#I'm softie sorry

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

[maatdraws]

ZZzzzZZZzzz...

[taintandviolent]

OSWALD WITH A SICK S/O🎤 WHATS HE DOING

buckle up, baby, this is my first time ever doing headcanons and I'm fuckin' goin' in!!!!!!!

Oz is no stranger to having to take care of a woman; he took care of his Ma and continues to do so. So, when you fall under the weather, he knows how to nurture you.

He's a rough guy with everyone else, no bullshit, until it comes to you being sick. Then, he's the best caregiver you've ever had - he promised you he was gonna' get you better.

Brings you all your meals - lots of soups - when he can, and feeds you if he's gotta'. He's gentle with you, taking his time and making sure you're getting the nutrients you need to recover.

Sits / lays on the side of the bed next to you, petting you and wrapping his big arms around you.

Can't help himself in thinkin' how cute you are when he comes home and you're passed out on the bed, sheets everywhere, leg out, hair messy, and your little nose all red and irritated.

Makes sure you take your medicine, even though you protest. "C'mon, doll. Open up. C'mon." And he chases it with a kiss to your feverish forehead.

Runs you a cool bath to bring your fever down. Gives you a sponge bath, and wraps you in a big fluffy towel when you're done.

If it's severe enough that you need to go to the doctor, he only lets you go to the best there is. Pays for it in cash, and makes sure the doctors are taking your illness seriously. Threateningly so. He doesn't care if "it's just a fuckin' cold, give her somethin' to make her feel better!"

Does everything he can to make sure you know that he took care of you, because no one takes care of you like Oz does, right? Right?

[feverflushed]

When the whumpee is really, REALLY out of it with a high fever, and it's making them really worried and anxious, so their partner has to reassure them, explaining every little thing they're doing to whumpee.

"I'm going to put a nice cold towel on your head, honey, it's going to feel really pleasant."

"You can't keep lying in those sweat drenched bedsheets. I'm going to change them for you, okay? Fresh, dry sheets feel so much better."

"I'm going to give you a little sponge bath, alright? Just some lukewarm water and a soft sponge..."

"Are you tired, love? I'll dim the lights for you so you can take a nap. And it'll help with your headache."

"I'm going to take your temperature again, dear, we need to keep an eye on that fever of yours... I know that the thermometer feels really cold, but bear with me for a moment...."

[thetypingpup]

I beg of you, after your last bit about vampire Wooyoung I'm in a bloodsucker mood. Vampire Wonwoo? Cold, moody, not very social. But warms up enough around you to be so mean and aggressive with you

(gonna soften mean and aggressive a bit if that's alright)

“Come to me…”

Your feet move automatically as he beckons you in from the balcony. From your vantage point, you can look out from the highest tower of his castle, one of many places he lets no one enter, no one except for you. The scarlet sky looms overhead, the red hue brightened by silver starlight. You see his silhouette, created by flickering candlelight and projected onto translucent curtains. This realm is so overwhelmingly frigid, even the candle flames glow with silver light. You pass through the barrier of satin and towards him, a smile lifting your lips the more he comes into view.

As soon as you’re within reach his fingers wrap around your wrist, slowly, before his hand closes around it and tugs you towards him. You stumble right onto the bed beside you and you shiver, both at the breeze, and the lack of warmth you feel emanating off of him.

Wonwoo has always been a creature of few words, but his actions say more than enough. His lips and his hands tell you all of the things words fail to. The way his lips trail down your neck and trace your pulse point portrays the ravenous hunger building within him. He admires how you look in this dress with his hands, roving touches along your sides and indulgent squeezes where you’re most sensitive. He chuckles as you moan softly and succumb to him. 

“You, are divine, and you’re all mine.” His deep voice is rough with want, and within a flash, he has you pushed back and pinned to the bed, left to gaze up at him with wide eyes. His glasses magnify the intensity of his gaze, which hones in on your neck, right on his favorite spot to bite. In the next moment, his fangs sink into your neck, and the split second of pain quickly gives way to the exquisite pleasure that keeps you coming back. Gruffly, he groans as the taste of your blood overtakes his senses, and the scent of your arousal has him pressing against you. His hand sneaks under your dress, finding the apex of your thighs. You become pliant in an instant, spreading your legs for him, letting him indulge in you. Two fingers sneak past your panties and start stroking your folds, circling over your clit and making your hips lift off the bed. 

Your eyes slide shut as you sit back and enjoy, enjoy the pressure of him pressing you into the bed, enjoy the blissful sensation of him consuming your life force in such a carnal way, enjoy the pure pleasure of his fingers pushing past your folds and inside you. The breeze picks up, making the curtains part to let in the cold. Even the candle flames emit a distinct chill, but despite it all, warmth blooms within you. The more of your blood he consumes, the warmer Wonwoo gets too, as if coming alive the longer he salaciously indulges in you. His fingers plunge deeper within you, right as he picks a new spot on your neck to bite, the spot right beside your jugular. The piercing puncture makes you cry out in delight. 

He always comes so close to ending your dance on the edge of death, permanently, and you’re more than aware that he can do so without much effort. But he never does. He always remains on the edge, always keeps you just on the precipice, allowing you to feel pleasure and life to the fullest, like the final surging flicker of a candle before it’s snuffed out. Here, sensation reaches its height, lust swells at its most profane and profuse, and emotion becomes more palpable than the fangs buried in your neck. His visage is doused in red, both from the hue of the sky and the blood that runs down his chin. He becomes more frantic as his hunger and lust take over, and your head spins as a rush of sensations hits you all at once. His lips sucking harder on your neck, the lightheaded rush as he consumes another gulp of your blood, his fingertips pressing against your sweet spot and his thumb running over your clit. It’s too much to contain, so you don’t, screaming unabashedly and arching up against him. He loves getting you like this, getting you squirming and writhing while you’re contained in his grasp. His excitement is evident, and his hardening cock presses against your thigh, his hips rutting against you in search of sensation. You clench around him, feeling yourself drip onto his fingers, grabbing onto him as you wordlessly plead for him to ravage you the way you both desire.

[capricioussun]

I don't know if I or another person have asked but what's your interpretation of Fell Papyrus?

I swear I'm going to try and keep this from becoming a novel but I can't be held accountable for if I fail.

Edit post-typing: I failed. Anyway

So, similarly to the US boys, I started off basically taking the UT boys (as I see them) and going all the way back to the beginning and seeing how the changes would ultimately affect them. This pretty consistently has a bigger impact on Papyrus than Sans because I've always seen Papyrus as very...sort of impressionable? Or reflective. A lot of his behaviors come from those around him and their expectations.

To me, he comes across as the type of character to try to mold himself into a specific shape because he sort of lacks his own sense of self. I've always headcanoned this as coming from my standard lore of being like, partially synthetic and receiving a larger part of Gaster's soul than Sans in their creation, meaning he takes more after someone with low empathy and serious issues with derealization, and only became even more sort of..."detached" from himself after Gaster shattered and it damaged his and Sans' "code" (Papyrus more so, again, because of having a larger percentage of Gaster's soul).

In UF, because of how Gaster was, and because of how much fear he semi-unintentionally instilled in Sans, that Sans then went on to try and teach Papyrus through the lens of, he wound up with a tremendously overzealous responsibility complex. Gaster had impressed on the boys how important they were to his plans to free monsterkind, all the way up until shattering when the boys were still young. And then Sans tried desperately hard to teach Papyrus how to be entirely self sufficient and survive in a world as cruel as theirs because he believed he'd get killed or Fall Down at pretty much any moment (Sans was a very, very stressed out kid/teenager).

So Papyrus essentially learned Anything can be an exploitable weakness, not to show emotions, do anything for the sake of surviving, and above all else, protect those that need protecting, with Sans, and eventually Undyne, at the top of the list. This is also where his deeply secretive nature really settled in, and also why he struggles so much to accept...really anything good that's offered freely. Kindness, friendship, help. He has to remain untouchable, unreachable, the one to provide and not take, because if he messes up, if he lets the wrong person in, he's not just risking his own well being, but by extension, everyone who's depending on him.

It's also a really good way to distract himself from the crushing loneliness. Saw a tumblr post the other day that resonated so hard w/ my ideas of him that said something along the lines of "if I cannot be wanted I will be needed, and if I am not needed then let me be used until there is nothing left". He was never really allowed to develop himself as a person, not fully, so he completely filled himself with what he thought he had to be. When those things are taken away, he has nothing, and he’s too terrified to let that happen.

It's also why I hc he, in some ways, winds up having a really really hard time after surfacing in some of my ideas/aus/stories. He was needed underground, Sans needed him, Undyne needed him, Snowdin needed him, and by extension the whole underground did, to keep the balance. Above ground, everyone calming and becoming happier, Sans and Toriel settling down, Undyne and Alphys settling down, being a replaceable member of the ambassadorial team, he's hit with this just...utter loss of self.

Getting carried away on the specifics. He and UT Papyrus actually align in a lot of ways it's hard to see at first glance. Both have their "roles", both have a specific sort of "bit" they do with their brothers, both let Undyne believe she knows what's best because they believe it's what best for her, both, despite knowing better, desperately want to believe in the greater good. Despite all the aforementioned problems, despite preparing his whole life to kill humans, he's the first to give up and try to help Frisk. They're just a child. A child who wants to help, who's scared, who doesn't even have a brother to look after them.

In reality he’s a nervous wreck. My man is TIRED. He puts himself under tremendous pressure and doesn't know how to express nor understand emotions. His schtick is so well rehearsed anything that goes off script completely blindsides him. The soft, silly, bratty goofiness is really only under a very thin layer of ice. It doesn't take much to crack it, but that only makes him that much more defensive and paranoid. He can't risk anyone knowing how "weak" he truly is, even if most anyone who's been around him any amount of time can see it clear as day, because he’s about as good at hiding it as UT Papyrus would be lol

At least they don't know about the [REDACTED]. That, he’s actually really good at hiding.

I do wish I'd given him a different nickname than Edge looking back, but back when I'd nicknamed my main guys I just went w/ the fandom usuals so now he’s forever cursed to be Edge bc I associate it too strongly lol

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Do you regret that?

[hotasfahrenheit]

Shotaro dance break because jesus christ just look at him go

[RIIZE - Boom Boom Bass Relay Dance]

[softie-rain]

"Can I copy your homework"

"Yeah but change it a little so they won't notice"

[themintman]

i love seeing the little interactions between mcsm characters. I love friendship and found family so much it's unreal. Makes me emotional to see how they all interact. Like when Jesse quotes jack back to himself in episode 3 when he compliments her (" just my perfect reflexes and photographic muscle memory 😝😋"). What if I start bawling my eyes out

[dr-demi-bee]

LARIAN. EXCUSE YOU. WHO THE FUCK WOULD SAY THIS TO HALSIN-

[loganscyangutspill]

What a funny thing that the moment the flashlights were back in game, I got a whole bunch of lobby's full of survivors carrying them. And God when I say they were all annoying fucks I mean it.

Like I'm really a soft type of killer and I'm always ready to turn friendly at the first sight of head nodds or pets or some silly moves but If you fucking teabagg me at pallets and click your fucking flashlights YOU ARE GETTING YOUR ASS HOOKED.

I don't mind flashlight or flashbang saves, like thats part of the game and the whole purpose of those items and executing them at a right moment is requiring quite a skill.

A lot of times the flashing ones are also quite good at looping and and occupying the killer for a long time. They do well especially when I play Michael since he isn't the fastest and I often play scratch mirror so he is even slower then. That makes it hard to catch up to them or outrun them in loops. And I can apriciate a good looper as I'm shitty one myself but when you taunt me over vaults and pallets? That's a death wish.

And their arrogance is often their demise and when you get three or four survivors that have builds mainly for looping... their asses are screwed anyway because they are much more occupied chasing ME around for those sweet blinds and saves or getting their asses up my nose as I carry someone to care about actually getting out of the trial. And despite their rude taunting they get their stupid asses fucked in such a idiotic ways that I can't sometimes even fathom.

Like running straight at me out of nowhere, getting themselves under the hook or just straight up getting down one after another because all three of them can't leave the god damned hook alone for five seconds until I leave. And their fucking clicking to get my attention when I chase someone else is getting on my nerves.

The ultimate vibe check is when I stand still and if the survivor just keeps blinding me for no reason. I will wait until they use their whole flashlight. They can get their blind points and shit. But they better know they are first on the list to get hooked.

And so they can click at me, teabagg me but I still get to farm my chase points (I don't fucking camp people) and when their sorry asses die with around 16k bloodpoints, I get away with 35+ for all the chasing I did.

And so. At the end of the day. There won't be anymore problems like that because they are all the reason Lightborn is back in my build. 😌

[valentine-letter]

So Wonder…how are we feeling after ep 6? (If you watched it ofc)

md episode 6 spoilers in tags+me ranting

[blissfulalchemist]

delay, hair, style for clídna:3

Thank you Liz! Can never talk about her enough really! (briefest mention of sa in the last paragraph)

delay — do they like having their orgasm delayed/denied? do they like delaying/denying their partner(s)' orgasm?

She does like to have her own orgasm delayed, but not in the sense of it being and edging thing to get her to beg for it or have her partners beg for it. No for her the delay comes from the trauma and sex being something she wants to be done with as soon as possible, so when she has partners that she trusts and loves and wants to be with of course she's delaying the orgasm so she can prolong the act itself. She doesn't want it to end because it is a safe space for her when its with her partners, it is the one time she doesn't hate touch and physical affection and it feels amazing to her.

hair — do they shave or wax? do they let their hair grow out?

When it comes to her vagina she prefers it trimmed and always has since she had to in order to appeal to a broader clientele in her time at The Veil. Is it as short and neat as when she was there? No, but its still well kept for doing it on her own and when she has the time/space. In terms of her underarms and legs she can go a fairly long while in between removal of hair, but she has more of a preference to have at least her leg hair gone because of the touch aspect of sex, like give her as much safe skin to skin contact! I will say though that the hair removal wasn't much of a thing until after her time at The Veil and she was a courtesan which wasn't until her early 20s after her "death" in the Imperial Army.

style — do they like it rough? do they like it soft? do they prefer fucking or making love? do they like a hard and fast pace, a slow and gentle pace, or does it vary/depend on the situation?

This is a depends on the person and situation kind of deal. If she doesn't really want to be having sex with the person but has to (ie. its her job and with the men in the military) then she'd rather have it fast and quick, with for many involves it being a bit harder. She's great at faking it and has been with enough men to have an idea for what they want/can figure it out quickly so she can control how long it lasts, and what they do.

With partners and ones she cares about she does prefer the slower and more making love kind of sex. Clídna has a lot of feelings towards sex and what it should feel like and mean to her. Had she not had a relationship with Jill she would have forever had this idea that sex is a survival tool and only she can give herself any kind of pleasure but she doesn't want to after having it, like just being too exhausted to give herself pleasure, so it just never would have been something she'd have associated with any kind of care or love. But having that slower and softer relationship with Jill made intimacy feel loving and full of care, it did help that the two were both figuring it out at the same time and so they went slow about everything, being each others firsts. This trend continued on with Clive but it went a little more in the rougher side of things as it had been awhile since either had had sex and they were a little wine drunk, so it was more about the I need to feel kind of sex (but wouldn't have been possible if not for having learned about love and care behind such acts from Jill). There was though an element of I care about you and I want you behind it though because they had been friends prior and he made her feel safe. (There was also the fact that they at times had less time to have sex so it was a necessity) And its because of that safety she's able to have times where she wants the fast and hard kind of sex from both Clive and Jill and it not feel like its a means to an end. She still much prefers slower and softer though and her partners know and understand this, and there's an understanding that sometimes the third won't be in the mix because they're not going to provide what's needed in that moment.

I will also say that Clídna does not like rougher sex and will almost never partake in it. She doesn't even like hair pulling really. She will accept bites and marks and like small tugs of the hair to indicate that you want more of her neck or to position herself differently, but nothing more than that. Hard does not equal rough in this sense. This is due to the trauma following being taken by the Iron Kingdom and multiple men having their way with her as a teen, and it will cause her to freak out and potentially hurt a person if she is taken by surprise. She was never given the clients that wanted rougher at the Veil and the few times that the person did go rougher and not listen to her protests weren't allowed back into the Veil, no second chances, the Dame has her girls and guys' backs. She also does not like giving rough, so don't ask her to pull your hair, choke you, bite you, etc. She may one day consider it but only with Jill and/or Clive and she has to be the one to broach the subject.

[atcarpenter]

She absolutely does and gushes about how strong her girlfriend is to anyone who will listen That’s a perfect description of Amber as she is a caretaker at heart and feels a real sense of obligation to look after those she cares about

Amber knew she was in love with Tara when she felt comfortable opening up and Tara didn’t judge her or get scared off by her vulnerability but instead made her feel brave for it

Amber gets like that anytime someone else is looking after her and she tries to remind herself that it’s okay to let others look after her too

Definitely and she gradually starts talking about it more with Sam and Tara with Sam especially understanding how easy it is to get taken advantage of when you’re lonely and desperate for any attention or affection

Amber definitely becomes an honorary Carpenter sister and she is so honoured that Sam and Tara would welcome her into their family and she truly appreciates Sam helping her and let’s her know in her own way

She will, and sometimes she has to remind herself not to proudly show off any scratches or bruises she might have to prove her point because people react weird when she does. She's noticed.

I love her for that. It makes it hard for her to accept help when she needs it though. So Tara is both happy and sad about that because, on the one hand, Amber was always there when she needed her, but on the other hand, she'd like for Amber to let her repay the favour sometime

When Amber does finally open up to Tara, she fully expects her to go "Well, that's kinda your own fault for dating someone over twenty-five whom you met on a stab message board." But she doesn't. By the time Amber is done actually telling her all the shit that happened, while trying to downplay it all left and right, Tara's reaction can be summed up by her going "Jesus Christ" and pulling her into a very long hug and then trying to be there for her. The fact that Tara's reaction is about the diametric opposite of what she expected and the realisation that Tara actually truly gives a shit makes her not only realise how hopelessly in love with her she is, but it also makes her ugly cry for a very long moment

She struggles real bad with letting someone else take care of her. She usually thinks it's a sign of weakness and doesn't want to feel like a burden to them, god knows they already have too many of those. But when she accepts that's a fallacy for a moment and actually lets them, she really loves it

Yeah, they really have an understanding there that lets them help each other in a way that others can't. So it's good for both of them that they have each other

She's so touched when she realises they both see her that way. It means more to her than she knows how to put into words, but she tries. They both know her well enough to read her mannerisms and know what she's trying to say, that it just about means everything to her. She's trying to say i love you

[wildpeachfarm]

Moku I think you're too nice, you gotta be a little meaner sometimes to anons

but I don't wanna be mean to them😭😭😭😭😭 I'd rather be too nice and sugar-coat things than be too mean to them😭😭😭😭😭