regularly for several months?”

Azriel nodded, his expression remaining carefully neutral. “Yes, it’s been useful. There are always different factions and rumours circulating in places like this. It’s a good spot for gathering intel on various interests and keeping tabs on potential threats.”

Cassian’s gaze lingered on Azriel, a hint of scepticism in his eyes. “That’s quite the commitment. I would have thought it was more of a hit-and-miss kind of situation.”

Azriel offered a small, practiced smile. “It’s more about building relationships and understanding the dynamics at play. Sometimes you need to spend time in a place to get a real sense of what’s happening.”

Rhysand chuckled softly, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. You’ve always had a knack for finding out the details others might miss.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And you’ve never had any issues with your cover? It seems like you’ve managed to keep a low profile.”

Azriel shrugged, his demeanour relaxed. “It helps to blend in. As long as you know how to keep your ears open and your presence unobtrusive, you can gather quite a bit of information without drawing too much attention.”

Rhysand leaned forward, his gaze steady as he studied Azriel. “You seem quite at ease with the process. But I have to ask—why this place in particular? Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

Azriel took another sip of his drink, choosing his words with care. “Sometimes the most valuable information comes from the most unexpected sources. The Hewn City is a melting pot of various interests and players. It’s a good place to keep an eye on things.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance, their curiosity clearly still piqued. But Azriel’s calm demeanour and plausible explanations seemed to satisfy their immediate questions. They turned their attention back to the lively environment around them, their focus shifting to the various aspects of the pleasure house’s offerings.

The music had softened to a gentle background hum, and the once bustling crowd had thinned to a few lingering patrons. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel remained seated in their booth, enjoying the last of their drinks while keeping an eye on the winding down process.

Azriel’s gaze frequently drifted to YN, who was busy tidying up the tables and ensuring that everything was in order for the next day. The exhaustion from her shift was evident in her movements, but she continued with a practiced efficiency. Her tiredness was a stark contrast to the vibrant energy she had shown earlier in the evening.

Harvey, the flamboyant bartender who had become something of a fixture in the pleasure house, was the last to join YN in the clean-up effort. His presence was unmistakable—his bright, eclectic attire and his easy-going demeanour made him stand out in any crowd. As he wiped down the bar, he exchanged light-hearted banter with YN, their camaraderie apparent in their interactions.

Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian finished their drinks and prepared to leave. The pleasure house was quieter now, the ambiance shifting from its earlier, more chaotic energy to a more subdued and intimate setting. The staff moved with practiced ease, their movements synchronized as they prepared to close for the night.

As the trio of males rose from their seats, Azriel cast a final glance towards YN and Harvey. The two of them were engaged in a conversation that seemed both relaxed and comforting, a brief respite from the demands of the night. Harvey’s animated gestures and YN’s soft laughter created a small bubble of warmth amidst the fading chaos.

“Looks like YN and Harvey are the last ones here,” Rhysand remarked, his eyes following Azriel’s gaze. “They’re certainly putting in the extra effort.”

Cassian grinned, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “I’m surprised they’re still at it. They must be exhausted.”

Azriel nodded, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Yeah, they’ve had a long night. I’ll make sure they’re all right before we leave.”

As Rhysand and Cassian made their way towards the exit, Azriel lingered for a moment, watching YN and Harvey as they finished up. He walked over to where they were working, his presence catching YN’s attention.

“YN,” Azriel called softly, making his way over to the bar area. “Harvey.”

YN looked up, her expression shifting to a tired but genuine smile. “Azriel. I didn’t realize you were still here.”

Azriel nodded, glancing around the almost empty room. “I thought I’d check in before we head out. You both look like you’re working hard.”

Harvey, who had been busy restocking the bar, looked up with a mischievous grin. “We’re just wrapping up. You know, keeping things in order for the next night of revelry.”

YN gave Harvey a playful nudge. “And Harvey’s making sure everything is sparkling clean. He has a bit of an obsession with the bar area.”

Harvey rolled his eyes theatrically, his smile never wavering. “Someone has to keep this place from looking like a disaster zone.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his gaze settling back on YN. “I appreciate the hard work. I know it’s been a long night.”

YN’s smile softened, though the fatigue was evident in her eyes. “It’s all part of the job. And besides, Harvey’s great company.”

Harvey gave a theatrical bow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Why, thank you, my dear. I do try to be entertaining.”

Azriel took a moment to watch their interaction, a mixture of affection and concern in his expression. He wanted to ensure that YN knew she had his support, even if it had to be expressed in subtle ways.

“Do you need any help finishing up?” Azriel offered, his tone genuine. “I don’t mind staying a bit longer if it means making things easier.”

YN shook her head, though her smile was grateful. “No need, Azriel. We’ve got it covered. But thank you.”

Harvey glanced at Azriel with a teasing smirk. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your glamorous night out. I’m sure the high lord and lord of bloodshed are waiting.”

Azriel nodded, his expression reflecting a mix of reluctance and understanding. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it then.”

As Azriel turned to leave, he paused, offering one last glance at YN and Harvey. The sight of them working together, the easy camaraderie between them, was a reminder of the world YN inhabited—a world that he could only access in fleeting moments.

“Goodnight, YN. Harvey,” Azriel said, his voice soft but sincere. “Take care.”

YN and Harvey both waved as Azriel headed towards the exit. The night had been a complex mix of professional duties and personal longing, and as he stepped out into the cool night air, he carried with him the weight of the secrets he had to keep and the brief, stolen moments of connection he had managed to share.

As he flew back to Velaris with Rhysand and Cassian, Azriel couldn’t help but reflect on the evening’s events. The pleasure house had provided both a necessary diversion and a poignant reminder of the delicate balance he had to maintain. The night was a testament to the complexities of his life—a life divided between duty and desire, between the public eye and the hidden realms of his heart.

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