#Land Subsidence

[wall-of-knowledge]

Problems caused by Excessive groundwater withdrawal

Table of Contents Key PointsDirect AnswerWhat Happens When We Take Too Much Groundwater?Real-World ExamplesUnexpected DetailComprehensive Analysis of Excessive Groundwater Withdrawal IssuesBackground and ImportanceDetailed Problems Caused by Excessive WithdrawalCase Studies: Ogallala Aquifer and IranComparative AnalysisMitigation Strategies and Future OutlookConclusionKey Citations Key…

[rightnewshindi]

मंडी के सन्यारड़ में भू-धंसाव के कारण कभी भी गिर सकते है 20 मकान, जान खतरे में डाल कर रह रहे लोग

#News मंडी के सन्यारड़ में भू-धंसाव के कारण कभी भी गिर सकते है 20 मकान, जान खतरे में डाल कर रह रहे लोग

Mandi News: हिमाचल प्रदेश के मंडी में नगर निगम क्षेत्र सन्यारड़ में बारिश के कारण 3 मकान ढह गए हैं, जबकि चौथा मकान गिरने की कगार पर है। अगर यह चौथा मकान ढह गया तो 20 अन्य मकानों के भी गिरने का खतरा हो जाएगा। सन्यारड़ गांव के लोग इन दिनों खतरे के साये में अपना जीवन जीने को मजबूर हैं। प्रभावित नर्बदा चौहान, दुर्गा दास, भावना और बीआर ठाकुर ने बताया कि वर्ष 2022 की बारिश में यहां भू-धंसाव का सिलसिला…

[kimskashmir]

Homes develop cracks in Srinagar's Rainawari due to land subsidence

SRINAGAR — At least six residential buildings in the city’s Rainawari locality have developed cracks and suffered damage due to suspected land subsidence, prompting the administration to vacate the homes and form an expert committee to ascertain the details and suggest remedial measures, officials said on Wednesday. Some homes in the Khwajapora Surteng area of Rainawari started to develop cracks…

[westvalleyfaultph]

Muntinlupa City Partners with PHIVOLCS to Install Earthquake Monitoring System

Scan the QR code to get this post on the go. In a significant step toward enhancing disaster preparedness, the Muntinlupa City government is set to collaborate with the Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology (PHIVOLCS) to install a continuous global positioning system (CGPS) aimed at measuring earthquakes. This initiative is part of a broader effort to improve earthquake monitoring…

[ianmiller42]

US Coastal Cities in Trouble, and They Will Not Be Alone

Many people have heard about sea-level rise, but not that many appreciate what it means for them. Of course, if you live in Denver it may not seem to matter much, but it mar=tters to those who live by the coast. In March, Nature published a paper (vol 627, 108 – 115) with the title: Disappearing cities on US Coasts. Certainly a catchy title. It turns out that global sea levels have risen by about…

[bookshelfpassageway]

“Perhaps Senshi is a kind of witch to that dungeon” oh that. That just made something go click in my brain. I can’t tangibly articulate my thoughts that gave me right now but. Oh I’m going to be thinking about that for a while

>:D I am delighted to have provided this experience anon, thank you so much for telling me about it!

(also if the thoughts coalesce into something tangible I'd love to hear them!)

[ouroboobos]

does anyone want to live in a stone cottage next to a big glittering lake with me and eat a shit ton of salmon

[endawn]

okay but( re : ascension ). pax is on edge !! molag possesses him when running into ralph outside of the thorm mausoleum. much, much easier than what was normal. usually pax has more of a warning and can resist and fight. in that moment, he was walking along with the tadcrew, blinked, and was getting dragged down into a consuming, black sea within his own mind. he doesn’t know he cried out, tried reaching out to whoever was closest to him. mol..ag forced him into his vampire lord form !! when he comes back, he’s face down in the dirt with his armor in pieces. the panic on the tadcrew’s faces, ralph is even startled ( of course the intent was to intimidate the devil ). it makes him paranoid, makes him think mol..ag’s strength over him is growing. or he’s getting weaker. he doesn’t quite realize BEING in the shadow cursed lands is the reason. soaking up all that necrotic energy + being bloodstarved for most of it. molzzag hadn’t done it in a long time at that point. it makes him nervous, it scares him. he’s terrified.

[infamousbrad]

I warned you.

About 15 years ago, I had a minor moment of Internet fame when I wrote a lengthy essay series on LiveJournal called "Christians in the Hand of an Angry God." In it, I argued that right-wing evangelical "Christianity" was literally Satanic by scriptural standards, was literally the cult of anti-Christ that Jesus prophesied in Matthew 25:31-46, that they were literally worshiping a made-up guy with the same name to justify cruelty, just like Jesus predicted they would the week before the crucifixion.

And at least half of the people who read it and praised it called it excellent satire. They saw my point, thought I was onto something, but couldn't take seriously that I literally meant what I literally said.

"Do not commit the sin of empathy."

Jesus' prophesy that these people were coming was not especially miraculous, in hindsight. No philosophy or theological movement becomes a large organized church, let alone a majority faith of a nation, without needing rich people's money, and/or government funding, to pay for it all.

And rich people in general, and right-wing governments in general, get to be the way they are by believing that the poor and the down-trodden can never be shown anything but cruelty, should never be rewarded, or else they'll lose all motivation to obey, to work hard, to be good. (By contrast, they believe that the same thing would happen to rich, powerful, popular people if they were ever punished in any way, if they were ever anything but rewarded.)

And rich people and governments are not going to subsidize your church foundation funds, your church repair funds, et cetera if you tell them that they're evil. But someone definitely will come along and offer to take that money. The people who take that money and conform won't even all be lying psychopaths; if you truly believe that your organization matters, is doing irreplaceable good in the world, you'll sacrifice any principle of your faith to keep the bills paid, you'll look away from or excuse any sin. It's that or see it all shrink and crumble into irrelevance.

I've come to the conclusion that it may not actually be possible to be a good person while practicing the majority faith of the land you live in. Or, if it is possible, well, like the man said, "straight is the gate and narrow is the way, and few there be that find it."

The Episcopal Church has its own legacy of sin, they've long overlooked a laundry list of crimes to pay their own bills, so don't rush to congratulate a mainline bishop for preaching mainline Christianity or take too much pleasure from Trump and his fascist followers being surprised that that happened. But do remember this:

From the mid-1970s to the present, right-wing billionaires have poured a LOT of money into church expansion and maintenance conditional on them distorting the Bible's teachings to make it appear that Jesus was pro-fascist. "To deceive, if it were possible, the very elect." So when honest theologians tell you that this is literally anti-Christ, literally checks every box in the Bible's description of the future cult of anti-Christ, you need to hear us.

The modern book and movie image of "the Antichrist" was a well-funded propaganda campaign to distract you from the plain language of the scriptures. The biblical anti-Christ is not some socialist liberal peacenik. The biblical anti-Christ is everyone who tells you that Jesus wants you to be cruel to "the least of these, my brethren" so that they'll straighten up and fly right.

[beanlot]

ellie, who unexpectedly orgasms as she’s strapping you.

you thought something was off by how sloppy she was handling your hips, her fingers twitching impulsively and the thrusts of the silicone in your cunt is faltering. maybe her stamina is no longer, or maybe she’s just not into you.

but you hear her exhale shakily, her choked up breaths. people usually tried missionary first, but not ellie - she wanted to see you ride it reverse cowgirl, watch your ass from behind in doggy, and she wanted to hear you cry out speed-bump style.

but she’s on top of you now, your lower back angled comfortably on a sweaty pillow, legs hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“fuck.. fuck.. fuck—“ she whimpers silently to herself, and your glossed eyes are fluttering open. you’ll call out her name with difficulty, ellie?

that intangible pleasure in your cunt she used to hit with ease is starting to subside, but it doesn’t matter, because your core is tightening when you see her fucked-out expression. her lids shut, eyebrows arched in ecstasy and my god, williams.. it looks like you’re the one getting fucked.

the constant rocking has been stimulating her poor, swollen clit. and suddenly provoking her orgasm, her hips are twitching like crazy, whimpering exhales sloppily seeping from her lips.

“are you fucking coming?” you gasp jaggedly, feeling the silicone burrow deeply into your hole in these random and unanticipated twitches.

you’ll cup her face, and her skin is piping hot, melting into your sweaty palms. her eyes are closed, and even when they are fluttering, you can only see the pleasured whites of her eyes.

“mm—fuck-‘m sorry, i’m sorry baby-ah—..” she whimpers, too embarrassed to open her eyes fully for you to see her shameful irises, dilated pupils that are so selfish.

she’s using her remaining momentum to sporadically thrust into your soaked slit, encouraging those last ruffles of her rupturing orgasm, humming low and guttural as she does so. “felt so good—fuck, pussy feels so good, baby—“ she exhales breathlessly, her parted lips against your chest.

you can feel the hot air on your skin, condensation melting into the pores.

she tries to continue, for your sake, for your enjoyment. but it’s too much, oversensitivity that has her trembling like a loser; her arms are quivering as they try to hold her up. “i can’t-can’t go anymore—“ she whines, her measly thrusts forcing her clit into overdrive.

just the smallest tap has her overwhelmed. but you’re not satisfied, she knows this.

“keep going.” you demand, determined eyes maintaining a solid gaze at her own, your palms still framing her jaw. “i need to come too.”

and when she pauses, eyes glassy with the overbrimming bliss, you dip her face lower. her ear inches away from your lips, and you whisper with a callous hue. “you talked so much fucking game, so fuck me until i come. is that so much to ask?”

“i can’t-i can’t, it’s too—“ she tries to defend herself, tries to ignore the constant contracting of her hole; the rigorous pulsing of her tormented bud. but you’re quick to deflate it.

“it’s always about you, huh, ellie?” you murmur, slowly rutting your hips against the silicone. she can hear the challenge in your voice, the way you diminish her, the humiliating wetness of her slick.

and she loves it.

“stop being so selfish, and fuck me.” you order, your arms sprawling out to your sides - because you want her to put the work in, make the same mess of you as she did herself.

and she will. she’ll whine, she’ll beg, she’ll plead. can’t go anymore, i can’t, please baby as she fucks into you like you deserve. the veins in her hands prominent as she tries to keep herself steady, the definition in her abdomen from the clenching, and the pitiful way she’s crying out. whimpering for breath, a pleasured tear landing on your collarbone.

but she fucks you good, and you’re grateful for it.

[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 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @motheroffae @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

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

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

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

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

[rodolfoparras]

Don’t cry over spilled milk (or do)

Pairing: The Milkman x Male reader

Content warnings: 18+, anal fingering, Francis is one vocal fellow

Thinking about Francis Mosses who’s always been considered the perfect top, mostly because of his size- getting to bottom for the first time in his life.

Down on all four, with his ass in the air big fat cock uselessly hanging between his legs, and feeling himself flushing red from being in such a vulnerable position.

Besides the embarrassment brewing in his gut, he feels restless just laying like that , so used to being able to see what his partner is doing to him, now he can only rely on the feeling of your two thumbs prying his cheeks apart, and exposing the sensitive flesh to the cold air.

Goosebumps raise across his skin, a sharp breath escapes his lips and he can feel the impatience growing inside of him. “Come on come come on just hurry up!,” he hisses out, feeling even more vulnerable from the way your gaze seems to be burning into the pink flesh of his ass.

“Patience love” you say, hand firmly landing on his cheek, and as much as he’s embarrassed to say it, the action manages to silence him.

His dark eyes glare down at the bright white sheets, thumbs fiddling with the loose threads of it, trying to ignore how his face must be as red as the cheek you just slapped while you freely ogle at him.

“Anybody told you that you look pretty like this hm?” You say, thumbing curiously at his puckered rim, but not adding enough pressure to push your finger inside him.

Another wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he feel the urge to cuss you out with every curse word to exist in the English language but he knows but he knows by doing so you, you’ll further prolong this.

So he clears his throat, swallows down his pride before he mutters the word “No,”

A contended hum escapes your lips, your hot breath washing over his skin and this time he knows your face is just a hair away from his puckered rim. “Well you are,” you say, words as firm as your grip on him. “So so pretty”

And you’re so so close yet so far away.

He clears his throat again, swallows the last bit of pride in him before he utters the words “Please just please-“

“What is it sweetheart? What do you want hm?” You say, amusement clear in your voice. He can even feel the way the tip of your nose drags along his bottom half, doing everything and anything in your power to wind him up and he doesn’t know how much more he can take before he combust.

“Please just please fuck me!” He cries out, tears threatening to spill from his glassy eyes but all the air is suddenly punched out of his lungs when you slip the tip of your finger inside.

There’s a slight sting that comes with the stretch, body momentarily tensing as you carefully work your finger inside him”Oh! Oh oh fuck!”

“Francis? You okay?” You say, carefully massaging the pink flesh.

With each brush of your finger tip; the burning sensation dulls a bit and he feels himself relax back onto the sheets, a soft hum rolling off his tongue before he manages to properly answer you. “Good, it’s good,” he hums out, as he further relaxes into your touch.

Eventually the stinging sensation completely subsides and he starts feeling empty with only your fingertip inside. “More, please more,” he grunts out hips subconsciously buck up into your hand.

“Such a demanding little thing” you say to him as a chuckle escapes your lips but you don’t waste a second working your finger deeper inside of him til you’re buried knuckles deep, and tactically grazing the wall of nerves that sends sparks of pleasure through his body, specially down to his dick.”Mmph-God! Just- ah just like that”

This isn’t something he’s felt before, your touch feels ever so intoxicating especially when your calloused finger grazes the sensitive wall of nerves and before he realizes what he’s doing he finds himself begging for more, greedy as ever and drunk on pleasure.

It doesn’t take much before you fulfill his wish, pushing two fingers past his puckered rim, the stinging sensation briefly returning , as he gets used to the feeling of having two thick digits inside of him. “Come on sweetheart, you can take it yeah? I know you can” he hears you say, familiar word spilling past your lips and for a brief seconds he imagines the times he’d been the one to say it when he had someone under him.

Eager to prove himself, he starts fucking himself back onto your digits, something that starts off slow as he gets used to the stretch before he increases the pace. “Ugh fuck - fuck feels so so good yes yes yes!!”

By this point he doesn’t register when you work a third finger inside of him, only registering the fullness that comes with it and the way your hand slides between his legs, gently palming his ballsack

“Look at you love, haven’t even fucked you yet you’re already so close to cumming,” You say , puncturing every word with a thrust to his prostate while tugging at his hard and weeping dick.

Francis couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re taunting him, couldnt care less about how pathetic he looks like this, all he can care about is how every thrust - every stroke, has him inching closer to his orgasm.

“Please oh god please -“ He cries out, begs and pleads sounding something akin to a mantra, fingers practically digging holes into the mattress and the muscles in his thighs cramping up from how hard he’s fucking himself onto your hand.

It doesn’t take much before he feels his toes curl, pulse roaring in his ears as a wave of hot white pleasure washes over him.

“Ah ah God ‘m cumming ‘m cumming please-“ he cries out, feels himself spill all over the sheets and his thighs, body shaking as you continue to milk his cock.

“Stop- stop, please.” He finally slurs out, once there’s nothing but pathetic spurts of cum coming from his cock, hand blindly pushing you away from him before he finally slumps down onto the mattress.

Exhaustion creeps up his bones, eyelids feeling heavier than ever and all of a sudden he feels himself fading away in the dream land.

“Ah, ah ah,” he hears you say, the sound of your sharp voice snapping him awake. “We’re not done here,”

[cursedyuri]

can i politely beg in my knees and request vi wearing a strap that has an attachment inside her which vibrates with varying intensity depending on the contact the strap comes into? sorry if its specific but oh my god reader riding vi and overstimming her has been on my mind for a while.

okay so i forgot about the whole “depending on the contact it comes into” part, but here’s this… switchy vi below so i hope u enjoy that! and 18+ as always <3

at first, vi had seemed a bit hesitant.

when you’d presented her with the new harness, she’d watched with equal parts confusion and fascination as you’d shown her the slot just beneath the o-ring, where a bullet vibrator would fit perfectly. and gods bless her, because as conflicted as she’d seemed about the whole thing, vi had been willing to give it a shot.

an hour and two orgasms later, it’s clear that she’s taken a liking to the harness.

vibrant red locks of hair cling to her temples, damp with sweat, as vi angles her head downward to cast her gaze upon your body: your back in a deep arch, the round swell of your ass rippling with the force of each of vi’s powerful thrusts. there’s a sharp slap each time her hips make contact with your body, sheathing her silicon cock so far inside you you’re sure she’s carved out space for herself in your guts. that and the lewd, squelching noises of your abused cunt aren’t the only sounds, though - there’s also the incessant buzz of the vibrator tucked into the harness, flush against vi’s exposed pussy.

you let out a sharp cry at an especially harsh thrust, your cheek pressed against the mattress as vi drills into you from behind. you could be imagining it, but vi’s more ruthless tonight, more desperate - she’s bitten bruises into your neck and chest, clawed her nails down your back until the skin raised in angry, stinging lines.

“sound so pretty, crying on my strap,” vi pants from behind you, her hands on your hips to hold you steady. she removes one hand, only to land a heavy slap against your ass. you gasp at the sting her handprint leaves behind, cunt clenching.

“bet you look pretty, too,” she continues, breathless. a moment later, she adds, “fuck it - let me see you.”

she manhandles you into another position, your head swimming with dizziness as you’re wrenched upright to straddle her hips. vi’s lying down now, propped up against the headboard, with you sitting pretty in her lap - you sink down onto her again and you’re so fucking full.

“c’mon, sweet girl,” vi coos, her hands finding their place on your hips once again. “make yourself come for me, yeah?”

simple enough.

riding her like this, you can feel the buzz of the vibrator against your cunt each time you sink down onto vi’s strap. you let out a pleased moan, circling your hips, working yourself into a steady pace that has your orgasm building dangerously fast. vi’s watching from half-lidded eyes, teeth sinking into her lower lip when she sees you cup your hands around your tits, tug at your own nipples until they’re pebbled.

“vi, fuck,” you gasp, the tip of the strap pushing into your g-spot deliciously.

vi only responds with a grunt low in her throat, her chest heaving - you look up and see that her face is twisted in pleasure. just as it’s dawning on you that she’s about to come, she’s calling out your name in a drawn-out moan, eyes rolling back as her hips stutter against yours. she’s practically thrashing beneath you, her orgasm tearing through her, as you relentlessly chase your own high; the sounds leaving both of your lips are utterly pornographic.

“don’t fucking stop,” you cry out between gasps for air, fucking down onto the strap as you hurtle closer to your orgasm. “vi, don’t you dare fucking stop—”

vi curses, her orgasm clearly subsiding as her pleased moans devolve into high whines. she’s twitching now, body jolting beneath you.

when she opens her eyes and looks up at you, she looks so… pathetic.

those blue eyes are so watery you swear she’ll start crying any second. her brows are pulled together in a pleading expression, her lips parted to release those soft, needy whimpers - the pleas for you to stop, it’s too much, she can’t take it.

but you’re not done. you keep moving, grinding yourself down against the base of the harness, enjoying the extra bit of stimulation from the vibrator. vi’s throwing her head back now, the cords of muscle in her neck pulled taut as she clenches her jaw. her hands grip your hips so tightly you’re positive you’ll be left with bruises in the morning, little purple fingerprints.

and, yeah, you do come. eventually. but not before you pull another orgasm from your overstimulated, red-faced girlfriend, every dominant bone in her body gone dormant the second you’ve given her a single command.

[vivimura]

PAIRING ~ bf!nrk x gf!reader

SUMMARY ~ when you visit your boyfriend to spend time with him, he downright ignores you and continues gaming leading to a grumpy play fight which soon escalates into something not so playful.

GENRE ~ fluff, suggestive.

WORD COUNT ~ 1.485k

ᯓ★ i had fun writing this ngl.

when you giddily turned the doorknob to riki's bedroom in his dorm apartment, your face rotted into one of disbelief. the room was dark, except for the large, obnoxiously bright tv screen near one wall of the room, with riki sitting across to it on a small black leather couch, a warm lamp lit on his side. he had a pair of gaming headphones snug on his head, one which had a mic to convey his less than clean exclamations of frustration at his teammates. there was a controller in his dexterous hands, his tongue darting out ever so often and teeth sunk into his plump bottom lip in focus. he didn't seem to have noticed you were even there, and to make things worse, he wore just a thin black tee and basketball shorts. it was a simple outfit, yet effective in driving you crazy in all the right ways.

you sighed and rolled your eyes. damn it. if you didn't know any better, he had probably spent all day glued to his couch, and it was probably going to remain that way unless you did something. you rid yourself of your puffer jacket, clearing your throat as you neatly folded it in an attempt to get him to at least acknowledge your arrival. but of course, your attempts were in vain. 

you knew for a fact that he wasn't utterly unaware of your entrance, given how the corner of his lips tugged up into the tiniest ghost of a smirk. he was playing a game you were familiar with. he sensed you walking closer to where the couch was, but paid it no mind, the yelling and screaming of his other online gaming teammates ringing out through the air along with his own voice. it was only once you were standing between the couch and tv, arms on your hips, that he craned his neck up to look at you, a smug expression forming on his face. you narrowed your eyes into a glare, tapping your foot on the ground, waiting for him to take his darned headphones.  he chuckled lowly, continuing to game by peaking over your shoulder for a few more seconds out of thorough enjoyment of watching you stew and grow impatient. but, he knew he should set a limit to his teasing. he took off his headphones and leaned forward to set them, along with his controller down on the coffee table in front of him. "something wrong?" he teased, his tone all too playful for your liking. “oh, don’t give me that. and quit smiling.” you almost immediately responded, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s cold as balls outside, but i still came to see you. you didn’t even look my way!” you scolded, but it came off more as whining to your boyfriend. 

he held his hands up in mock surrender, a small smirk still tugged at his lips at your pouty expression. he had to admit, you were pretty cute when you were mad. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry." he chuckled again, patting the empty space next to him on the couch. "come, sit. i'll make it up to you, yeah?"

you felt your irritation slowly but surely subside, but kept your expression indifferent. with a petulant ‘hmph!’, you looked at the spot riki patted at, and then at riki. you dodged the edge of the coffee table by the couch, deciding to climb up onto riki’s lap, straddling his thighs instead.

he could only shake his head fondly, his soft and deep laughter ringing in your ears. he was more than happy to indulge you. he leaned back against the cushions of the couch, gaze never leaving yours as one hand found a place at the small of your back.

“pay attention to me.” you whined, rather demanded, nudging your scrunched nose with riki’s. he chuckled to himself and hummed playfully, landing a gentle pinch on your hip and watching your reaction with sheer amusement. your demand earned a huff from him before he replied, "you're literally sitting in my lap right now, baby. how much more attention do you want?" “i don't know, i don’t care..”, you continued, wrapping your arms around his torso in a firm grip and burying your face into your neck. as much as you tried to act bratty and annoyed, you couldn't deny how flustered amused smirks made you feel.

he wrapped his arms around your waist in response, keeping you firmly against him, your small form pressed up against his much larger frame. your neediness was only driving his smirk to widen. "needy baby." he teased, one hand finding your hair and gently running his fingers through it. a frown of irritation formed yet again at his little tease. you further dug your face into the crook of his neck, your mind working overtime on how to reply. when you couldn’t, you decided to land a bite on his neck as ‘punishment’. he let out a slight huff in surprise at the feeling of your teeth against his skin, his grip around your waist tightening somewhat as he did. "little brat." he muttered under his breath, lightly tugging on a few strands of your hair as a 'punishment' of his own. “oww..” you pouted, dramatically massaging the spot on my scalp. you pulled your face out of the crook of his neck, announcing your irritation with a frowny face. apart from irritation, there was a certain flare of competitiveness in your eyes. oh, it was so on. the pads of your fingers and palm made contact with riki’s chest as you landed a slap on it in return.

"hey-" he cut himself off with a scoff when you slapped his chest, the expression on his face growing into a smirk once more. he knew all too well about your playful tendencies, and his competitive nature was beginning to be triggered now. without a word, he suddenly hooked one arm leg under your thighs, the other near your waist and lifted you up. with a few long strides, he carried you to his bed before you could even process what was happening, unceremoniously dropping you onto his bed. your eyes widened, and before you could even try shouting at him or wriggling out of his hold, you landed on the black duvet covering his twin bed with a bounce. dumbfounded, you exclaimed, “did you just body slam me, riki?!” he chuckled as he crawled onto the bed between your legs, hovering over you on all fours. his smirk grew as he watched you pout up at him, clearly not too happy about the way you had landed on the bed. "i guess you could say that. did you like it?" he asked in a teasing tone, one of his hands going to tease under your shirt. “i- wha-” butterflies. god, butterflies had likely colonised your stomach over his stupid smirks and how he could easily manhandle you into doing essentially anything. but, you knew better than to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you were. you concealed your feelings with a grumpy pout and maybe just a little genuine embarrassment of your own lack of strength. “you can’t just do that!” he chuckled yet again, his hand still exploring your exposed skin under your shirt, slowly making its way up to your ribs, right under the lacy edge of your bra as he continued to look down at you. your bratty behavior amused him, and he was always fond of how easy it was for him to tease you. "i just did, baby. it's fucking adorable how easy it was to." he cooed, his hot breath fanning against your neck, his nose nuzzled into its subtly fragranced skin. if you were standing right now, you were certain your knees would've given out. there was something so attractive about riki's confidence, not to mention his little cuss, that it turned you on in ways almost embarrassing. you shakily exhaled and frowned in slight offense, realizing you were a gone case if you stayed there any longer. stuck under some of the weight of his larger, muscular frame, you began squirming and wriggling in hopes to coax yourself out of his grip. he simply scoffed and grinned at your efforts to escape from under him and used the hand not snuck up your shirt to pin both your wrists over your head. he now pressed his lips against the side of your neck, planting a few gentle kisses before speaking again. "stop squirming." he whispered next to your ear before nipping at the lobe. you felt your face heat up, a tingle between your legs now undeniable. you bit the insides of your cheeks and let out a silent shaky exhale. you continued squirming under him, now using a tactic of pity to get away from the situation. “let me go, you’re heavy...” he lifted his head from your neck to flash you a wolfish grin, using his knees to spread your legs apart. the next thing you knew was his very evident erection pressed right by your thigh, and his hot, deep whisper right by your lips, “nah.” part 2

[sweetshuga]

𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝟐 ✧ 𝑪.𝑺

𝒃𝒔𝒇.ᐟ𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔! Giving him head after midnight. "That’s it... Jus’ like that–oh, fu—ck, you’re takin’ me so deep."

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. «𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕» «𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕» «𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕»

𝒘𝒄. 𝟐.𝟒 𝒌

𝒂𝒏. My bad for the wait, and since there were quite a few requests for a part 2, here it is my pretty gals<333

𝒑𝒔𝒂. English is not my first language! || Every part can be read as a standalone!

The car ride back was full of laughter – as per usual, and you had switched seats with Matt since he was the one driving, but as you talked with Nick, you couldn’t help but notice how awfully quiet Chris was.

Both Nick and Matt seemed to notice that his usual outbursts of energy were gone, somehow. He was fidgety and looked like he was in agony. His expression was one of frustration, and he shifted in his seat every few minutes, avoiding eye contact.

"You okay?" Matt asked, glancing briefly at Chris before shifting his gaze back to the road.

Chris hummed, totally unenthusiastic as he replied. "Yeah, just..." He breathed out, "Jus’ a bit tired." 'Classic, chalking it up to exhaustion, great job, totally believable Chris.' He thought to himself as he shifted again, letting out a quiet annoyed groan.

Matt nodded, "We’ll be home soon," he said reassuringly. Even though he didn’t quite buy the excuse, he knew better than to ask more questions since Chris seemed genuinely frustrated so he simply decided to drop it for now and focused on driving.

𝟏𝟓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

The moment Matt killed the car engine, Chris practically hopped out of the car and rushed inside and straight to his room, calling out to you three about needing the bathroom or something along those lines.

He immediately got inside his bedroom and locked the door for good measure and plopped on his sofa, letting out a small shaky breath.

"Fuck, what’s wrong with this thing," he mumbled to himself – referring to his rock hard dick. "Can’t fuckin’ believe this shit," he groaned before quickly pulling down his sweats until mid thigh. His hefty length sprung free, bobbing obscenely before he wrapped his long fingers around it.

Chris let a satisfied moan slip before remembering that you and his brothers are probably inside the house by now so he opted to bite his lips to suppress those needy moans.

He didn’t even need any lubricant thanks to all his precum oozing out of his tip. He slowly spread his dripping arousal all around his shaft before starting to move his hand faster.

Chris’ hand moved feverishly over his aching cock, the head already raging red from neglecting it for so long. He leaned back against the backrest as he stroked himself faster, groaning lowly and mumbling profanities.

"Fu—ck, feels s’good," he whispered to himself as he imagined your hand jerking him off instead. His eyebrows knitted together and eyes closed shut as his head fell back, thumping softly against the wall.

He brought his free hand to his cock, palming the tip as his right hand moved faster, gripping himself a bit more.

He was starting to have difficulty staying quiet.

"Oh fuc--- fuuuck," he let out a quiet chocked moan as he neared his release rather quickly. His hips jerked and thighs trembled as he worked himself closer and closer to that euphoric feeling. The band in his abdomen was taut, ready to snap any moment and one particularly hard swipe of his palm on his tip did it for him.

Oh, fuck, he was coming, and a lot at that.

Milky rope after rope of cum shot out of his tip, landing on his hand as he finally let out a moan. The sound of unadulterated pleasure and satisfaction slipping past his lips involuntarily. His hips bucked slightly with each rope, bliss etched on his features as he stroked himself slowly to prolong his high.

After a few seconds, the aftershocks finally subsided and his body slumped against the sofa. His breathing was still ragged as he reached over for the tissue box and took a few tissues before wiping his hands with it. Tossing it in the trashcan, he finally acknowledged what he just did.

Post-nut regrets.

He couldn’t believe he got rock hard, jerked off and came to fantasies of his own best friend. "What did I just do?" He mumbled to himself, putting his head in his hands as he groaned in annoyance.

This is so not helpful, not at all.

𝑨 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 – 𝟏𝟐:𝟒𝟑 𝒂𝒎 (𝟎𝟎:𝟒𝟑)

Matt and Nick both had (surprisingly) gone to bed and were already snoozing away, but Chris was still playing games on his computer. Still hung up and worrying over his newfound feelings and desires.

He sighed and slumped back against his gaming chair when his character died in the game. The screen showed a slight reflection of the uncertainty etched all over his face.

"This is bad—" "What is?" He jumped in his chair, not having heard you enter his room.

His eyes were wide and a hand on his chest, "Don’t you fucking know how to knock? You fuckin’ scared me, nearly killed me bruh." You raised your eyebrows at the defensive tone he was using, awfully worked up over the scare like he was hiding something he should be guilty of.

You chuckled and walked over to him, standing behind him as you leaned down slightly to look at what he was playing.

'Fortnite? Typical him.' You thought as you unconsciously moved closer to him, your chest almost flush against the back of his head.

Chris froze, the proximity was dangerous and he could feel himself slowly getting a boner.

Not again.

He shifted in his seat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in an unconscious habit. He swallowed thickly, his breath hitching when you practically pushed your breasts against the back of his head when you reached for something on his desk.

"C-can you like move away? You’re too close, kid." He cursed internally at the slight stutter and overall nervousness exuding from his tone and words.

You took the half-full can of Pepsi from his desk, "Can I have a sip?" Chris nodded, "Yeah, jus’ hurry and get out and go to bed or sum’." You took your sip and put it back on his desk, brushing your breasts against the back of his head yet again.

Just as you were going to say something, your gaze dropped down to his lap. Your eyes widened like saucers when you saw the clear bulge in his shorts.

Chris’ gaze dropped down as well, seeing what you were seeing, and his face paled. "Fuck," he groaned aloud as he quickly put his hands over his boner.

His head shot up and he looked at you with nervous eyes, his lips slightly parted to say something, but closed as quickly, not knowing what to say.

After a few awkward seconds, he finally mustered up the courage to talk. "I can explain."

Cliché.

What could he say otherwise? That your boobs grazing his head made him act like a hormonal teenager? Or that he sooo desperately wants to bend you over his desk and—

"Should I help...?" The question hung in the air, dispersing all thoughts from his head.

Chris stared at you for a solid minute, long enough to make you regret your words and just as you were about to backpedal, he spoke again. "What?" He asked dumbly.

You fidgeted with the hem of your thin cotton sleep shorts, suddenly feeling nervous as well as you cleared your throat and spoke in a quieter voice. "I mean, I can help... should I? It looks painful..." your voice trailed off when your eyes darted down to his boner yet again, now covered by his hands.

"Actually, that– never mind, I don’t know why I just asked you that, sorry I’ll uh... I’ll get going, good night." You rapidly babbled, looking away, and turned your heel before starting to walk away.

"Wait!" Chris shouted, causing you to jolt in surprise and halt in your step.

You slowly turned around and tilted your head to the side in pure bewilderment. "Uh... Yeah? What’s got your panties in a twist?" You tried to joke, but even a toddler would be able to tell that you were extremely flustered.

"I... Uh... Just–just come here will ya?" He whispered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he cleared his throat and looked away. "Please?" He looked at you again, this time with clear need in his eyes that made your knees weak.

You found your body unconsciously moving towards him and before you knew it, you were standing beside him.

Chris turned his chair to face you fully and gently grasped your wrists, pulling you so you were standing in between his spread legs. He looked up at you, his pupils dilated and pink lips parted slightly as his chest heaved slowly with ragged breaths. His gaze drifted to your lips and back to your eyes a couple times.

"I don’t mind, you know... your offer to help," he whispered, his gaze was locked on your lips the whole time before finally making eye contact again. His eyes, alone, plead for you to go through with your offer.

𝟓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

You sat on your knees on the ground, a pillow under your knees for more comfort. Your hands rested on his thighs as you looked up at him. "You ready?"

Chris nodded, lifting his hips slightly when you reached to tug down his shorts. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in anticipation and excitement. He let out a low groan when his aching dick was freed from the fabric of his clothes. Standing tall and proud at attention.

"Oh...?" you breathed out, genuinely impressed by his size as you tentatively wrapped your hand around it. "You’re huge," you mumbled, more to yourself than him, but it reached his ears nonetheless and your words only added to the desperate need for your mouth on him.

"Please, ma, please suck me off, I need to feel your warm mouth around me, please?" All dignity was gone in that moment, he didn’t even feel the slightest bit of embarrassment when he begged.

He was too far gone.

You complied, wanting to taste him as much. You leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, flattening your tongue as you did so. When you reached the tip, you swirled your tongue around his head, eliciting muffled moans from him.

This was exactly what he needed, what he craved.

You teased him for a bit, licking and kissing his shaft, but not quite sucking him off yet.

Chris could feel his abs tighten slightly, each lick from you making him more and more needy. "Fuck, stop teasin’ me, you’re playing unfair." He groaned as he gently gripped your wrist.

You finally relented and wrapped your lips around his tip and slowly started to bob your head. Each movement eased more of his length in your mouth until you took almost all of him before pulling it out of your mouth with a wet pop, gasping softly for air as you pumped his shaft with your hand before taking him in your mouth again.

You looked up at him as you bobbed your head, seeing his face contorted in such ecstasy as he bit down on the back of his hand to muffle his needy moans made your pussy throb and your knew your panties were definitely drenched at this point.

You kept the rhythm, humming around his length encouragingly when you felt his hips buck slightly and he took it as a sign to let loose and held your head in place before starting to fuck up into your mouth.

You gagged slightly at first from the sudden depth he was reaching, but quickly relaxed your throat muscles and let him face-fuck you.

"That’s it... Jus’ like that–oh, fu—ck, you’re takin’ me so deep." Chris rasped as he pushed himself balls deep, holding you there until you slapped his thigh repeatedly. He slowly pulled his length out of your mouth, letting you cough and gasp for much needed oxygen.

"Sorry," he whispered as he wiped a small bit of saliva on the corner of your lips. He stood up from the chair, holding the base of his rock hard cock right in front of your face.

He guided the head of his cock to your lips again, nudging against it, "C’mon, ma, open those pretty lips up f’me, yeah? Take me deep like that again, wanna feel you suffocatin’ on my cock."

You obliged, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip as he held your head with both hands, ready to fuck your face again and see those pretty eyes looking up at him with tears in them.

Oh, he could come so many times just from the image alone.

He started to thrust into your mouth again, feeling your nails dig into his thighs as he sped up his movements, but you weren’t complaining, not all. In fact, you were letting him use your mouth however he liked.

Chris’ movements slowly became more jerky as he neared his orgasm, his breathing quickened and so did his pace. His balls slapped against your chin as he fucked your mouth with reckless abandon.

With a final brutal thrust, he spilled deep down your throat, his pelvis nudging against the tip of your nose as he held you in place, making you swallow all of his spend.

You coughed when he finally pulled away, slowly slumping back down onto his gaming chair as he shuddered in aftershocks.

He sighed in contentment as he pulled up to your feet and onto his lap, nuzzling his face in your chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Holding you tightly against him as he caught his breath.

"Thank you..." he whispered after a while, lifting his head to look at you.

He chuckled with mirth when he saw your flushed face, "You look all hot and bothered." He joked, but you were all hot and bothered so to prove it, you took his hand and led it to your intimate area.

His breath hitched when you guided his hand down to your sleep shorts, which had a wet patch on the crotch area from your arousal. You looked away in embarrassment.

"All this f’me baby?" he tilted his head to the side to catch your eyes, "Getting so wet after suckin’ me off huh?" He chuckled, smirking as he lifted you up and walked over to his bed before gently placing you in the middle.

Chris slowly pushed you down into a laying position with your back flush against the bed. His eyes never left yours, he kept eye contact even while he pulled down your shorts and underwear.

His gaze was absolutely one of hunger as it raked over your half naked state. Settling in between your thighs, his hands gently, but firmly held your thighs in place, not letting you close them.

"Lemme make it up f’ya, let me make you feel good baby," he cooed before dropping his head down to show you heaven.

𓆩♡𓆪

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[criminalamnesia]

GOD I LOVE traitor and how strong you've made the reader. It's amazing! And I eagerly await any future parts, whether it's big proper story or drabbles. BUT, you come first and your life does so you do what you gotta and go be amazing! We can wait. Proud of you X

im so late to responding, but thank you! <3

here’s part six :) also not really proofread so I apologize for any errors! I’ll fix them later!

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor, cross-legged amongst broken glass, brittle flowers, and discarded clothes, when someone knocks on the door.

you don’t move, don’t say anything. the noise seems distant— too far off to be real.

besides, if someone is really knocking on your door, they know you’re in here.

and if they know you’re in here, it could be one of five people. your former squad mates, or the doctor.

the knock sounds again. it shakes you from your stupor, yet you still make no move to answer it. let them come in; let them see what they’ve made of you. of who you were. of who you could’ve been.

the person on the other side of the door is speaking now. you register the muffled baritone as it fights to be heard from the hall.

you clench your fists, then unclench them— stretching out your fingers as far as they go. clench them again. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it’s a tick— a calming habit. you don’t think it’s working at the present moment.

the doorknob turns. you still don’t move.

the door is being pushed in, light from the hallway aggressively slicing through the darkness you’d left yourself in. you fought the urge to curl in on yourself.

you’d been so consumed by your anger— are consumed by it— but coming into this room and seeing that damn note was earth-shaking. it was terrifying, and it was a tangible reminder of the team’s unapologetic tactics. simon’s unapologetic tactics.

the voice is speaking once more, clearer now that the door is out of the way— but you can’t make out the words over the ringing in your ears.

a hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, and that’s when you snap.

you whirl around, throwing yourself into the intruder like a cobra striking its prey. clearly caught off guard, the person lets loose a ‘oomph’ and falls backwards as you take out their legs.

everything is fuzzy. the ringing in your ears crescendos, and it brings pain with it. you’re striking your target with reckless abandon, still not registering who is flailing underneath you.

punches land and land and land. nails scrape and scratch and draw blood. all you see is red— all you hear is the sharpening of a knife or the whirring of a saw.

and then there are hands on you, yanking you away from your victim. the red slowly starts to recede, the ringing in your ears subsiding.

it’s only then do you release you’re screaming.

its only then do you see the swollen and bloodied face of your doctor, lying a foot away from you. she sputters a cough, blood leaving her lips and splattering onto the man leaning over her.

“you need to calm down,” a voice speaks into your ear.

“calm down, or they’ll sedate you,” it says, and you finally stop screaming. you take a breath.

clench your fists. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it takes you another minute to calm down enough to realize the person holding you is simon.

the doctor is being carried away now, and you notice it’s johnny and kyle carrying her. you notice john is standing to your left, eyes full of sympathy and guilt as he looks at you.

“get,” you huff, reaching down to slap at the arms circling your middle. “off me.”

simon releases you instantly. you don’t hesitate to put distance between the two of you. a few feet, at least. he just stands there, eyes watching with an expression you can’t place.

“what happened, love?” john’s voice is a soft rumble as he speaks. he moves a hand toward you, but decides against touching you— even if he only wanted to comfort you.

“I—” you start, glancing down at your hands. they’re bloody again.

“I thought it was—” you try again, but stop yourself.

you thought it was what? thought it was who?

you had heard man’s voice speaking to you. your mind had twisted things— had given you something you wanted to hear, deep down— because it gave you the chance to strike.

it gave you the opportunity to tear apart whichever man from the 141 had been there to check on you.

and you know you had wished it was simon.

john takes a cautious step forward at your silence. “let’s get you somewhere private, yeah? somewhere to cool down.”

the fire licking at your veins has subsided in favor of the chill of shame. of terror at what you’ve done— what you’ve done to the one person you had on your side. the person who was truly on your side.

you don’t fight this time. you give a nod, then solemnly follow him down the corridor. simon falls in behind you.

john takes you to his office, opening the door and ushering you inside. you move without protest, stepping into the dark room.

the two men enter behind you, john flicking on the light while simon pulls the door shut. you would’ve laughed at the scenario if you were in your right mind.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t okay. you knew that you weren’t, at least physically, but what you just did…

there was no way you were going to be transferred now. you doubted you would’ve even before you attacked the doctor.

you’re going to be discharged. you understand why.

but it hurts. this is your job, your life. years and years on the battlefield don’t prepare you for life off of it.

“love?”

john’s voice brings you back to the present. you realize you’ve been standing in the center of the room, unmoving and unblinking.

you feel simon’s hard gaze on your back. you want to cry.

how did things ever get this fucked up?

“im fine.” you say, not bothering to turn around. you didn’t trust yourself to keep it together if you faced them.

“you’re not,” john states, and you roll your eyes.

“im not talking about this with you,” you bite out, circling your arms around yourself. “either of you.”

“you should at least talk to someone, love— this isn’t healthy.”

“please, stop.” you tell him, but john was never good at taking orders. he gave them, not followed them.

“you hated the therapist, and you haven’t spoken to anyone else since… everything.” he continues.

“stop, john,” you try again.

“you need to let it out, love. we’re here—”

you spin around then, fists dropping to your sides. “for the love of god, john, shut the fuck up.”

that stuns him into silence, eyes slightly widened and mouth agape as he looks at you. simon doesn’t move from his position near the door.

“you are the last people i would ever fucking talk to! I don’t even want to be talking to you right now, but you won’t stop trying. trying to talk to me, trying to make it up, trying to wriggle your way back into my good graces.”

you pause, sucking in a breath. “johnny must’ve relayed the message, and that’s why you’ve back off a little— but one wrong fucking move and you’re swooping again! you aren’t my dad, you aren’t my lover, you aren’t my friend, and you’re sure as hell not my fucking captain anymore.”

“so please, john, leave me be. the four of you have done enough.”

the room is silent for a beat, then two. then three. and then simon takes a step forward, removes his balaclava, and looks you square in the face.

he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, so you take the chance to.

“don’t start with me, simon. just don’t.”

“the note,” he says. “you read it.”

you just look at him, a disbelieving scoff leaving your mouth as you give a nod. “yes, I read your fucking note. and I saw the stupid flowers, too, after seeing everything else you wrecked. tell me, how long did you wait after you tied me up to tear it all apart?”

he just watches you. you want to scream.

the note flashes back into your mind.

‘hope you can understand.’

“does it make you feel better, thinking what you did was right?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have done it differently.” simon tells you.

you clench your fists. unclench. stretch.

breathe in, breathe out.

“and if the roles were reversed,” you said, watching him. “if you were in my position, would you have expected me to do what you did?”

“yes.” he says, without hesitation.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huff. “is that how little I meant to you? all that time, wasted?”

“that’s not what I said.” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“no, but it’s what you meant.” anger is bubbling up again. you feel overwhelmed; shame and fury battling inside you. the ringing building up in your ears again, emerging from the background.

you can’t do this.

“what i meant is what i said.” he takes another step forward. “you’re just too damn stubborn to listen, always have been.”

“just go, simon.” you tell him. “both of you. go.”

“I wouldn’t change what I did,” he says again. “to protect my team, my family, I would do whatever it takes.”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to keep arguing with him. he was an unmovable object— there was no way to reason with him.

“im not sorry it happened.” he speaks. “i did what i thought i had to do. what i had to do to make sure my team was safe.”

“and you should understand that, considering this team is all you have, too.”

you don’t respond— and even if you were going to, a knock on the door breaks the tense silence in the room.

johnny pops his head in, his eyes full of concern. “doc’s alrigh’.” he says, his gaze catching yours. “jus’ some bumps and bruises. she’ll be jus’ fine.”

“and she uh— said she’s not pressin’ charges or anythin’. says she still expects to see ya in a few days for your check-up.”

that’s what breaks you.

a tear slips from your eye, falling onto your cheek. another follows, then another, and you’re sobbing as you fall to the floor of price’s office.

the three men are staring, but no one makes any move to comfort you.

probably wise, considering what you did to the last person who tried.

you faintly register the click of the door as it shuts again. you don’t look up— your head in your hands as you cry.

cry about what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. mourn your career and your family and your love for the man who doesn’t regret what he did.

unbeknownst to you, simon is the only one still left in the room. his steps are silent as he approaches you— leaving only a foot of space between your bodies now.

he watches you as he sinks to the ground across from you, his long legs folded over each other, the fingers of his left hand twitching as he finds himself wanting to reach for you.

he still cares for you. his feelings for you were what made him do what he did in the first place.

the love he felt for you, twisting into betrayal and hurt and agony. fueling his actions, his desire to hear you admit your wrongdoings.

passion made people dangerous. passion in love, passion in rage. it was a fine line, and simon had crossed it.

he understood what this meant for you. recalls the conversation he had with price earlier— how laswell was planning for your discharge instead of your transfer.

this was the end of your time with them, and in the military. the hands of the 141, damaging one of their own beyond repair.

he finds himself mourning alongside you, then. mourning what was and what could’ve been.

what should have been.

“im sorry for what we did to you,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper that you don’t hear.

“im sorry.”

thank you all again for your patience! I plan on tying this little series up soon :)

as a reminder, I no longer do taglists. if you want to be notified when I post, follow @troiastitans and turn on notifications. I only reblog my works there.

I hope you all enjoyed :)