#I DID NOT MEAN TO LEAVE THIS FOR THIS MANY DAYS

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Six

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: The night of the gratitude banquet arrives. Your life will never be the same after it.

Warnings: insecurity and overthinking, deep introspection, reader processing every feeling ever, IC friendship dynamics, Az is in his jealousy era, reader chewing him out, a kiss, a confession and more!!

Word Count: 12.6k (happy finale!)

Part Five | Series Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The days slipped by quickly. You spent most of them in your head, avoiding social interactions except for the ones you deliberately made time for—helping Adrin pick out his clothes for the banquet and shopping for a dress with Mor and Feyre. Azriel had been busy. You hadn’t seen him.

You felt guilty for being relieved. But you were. You couldn’t handle seeing him. 

It hit you last night, after Mor dropped off your dress—neatly wrapped in its protective bag—and you crawled into bed. When your gaze landed on your wrist, on the hair tie still there, everything suddenly became clear. You couldn’t run anymore. You couldn’t ignore it.

You were in love with Azriel.

There was a certain discomfort that came with realizing you had been walking through your life half-blind. Like a fog had lifted, revealing a path you had already been traveling, except now you could see it for what it was. And you wondered—how long had this been true? How long had you been this blind?

All these years of knowing Azriel, of loving him in some way—platonically, protectively, whatever it was—you had never truly seen it. But now that you did, you couldn’t unsee it. And it ached. Deeply.

Your fingers pressed absently against your sternum, rubbing small circles over the bone as you made your way down the hall. Over and over, like it might ease it. Like you could massage the feeling away.

You knew better.

It didn’t subside. If anything, it settled deeper, curling into your ribs. Lingered. Even as you reached the kitchen—and faltered.

Because you heard him.

A quiet hum, soft and unhurried, the way he always did on slow mornings when he thought no one was listening. And his shadows—they slipped past the doorframe, curling like wisps of ink, reaching. They knew you were there. They always did.

You thought about leaving.

But before you could turn, the humming stopped. A beat of silence. Then—

“Y/n?”

You exhaled sharply, bracing yourself before stepping inside.

Azriel was already watching you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it shifted into something softer. Familiar.

“Good morning,” you murmured.

He smiled—small, easy, like nothing between you had changed. Like your world hadn’t tilted on its axis.

He lifted a cup in offering. “Tea?”

You accepted it with a quiet thanks, leaning against the counter as Azriel took a seat, his own cup cradled loosely between his fingers.

Silences like this weren’t unusual. They were often comfortable—the kind of quiet that settled when you were both still waking up and bracing for the day ahead. But this morning, it was different.

Azriel glanced at you. “You okay?”

You were almost tempted to laugh at the question, but you suppressed it.

You nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. Just… lots on my mind.”

He hummed in understanding. His gaze had yet to leave yours.

A beat passed. Another. You shifted your weight against the counter, eyes flicking down to your cup. “You ever feel like you have too many thoughts, and it’s just… disorienting?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Another stretch of silence. It wasn’t quite tense, but it wasn’t easy, either. Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat. “So, tonight…” He hesitated. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to get something beforehand. I’m assuming the finger food will be too extravagant for us, like usual.”

You hesitated. His words were fumbling a little, but you didn’t think too much about it. You had been overthinking everything lately. 

“I would, but I’m actually bringing someone tonight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for him.”

Azriel stilled. “Oh.” His head tilted slightly. “You’re bringing a date?”

“It’s not exactly a date. I just asked him to come with me.”

Azriel nodded slowly. “Who?”

“Adrin. I invited him the other day.”

“Adrin,” he repeated, like he was testing the name on his tongue. “Madja’s apprentice?”

"That's the one."

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, but he said nothing at first, just watched you, his shadows flickering across the floor like they knew something you didn’t.

He studied you like he was waiting for something more. When nothing came, he frowned, his voice turning cautious. “And he’s coming with you… tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I thought it’d be nice. He’s helped us before. He's nice.”

Azriel didn’t say anything, but you saw it—in the way his breath hitched, in the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He had something to say.

You exhaled sharply. “Okay. What is it?”

His gaze shifted, like he was considering denying it.

“Hm?” he hummed, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

You leveled him with a look. “Az.” A beat. “Just spit it out, yeah?”

A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know. It just feels... strange, don’t you think? I mean, inviting him to something like this?”

You bristled at the words, at the insinuation that you needed a reason to bring someone. Needed to justify it to him.

 “Az, it’s just a regular banquet, and I wanted to invite someone. That’s not a crime.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

"Then what is this judgmental look you have?" Your voice came out more defensive than you meant. “I’ve known him for a while. It’s not like he’s a stranger.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s just some casual get-together, either.”

You hated that this conversation made you wish for something else. Made you wish it was a date. A real one. That tonight was light and exciting—the kind of night that made you blush, that made you feel wanted. The kind of night that made you feel like someone falling in love, not someone realizing they already had. So deeply, so entirely unreciprocated that you hadn’t even noticed it had happened.

“I’m not making some huge statement by inviting him. It’s just a banquet.” You swallowed, forcing the irritation down. “A banquet to show appreciation for those who help us. I thought it’d be nice. He’s helped us before, you know that.”

You thought back to what Azriel had said about not wanting to be the last one standing, like love, companionship, was a prize to win before someone else did. A race. And maybe, mentioning you were bringing someone made him defensive, made him feel like he needed to be looking again. The thought made something bitter rise in you. Something akin to embarrassment. 

Azriel didn’t reply right away. When he finally spoke, there was a resignation in his voice. "Right. I do know that."

You couldn’t find the right words to reply, so you settled for silence once more. You finished your tea, rinsed out the cup, and set it in the sink. You felt his eyes on you as you turned and told him, “I think, for now, maybe we should stay out of each other’s personal lives. Not comment on any romantic prospects.”

It sounded like a good idea—like a boundary you could hold, something to protect yourself.

But Azriel’s expression flickered, a discomfort settling across his face. “So Adrin is a romantic prospect?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Well, that's not–that’s not the point.” You pressed your fingers to your temples, willing away the irritation clawing at you. Then you dropped your hand, looking at him again. “Way to pick and choose what you hear, by the way.”

"I'm just clarifying."

"Look. I know I was right about Selene. But I think we have very different approaches to our personal lives.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "Well, I do. It might be better for us to keep our opinions to ourselves."

Azriel blinked. Then, quietly—“I don't want you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

Your breath caught.

His voice was careful, his fingers curling slightly around his cup. “Your opinion is the most important thing to me.”

And then your chest tightened. Azriel couldn’t say things like that to you.

The words slipped out before you could stop them. “Maybe it shouldn’t be.”

Silence.

Azriel’s grip tightened around his cup.

You swallowed. “I should go.”

And with Azriel’s eyes still following your every movement, you left— the ache in your chest even deeper than before.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The entrance to the banquet hall was a grand display of velvet-draped archways and soft golden faelight. You spotted Adrin just beyond the doors, hands tucked neatly behind his back, his casual, loose, linen clothes traded for deep navy formalwear. He looked up as you approached, a large, bright smile forming.

"You clean up well," you teased, stopping beside him. "I could’ve picked you up from your apartment. Like a proper date."

Adrin huffed a quiet laugh. "And risk making the citizens of Velaris burn with jealousy over how we look together? I’d never be so cruel."

You rolled your eyes and laughed. The lightness of the sound surprised you. "I suppose we do look rather stunning."

His gaze lingered for a moment before he said, softer, "You do. That dress is quite beautiful."

You barely resisted the urge to fidget, instead smoothing your hand over the fabric. 

Mor and Feyre had helped you get ready at the river house, the way they always did before events like these. The three of you, despite everything—despite mates, despite growing older, despite how much life had changed—still made time for it. A tradition you refused to let go of. It was something sacred, in a way. The girlhood none of you had ever really gotten to experience, stolen by war or circumstance.

You suspected Mor had noticed you were in your head more than usual, that something about tonight felt different. She kept checking in, little glances through the mirror, hesitation when you’d asked her to help pin your hair up. Her fingers had lingered as she tucked the final strands into place, ensuring the hairpiece she used hid the infamous hair tie beneath it. She hadn’t asked, but you could feel the question lingering in the way she looked at you.

“Mor chose it for me,” you said, offering Adrin a playful curtsy. "I’ll let her know her taste is still undefeated."

A few more guests drifted past.

"This home is beautiful," Adrin murmured, his gaze sweeping over the high ceilings and intricate paintings covering the marble walls— all painted by Feyre herself. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your High Lord and High Lady have elegant tastes. I must admit, I feel slightly out of place."

"It’s just another event," you said lightly. "Don’t let the elegance scare you. Most of the guests already know you, anyway. The ones that don’t will have the pleasure tonight. Nothing to stress about."

Adrin exhaled, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "I wouldn’t say I’m stressed. Out of practice seems more fitting. I haven’t been to many events like this."

"Oh? Does Thesan not throw many?"

He tilted his head. "Some. But even then, I wouldn’t attend. Not everyone is as close to their High Lord as you."

You blinked. "I never thought of it like that."

Adrin smiled faintly. "It’s not a bad thing. It’s quite beautiful, really. It humanizes Rhysand—far more than the stories some might hear about Night."

For you, Rhysand had never been just High Lord—he was Rhys, the friend who stole the last pastry off your plate just to be an ass, who gave the best advice when you needed it most, who once drunkenly tried to shove more marshmallows into his mouth than Cassian. You knew he was powerful. Knew that the weight of his title was immense. But it was easy to forget. Easy to take for granted just how rare it was to have a ruler who felt like family. A ruler who was family.

“I appreciate your open mind. It’s not easy for many people to see past Rhys’s past.”

Adrin’s eyes softened. “I can see the heart beneath the power.”

You glanced around the hall, watching as laughter and conversation rippled through the guests. When you turned back, you caught Adrin scanning the crowd as well. You took the spare moment to examine him further.

Adrin had the kind of beauty that belonged to the quiet hush of morning. His golden-brown skin carried a softness—not kissed by the sun, but by first light, the gentle warmth before the world fully woke. Vitiligo traced around his right eye, trailing down his cheek, leaving a streak of white in his dark curls. Even his eyelashes and brow were dusted pale. There was nothing severe about him, nothing unreadable.

You wondered how many admirers he must have. How many people in the streets of your city turned to gawk when he passed. How many hearts he’d left broken when he left his home and moved to Velaris.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you said, drawing his attention back to you. When his warm eyes met yours, you continued. “What made you come here? From Dawn?"

He titled his head, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

"When I heard that Night and Dawn were fostering more exchanges—trade, apprenticeships—I jumped at the chance," Adrin said. "It seemed perfect. It’s been an honor to train under Madja, to learn from one of the most talented healers of all Fae alike." He shot you a look. "I have you to thank for that opportunity."

You raised a brow. "Me?"

"I heard it was your diplomacy that strengthened those relations between our courts," he said. "That made Velaris known for the oasis of opportunity it now is, rather than the secret gem of Night it once was."

You hummed, a smile pulling at your lips. Even now, after all these years, it still felt nice—validating—to be acknowledged for your work. For the vision you had continually strived to achieve for your court, for Prythian.

"Well then," you mused, "you’re welcome."

It was fascinating, really—how simple his answer had been. That he had made the choice to leave home with such certainty. You didn’t think you could ever do the same.

"Do you miss the Dawn court?" 

Adrin exhaled, thoughtful. "Yes, but not how you might think. I rather love change." He glanced at you, curiosity flickering in his expression now. "Do you?"

"What—miss Dawn?"

He laughed. "No. Do you like change?"

The answer should have been easy. You’d never been afraid of new things—your entire life had been built on pushing forward, on carving out space where there was none. But lately, change felt like something different. Like something looming. Like something you weren’t sure you wanted.

You fought the urge to glance over your shoulder, to scan the crowd for a familiar figure wreathed in shadows. You hadn’t seen him since this morning.

"No, actually," you admitted. "I despise it. I know it’s necessary for growth, but… I like things the way they are. I don’t think I’d want to leave my court. Not for long."

Adrin nodded. "With a life like this, I’m sure I wouldn’t either."

You let the words settle between you for a moment before exhaling. "Come on. Let me introduce you around."

Adrin extended an arm, eyes gleaming with humor. "Lead the way, shepherd of change. I am your sheep for the night."

You chuckled, looping your arm through his as you stepped into the light.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Adrin had slipped easily into conversation with Cassian and Nesta, asking them about their mating ceremony with a curiosity so good-natured even Nesta had warmed to him. You’d been content just standing there, watching as he made the connections you’d hoped he would.

When he left to get you both drinks, you lingered, half-listening to Cassian’s exaggerated retelling of something Nesta had told him from a recent book of hers. Your eyes drifted across the scene—the candlelit tables, the swirling gowns, the food laid out in delicate arrangements that looked more like art than a meal. Unlike most elaborate events Rhysand and Feyre threw, tonight had hors d'oeuvres that actually appealed to you. You made a mental note to try some of the rosemary and honey tartlets once your stomach felt less uneasy.

You let your gaze drift once more, scanning the crowd without much thought—until you saw him.

Azriel.

For a second, everything else faded. The music, the conversation, the clinking of glasses. The world narrowed to the space between you and him.

He looked good—unfairly so. He’d cleaned up well, the sharp lines of his suit making him look effortlessly put together, dark hair styled just enough to look like he hadn’t tried at all. 

If Adrin had been handsome in a way that was warm, inviting, then Azriel was beautiful in a way that stole the breath from your lungs. It was gut-wrenching, disarming, the kind of beauty that felt borderline sacred.

And gods, the way he was looking at you. Not just looking. Watching.

Your stomach flipped, something deep inside you tightening painfully. The air between you stretched thin. Humming. Waiting. It made your fingers twitch at your sides, made your feet shift like they might carry you forward without your permission.

And yet, somehow, you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—

“Here you are.”

The moment shattered. You blinked, the noise of the banquet rushing back in as Adrin reappeared at your side, pressing a glass of champagne into your hand. You took it with an appreciative smile, downing half of it in one go and ignoring the way your fingers trembled around the delicate flute.

Adrin turned back to Nesta, launching into another carefully respectful question, something about her Valkyrie training, but you barely heard it.

Not until Adrin nudged you, drawing you back. “Should I be concerned?” he murmured. 

You blinked. “About?”

“That the Shadowsinger is currently glaring at me like he wants me dead. Have I offended him?”

Confused, you followed his gaze—

Azriel was still watching. Only now, the look was different. The sharpness of it, the intensity—it was aimed at Adrin.

A full glare.

You barely swallowed down the sound of disbelief that threatened to escape. What the hell was his problem?

Heat rose to your face. You forced yourself to breathe, to roll your shoulders back. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, waving it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

But when you turned back, Nesta was looking at you. A direct, knowing look. You glanced back at Azriel, still staring, then back at her. She knew.

You gently brushed your champagne flute back into Adrin’s hands. “Excuse me for a minute?”

"Of course," Adrin said easily, though concern flickered in his warm gaze. Nesta took the opportunity to step in, calling over Gwyn—a plan you’d both briefly gone over before the night began.

"Adrin," she said, "let me introduce you to my friend and fellow Valkyrie."

Adrin’s voice drifted after you as you stepped away.

“Oh, by the Mother, is that an Invoking Stone?” His breath caught, reverent. “Beautiful—I’ve only ever read about them.”

You didn’t need to turn to know Gwyn was smiling, could already picture the soft pink dusting her cheeks. But the moment barely registered, drowned out by the weight of the gaze still burning into you.

You had more pressing matters.

You didn’t spare Azriel a glance before grabbing his forearm and dragging him into the nearest empty room.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel barely moved as you pulled him in, letting you manhandle him like a bag of heavy rocks. His brows had only just begun to furrow when you spun on him, still gripping his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the corded muscles of his forearm shifting under your grip—but you refused to let that distract you.

Not now.

It took you half a second to realize where you had dragged him. A library. A new one, judging by the scent of fresh wood and the pristine bookshelves lining the walls. You hadn’t even known this room existed. Your gaze flicked over the tall windows, the deep blue rug, the shelves still waiting to be filled. You hadn’t explored the house since the construction finished, too preoccupied with—

No. Focus.

You turned back to Azriel, finally letting go of his wrist. His wings twitched slightly, and his shadows curled at his feet like smoke, their edges sharper than usual.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, crossing your arms.

Azriel blinked, his head tilting slightly. “What?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No,” he said flatly. “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

A heavy breath caught in your throat as the words lodged themselves somewhere between your teeth and the pit of your stomach. Azriel’s voice was cool and even. It only made you angrier.

“Are you serious right now?”

His hazel eyes studied you.  A flicker of something passed through them, quick as a shadow in candlelight, but then it was gone.

Fine.

You squared your shoulders. “I’ll spell it out. Why are you glaring at Adrin like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I wasn’t glaring.”

You forced a breath out of your chest—through your nose, just to keep yourself from losing it. A sharp, humorless laugh left you. “If that wasn’t a glare, I’d hate to see what you classify as one.”

His expression didn’t change, but his wings tucked in a little tighter, hands flexing at his sides. You noted that his shadows had stilled, barely a ripple in the air now. They’d decided to be a quiet, unassuming audience, it seemed.

“I have known you long enough to recognize a glare, Azriel. Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

You huffed, your fingers twitching at your sides. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but you need to fix it. Now.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked, and for the first time, his expression hardened. He remained silent.

“If this is about me bringing someone and you being here alone, then you need to get over it,” you said.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence once more.

His shadows stirred again, coiling around his boots, floating across the ground beneath you two. You could see the muscle in his jaw tightening, but he didn’t speak.

You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples before meeting his gaze again. “Okay, well, whatever it is, I need you to find the reason, and I need you to swallow it. And if you can’t swallow it, I need you to shove it so far up your ass that you’re too focused on the discomfort to glare at him like that again.”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to respond, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered, scanning your face. Then they glazed over, as if he’d been pulled deeper into his own mind.

It didn’t stop you from continuing.

“Adrin is a guest here,” you went on, voice firm. “I invited him. He is kind, he is nice, and he hasn't done anything to you. In fact, he has helped you. So do not treat him like shit.” You stepped closer, tilting your head. “You haven’t even bothered to talk to him. The least you can do is not look at him like you’re imagining his head on a spike.”

Azriel’s gaze met yours, his voice low as he finally spoke, “I just think it’s rude that your date isn’t paying attention to you. He’s had his eyes on Cassian more than you tonight.”

You blinked, disbelief tightening your chest. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You scoffed. “Adrin has been perfectly attentive and respectful. What, did you expect him to have his hands all over me? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Azriel didn’t respond, but his shadows gained speed as they curled closer to his boots—like they were restless now, waiting for an order.

“This event is supposed to be about harmony,” you continued, “You’re embarrassing this court. You’re embarrassing me.”

That seemed to land. His lips pressed into a thin line, and something flickered in his expression—something raw, something almost like guilt.

“Do not give me a reason to be mad at you,” you added, voice low. “Because I will take it. You have no idea.”

A long beat of silence. Then—

“…Alright,” Az muttered. “Fine. I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”

The apology came so easily. You narrowed your eyes, studying him. He was still too quiet. But for now, you’d take it.

“Good. So, we go out there, and if you interact with him at all, you need to be pleasant. Maybe even smile.” You tilted your head. “And if you can’t do that, at least fix your face.”

Azriel blinked, brow twitching. “My face?”

“Yes. The one you’re currently wearing. You look like I just asked you to kill yourself.”

“I’m not wearing a face,” he said dryly.

“Yes, you are.”

“This is just my face. I don’t have many faces.”

“Well, find a new one.”

The sharpness faded from his eyes and the frustration in your chest loosened slightly, giving way to something else—exhaustion, maybe. 

“Okay, okay,” he said after a moment. “Fine.”

You nodded once, steadying yourself before turning for the door.

Right before you stepped out, you glanced over your shoulder. “Fix the face.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Consider it fixed.”

Then, he gave you a large grin—so obviously forced it made you cringe.

You rolled your eyes. “That is not what I meant.”

Still, you smiled despite yourself. A little amused, a little tired. And for a brief moment, before you turned away, you swore you saw a real smile flicker across his face, too. Soft and fleeting. It made your heart skip.

Before it could beat faster, you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel found you again an hour later.

You sensed him before you saw him—the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to settle in his presence. Then his shadows, curling toward you before slithering back, as if unsure if they were welcome.

You weren’t even sure why you’d walked away from Adrin and your friends. Maybe you needed space. Maybe you needed to breathe. It wasn’t until you stepped back—from the conversation, from the laughter, from the gentle touches shared between lovers—that you realized.

This was the first time you’d noticed. The first time it had stung.

How alone you were.

You didn’t look as Azriel approached. Instead, you fixated on the guests around you, on their easy smiles and warm hands clasped together. It would hurt to look at him. You already knew.

And yet, you felt him watching. Felt the heat of him beside you.

It was sad. All of it.

You’d assumed falling for your best friend would be a gift. Imagined it would be easy, uncomplicated—a love that came with a quiet understanding, someone who knew you better than you knew yourself. It sounded simple enough. You would know, and they would know, and that would be it. The kind of love that people dreamed of, that stories were made of.

It was funny, in a painfully poetic way, how reality differed from daydreams. You almost wanted to revisit every love story you’d ever read, to pick them apart, to see where they’d lied—where they’d dared to be hopeful.

A shadow curled at your wrist before slinking away. 

"Do you have another complaint for me?" you murmured, just loud enough for Azriel to hear over the music. “Maybe feeling bothered that Adrin isn’t slobbering at my feet like a hound desperate for food?”

Az huffed a quiet breath. "No."

Your lips pressed together. You wanted to hold on to the annoyance, to the way he’d been needling at you all evening, but the weight of the room was different now.

Azriel must have known it too, because after a pause, he shifted slightly, extending a hand toward you. "Dance with me?"

Your gaze flicked to his outstretched hand, then back to his face. His expression was carefully neutral, but his wings… His wings were tucked in tight, the only real tell of his discomfort. You knew he didn’t love events like these. The crowds, the attention. He wore it well—carried himself like he belonged, like nothing touched him—but you knew better.

And that’s why, despite everything, you sighed, placing your hand in his.

His shadows stirred again, wrapping briefly around your wrist before dissipating. Pleased with your choice.

"Your perfect date seems to be enjoying himself."

You felt it again—that ache in your chest.

Your eyes flicked over Azriel's shoulder, landing on Adrin. He was still standing alongside Gwyn, but the two had been joined by Lucien and Elain as well. Adrin was laughing at something Lucien was saying. He looked… comfortable. Bright. Perfect.

Perfect in the way that should have made your heart skip, that should have made you feel something when he smiled. But you felt… nothing. Just awareness, a passing observation. And then your gaze drifted back to Azriel, to the sharp lines of his face, the way the faelight caught in his eyes. Made something in them simmer.

"Not perfect," you murmured.

You didn’t like perfection. It was too neat, too curated—like something fragile on display, meant to be admired but never touched. It didn’t crack, didn’t bleed. And you didn’t want that. You never had.

"I wouldn’t want perfect anyway," you added, glancing briefly at Adrin and then back to Azriel. "Perfect isn't real."

Azriel said nothing at first, but his grip on your hand tightened briefly. You wondered if he understood.

His other hand rested against your waist as he led you through the steps. You felt his touch like a burning mark, your heart beating faster at the way he stroked his thumb along the fabric of your dress. The tension from earlier still lingered between you—thin, stretched taut. You wondered if he still wanted to bring up Adrin once more. But instead, Azriel said, "I didn’t get to tell you earlier, with you scolding me and all."

You rolled your eyes, casting your gaze aside.

"Which was very warranted," Azriel added, the corner of his mouth twitching as he leaned in further. "But, you are… breathtaking."

Your eyes snapped back to his. The way he said it—quiet, certain, like it was fact, undeniable and absolute—made something shift beneath your ribs. You forced yourself to keep breathing, to move past the moment before it could settle too deeply.

"Thank you. Mor helped me pick the dress."

Azriel guided you into a spin, and when you turned back to face him, he said, "I wasn’t referring to your dress."

His hand found yours, fingers lacing through before you could think too much about it. It was an easy thing, effortless—like it was second nature to him.  "I was referring to the person wearing it."

Your pulse stuttered. How could anyone else compare to this? How were you ever going to find someone who could make you feel like this?

The thought unsettled you. Maybe because it was the first time you let yourself acknowledge it. Maybe because you were starting to think he felt it too.

Because you knew Azriel. Knew him well enough to sense the shift—not just in yourself, but in him. There was something new in the way he watched you, something careful, deliberate. At first, you thought it was guilt, that he was still making up for the way he hurt you. But it was more than that. The way he looked at you now—really looked at you—it made you wonder if this realization had struck him too.

But you had seen him with Mor. With Elain. With Gwyn. You had seen the way he watched them, the way he softened, the way he held himself differently in their presence. And never—not once—had he looked at you like that.

So maybe this feeling was yours alone. Something to swallow like a bitter tonic, a remedy that only worsened the sickness.

The dance was slowing. You saw it in the way couples began to separate, the way the musicians readied to shift into something new. You and Azriel stilled, as if time itself was reluctant to move on.

His eyes traced over your face. "It’s different," he murmured. "Seeing your entire face like this."

Your brows furrowed slightly, and his lips twitched, like he knew you didn’t fully understand. Then his free hand lifted—hesitating for just a second—before his fingers brushed lightly against the side of your face, just above your ear, where your hair had been pinned back.

"You usually let it fall forward," he said. "I’m used to you hiding behind it."

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know what to do with the way he was looking at you. You wondered if he knew how much this pained you.

And when the music came to an end, you all but scrambled away from him, seeking out Adrin again.

Adrin told you about everything he’d learned from Lucien—the invitation the Vanserra had extended to explore the Day Court. Autumn too, if Adrin wished. You tried to listen. Tried to pay attention. To ignore the burning gaze of Azriel, to pretend you hadn’t seen the way his expression faltered when you pulled away.

You stayed by Adrin’s side all night, introducing him to more court members. Always finding your way back to Cassian, Nesta, and Gwyn. But no matter how much space you put between you and Azriel, you felt him.

Always, you felt him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The banquet had begun to settle into its last echoes of laughter and music, guests beginning their slow trickle home.You stood with Adrin near the entrance, the golden glow of the banquet spilling onto the front gardens.

He turned to you, his expression softened in the dim light. “Thank you,” he murmured, and before you could ask for what, he leaned in, pressing a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek. When he pulled back, there was something earnest in his gaze. “For sharing the night with a friend. For showing me all these connections I might not have made on my own.”

You smiled, something fond curling in your chest. “You would’ve made them eventually.”

“Maybe. But I like the way it happened tonight.”

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you told him. “You don’t know how much I needed it.”

With one last smile, he turned and disappeared down the path, his silhouette vanishing into the dark.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders before making your way back inside. The warmth hit you immediately—the lingering energy of the night still alive in the laughter, the flickering faelights, the press of familiar faces.

Your family. 

Rhys stood at the center of it, Nyx in his arms, tossing him into the air. The babe let out a shriek of joy, his chubby hands clapping together as he was caught again with ease.

“Bachelor of the evening,” Cassian declared, raising a half-empty glass. “In all his two feet and six inch glory.”

Nyx, unaware of the meaning but basking in the attention, beamed a chubby smile, curling into his father’s chest. 

You watched them, something warm and tight settling in your chest, even as Cassian snorted at his own words, making a joke about another six inch glory. But still—still—there was something else stirring within you. That restlessness in your bones. That all-too-familiar, infamous ache.

Before you could think twice, you turned, feet carrying you swiftly down the halls, toward the back of the manor.

The stone steps were cool beneath you as you descended into the garden. You exhaled, lowering yourself onto the edge of a stair, forearms braced against your knees. The air was cooler here, quieter, the sky stretched wide above you—clear and endless.

Behind you, the door creaked open. Light footsteps. Familiar.

Mor lowered herself onto the step beside you, the silk of her dress brushing against your arm. She didn’t say anything at first, just settled into the silence with you.

Then, gently, “You okay?”

Your thoughts were loud, pressing in from every angle, twisting over themselves until they became nothing but static. You let out a laugh, dry and brittle. “My head physically hurts from how much I’ve been thinking.”

Mor nodded, tilting her head back to look at the sky. “And have you come to any conclusions?”

“I might not be as patient as I once thought.”

Mor laughed, the sound carried off by the night breeze. “What makes you say that?”

You turned to her, lips pressing together before you admitted, “I was tempted to throttle Az in front of everyone.”

Mor’s lips quirked up, the faint remnants of her red lipstick catching the glow of the faelights through the windows. You were sure there were countless champagne flutes and wine glasses that now bore the mark of her lips, a kiss print of her perfect lipstick. There was something sweet about how the color was faded now. Years ago, it would still be perfect—because years ago, Mor would’ve excused herself to touch up her makeup almost every half hour. She didn’t do that anymore. These days, Emerie held her attention, made her forget anything other than the night unfolding around her.

“Not interested in adding to your growing reputation as a public street fighter?” Mor teased. “I would’ve helped you drag him to the street.”

You shot her a scowl. “Not funny,” you muttered. Then, hesitantly, “Do people really think that?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “No. I’m messing with you. But imagine how fun that would be.”

“We have different definitions of fun.”

“And that’s what makes us such great friends.”

Mor leaned in, looping her arm through yours, pressing it to her chest as she rested her head on your shoulder. The cool metal of her jewelry sent a shiver through you. You resisted the urge to frown at the large, chunky bracelet on her wrist—the one she’d taken from Selene. You’d already rolled your eyes at it earlier in the night, warning her it was probably cursed. She had only shrugged and said that nothing related to her could be bad luck—and that it matched her gown perfectly. She wasn’t wrong. It did.

You hummed, amused, and rested your head against hers.

“So what did Az do?” she asked after a moment.

“I don’t know what got into him. He was so rude tonight.”

“To you?”

“To Adrin,” you clarified, huffing. “Gods, it infuriated me. I had to scold him like some child before I lost my own mind.”

Mor lifted her head slightly. “Is that where you pulled him off to?”

You turned just enough to meet her gaze. “You saw that?”

She sat up, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I’m very observant.”

“Nosy is the word I’d use.”

Mor nudged you with a laugh. Then she shifted, pulling her arm away as she readjusted her position. “Do you know why it bothered you so much?”

Your brows knit together. “It was rude,” you deadpanned. “Adrin was a guest. Az had no right acting like some pompous guard dog.”

Mor nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Maybe we need to get him retrained.”

Despite yourself, you smiled, a quick image flashing in your mind of Azriel’s unimpressed face whenever one of you made a dog joke at his expense. Even the ones about his loyalty. Not that you could blame him—you probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison either.

“It was also a bit offensive that Az paid more attention to me tonight than he has for months,” you admitted. “Not even to me. To Adrin. I don’t know why that bothered me so much, aside from it being bad manners.”

Mor gave you a knowing look. “Can I ask you something? But you have to promise you won’t get mad.”

You narrowed your eyes. “When you say stuff like that, I don’t want to promise anything.”

She pouted slightly. “Please.”

You sighed, turning to face her more fully. The new position left you exposed to the chill, no longer shielded by your hunched posture. Your knees brushed, the fabric of your dress rustling against hers. “Fine. Tell me.”

Mor hesitated, studying you carefully. Then, softly, “Do you think it bothers you because you want him to pay attention to you this much… normally? And not just when you bring a date?”

You dropped your gaze to your lap, to your fidgeting fingers. “I mean, maybe. Yeah.”

Mor craned her neck, trying to meet your averted gaze. “Maybe because you have feelings for him?”

Your head snapped up so fast you were surprised you didn’t break something. Though, based on the sharp pull in your neck, you might have strained a muscle.

“What?” 

The sympathetic look Mor offered you was enough to draw the ache in your chest back to full strength. 

“Am I wrong?”

You could’ve lied. Could’ve shaken your head, laughed it off, brushed past it like it was nothing. And maybe Mor would’ve let you. Not because she let things go easily, but because she knew you—knew when to push and when to step back.

But you didn’t lie.

Because the weight of it, the truth of it, had been pressing down on you for too long.

“Maybe,” you admitted quietly.

The words settled over you like a breaking wave. The minute they were out in the open, everything rushed back—every ache, every stolen glance, every frustration and lingering sadness. The realization of it felt like a stone lodged behind your ribs, pressing into you from the inside. Your throat burned. Your eyes stung.

You swallowed hard, but it did nothing to push down the lump forming there.

Then your lips quivered. And that was enough to make you break.

You turned away, hands pressing against your face as a shaky breath left you.

“Gods, Mor,” you mumbled, voice unsteady. “I feel so dramatic. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, honey.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing to call your attention back to her. When you met her eyes, something flickered across her features. “Are you crying?”

“Not yet,” you sniffed. 

She blinked. Once, twice. Then said, “Give me a minute, okay? I’ll be right back. And then I want you to tell me everything.”

You didn’t question it, just nodded as she disappeared inside.

When she returned, her presence was quieter. She sank beside you, draping a shawl over your shoulders—one that matched the color of her dress. Her shawl. And on her own form, she wore one in deep purple. Emerie’s, you assumed. You hadn’t seen her wear it before.

You noticed, too, that Mor’s jewelry was gone. The rings, the collection of bracelets. She tended to do that when she was overstimulated by the sounds—when the weight of metal felt unbearable against her skin.

You tipped your head back, staring at the sky. No more tears fell, but they lingered, heavy behind your eyes. The lump in your throat was smaller now. Bearable. You swallowed against it, against everything that wanted to rise with it.

“I was content,” you said finally. You inhaled deeply, swore you heard your ribs rattle with the effort, and turned to look at Mor. “With being single. With waiting for whatever was supposed to happen. I never thought I’d be the last one standing, but I didn’t mind. It never felt like something was missing.”

Mor’s brown eyes scanned your face, a small crease forming between her brows. “And now?”

Now.

Now, you wondered if you had never felt that ache because you had been loved so deeply by people like Azriel. Loved in a way that had made you think—foolishly, blindly—that it was enough. That it would always be enough.

But the words tangled in your throat before you could voice them. Your mind was funny like that sometimes—so many thoughts, so fast, so loud, and yet, when you reached for them, they recoiled. Shy. Timid. As if they, too, were embarrassed by their own existence.

“Now, I feel like something was stolen from me.”

Mor blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I always thought…” You paused, digging through your mind, clawing for the right words. “I thought love would feel different. That I would know when it happened. That it would be this big, overwhelming thing—fireworks, explosions, something cinematic.” You shook your head. “But with Azriel, it never felt like that. It felt… calm.” Your voice softened. “Like home.”

Mor’s expression gentled, but she didn’t speak. Not yet. And you were grateful for it, because now the words were spilling out, untamed and raw.

“And I hate that I didn’t get to figure that out on my own,” you admitted, your voice cracking with the confession. “That Selene and this ridiculous situation forced me to see it before I was ready. I didn’t get to sit across from him at breakfast, watching him drink his tea, and realize—slowly, comfortably—that this could be the rest of my life.” You swallowed hard. “Instead, it feels like everyone else saw it before I did. Like my feelings aren’t even my own. I feel… embarrassed.”

Mor’s brows knit together, and she reached for your hand. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You know that, right?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Doesn’t matter. It feels that way.”

And maybe that was the worst part. That something so personal, so yours, had been made into something for everyone else to witness. That, maybe, they had already formed their own conclusions.

“I’ve never really dated.” The words felt foreign, like they didn’t belong in this conversation. But they did. “Not really. I never searched for it, never felt like I needed to.”

Mor traced her thumb in slow circles against your knuckles.

“I thought it was because I was happy. Because I was fulfilled, platonically. That I never ached for a mate or a partner because I was already surrounded by love. But now—” Your throat tightened. “Now, I wonder if it was just because of him. If I loved Azriel this whole time and never noticed. If my heart already knew there was nowhere else to look.”

Mor’s grip on your hand tightened.

“But he looked,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “Azriel has looked.” You swallowed hard. “Gods, Mor—he even looked to you.”

Mor’s lips parted slightly, guilt flickering in her expression before she caught herself. “That was—”

“I know,” you cut in. “It’s not about that. It’s not about you. It’s just—” You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temple. “I’ve never been this aware of myself before. My shortcomings. My inexperience. I’ve never thought about any of it because I never had to.”

But now, every interaction with Azriel felt different. Now, every glance, every touch, every conversation—changed.

And gods, maybe, just maybe, people would think Selene was right.

Maybe they would think you had pushed Azriel away from her because you were jealous, because you had always wanted him for yourself.

You looked at Mor. “I didn’t talk to Az about Selene because I was jealous. I swear, Mor. It wasn’t like that.”

Mor shushed you. “I know.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if everyone—”

“No one else matters.”

Mor’s gaze softened. She brought her free hand to your bicep, her palm warm as she ran it gently down your skin. The cool night air clung to you, but beneath it, you still burned. From your thoughts, from your grief, from the overwhelming realization that had come too soon.

“Y/n,” she said after a moment. “Do you truly think Az doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Yes,” you said with certainty. But after the words left your mouth, they felt hollow. You bit the inside of your cheek. “And even if he did, I’m not sure that would help me.”

“What do you mean?”

You stiffened. Loving Azriel was not the same as loving anyone else. Loving him was easy, yes—but the way Azriel romantically loved was sickening. It was obsessive, gluttonous.

You were afraid of what it might mean to be on the receiving end of it.

Because Azriel had always glorified the ones he loved, turned them into something untouchable, something divine. It was the kind of love that replaced religion. And you—you—were not divine. You were not flawless. And that alone made you doubt yourself.

Azriel had seen your faults. The way you held grudges, the way you sometimes bit down your emotions until they cut into you, the way you weren’t always kind. In a friend, those things were forgivable. But in a lover?

Flaws in a lover could be a sin for Az.

And you didn't think you could survive it—the moment he realized you weren’t something worth worshiping.

Better, then, to never let him try.

You decided not to answer Mor’s question— not properly at least. Instead, you shrugged, turning your gaze back to the night before you, to the calm gardens and the skies that illuminated them.

“I just do.”

Mor hummed. She understood that the conversation was over. You were tired. And there was nothing she could say that you hadn’t already dissected a thousand times in your mind. So she pulled you closer, and you let her, resting your head against the crook of her shoulder.

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t acknowledge it, but you felt Mor shift, felt her hair brush your cheek as she turned to greet the new addition to your self-pity circle.

And then you felt another familiar presence. The scent of night-chilled wind, sea, and citrus, the familiar shift in power—a presence heavier than Azriel’s, but just as consuming. Even more at times. 

Rhys settled beside you with a groan, joints creaking as he got comfortable.

It made you smile, just a little. Old man.

“I was wondering where you two went off to,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”

You let out a small sound—something noncommittal, something that didn’t quite fill the silence. “Oh, you know. Contemplating every single sense of existential dread.” You gestured vaguely. “Talking about the weather.”

Rhys lifted a brow. You paused, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s nice weather.”

He made a sound—half a hum, half a laugh—and rubbed his knee. “I don’t know. I can feel rain coming.”

You didn’t say anything, just glanced up at the sky—still clear, the stars bright. Some rain sounded nice. Peaceful. Something to wash away the past few days.

Rhys looked over at Mor. “Emerie is looking for you.”

Mor exhaled, glancing between the two of you before pulling away. Her hands, fingers now cold from the night, squeezed your face gently. “I love you,” she said softly. “Come find me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She hesitated for just a second before standing up and disappearing into the house. You watched her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin as you turned back around, finding Rhys already watching you. He had that look—one of quiet concern, of something like careful patience. The image of a concerned father. An older brother. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you muttered.

Rhys snorted. “Trust me, I’ve had enough babysitting for the night.”

“Yeah, but don’t you want to be inside with everyone else?”

“Are you trying to kick me back into my own home?” he asked, amused.

You shook your head. “No, I just don’t want you to feel like you need to be out here with me.”

“I don’t feel like I need to be anything,” he said simply. “I haven’t spent much time with you lately. I want to be out here.” His voice softened. “After all, this is a banquet thanking people who’ve helped this court. Who has helped more than you, the one I trust to help repair our image?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I did some damage recently, too.”

“Until you get banned from an entire court, I think you’re alright.”

The conversation settled into a lull, quiet stretching between you. 

Then you said, “I’m assuming Mor told you some things.”

“Not really. But I can assume.”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he said easily. “We don’t have to.”

“But…” You glanced at him, suddenly tired of holding it all in. You had always been honest with your family—always told them the truth, even when it was difficult. And after opening up to Mor, after feeling the weight of it ease just slightly, you realized how much you had missed this. How much lighter a burden felt when it was shared, when you weren’t the only one carrying it.

Rhys seemed to understand before you even said another word. His expression shifted, something like realization settling in his gaze. And then, carefully, you felt the light press of him in your mind. A knock.

You let your walls down.

You felt his presence as he sifted through the memories—watched his face change as he saw it all.

After a long moment, he straightened slightly, exhaling as he looked at you. He squinted, tilting his head. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

You turned away again, resting your head in your hands. Your chest felt a lot lighter now. Your thoughts a little less heavy. Rhys didn’t say anything. He just stood, brushing off his pants before stepping down the stairs.

You frowned, watching as he descended a few steps, then extended a hand toward you.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“We’re going on a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think you need to clear your mind.”

You hesitated, eyeing his outstretched hand. He only smiled. “Someone very special in my life used to take me on walks when I was overwhelmed.”

Your lips parted slightly, a flicker of recognition sparking in your chest. You thought back to those early years—when Rhys was newly High Lord, when he was drowning in responsibility and grief he wouldn’t even acknowledge. You had forced him to go on walks back then, dragging him away from his desk, ignoring his protests. He had hated it at first. And then, eventually, it had just become something you did.

A quiet tradition.

You smiled—small, almost sad—as you pushed yourself up. “Are you sure you want to leave everyone?”

“I think they can handle us leaving for a few hours.”

You scoffed. “Don’t speak too soon.”

Rhys huffed a laugh, shaking his head as you stepped down to join him. And then, without another word, you walked.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a certain shared understanding between you and Rhysand— two people who had seen each other at their best and worst. For an hour, as the familiar rhythm of your footsteps matched each other’s perfectly, it felt as if the world had paused just enough for you to feel like you belonged again.

When you finally reached the townhome, Rhys stopped, his hand on your arm like he was trying to keep you from walking away too soon.

“You’re not foolish for not realizing it sooner,” he said. “It’s a gift, really. To love so fully, so completely, that you don’t even notice where friendship ends and something more begins. Most people can’t do that, you know. We’re… very lucky to have you.”

You could only manage a smile in response. Rhys pulled you into a hug, his arms tight around you as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Get some rest,” he murmured, pulling away. Then he grinned, a familiar one that only he could pull off. “If you keep overthinking, I’ll have to start charging for my emotional support. I don’t come cheap, you know.”

“Are businesses no longer discounting damaged goods?”

Rhys let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “Ouch,” he said, eyes wide with mock offense. “I take back everything about you being loving.”

“Night, Rhys,” you said, your voice warmer now. Genuine. “Love you.”

His smile softened, no longer the teasing grin. “I know.”  And you could hear the affection there.

Then he turned and began walking down the path, whistling a nursing song that you were sure Nyx had been fixated on. Rhys reached the corner, paused for a moment as if to make sure no one was watching, then disappeared, winnowing into the night.

Dramatic even without an audience. You shook your head, a small smile still tugging at your lips, before entering the townhouse and making your way up the stairs. 

You stopped when you saw him.

Azriel. Sitting against your door like he was waiting for something—someone. You. His eyes met yours, locking in place as if he’d been holding his breath this whole time. And in a blink, he was on his feet, moving like something had snapped, urgent, too fast for comfort. 

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You paused, pushing the door to your bedroom open slowly, not fully meeting his gaze. “Why?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

You sighed, shoulders sagging as exhaustion settled over you. You didn’t want to have this conversation—not right now. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about what Azriel had to say, but everything just felt too much in this moment. You needed space, time to breathe and clear your head before diving into whatever this was between you two.

Tomorrow. You could deal with it tomorrow, with a fresh perspective, when you weren’t so drained. Tonight, you just needed to sleep, to wake up with your head in a better place, ready to handle it all. You wanted Rhys's words to be the last thing in your mind. Something comforting. Soothing.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping inside. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll make this quick.”

You moved toward your bed, placing Mor’s shawl across your sheets. “Az, seriously. Tomorrow.”

He didn’t move, and when you glanced up, he looked at you then—really looked at you—and your breath caught in your throat as he asked, "Do you have feelings for me?"

You froze. A strange, cold knot twisted in your stomach. “Oh, not this again,” you groaned. You looked away, instinctively crossing your arms across your chest.

“Yes, this again,” he pressed, stepping closer. “I want an answer. Please.”

“Come on, Az.” You forced control over the tremor rising in your chest. “What did I do this time? Stare at you too long? Breathe too loud? Did you mistake me scolding you for some strange forepla—”

“I heard you,” he interrupted, and the words hit like a slap.

It felt like the air stopped moving. You couldn’t breathe.

“What?”

“Tonight,” he said, voice quieter now, “I heard you and Mor. I found this in my pocket.” He pulled out a bracelet—Selene’s, the matching piece to the one Mor had worn earlier.

Your heart slammed into your ribs. You opened your mouth to explain, but nothing came out. You needed something—anything. "You—you misunderstood."

"Did I?" His shadows stirred restlessly around him. “I-I didn’t hear much. It went quiet too fast, but from what I did hear… Did I really misunderstand?”

Your face burned, the heat spreading so quickly it felt like your skin might catch fire under his stare. You turned away, pulling your arms tighter across your chest. “Azriel, I don’t—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he urged, his voice cracking. “Please.”

You couldn’t respond. The words wouldn’t come.

A long silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” Az said, and his voice was so soft, so unlike his usual tone, it almost felt foreign. “Then I need to say something.” 

"Az…" You turned to him, meeting his eyes as you said, "Just, please, don’t.”

Your response didn’t seem to register. Azriel closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath, like he was steadying himself before a plunge. 

“That night,” he started, “when I cleaned up your cheek, you asked why I listened to Selene. Why I said you had feelings for me. I told you I didn’t know.” He paused, dragging his hand over his face. “I lied. I know why. It bothered me when she said it. More than I wanted to admit. I told myself it was just because it made me uncomfortable—but that wasn’t it. I think the real reason I couldn’t stop thinking about it was because a part of me wanted it to be true.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the way Azriel looked so exposed in front of you, but his words didn’t land right away. You blinked, trying to process, but before you could speak, he continued—his voice somehow even softer now.

“I thought if I said it out loud, you’d laugh it off. Call me crazy. Maybe you’d correct me. Then I could force myself to never think about it again. But you didn’t. And gods, the look on your face when I said it... it was like I’d hit you.” 

Another silence settled between you. For the first time, you were grateful for it, because one look at Az told you he wasn’t finished, that there was more he needed to say.

“I think I’ve always loved you,” Az said, and the words cracked something open inside you. “I didn’t know it—not at first. I thought it was normal. Of course, I wanted to be around you all the time. Of course, you’d be the first person I thought of in the morning and the last person at night.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips as his wings fell lax. “But it’s not. It’s not normal.”

His gaze finally met yours, steady, like he was holding you there with it. You’d never seen him look at anyone like this—not Mor, not Elain, not Gwyn. 

“I can't lie to you, Y/n. I can’t pretend I don’t love you. You’re everywhere. You’re everything.”

You couldn’t breathe. The world around you narrowed, collapsing inward until there was nothing left but him. Azriel loved you. The relief that hit you almost made your knees give out. 

His chest rose and fell quickly, like he was bracing for impact. The earlier desperation was gone, replaced by something more timid. "Please," he whispered. "Say something."

The pressure in your chest—the ache that had burrowed beneath your ribs for weeks—dissipated in an instant. Every concern, every gnawing worry. All that remained was the quiet comfort that Azriel had always given you. That ease, that feeling of home you’d only ever found in him.

You exhaled, and before you could stop yourself, a laugh slipped past your lips—breathless, almost disbelieving. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much. Like, ever.”

Azriel blinked. For a moment, you thought you’d broken something—but then, his lips twitched, a hesitant smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, there was a lot of ground to cover.” He exhaled through his nose. “But if you don’t feel the same—if this isn’t what you want, I’ll step back. I won’t push. I promise.”

You wanted to cry, to laugh, to praise the Mother that he felt the same. Instead, you closed the space between you. Slowly, you reached up, fingers threading through the mess of his hair, smoothing away the strands that had fallen across his forehead. You traced the line of his cheekbone with the barest brush of your fingertips, committing it to memory, savoring the way his breath hitched beneath your touch.

You hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before cupping his face in your palm.

And then, you kissed him.

He didn’t react at first. He just stood there, completely still, like he hadn’t even processed what was happening. You started to pull away, suddenly unsure—

But then he made a sound, something like a sigh of relief, and his hands found you.

The next kiss wasn’t hesitant. His fingers pressed into your waist as he pulled you in, tilting his head, deepening it, like he didn’t want to waste another second. And you felt it—every inch of it. The ache, the longing, the unbearable relief of finally knowing. Every agonizing thought, every moment spent convincing yourself this was one-sided, crumbling beneath the warmth of his mouth against yours.

No kiss had ever felt like this. Not in all your years, not in all your life.  Like something was finally, truly yours. It was sharp, it was bright, a rush that sent you spiraling in a way you hadn’t known you could.

But even with your heart glowing in your chest, there was no dramatic shift. No world-altering moment. It just felt right. A quiet kind of certainty. The kind that settled into your bones and left you with nothing but butterflies.

You pulled apart slowly, foreheads resting together, lips still brushing as if reluctant to let go. The cool touch of his shadows grazed your skin. You weren’t sure if it was them or the kiss itself that made your skin tingle.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open a second after yours. The way he looked at you—so close, his hazel eyes bright with green flecks—had your chest tightening. It made you breathless. His smile softened the furrow in his brow, the motion pulling at his cheeks in a way that made your heart stutter all over again. 

His thumb ghosted over your cheek. “Are you crying?”

You blinked, still so caught up in the haze of everything, in how your heart was doing this erratic dance that you couldn’t quite follow. You lifted a hand to your face, and—shit, there were tears. You hadn’t even noticed. “Oh. Well, guess I am,” you said, a half-laugh slipping out before you could stop it, but it sounded hollow, a little shaky. “Awkward.”

Azriel made a sound, something close to a laugh of his own, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, not fully. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?” 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been overthinking the past few weeks.”

Azriel’s expression softened as his finger moved, brushing over your lips now. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, “I’ve been in complete agony too.”

A proper laugh slipped from you. “Well, good,” you said, a little teasing, but it felt good to say it. “It does make me feel better. You deserved it a little bit.”

He smiled, amused, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. “I did, didn’t I?”

A soft hum rumbled in your chest in response, something between a smile and a sigh. His thumb continued its slow, deliberate path across your lips, tracing the edges like he was memorizing them. You didn’t stop him.

You let your hands fall, landing gently against his chest, where you could feel the steady, rhythmic pulse of his heart beneath your palm. 

“So, what do we do now?” You asked quietly, the question coming out before you could stop it. 

Azriel’s motions slowed. “What would you like to do?”

“Well, we probably have to talk about what this means.”

He nodded. “Probably.”

You couldn’t help it. “And we really need to figure out how we’re going to move forward, how this changes everything…”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his focus now completely on your face, his fingers tracing your features, exploring them in a way he’d never been able to. 

“Az,” you murmured. “Are you listening to me?”

He didn’t hesitate as he met your gaze and responded, “I would never make the mistake of not listening to you again.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, every other thought fading in the wake of it—until your stomach growled. You grimaced. 

“Actually,” you said, tapping a finger against his chest. “You know what I would really like to do now?”

“Tell me.”

“I could really go for some food.” 

Suddenly, Azriel stepped back, eyes lighting up like an excited child. You frowned at the loss of contact. “Wait here.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he was already gone, running out the door. A few seconds later, he returned, breathless, looking slightly too pleased with himself as he held both hands behind his back. “I  have something for you.”

You eyed him. “Is it a bug?”

Realistically, you knew it wasn’t. Or at least, you hoped it wasn’t. But Azriel had never looked this pleased with himself before, never this close to giddy. That, combined with the way his hands were securely tucked behind his back, reminded you that—before anything else—Azriel was your best friend. And your best friend knew exactly how to mess with you at the strangest times.

Azriel’s expression faltered for a second. “What? No. Why would it—never mind.”

Then, hesitantly, he revealed it: crumpled in a piece of an appetizer liner, slightly worse for wear, was the rosemary and honey tartlet you’d eyed earlier. You melted at the sight and reached for it gently, cradling it in your hands like something precious.

Azriel looked almost sheepish. “We can get a proper meal, but I noticed you were looking at it earlier—at the banquet. You never grabbed one. So I thought…”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. A real one. Centuries. Centuries of friendship, of knowing him better than anyone, and somehow you’d never seen this. Never noticed how deeply he noticed you. How foolish you had been. How lucky you were now. 

Azriel frowned. “What? What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head, still laughing softly. “Its just— of course you noticed.” 

His lips quirked like he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or suspicious. “Well, yeah.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching out again, pressing your palm against his cheek for a beat before turning your focus back to the tartlet. You turned it over in your hands. “Why is it squished?”

Azriel winced, like the question itself embarrassed him. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, brushing it off.

You lifted a brow. “Okay.”

You stared at it for another moment, then turned, setting it carefully on your bed.

He frowned. “But the crumbs on your bedsheet—”

You shook your head, smiling with a teasing eye roll. “Just kiss me, neat freak.”

His protest faded as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your mouth to his. Once, then again, and again, until you were sure even his shadows felt the need to look away.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You and Azriel hadn’t slept.

Not for any reason that would have had Cassian waggling his eyebrows at you—though you did, naturally, find yourself thinking about it—but because the night had slipped away in conversation over greasy food from a little restaurant south of the townhouse.

The early morning light stretched through the windows, soft and golden, as Azriel stood at the kitchen counter making tea. You watched the familiar sight of him steeping the leaves, the way he moved like this was just any other morning.

But it wasn’t. Twelve hours ago, this had felt impossible. And now it was here.

You curled your fingers around the edge of the table, trying to process the weight of it. It wasn’t heavy, though. That was the strangest part. Not that you now knew how his lips felt against yours, or how his heartbeat sounded when it synced with your own, but how there had been no grand shift, no dramatic revelation. No bolt of lightning splitting your world in two. 

Just this—Azriel placing a mug in front of you, his fingers brushing yours, his lips quirking as he sat by you like he always had. Except there were small differences now— his chair was closer, next to you more than it was across. You found yourself focusing on smaller details, his dark lashes as he looked down at his cup, the way his fingers curled around the ceramic. You did your best to suppress any fleeting thoughts at the sight of them. Those ideas could be addressed later. 

It all made sense—the infuriating, vague notion that people had told you over the years: when you know, you know. You’d always hated that. How could no one ever explain it? How could no one ever find the words? But looking at Az now, you understood. There were no words. Just this. Just the way your heart settled at the sight of him. 

“You’re staring,” Azriel murmured, watching you over the rim of his cup.

You hummed, taking a sip of your tea. “You’re pretty.”

Azriel choked. Caught completely off guard. He set his mug down, coughing once, and when he looked at you again, his eyes were narrowed. “That was disgustingly sincere.”

“I know,” you grinned. “You’ll survive.”

Your mind drifted back to the night before—how the two of you had been desperate to catch up on all the things you had missed over the past few weeks. You’d told him about Adrin’s extensive mirthroot collection and how well you thought he’d be suited for Gwyn. He’d groaned, muttering something about needing to apologize. And then Az had told the story of how Cassian had slapped him for being an idiot. Three times. You’d really laughed at that one.

Somewhere between it all, between the easy conversation and the warmth of having him near, it had hit you again and again—this is it. This is what you could have for the rest of your life, if you were lucky.

Azriel hummed, setting his cup down. He knocked his knee against yours—once, then twice, like he was testing something. And then he reached over, grabbed the side of your chair, and scraped it just an inch closer to his.

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t tell me you’re a clingy boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Azriel raised a brow jokingly. “I don’t remember us labeling anything.”

“Oh, right. My mistake. In that case, I should probably tell Nesta to back out of the Gwyn and Adrin plan—”

“Don’t you dare.”

You smirked over your tea. “Why not? It’s not like I have a boyfriend to be upset about it.”

He stared at you for a beat, smiling as his eyes softened with a warmth that made your stomach flip. Seconds later, you were both laughing. Quiet, warm laughter that filled the kitchen, that curled around you like an embrace.

And then—

A shift, a subtle pull, like the air had thickened and the room was just a little smaller. It wasn’t a shock, nothing sudden or harsh. It was smooth, like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding until you exhaled, like the feeling of stepping into the sun after hours in the cold. 

This was it. He was it.

Azriel froze, eyes widening as the feeling settled. Then, like he was testing something—searching—he tugged, just a bit, like he wasn’t sure if it was real. You sucked in a breath, hand instinctively rising to your chest. You felt it, in the way it seemed to resonate through every nerve, like a pulse echoing through your ribs.

He cleared his throat, a soft sound, almost nervous, and then his voice came out, rough but teasing, “Clingy mate, actually.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. A laugh caught in your throat, half breathless, half disbelieving. And then you were kissing him, pressing your forehead against his, letting the warmth of him, of this, sink into every part of you.

“Bold of you to assume I accept.”

Azriel laughed deeply before he was kissing you again, grinning against your lips as you laughed into his. And when you pulled back, breathless and giddy, you knew—without a single doubt—that you’d never stop choosing this.

Never stop choosing him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note:

and.... it is a happy ending after all :D awsf? nation how are we feeling tonight🎤

theyre mates, your honor!!! theyre mates and in love!!! im so sorry this took so long my loves, i rewrote it like 6 times. im still worried it doesnt do them justice but hehe we ball

i do have at least two more works for this little universe! a small lil epilogue planned for these sweethearts AND another surprise piece... which is already at 10k (hint: we get…another perspective of the night. plus a fun lil convo with a certain matedhaired male...). the surprise should be out next week, and the proper epilogue (with a timejump!) sometime after. and im always so so open to doing lil one-shots for this universe

thank you all again for reading <3 i hope i've done this lovestory justice.

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @motheroffae @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia  @yesiamthatwierd @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

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@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

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@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[humanjarvis]

i'm sorry for scaring you

synopsis: caleb shows a new side of himself during one of your fights. it almost makes you believe he's changed.

tags: angst, suggestive (psychologically), fluff (sorta kinda), caleb kneels, caleb crawls, caleb is pathetic, caleb is overprotective and unwell pairing: farspace colonel!caleb x reader word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is angstier than i intended i wanted it to be hot, maybe it's still hot, when he tries to lock u up in his house but he has lethal booboo face ⬇

“I didn't ask for any of this! I didn’t ask for your protection, and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“You not wanting it doesn’t change the fact that you need it,” Caleb replied blankly. 

In the four months since you’d reunited with Caleb in Skyhaven, your relationship had taken a hit. In the first few weeks, you’d barely seen each other; he’d stop by to check on you, assume you thought him the scum of the earth, and abruptly retreat back home. It wasn’t until you’d grown fed up with the awkwardness and uncertainty that you began approaching him again—asking him about his day, initiating phone calls, and even starting the rare video call, if he was lucky. 

Around the last month or so, things had gotten better. During your increasingly frequent visits, you’d gone out together several times—to see the new cyberpunk action movie, to window shop in the pet store, to marvel at the Skyhaven nightscape from the safety of his personal aircraft. Just as you thought you’d both been making progress adapting to your new dynamic, a wave of highly dangerous wanderers had infiltrated the city, and Caleb had had the nerve to essentially place you on house arrest until the threat was dealt with. Fast forward to now, his composure threatening to overpower your impassioned rebuttals. 

“Did you honestly think I’d let you leave right now?” he asked. “You’re here for a week. The Fleet will take the next couple of days to sort out the problem, and we can go out together when it’s done.”

“We can go out together. Right. So you can rush me back here the second someone looks at me the wrong way?”

“No one will look at you the wrong way. Not here. Not while you’re with me. But you need to understand, Pipsqueak: you came to Skyhaven for me. You’re in skyhaven for me. I won’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger, and you won’t change my mind,” he replied, his large frame looming over you as he stepped closer. 

You’d had enough. You’d spent almost an hour on the losing side of this back-and-forth, and you were too exhausted to pull your punches anymore. “My first time seeing you after the explosion,” you started, voice trembling. “Do you know how it felt? When you stepped off that plane, when you interrogated me behaving like you never have in your life—I didn’t know what to think. But when you brought me back here? Started spewing off that shit about a world where my only world is you? I was scared, Caleb. I thought I’d needed to be afraid for you, but I was afraid of you. That you’d lock me in this house forever, that I'd only see the sun when you decided it wasn’t top bright for me. I was afraid that I’d die here having grown to hate the person I’d wanted to live for,” you finished, your words dripping with venom.

Seething, you spun around, ready to storm out of the kitchen and into the quiet of the guest room Caleb had remodeled for you. 

You’d taken three steps toward the door when you heard something hit the ground with a heavy thud. 

Body still facing the door, you stopped in your tracks. This was new. Unexpected. You’d been prepared to hear a few calls of your name, some “Wait!”s, maybe even a “Don't walk away from me.” Worst case, you’d expected him to pin you in place with his Evol, preventing your exit and prolonging your fight. 

But a thud? A thud could mean many things. Enough things for you to remain frozen contemplating the possibilities before the voice in the back of your head broke through your thoughts, reminding you of the very real chance that you’d spiked Caleb's blood pressure so much that he’d fainted.

The fear that he was hurt made you finally turn around, only for Caleb to catch you off guard yet again.

Caleb the Loathsome, the overprotective, obsessive, now cold-blooded colonel of the Farspace Fleet, was on the floor before you. Kneeling.

All at once, your anger dissipated, melting into shock at the assertive man before you’s sudden display of submission. 

Realizing you’d turned around, Caleb lifted his head, meeting your flustered expression with his pained one. His furrowed brows, shining eyes, and pouted lips—he looked pitiful, honestly. And as much as it tugged at your heartstrings, it awakened something dormant inside you. 

It made you feel powerful. It gave you an idea. 

Biting the inside of your bottom lip, you took several steps toward Caleb’s kneeling form, closing the distance you'd been so eager to put between you all of ten minutes ago. A slight gasp escaped Caleb at your movement, and he swiftly lowered his gaze back to the floor, as if worried that daring to watch your approaching form would make you retreat. 

When you came to a stop, you were just in front of his knees, looking down your nose at his bowed head. For a few moments, Caleb’s heavy breaths were the only sounds between you, thickening the cold air in the room. 

Then, finally—finally—you touched him, lifting his chin up before resting your palm on his cheek. At your touch, he leaned forward, nuzzling his head against your thigh. 

“…You want this that bad, huh? Want me that bad?”

“More than anything,” he breathed. 

You stared at him. 

“Please,” he whispered, turning his head into your hand to brush his lips across your fingers. 

At this, you hummed softly, running your thumb across his cheek twice before turning away from him once more. When you break contact, Caleb freezes in the midst of rubbing his face on your leg, his eyes popping open in panic. He only calms when he sees you heading for the armchair tucked into the right back corner of the room, slowly taking a seat, your legs spread. 

“Relax,” you call out, settling in your chair. He didn’t move a muscle.

You decided you’d had enough of the tense silence after a few more beats. It was time to test him.

“…Come here, Caleb.”

In an instant, his head snapped up. His gaze, abruptly ending its budding relationship with the floor tiles, held yours for more than a few seconds this time, your slight smirk challenging his slight disbelief.

Caleb had all the cunning in the world. Since joining the Fleet, nothing got by him—and on the rare chance that it did, he’d chase it down and make it beg for mercy. He was a prideful man. He was a calculated man. So when you called for him in your sweet voice, slightly breathy with unadmitted nerves, he figured you out quite quickly. 

You were testing him—to see if he’d walk or crawl to you—and he knew it. 

And unfortunately for his dignity, any reservation he held about the latter was overshadowed by his desire for you: to be in your space, to breathe your air, to be close enough to feel you—even if he rarely did now, out of fear that his touch would repulse you.

He needed you to need him. So he crawled. 

Inch by inch, Caleb crawled toward you, the only person who would ever see him reduced to this. The only person who could reduce him to this. And all the while, as the fabric of his dark pants dragged across the floor, his violet eyes never left yours. In them, you saw resignation. You saw anticipation. You saw the shattered remnants of a pride that he’d let be broken, and you saw them rebuild themselves in lust the closer he came.

A few inches away from you, Caleb stops, sitting demurely on his heels. His hands twitch in hesitation before falling into his lap. His vulnerability is palpable, and you can feel him banishing himself back to his hell of self-deprecation, the guilt-eroded space in his mind where he repeats how little he deserves you. Before he can lower his gaze again, you beckon him upwards,  guiding his palms to rest on your knees. His kneeling form almost equals your seated one in height.

“I used to love watching you scare off the boys who were mean to me,” you tell him, placing your palm back on his cheek. “But as much as I like you intimidating, this little act might be my new favorite.” 

His nervous breaths come to a momentary halt before he brightens slightly, chasing your touch. He nuzzles into your palm like he did your leg earlier, and you sigh. 

“You scared me, Caleb,” you murmur. 

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“I know you want to keep me safe, that you have kept me safe for as long as either of us can remember,” you say, continuing to stroke his head. “But I don’t want to be afraid of you, Caleb. I won't be afraid of you. So if you want to keep doing this, if you want us to move on, if you want me—it can’t happen again. Tell me it won’t happen again.”

Your movements still as you tighten your grip on his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. A grimace flashes across his face as he goes quiet for a moment. But you wait for him. You have to. As exhilarating as it’d been to see him crawl before you, this was the true test—if you extend your trust, will he extend his lenience? You have to believe that he will. To give him the chance to. 

And as you’re wrapped up in your optimism, your fantasies that he’ll acquiesce and let your relationship go back to normal, Caleb responds. 

“...I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 144 (1)

author's note: uhhh i wrote and posted this before the actual game... so this is winner!jack, i also have another version posted here..... sorry and bye

you knew jack was a good hockey player. you knew he was capable of doing great things; you knew he could win any game he wanted to if he played as well as he could.

and yet, you were surprised to get the call from him inviting you to come watch him play the final game of the four nations tournament.

not that you were surprised he was in the finals, per se. you knew most of the hockey experts, and jack himself, had called the us team as the favorites for the tournament. but you and jack hadn't even discussed beforehand if you wanted to, or could, come watch him play.

i need you there, he had whispered into your phone after his win against sweden on monday. knowing you're in the stands cheering for me always makes me feel much better.

so, thursday morning, you got on the plane to boston. you were only able to see jack for a few moments after his morning skate – just enough time to hug and kiss his cheek and wish him luck – before he had to leave for media duties and whatnot before the finals. the time off gave you time to check into your hotel and get ready for the long night ahead.

and possibly try to calm your nerves a little, too.

not only were you nervous about the game itself, but mostly everything going on around it. jack had made sure that your name was written on some list to a special box in the arena for the players' families, and just the thought of interacting with so many new people left you a little nauseous. you'd just gotten used to being around the wives and girlfriends of the devils, but jack had no teammates with him in the national team.

it didn't help that your first interaction with anyone in the box was colliding with a woman about a minute after walking inside.

"i'm so sorry-" you said instantly, even though it was mostly her own fault for walking backwards without looking where she was going.

"no worries, dear!" she exclaimed, lifting her glass of champagne to her lips as she gazed over you. "well, aren't you just a doll! so sweet i think i could eat you up." she sent you a wink. "i see why jack would fall for you."

this caught your attention. "oh, you know jack?" you asked, eyebrows raising slightly. how did she know you were here with him?

"of course! we used to date. almost a year, but who counts, right?" the laugh she lets out felt strangely forced, yet you accepted the hand that she held out to you. "i'm stacy, i'm sure he's told you about me."

not once, actually. was it because she didn't mean much to him, or because he was hiding something? if they were together for that long, surely it had to mean something to him?

just like she hadn't left you room to introduce yourself earlier, she now started talking again before you could answer her question. "how are you enjoying being with jack, dear? it must be exhausting being with someone so obsessive!"

obsessive?

"he used to be glued to my side, he wanted me with him everywhere," she said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "he used to call me the day before his games, all 'i need you to come to seattle tomorrow and watch me play'. so cute but so…" she paused to search her brain for a specific word. "tiring."

if you had to use a thousand words to describe your relationship with jack, not one would even be something close to the word tiring.

"and, obviously, the sex was explosive. but i'm sure i don't need to tell you that, darling," she laughed, adding a little wink in there for good measure.

when jack called you this morning, you never could've guessed that you'd be standing here discussing your sex life with his ex girlfriend.

there was something so… uncanny about her. you found yourself wondering how in the world jack could have gone out with someone so shallow and flaky – and why he was so different with you than her? was it because of him, or because of you?

the only good thing about this new "friend" of yours (one you hoped you never had to see again after today) was the fact that she had no issues dragging you around with her and showing you around. when the game finally started, she helped you find where to sit and watch; and during the breaks, she brought you with her to get drinks and snacks to refill your energy.

when the game finally ended, after longer than the other games you'd attended, you stood up in the box to watch jack and his teammates receive their gold medals. you had assumed you'd just get to see him later, when he was done celebrating with his team – but yet again, stacy had grabbed your wrist and dragged you along with her down to the ice, despite your initial refusal.

you and stacy were far from the only people who had made their way down to the ice to celebrate with their loved ones. stacy ran off to find her boyfriend, brody or brady or brock or zach, and left you all alone by the door leading out to the ice. you couldn't see jack anywhere between the pile of crying wives and excited children – maybe this was a bad idea? maybe he'd already left the ice and returned to his changing room, since you hadn't made any plans to meet here? maybe he was chatting to someone he found more interesting than you? maybe he was hoping you wouldn't be there?

just as you were about to turn around and hurry away before anyone noticed you, a familiar voice called your name, and it was like everything else quieted down; the whole world around you disappeared, and the only important thing to ever exist was now skating towards you.

"hello, champion," you said when he stood before you, unable to stop a smile from breaking free on your face.

he offered you a hand, helping you step onto the ice with him, and then he pulled you into his arms and swept you off your feet. your arms draped around his neck, sweet laughter slipping from your lips as he spun around in a circle. "i didn't know you'd come down here!" he exclaimed, giving you one final squeeze before setting you back on the ice.

"i wanted to surprise you." your hands slid down to rest atop his shoulder guards as you took him in. the massive grin on his lips, his cheeks still flushed from the game, the tips of his curls sticking out from under his winner's cap – and the gold medal around his neck.

there has never been a more perfect sight, you decided.

"was that stacy you came down with?" jack's hands found your waist, his eyebrows raised as he looked down at you. you had almost been worried that he would be upset or mad about you meeting her – as if he had something to hide, perhaps – but he was still smiling. probably the high of the win still present in him.

"we can talk about that later," you told him. "now, i want to talk about how good you were. and how good you look in your gold medal."

"no need to boost my ego," he said, swatting a dismissive hand in the air.

"i'll boost your ego as much as i want to!"

he tugged you a little closer, your hips brushing up against his. "you'll come celebrate with me tonight, though, right?"

you silently studied his expression for a while – for someone so sure of himself, someone who had just won a tournament this big, he looked almost scared that you'd say no.

like you'd ever find it in yourself to say no to his pretty, brown eyes.

"of course. there's nothing i'd rather do."

[runby2]

one of the craziest things about DID is how confident an alter can be after making themselves known or after the brain fully develops them. i am quiet and socially anxious and considerate of others. recently something traumatic happened and we have a beetlejuice sourced from the broadway musical who flirted with our boyfriend by calling him blondie, only to follow up with "can i eat this apple core you left in the fridge for two days that's turning brown"

i don't even like browning apples. he tried to eat the whole core that someone else ate first. this disorder has so many new and diverse layers to cover and the trauma isn't even part of it this time. so in case you're wondering why the disorder is so hard to document and keep understandable to people without the disorder, this is why. it's because it's possible beetlejuice will be in your brain leaving no dead air between "morning" and "if you piss today and i'm watching does that mean im the father?"

and i can't repeat that. like if i choke on something when hearing that and someone asks if im okay i can't repeat that and explain it. do you understand

[narcjsistx]

❝ 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒! ❞ smau school au, reo mikage x fem reader, in which... reo mikage, loved by everyone in the school which he proudly manages thanks to his role as president of the student council, finds himself having to chase the school delinquent, the well known y/n. but when both are seen by the vice president of the council, kagaya surimani, in a strange situation... well, the school will start talking about it, a lot

PART FOUR ; masterlist for all the parts!

You close the door behind you with a loud thud, finally breathing a sigh of relief. When you look up, Reo's face is already there, glaring at you

“I wonder why I'm doing this” he says defeated, running a hand through his hair. You approach his desk, smiling victoriously "I don't know, President. But here I am" you say, clapping your hands, and he glares at you for a few more seconds before looking down, more focused on the papers on his desk "What are this?" you ask taking one, but he immediately takes it back “Didn't you say you'd be quiet?” he says a little nervously, but you shrug "I promised to stay quiet, not that I would stay still"

"The papers are for the festival. I'm starting to see how many hypothetical participants could be" he says a few minutes later, while you are lying on the sofa in his office. You sit up, walking back to his desk "Cool! Let's set off the fireworks!" you say throwing a pencil in the air, which you catch quickly. He relaxes his muscles, his gaze still fixed on the papers "They're already there. The principal has to order them, but they're on the list" he says giving you a small list, a paper that you can obviously read since he keeps others under his vision in an almost obsessive way, as if his life depended on them. The list has a lot of interesting things, things that if you stole together with Shidou and Charles would be even more fun: but saying it in front of Reo doesn't seem appropriate to you, at least now

"I was thinking... why the others members can't come in here?" you ask, placing the list on the desk, and Reo looks up for only a few seconds "It's a principal's rule. The office is mine, but only Kagaya and Nagi can enter it since they are my advisors" he says, but it seems like such a silly rule to you "It's stupid. I shouldn't be here either" you say raising an eyebrow, almost in a challenging tone "I know perfectly well. But now they told me that I'm the one who has to monitor you during your school hours. And if that means you staying here for a few hours, that's fine" he says in a more serious tone, but it's his seriousness that makes you laugh "When you talk seriously your eyebrows furrow" you say resting your elbows on the desk, your head resting on the back of your hand "Our president is so adored" you say teasing him, and he glares back at you "I can still kick you out of here" he says seriously, and seeing his eyebrows furrow again makes you think he's such a cutie

"It's a too harsh punishment for something so stupid. I paid you a compliment!" you say pointing at him, and he moves his chair back, leaving a little space between his body and the desk "Are you sure? And what could be a punishable gesture?" he asks tilting his head, perhaps a little exhausted by your behavior

You have an idea, one that Shidou advised you to do with a boy who didn't want to give you an umbrella while it was raining a few days ago. It's a bit risky, but in the end you did worse

You walk towards him, letting the space between his body and the desk be filled by your body, now with you on his lap "This. What do you think?"

Reo quickly processes the gesture, looking up only to be inches away from your smirking face as you hold yourself tightly with your hands on his shoulders "Are you crazy?" he asks stammering, his hands shaking and not knowing where to put themselves. You giggle, swaying a little "They've called me that a few times. But I don't particularly like it" you say, but because of your swinging you risk falling. You're about to fall out of the chair and his lap when his hands hold your hips, keeping you from falling, pushing you against him due to the drive to keep you up

You jump from the gesture, finding yourself practically with your face pressed against his chest, which you feel beating at impossible levels

But that's when the door opens, the soft click coming loud and clear to your ears. And his soft hands are still on you, tight and trembling

“Reo, I was wondering if for the festival you had-” says a voice you recognize, but it stops immediately: you look up only to notice Kagaya standing in the middle of the room, staring blankly and confusedly straight at you. And behind her the door, left open, gives some students the opportunity to peek in

You're definitely screwed this time.

TAGLIST: @anglefish3008 ; @yiiscorner ; @levihanmyotp ; @tired-child00 ; @mochiii-sama ; @yuukiririix ; @kaz-0e ; @violetesensou ; @sapph1r3x ; @rink1sser ; @sellomaybe ; @n0ah-hal00 ; @enepsigosthelast ; @yourlocaleffy ; @yukar1k ; @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 ; @lilwx ; @i-am-the-raiden-shogun ; @literallyushiwaka ; @arwawawa2 ; @definitelynotanalien ; @reiners-milkbiddies ; @fishii28 ; @hinamaxxing ; @sikuthealien

[hearts4mica]

Yeah my boyfriend’s really cool (but he is not as cool as me).

90’s Conner Kent x Socialite! Batsis.

“How does the Batfam react by you dating a super?”

Masterlist requests are open!

———————————————————————————

Some weeks after the gala you and conner began to grow closer. Really closer. And it pissed Tim off.

And who wouldn’t be mad? He specifically told Conner his sister was off limits!

———————————————————————————

Conner began to come over to the Manor way more than before.

Whenever Con came over Bruce would just assume he just came over to hang out with Tim because why would he think otherwise?

A few months later Conner finally asked you out. You accepted and that’s just how you started dating. Nothing fancy tho.

Everything was doing fine until you finally told your family.

Damian was about to pull out some kryptonite to say the least.

Because why?!

A Wayne with a Kent? That’s was the last thing he needed

Jon already knew about you and Conner so he started calling Damian brother just to annoy him and well he also already saw Damian like a brother so it’s just a bonus. Now he gets to hang out with him even more!

Tim was mad real mad. He neeeded a talk with Conner.

“Why the fuck are you dating my sister after i specifically told you not to! She is off limits do you even know what that means?!” Tim yelled at him ‘raising’ him by the collarneck

“Dude calm down it’s just… love works… in mysterious ways” “Oh don’t go all hippie on me Conner!”

And the news weren’t staying behind.

———————————————————————————

Gotham News!

Daily News xx/xx/xxxx

[name] Wayne daughter of philantrophist Bruce Wayne got caught on a date with infamous hero superboy?

Find out everything here ->

Pictures of Miss Wayne have been all over social media where [name] Wayne and Superboy have been spotted at Metropolis park together on a date!

Many people have publicly expresed the unhappiness with this news.

———————————————————————————

“Damn this is spreading like a fire” Conner said laying down on the couch

“They’re saying it like it’s the most important thing ever. Ahem ‘Omg Miss Wayne spotted holding hands!’ And those pictures aren’t even clear enough! I mean i know it’s me but they’re blurry how did they even know!”

“[name]!” a voice says barging into the room. Dick barged in turns to look at Conner “and Conner…” makes a disgust face and turns away to stare at you.

“Is this how i find out that you are dating- Conner?! By some Newspaper?! How dare you not tell me! I’m supposed to be your favorite brother! Yo-your older brother!” He shakes your shoulders “Im heartbroken!”

“Dick calm down! It’s not the end of the world?-“

“No!- It is! Baby bird i was supposed to know first! I am your older brother- the- one you’re meant to tell everything first! That’s what i’m here for!

“Well i thought you already knew? Everyone else did!”

“So everyone else already knew?!” He looks devastated like you just insulted just Discowing costume again.

———————————————————————————

With Damian things are different tho.

Now whenever Conner comes over he has to bring on offer to Damian or he won’t leave you both alone. And i mean it he WONT leave you alone.

———————————————————————————

On a normal tuesday you invited Con over like normal but Damian had decided to hangout with you that day so he is laying down on your bed watching TV until Conner slams the door open. Damian quickly grabs his emergency katana until he realizes it Conner.

He turns around to look at you and then turns around and glares at Conner.

“What is that doing here [name]? I thought we we’re hanging out today, are you ditching me for that thing?.”

“Dude you did not just call me ‘thing’-!” Conner says almost feeling insulted

“Well i already told Conner to come over before you came in Dami”

“Are you seriously choosing it over me?”

“Stop calling me It! Plus i brought dearest damian here an offering.” He takes out a small bunny and hands it to him. “Is this a good enough Dami?

“Ew don’t you don’t ever get to call me that again Kent. And…” examines the small bunny a small forming on his face while looking at the bunny . “I suppose i could leave you alone for a while…” his smile going away after saying those words.

“Great! Bye bye Damian” pushes him out of the room but Conner doesn’t notice Damian sneaking a small piece of kryptonite on Conner’s pocket making Conner sick some minutes after making Conner check his pockets finding the small piece of kryptonite.

Well now since he is ‘feeling bad and weak’ he is staying over the night!

Remind him to tease thank Damian for that.

———————————————————————————

Comments, reposts, and likes are thanked!

Requests are open!

My masterlist.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Who do u guys think makes bingo books. Is there like. A committee? Are there village specific bingo books? I feel like there is, right? Does that mean all the villages are just constantly playing catch up with eachothers books?

Before the villages, did they still have bingo books? Who made them then? Did each clan have their own books? And different webs of allied clans would have better, bigger, more informed books because they had access to eachothers information? If there was a general "good" bingo book with the best, most reliable information, then who was compiling that? Was it a specific guy or a group? With how isolated and uncooperative so many clans were back then, if the books were maintained by individual clans, then there must have been so many types of bingo books. Or maybe there were a few specific clans who would produce them...? I can see that as a Nara thing.

Id like to believe some nin like collecting old bingo books.

From enemies, as trophies. Bought from markets or found in old abandoned shinobi bases and clan homes. Passed down from a grandfather along with stories of having faced off with the unfamiliar, powerful nin from ages past recorded inside them.... the options are limitless.

I think many nin add their own little notes to their own bingo books, opinions, doodles, theories on enemy nin, etc. So collectors will value books with notes in it, especially if the books used to belong to a famous shinobi (cool insight into their mind !!) or is really old (cool time capsule comments on shinobi from forever ago !!)

You can make some serious money on an old bingo book filled with personal notes that belonged to a famous shinobi...

Rumor has it the first Hokage's bingo book was sold off by Tsunade to cover her gambling debts. And that when the Nidaime's bingo book dissapeared into the pockets of one of his students after his death, people were straight up ready to kill to get it back— but no one knew who'd taken it (it was Danzo)

Jiriyah lost his old bingo book from the war in a bet, and was surprisingly, genuinley upset over it die to the sentimental value. It was sold for some crazy money later on, as it had personal notes and doodles from all sorts of famous shinobi inside of it

Jiriyah, Tsunade and Orochimaru all drew over eachothers photos in their section of the book, and all three left sarcastic comments in many a corners. Minato left his own comment or two, as Jiriyah asked him to sign his own page after he broke S rank, to celebrate. Then Sarutobi also left some comments here and there too, and Sakumo had actually left more than a few— signing his own page, writing a little congratulations under Minato's S rank, drawing a wolf in the corner of Orchimaru's page after Jiriyah insisted he join him in defacing it, etc.

Jiriyah's bingo book being his team's official unofficial shared bingo book... all three of the sanin tossing it around and marking off shinobi they'd fought, leaving stupid notes and doodles for the others to find later, getting other shinobi to sign it on their own pages.....

I think a lot of shinobi do similar things with "personalizing" their own books, but the sanin certainly ended up creating one of the most valuable with their own endeavors

And then in Boruto, bingo books are probable even more of a collectors item. Especially w shinobi becoming even more commercialized / sort of idol-ified

Just like how some middle aged dad's will save up their baseball card collection to one day sell, telling their children it will be their college fund one day, shinobi are doing similar things with their bingo books

(One of the most valuable editions of the bingo book was the one produced exclusively during the war with Madara, covering many, many shinobi, both dead and alive. Only so many ended up being printed, as the war ended up being shorter than expected, and while there are newer knockoffs and reprints, OG books from that period can make some crazy money.)

[acourtofthought]

"Elain has no interest in Lucien"

But that's where the story lies, isn't it? Because you couldn't really say that in ACOWAR. She was a little salty towards him during their first meeting but she quickly followed that up with sharing a very emotional confession with him. Even though she was in love with Graysen and wanted to return to Graysen, she stared at Lucien on a few occasions. She made sure that she went to see him as he departed for the human lands / continent to search for Vassa. She chose to leave her father's grave to walk with both Feyre and Lucien, peering up at Lucien. She was standing close to Lucien at the meeting after the war and did not pull away. Elain only stared at him for a long moment. Before that dark wind sept in, Lucien looked back. Not to me, I realized - to someone behind me. Pale and thin, Elain stood atop the stairs. Their gazes locked and held. And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go...He did not glance back at Elain. Did not see the half step she took towards the stairs - as if she'd speak to him. Stop him. Letting my sisters decide to follow or remain - if they wanted a moment alone with that burnt grass. Elain came. Nesta stated. Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien.

Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain's side.

Then...... Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn't come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle. So in one book, we have Elain choosing to walk beside Lucien, peer up at Lucien, stand beside Lucien. And in the next, with absolutely no reason given as to why, we have Lucien no longer coming within touching distance of Elain (though he stood close to her after the war), and Elain now ignoring him. For a best selling author, it would be pretty poor writing for her to write them the way she did in ACOWAR then expect us to just accept this complete 180 with absolutely no reason given as to why that's happened and we're just supposed to move on with the story with no questions asked. The fact that there are still lingering questions as to what caused this abrupt change from the end of ACOWAR means there is still a story there. Readers still want to know why Elain suddenly began ignoring Lucien after ACOWAR left them on a positive / hopeful note. We saw something similar to happen between Nesta and Cassian, from ACOWAR to ACOFAS and we were given those answers in Nesta's book so I'm not sure why people would think anyone is delusional for thinking this best selling author is going to give readers the same resolution in Elain's book. The story has always been and will always be about Elain and Lucien's bond and the many ups and downs to a HEA. We had a little glimpse of that possibility in ACOWAR then Sarah snatched it away, which one can use logic to realize it's because she's only biding her time until she's ready to write Elain's story. Nesta's downward spiral was what kept she and Cassian apart in the novella until Sarah was ready to write their journey and for Elain she went the "I don't want a mate so I'll instead fixate on the only eligible guy in my orbit who isn't my mate!" route. But none of those obstacles were things that would prevent the end result Sarah always envisioned for these characters, and in Elain's case it's the fact that she took Sarah and Lucien by surprise by being the one for him.

[sunrisecaminus]

Hello, it's me again. Could I have hmmmm. ..... acree x reader, please? (sfw or nsfw! )

Hope you have a great day or night :D 🌻✨️

I don't understand why I don't like Arcee as much as the others, but I need to get into her character more. She is such a cool character in everyway.

Arcee Headcanons SFW/NSFW

Summary - SFW and NSFW of Arcee with her human conjunx <3 (NSFW under the "Keep Reading")

Warning - NSFW, Masochism

SFW

~ Knowing that Arcee is not a touchy person, nor is she the type to be romantic towards most people. People question how the hell you got to her spark.

~ That lady is ready to sacrifice herself for you any time, so please don't go out in the battle field.

~ She would take you out on dates at parks or somewhere in Jasper City at night. After the war started, any military bot would understand that being able to relax and find a place that could be quiet was a rare occurrence that needs to be appreciated.

~ Her love language is spending quality time and Words of affirmation, so she really likes to talk to you whenever she can.

~ Touching is one of the many things that can get her nervous, so it takes some time for her to get use to when you guys hug or cuddle with each other.

~ Arcee loves to watch you work and pick you up from your job. She loved everything you did, watching you write something or be super hyper fixated on something would interest her just from how your body reacts to things.

~ Having a human for a conjunx is very interesting in her eyes, because now she can learn your culture and day to day life just by being with you. She tries her best to like the things you were interested in.

~ Even if she doesn't get it, she would still try to pick up on things you like so if you wanted to talk to someone about it, she can keep a conversation going with you on the topic.

~ If she felt angry about something, Arcee would come to you first about it. You are someone that would make her calm down just by your presence alone, so its either throwing someone and yelling, or come to you and vent about her stresses.

~ Holy crap she likes when you comfort her. Every hug you give is like being hugged by primus, because even if you were a weak little organic, she still feels safe and loved.

~ "I could never have someone greater than you, because there is nothing that can be above perfect."

NSFW

~ So, about her not use to touch. She is one of the more sensitive bots in the secret base. She loved all your soft touches around her face or thighs.

~ She may be sensitive, but it is impossible for this bot to be a bottom. Pleasing you is everything Arcee has wanted to do ever since you guys kissed.

~ Arcee is a loner type, which means she will try to make you scream and embarrass you if you guys were doing it at the base.

~ Is she a kinky type? Not really, though she wouldn't mind doing things with you if you asked.

~ She is more into using her fingers to mess you up, never did you think a person could be as skilled as she is with her servos.

~ She would never do it in public, but anywhere that is like a closet, a birth room, or some place with a door that can be locked, she has no trouble mutilated you.

~ Speaking of which, Arcee would be gentle with you for the start. You would have to tell her to be more rough with you for her to do so.

~ She will never confirm this, but spanking is something she won't reject.

~ Also, she isn't the one getting spanked, with permission she would give you bruises from spanking, biting, or even tossing.

~ Aftercare is one of the things she wants to be better at. She would gently wrap you up in lovely blankets, giving you kisses everywhere around your body. Arcee would give you a nice massage and watch as you doze off.

~ "Sweet dream, y/n…I won't leave your side."

[see-arcane]

Welp. Been a minute. Overdue for an update.

So.

The Depressing Bit

Going to go ahead and rip off the band-aids quick.

First off, I passed my one-year laidoffiversary a couple weeks back. Still no new job despite applying every day of the week for the past year. A lot of dead-end interviews. Three times as many scams and I don’t dare guess how many entirely false job openings posted by companies who were never hiring in the first place, but wanted the positions out in the open to scare their actual employees with the threat of being easily replaced and to look good to investors with the illusion of growth. So there’s that.

Then, while doing my taxes, I came to a fun little revelation.

You know my novella The Vampyres, ala eBook and paperback? Had its birthday last year, March 15th. As I plugged in my earnings from that book from Draft 2 Digital’s doc, I discovered I'd made a grand total of $278 from it over the course of 2024. Cool.

I paid $275 to purchase the ISBNs (International Standard Book Numbers) for the eBook and paperback respectively, and a barcode. Which would mean that I made approximately $3 in profit from The Vampyres after a year.

Except I also spent $25 on a ‘change token’ with Draft 2 Digital because I had to make an alteration to the book's interior.

Meaning I spent $300 total on self-publishing this book. And have so far made back $275 of it.

…

Still glad I did it. Still glad a few folks might someday come across it and enjoy the read. But it’s…yeah. Kind of a glum revelation with March 2025 coming up.

Still job hunting. Still writing. Still hoping and going.

Anyway.

New Stuff

Ko-Fi

Added a couple new options in with the doodles and fancier art bits if you want to take a gander.

Substack (For Now)

While I’ve been posting my chapter updates on my Substack for a bit, and my stuff is still going up there for the foreseeable future, I’m going to start shopping around for an alternative platform. Not a big fan of how Substack is apparently buddying up to Elongated Muskrat and his specific idea of ‘freedom of speech.’ The main things I’m looking for is a lack of price tag and easy usability. I’ll let everyone know if/when I make the switch to something better.

StoryGraph

The Vampyres is on StoryGraph (and so am I). I’d appreciate you leaving any reviews on there rather than Goodreads, the latter being one of Amazon’s Bezos Babies. Really, nice reviews anyplace where books are picked up will help, but do consider a hop to StoryGraph in particular.

Merchandise

One of my New Year’s Resolutions is finally setting up shop with a little merch. I want to make stationery and possibly some novelty mugs* as things to start with. I’m browsing around for a good manufacturer and shipping combo option while trying to 100% avoid Shopify or affiliated sites. Not real keen on them being fine with selling Nazi and MAGA merch. (Frankly not keen on how dodging Nazi infiltration has become a rote part of trying to ~Sell Myself~, but here we are.)

I’ll post prospective product pics once I have something solid. Cross your fingers for me.

*The mugs are mostly for me as I have a devastating addiction to charming drinkware. But I guess you guys can have some too.

???

I don’t really have anything salient to put here. I’m mostly just grateful to all my friends out there in the Internet abyss for sticking around and making all this feel a little less lonely. Thank you.

[nashcandream]

Of course it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?

—

I leave recruiting Astarion until day 2. For my headcanon, Astarion tries to handle the chaos on his own at first. He loathes the idea of asking for help but quickly realizes how necessary other bodies might be. Even if they are just a means to an end, it is better to be part of a group than handle this situation alone.

I imagine Lennox would have taken a similar approach if not for breaking free on the ship and meeting two infected individuals there. Lex would have gathered information and found a way to join the group as a useful, but seemingly harmless, addition. Lennox, however, is still conning the group with no plans to reveal their true background.

I imagine Astarion lying low at first, at least for a day. He’s been controlled by for over 200 years and I just imagine him trying to maintain independence until. He sees the value in manipulating the group at the onset of meeting them, of course. But I just imagine his attitude being “I can do this on my own”. Then he spends a terrifying night alone before meeting the merry band and decides that while he probably could do this on his own (lol he definitely can’t but he’s bullheaded enough to think otherwise), joining the group has too many advantages and resources to ignore.

Astarion and Lex are incredibly similar, which is why they wind up as best friends instead of romantic partners. Neither of them have ever had a friend before and their personalities are perfect for that type of relationship. The pair share an intimate moment but neither does so for a good reason. Being with Astarion only reinforces Lennox’s feelings for Gale.

[darkmarkmarauder]

The Ex-Files - T.R.

!warning!:minorsdni, mature content

pairing: ex!Tom Riddle x you

It's been one week since you and Tom had called it quits.

A week since you had stormed out of his dorm, leaving behind the remnants of a relationship that once consumed you both. You had tried—Merlin, you had tried—to be patient. To accept the late nights, the whispered meetings with his followers, the growing obsession with power that seemed to eclipse everything else, including you.

Seven years of knowing him, two of those as his girlfriend—and it all came crashing down because he cared more about his twisted ambitions than he did about you.

And yet, even as you tried to forget him, it seemed like everyone else wanted to remind you.

“He’s different now,” Nott had mentioned offhandedly during Potions, swirling his knife through a pile of knotgrass. “Since you ended things. Girls in and out of his bed every night. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him so...careless.”

You had scoffed at the time, pretending it didn’t bother you. Of course he moved on fast. Why wouldn’t he? Tom Riddle didn’t dwell on things. He didn’t waste time mourning lost relationships. If anything, the fact that he was already fucking his way through Hogwarts should’ve confirmed what you’d told yourself when you walked away: you were never that important to him anyway.

Except... it still stung.

And it wasn’t until Charms class a few days later that you realized there was more to the story.

“You should’ve seen him,” Bellatrix was saying, her voice low but still loud enough for you to catch every word. She was perched next to Cassie Black, nails tapping against her desk as she leaned in conspiratorially. “I mean, at first, it was going fine. I thought I was finally getting somewhere with him. And then—” She paused for dramatic effect, “He said her name."

Cassie's eyes widened. "No."

"Oh, yes," Bellatrix drawled. "Clear as day. Right when he was about to finish too. I mean, imagine how humiliating that is. I’m on top of him, giving him the best he’s had all week, and he’s thinking about her."

Your stomach twisted painfully. You knew exactly who she meant by "her."

You.

Bellatrix kept talking, oblivious to the way your hands curled into fists beneath your desk. "And the worst part? He didn’t even finish. Just pushed me off like it was my fault and said he was done. I don’t think he’s finished with anyone I swear."

Your breath hitched.

So that was the problem.

A bitter, angry part of you wanted to revel in his misery. Good. Let him suffer. Let him realize what he lost. But another part—a part you weren’t ready to confront—hated how much you wanted that to be true.

Later that evening, you found yourself outside his dorm, heart hammering against your ribs. You didn’t know why you were there—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your knuckles barely grazed the wood before the door swung open. Tom stood there, shirtless, dark hair tousled like he had just risen from bed. But you knew better. Knew that no matter how many girls he fucked, it wasn’t enough.

“What do you want?” His voice was cold, but you knew him too well to be fooled. His eyes—those dark, consuming eyes—dragged over your body with slow, deliberate intent.

You stepped inside without invitation, brushing past him. “Heard you’ve been busy,” you said, letting the words drip with disdain. “Didn’t take you long, did it?”

Tom closed the door with a soft click, leaning against it. "I didn’t realize you cared."

His honesty was a slap in the face—but you saw the tension coiled in his shoulders, the frustration simmering beneath his composed façade.

“I don’t.” A lie. You let the silence stretch before adding, “But maybe you should be more careful. Calling another girl by your ex’s name? Sloppy, Riddle.”

His jaw tensed, the only sign your words had struck home. For a long moment, he just watched you, the air between you growing thick and heavy.

Tom pushed off the door, advancing toward you with that lethal grace that had always made your knees weak. "You think I haven’t tried to forget?" His voice was low, dangerous. "You think I haven’t fucked them hard enough to chase the taste of you from my mouth?"

Your resolve wavered as he reached you, fingers brushing your jaw. "Poor Tom," you taunted, though your voice trembled slightly. "Finally found something you can’t control."

His lips curled into a cruel smile. "Careful, darling. You’re still mine."

"I’m not yours," you shot back, even as your body betrayed you—leaning into his touch, craving the heat of him.

Tom’s hand slid to the back of your neck, dragging you closer until your breath mingled. "A lie doesn’t become truth just because you repeat it," he murmured before claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.

The anger melted into need—hot, consuming, and impossible to resist. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue swept against yours.

"This doesn’t mean anything," you gasped as he backed you toward his bed, his mouth trailing down your neck.

"Keep telling yourself that," he said darkly, pushing you onto the mattress.

You should’ve stopped him. Should’ve walked away.

Instead, you let him drag your skirt up, his fingers quick as they slipped beneath the waistband of your panties.

"Already wet for me," he murmured, sliding two fingers through your slick folds. "Miss me that much?"

"Fuck you," you snapped, but your hips lifted to meet his touch.

His laugh low and wicked as he pulled your panties down your thighs. "Gladly."

Tom knelt between your legs, his mouth replacing his fingers without warning. Your head fell back against the pillows, a moan tearing from your throat as his tongue worked you open—slow, precise, and devastating.

"Still taste so sweet," he murmured against your clit, voice thick with hunger.

Your hands fisted the sheets as pleasure curled hot and tight. He was relentless, dragging you higher and higher until you were trembling beneath him.

"Don’t stop," you breathed, and he didn’t—not until you came against his mouth, crying out his name in a way that left no doubt who you belonged to.

Tom wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes burning as he crawled over you. "You’re mine," he said again, voice rough as he unfastened his belt and pushed his trousers down.

"This doesn’t change anything," you warned, though your body betrayed your words, arching beneath him as he pressed the blunt head of his cock against your entrance.

"Of course it does," he said, sinking into you with a devastating precision that made your toes curl.

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you—stretching you in a way no one else ever could. His pace was brutal, every snap of his hips punishing, like he wanted to brand himself into you.

And maybe he did.

"No one else," he growled against your ear. "No one else can have you."

He fucked you like he had been starving. Each thrust was punishing, his fingers leaving bruises along your hips, your thighs. But it wasn’t enough for him. Not until you were moaning his name, nails raking down his back as he came. Profanities spilling from his throat as his warm cum filled you.

It was only afterward, when the air grew thick with the scent of sex and sweat, that the weight of it all settled heavy in your chest.

You slipped out of bed while he lay there watching you, his expression carefully blank as you pulled on your clothes.

“Stay,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a command. Not this time.

You paused, fingers trembling as you slipped back into your skirt. You wanted to. Fuck, you wanted to. But if you did, you knew you would never escape him.

“No.” Your voice was steady. Firm. “We’re done, Tom.”

A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes. Something dangerous. “You’ll come back.”

You shook your head. “Not this time.”

And with that, you walked away—leaving him behind, where he belonged.

part II to this fic

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: obnoxiously sighs* mc has way more self respect than me cus I would sit my ass right back. inspired again by my darling @shyamanuensis for helping me write it😽💚

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[iguessitsjustme]

When It Rains It Pours Ep 7 Thoughts

Today…has been real up and down for me. And right now I am tired and I am grumpy and I am hungry and I am sad. But I've seen that this show has a happy ending so I am also excited. I may not be as talkative in this final liveblog as I normally am (or I might be there's no telling). But before I watch, I want to just take a moment to thank everyone that told me to watch this show. Being in this fandom and talking to you guys has been truly the highlight of my last few weeks. I came to this show late but everyone was so excited for me to watch and it has been an absolute delight talking with everyone. I hope to keep seeing y'all in other fandoms after this show ends (also I hope we keep talking about this show. Just because it's ending doesn't mean we ever need to stop. If y'all have thoughts about this show even two years from now and want to scream with someone, I'm sure the entire fandom will be happy to resume the screams). Anyway ramble over. Liveblog, as always, is under the cut:

Before I get into this liveblog actually, I will pay one william dollars to anyone that doesn't wake me up at 5 in the goddamn morning with loud noises and persist with those loud noises for an hour. One william dollars. I have had A Day and there is a reason I am Tired.

Asking the important questions.

Something something coffee something something my brain isn't working today *chomps on some fried chicken*

It is not lost on me that Sei is now wearing colors now that Fujisawa isn't around.

It can be if you want it to be baby boy

Hagiwara making sure to get Sei's friends contact information for him. Making sure that Sei isn't alone and abandoned. Making sure Sei has someone to talk to. I am FINE.

Sei actually reaching out and going to get drink with him. I'm FINE.

Falling in love with kindness my beloved.

Can't wait to rec this to my irl BL friend. They're gonna LOVE it.

Aw man I was hoping Fujisawa just wouldn't be here. I knew he would be but let a person be in denial will ya?

I need that car alarm to be shut the fuck off. I am TRYING to WATCH.

Dear Fujisawa, I do not care that you've always liked Sei. You raped him. 

Okay okay so. Here's the deal. Fujisawa feeling guilt for Sei's parent's accident definitely explains a lot. It explains a whole hell of a lot. BUT. It does not excuse anything. Sei was miserable. Sei was isolated from his friends. Sei was raped. It breaks my heart to think what could have happened had Sei's parents not died. But they did. And it brought out the worst of Fujisawa. And while I understand where he is coming from and why he did the things he did, I do not condone them. Many things can be true at once and the circumstances these two were placed into were awful and complex. But the choices they made in those circumstances are what led them to this moment. To the pain and the hurt. Fujisawa should not feel guilty about Sei's parents. He did not cause them to die. He did, however, rape Sei. That is a thing he did. Honestly, these two need to leave each other's side or else they will be miserable forever. Even without the rape. The guilt Fujisawa feels will forever hold them down in misery. This time when I say Sei needs to be set free of Fujisawa, I mean it more than just Sei needs to be free of his control. He needs to be set free from Fujisawa's feelings of guilt that have trapped them both. And Fujisawa needs to be set free too. Or he will make the same choices with anyone else he tries to move on with. I still say he goes off the cliff though. Cause I'm still angry at him even if his actions make more sense to me now.

Noisy neighbors go AHWAY. bite bite kill kill

Had to move rooms because dear god the noises did not stohp. I am having a bad fucking day let me tell ya

Sei is a good person for setting him free. I still feel no sympathy for him.

Every car needs to die forever.

C'mon you two! Meet up! I need it. I need it so bad. Do you understand how bad I need to see you two meet up today? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

BITE BITE DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE

SCREAMING

BOY. I KNOW THIS HAS A HAPPY ENDING BUT BOY.

Sei go get your man. Please. I'm begging. I am running out of episode. Please. Go get him.

YES THAT'S RIGHT GO TO THE MUSEUM. TO GO GET YOUR MAN. GO SEI GO

Has he met me?

Anyway umbrella my beloved. I do not have the brain power tonight but I want to write a post about the use of umbrellas in this show. I'm also very busy this weekend (yay birthday plans) so maybe next week? When I can find a spare second. But I need to talk about the umbrellas. I also want to talk about the soundtrack. Especially when it comes to Fujisawa but there's so much. I might need to just pick a Fujisawa scene. Feel free to help me decide if there's a specific scene you want me to attempt to analyze the soundtrack of. Anyway. Back to umbrella my beloved.

I am glad it was Sei who confessed first. That feels important somehow.

Do y'all see. Do you understand. Why umbrellas. Are my beloved? Does this help you to understand?

God bless

They have to say this because it was so well done and the themes were so universal and applicable that it feels real. The plot and characters may be fictional but the feelings, emotions, and community this show brought are real and I am ever so grateful for it.

As I have already complained numerous times today, my brain is not here to do any sort of wrap up or anything. I might do a post-show thoughts later on once I've had time to process and also I get my brain back. I did it for 4Minutes I might do it for this one because there is a lot I want to say. I also might not because busy. We will see. And I kind of want to rewatch this last episode once I can feel my brain again so I feel like I can fully appreciate it.

Thank you to everyone who has read my liveblogs I cannot believe that more than 2 people were reading these and enjoying my silly little thoughts. I love each and every one of you. Please feel free to keep tagging me in things or talking to me about this show or literally anything else for the rest of all time (I am currently having a bot problem so I might need to restrict my reply settings but if that happens my DMs and ask box are always open). Peace and love I'm gonna go cry about umbrellas now.

[solkwan]

“Do you want a girl or a boy?”

The question was odd to you. No matter how many times you were asked, your answer remained the same. Why should you care for the sex of the baby? A baby is a baby. Regardless of being born a girl or boy, it’s going to keep you up all night with its cries. You’ll still raise the kid the same. Is one worse than the other? It was a mystery why so many people were obsessed with asking you the question. Was it better for your firstborn to be a boy? A strong, healthy boy who will bring honor to Wonwoo’s name. Then, is a girl perceived as less?

What you find most interesting is the person asking always has their own perception as to what you’ll choose.

“A girl, right? Oh, they’re just the sweetest,”

“Having a boy as your firstborn is a sign of good fortune and wealth!”

The skin around your eye twitches with either statement. The people who ask you never really do care. They only make small talk to avoid the fact you’ll be giving birth at the ripe age of 19. A teen parent, in their first year of college. The ladies in your neighborhood couldn’t get enough of it, chatting about you over tea. Funny, though, how they never refer to Wonwoo as a teen dad. Claps to his back and wide grins at the fact. Whereas you’re met with pitiful smiles and questions about your studies.

“I have no preference, really,”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” sadness seeps in their voice, “You’d look great with a daughter,”

There was never really a point in the question. Wonwoo always found a way to indulge them, though. Eager to please them.

“I think a girl would be wonderful,” a soft smile settling on his face. Looking at you in an attempt to settle the awkwardness.

He never really did mean anything he told them. You could tell by the way his eyes crinkled a little too deeply. He’d never get tired of pretending for others, you noted. That’s why, at 5 months pregnant, when the nurse first asks you if you’d like to know the sex of your baby, Wonwoo looks to you for answers. Your eyes stay indifferent.

“If you want to know, we can,” You tell him.

Wonwoo bites his cheek, turning back to the nurse, “I think we’d like for it to be a surprise,”

Wonwoo’s mother insists she knows—throws a reveal party.

“This way I’ll be able to buy clothes in advance,”

Wonwoo manages to sit down with her long enough to lecture her about gender roles and stereotypes. The next day, she ends up coming home with bags of purple, orange, pink, and blue one-pieces, all alike. Smile wide on her face as she boasts about how much she’ll spoil her grandchild. Though Wonwoo’s talked her out of throwing a party, she regularly asks for your opinion on it.

“You can throw one if you’d like,”

You’re searching your email for news on your temporary university leave for the coming Spring semester. Two months into your first post-secondary education semester and you’re already looking for ways out. This is not what you had imagined for yourself, but you figured out long ago that what you wanted for yourself and what the world destined for you were two very different things.

“Well, if you don’t want one it won’t be any fun at all,” Wonwoo’s mother eventually leaves the living room and you’re left alone wondering if you should have tried a little harder to satisfy her.

For the next 2 months of your pregnancy, the sex of the baby remains a secret. That is until you’re going in for your monthly check-up and the nurse with floral-patterned scrubs lets it slip.

“Everything looks good so far,” the nurse smiles as she looks over the screen, “You’re scheduled to have a beautiful baby girl in less than two months,”

Time slows as you and Wonwoo look up at one another. You’re quiet, it quickly fills the room. The look in Wonwoo’s eyes makes you want to have his babies for the rest of your life.

“A girl?” Wonwoo’s voice rings through the small room.

The nurse finally tears her eyes away from the screen. She’s appalled as if she wasn’t the one to let the cat out of the bag. She’s searching for answers in your eyes. All you can do is stare back.

“Did you not already know?” her voice squeaks, “Oh my god–I’m so sorry–I had no clue!”

Her apologies fall and stumble out of her lips. She looks near the verge of tears and you find it amusing. Before Wonwoo has the opportunity to comfort her, a full and true laugh is making its way out of you. Wonwoo turns to you, eyes wide. The nurse quiets down as your laughs settle down.

“We’re having a girl,” you’re whispering to Wonwoo.

Smiles tug at the ends of your lips. Happiness fills your chest. Your eyes are becoming blurry with tears. You’re having a baby girl and everything looks good so far. You’re scheduled to give birth in two months and you can’t bring yourself to care about the leave of absence you’re taking from school. At this moment, you have no regrets. You’re sure you’ll never feel joy quite like this for a while, so you bask in it while you still can. In the dark hospital room, propped up against the bed. Your hand has found Wonwoo’s and you’re holding on as tightly as you can. In the bliss of it all, you pull him close to your face and kiss him.

He reacts quickly, grabbing onto your face to touch your foreheads. It’s not anything especially explicit, no swiping tongues, no biting or dragging of lips. Just pressing your lips against his to feel one another. Salty tears staining his lips. He’s pulling away but not letting you go. He moves to peck the skin on your face. You’re giggling and you’re embarrassed at the fact. You don’t want him to stop.

You suddenly remember the other presence in the room and manage to push Wonwoo’s face off of you. The nurse has a smile on her face, her eyes full of relief. The three of you relish in the moment.

“Congratulations,”

here’s a wip I’m not sure I’ll ever finish LOL. I think sharing it gives me a sense of responsibility so here’s to hoping I finish writing this someday

[motherfunkies]

So anyway I was skating and read through half of this before getting home and forgot my notes but to adress everything I wanted to: I don't think this constitutes as a fandom argument?[this was a response to an addition of a community member :3 anyway, interesting topics] I mean, it's a discussion but until OP called everyone who is a Thea hater idiots I don't think we should worry our heads off about toxic fandom spaces :] so let's just preface this with me saying it by saying i'm super chill either way (unless you misunderstand the game of telephone that is letting your opinion of general fandom get influenced by a few posts saying that some1/user hates Thea as a person and/or doesn't want to see her grow and/or just doesn't like her (because I've seen these posts) with very little analysis and context included and PROCEED to call such people idiots, because, people... Those opinions do not exist in a vacuum.) but yeah.

Look, I hate Thea as much as the next guy. No hard feelings, she's no Riko or insert any other major villian of aftg.

I haven't seen any racism? I kind of forgot she's POC, but I do recognize that both her being a woman and being a person of colour can harbour subconsious biases (and non-subconsious, obviously, but hey c'mon it's the aftg fandom, unless you're on a 2015 twitter group, I haven't seen much of that) but that's about the only argument of her being unfairly hated I see as 100% justifiable.

She's Jean's friend. She's Kevin's companion, one way or the other. She's cruel, but she's a product of the mentality she was forced to adopt.

Those are facts. Honestly a lot of the original post is laying those out. A lot of people who dislike Thea know those things. That's what I like about aftg, the characters are not black and white, at least most.

Seth is a shitty person. He's a shameless bigot and a destructive person. But he's also a friend to many. When he dies, no one dissects all his wrongs and picks him apart for being homophobic and an asshole who hurt people with how the thinks.

But here's where he's different from Thea: he's dead. There's no redemption. And while I think a lot of people think Seth is more worth saving is because a) he's a fox b)he's a more major character c)ingrained misogyny.

Also, he's a bitter, sore loser.

But Thea has a future.

My issue with her is, mainly, that she must have been 18 or around that age when she joined the ravens, and while people much older and much wiser get indoctrinated by cults and caught up in it all, she chose to be complicit in the abuse, through it all, I think I just read her character differently than OP does.

Read also: i'm not saying she had it easy, or had a real choice or right or wrong, I don't know if she did.

In the end, she had to have some priorities and even after leaving the nest, after she had her freedom back, all the practice she could have wanted in her life under her belt, she never did find it out of place? The things that took place in the nest, she wasn't there singing Lalala and holding her hand over her ears everytime someone shouted, she was a grown woman so let's maybe not infantilise her?

At the root of it, many people dislike her because it's hard to see her growing as a character to the point it's unimaginable. She hadn't changed at all since her raven days, she's a true raven in the wild, a success story.

She would have a long way to go, it's not people writing her off, but it's hard to see someone suddenly taking a step in any direction at all, when she's been stagnant for the past however long. But again, she's not stagnant, she's not caught up with the past, she's complicit in abuse. You can't be neutral with these topics. Being indoctrinated to a cult isn't an easy situation to get out of, to say. But you're responsible for your own betterment. "Having been fucked is no excuse for being fucked up" as the icon Kimya Dawson once sung, and I don't think it's that crazy to say that someone who was once a victim isn't excused from self reflection. She is still a victim, I think. But she's not just that.

Also sidenote: I think a lot of people in aftg fandom like to bet on the losing dogs, so to speak, and Thea is both a passive abuser and someone succeeding in life. So yeah there are more Seth apologists in the fandom that Thea. Among the other reasons I listed.

Sidenote #2: this was originally a comment under a community post but those are a pain to navigate and a general inconvienece with the word limit. It's more open for discussion like this, and easier lmao

people on The Internet Dot Com keep being absolute idiots about thea muldani so here is your reminder that she's a ravens success story — she grew up in an environment where she was asked to give her all and engage in incredibly unhealthy practices, but the result of such sacrifice was that she was rewarded for it with US court and a pro team. she was part of a cult and "left" in the sense of gaining physical distance, but all of her experiences reaffirmed that the toxic ravens environment was the most effective way to a successful exy career. it is fucked up that she believes others should go through the same thing in order to be "worthy" or "good enough," but i simply do not understand why so many people look at her and think that she should be crucified for being a representation of a finished, successful raven. especially not if she's unable to recognize abuse in others, which tbqh is something that is very common in cult-like settings. you don't want to look something-that-could-very-well-be-abuse-happening-to-others in the eye, because if they're being abused, then you could potentially be being abused, too, and what do you do with that? do you have any idea how hard it is to come to terms with that reality, especially when you are told day in and day out that this is the only way to get to the top? that this is how you make it in the sport? that someone who is being harmed by the coach or the team captain absolutely deserved it? that people who can't hack it are weak, but you're not weak, you're one of the best, you'll do whatever it takes?

is it extremely shitty that she blames jean for his own sexual assault? absolutely, yes. but she doesn't have the whole picture, and it's clear that jean intentionally deceives her (with the comment about him being fragile/clumsy, etc.) and lets her believe he had more agency in his sexual experiences than he truly did because it's a coping mechanism that also serves the purpose of letting her fill in blanks so he does not have to explicitly tell a lie. besides, if there is any singular raven that both kevin and jean view fondly, wouldn't they want her to believe whatever it took so that she didn't ask too many questions? wouldn't they both want her far removed from the reality of the moriyamas and human trafficking, because her uncovering the truth would put her entire life at risk?

people can have friends that are imperfect or do not understand them completely or that fuck things up sometimes. i get that jean's experiences put people on-guard when it comes to how he interacts with other characters, but god damn. she was his mentor. she taught him everything he knows about being a backliner. she made horrible and judgmental assumptions about his experiences. all of those things can be true at the same time. does she not deserve the opportunity to change upon receiving new information? does she not deserve the ability to take a step back, as ravens are dropping like flies and all eyes are on evermore and the perfect court, to consider that maybe she was a victim in all of this, too? that plenty of people are capable of making it to the top without calling another human being the master and turning a blind eye to the king beating his own men? that maybe kevin and jean and all of them were terribly wronged? why is she the only person in this series who's not allowed to grow as a person by developing a more nuanced understanding of rape and sexual assault and learning how to be a better friend to someone who had no choice?

also someone tried to "gotcha" me by saying thea and jean aren't friends because she uhhhh (checks notes) calls him a teasing nickname and says "i'm going to break your ribs" as though threatening your friends (especially ones you play a contact, violent sport with) is the worst possible offense ever in the same book series that people regularly ACTUALLY fistfight each other and pull knives on one another. i'd argue that these are actually huge indicators that they do like each other, because she's probably one of the only people in the world who he can express himself around and even say things like "i'm not from paris" exasperatedly. you know, like you do when people you care about tease or poke fun at you. those are actually probably some of the most normal interactions jean has pre-TSC, especially as she is not needlessly cruel to him like literally everyone else in the nest is. and not only is thea one of the only people who has any sort of comraderie with him and who makes the effort to see him after his injuries because she cares, but she also makes it past wymack and kevin and renee and neil guard-dogging him. does that seriously mean nothing? do you think renee fucking walker (who was ready to brawl on-sight at evermore) would have let someone like zane waltz into abby's house if kevin said a single negative word about him?

i have seen some incredibly wonderful and nuanced takes about most characters in AFTG, but at the same time, the way thea is treated and criticized in a more severe way than literal murderers in the series for her possibly-willful ignorance is utterly crazy to me.

idk. just some food for thought

[pamwritessometimes]

The Great Invasion — Chapter 4

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General series warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: aftermath of a panic attack, visions and flashbacks, revisiting character death, being captured. Tell me if I missed something!!!

Series set after Season 15.

Somewhat canon-divergent.

Theme song of the chapter: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World.

Catch up on Chapter 3 here

Series masterlist

Chapter 4: Hey, Don't Write Yourself Off Yet

The tea wasn’t helping.

Sam had made it with all the care of someone who actually knew how to be nurturing, but at the end of the day, tea was just leaf water, and leaf water wasn’t gonna fix your brain. Not after the absolute trainwreck of a day you’d had.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, fingers curling around the warm mug as you tried — key word being here: tried — to pretend like you weren’t still shaking.

It was fine. Everything was fine.

Except, of course, for the part where you’d had a full-on panic attack in front of half the damn bunker. Cas had been there, Sam, some of the other hunters. All of them wanting to experience the circus. And Dean.

Dean, who had cleared the room like he actually gave a shit.

Like, actually stepped in and made everyone leave. Which was weird. Because yeah, he was protective of his people, but you weren’t his people. Not really. You were the weird outsider with a past so messy it needed its own Netflix docuseries.

But here he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged there, arms crossed, eyes watching you with that signature Dean Winchester blend of concern and mild irritation.

And then — softly, carefully, quietly, like he was trying not to spook you—

“What did you mean back there? When you said everything you believed was a lie?”

Oh. We’re doing this now.

You took a long sip of your tea — mostly to stall, partly to avoid answering. It tasted like nothing. You stared down at it anyway, willing it to have the answers.

It did not.

“…How much did the others tell you about me?” you asked instead, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be.

Dean exhaled through his nose, tilting his head like he was deciding how much to say. “I know you came from a world that didn’t leave a lot of survivors,” he said finally. “Beyond that? Not much.”

You let out a bitter laugh at that, the sound of it was way harsher than you intended, but you didn’t respond immediately. What the hell was there to say? You weren’t sure you even knew where to begin anymore. There were so many lies tangled in your brain, so many goddamn things that you still didn’t understand about yourself.

“A survivor” you repeated, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

Dean didn’t say anything. Just waited. Which was somehow worse.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the mug. “I know people despise me here… Hell, I despise myself” you said, voice breaking before you could stop it. “While they barely survived, somehow, those goddamn demons wiped my ass clean with golden toilet paper.”

That got a reaction. His eyebrows pulled together, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t just survival” you went on, voice bitter. “It was comfort. Luxury. Five-star meals. Silk sheets. A guard outside my door, making sure the wrong demons didn’t bother me. And the whole time, I told myself I wasn’t one of them. That I wasn’t working for them. But the truth is, Dean…”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes, your voice dropping to barely a whisper.

“I was their damn mascot.”

Dean leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t looking at you like he was judging, though. Just… thinking. Processing. “So what changed?” he asked. “When did you start seeing through the crap?”

You dragged a hand down your face. “When I started asking questions.” Your lips curled, the memory stinging. “But even then, Barbas always had answers. He had this whole story. A twisted fairy tale about why demons invaded Earth. About why Rowena was the real monster.”

Dean furrowed his brow, curiosity and concern flashing through his eyes. “What did that bastard tell you?”

You hesitated, because saying it out loud felt stupid. But you forced yourself to anyway.

“He told me Rowena was a tyrant. That she turned Hell into something worse than it had ever been. That she ruled with cruelty and chaos, making even demons suffer under her whims. According to him she was so power-hungry she made Hell unlivable, not just for damned human souls but for demons, too.”

Dean scoffed. A short, disbelieving noise.

But you weren’t done.

“Barbas said the invasion wasn’t about power. It was about survival. That Malgathor and his people were the good guys, fighting to escape Rowena’s reign of terror. He made it sound like Earth was their only chance.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow, ugly thing. “And I believed him.”

Dean let out a slow, sharp breath. Ran a hand through his hair like he was physically trying to keep himself from saying something wrong.

“But you’ve met Rowena now” he said. “You know that’s not how it went down.”

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your face.

“Yeah” you whispered. “Now I know.”

For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence sat heavy between you.

Then—

“Hey” Dean’s voice was softer now. “You’re here. You got out.”

Your breath hitched.

“It’s not that simple” you muttered, shaking your head. “I–I keep getting these flashbacks. Scraps. Pieces. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just— lies Barbas planted in my head. I—” Your voice cracked. “I believed him. For so long.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment again, but something really caught his mind.

Dean’s whole posture shifted. His shoulders squared, his expression hardening.

“That’s what those visions are, aren’t they?” he said, putting the pieces together out loud. “When you freaked out in the war room. When I found you in the storage room.”

You nodded as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “Yeah.”

His eyes flicked over you, scanning your face like he was looking for signs you were gonna crack again. “What do you see? In those visions?”

You should’ve lied. Should’ve brushed it off. But instead...

“I see Barbas. I see demons. I— I can’t move, and I don’t know why and there’s this awful metallic taste in my mouth, and—”

“Alright, alright, enough” he interrupted, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t… Don’t have to go through that again” He reached out, resting a hand gently on your shoulder, but deep down, something gnawed at him.

If you played the part they wanted you to… why torture you? Why go to all the trouble of breaking you down, only to wipe your memory? Was that just for control? Or was there more?

It didn’t add up. But he didn’t want to press further. He glanced at you again – the way your face twisted in pain, like you were about to break all over again. The last thing he wanted was to push you into another panic attack. Yeah, no way was he pushing that button.

Dean’s voice cut through the spiral, firm but gentle. Like he was pulling you back from the edge.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of mindfuckery they pulled on you” he said, “but you’re here now. With us. And we’re gonna figure this out.”

“Hey” he said softly, trying to catch your attention. “You want another mug?”

You shook your head.

Dean then stood with a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity like he wanted to fill the silence with anything other than words. He turned toward the door, his hand hovering hesitantly near the knob like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to leave. 

“Then get some rest” he said and his voice indicated it was an order disguised as a suggestion. “You probably haven’t had a proper sleep in a while.”

His fingers barely brushed the doorknob when you blurted, “Wait” The word came out rough and strained, like it had fought itself up from your chest.

Dean stopped instantly, glancing back at you with a mix of curiosity and caution, like he’d just spotted a landmine on a well-trodden path. “Yeah?”

You swallowed, suddenly regretting every decision that had led you to this moment. “I just thought… you’ll already sneak back into my room–”

“My room” he corrected automatically, his lips curling into the kind of smirk that could either infuriate or disarm you, depending on the mood. Tonight, it did a little of both.

You rolled your eyes, more out of habit than annoyance and then continued. “–so I figured… maybe you could just… stay.”

Dean blinked, his eyebrows climbing just a fraction higher, and for a second, you could tell he was debating whether to make a joke or take you seriously. “You want me to stay? While you’re asleep?”

“No” you blurted out, the word tumbling out like you’d just been caught swiping the last cookie in the jar. It came out too quickly, too high, and you could practically feel the cringe ripple through your insides. You recovered as best you could, rolling your shoulders and adding, “But you’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you? So at least this way, I get to pretend it was my idea.”

It was a lie and you knew he sensed it too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that his presence right there in the room was the only thing keeping the creeping panic at bay

Dean stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his expression softening in a way that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t teasing, no… he was just looking at you. And for one terrible, fleeting second you thought he might actually say no, might leave you in the room to battle your messy thoughts alone.

“Alright” he said after a few agonizingly long seconds. He took a couple of steps back into the room and dragged the chair closer to the bed, leaning back into it. His legs stretched out, but he didn’t say anything else.

“You… sure you’re good there?” you asked, half joking, half genuinely concerned.

His mouth twitched at the corners, and you swore he was fighting off a full-on grin. Instead, he leaned back even more comfortably, folding his arms across his chest, like he was preparing for an impromptu nap. Of course, you knew better and you knew Dean didn’t need sleep.

“Chair’s fine” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m versatile.”

You snorted despite yourself. You settled back into the bed, sinking further into the blankets, trying to ignore the strange warmth spreading through your chest that you couldn’t quite place. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would go. Hell, you hadn’t even known what you were doing when you opened your mouth a few minutes ago. But there he was, sitting there like it was the most normal thing in the world, and it… it didn’t feel so bad.

“Goodnight” Dean said. “Try to get some sleep.”

The bunker’s library was a warzone of books and exhaustion.

Stacks of ancient tomes and dusty manuscripts towered precariously on every available surface, as if daring someone to knock them over. Notes were scattered across the long table, half-finished theories scribbled in frustration. The air carried the faint scent of old parchment, ink, and coffee so stale it could qualify as an eldritch entity.

Sam sat at the head of the table, flipping through a thick, leather-bound text with the focus of a man desperately trying to find a needle in a hell-sized haystack. Castiel stood by the wall, staring at the demonic script with all the enthusiasm of a man reading tax codes. 

If he even knew what tax codes were!

Several hunters were sitting around the space, their focus mostly on their respectively assigned books or the method of sneaking out to the toilet without having to come back anytime soon.

But most of them abandoned those attempts. Too much was at stake. 

 “Alright, uh…” Sam said earlier. “We’re looking for something, anything, on Malgathor. His possible lair or residence, his past, his weird demon cult of Hell traditionalists, whatever we can get.” He glanced around at the group, when his eyes landed on the stack of dusty tomes Joe had haphazardly flipped through and abandoned in frustration. “If you’re staring at the pages like that, you’re not gonna find anything. Focus. Please.”

They tried. But there was so much a pack of human could do.

In short, they were suffering.

And Joe was the loudest about it.

“Why the hell are we even doing this?” he groaned, shoving a book away. “Shouldn’t Champ Girl be handling this? I mean, isn’t she, like, the expert on demons?”

Sam sighed. “ “She’s resting. Had a rough afternoon.”

His tone made it clear: don’t push it.

Joe, of course, pushed it. “Must be nice”  he muttered, flipping another page with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced at gunpoint to read. “Getting beauty sleep while the rest of us are inhaling mold spores.”

Before Sam could respond, Inez — who had been quietly working and not being an ass about it — spoke up. “I swear if I have to hear you whine one more time, Joe, I’m gonna make you sleep and it won’t be beauty-related.”

A beat of silence.

Then, from somewhere down the table, a quiet “Oooooh, shit” from one of the other hunters.

Joe grumbled something that sounded vaguely like touchy, but he shut up, which was a Christmas miracle.

It was mind-numbing work but not the kind that lets your brain wander peacefully. No, this was the cognitive equivalent of running a marathon in goddamn flip-flops. The manuscripts the hunters were slogging through were a glorious mess of ancient scribbles, what Joe swore were drunk notes, and indecipherable symbols that looked like someone had sneezed mid-cursive. Some even resembled the result of a writer’s misguided attempt at art therapy. 

The room was filled with collective groans as the group flipped through the relics of some long-dead scholar who clearly had a personal hatred toward future generations… or had a vendetta against user-friendly design. Because fuck these books and myths.

Whoever coined the phrase knowledge is power clearly never met these very pages.

Useless. Absolutely useless.

And then—

“Oh my God.”

Inez practically leapt from her chair, slamming her hands onto the table so hard that one of the precariously balanced book stacks collapsed instantly.

Sam was immediately at her side. “What? Did you find something?”

She nodded so fast her ponytail nearly took flight. “Yeah. Right here—” She jabbed a finger at the text in front of her. “There’s a reference here to a place called the Vale of Ashes. Supposedly it’s a nexus point for higher level demons, a sort of gathering place for when Hell’s elite have business topside. It’s been inactive for centuries, but if Malgathor’s trying to pull something big, it’d make sense for him to use it.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he considered the new information. “The Vale of Ashes… I don’t remember coming across that name before.”

“The Vale of Ashes…” Castiel stepped forward, and repeated the words. “Yes, I heard of that, I think. It’s more than a gathering place. It’s a sanctuary for demons powerful enough to shield themselves from detection, even from angels. If Malgathor’s there, it’s no wonder we’ve struggled to locate him.”

The mood in the room immediately shifted.

No more tired sighs. No more half-assed research.

This was real. This was something.

Joe let out a dramatic groan, flopping back in his chair. “Great. Just fuckin’ great. So, not only do we have to find this place, but we’ve gotta figure out how to break into a demon fortress without getting turned into ash ourselves.”

“Joe” Sam said with the measured tone of a man hanging by a thread. “Either help or get out. Your call.”

Joe put his hands up. “Fine, fine. Just saying.”

Sam ignored him, turning back to Inez. “Does the book say where it is? Anything about coordinates, landmarks, anything?”

“Not yet” Inez admitted, though she was already scanning the surrounding pages, her brow furrowed in determination. “But if this book mentions it, there’s a good chance the rest of the details are here somewhere.”

Sam took a step back, nodding. “Alright. This is good. This is the best lead we’ve had.”

The exhaustion in the room was still there, but now it had a different flavor. Less soul-crushing despair, more determined, caffeine-powered focus.

Because for the first time in weeks, they had a real shot at finding Malgathor.

And there was no way in hell they were letting it slip away.

When you woke up, the first thing you did was check the chair.

It was stupid. You knew that. But still… your eyes darted to the chair pulled close to your bedside, like maybe Dean was still there.

He wasn’t.

And that stung a little more than you were willing to admit.

Well. Not totally empty. His jacket was still there. A tangible sign that he hadn’t completely ghosted you — yes, pun intended.

You groggily glanced at the clock. 

7 a.m.? Wait, really? 

You did the math quickly: eight whole hours of sleep. A full night’s rest. 

This was… unprecedented. 

Who even am I? Some kind of… morning person now? you wondered.

For the first time in what felt like forever (okay, two years, to be exact), you hadn’t woken up drenched in sweat, gasping like you’d just outrun a hellhound. None of that today. No nightmares. No panic.

And that? That felt like a goddamn miracle.

You sat up, stretching your limbs with the grace of a middle-aged dad who just realized his alarm doesn’t go off for another 20 minutes. It was a nice change. Maybe you were ready to face the day. Or at least face the weird, slightly claustrophobic town this bunker had created.

As you made your bed like the grown-up you are, pretending to not be in a safehouse, your eyes lingered on the chair again, now with a better angle.  It wasn’t empty and not just because of the jacket. 

A shirt. Freshly folded. Just sitting there, like it was meant for you.

Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile as you picked it up, slipping it on without a second thought.

Comfortable. A little oversized.

Perfect.

And then came… hunger with an obscenely loud rumble of your stomach. The kind that hits hard, like your stomach suddenly remembered it existed and was personally offended by the lack of food. It grumbled so loud it was probably audible in Heaven.

You sighed. Okay. Food first. Existential dread later.

You ventured toward the kitchen.

But as soon as you got within earshot, you stalled. Voices. Clattering dishes. A full goddamn house.

Great. Awesome. Perfect timing, Y/N.

You hesitated in the doorway, self-doubt creeping in like a bad ex. Déjà vu hit like a truck, this was the war room disaster all over again. You scanned the room and— yep. There he was.

Joe.

Your greatest fan. (Hah, not!)

Breakfast is overrated anyway. 

The great escape was forming in your mind: quick pivot, retreat to your room, and maybe come back when the place was empty. But just as you began to shuffle backward, hoping no one had spotted you, a voice sliced through the awkward air like a hot knife through butter.

“Hey! You coming in or just standing there?” 

The words came from a blonde girl sitting near the center of the room. Her voice was so warm that it made it impossible to pretend you didn’t hear her. You glanced at her direction.

You recognized her immediately: the one who’d yanked you out of a stress-induced spiral in that same war room meeting from earlier that week. Not exactly your favorite memory, but at least she hadn’t treated you like an inconvenience. That earned her some points.

“I swear, if you stand there like a deer in headlights, I’ll drag you in by your ear.”

Well. That wasn’t a threat you felt like testing.

Sighing, you pushed off the doorframe and sauntered in, playing it cool like you weren’t just about to run the hell out of there. Inez was already halfway through her coffee when she gestured to the empty seat beside her.

You hesitated.

Then, before your inner coward could talk you out of it, you sat.

She didn’t waste a second, sliding a tray of food across the table to you. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

You blinked at the offering. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Even a full mug of coffee.

Your stomach growled in approval.

“…Uh, thanks.”

She grinned smugly, sipping her own coffee. "No problem. And don't worry, everyone’s too busy with their own melodrama to notice you now. You were new, and yeah, it’s weird at first, but it dies down rather quickly. Well, except for Joe over there. He’s kind of a douche. I’m pretty sure he thinks hello is a hostile interrogation. But I get it, kind of. He’s still adjusting. He got here, what, two weeks ago? But the rest of the crew’s alright."

You could already feel Joe’s eyes drifting your way, the same way a cat stares at something just before knocking it off the table. Nope. Not today. You were out.

You turned back to Inez, and chuckled softly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little.

“I’m Inez, by the way.”

“Y/N” you offered.

“I know” Inez smiled, leaning forward.

You picked up your fork, finally digging in as Inez leaned back, watching you with an expression that was somewhere between amused and thoughtful.

“You know” she said after a beat, “you’re doing better than I did when I first got here.”

You glanced up at her, fork paused mid-air. “...What do you mean?”

“When I showed up here just about a year ago” she began, “I was the first woman to get brought into this bunker. And let me tell you, the guys weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome wagon. I got hit with every tired stereotype you can imagine. ‘She’s weak.’ ‘She’s no use’.’’

You blinked, not sure whether to laugh or wince. “Ouch.”

“Yeah” she snorted, sipping her coffee, “Then I said I’d handle the groceries for as long as I can.”

You nearly choked on your eggs.“…Groceries?”

She didn’t even blink.

“Yup.”

“Like. Actual groceries?”

“Like running into demon-infested cities and hitting up the local supermarket, yeah. Luckily, they still exist. Apparently, demons care about keeping their humans alive.”

You stared at her. “…You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ with way too much satisfaction.

“So you’re telling me—” You gestured vaguely. “You risk your life… for fresh produce?”

Inez smirked. “Either that or we live off canned beans and powdered eggs for a month. And then, well. Probably on each other.”

You blinked. “You say that so casually.”

“Survival, newbie.” She took another sip. “Gotta have priorities.”

“…And that’s how you earned their respect?”

“Pretty much. Turns out, men are very food-motivated. Who knew?”

You let out a laugh. Okay. Yeah. That was oddly impressive.

Then, your brain started piecing something together.

When you first got here, food had just... appeared at your door. Simple stuff — sandwiches, snacks — but someone had been making sure you didn’t starve. You suspected it was Jack or Cas or some other angel playing guardian for you.

But maybe—

You narrowed your eyes at Inez. “…Wait a second. Those sandwiches I got during my first few days here… was that you?”

Inez gave a small, knowing smirk and leaned back in her chair. “Guilty as charged.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope” she said, popping the p with a little too much satisfaction. “It’s kind of a tradition here for me now… helping the new folks settle in. Just a little food delivery service to help you get through the weirdness of being dumped in a bunker full of people who are way more comfortable with guns than small talk.”

“Well…” you said, a genuine smile creeping onto your face, “Thank you, then. You are the reason I didn’t die  first thing here. I wouldn’t have been caught dead coming out.”

Her smirk softened into something warmer. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, you’re not the only one who’s gone through it. The bunker has this way of making you feel like you’re the odd one out at first, but again, it passes.”

You nodded, feeling strangely reassured by her words. There was something comforting in knowing that even someone as seemingly self-assured and collected as Inez had faced her own struggles in fitting in.

She stood, stretching a little. “Alright, newbie, I’ll leave you to your thoughts and eggs. But hey, if you ever need someone to talk to or you’re just in the mood for a romcom that none of us will admit we love, my door’s always open. Room 13A.” She paused, giving you a mischievous look. “And just so you know, I may or may not have a bottle of tequila stashed away. Perks of being the designated grocery runner, you know?”

With a wink, she strolled off — leaving you sitting there with a sight so rare it could’ve been framed:

An actual smile on your face.

The vehemently falling raindrops soaked your jacket, sweeping through your undershirt, bra, making all its way to your skin. Your body trembled uncontrollably and a cruel mix of shivers and sweat plastered your hair to your forehead since the leaky roof of the stable did nothing to shield you from the storm’s fury.

You promised yourself you’d stay right there. By his side. You kept whispering the same lie over and over: he's just sleeping, he’s just sleeping. But no matter how many times you told yourself that, a cold, hollow truth settled in your chest. Deep down, you knew. You knew your father was gone.

Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were made of stone. You tried to keep them open, tried to look at the man you’d lost, but it was as though your own body was betraying you. The hypothermia was taking over and clouding your mind, making everything blur together.

You didn’t hear the footsteps at first. You didn’t feel them coming. You didn’t even feel the weight of their presence until it loomed over you, like a shadow swallowing what little light there was left in the world.

A figure smirked, bending down to look at you. His eyes flicked to the silver knife tucked neatly in your pocket, then to your father’s still body. “Master’s gonna be thrilled to see we’ve found two.”

“We can only use the girl, though, Barbas.” Another voice said.

You couldn’t lift your head. Words slurred together, forming an incoherent mess in your foggy mind. You couldn’t grasp the horror of what they were saying. All you could understand was that they were treating you like you were just some... object. Something to use. Just a tool in their hands. A very cold, very shivery tool.

When they finally dragged you up and tossed you onto something that felt surprisingly soft – like a leather car seat, if you had any memories of such luxuries – you only felt the warmth that spread through your body from the AC blasting on high. It was the kind of warmth that didn’t quite reach your soul but was just enough to keep you alive.

And with that, your eyelids fluttered shut.

Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 5):

Dean glanced at you. “Big Aerosmith fan?”

You nodded, stretching your legs out. “First concert I ever went to.”

That actually got Dean’s attention. His eyebrows lifted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face. “No kidding?”

“Nope.” You propped your elbow on the window, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Me and my dad. He got me tickets for my sixteenth birthday. He’s the one who got me into classic rock. We used to listen to it all the time — long drives, fixing up the car, burning food in the kitchen. Just the usual.”

Dean hummed in approval. “Smart man.”

You smirked. “Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before his expression shifted, like he was debating saying something.

Eventually, he just exhaled and went for it.

“My dad never really took me anywhere.”

You turned to him, his voice so casual it almost sounded like he was commenting on the weather.

But you weren’t stupid.

You noticed that offhanded comment carried more weight than he’d probably admit.

Alright, I KNOW, it took me a while.🥺 Apologies, loves.

Hope you enjoyed the new chapter!🤍

xx Pam

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