#Thank you for the ask and the Kind Kind words... 🩷

[earthlybeam]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work and I’ve devoured it every chance I’ve had. I wanted to ask if you would be willing to do the elves (Haldir, Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, and whoever else you want to add) having a elven partner who is a healer and is looking after them after an injury of some kind.

I’m a nursing student and this is like a dream imagine situation for me 🩷

Thank you so much for your kind words! 🫶 I’d be more than happy to write small prompts for you. Here’s a brief healing moment for each of the elves you mentioned, featuring you as their healer and partner: Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir, lindir versions below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The hunt had begun with the quiet grace that was characteristic of Thranduil’s people. The dense forest, usually so full of life, was eerily calm this morning, a stillness that seemed to press against the senses. The Elvenking rode ahead of his party, astride his great elk, a majestic creature with antlers like the branches of an ancient tree. His crown of silver leaves sparkled faintly in the early morning light, a regal symbol that made him appear as much a part of the woodland as the trees themselves. For all his calm and collected demeanor, Thranduil was acutely aware of the strange quiet that had fallen over the forest. Birds were absent, and the air was thick with an unsettling tension. He narrowed his eyes, his sharp senses pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck. A faint rustling somewhere in the underbrush caught his attention—just the wind, perhaps? Or was it something more?

He shook the feeling off, urging his elk forward, confident in the power of his animal companion, who had always been steady and obedient. But today was different. A sudden, high-pitched noise broke the stillness of the woods. It was sharp and unnatural, a sound that seemed to slice through the calm. Thranduil’s elk startled, its massive body jerking under the pressure of the unexpected noise. The great creature reared, its hooves striking the air with panicked force, its broad nostrils flaring as it bolted forward, completely unhinged. Thranduil gripped the reins, trying to steady the animal, but the suddenness of the reaction took him by surprise. His usual command of his elk, honed over centuries of companionship, faltered in the face of the unexpected terror. He cursed softly under his breath, pulling on the reins with all his strength, trying to bring the creature under control. But the elk was frantic, its large body surging forward in an uncontrollable panic.

The forest blurred in a frantic rush of color as Thranduil fought to regain control. Trees flashed by on either side, their trunks becoming mere shadows in the chaos. His elk’s hooves thudded loudly on the ground, thundering with each panicked stride. Thranduil’s focus was razor-sharp—his mind calculating, analyzing—but the panic in the creature beneath him was becoming harder to quell. He could feel the animal’s muscles twitch, its body straining against the sudden onslaught of fear. Thranduil’s grip tightened on the reins, urging the beast to slow, to regain its balance. And for a brief moment, it seemed as though the creature might listen. The frantic pace began to slow, the elk’s breathing heavy and wild. But the moment of calm was fleeting. With a final, frightened lurch, the great elk skidded to a halt, the jarring motion coming so suddenly that Thranduil’s body was violently thrown forward.

Before he could react, his own momentum pulled him from the saddle. His heart skipped a beat as he was yanked from his perch, flung headfirst toward the unforgiving forest floor. His mind barely registered the collision as his head slammed into the thick, gnarled root of a tree that had risen just out of sight beneath the foliage. The world spun in an instant—bright stars bursting across his vision, the sharp sting of impact exploding in his skull. For a brief, disorienting moment, there was nothing but the feeling of weightless void. He could hear the rapid thud of his own heartbeat in his ears, and his mind fought to keep focus as pain rippled through his body. His breath came in shallow gasps, but his limbs refused to move. Everything felt… distant. Then, as the fog of shock slowly began to clear, Thranduil tried to push himself up, but his head felt as though it were encased in stone. His vision swam, and a thin line of blood trickled down his temple, mingling with his platinum blonde hair. The cold, rough texture of the tree root under his skull sent a jolt of reality through him, and he realized with a sudden clarity that he had fallen hard—far harder than he had intended. The once unyielding strength in his limbs seemed to falter, and for the first time in ages, he felt vulnerable.

His breaths came in uneven gasps as he tried to gather himself, his hands reaching out to steady himself, but the world around him seemed to waver like a fading dream. The moment of stunned silence was broken by the frantic cries of his hunting party, the sound of hurried footsteps and panicked voices drawing closer. “My king!” one of his hunters called, his voice trembling with fear. But Thranduil could do nothing but lie there, his once-proud composure shattered in the wake of the fall. His crown, symbolic of his power and pride, lay broken beside him, shattered pieces of silver scattered across the forest floor like remnants of a forgotten kingdom. And for the first time in centuries, the Elvenking—proud, untouchable, and fierce—was brought low.

The Elvenking’s hunting party had returned in chaos. His majestic elk, usually so composed and steady, had burst through the gates without its rider, Thranduil. Panic rippled through the gathering of elves, their faces pale as whispers of uncertainty and fear spread like wildfire. The sharp tang of alarm filled the air, a feeling so foreign, it tightened around your chest with unrelenting force. Without a word, you pushed past the gathering elves, your legs moving before your mind could fully catch up. You followed their frantic gestures, their pointing fingers leading you into the depths of the forest, each step heavy with the growing dread that something had gone terribly wrong.

The further you went, the more the forest seemed to have shifted—branches shattered underfoot, the ground churned, as if something had violently disturbed the natural peace of the woods. A sickening stillness hung in the air. And then, through a veil of broken branches, you found him. Thranduil lay sprawled across the forest floor, his form crumpled in a way that was far too unnatural for someone as regal as him. His platinum blonde hair, once gleaming like moonlight, was matted with blood, his crown shattered beside him as if it had been violently torn from his head. His face was pale, eyes closed, a deep gash on his temple still weeping blood. The sight of him, the proud and mighty king who had stood unyielding for centuries, brought low in such a manner, made your heart stutter. You froze for a moment, an icy wave of fear flooding your senses.

But that fear quickly turned into action. Dropping to your knees at his side, your hands trembled as you reached for him. His head had struck the ground with brutal force, the impact clear in the way his body lay unnaturally still. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as you gently brushed the strands of hair away from his face, your fingers lightly grazing his cool skin. His chest rose and fell, a small, comforting sign of life, but the stillness of his limbs sent a shiver down your spine. “Thranduil,” you called, your voice low and urgent, though your throat constricted around the words. You needed him to respond. You needed him to fight. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, but they were not the sharp, calculating eyes you knew so well. They were dulled, unfocused, clouded with the disorientation of pain and the shock of his fall. The king, the great Thranduil, was not the figure of command you had always known in this moment. He was human, vulnerable, and it tore at something deep within you. He blinked a few times, his gaze struggling to focus on you as if the world around him was spinning out of control

Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a haze of confusion clouding his usually sharp gaze. His brow furrowed, still trying to make sense of what had happened. The pain in his temple was blinding, the force of his fall nearly unbearable, but his pride—his unyielding pride—held him back from fully acknowledging it. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, trying to hold on to his usual commanding presence. The world around him was dizzy, but the sound of your voice cut through the fog. “Stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling but firm as you gently cradled his head, lifting it slightly to inspect the injury. Your fingers brushed back his platinum blonde hair, your touch soft against his cool skin. It pained you to see him like this—vulnerable, fragile in a way he had never allowed himself to be. He was the mighty Elvenking, a figure of strength and command, yet now he was crumpled on the forest floor, his pride shattered almost as much as his crown. His lips parted weakly, his breath shallow as he whispered, “Do not fret, just little fall.” Even in this state, his voice held traces of that usual command, though it was laced with pain, his words faltering as he spoke. He wanted so desperately to push away your worry, to return to the stoic, indomitable figure that others looked to for strength. But beneath that facade, his body was trembling, and his pride was wounded as much as his head. “Do not fuss over me I’m no baby who needs coddling,” he continued, though there was no force in his tone, no strength left to push you away. His gaze, clouded with discomfort, met yours briefly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and yet still trying to uphold his dignity. “It is nothing.” The words, meant to assure both you and himself, only highlighted the stark contrast between the proud king and the broken man before you.

You couldn’t stop the flare of frustration that stirred within you. You knew him—too well. You knew that his pride ran deeper than most things, and right now, his body was betraying him. His stubbornness was as sharp as his wit, but it could not change the fact that he had been brought low in the worst possible way. “It is not nothing,” you said, your voice soft yet firm, your hands still look at his temple, despite his protests. You moved with careful precision, the blood already matting his platinum blonde hair, the swelling at his temple alarming. You had seen warriors brought down before, but never someone so regal, so fiercely proud. “Even a king needs care.”

He winced sharply as the you touched the injury, his composure faltering for a fleeting moment as the pain surged through him. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the pain took hold. His stoicism, once unwavering, broke for the briefest second, and you could see it in the way his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw clenched in an effort to maintain control. His pride had been wounded, not just from the injury, but from the fact that he needed help at all. For a moment, his regal composure seemed to crack, and he turned his head away from your gaze, as if to hide the weakness that had so unexpectedly overtaken him. Despite his discomfort, your presence brought him a strange sense of solace—though he would never admit it aloud. His pride fought against it, tried to dismiss the care you offered, but in that moment, even Thranduil had to acknowledge the gentle force of your touch. He allowed himself a brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability before the armor of his pride slowly began to close back around him.

Thranduil’s pride, still reeling from the injury, caused him to mutter bitterly, “This is… unseemly.” His words were laced with a mixture of frustration and deep embarrassment, emotions he rarely allowed to surface. The king, so accustomed to commanding and controlling his surroundings, was now reduced to a broken figure on the ground, his strength failing him. His gaze flickered away from you, as though to escape the softness in your eyes that only made the vulnerability of the moment more piercing. But as your fingers brushed against his cheek, gentle and steady, the tension in his body seemed to melt away, if only for a heartbeat. His eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the great Elvenking was no longer a king at all—he was simply a man, raw and exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both foreign and strangely comforting. The fierce warrior, the monarch who demanded reverence, was now quietly surrendering, his gaze softening in your presence. “You are not unseemly,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart ached to see him like this. His pride may have been bruised, but he was still the same being you loved—dignified, noble, and deserving of care. “You are my heart, Thranduil, and I will not let harm take you.” Your words rang clear, soothing the tangled storm of emotions that threatened to rise within you.

The faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips, but it was brief—too brief. The usual strength in his smile was missing, replaced by something softer, something quieter, and it nearly broke you to see it. He may have been struggling to accept his fragility, but in that small, quiet moment, you saw him as he was: a king, yes, but also a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who would not abandon him. His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting gesture that carried so much weight. It was a silent admission, a wordless plea for comfort and reassurance. Thranduil’s body relaxed ever so slightly, leaning into your touch as if it was the only anchor he could cling to in the vast sea of his discomfort. His pride still stood at the edge, watching from afar, but for now, he allowed himself to trust you—trust you in a way he had never allowed himself to trust another. Though his strength had yet to return fully, his trust in you was evident now—clear and unwavering. In this quiet moment, surrounded by the stillness of the forest, the great Elvenking, the fierce and unyielding leader of his people, allowed himself to lean on you. His pride did not allow for much, but here, in your care, he found solace. He found safety. And for once, Thranduil let himself be cared for, let himself simply be… yours. The journey back to the palace had been slow, the weight of Thranduil’s injury pressing down on both of you. Every movement seemed to send waves of discomfort through him, but the king made no sound of protest. His pride still held firm, though his body faltered beneath its weight. You walked beside him, offering support when necessary, keeping him steady with your touch.

Once you had him safely in the healer’s ward, you gently laid him on the cushioned table. The dimly lit room smelled of herbs and healing oils, the quiet hum of the palace a distant backdrop to the focus required to tend to the Elvenking’s wounds. His platinum blonde hair, though damp from sweat, had mostly dried, but the blood at his temple had matted in a dark patch, still visible under the soft glow of lantern light. You could tell that the impact of the fall had been severe, but it was the uncertainty of his condition that left you with a deep unease. Was it only the gash at his temple, or had something more sinister been inflicted upon him? You moved to his side, careful not to startle him. He was lying still now, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His golden eyes, though clouded with fatigue, flickered toward you as you took your place at his side. He didn’t speak immediately, and the silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. It felt, in some strange way, like an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity of the moment—of his vulnerability. The king was always a figure of strength, but now, there was only a man before you, needing care. Thranduil’s voice, though weak, was still firm. “You need not fuss over me meleth nin,” he murmured, his words almost automatic, a reflex born from a lifetime of pride. You leaned over him, your fingers gently tracing the edges of the wound on his temple, feeling the jagged line of it, the warmth of the blood beneath your touch. “I am not fussing, Thranduil,” you replied softly, your tone soft but steady. “You’re not just my king… you’re my heart. I will not let this pass without care.”

His breath hitched for a brief moment, and his eyes flickered with something unreadable. His pride battled against the helplessness of the situation. Thranduil had always been the one to protect, to guide, and now he was the one in need of protection. The thought brought a mix of sorrow and tenderness, and for a heartbeat, you almost felt his vulnerability more than the pain he bore. Your fingers brushed over his temple again, applying a damp cloth soaked in a healing mixture of crushed herbs and water. He winced, though only slightly, the movement barely perceptible. You frowned slightly, concern furrowing your brow. “I think you may have a concussion,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “The fall was hard… it’s possible.” Thranduil didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze followed your every movement, the slight flicker of trust beginning to form. “A concussion… a king’s fall should not be so unceremonious,” he muttered with a weak laugh that was anything but mirthful.

You smiled softly, though your heart ached to hear his words, and leaned closer, your hand gently resting over his. “No, but even kings are not invincible.” He seemed to think on this, his lips pressing together in a thin line, as if weighing your words. Then, his fingers shifted slightly, brushing against yours, though the movement was subtle. The smallest of gestures, but in it, you could feel the silent agreement—his walls had lowered just enough to let you in, even if only for a moment. With great care, you began to prepare a mixture of healing herbs—ones that would ease the swelling and accelerate his recovery. You applied it to the wound carefully, your movements slow, deliberate, as you worked with both precision and tenderness. His breath deepened as the soothing mixture took effect, calming the burn of the wound. The swelling at his temple was still troubling, but you could feel it beginning to lessen under your touch, the soft magic you infused him with helping to mend the damage.

He let out a quiet sigh, and his body seemed to relax under your touch. “You always know what to do,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and something more personal—perhaps a fleeting recognition of his dependence on you in this moment. You didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on carefully binding the wound with a clean cloth, ensuring it was firm but not tight. When you were finished, you gently wiped the sweat from his brow and looked into his eyes, seeing a softness there that wasn’t often visible. “It’s not about knowing,” you replied, your voice low and reassuring. “It’s about caring. About being here when it matters most.”

Thranduil’s gaze softened further, and for a brief, rare moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the quiet solace you offered. Even as the Elvenking, fierce and proud, he could not escape the fact that he needed you in this moment—needed the care and trust you gave him. The king, no matter how powerful, was still just a man in your eyes, and that truth seemed to settle over him like a quiet balm. His hand, which had rested beside him, moved slightly, brushing against yours again. The touch was light, but there was a weight to it—a sense of quiet gratitude that he did not express in words, but in the subtle tenderness of his gesture. As you finished tending to the last of the bandages, you stood back, looking down at him. Thranduil’s breathing had steadied, and the tension in his body had dissipated somewhat, though fatigue still clung to him. It would take time for him to recover, but for now, he was safe in your care. “You will heal,” you said quietly, more to reassure yourself than anything. “But for now, rest.” His icy blue eyes met yours again, and the faintest glimmer of something like trust, or perhaps even affection, flickered in his gaze.

“Rest… yes,” he murmured, his voice growing softer. “For once, I will listen.” With that, you settled into a comfortable silence, both of you aware that healing was not just about physical wounds, but emotional ones too. And for now, as his hand brushed lightly against yours, you knew that, in this moment, you had both found some small measure of peace. Thranduil’s lips twitched upward, and his voice, though still weak, took on a teasing edge. “With the luxury of my wine, of course.” You shot him a look, part amusement, part exasperation. “Always your wine, Thranduil,” you scolded gently, but there was a warmth in your voice. “You can’t be serious all the time, can you?” He smirked, a faint glimmer of the mischievous king you knew well. “It is a noble king’s prerogative to enjoy the finer things in life, my dear.” You shook your head, but a soft smile tugged at your lips as you brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I swear, you’ll never change. But don’t think I don’t love you for it.” He closed his eyes briefly, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “And I, you,” he murmured, his tone sincere, despite the playful words. And in that quiet, the two of you were content—one wounded but healing, the other tender and full of love. It was in these moments, as fleeting as they were, that you both found peace in each other’s presence.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The wind was fierce in the canopy that morning, howling between the dense branches of the great trees of Mirkwood, sending leaves and twigs swirling through the air like a flurry of whispers. Legolas had always been at home in these heights, his movements a symphony of grace and precision, his every leap and bound almost instinctive. He was the prince of the woodland realm, after all—one with the forest, capable of navigating the thicket of trees as if he were born to it. Today, however, the winds had a different temperament. They tugged at the branches, pushing them in ways that were foreign to Legolas’ usual rhythm. Despite the occasional gust, he pressed on, undeterred by the wind’s unpredictable nature. His target was just ahead—a large, sturdy oak that beckoned with its wide, curved trunk, an ideal vantage point to survey the path ahead of him.

With a quiet intake of breath, Legolas pushed himself from the branch he stood on, aiming for the next tree. His feet hit the bark of a nearby trunk, but the moment his foot made contact, the wind howled, sending the branch above him shaking. A sharp, biting gust knocked him off balance, sending his weight tipping too far forward. He flailed, trying to catch himself, but there was no saving his fall. His foot slipped and caught on something—a hidden vine that had been entwined around the branch, its tendrils nearly invisible beneath the thick leaves. The vine yanked him downward with terrifying speed.

Legolas had no time to react, his body twisting awkwardly as he plunged into the air. The ground rushed toward him with an unforgiving speed, the leaves and branches below offering no soft landing. He collided with the earth, his body slamming into the forest floor with a sickening crack, his breath knocked from his chest. The sharp pain that followed surged through his body, the unmistakable sound of snapping bone echoing in his ears. His left arm crumpled beneath him at an unnatural angle, and he gasped for breath, the world around him blurring as the pain spread like fire. For a moment, he simply lay there, stunned, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The wind continued to roar above, but to Legolas, it felt muffled, as if the world had drawn a curtain around his consciousness. His arm was on fire, and when he tried to move, a sharp jolt of pain stabbed through his side. His ribs had taken the brunt of the impact, and he could feel the ache deep within his chest. Blood surged to his face as he struggled to lift his head, the taste of copper in his mouth.

He tried to focus, to push through the pain, but it was too much. His vision swam in and out, the edges of the world growing hazy. The forest seemed to grow distant, even as the familiar rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds lingered. But there, in the midst of it all, a familiar presence approached, cutting through the fog of his senses like a lifeline. “Legolas!” The voice called out, strained with worry. He tried to lift his head, to reassure you, but his muscles refused to obey. Instead, he clenched his jaw tightly and forced a weak, pained smile, as if to say that he was fine, that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. The sharpness of his breath betrayed him, and the agony seeping through his side and arm was an undeniable truth. His body was broken, his pride wounded more than anything else. “I should have been more careful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his eyes darting toward you. He longed to stand, to be strong and invulnerable as he always had been—but today, the forest had proven him wrong.

You knelt beside him, your heart aching at the sight of the once-immovable elf now reduced to a figure of vulnerability, his chest heaving with every strained breath. The forest around you, usually a place of strength and safety, felt strangely hollow in the wake of Legolas’s fall. There was a heavy silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind and Legolas’s pained breathing. His face, usually so full of resolve, was now marked by an expression you rarely saw—a mixture of frustration and helplessness. Legolas’s gaze met yours, and though he tried to muster a smile, it was weak, faltering. His pale lips trembled slightly, his eyes betraying the agony that racked his body. His pride, ever so strong, was struggling beneath the weight of his injury. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his uninjured arm, hoping to offer him some comfort, some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this moment.

“You are careful,” you said softly, your voice unwavering. “This was simply misfortune. The winds… they are strong today, and the vines—” You shook your head, trailing off. “This is not your fault.” You could see the internal struggle in his eyes, the battle between accepting help and retaining his dignity. You didn’t want to add to his frustration, so you simply stayed by his side, offering your steady presence. The words felt inadequate against the weight of his pain, but you hoped the softness in your voice would reach him where words alone couldn’t. You stayed quiet for a moment, allowing the connection between you both to speak where words had failed. Legolas didn’t have to say anything; the look he gave you—so full of trust, of quiet acceptance—spoke louder than anything he could have voiced. Despite the agony clearly radiating from his body, he seemed to find solace in your proximity. His chest, which had been rising and falling in shallow, frantic gasps, began to steady a little. He let out a small breath, his eyes closing for just a second as if gathering strength from your touch. “I… I did not wish to fail,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “You didn’t fail, Legolas.” You kept your tone soft and steady, pressing your palm against his arm in an attempt to convey more than words ever could. “You’re here, and that’s what matters. We’ll take care of you. I won’t leave you.”

There was a pause, and in that quiet space, Legolas’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. His chest continued to rise and fall, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—a deep gratitude, even if he didn’t voice it. You exhaled slowly, drawing yourself up and positioning yourself to support him. The forest was still swirling with the sharp gusts of wind, but they felt distant now, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. You could sense his reluctance to move, to allow you to help him, but you could also see the helplessness there. “Legolas, I need you to let me help you,” you said, your voice firm yet gentle, the way one would coax a wounded animal back to safety. “We need to get you back to the palace, to the healer’s ward. You need rest, and the proper care.” He shifted slightly, his face contorted in discomfort, but he nodded ever so slightly, accepting your words despite the obvious strain. “I trust you,” he whispered, though the words sounded more like a promise than a statement.

With a steadying breath, you gently helped him sit up, supporting his weight as you moved slowly to your feet, your hands moving with practiced ease despite the worry gnawing at you. His arm—broken and hanging awkwardly—made it difficult for him to move, but he leaned into you, trusting you not to let him fall. You felt his body shudder slightly with each step, and you pressed him closer to your side, your arm wrapping around his back to support him. The walk back to the palace would not be easy, and Legolas would certainly protest at every slow, painful step, but right now, the greatest comfort you could offer him was this—your steady presence and your promise that you would not let him go, not now, when he needed you most. The forest seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was the bond you shared, the understanding between you.

Together, you would face the journey ahead, the hardship of the return to the palace, and the healing that would follow. You only hoped the healer’s ward—or perhaps your own chambers—would be enough to ease the pain of his body, as you had already begun to ease the burden on his heart. The journey back to the palace had been slow, each step a painful reminder of Legolas’s injury. His body leaned heavily against you, his breath shallow and labored, but through it all, he made no complaint. He trusted you, and that trust seemed to be a steadying force between the two of you.

When you finally reached your healer’s chambers, the weight of relief was almost tangible. The familiar scent of herbs, the soft glow of candles, and the calming silence of the room provided a sense of safety you both needed. You gently eased Legolas onto the cushioned cot, making sure he was as comfortable as possible despite his injuries. His pale face showed the strain of the journey, but there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he settled, his left arm resting awkwardly at his side. “Legolas,” you murmured softly, “I need to tend to your wounds now.” He gave a slight nod, though his gaze shifted to the fire in the corner of the room. His thoughts seemed distant for a moment, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still feeling the sting of his own helplessness. But then his eyes met yours again, steady, though still strained with pain. “I trust you,” he said, the words laced with quiet reassurance. It was a simple statement, yet one that carried so much weight—perhaps more than he realized. In those three words, there was a sense of surrender, of willingness to allow you to care for him in the way that only you could.

You moved to his side, your hands gently cupping his injured head. There was a deep gash at his temple, a result of the harsh impact when he fell. The blood had dried around the wound, leaving dark streaks in his golden hair, but the cut itself, though deep, did not seem to threaten his life. You carefully wiped away the dried blood, murmuring quiet reassurances as you worked. “Hold still, Legolas,” you instructed softly, applying a healing poultice to the wound. The herb mixture would help reduce the swelling and stop the bleeding. His muscles tensed for a brief moment, the pain seeping through him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you as if seeking comfort in your touch. “You know,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice still strained but laced with that familiar elvish calm, “I’ve never been in this position before. To be so reliant on someone else.”

You paused in your movements, looking into his eyes. The vulnerability there was raw, a stark contrast to the proud, composed warrior you’d always known. “It’s alright, Legolas,” you said, your voice warm and steady. “Even the strongest among us need help sometimes.” He closed his eyes, a faint exhale escaping his lips. “I know. It’s just… hard to let go.” You allowed him a moment of peace, then continued tending to his wound, your fingers careful and gentle as you bound the head wound with soft cloth. Once that was done, your attention shifted to his left arm. The bone was sprained, and though the swelling had reduced since the fall, the joint was clearly stiff and bruised. You moved with practiced ease, easing the arm into a splint, your touch soft yet firm as you ensured the injured limb was held in place. Legolas’s breath hitched slightly when you adjusted the bandages, the movement clearly painful, but he remained still.

“It’ll heal, Legolas,” you assured him quietly as you worked, your fingers deftly wrapping the cloth around his arm. “I’m not going to let it stay like this.” He let out a breath, as if trying to center himself, and then slowly nodded. “I know,” he replied, his voice tight but thankful. The final injury you needed to tend to was his ribs. You gently pressed along his side, the motion slow and deliberate. The bruising there was significant, a dark purplish hue spreading across the delicate skin of his side. You could feel the crack in the ribs, the sharp edges still unsettled, and you knew it would take time for them to heal. His breath hitched when you applied pressure to the area, the pain evident on his face, but again, he didn’t cry out. You paused, your hand resting gently on his side as you spoke in a soft, soothing tone, “I’ll use a salve to help ease the pain and help with the healing. But you need to be still. This will take time.”

“I’ll be still,” Legolas murmured, his eyes closing for a moment as he focused on the comfort you offered. “I trust you.” You worked quickly, applying the salve to the bruised skin and wrapping a bandage around his ribs to stabilize them. His body stiffened slightly at the tightness of the wrap, but there was no protest. Instead, he allowed you to continue, his focus solely on your hands as they moved with practiced care. When everything was done, you stepped back, giving him space to breathe and adjust to the healing that had just begun. He lay there, his chest rising and falling with each careful breath, his eyes now closed in rest. “You should rest,” you said quietly, your voice soft as you brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You’ve been through a lot, and your body needs time to heal.” Legolas’s lips parted in a faint smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough. “And you, healer, have done more than I could ever ask.” His words warmed you, though you kept your focus on him, watching over him as he drifted into a fitful sleep. In that moment, the world outside seemed distant, the forest’s winds now nothing more than a faint hum beyond the walls. All that mattered was the quiet, steady beat of his breath, and the knowledge that you would remain by his side, tending to him, helping him heal—body and heart alike.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

The night had settled over Lothlórien, its deep shadows cloaking the ancient trees as the sounds of the forest murmured in the distance. Haldir, tall and regal in his elven armor, moved through the woods with his patrol, his eyes sharp, ever watchful for signs of danger. The crisp evening air seemed to hold its breath as his team of Marchwardens made their way along the northern border of the woods, silent as ghosts. The patrol was routine, at first, a quiet stretch of the forest where nothing out of the ordinary stirred. But the tension in the air was palpable — something was off. Haldir’s senses were finely tuned to the rhythms of the woods, and he could feel the disturbance before he saw it. The faintest movement caught his eye, a flash of unnatural dark shapes cutting through the trees, growing nearer. “Orcs,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. He raised a hand, signaling his team to halt. The Marchwardens came to an immediate stop, crouching low behind the thick trunks of the trees, their eyes scanning the area. Haldir’s pulse quickened, but his mind remained as clear and focused as ever. There were at least six orcs—perhaps more—crawling like vermin through the underbrush. The smell of their foul presence was unmistakable, the rancid odor of their filthy bodies filling the air.

He turned to his team, issuing swift orders. “Wait for my signal. We strike in silence.” The elves melted into the shadows, their movements a blur of elegance and deadly precision. Haldir stayed at the front, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of his bow lightly brushing against his leg. The orcs were unaware of their presence, their crude voices rising in excited chatter as they drew closer to the border. Haldir’s keen eyes picked out a clearing ahead, and he knew the orcs were about to walk right into the trap. With a subtle nod, he gave the signal. The elves sprang into action. Haldir’s bowstring twanged as he loosed the first arrow, striking an orc in the chest, sending it tumbling backward. The rest of the patrol exploded into action, arrows flying with deadly precision, blades flashing as the elves descended on the orcs like a storm.

The orcs tried to fight back, but the Marchwardens were too swift, too skilled. Haldir darted forward, his sword a gleaming arc of silver in the moonlight as he engaged with the nearest orc. The beast growled in anger, raising a crude axe to swing at him. But Haldir was faster, parrying the blow with ease and cutting through the orc’s defenses with a clean, practiced strike. The orc dropped to the ground with a gurgled cry. In the chaos, Haldir’s mind remained sharp, his focus unbroken as he danced through the battle. But the orcs were numerous, and the battle raged on longer than he had anticipated. His body moved with a fluid grace, each strike and parry a seamless extension of his will. Yet, despite his skill and speed, the odds were growing against him. His team was in control, but it was a fight that would cost them. And that was when it happened.

Haldir moved to block a downward swing from an orc’s jagged sword, but the force of the blow sent a shockwave of pain through his shoulder. At that precise moment, another orc, hidden in the brush, loosed an arrow with deadly accuracy. The shaft of the arrow whistled through the air, striking Haldir squarely in the shoulder blade. The force of the impact was brutal — the arrowhead slicing deep into his flesh, the shaft snapping as it buried itself deep. The pain was immediate, searing through his body like wildfire. Haldir’s breath hitched in his chest as the wound flared up, but he refused to show any sign of weakness. His eyes narrowed as the battle continued to rage around him. He could feel the blood beginning to soak through his tunic, the warmth of it spreading quickly across his back. The arrow was lodged deep in his shoulder blade, and he knew it would take a miracle to remove it without further injury.But he did not falter.

With a sharp growl, Haldir twisted his body to face the orc who had shot him, his movements quick and purposeful despite the pain. His sword was already raised, and in one fluid motion, he severed the orc’s head from its body. The creature fell in a heap, and Haldir’s gaze swept across the remaining orcs. His hand was pressed tightly against his shoulder, but the battle was far from over. His thoughts were sharp, focused on protecting his team and ensuring the safety of the border. He fought with renewed fury, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the blood dripping down his back. The rest of the orcs were soon dispatched, their bodies falling to the ground in defeat. Haldir’s movements slowed as the adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of his injury hit him all at once. His vision swam slightly, his body beginning to tremble with the effort of holding himself upright.

But even then, Haldir refused to show weakness. He turned to his comrades, nodding in approval. “The border is clear,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “Return to Caras Galadhon.” His warriors began the trek back, but Haldir lingered behind for a moment. His hand remained pressed against his wound, but he did not let his pace slow. The forest whispered around him, the pain in his shoulder growing worse with each step. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Haldir made the decision to return. His determination to complete his duty overrode everything else. He would return to the healing hall soon enough. But for now, the pain of the arrow in his shoulder was just another burden to bear. The border was safe. That was all that mattered. The evening air had grown still as the last rays of the sun melted beneath the horizon, leaving the forest draped in an eerie quiet. You walked with purpose toward the healing hall, your footsteps light and measured as you thought about the day’s duties. It had been an exhausting shift, but nothing you couldn’t handle. The soft rustle of leaves was the only sound, save for the occasional chirp of a bird as it settled for the night.

Then, just as you neared the hall, you heard them—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, with a familiar rhythm. Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively recognized the tread. Haldir. The thought crossed your mind like a whisper in the wind, but the unease that followed it made you freeze. You didn’t need to see his face to know something was wrong. His presence, usually so confident, was off. When he came into view, your breath caught in your throat. Haldir, the proud and skilled Marchwarden, was walking slowly, one hand pressed tightly against his shoulder. There was an unnatural pallor to his usually composed face, his posture noticeably slumped. His steps faltered slightly with each movement, his free hand clenched at his side, almost like he was trying to hold himself together. You moved without thinking, rushing to him as the faint glint of blood caught your eyes. His usually pristine armor was marred by the dark stain seeping through the fabric. The sight of it made your heart sink, and you forced yourself to remain calm despite the flood of panic that threatened to overwhelm you.

“Haldir!” Your voice cracked as you neared him, your hand reaching out, unable to stop it. You could see the arrow now, embedded deep into his shoulder, its shaft jutting awkwardly from the flesh, the blood trailing down his arm. The injury was serious—too serious for him to be walking at all. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a brief moment, a sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tried to appear unaffected, but the faint tremor in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s nothing,” he said, his tone too calm, too controlled, attempting to downplay the severity of the wound. You didn’t let him finish. Your hands were already at his side, your fingers gently brushing against the cold metal of his armor before resting over the blood-soaked area where the arrow protruded from his shoulder. A mixture of relief and frustration washed over you, but it was mostly the latter. “You think I’m blind?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Haldir, look at you. This is far from nothing.” His jaw tightened immediately, that familiar stubborn set to his features. You had seen it countless times, but never in such an intimate moment. He winced slightly as you shifted his shoulder, his face betraying the sharp pain despite his attempt to hide it. His eyes locked with yours again, and for a second, there was a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps. Or maybe it was just pride.

“The orcs were dealt with,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but firm. “The patrol is safe, and I…” You cut him off, unable to keep your frustration at bay. “Stop it,” you said, your hands working quickly but with great care to steady his shoulder. “You should have returned to the healing hall immediately. You’ve put yourself in danger for no reason.” You tried to keep your voice even, but it wavered. The fear, the concern you had felt when you first saw him like this threatened to break through. “This arrow could’ve hit a vital organ, Haldir. How long did you walk like this?” His eyes lowered for a moment, and there was a pause—an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.” A lump rose in your throat. You could hear the weight of the words, the unspoken burden he had carried for so long. You shook your head, your hands still gently bracing his injury. “You don’t have to protect me from your injuries. I care for you, Haldir. Let me help you.” His gaze softened, but there was still a flicker of pride in the way he stood, as if this was a burden he was meant to bear alone. But his body betrayed him, the blood soaking through his tunic, his stance weakening. For a brief moment, you wondered if he would finally allow himself to lean on you, if the burden of his responsibility could be shared, if the trust between you both could be enough.

But instead, Haldir stood there, his chin lifted, eyes meeting yours with a quiet resolve. He might never admit it, but you could see it in his gaze. He wanted you to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it outright. You didn’t need him to ask. With You felt Haldir’s breath quicken slightly as you gently guided him into a sitting position, his face betraying the strain of the injury. His body had tensed when you first touched his shoulder, the sharp sting of the wound still fresh. The warmth of his skin and the blood that seeped through the fabric beneath your fingers reminded you of the urgency. “Just breathe, Haldir,” you murmured again, your voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently massaging to keep him as relaxed as possible. The last thing you needed was for him to tense up too much.

His gaze met yours, sharp and intense, even with the obvious discomfort. He didn’t say anything at first, but you saw the way his lips pressed together, the only sign of the pain he was in. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, but he did not flinch as you worked to ease the weight of his injury. Taking a deep breath yourself, you focused your attention on the arrow that was lodged deep in his shoulder, its shaft protruding from the skin. You could see the darkening stain around the wound, a stark contrast against his pale skin. The arrow had pierced through the flesh and muscle, leaving behind an ugly, jagged tear in its wake. It wasn’t just an arrow wound—it was a threat.

Carefully, you examined the entry point, noting how deep the arrow had gone. It had lodged near the shoulder blade, the shaft lodged at an awkward angle, which had likely caused the pain in his arm and neck. But from the way his breath caught as you probed the edges of the wound, it was clear it had caused more than just superficial damage. His body was already reacting—he was weakening, albeit slightly, as if the adrenaline was starting to wear off. “Haldir,” you said, keeping your tone as soft as you could, “I need you to stay still. This will hurt, but I need to remove the arrow now. It’s too deep for any healing to begin until it’s out.” His eyes flickered to yours again, that glint of pride still there. “I can manage,” he muttered, his jaw clenched in an attempt to stay composed, despite his obvious discomfort.

You nodded, not giving him the chance to protest further. You could feel the heat of his skin through his tunic, the erratic pulse beneath it—the fire of the wound was raging beneath the surface. Taking a deep breath, you reached for the arrow. Your fingers brushed against the shaft with delicate precision, trying to assess how best to grip it without making the injury worse. You would need to pull it straight out, carefully, with no jerks or sudden moves, or risk further damage to the surrounding tissue. The arrowhead had cut through muscle, and any force now could cause irreparable damage.

His breath hitched as you placed your fingers just beneath the base of the arrow, your other hand bracing his shoulder. You didn’t let your gaze leave his face, watching the muscles in his jaw tighten, a flicker of pain flashing across his expression. “I’m going to do it now,” you warned softly, your hands steady as you carefully began to pull the arrow out. It was a slow, agonizing process. As the arrow began to inch free, Haldir let out a strained breath, his body rigid beneath your hands. The tension in him was palpable, but he remained silent, determined not to show weakness. You couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though it made your heart ache to see him in such pain.

The shaft finally broke free from the wound with a soft, wet sound. Blood welled up from the deep gash where the arrow had been, and you quickly moved to staunch the bleeding with a cloth you had brought. The arrowhead had embedded into his muscle, and though you had been as careful as possible, you could feel the depth of the damage. You knew it would require more than just cleaning; this wound would need stitches and time to heal properly. Haldir’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, his body tense but still under control. The faintest sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, but his eyes never left yours. He was fighting through the pain, but you could see the edges of his composure fraying. “I told you it was nothing,” he muttered with a crooked smile, despite the obvious discomfort.

You let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with the relief of knowing you had gotten the worst of it over with. “You always say that,” you said gently, your fingers now pressing against the wound to slow the bleeding. “I’m not so sure you understand the meaning of ‘nothing,’ Haldir.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but you could see his body waver with each move. It wasn’t easy for him to sit still, especially when the wound was so fresh. But you needed him still, so you pressed a little harder against the injury, keeping him grounded. “I’ll clean it up now,” you said, your hands moving methodically to wipe away the blood and debris that clung to the injury. “Stay still, this will sting.” Haldir gave a slight nod but didn’t complain. His resolve never seemed to break. Even though you knew the pain he was in, he never once asked for relief. You admired that about him—his strength, even when he could barely hold himself up.

You reached for another cloth, dipping it in a solution of water and herbs meant to disinfect the wound. Gently, you cleaned around the edges, careful not to touch too harshly. His face remained neutral, though the occasional tightness in his jaw gave away his discomfort. “Almost done,” you reassured him softly as you finished cleaning the area, before moving to apply a salve to help with the healing. For a brief moment, the air between you was still. The world around you seemed to fade into the background. There was only the soft rustling of the forest, the quiet hiss of Haldir’s breath as he relaxed, and the steady rhythm of your hands at work.

When you finally finished, you looked up at him, your hands gently wrapping the wound with a bandage. His face was still pale, but the tension had eased a little, and the pain, though still present, seemed to be under control. You met his gaze, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever. “You’re going to be alright,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet certainty. Haldir’s lips twitched, a faint smile tugging at them despite his exhaustion. “I trust you,” he replied, the words soft but genuine. And as you finished tending to his injury, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Not just for his recovery, but for the promise in his eyes—one you intended to keep.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir had always moved with an innate grace, his every step deliberate and fluid, as if the very earth beneath him conspired to support his movements. He was known for his poise and precision, the quiet elegance with which he carried out his duties. Today was no different. In his arms, he carefully balanced a stack of scrolls—ancient texts, maps, and records critical to Lord Elrond’s ongoing studies. These documents were important, and Lindir, ever dutiful, had taken it upon himself to personally deliver them. He moved briskly through the stone halls of Rivendell, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, intent on his task. His thoughts, however, were not solely on the scrolls. You had joined him as you both walked down the hallway toward Elrond’s study, offering light conversation as you spoke of evening plans. The air was cool, rich with the scent of old parchment and the quiet hum of Rivendell’s daily rhythm. The sunlight streamed in through the high windows, casting long shadows that danced on the stone floor. You spoke softly, the sound of your voice mingling with the distant sounds of elves working and laughing within the sanctuary of Rivendell. As you walked beside him, the quiet symphony of the day enveloped both of you in a calm moment. Lindir’s usual calm demeanor seemed impenetrable, his attention divided between the scrolls and your conversation, both important in their own right. He was a master at balancing the two, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As you neared the stone steps leading up to Lord Elrond’s study, Lindir’s attention momentarily drifted. His focus shifted to something in the air, perhaps a fleeting thought or a concern, and in that fraction of a second, his foot found an unforgiving edge of one of the ancient stones. His perfectly poised step faltered. Time seemed to slow in that moment. The scrolls in his arms shifted dangerously, as though mocking the very precision he prided himself on. With a sharp, startled gasp, Lindir tried to regain his balance, but it was already too late. The stack of scrolls flew from his grasp, the flutter of parchment sounding like the softest wind as it scattered through the air. He could feel his body tipping forward, his arms instinctively reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the fall. But gravity, unforgiving and indifferent, took over. His body plunged toward the ground with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the stone corridor. His chest slammed into the ground first, followed by his arm—his left arm.

The stone steps beneath him, cold and unyielding, seemed to mock his usually smooth and graceful movements as he twisted in mid-air, trying to shield himself. But the fall was brutal. One of his arms hit the ground at an unnatural angle, a harsh, jarring crunch echoing in his ears as the force of his body weight drove it further out of position. His cry of pain, sharp and strained, was swallowed quickly by the cold air. The world around him spun, his senses overwhelmed by the sharpness of his injury. The scrolls—those documents he had carried with such care—now lay in a disordered mess around him. The faint sounds of paper rustling were drowned by the pounding of his own heartbeat. Pain surged through him, and the world tilted. His left arm throbbed, a radiating pain that consumed him, while the sharp sting of a cut on his forehead sent a wave of dizziness over him. The blood from the cut trickled down his temple, staining his usually pristine features, a cruel reminder of how easily things could fall apart. His face, normally serene, was contorted in an expression of agony, his once composed features now a mask of pain.

For a moment, Lindir could do nothing but lie there, dazed, trying to catch his breath. His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the sudden, chaotic turn of events. He could feel the cold stone beneath him, pressing against his chest, the sharpness of the injury in his arm pulling him back to the present. His breathing came in ragged gasps, but it was the pain, more than anything, that rattled him. His arm—a trusted instrument for countless tasks—felt like it no longer belonged to him, as though it had been twisted into an impossible position. He glanced down at his left arm, now pressed awkwardly beneath him, the unnatural angle sending another wave of nausea through him. His head swam, and his breath became even more erratic as he tried—too stubborn to admit defeat—to move, to push himself up. But the pain was unbearable. He winced, a low groan escaping his lips as he attempted to shift his arm, but all that came was a sharp, agonizing spike of discomfort. His entire body trembled as the pain overwhelmed him, yet still, he tried to maintain some semblance of control, his pride fighting against the onslaught of sensation.

“I… I’m fine,” Lindir managed to say, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. His voice was tight, each syllable forced out, and the tremor in his tone betrayed him. He wanted to reassure you, to make it seem like the fall had not shaken him, that it was simply a minor inconvenience. But even he knew his attempt was futile. His arm, the position it held, the way he cradled it against his chest—all of it told a different story. The pain was too great for him to hide, but the embarrassment of having fallen in front of you, so clumsy and ungraceful, gnawed at him. Lindir, always composed, always perfect in his movements, now felt utterly helpless. The embarrassment of the moment was almost as painful as the injury itself. He could see the concern in your eyes, but even as you knelt beside him, you could feel the tension in his body. It was not the fear of injury that haunted him—it was the sense of failure. Of how he, ever the dutiful and careful elf, had fallen so easily.

Lindir’s calm, composed demeanor had cracked in that instant. Despite the unbearable pain, despite the injury, he fought to maintain his dignity, not wanting to show weakness in front of you. But his usual unshakable poise seemed so far away, lost amidst the swirling chaos of pain, embarrassment, and the sheer vulnerability of the moment. With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, he closed his eyes briefly, his head dropping forward as the shame of the fall weighed on him. “I am sorry,” he whispered, almost to himself, as he lay there, fighting not to break down. The pain was more than he had expected, but it was the humiliation of his fall, his inability to stay composed in the face of an accident, that truly rattled him.

You knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cupped his face, guiding his head back up so that your eyes met. His words cut through you, the depth of his shame reaching places you hadn’t expected. But you weren’t angry or disappointed—in fact, your heart swelled with affection for him, for the strength he showed even in this moment of weakness. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lindir,” you whispered, your voice warm and steady. “You didn’t choose this. Accidents happen, and they don’t make you any less than the elf I know. You’re allowed to be human, to be vulnerable, especially with me.”

You paused, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek as you continued, “You’ve always been there for me, no matter what. Don’t you think it’s okay for me to do the same for you now?” Lindir’s gaze softened, though the shadows of his embarrassment still lingered, tucked away in the corners of his eyes. But slowly, as he absorbed your words, he seemed to relax just a little more, the tightness in his shoulders easing. “You are so much stronger than you think,” you added, your voice gentle but insistent, “and you don’t have to carry the weight of everything alone. Not when you’ve got me.” You could see it then—the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes, His face was drawn, pale from both the pain and the embarrassment of his fall. His body trembled slightly, not just from the injury, but from the pride he fought so desperately to maintain. You could see the struggle in his eyes—he wasn’t ready to show weakness, not even to you. Still, you gently guided him back down, your hands firm yet tender, urging him to sit and take a breath.

“I’m going to help you,” you said, your voice soft but firm, offering him a reassuring smile even though your heart was racing in worry. Lindir didn’t argue, though the effort to keep his composure was clear in the way his jaw clenched. His eyes flickered toward the scattered scrolls, and his chest heaved slightly as he tried to push past the pain. He opened his mouth to protest, to insist on retrieving the documents for Lord Elrond, but you were already giving orders. “Someone, please take the scrolls to Lord Elrond for me,” you instructed to a nearby elf, who had paused upon hearing the crash. “I’ll take care of Lindir.” Lindir, ever diligent and intent on doing his duties, made a small, frustrated noise, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings—he was thankful for your intervention. He simply wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet. As the elf hurried off to take the scrolls, you turned back to Lindir. He winced as you pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him toward the healer’s ward, your voice gentle yet insistent.

“Come on, you need rest. It’s not just your arm,” you urged, trying to get him to focus. The injury to his head had begun to bleed more than you’d originally noticed, the cut on his forehead still weeping crimson, his usual pristine appearance marred by the blood. Lindir hesitated, then slowly nodded, his usual determination fading slightly in the face of his injury. As the two of you made your way to the healer’s ward, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion on his face, the way his steps faltered despite his best efforts to appear composed. His left arm hung at a strange angle, and each movement seemed to send another wave of pain through him.

Inside your healing chambers, you guided him to a chair by the low fire, the warmth of it offering a faint sense of comfort in the midst of the tension that hung between you both. You could feel the weight of his gaze, though he kept his eyes averted. He was embarrassed, not only by the fall but by the vulnerability of needing help. “Lindir, sit,” you said firmly, your tone brokering no argument. You could see the struggle in his eyes—the desire to appear strong—but his body had already betrayed him. He obeyed with a slight, reluctant nod, and you moved to fetch the supplies you needed. His breathing had slowed, but it was still labored, and his face was flushed with pain. You carefully began to clean the cut on his forehead, the small wound on his temple trickling blood. The moment your fingers brushed against the tender skin, Lindir flinched, his body tensing as though the slightest touch might send him over the edge. His eyes met yours, a flash of something unspoken passing between you—the quiet, unyielding trust he placed in you to tend to him, even when he would never ask for it.

“I’m sorry,” Lindir murmured, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I should have been more careful. I… didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t want to worry you.” You glanced up at him, surprised by his admission, but you said nothing at first. Instead, you gently pressed a cloth to his forehead to stop the bleeding, your fingers soft but certain. “Lindir, Accidents happen all the time. Don’t be so hard on yourself darling.” You softened the words, trying to reassure him even though the pain in his voice was cutting deep. You could see his eyes flicker with the weight of his pride, still trying to maintain that stoic façade. It was hard for him to show anything less than perfection, but you could also see his vulnerability there, hidden beneath the layers.

You moved next to his arm, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady but filled with the knowledge of the task at hand. His arm was broken, and it had to be set before anything else could be done. You could feel his body tense as you gently, but firmly, moved his arm into place, adjusting it to a more natural position. The pain must have been unbearable. Lindir’s breath caught sharply, his face twisting in agony, but he said nothing. His jaw was set tight, his hands clenched into fists, but not a word of protest came from him. He wouldn’t let you see the full extent of his discomfort, not even now. You glanced up at him, his eyes now closed, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. “I need to set the bone, Lindir,” you murmured softly, trying to prepare him. You didn’t wait for a response before you began. Slowly, with gentle precision, you aligned the bone, pulling it back into place. Lindir’s body stiffened beneath your hands, his breath hitching sharply as he fought to keep the noise of pain buried within him. But you could hear it—the way his breath stuttered, the way his body quivered with the sheer effort of holding it together.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you secured the arm in a splint, wrapping it with careful attention. The moment you finished, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Lindir’s arm was now stable, though you could see the exhaustion settling into his face. You rose to your feet, your hands gently brushing away the strands of hair from his forehead, and your heart ached for him. You could tell how much he wanted to be strong for you, how much he hated the feeling of being vulnerable. But in this moment, he had allowed you to tend to him, to be the one who kept him safe. And though he would never admit it aloud, you knew he appreciated it more than words could say. “Thank you my love,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse from both the pain and the emotion that he had fought to suppress. “I… didn’t want to need this. Didn’t want to need help.” You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his uninjured hand, the warmth of it a quiet comfort. “You don’t have to be perfect, Lindir,” you said softly. “Not with me.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes, allowing the silence to settle between you both. It was a small surrender, but it was all he could give in that moment. And for you, it was enough.

[deathricedrawn]

I saw your drawing in hermitzine and knew I immediately needed to follow you. Your artstyle is so pretty!!! The colors and the effects and the shading- and I love your taste in music too :3 the whole playlist you got goes hard highly agree

AHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH?!!!! Omg... That means a lot ..!!🥺🥺 I originally wasnt sure what Song to use for my piece bc it was quite empty and i wanted something like text to fill it up... and after like a Few weeks i realized it might be a cool idea to make it like a slip ud put inside a cd case :o0!!! So i was able to add like a Lot Of Songs instead of just one... Two birds with one stone!

[willowser]

willow! first of all, i love all your writing and aus and just everything about your blog! everyone feels so realistic and it’s just amazing ajahakalal!!

second of all, i cannot get love island! kiri out of my head. like imagine he’s getting to know some other girl bc he’s just that nice but then someone else snatches you for recoupling and he realizes that there’s a very real possibility that the two of u won’t be together by the end and the thought just breaks his heart bc bc he really likes you!! you really, really wants to be with u and pursue a relationship outside the show but now he just feels like he blew it when he sees you with your new guy, splashing each other in the pool and laughing so brightly and you’re in your cute little bikini and hnghhhh just can’t stop thinking about this

OKAY OKAY bummer island with kiri is such a rollercoaster, i think you guys have the HARDEST time in there 🥺🥺 but it makes it worth it, in the end 😌🩷✨️

like i'm imagining that every week, all the boys are just hyping him up, telling him that he shouldn't close himself off, he's here to meet people, that's the whole point of this game and stuff — which it is ! but 🥺 he does really like you 🥺 so he ends up....unintentionally being a bit of a douchebag LOL

bc he's telling you that you're the only one he sees !! 🥺 and he's smiling at you on the beanbags, saying, "i wish we were sharing a bed tonight," and he always tells you how nice you look, you're always laughing together, sometimes you get too touchy 😌 BUT THEN ANOTHER GIRL WALKS IN and he's like, "i feel like i would be doing myself a disservice if i didn't try to get to know her," which is so AKGBRUEJQLALA and it's like. by the third time this has happened, you're so done. so beyond done lmao. and he doesn't even REALIZE IT.

a recoupling is happening and it's girls' choice and kiri is — over the moon. because he's thinking that this is it !! that you're going to choose him because things have been going great with yall (💀) and you'll finally be able to move forward, he's really excited to put all his effort into you now and — no, he's really not worried that a new guy just came in and told you he only had eyes for you 🙂 why would he be worried ?? 🙂

and you get up there and — you don't choose him. and he can't believe it.

every time that you could've coupled up in the past, someone has come along to steal either of you before the deal could be sealed. and now the opportunity was right there and he really, really was looking forward to FINALLY being with you 🥺 and having to stand there and hear your speech and watch you choose someone else is like alfhdkakajbfs 🥺 has him so ???? ofc a girl he's been talking to saves him so it's not like he goes home or anything but the hurt is SO CLEAR on his face 🥺

and afterwards, he grabs you as soon as it's appropriate to ask you 🥺 what happened ?? 🥺

and you're kinda not even looking at him 🥺 staring down into your drink or elsewhere. "i don't know, kirishima, he came in here and only has eyes for me, so — i think i'd be doing myself a disservice by not getting to know him."

and he KNOWS that those words are a slap in the face, especially with how serious you look, and he kind of laughs because he's shocked and hurt and doesn't know what to say !! because it's all too real now that he genuinely may have fucked it up !!! 🥺🥺🥺

[haruchuiyo]

i just read your gen z x bonten series and WOW i wish i could pay u real money because THAT WAS AMAZING OMG

smiling so badly reading this rn, other people would think I’m talking to my crush >< I’m so HAPPY you liked it hehehehe

[the-drunken-huntsman]

Spectral Lucien Lachance moodboard? I love the ones you’ve already done, they’re so amazing. Thanks for doing these!

"You stand now at the precipice of the Void. I am reminded of another Listener, a protege I knew long ago. So long ago..."

Spectral Assassin Lucien Lechance

[torawro]

sosaaaaa i saw u tagged me in ur aizen fic 👀 i'm so excited to get to it!!! i already know it's going to be amazing <33

HAI DARLING <3 and yes you are correct in your observation, i most definitely tagged you 😇 i am even more excited to see your reaction to this particular fic >< i know how much you love aizen tew heheh

[dreadsuitsamus]

I'm sorry you're feeling so burned out. You're an amazing writer and a great person. I hope you start feeling better. Remember that it's okay to take breaks and you're allowed to not write or be productive.

thank you 🥹 i've been feeling pressure to write and get things out, so when i do post fics and nobody reads them it just knocks me down another peg. i've been taking blow after blow lately. people making me feel pressured to write what they want me to write, people talking about content in my fics as if it's not good enough and not even adding any sort of constructive criticism and just being an asshole to be an asshole. it makes me want to deactivate this blog and move on

[thnksfrthmmrs]

hey, i just wanna say i kinda get you with how isolating sex-repulsion can be. especially online it just seems that everyone is used to or makes jokes about it a lot that for some reason someone saying theyre uncomfortable with it makes that person "weird" or "prudish" like at least to me it feels like people make it into a way bigger thing than just tagging nsfw. like its really not that hard or unreasonable to ask

this!!!! like i don’t think it’s wrong to be comfortable talking about sex and making explicit jokes, but anything detailed makes me uncomfortable and i wish people could just slap the four lettered tag under their posts so we could all be comfortable

[mohammedalanqar]

-Layan and Sarah drew this during the war and asked me to share it as a thank-you to all of you, Tumblr community.-

These drawings were also made possible because of your support. They were safe and able to draw and dream of hope, simply because you stood by us with your words and donations.

Let it be in my own words: I, Engineer Mohammed from Gaza, write:

My wife’s first act after the ceasefire agreement is announced will be to walk through the streets, crying.

Layan’s first act will be to visit her school, my cousin’s grave, and my uncle’s grave.

Sarah wants to stay out in the street until midnight, without fear.

Adam wants 100 shekels to buy many things and toys and to visit the beach.

And all of them want to go on a long drive in the car.

As for me, I just want to cry and sleep for a long time.

To cry for dozens of loved ones, and to sleep for the first time without fear—because we are truly exhausted.

Heartfelt gratitude:

This photo was taken especially for you.

Since my first day with you in the Tumblr community, you have been my family and the family of my children. No one hesitated to support us—everyone, without exception. From those who helped by sharing posts and spreading our story, to those who reached out to check on us, supported us with kind words, and many who donated for our sake.

You have been a family to us, and the reason we have remained safe until now. Your support has kept us alive and enabled us to afford basic needs, even with the soaring prices.

Thanks to you, we are closer to safety. My wife, Enas, my daughters Layan and Sarah, my sons Adam and Amir, and I thank you all from the bottom of our hearts ♥️.

Now, we are hearing good news about the imminent announcement of a ceasefire in Gaza, as well as the entry of proper caravans for living instead of tents and our destroyed homes. There’s also news about more substantial aid being delivered and heavy machinery arriving to rebuild roads and restore life.

Additionally, there are preparations underway to hand over the Rafah border crossing with Egypt under European supervision. We hope this happens soon so that Layan, Sarah, and Adam can return to school and education after traveling.

With your support, we are just a step away from achieving our goal, as mentioned in previous posts regarding financial details and expenses.

We urge you to share this post as a message of gratitude to you all, and as a final push for this campaign so that we can start a life full of hope with you, as you have always been and still are with us.

Donation Campaign Click here

Campaign Verified (verified, #174) !

Your Support is Life 🩷

[autisticfoxgirl333]

🪷Life is full of little surprises—some good, some not so much. But no matter what comes your way, your spirit is strong and your heart is full of goodness. Here’s a reminder of all the wonderful things you bring to the world just by being you🪷

Aww! Thank you Anon! Those are very kind words! That really warms my heart!🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

[tojirights]

I absolutely love your Alastor smut! Is there anyway you can make one where your Vox’s ex and Alastor decided to somehow show off to Vox how much reader loves his c*ck more?? A special broadcast maybe?? Please keep up the great work!

a/n: i love vox but if there's one thing i love more, its making him feel inferior to alastor 😍 this is soo good. REQUESTS OPEN! 🩷

tags: 18+ smut nsfw!

vox thought alastor couldn't get any worse, there was nothing that shit-for-brains demon could do to enrage him more. that was until valentino told him that alastor had a new pretty little thing hanging on his arm. "he WHAT?!" vox's voice cracks from the sheer force he puts behind those words. valentino snickers, watching vox run to his security room.

and there you were, locked arms with that fucking deer demon, walking down the street. you looked absolutely enthralled with that fucker! "you've gotta be fucking kidding me..." he growls, static filling his vision. as if alastor can sense that they're being watched, he winks at the camera and pulls you down a more secluded path. vox puts his fist straight through the screen before pacing around the room. it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before his ears pick up that voice, that shitty radio voice.

"good evening viewers!" alastor begins, making vox's head spin around. the tvs were blank, just audio playing through them. he's about to smash the rest of them when something catches his attention. he swears he hears a familiar noise, your noises specifically. then he hears you panting, and blood rushes to his groin first and then his face. "thank you for tuning into a very special late night broadcast." alastor's voice sounds... breathier.

"what the fuck is-" vox mutters to himself before his eyes go wide. "o-oh god." you moan, sounding far too sexy. and enjoying yourself far too much. "yes alastor, fuck. that's so good." your whines play out, filling the room and vox is just about to lose it. "is alastor fucking your ex?" valentino leans against the doorframe, a smug look on his face. "you’re so tight, my dear. your cunt was made for my cock just as i was made for radio." he laughs to himself, his hands finding your hips as he fucks you over his desk.

this little plan of his was working just as intended. he asked, of course, if you'd be interested in ruffling your exes feathers a little bit and you agreed. this special broadcast was only being shown directly to vox through his security. not a single other soul would be able to hear you but vox. it sent a certain chill up your spine, knowing that he was definitely listening. every thrust of alastor's cock presses you harder into the desk, bruises sure to form later in the evening.

"that's kinda hot, yknow-" "SHUT UP VAL." vox feels as though he's about to implode, anger coursing through him in a way he's sure he's never felt. "i am going to finish him. both of them. they won't live this down."

valentino covers his mouth to stop from laughing. "it sounds like they're about to finish each other." and he was right. your breathy little moans are a dead giveaway. "please, please your cock feels so good. g-gonna cum." vox paces the room, plotting your downfall but his cock is hard as a fucking rock in his pants.

"such a good girl, you are. you sing so pretty my dear." alastor grunts, pressing the head of his cock up against your cervix before he feels you clamp down around him. with every pulse of youe orgasm, alastor follows. "cum alastor, p-please fill my pussy." you gasp, riding out wave after wave of deep pleasure. vox should turn this off, he should walk away but he can't make his feet move.

and after alastor finishes deep inside of you, filling you to the point of it leaking down his cock, he lets out an almost sinister chuckle. "thank you my loyal viewers for tuning in for this one of a kind show! we hope you thoroughly enjoyed."

the room is silent after the broadcast ends. that is, until velvette clears her throat. "was that alastor fucking your bitch?" she raises a brow, a slow smirk spreading over her lips when she sees vox's face.

"no one talk to me. i have business to attend to." and with that, vox disappears, leaving valentino and velvette to themselves.

"bold move, i gotta hand it to him."

[sleepyangelkami]

COSTUME s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.4K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N - this is my first ever time writing about sucking dick, please be nice to me, i'll cry.

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you had to dress up as an FBI agent with the winchester brothers. you felt stupid in a costume but luckily for you, sam really liked seeing you in a skirt.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, oral(s!rec), no p!v sex, size kink, praise kink, fingering, slight manipulation, reader lowk flexible, cum eating, messy sex, squirting, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

"come on, y/n, we gotta go!" you heard dean's not so gentle knock against the bathroom door as you slipped on your last mary jane shoe.

you weren't usually chosen for tasks like this.

usually, it was the winchester boys that did all this kind of thing, you know, fraud? you were usually just the researcher, sitting in the motel room as back up, with a laptop perched on your lap or sitting in baby, the key inside and waiting to be their getaway car.

you weren't really hands on when it came to being a hunter.

you never really had to go out into the real world for much. but this particular demon was snatching girls, twenty something year old girls about your age and appearance. the brothers thought it would be best if another girl accompanied them when investigating the missing girls' roomates and not two six-foot men dressed in suits.

dean's head turned as the creaky bathroom door opened. "I feel stupid."

his eyebrows raised to the tips of his forehead, a look of shock passing over him as he cleared his throat with a breathy laugh. "wait 'til sammy sees you." you just gave him a confused look before grabbing the pretty pink purse that sat on the bed. "aah-ah." you look up at dean confused. "kind of ruins the whole FBI vibe, don't you think?"

you eyed the purse in your hands.

it was a little bag, hardly able to hold anything other than your phone and your lipgloss, not that you ever had to worry about holding your wallet when you had the boys around but nonetheless, a card was wedged in there too.

it was pink with darker pink flowers on it and a ribbon attached to the strap. sam had gotten it for you after a case that you worked particularly hard on.

but dean was right, it didn't fit the whole 'FBI vibe' so you sighed and placed it back on the bed, passing the man an unhappy glance.

sam was outside, sitting in the passenger seat of the infamous impala named 'baby' by dean. he'd packed and started the car, waiting for the two of you when you caught his eye.

or should he say, your outfit.

you often wore pretty little sundresses or blouses and skirts paired together with a pretty cardigan drawn over you. but this? This seemed awfully different to your usual attire.

the white blouse was a little too low for comfort and he could tell by the way you were pulling it up over your cleavage that you agreed. your black pencil skirt was high, too high with a pair of long black stockings that stopped just above your knees paired with the infamous mary janes that you wore with almost everything.

sam was staring.

"what are you wearing?" was the first thing he asked when you and dean got into the car. "what is she wearing?" he turned back to dean.

you owned the stockings and the mary janes before hand but the rest of the outfit? it'd been dean's job to pick it out (which was no wonder you looked like... that.) "dude, she has to play the part."

"yeah of an FBI agent not some sexy stripper cop." sam spoke, exasperated.

"thank you!" you beamed from the back seat before your eyes furrowed. perhaps your boyfriend hadn't been complimenting you at all.

sam passed you a glance through the mirror but was more focused on blaming his brother. how could he let you go out looking like that for everyone to see? how could he make sam watch you while his pants tightened and his bulge was on show?

you thought the interviews went smoothly. you sat down with most of the women. the college women who's roomates had gone missing. dean was too busy fraternizing with the college girls to care about the case anymore and sam... well sam had seemed a little distracted from the beginning.

he couldn't rip his eyes away from you. you sat so perfectly, pieces of hair falling into your face as you nodded and sympathised with the women, asking them questions and jotting down notes onto a little notepad you had found in the backseat of baby.

sam was staring at you, at the way he could see the outline of your boobs down your shirt or the way your plush thighs protruded from the fabric of your stockings.

he was in awe.

it was hard to focus on anything other than you, which is why he had to excuse himself to talk to the headmaster instead of being stuck in a room with you, too close.

he was your boyfriend, it wasn't as if you hadn't done things with him before. on the contrary, you did... many things with sam before. but this was borderline unprofessional, the way he let his thoughts run.

he could imagine sliding his hands beneath your skirt or listening to your little gasps when he touched your skin, barely grazing it. you were so easily led like that, so audible and obedient. he could imagine unbuttoning your shirt slowly, with you sat on his lap while whines fell from your lips, whimpers following shortly after.

he needed to stop thinking.

or better yet, he needed to fuck you until the thoughts stopped.

dean decided he was going to check out the last spot that the college girl had been taken, assuring you both that he wouldn't be back before dinner. but the wink he shot his younger brother told him that he was merely giving you both alone time because he was no stranger to the look in sam's eyes.

and this was when sam got selfish.

honestly, the motel wasn't that far from the college so you and sam opted to walk back. the air turned brisk and for a split second, sam was about to offer you his jacket, the way he always would.

he thought it was rather adorable, watching the way you nuzzled into the jacket that was far too big for your frame. he was six foot five after all, you drowned in anything he let you wear.

but he found himself feeling selfish. he selfishly liked the way your perky breasts looked in that pretty blouse and the way your plush thighs could be seen peeking out from between the skirt and the stockings. he couldn't stop looking, couldn't tear his eyes away and stop his imagination from roaming.

so he let you walk back to the hotel, keeping a slight distance behind you so he could watch your body as he pleased, the only sound between you two being the click-clop of your mary jane heels as you walked home.

when you finally got inside, you felt yourself sigh in thought.

sam had been acting awfully quiet since you'd left and you'd begun to worry that you'd done something to upset him.

perhaps the outfit was too revealing, perhaps he wasn't okay with it.

you turned, an apology already on the tip of your lips. "sam―"

before you could utter the words, sam had grabbed you. his lips pushed into your own, a kiss filled with no passion or love, you could taste nothing aside from thick hunger, half a growl from inside his throat.

you whimpered into the kiss, taken by surprise. you felt him grab at you, one hand slid up your back, the other grabbing the back of your head and a fistful of hair along with it. again, a noise escaped you while sam was mindlessly kicking off his shoes, guiding you towards the bed.

to say you were surprised was saying the least, you hadn't expected this.

when he sat you gently against the bed, he finally broke the kiss. you looked up at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips while he tugged his suit jacket off, not bothering to take off his tie completely but only loosen it so it didn't hang so close to his neck. perhaps now he could finally breathe.

your eyes followed him curiously as he bent down, eyes never leaving yours while you stayed sitting on the mattress. you felt his hands pawing at your legs, slipping your mary janes from your feet. his hands gently rubbed at your sock-covered feet, a little reminder of his gentleness, despite the roughness he was suddenly using on you.

his fingers trailed upwards, following the little sewing thread between the fabric of your stockings. when his hands reached the top, he snapped the fabric back, leaving it snap against your thighs. "you're keeping these on." he uttered, he didn't sound like he normally did. he sounded as if he were pent up, desperate for relief. and he was.

you just couldn't seem to understand why.

"sam, why are you―"

you were cut off. "you're jus' so pretty all dressed up, honey." sam was towering over you as he stood, his large hand falling on your face, practically taking up a whole cheek as he cupped it. "'n i was hard all day thinkin' about this. you do wanna make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?"

he watched as your eyes seemingly got rounder. "i wanna make you feel good, sammy." you caught your bottom lip between your top teeth and he could tell you were being honest, so honest.

willing to do anything to make him feel good, his sweet sweet girl. he would have cooed at you had he not been busy using his thumb to pull your bottom lip from beneath your top teeth. "don't do that, baby." he watched as you nodded silently. "good girl, i'll give you something to wrap those pretty lips around, don't worry."

he could see your face slowly building a flush, that kind of blush that had him reeling. he liked when he got you like this, all flustered and squirming. which you were, squirming in your seat with your thighs pushing together.

sam was well aware that if he were to reach up your skirt now, he would find a little wet circle sitting on your satin panties.

but instead, he used his hands to pull his own trousers from him. they were sitting tightly on his hips and when he finally pulled them down, you could see his bulge sticking out from his black boxers.

you gulped, hands playing together in your lap. you wanted to look back up at sam but you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from him, too engrossed by his dick to think of anything else.

"'s how i felt all day, sweetheart." his voice was a whisper now. "you were teasin' me 'n i couldn't do anything about it. do you know how mean that is?"

your eyes snapped up to his, filling with this red glassiness. "w-what?" you didn't want to be mean to sam. he was so good to you, always making you feel good, you wanted nothing more than to be good to him. "'m sorry sammy, 'm really sorry."

"awh, i know, baby." his thumb swiped against your cheek, playing around with your face as if you were dough, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "you just wanna be my good girl, yeah?"

you nodded quickly. "mmhm, wanna be your good girl, sammy, 'm sorry. 'm really sorry."

"i don't know, you were very bad today." his constant teasing as only making your panties wetter, that tone he was using on you, the one that he knew got you all flustered. "if i give you a second chance, are you gonna be good?"

"uh-huh, 'be so good, sammy, i promise. please, ill be good." you were begging now, eyes as big as saucers and lips wet.

he didn't bother pretending to think about it, he just leaned down, so far that his face was in line with yours, lips against your ear as he softly whispered the words, "then get onto your knee's 'n show me."

when sam winchester told you to do something, you did it, no questions asked.

you'd touched him like this many times before, you on your hands and knees on the mattress while he stood on the ground. he thought it was the most comfortable spot for the both of you, seeing as he was so big.

you did as you were told, moving so you were on your hands and knees against the mattress. your hands moved up to his waist, eyes snapping to his. he watched you intently as you brought your lips to his clothed cock, pressing a pretty kiss against it before using your fingers to pull down his underwear.

you did it without fail every single time.

every time he had you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you started off with that pretty kiss to his boxers. there was something sickly sweet about it that had his eyes already rolling backwards. it was almost an innocent and naive act of love towards him, laced with lust.

you were on just your knees now, pushing his boxers down with no help from him. his dick sprung free and you could see an idle line of precum dripping down his shaft. instinctively, your hand moved up, thumb swiping the precum and smoothing it over the head of his dick. the act alone caused a grunt to leave his lips.

as pretty as you looked, all curious and ready to take your time, sam simply wasn't having it tonight.

he was too pent up from your silly outfit and his own mindless thoughts that he couldn't help it.

his hand fell to the side of your head, cupping it as he guided it forward. you knew what he was asking and you wasted no time in sticking out your tongue and licking a kitten lick up his shaft.

"fuck," fell from his lips. "good girl." mumbling as your tongue swirled over his head and your mouth wrapped around his dick. sam was a huge man and his dick was no exception to that. he was huge, too big to fit in your mouth but you pushed him in anyway, only covering a little more than half.

sam knew he was big too, he couldn't help the quirk of his lips as he looked down at you, struggling to fit his size into your mouth. his hand slowly guided your head further onto his cock, letting your lips wrap around him completely, your saliva coating him. it wasn't until you gagged that he knew this was as far as you could go.

so he pushed you a little further, anyway.

you brought your head back out then in again, bobbing it as you tongue swirled against him. you were no stranger to sucking sam off but every time you did it, you found yourself getting nervous. you wanted to be good for him and you were doing your upmost best.

his pretty thing.

"fuck, baby, you're doin' so good f'me." and sam knew exactly what effect his words would have on you. "mmph, look so pretty with your lips around my dick, sweetheart."

you couldn't help but moan on his dick.

and his lips quirked into that sickly sweet smile.

he knew how easily you got wet, how all it took was just a few words and you were a moaning, whining mess. sam thought you deserved a little more for all you were giving him than just a little praise.

and like said before, sam was huge so he reached over, his torso towering a little above your head and his arm reached out, soothing down your lower back.

this wasn't the first time sam had pulled something like this. you knew what to do, stomach sinking onto the bed as you rolled your ass into nothingness, wanting to create some kind of friction while your mouth continued to slowly melt around him, licking and sucking, eyes closed as one hand pumped the part of his dick that your mouth couldn't reach.

you felt his fingers tracing the outline of your satin underwear, pulling up your skirt so he could gain access.

you made a noise of complaint, knowing that if he touched you, you wouldn't be able to focus properly on touching him. sam only used his free hand to push your head onto his dick and make you gag again.

he liked watching you fall apart, especially with his dick stuffed in your mouth.

he loved watching the way your body had to bend for him to be able to stick his fingers into your gaping whole, watching as you desperately rolled your hips, wanting him him him. you wanted to feel him. taste him. smell him. he was all consuming, you wanted him to take over your every sense.

and he always did, without complaint.

you were wet, undeniably so, he could feel it through the satin material that he pulled back, getting access to your aching pussy. "there you go, sweetheart, tha's it." while easing two fingers into your hole.

you felt like a slut.

he had you completely and utterly full.

"'s that nice, baby? y'feel so warm." both with your mouth against his dick and your soaking wet hole. "you're so pretty for me, you know that, angel?"

he knew you couldn't respond, only whining and whimpering against his throbbing cock. "you're my good girl, aren't you?" he felt you whine, vibrations spreading through him and he also felt your pussy squeeze against his fingers. he grinned at that. "you like that, honey? like thinkin' about how you're my good girl, yeah? all mine, baby, you're all mine."

and you really were. before sam, you wouldn't look at a boy sideways let alone be like this.

you groaned into him, ass rolling against his fingers while your own free hand moved down. you continued sucking his dick while using your nimble fingers to play with your clit.

and that was enough for sam to let out a moan. "oh, baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself while―shit―sucking my cock."

your eyes rolled back, feeling of pleasure coating you while your soft lips bobbed up and down, fingers tracing him and yourself.

"'m gonna cum, sweetheart." a warning, though he knew you wouldn't move anyway. "you gonna be a good girl 'n cum on my fingers while you suck my cock, huh, baby?"

he felt you absentmindedly nod, too fucked out to think straight while feeling a familiar knot deep in your stomach.

your whines got louder and he felt himself nearing the edge. the sight of you, blissed out while sucking his cock, his fingers stuffed into your hole making you feel all full... he couldn't help but let go.

at the same time, he felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers, wet juices sliding down his hand while spurts of squirt left your pussy every time his fingers pumped in and out of you, riding out your high.

"good girl, good girl. that's it, baby. oh fuck. yeah, my good girl. there you go." he was in awe, watching you squirt around his fingers, the wet feeling as it spurted out from your pussy, decorating the bedsheets in your juices while your pretty socks got ruined in the mess.

when he finally finished, he pulled his fingers out of you, letting you lean back as you parted your lips to show him his cum all over your tongue, spread messily in your mouth.

his hand was on your face, eyes strained on your mouth as he watched you close your lips and swallow like the good girl you were, swiping his thumb against your bottom lip.

he pushed his two fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. while your eyes rolled back, all fucked out and dumb.

"think we have some time before dean gets back, yeah?" eyes already scanning your body and letting his imagination get the better of him.

he just watched your blissed out face nod, cheeks flushed. "mmhm hmph."

he wasn't done with you just yet.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[k-hotchoisan]

hi I saw that your requests are open! can you write about needy/horny hongjoong being a messy kisser and overstimulation (only if you're comfortable with it) 💕 tysm 💕

At this point I should just make a masterlist of ateez members being perverts because that’s where all of these fics are swerving to (not that I’m complaining 😛)

Thank you for the wait, here’s your meal ✨🌶️

wetting your lips

<hongjoong x fem!reader>

He’s just your sugar daddy right? No strings attached. At least that’s what he thinks until the both of you make out, and you see how fucking deep his obsession with you runs.

Genre/warnings: perverted, possessive, DILF sugar daddy!Hongjoong, smut, Hongjoong is possessive as much as he’s horny (we love that for him), blowjob, deep throat, cumming un/touched, overstimulation, sloppy, making out, vibrator play, unprotected sex, cream pie

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe

🩷 Stay perverted: the masterlist

“No strings attached”, is what Hongjoong would tell you during the earlier days of this transactional relationship. Little did he realise he would be eating his fucking words. 

Initially, it started off with spoiling you with dinners and gifts. Truthfully, it was kind of jarring—solely because it was something you never thought of stepping your foot in. Hongjoong was fine with the arrangement, showering you with gifts and dinners. He was always polite and gentle, sometimes even flirty with you. He never brought up intimacy—at least, not until the third month mark. 

And you wonder to yourself how did Hongjoong keep all of that to himself, because he was something in bed. He wasn’t rough by any means—dominant—definitely. You could tell he got off taking the lead in bed on top of fucking the ever loving shit out of you. 

Fucking him—or being fucked by him was nothing like your previous partners. Despite him being significantly older than you, he had some sort of vigor, one that definitely always left you wanting more. He started becoming more flirtatious, his hands always around your body whenever he could, enjoying seeing red tint flush against your cheeks whenever he said something dirty. He began picking you from campus more often as well. 

It was to the extent that on some days during your classes, you would blank out briefly, whatever you were supposed to be absorbing completely replaced by your little escapades with him the night before—him driving his cock right into your wet hole from below, muttering such dirty things—“that’s my good girl, taking my cock like that. You love that don’t you?”, and the way he would hold your thighs down so you wouldn’t squirm and take his fucking cock like his good little girl while you leak all over him and completely break. By the time you snapped out of it, your thighs were squeezed on reflex. You were never gonna fucking tell Hongjoong that, obviously. 

There was one thing you realised he doesn’t do during sex—kissing. It wasn’t that he would avoid you if you kissed him—you didn’t initiate because he never placed his lips in the proximity of yours. You chalked it off as probably something he wasn’t comfortable with, and you weren’t about to force him anyway. 

Then another popped—up the more Hongjoong had you around him—his possessiveness progressively built. Initially it was subtle; Hongjoong would rest his hand on your thigh if he was seated beside you—he loved doing that, especially when your thighs are bare. There was an instance where he was picking you up from campus, he called your name, pulling your attention away from your friend. Your male friend. 

“Boyfriend?” He’d ask. You stay frozen, unsure of what to reply to your friend. But you shake your head while you plaster a smile before you waved him off and entered Hongjoong’s car. 

As you clip your seatbelt on, Hongjoong casts you a glance from the side before he presses against the accelerator. 

“Who was that?”

You look up at him and blink. “Classmate”, you reply curtly, before pulling out your phone.

“The both of you seem close”, he comments, shifting his gaze away back to road. 

“Yeah he’s my group mate”, you reply, nonchalant about the tightening grip Hongjoong had on the steering wheel. He’s irritated, his jaw is clenched but he doesn’t know why.

“What were the both of you talking about?” He asks next. Your gaze lifts from the phone to the road ahead of you, wondering why Hongjoong was suddenly asking you all of these questions. 

“Nothing. He was asking who you were. That’s all.” 

Hongjoong’s jaw tightens slightly more. His eyes don’t leave the road. 

“And what did you reply?”

You finally whip your head to face Hongjoong, confusion partnered with furrowed eyebrows all over your face. 

“Why does that matter?”

“Answer me, doll.” 

And you immediately simmer down slightly, your eyes back on the road. 

“What would you want me to answer?” You deflect, hoping, praying, that he’d leave this alone. It was making your heart pump a hundred miles per second. 

“I asked you first.”

Now you can’t help but to roll your eyes. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

Hongjoong cocks an eyebrow. “Elaborate.”

Your arms are crossed. There is a prick of irritation stemming from your heart, but you aren’t able to pinpoint the cause of it. 

“He asked me if you were my boyfriend, but I didn’t reply.”

This time, Hongjoong quietens down, but you catch a glint in his eye—something you’ve never seen before. 

Boy, were you in for a fucking ride. 

The moment you step into his penthouse, you make a beeline for the showers, like you always did, but this time, your heart is hammering in your chest. As the hot water washes the soap off, you wonder about Hongjoong’s recent behaviour towards you. Even though Hongjoong has always been a direct person, he’s like a puzzle you could never figure out. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t seem to get him out of your head. Especially when he’s been more affectionate recently. It’s sending you into a spiral. 

Hongjoong is drying your hair as he combs it. And it’s the little things like these that makes your heart flutter. But he still hasn’t answered you about why he was questioning you so much in the car over a friend.

You turn to him. 

“Now you answer me.”

Hongjoong is avoiding your gaze. The prick in your heart is starting to germinate. 

“Then I’ll accept his date. He was asking me out anyway.” 

That makes Hongjong whip his head so fucking fast, and he’s glaring daggers into you. 

“No. You’re not going.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“And why not? It’s not like we’re dating or anything. You said it before—no strings attached, right?” 

Hongjoong’s jaw clenches. This is driving him insane. He knows. He just doesn’t want to admit it. And he’s about to find out that this would be the turning point. 

“It doesn’t apply this time. I’m not allowing you.”

“You think we’re something? Yeah, wefuck, but youdon’t even kiss me,” You spit. You’ve never challenged Hongjoong like this before, especially given the basis of this peculiar relationship. This was definitely new to you. And him. 

Hongjoong stares at you. Hard. His expression is indecipherable. He shifts closer to you, you who remains still, gaze tracing his movements as Hongjoong closes the distance between the both of you. His thumb presses against your chin, his fingers holding your chin up. You scoff internally, because it’s not like you’re running away-

-and his lips are pressed onto yours. Your mind is buzzing. So much chemicals are colliding in your mind. Sure, the fucking sent you into another realm, but from a kiss? Maybe you just didn’t expect Hongjoong to actually kiss you. 

Hongjoong’s head is as spinning as madly as yours is. There’s a reason why he doesn’t kiss his flings, his partners. He doesn’t like the idea of how kissing turns him vulnerable. He doesn’t care about the emotional connections. But with you? Dear god, he could break his own fucking rules for that. In his own perverse ways. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you. But he was afraid of the entanglement it would ensue should it happen. It drives him crazy. Even though he was the one who foolishly mentioned no strings attached, he swears he’s the one at his feet for you. 

The kiss deepens as Hongjoong coaxes you to part your lips, and you do, shakily, your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Hongjoong stumbles slightly, but his lips are messy against yours. He swallows hard when the both of you pull back, a thin string of spit slowly pulling apart between two swollen lips. 

It’s only then you realised what the hell you’ve done. You’ve gained clarity after the steamy make out session, but one glance at Hongjoong, his cheeks and ears and flushed red, and his eyes are hazed. 

You tug against the drenched boxers Hongjong has on, pulling it down as he peels the silk lounge wear off you. Your breath is heavy at the sight beneath his pants—thick white, leaking and trickling down his thick and heavy shaft.

Hongjoong’s eyes are growing wilder by the second. His hands catch yours and he places your palm on his chest. You feel it—his heartbeat is as wild as his eyes. 

Before you realise it, your back hits the mattress and Hongjoong is towering over you. Your hands are off him, but his hands are trailing all over you—cupping your tits before the sensation of his fingers are tickling your sides, and then he’s at your thighs. He casts you one more glance. 

“If you don’t stop me now, I don’t know what I might do”, Hongjoong warns gently. 

“Hongjoong”, you call out, the tips of his fingers trailing teasingly against the curve of his jaw. “What else have you been keeping in that dirty little mind of yours?”

The sides of Hongjoong’s lips crack into a smile. “So many fucking things, doll.” 

It’s not as if you never used a vibrator with Hongjoong during sex, in fact, he almost seemed to always hold back his enthusiasm when you told him you wanted to use the vibrator during sex. 

But what you failed to realise was how frenzied he almost seemed to be whenever the vibrator came into play. Little did you know his true fantasy was to stuff you full with it, and watch you writhe and beg while he fucks his hand. 

You swallow hard when the vibrator hits the perfect spot again. You push your thighs together, trying to get the toy to hit the spongy spot once again, because fuck, you were so fucking close to cumming. It feels so fucking good. You glance at Hongjoong, who twirls the controller with this pretty fingers. He looks so sickeningly satisfied, watching the way you’re squirming, trying to reach your high, your eyes so glazed out, your whines sounding like symphony to his ears when you beg him to let you cum when he lowers the vibration intensity with his thumb. 

“Hongjoong”, you choke, jerking once more when the vibrator ups it’s buzz once more. Now tears streaming down your cheeks from the constant jump between the lack of and overstimulation. “I wanna cum. Let me cum, please.” You’re practically grinding your hips against the sheets, so much cream leaking past the vibrator that if you sat up, the toy would definitely slip out, and that’s why Hongjoong has you seated like a good girl, legs closed to keep the toy stuffed nicely in you. 

The imagery of you giggling with your male classmate turns Hongjoong’s gaze dark. He cracks a smile, devoid of anything pleasant before he rips your orgasm away from you once more, hearing you cuss for the nth time with your legs twitching. 

“No.” He simply says. “Not yet.”

You hiccup, so fucked out from the pulsing pleasure that you don’t know how much more of this you can take. 

You watch hungrily as Hongjoong strokes his fat, red-tipped cock slowly, beads of precum leaking off the slit, listening to him sigh shakily as his hands slip down his slippery shaft. 

“Fuck yourself with your little toy. If you can last till I cum, I’ll make sure you’ll cum so fucking good, doll”, he proposes. You nod as you bite your lip, desperate to get some form of release, even though you weren’t sure if you were gonna last. 

You spread your legs wide open in front of Hongjoong, gingerly pulling out the vibrator, groaning at the way it drags out of your wet cunt before pushing it back in, your toes curling from how good it feels. Hongjoong almost loses it here, watching how your pussy stretches when you push the toy in. 

And you slowly fuck yourself with the toy, letting yourself fall back against the plush, thick pillows behind you. You feel like you’re doing okay, that is, until Hongjoong amps up the fucking intensity and you’re back to shaking and your voice climbs in octave when you whimper. You’re almost tempted to just fucking release it—it feels so fucking good. Just when you’re about to give up, the intensity slows down to a dull buzz, and you take a sharp inhale, your eyes meeting Hongjoong as he watches you like a predator while his hand makes more of a mess on his pretty cock. You still fuck yourself slowly on the toy, even though it’s by instinct that you want to fuck yourself stupid with it. 

Not yet. You wanted to be Hongjoong’s good girl. 

You lift your hips slightly, the angle letting the vibrator push into deeper parts of your pussy, and you wonder if you regret it or thank the fucking gods for it because when Hongjoong sees you do it, he raises the vibration, making you gasp, your legs snapping shut. 

“Keep them open, baby. You wanna cum, don’t you?” Hongjoong reminds you. He’s obviously enjoying the fucking show—the clear precum slowly turning more white and thicker by the minute. 

“Can’t help it, Joong. Feels so fuckin amazing”, you mutter, hearing Hongjoong’s pretty chuckle echo in your ears while he watches you failing at holding your composure while the vibrator is fucking its vibrations right into your fucking core. 

“Fuck. Look at that pretty little pussy of yours. I’m almost jealous,” Hongjoong sighs as he lowers the vibrations once more, simply to admire how easily the toy slides out of your cunt only to be pushed back again, completely drenched and sticky. 

Without a doubt, watching you fall apart while you fuck yourself like that is sending Hongjoong into a fucking spiral. The one time where he almost walked into you fucking yourself with your dildo triggered something so perverted in him. And before he realised it, his pants pooled a dark patch watching you slap the toy right at your clit, before you would slowly drag it down to your soaked cunt, then pushing it in slowly before you stuffed your poor cunt full. The icing on top? When you were moaning his name sounding so fucking needy,  and before he knew it, cum had soaked his pants. Since then, he’d stay by the doorway of his bedroom, often never telling you when he would be back, just to catch you fucking yourself with your toys just so he could indulge in his fantasies. 

Just when you’re getting used to the low vibrations again, Hongjoong amps it up once more, watching your eyes roll back when he ups it at the moment you had the vibrator stuffed into your pussy. Before you could even register, you feel a tug from behind, and your concentration is at Hongjoong—who has his hands in your hair, pulling it away from your face while he kneels so his cock is right at your face. 

You look up at him, your free hand immediately going up to fuck his cock while you continue to fuck yourself with the vibrator. Somehow, it only makes you feel so fucking good. 

“Open wide, doll”, Hongjoong gestures, giving you a tug from the back so your mouth is at the tip of his cock, not missing the way you moan slightly at his roughness. You stick your tongue out, lapping the thick cream around his cock before he pushes the back of your head, your mouth covering the entirety of his cock. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck. So fucking amazing”, Hongjoong bites the inner of his cheek, completely dropping the remote onto the bed as his other hand joins to the back of your head. 

Your mind is completely mushed—mouth being stuff full of cock while the vibrator is pushing right your g-spot, at such a mind breaking intensity. You try your best to bob your head, at one point letting Hongjoong fuck your face while groaning at the way he’s tugging your hair, adding on to the rapidly building orgasm that was about to burst, even though drool and precum were trickling down the corners of your lips from how much he’s creaming down your throat. 

His cock twitches and he pulls out slightly before he pushes in again once more, barely giving you the time of the day. “Cumming. I’m cumming, doll”, he grunts, his hips pressing against you. “Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

Your eyes roll back from the pleasure, your legs twitch at that moment—your orgasm spraying out of you while it floods your entire system at the same time, your mind completely going blank while Hongjoong has cum down your throat, the tangy salty fluids following down your throat while your tears leak past your eyes from the sheer fucking pleasure. Your fingers have left pretty scratches down his thighs, and you’re sure he’s gonna love it later. You never thought it would have come down to this.

Hongjoong pulls out slowly, his hands letting go of your hair, stroking your jaw instead before he kneels before you, and engulfs your lips, tasting himself in your tongue. 

There he goes again—his eyes completely glazed out when his lips are on yours, like he can’t get enough of it. And he doesn’t—because he doesn’t soften. 

“So good. Need more, doll. You can take it right? Take whatever I give you”, Hongjoong whispers, the tint flushing his cheeks once more. He makes you face away from him this time—back against his chest, and his wet cock is right at your pussy. 

You swear he’s gonna be the death of you. 

Hongjoong rubs his cockhead against your hole, before he pushes himself in, groaning as you take him inch by inch, stretching your pussy out so well. You’re beginning to drool again—almost shutting off the moment he has you filled up to the brim. 

“Warm and tight. Fucking perfect, doll”, he sighs. You feel yourself drip with more cream. 

Then he starts to fuck you from below, and you’re immediately grasping for any ounce of sanity left in you. But it’s obvious Hongjoong is only gonna fuck it all out of you by the time this over. You lift your leg up by instinct, letting him hit deeper into you, and he groans at how tightly you’re squeezing him. 

His arms are wrapped around you, more tighter and more intimate than usual. And all the thoughts and theories are completely muffled when you feel his cockhead pressing against your g-spot once again. 

“You’re so pretty when you look like that, baby. So fucked out and used by me”, he laughs right in your ears. 

“Yeah. So perfectly used by you”, you agree, your hips bouncing off his cock as well. 

“Of course. My girl is perfect”, his reply sending butterflies flooding your stomach, though you were certain it was mostly because of his cock. 

The thrusting becomes more desperate—the sound of wet skin slapping only growing louder by the second, it makes your toes curl and your head spin. Hongjoong feels so fucking good in you and you swear you could get completely drunk off his cock. It’s also the fact that he’s jackhammering his cock right into you right after he made you swallow his fucking cum moments before that’s making you so disgustingly hooked onto him. And sometimes, it scares you how much you just want him all for yourself. Little did you realise you’ve flooded every crevice of Hongjoong’s mind when the intimacy begins to intensify. Every time he tells himself that he shouldn’t let his feelings mix with the pleasure, you unintentionally pull him back in again, and now he’s completely hooked. 

“Mine, mine, mine”, Hongjoong whispers, biting down onto your neck as a soft moan passes through your ears, and you feel warm, thick cum flood your walls. Stars flood your eyelids as your second orgasm crashes into you, your fingernails leaving light trails of red on his thigh while your pussy milks Hongjoong dry, more cum seeping out 

In between pants and catching breaths as both your highs gradually die down, you turn around to face Hongjoong, your lips ready to part to say something, but Hongjoong beats you to it. 

“Now you can let your little friend know that you have a partner. A partner who’s fucking head over heels for you.”

[flickering-chandelier]

Was Any Of It True?

Pairing: badboy!Azriel x goodgirl!Reader

Summary: Modern/College AU! Az’s on-again-off-again girlfriend gives Azriel a proposition: make the new bookworm fall in love with him, then break her heart, in exchange for anything he wants. He agrees, but things get complicated when he falls for Reader for real.

Based on this request! 🩷

✨ Part 2 ✨ Part 3 ✨

Warnings: angst, sexual language?, swearing, Azriel & friends being assholes

Word Count: 10.2k   oh lord sorry besties I couldn’t shut my little brain off

“I'm telling you, Az, she's pissing me off. The professor loves her, and I saw that she got a 100 on the exam,” Claire was seething while she and Azriel lounged in his apartment, eating the pizza he'd ordered.

“Mhmm,” he mumbled around his pizza, only half listening. Claire was always complaining about something. “And what did you get?”

“98! He took two points off because I didn't answer thoroughly enough,” she scoffed. “God, I hate her. She's going to push me right off the top of the Dean's list.”

Azriel blinked. “I mean, you'll still be very near the top of the list.”

Claire groaned, throwing her napkin onto her paper plate angrily, “That's not good enough!”

He rolled his eyes and she glared at him. “Don't be an ass! This is a big deal to me.”

“Oh, I know it is. This girl is all you talk about.”

“Because I hate her. Maybe if she got laid, she’d be distracted enough to slip up once in a while,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, maybe,” Azriel said, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and setting it on the table, a sufficient signal that he didn’t want to talk about his girlfriend’s arch nemesis anymore. 

No more than a week later, Azriel’s on-again-off-again girlfriend was off-again, and honestly, he was relieved. Claire’s obsession with being at the top of the academic food chain was bordering on insanity, and he was glad he didn’t have to hear about it anymore.

He was currently at a house party that Cassian had dragged him to, with a blonde girl that he couldn’t remember the name of sitting in his lap, one of her arms draped behind his neck, the other resting on his chest. She had been whispering in his ear all the things that she wanted to do to him, before Cassian interrupted, handing Azriel a shot with a grin. 

Blondie scowled at Cassian, who just smirked back as the girl that Cass had been talking to earlier sidled up next to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. 

Azriel knocked the shot back and handed the cup it had come in to the blonde girl. “Can you get me another one?”

She seemed annoyed, but took the cup from him anyway, striding into the kitchen. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” Cassian said, settling on the couch next to him, before pulling the girl onto his lap.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Like I give a shit.”

Cassian snickered as the blonde girl came back, draping herself in his lap again, handing him another shot. He drank it, just as Claire appeared before him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her brow furrowed.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He smirked, making a show of tightening his grip on the blonde girl’s waist. “No, thanks. Been there, done that.”

“Not that kind of proposition, you idiot. Can we talk privately? I think it’ll be worth your while,” she said, her lips turning up into a sultry smile.

“I don’t know, Claire, I’m pretty busy right now,” he said, turning his gaze to the blonde girl, squeezing her thigh. She sighed dreamily, leaning further into him.

Claire groaned. “Look, Az, I really need your help. Please?” 

Azriel studied Claire, and he could see that it was true. She was wearing her most annoyed, don’t-fuck-with-me face, but her eyes were pleading. Sad.

He sighed, glancing apologetically at the girl in his lap before turning back to Claire. “Fine, we can talk.”

She led him into someone’s empty bedroom and shut the door behind her. 

“If this is about that girl you’re obsessed with, so help me,” he said. She winced, and he threw his head back. “Unbelievable. Claire, I don’t want to hear about this anymore! I don’t care about your problems.”

“Just hear me out!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“She actually is threatening my spot on the Dean’s list now,” she said, looking close to tears.

He looked pointedly at her. “And?”

“And I was thinking about what I said earlier… about how if a really hot guy was interested in her, maybe she would stop caring about her grades so much,” she said, smiling at him now.

“And?” Azriel just wished she would get to the point.

Claire sighed, exasperated. “I need you to seduce her.”

Azriel barked out a laugh, leaning his shoulder against the nearest wall. “You’re kidding, right? Why would I do that?”

She stepped closer to him, trailing a finger along his chest, her touch feather-light through his black t-shirt. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, “Because I asked? Because I’ll give you anything you want,” she said, her voice dropping seductively.

He held her gaze, leaning down until their mouths were a breath away. Azriel heard her breath hitch.

Then he pulled away rapidly, and she blinked. “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Her brow furrowed, her nose scrunching up. Oh, she was furious. Azriel's mouth turned up into his calculated half smile.

“What do you want, Az?” she huffed.

“Hmm,” he said, taking his time to think. Claire scowled. “I haven’t decided yet. But when I need to call in a favor of my own, you have to promise to do it. No matter what,” he drawled.

To her credit, she really looked like she was thinking it through, trying to think of another way to push this girl off the list. But finally, she sighed. “Deal.”

He pushed off the wall, walking towards the door. “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Claire shook her head, her eyes still alight with her anger. “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

Azriel bristled a bit, leaning against the door now. “I know I’m an asshole, but that seems too far, don’t you think?”

“No. If she’s going to be distracted enough that her grades will slip, you need to make it seem real,” she said, and then smiled as if she had a wicked thought.

“What?” Azriel asked.

“And then you break her heart, right before exams,” she said excitedly, her eyes burning with enthusiasm now. “You tell her, in front of everyone, that it was all fake.”

He rubbed at his bicep, a nervous tic that Claire picked up on immediately. “Jesus, Claire. I don’t want to ruin this girl’s life.”

She arched her brow. “Why not? She’s ruining mine.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and Claire pounced, “Any favor, Az. Any time, you can tell me to do whatever you want,” she smirked. 

He groaned, pinching his nose. “Fine,” he ground out. “Where do I find her?”

Claire beamed. “Where else would a nerd be? The library, of course.”

---

You shifted in your seat, starting to feel sore after poring over your notes for hours. Maybe you should go for a walk. Maybe. But, you still had so much to do…

Groaning, you crossed your arms on the table, laying your head down on top of them. Just a minute, you just needed a tiny break --

“Studying always makes me feel like that, too,” said a low, male voice. 

You lifted your head, bewildered, and nearly choked on your own spit. The guy who was for some reason deigning to talk to you was… well, what other way was there to say it? He was drop-dead gorgeous. 

His face was stoic as he sauntered up to your table, his jet black hair was just a tad unruly, his hazel eyes burning into yours. But it was his body that made the breath completely escape your lungs. He was dressed in all black, his t-shirt hugging his chest and his biceps, showing off his every muscle, and there were swirling black tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. 

All you could do was stare as he took the seat across from you, leaning back with his arms crossed like the two of you did this every day.

“What class is that for?” he asked, nodding to the textbook open in front of you, the dozens of papers scattered around you.

“Organic Chemistry,” you said, trying to sound like you were normal and not completely surprised by this handsome stranger finding you in your favorite quiet corner of the library.

He let out a low whistle, “Damn, you are smart.”

“What, did someone tell you I was?” you asked. 

“No, I just figured when I saw all the --” he gestured to your cluttered workspace, “homework stuff.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Homework stuff?”

His mouth turned up the slightest bit, holding up his hands like he was surrendering. “You caught me. I’m not much of an academic.”

“Then what are you doing here?” you asked curiously.

“Now, that is an excellent question,” he said, and really did seem like he was questioning it. “Girls? Parties? Though I could get girls anywhere and I don't particularly enjoy parties.”

You nodded. “Ah,” you said. “Got it.”

He braced his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I take it you’re not into that kinda thing?”

A dry laugh escaped from your throat, “Definitely not. I’m really only here for the--” you mimicked his gesture from earlier, “homework stuff.”

He barked out a laugh, his stoic face completely transforming for the briefest of moments. You couldn’t help but stare. “You’re telling me all you do is study? A beautiful girl like you? Please tell me you’ve been to at least one party,” he said, looking at you incredulously. 

You blushed. “No, I haven’t been to any.”

You braced yourself for impact, for the teasing or insults to come, but he just smiled softly. “You wanna go to one with me tonight?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You don’t even know my name.”

The side of his mouth quirked up into a smile, his eyes dancing with amusement. “What's your name?”

Rolling your eyes, you told him.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Azriel.” He raised his eyebrows, “So? Party?”

“I thought you just said you don't like parties!”

“True, but I do love the thought of corrupting a sweet, innocent bookworm,” he smirked.

“No, thanks.” You couldn't imagine yourself going to a house party, especially not with a stranger.

Azriel's cool-guy demeanor seemed to drop the slightest bit. “Why not?”

You looked at him pointedly. “I don't know you. And I have no interest in being corrupted. Why do you want me to come to this party so badly anyway?”

He shrugged casually. “I like you.”

“You don't know me!”

“See, that, right there,” he snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “You're funny. Smart, beautiful. What's not to like?”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as a blush rose to your cheeks. “I'm not going to a party with someone I don't know. They make true crime documentaries about that sort of thing.”

He seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “Okay, you make a fair point. What do you want to do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can pick our first date, since you didn't like my idea.”

“What date?” You blanched.

He arched an eyebrow. “Our first date? Weren't you listening?”

You studied him for a moment. For the life of you, you could not figure out what this guy's angle was. 

As if reading your mind, he said softly, “Look, I just saw you and thought you were really pretty, and that it looked like you could use a break from studying. That's it,” he held his hands up again. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to go, I'll go.”

For a beat longer, you watched him, his body language, his ridiculously pretty face. What was the harm, really? You sighed, tore off a scrap of paper from your notebook, scribbled out your number, then handed it to him. “I need to study. If you text me later, I'll let you know where we're going on the first date.” 

His face broke out into what might have been the first genuine smile you'd seen from him. He took the paper from you, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Can't wait.”

You were half expecting to never hear from Azriel again. But just a few hours later, as you were eating dinner in your apartment, your phone chimed with a text. 

Az: Done studying yet?

It was an effort to bite down your smile. 

You: Taking a break for dinner. 

It was less than a minute before he responded. 

Az: Dinner? Is that what our first date is going to be?

You didn’t try to hide your smile this time.

You: A little cliche, don’t you think?

Az: Oh, absolutely. So… what are we doing?

You: Meet at the tennis courts at 7 tomorrow?

Az: We’re playing tennis?

You: No, but I’m not giving you my address. And I’m not giving away the surprise.

Az: So smart. So mysterious. I’m swooning.

You: Shut up.

Az: See you tomorrow ;)

You tossed your phone to the side, forcing yourself to focus back on your schoolwork.

The following day you parked your car by the empty tennis courts on campus just before 7. It was early spring; the weather finally started to warm up enough to not be too chilly in the evening. Still, you rubbed your arms nervously. You were starting to regret this. You didn’t know this guy at all. What if it went horribly wrong?

Before you could contemplate bailing, a familiar figure rode up on a jet black motorcycle. Of course this guy had a motorcycle. You couldn't see his face underneath the helmet, but you would already recognize those tattooed arms anywhere. 

He parked his bike, smoothly sliding off it and taking his helmet off before sauntering over to you. “Hey, beautiful.” 

You rolled your eyes, sure that he had said that to a million girls on a million dates before.

“What? Don’t do that,” he said softly, his smile softening and his gaze raking down your body. “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, giving in. 

“So,” he said, towering over you. “What’s the plan?”

You smiled. “How’s your mini golf game?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking a little skeptical. “Mini golf? That’s what you’re choosing?”

“Yes, it is. Do you have something to say about that?” you teased. 

His eyes sparked at the tone in your voice. “Nope. Nothing at all.” He nodded to his motorcycle. “You wanna hop on the bike?”

You looked pointedly at him and he laughed. “Didn’t think so,” he gestured to your car. “Lead the way.”

Your nerves started to dim as the two of you fell into a rhythm going through the course. The two of you were just talking and laughing like it was normal. It was… fun, actually.

“Shit,” Azriel muttered as he overshot the hole. Again.

You laughed and his eyes flicked over to you, lingering a bit. “You’re good at this, bookworm,” he said as he took another shot, sinking it into the hole this time. You watched, leaning against your putter, having finished that hole two shots ago. 

Shrugging, you said, “I used to go with my family a lot.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back as you walked to the next hole. You cleared your throat, focusing on your steps, on your breathing, on anything but how it felt to have him touch you so casually. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked as you dropped your ball onto the green. 

You took your shot before you answered. The ball landed just shy of the hole. “What’s your family like?”

“My family…” he trailed off, clearing his throat, setting up his shot. He paused to look at you for a moment before he swung. “It’s complicated.”

He hit the ball and it stopped right next to yours. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, as the two of you walked further down the hole.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just… I don’t really talk about them with anybody.”

You nodded, not sure where to go from here.

Azriel smiled reassuringly, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying,” you claimed, your voice an octave too high. 

“You are. I can tell.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you sunk your ball into the hole.

“I think I’m going to need some pointers from you on the next hole,” he grumbled. 

“I guess I could help you out,” you laughed. 

So, when you got to the next hole, the last hole, he stepped so close that your bodies were nearly touching. You tried to control your breathing. 

“You’re gonna help me out?” he murmured, his eyes flashing down to your lips for a moment. 

“Okay,” you breathed. 

He stepped behind you, his body pressed against your back, wrapping his arms around you, his hands covering yours on the club. 

“How is this going to help you, exactly?” you asked, your voice slightly unsteady. 

His lips brushed your ear as he said, “Oh, trust me, it’s helping.”

You couldn’t say anything. Could hardly breathe.

“What do you think I’m doing wrong?” He murmured. 

You swallowed. “You’re hitting it too hard. Not exactly rocket science.”

“Mmm. That makes sense. I do tend to go… hard.”

That finally had you coming to your senses. You stepped out of his grasp, turning back to glare at him when you were a safe distance away. 

The side of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Sorry. I couldn't help myself.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him again. “Just take your shot.”

He smirked at you for a moment, before he swung, and the ball went right into the hole. 

He turned to you, his eyes wide. You laughed and he hugged you, picking you up and spinning you around. 

You let out an involuntary squeal of surprise, and he laughed, gazing into your eyes as he set you back on the ground. “Thanks for the help.”

“I think you’ve been playing me this whole time,” you joked. 

His smile fell a little, his eyes sobering. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. When he just stared at you, his expression unreadable, you added, “Azriel, I was joking.”

He blinked and then his natural, stoic expression was back as he took a step closer to you. “Right. I think you’re just a good teacher.”

You just looked at him, trying to decipher the changes in his mood, who he really was underneath the gruff exterior.

He smiled faintly, stepping even closer. “What are you thinking about?”

You had to crane your neck to look him in the eye now. “I'm trying to figure out what you're thinking about.”

Azriel's smile turned into a smirk. “I'm thinking… that I really want to kiss you. But I don't want to scare you away.”

Heat flooded your face and his smile turned softer as he cupped your cheek gently with a rough hand. “Would it scare you away?” He murmured.

“I -- don't know,” you said honestly.

His hazel eyes dipped to your lips and stayed there. “I think I'm gonna have to take the risk,” he said, his voice low, husky.

“I think so, too,” you breathed.

His free hand slinked around your waist, gently pulling your body into his. Your heart thundered in your chest as he leaned down, slowly bringing his lips to yours. He seemed to give you a moment to process, and you felt him smile against your mouth when you started to kiss him back, your fingers curling around his bicep, his shoulder.

You were breathless by the time he pulled away, and as the two of you drove back to the tennis courts, you couldn't help but hope that it would happen again by the end of the night.

When you parked your car near his motorcycle in the abandoned lot, he lingered, his gaze holding yours, dropping to your mouth again.

He shot you a crooked smile. “Aren't you gonna walk me to my bike?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you got out of the car, walking over to the motorcycle and settling against the fence near it, crossing your arms over your chest. “Happy now?” You asked.

Slowly, he sauntered over to you, his eyes twinkling under the stars. He raised his arm, twining his fingers in the chain link fence above your head, leaning his body towards you, but not quite touching. He gazed down at you, still sporting that half smile. “Very happy,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched and when his smile widened, you knew he heard it. 

He held your gaze as he leaned down, bringing his mouth to yours again. You let yourself fall deeper into the kiss this time, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you. 

When he finally pulled away, he was grinning. “Want to go for a ride before you head home?” He said, nodding to his motorcycle.

You had stepped far enough out of your comfort zone for today. “Maybe next time.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “So you're giving me a next time?”

Damn. You blushed. “I said maybe.”

“Uh huh, sure,” he said, leaning in again so his lips were barely an inch from yours. “You can't wait to see me again,” he whispered.

You shoved him away lightly and he chuckled, backing up towards his bike, but keeping his eyes on you. “Until next time, then. Have a good night, bookworm.” He winked before putting his helmet on and speeding away.

A few weeks, a few dates, and several kisses later, you couldn't deny that Azriel was on your mind quite a bit.

You had never thought that someone like him would be interested in someone like you, but he seemed to prove time and time again that he did indeed like you. He texted you flirty little things every day, making you blush in class. He asked about your day, and seemed to genuinely be listening, and he would do pretty much anything you wanted on your dates. Last week, the two of you had gone to a local bookstore and he had watched you browse, a small smile on his face. He ended up picking out a book he wanted you to read and you did the same for him. He had been sending you daily updates on his progress through the book. Slowly, you were starting to let your walls down, despite yourself.

So, when he asked you to finally go to a party with him, to meet his friends, you accepted. You still felt cautious: partying had never been something that you were remotely interested in, but you trusted him.

---

Azriel knew he had to tread this next part carefully. Things had been going well with you. He let you take control of your time together so you would be comfortable, and honestly, he was actually having a really good time getting to know you and seeing where you would take him next.

And when you kissed him… God. It was always a struggle to keep his hands on your waist, to stay PG. He wished he could explore things further with you in that regard, but he wouldn't let himself go there. Not when your broken heart was the finish line.

He rarely let himself think about it -- the deal that he had made with Claire. Being with you felt so natural that he usually forgot he was supposed to be acting. That he was supposed to be leading you to Claire’s revenge.

He had convinced you to come to a party, upon Claire's request so she could see the progress he had made with you. You had said yes, he assumed because you trusted him enough now. The thought made his stomach roll. He was really starting to hate himself for getting mixed up in this.

Azriel acted differently around you than he did around the rest of the general population. At a young age he had learned to keep quiet, to not show a single emotion on his pretty face, to be tough, or be punished. 

With you… he couldn't help but smile. Couldn't stop the laughs that he usually stomped down for the rest of the world.

So, having his two worlds collide at this party…he didn't know exactly how to navigate it. Deep down, it made his heart swell that you trusted him enough to help you navigate something so far out of your comfort zone. But if his friends saw the way he acted around you, he would never hear the end of it.

This would be a mess.

If Azriel wasn't leaning against his motorcycle when you exited your apartment building, he may have fallen over. You were wearing skintight jeans and a black tank top that showed more cleavage than he ever imagined he'd see from you. His fingers flexed on his biceps. He wanted to pull you back into your apartment and spend an hour peeling those clothes away inch by inch.

He blinked the lust away, trying to maintain his stoic expression, but failed, as he always did with you. He smiled at you and you smiled back. 

He could tell by the way you carried yourself as you neared him that you were nervous. “Hey, beautiful,” he drawled his usual greeting as you wrapped your arms around his waist in your usual greeting.

“Hi,” you said, a little sheepishly. His eyes must have lingered on your curves a little too long because your eyes widened a bit, and you bit your lip nervously as you pulled away from him. He nearly groaned. “Is it too much? Do I look stupid?”

Azriel placed his hands on your shoulders gently, dipping his head to look you in the eyes. “You look amazing. Seriously.”

You blushed and murmured, “Thank you.”

He had to turn away, to grab your helmet, so you wouldn't see how much you affected him. He fucking loved it when he made you blush like that. 

Azriel turned back to you, holding up the helmet, his eyebrows raising with amusement. “You ready to join the dark side, bookworm?”

You sighed, shifting on your feet. 

“It'll be okay,” he said softly. “I got you.”

You nodded, seeming to resolve yourself, and reached for the helmet with slightly shaking hands.

He helped you make sure it was on correctly, his fingers brushing your chin, your neck. He bit back a smile as you shivered.

Azriel held your hand as you got settled on the back of the bike, showing you where to put your feet, and how to shift your weight with him.

When you seemed at least somewhat comfortable, he slid his helmet on, smoothly setting onto the motorcycle. You wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your chest into his back. You were already holding him like your life depended on it, and he beamed freely underneath the helmet.

“Hold on tight,” he shot back at you, before he revved the engine, taking off much more gently than he normally would.

He tried not to think about the feel of you pressed into him, how tightly you were holding on. It didn't work. He wanted to drive you everywhere.

He couldn't resist reaching back to briefly squeeze your thigh at a red light. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” you said. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a smile in your voice.

Too soon in Azriel's opinion, they had made it to the party. He parked, offering you his hand to help you get down.

When he pulled the helmet off your head, he was pleased to see that you were indeed smiling.

“Have fun?” He smirked.

“I did, actually,” you said, sounding a little breathless. 

“Whenever you need a ride, you just let me know,” he winked.

You laughed, glancing behind him at the house. 

He took your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You seemed to relax a bit. “We can leave whenever you want, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and smiled nervously up at him.

You were doing this for him, he realized. Because he had asked you to. His heart constricted, guilt churning in his gut again as he led you inside, your hand squeezing his tightly. 

His shoulders tightened as he led you through the crowd, making sure you were tucked in close to him. 

“You want a drink?” he asked, as you made your way to the kitchen.

“Sure,” you said.

He rifled through what was on the sticky counter, trying to find something not disgusting for you to drink, making sure you stayed close to him. 

Finally handing you a cup, he put your hand on the small of your back, guiding you to a corner of the living room that wasn’t yet very crowded. He took a seat on the couch and you settled in next to him, tucked closely into his side. 

You smiled, leaning your shoulder into his. “Is this really it?” You asked skeptically. “You just sit here and drink around a bunch of drunk idiots?”

He laughed before he could stop himself. “I mean, yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he said, dipping his head to say in your ear. “Or we could dance. Or make out,” he smiled against your ear. 

You blushed and he laughed again, kissing your temple. 

Azriel wrapped an arm around your shoulders as Cassian and Rhys showed up, grinning at you, their eyebrows raised. Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. They had seen him laughing with you, kissing you, he knew. He had nearly forgotten where he was, why he was here with you. He loved them, but he wasn’t sure what they would say to you about him. They didn’t know about his arrangement with Claire, and he had been keeping details about his relationship with you as vague as possible.

“So you’re the one Az has been spending all his time with,” Cassian grinned. 

You smiled sheepishly, leaning further into Azriel. “I guess.”

Azriel nodded to his friends. “This is Cassian and Rhysand. They’ve been my best friends since we were kids.”

He could tell you were intrigued by that. He still hadn’t told you anything about his childhood. 

Before you could ask any questions, Claire showed up next to Azriel’s friends, her expression the very picture of friendship. It unsettled him so much that he held you closer to him, so you were practically on his lap. 

“Hi Claire,” you smiled, and his heart sank. You really had no idea how Claire felt about you. 

Claire smiled back. “Hey. I never expected to see you here.”

“I’m trying new things,” you said, smiling lightly at Azriel.

He couldn’t take it, having you so close to Claire, seeing that trust you had in him when you looked at him. He cleared his throat, standing up and offering you his hand. You took it, smiling politely at Claire and his friends as he led you through the house, out to the backyard. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked, looking up at him curiously as he leaned his back against the side of the house.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to stop the smile that rose to his face as you gazed at him with your big doe eyes. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I just wanted you to myself for a minute.”

“Oh yeah?” you flushed, and before he could stop himself, he kissed your cheeks, feeling the heat against his lips before his lips met yours in a slow, sensual kiss.

He was still kissing you when he heard Cassian snickering close by. “Oh shit, he’s whipped.”

Azriel rolled his eyes as he pulled away from you, but kept his hold on your waist. “How am I whipped?”

Cassian’s eyes gleamed with mischief and Azriel’s heart started to pound. “Sneaking out here on your own. You’re usually content to stay on the couch to make out with your girl of the week.”

Your body tensed in his arms and Azriel groaned internally, glaring at Cassian, who smirked. “Oh, she didn’t know? My bad, Az.”

Azriel’s expression was enough to send Cassian back inside. 

Your brow furrowed as you stepped back, out of his reach. “Girl of the week?”

He winced. “He’s being dramatic.”

You raised your eyebrows, glaring at him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

It was kind of adorable, but Azriel reigned in that comment. He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, look. I told you when we met that I go to parties and meet girls there. But things are different now,” he said, taking a step closer to you. And it was true. Things were different. You had been the one haunting his thoughts since that first date. He had barely looked at anyone else since.

After a moment, you sighed, and he knew you wouldn’t resist when he wrapped his arms back around you. 

“Cassian’s an idiot,” he murmured, his focus back on your lips that he was dying to kiss again.

“So I’m not the girl of the week?” you said quietly, your eyes on his lips now. 

He smiled. “We’ve been seeing each other for several weeks, haven’t we?”

You nodded, biting your lip, before you stood up on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. Azriel was surprised by his own relief. “Are we going back inside?” you asked. 

“Not if you don’t want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist again. 

Pursing your lips in thought, you said, “Mmm. Let’s go back in.”

“Yeah?” he said, surprised.

You smiled up at him, resting your chin on his chest. His heart melted. “I’m trying to be brave.”

He kissed your forehead, smiling faintly. “I’m proud of you, bookworm.”

You beamed, your whole face lighting up. 

Azriel led you inside, his hand on the small of your back, trying to manage the swell of emotions in his chest. He didn’t have the time to process them right now. 

The two of you mingled throughout the party for a few hours, and you even went so far as to dance with him for a bit, your body pressed against his, your hips swaying to the beat of the pounding music. He could hardly believe it, the way you let loose with him.

He stopped in the bathroom before the two of you left. He wasn’t gone for more than a few minutes, but when he returned, he spotted you near the kitchen, backing away from a guy who was clearly very drunk and very horny. Azriel saw red. 

Before he could take a second to think, Azriel was upon the bastard, punching him in the jaw. 

He heard you yelp. The asshole staggered back, swearing, his hand cradling his jaw. Azriel barely spared him a glance, his hands gently holding either side of your face, his gaze raking your body, searching for any sign that he had touched you. 

Your eyes were wide, your breathing labored, but you seemed physically fine. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

You nodded, your eyes still frantic. 

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as he led you outside. Claire caught his eye on the way out, hers shining with delight. He scowled at her. 

When you made it outside, he hugged you to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You snorted. “You were gone for a few minutes. It’s not your fault that men are gross.”

“Are you okay, really?” He asked, pulling back to look you in the eye.

“I’m okay,” you said quietly. 

He held you close to him, gazing at you for another moment before you smiled faintly. “You really didn’t need to punch him, you know.”

He winced slightly, remembering the yelp you let out when he threw that punch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

Azriel held you until his heart rate slowed down, until his body was convinced that you were okay.

Later, after he had dropped you off at your apartment, Azriel stayed awake, tossing and turning, so many images from that night racing through his mind.

The way his heart constricted every time you smiled at him, the horror he felt at seeing Claire play nice, the terror and rage that flowed through his entire body when he saw that creep bothering you…

Azriel knew then, that he had real feelings for you. Shit.

---

“C’mon, baby, you’ve been studying for ages already,” Azriel murmured, standing behind you as you sat at your desk in your apartment, his arms draped around your chest, his lips trailing down your neck.

Your toes curled, heat running right through you. You wanted to give in. You really did. But…

You sighed. “I’m sorry, Az. I have this big exam on Tuesday. And finals are only a few weeks away.”

For some reason, that comment made his entire body stiffen. “Oh, yeah. Finals.”

You snorted. “Don’t tell me you forgot about finals.”

“No, I just… they’re soon.” His voice wavered a bit as he stood up fully. You twisted in your seat to look up at him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes swimming with anxiety. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your hand. “Do you need me to help you study?” He had never seemed to care about his grades before.

He leaned into your touch for a moment, shooting you a forced smile. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I should go, and let you study.” He stooped down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I won’t distract you anymore today.” 

Before you could even respond, he was out the door. 

You turned back to your notes, but couldn’t digest any of the information. That was… weird.

Azriel and you had been dating for months now. Though neither of you had ever put a label on it, you both knew you were exclusive. 

In the privacy of your own mind, you secretly loved that he acted so differently around you than he did out and about on campus. You felt like you got a different version of him that was saved especially for you. It made your heart swell, all the little things he did for you each day. 

You were also willing to admit, to yourself only, that you were absolutely in love with him. You had known for weeks now, and had been debating whether or not you should tell him. 

He had been the one that made you step out of your comfort zone, to try new things, to be brave. 

So, soon. You would tell him soon.

--- 

Azriel had to get out of the deal. Now.

He remembered the exact moment that he realized he was in love with you. It was a random afternoon, the two of you were watching TV at his apartment. He was laying on the couch, you were laying on top of him, your legs intertwined with his, your head on his chest. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair while you giggled about something that happened on the show. 

And he had the thought. I want my whole life to look like this. 

And he knew. He loved you.

This had scared him, obviously, on multiple levels. He had never loved anyone before, never knew what that looked like. Yet somehow, he knew without a doubt that it was true. 

And then, of course, there was the deal he had made with the devil. 

He had known early on that he would have to get out of the deal. He had just been putting it off, hoping that Claire’s insanity would die down throughout the semester. 

But now his time was up. 

He prayed to whoever might be listening that Claire would listen to reason. That she would call it off. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He wouldn’t do it. 

Claire smirked as she opened the door. “I’ve been wondering when you would show up. It’s been a long time, Az,” she purred. 

Azriel stalked into her apartment, barely sparing her a glance. “The deal’s off, Claire.”

She cocked her head to the side, amused. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Because it’s insane,” he growled. “You were insane for coming up with it, and I was insane for agreeing to it. I’m done.”

Slowly, her lips curled up into a lethal smile. “You fell for her.”

Azriel blinked. 

Claire cackled. “Oh, this is rich. You actually fell for the bookworm? I never thought I’d see the day. No wonder you haven’t been crawling into my bed.”

He scowled. “The deal’s off,” he repeated in the tone he used to scare people away.

She really looked at him then, her eyes bearing into his. After a moment, she finally said, “Okay.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay? Just like that?”

Claire shrugged. “You were right. It was an insane plan. And it didn’t even work,” she said bitterly. “You suck at your job. She’ll still be on the top of the Dean’s list, even after all your lovey-dovey shit.”

A swell of pride ran through him at the thought of your name at the top of that list.

“Alright,” he said, his brow furrowed, trying to figure out if there was some kind of angle here. But, there didn’t seem to be one. 

He left quickly, his heart and mind feeling lighter. The guilt of how the two of you started would always be there, he knew. But now when he looked into the future, it wasn’t a hazy blur of nothingness that he saw. It was you.

---

The week before finals, there were parties everywhere. So you heard. 

You had gone to a few more with Az over the past few months. It still wasn’t exactly your thing, but you didn’t mind going, especially with Azriel being so attentive to you every time you did. 

Azriel didn’t seem particularly interested in going to this one, but his friends had been complaining that they never saw him anymore, so he agreed to go. And you had agreed to go with him, if only to take a break from your near constant studying these days.

You followed him through the crowd, his hand clasping yours, as always. Drinks in hand, you made your way to the outskirts of a group of people who were dancing and you joined them, Azriel pulling you in close to him, moving against you.

A laugh burst from you, and Azriel grinned, leaning down to kiss you. 

You were so happy, you thought. So happy in that moment with him. You knew people watched you, as they usually did when Azriel was like this with you. You didn’t care.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he gazed down at you, his eyes swimming with affection. 

“I love you,” you said before you could stop it.

His eyes sobered, and he pulled you in even closer, so your bodies were flush together. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in a crowd of people, Azriel said, a soft smile on his face, “I love you, too.”

Your heart leaped and you grinned, threading your fingers in his hair and bringing his lips to yours. 

Suddenly, the music stopped, and from the TV came a voice. Azriel’s voice. 

Everyone turned to the sound, curiously, watching. The video was jumpy, filming the floor, like it was filmed from someone’s pocket. 

Azriel tensed, his arms still around you. “Fuck,” he said. “We need to go.”

Utterly confused, you didn’t argue as he pulled you through the crowd. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you heard video Azriel say, “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Your blood ran cold, shock jolting from your heart down to your toes. Azriel was tugging on your arm, but you didn’t budge as you heard Claire’s voice next. 

Claire. He had been talking to Claire. What did he mean, that he could fuck her whenever he wanted? You hadn’t even known that they knew each other. When was this filmed?

“Baby, please, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go,” Azriel was saying, sounding frantic. 

You wrenched your arm from his grasp, weaving through the still crowd, moving toward the TV. You heard him swear, calling your name behind you, but you kept moving.

They were saying something about a deal, about him owing her a favor. You couldn’t make sense of it, not until you heard video Azriel say, “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Video Claire responded, “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

It was then that you noticed Claire, next to the TV, her eyes locked on you, smirking. 

You couldn’t breathe, your legs were going to give out -- 

It was all fake. All of it. 

Azriel caught up to you then, picking you up, slinging you over his shoulder. You didn’t protest, the shock setting in. You had to get out of there, even if it was him that carried you out. 

When he made it outside, you pounded on his back with your fists. “Put me down, you asshole!”

“Sorry,” Azriel said, wincing as he gently set you on your feet. “You looked like you were going to pass out.”

“Like you even care,” you spat, storming away from him. 

“Of course I care. Please, just give me a minute to explain,” he pleaded, following you. 

“Explain what?” You stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. “That you played me for a fool? Made me fall in love with you as a sick joke? Well, congratulations, it worked,” you said, pouring every ounce of venom that you could muster into your voice. You turned back around and continued walking as tears started pricking your eyes. You refused to let him see you cry.

“It may have started out that way, but it’s not like that anymore. From the first date, I had feelings for you. I love you. You have to believe that,” he said, right on your heels. 

You knew he could catch up with you easily if he wanted to. He was hanging back, trying to give you your space. That pissed you off even more. “How could I possibly believe that?” 

“Because you feel it, I know you do,” he said, finally wrapping his fingers around your wrist.

You tugged your hand free, but stopped walking, needing to catch your breath. You faced him. “What was the point?” You asked quietly. “Why make the deal?”

It didn’t matter. But you had to know.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Claire and I used to date. When you transferred, you pushed her off the top spot of the Dean’s list. She hated you for it. She said she would give me any favor I wanted if I made you fall for me… to distract you from school.”

You were so surprised that the tears you had been holding in started to fall. You angrily swatted them away. 

Azriel continued, “I said no at first, but she was persistent, and…” he took a deep breath, darting his eyes away from you for a moment. They were shining with unshed tears. “I have no excuse. I agreed to it. I’m an asshole. But you made me want to be different.”

“Was any of it true?” You heard yourself saying, your voice breaking. 

He lifted his hand, like he was about to reach for yours, then let it drop, thinking better of it. “It was all true. From our first date, you were breaking down my walls, making me smile, making me laugh.” He smiled sadly. “I fell for you. I love you,” he said, and now a lone tear did slide down his cheek. “I called it off with Claire ages ago. I told her I was out, and she agreed. I… I didn’t know she filmed it.”

You wanted to believe him, that he really did love you. But… “Even if you do love me, that doesn’t change what you did,” you said in a small voice. 

Azriel sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. “I know. I am so, so sorry.”

Shaking your head, backing away from him, you choked out, “I don’t -- I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. “Please. Please don’t go.”

Turning your back to him, you walked away, barely registering the pavement beneath your feet, the direction you were going. 

Azriel called your name, but you kept walking.

You knew he had followed you home, not letting you walk alone at night. You watched his form retreat after you locked yourself inside your apartment with trembling hands. 

You went to bed, not even bothering to change. Laying on your back, watching your ceiling fan spin around and around, you tried to identify all that you were feeling: shame, humiliation, sorrow. Fury. 

Replaying all that had happened between you, all the times he was probably laughing at you with his friends behind your back. You felt nauseous. 

How could he do this? How could he have played you for so long?

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

You woke up to several missed calls and texts from Azriel, all sent hours apart. It seemed that he didn’t get any sleep at all.

I am so sorry. I’m the worst person in the world. I know that. 

I know what you’re thinking right now. I know that you’re going over it all in your head. But, it was real, baby. It was all real. I swear it was. I love you so much.

I’m hoping you’re getting some sleep. Can I see you today?

Groaning, you tossed your phone to the side, and took a long shower. By the time you got out, someone was knocking on your door. 

You quickly dressed in some old pajamas and called through the door, “Go away, Az.”

“Well, at least you’re alive,” you heard him say. “Can I please come in? Two minutes?”

You threw the door open, furious. “No, you cannot come in. You humiliated me. You used me. You had your fun. What else could you possibly want?”

Azriel was standing on the threshold, his hands in his pockets nervously, his facial expression looked like you had just slapped him. “I want to apologize! I want to make things better, that’s what I want.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you said quietly, “Go away.” 

His face fell. “I love you.”

Shaking your head, you said, “You don’t.”

He took a step forward, wedging his foot on the door jam so you couldn’t close it on him. “I do,” he said, his eyes pleading, baring into yours. “You know that I do. You know I’ve never let anybody else see the real me. Nobody but you.”

Tears spilled onto your cheeks then, and he wiped them away gently. Despite everything, you couldn’t back away. “It doesn’t matter,” you croaked. “You only went out with me so you could help her ruin my life.”

Azriel opened his mouth, as if to reply, but then shut it. 

You laughed humorlessly. “See? Even you don’t have a comeback.”

His eyes softened, his rough fingers still absentmindedly stroking your cheeks. “Please,” he said again. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not enough,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again as you looked up at him, at the pain in his eyes.

“How do I fix it?” He whispered back, tears sliding freely down his cheeks now.

“I don’t know,” you said, stepping back out of his grasp. “Please, Az. I just -- I need to be alone right now.”

He nodded, drawing his arm across his face to wipe the tears away. “Okay. Okay, I’ll umm -- I’ll see you later?”

You didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know if you would see him again at all. He took a step back, into the hallway. 

Without another word, you shut the door.

Especially knowing where that awful bet had originated, you refused to let Azriel and Claire get in your head for finals. You buckled down, spending entire days at the library studying, writing papers, finishing projects. 

It was helpful, actually. You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, about all the memories you had that had become so tainted and confusing. 

By the end of the semester, you had maintained all your A’s, passing every final with flying colors. And thus, secured the very top spot of the Dean’s list.

Azriel had been texting and calling every day. You left them all unanswered. 

You hadn’t yet had time to think, to process through the hurt. 

A new text chimed as you were packing up your car to head home for the summer. 

Saw the list. Nicely done, bookworm. I know it doesn’t matter, but I really am proud of you. Looks like all that hard work paid off ❤️

Despite everything, there was a swell of emotion in your chest at his words. God, why did everything have to be so awful?

Later, you were hefting your last box into your trunk when you heard the distinct sound of a motorcycle slowing down behind you. Your heart raced. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to see him again or not.

Slowly, you turned around to see Azriel sliding off the bike, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, somewhat tentatively.

“Hi,” you said softly. 

He nodded to your car, his expression grave. “You’re leaving?”

“Back home for the summer,” you said, unable to take your eyes off him. He looked tired. And sad. 

A moment passed silently, the two of you just looking at each other, pain hanging in the air between you.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. 

You sighed. Willed yourself to be brave. “I miss you, too,” you admitted. 

Something like hope gleamed in his eyes. “I love you,” he murmured. 

“I --” you started, and couldn’t bear it. “I need time.”

He looked crestfallen, like you had just punched him in the gut, but he nodded. “The summer?”

You swallowed. “Okay,” you said. “Okay. I get the summer, and I’ll find you in the fall. We’ll talk then.”

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “Thank you for… for that. For talking to me now,” he winced. “I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t,” you said, but there was no malice in it. You were too tired. “I get the summer, Az. Don’t contact me until school starts.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but agreed. “Okay. I’ll see you in September,” he said, backing up towards his bike. “Have a good summer, bookworm,” he added with the slightest of smiles, before he slid on his helmet and drove away.

---

You spent most of the summer moping around, reading books, and trying to sort through everything that happened, all the feelings you had. 

For three months, you sifted through every moment that Azriel and you had shared together, picking them apart, deciphering every movement. 

It may have been slightly unhealthy.

You believed that what you and Azriel had was real. You believed that he did love you. And you couldn’t deny that you loved him. That maybe you always would. 

Was it worth it to deny yourself the person who had made you so happy? Who had taught you new things, who had helped you out of your comfort zone?

As September grew closer, you still weren’t sure. 

 ---

Azriel got more and more anxious as the summer came to a close. It had been torture to not contact you at all, but he knew he was in no position to be asking you for anything, so he did as you asked. 

The hurt on your face those months ago was still a clear image in his mind that haunted his nightmares. He would never forgive himself for hurting you. 

Yet, he couldn’t stop imagining what would happen when he saw you again. Would you give him another chance? You would have to be a saint to even contemplate that. But then again, you were the best person he had ever known. If anyone would be able to forgive, it would be you.

Scowling, he stomped that shred of hope down. He couldn’t go into this having any expectations. 

Soon, he would know.

---

It was bittersweet coming back to school. Academia was where you thrived. You felt right at home in the library, stacks of papers all around you. 

And you used to feel at home with Azriel. 

You sighed at the thought. The first day of classes was tomorrow. You had told Azriel not to contact you until school started back up again, and knowing him, he would take that seriously. 

Deep down, you knew what you wanted to do. It terrified you, though. 

Sure enough, the next morning, you had a text from him:

Hey, bookworm. Hope your first day of classes goes well. 

The slightest smile spread across your lips. You knew he was probably dying to ask when he could see you, but was trying to keep it light. Leave the ball in your court.

For the first time since everything, you texted him back.

Thanks, Az. Yours, too. 

He opened it immediately. After a moment, you willed yourself to send another:

Wanna meet up at the tennis courts tonight? 

His reply came at lightning speed:

7?

Reigning in your smile, you replied:

7.

You couldn’t remember ever being this nervous as you walked to the tennis courts. There were a few people playing, so you sat underneath a tree nearby, willing your legs to stop shaking. 

Right on time, a familiar motorcycle turned into the parking lot. He spotted you immediately, striding over to you with unsure steps. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he said quietly. 

You looked up at him, your heart racing at the familiarity you felt. “Hi,” you said, and after the briefest hesitation, you patted the grass next to you. You weren’t sure you would be able to stand. 

Immediately, he plopped down across from you, his knees only inches from yours as he faced you. 

His eyes were locked on yours. “How was your summer?” he said, his voice cracking slightly. 

“Okay,” you said. “How was yours?”

“Okay,” he said quietly. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Okay, here’s the thing. I did a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking. And I do love you, Az.”

You paused, not sure how to word what you were feeling. 

“But?” Azriel said, his voice dripping with trepidation, his eyes guarded.

“But it’s going to take some time before I can trust you again.”

Azriel swallowed, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

He seemed like he was waiting for you to continue before he said anything, so you added, quietly, “I am willing to try, though. To give us another chance.”

The tautness in his body released, relief flooding his features. “Really?” he croaked, tears swimming in his eyes. 

You could only nod before he launched towards you, knocking you on your back, before he threaded his fingers through your hair, kissing you deeply. 

You laughed, as his other hand came up to cup your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” he said against your lips.

Wrapping your arms around him, you sighed into his kiss. “I know, Az. I know.”

“I love you,” he murmured, moving to kiss down your neck.

“I love you, too.”

“I missed you so much,” he groaned before kissing your lips again.

You giggled. “I missed you, too.”

He finally stopped kissing you, settling his elbows on either side of your head, leaning his forehead against yours. “Thank you. For giving me another chance.”

Smiling, you kissed him swiftly on the lips. “Don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other’s arms, going over your respective summers. 

Eventually, Azriel propped himself on an elbow, gazing at you with all the love in the world.

“What?” you asked. 

He grinned. “You wanna go mini golfing, bookworm?”

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “Only if I can help you again.”

Azriel leaned down to gently kiss your forehead. “It’s a deal.”

A/N: wanna see more of these two?? Check out part 2!

@thalia-as-blog @saltedcoffeescotch

[blaire-apricity]

hi! i just wanted to say I love your writing! I noticed your requests were open and I was wondering if you could please write something with Sylus x reader where Sylus gets jealous of MC’s coworker or anything like that. Thank you!! 🩷

Possession and Jealousy

sʏʟᴜs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ┆ : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰-𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?

ᯓ❅ ┆ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ┆ : 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 & 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘖𝘊

─────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

Calling Sylus the most jealous man you knew was an understatement; he should be the ONLY man you know. That’s his point. He’s possessive of his possessions, whether material or not, and that included you. If only you would stay in the N109 zone, then he could keep an eye on you at all times.

But knowing you had to return to Linkon City sooner or later, he didn’t stop you. After all, he gave you a brooch so you could return to him anytime.

What he didn’t expect was you taking your time to return. You had no other business there for now, and you had a job as a hunter to keep. Of course, you had responsibilities in Linkon City.

During his free time, he would impatiently rest his chin on his palm, elbows on the table, frowning at nothing. The mere fact of your absence irritated him, though he wouldn’t openly admit it to anyone. Even while fulfilling his errands and business meetings as usual, his mind occasionally drifted towards thoughts of you.

Where were you? What were you up to? And whatnot.

Luckily enough, he had Mephisto monitoring you at all times. The mechanical crow would always stand on the power wires, acting almost innocently, but you knew it was basically stalking you. Not that you minded; it was both amusing and endearing to have Sylus monitor you every day using Mephisto.

The mechanical crow would usually return to Sylus at night before going back out in the morning to observe more. From the moment you woke up until the end of the day when you retreated to the comfort of your blankets, Mephisto was there.

Everything was as usual that night. Sylus sat by his bed in his sleeping robe, glasses on, a book in his lap. Just in time, the mechanical flap of Mephisto’s wings echoed until it reached his bedside.

His crimson eyes skimmed through the pages of the book, occasionally glancing at the screen playing your entire day as observed by Mephisto.

Nothing was out of the ordinary until he saw the same guy, who seemed to be a newly hired hunter, coming up to your desk repeatedly. You, being the kind and helpful hunter you were, always assisted him.

That’s when Sylus’s attention to the book gradually disappeared. He stared intensely at the hologram of the new hunter beside you. If looks could kill—there’s no need, because he’d personally deliver that.

The next morning, as you prepared as usual, you noticed Mephisto was nowhere on the power cords. You made sure to glance around, but there was no trace of the mechanical crow. You dismissed it, thinking Sylus had used Mephisto for something more important.

But imagine your surprise when you heard a knock at your apartment door. You instantly recognized the messy silver hair and crimson eyes staring down at you.

You stood there, blinking up at him. He frowned a bit, looking annoyed. “So?” he asked, probably waiting for you to welcome him in. His face spelled out three words: ‘Let me in.’ You eventually did.

“Where’s Mephisto?”

“You’re looking for him when I’m right here?”

You almost looked at him in disbelief. Is he being petty about his own mechanical crow? You almost cracked a chuckle but held it in. “Never mind.”

“I’m surprised you’re here; don’t you have something important to do?” you asked.

“I do. I just came by since I’ll be leaving shortly,” he replied, walking towards you. He leaned in, giving a quick poke on your forehead. His small signature smirk was plastered on his lips. “Stop entertaining other people. People might think you’re still single.”

“Are you jealous?” You smiled, laughing a bit.

“I am,” he bluntly said, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly to the side, giving you that dominant look. “And I don’t like it when someone gets close to what’s mine.”

You immediately connected the dots, figuring it was probably the intern that had been asking for your assistance who triggered his possessiveness. Even then, you couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as you placed your hand on his cheek, gently caressing it, reassuring him.

He released a soft sigh, annoyed by your antics but also endeared by them.

It even surprised you that Sylus didn’t do anything to that individual. He was acting very tame; he just seemed to have approached you, which was a bit unusual. Maybe it was your gentleness rubbing off on him.

Thank goodness. It would be pretty bad if something were to happen.

You thought that was the end of it until you returned to the association and heard from Tara that the newbie insisted on being placed in a different faction from yours.

“He really didn’t want to stay; I wonder if we did something wrong,” she wondered thoughtfully.

You hesitated in your mind, immediately thinking of Sylus. Just then, you saw Mephisto land on a nearby power cord, tilting its head innocently at you.

“Captain Jenna wants to talk to us about it.”

“That bastard,” you muttered under your breath.

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘, 𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑛~♥ 𝐼 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜, 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑓𝑢𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 <3

𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑎 𝑋𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴𝐻𝐴𝐴𝐻𝐴. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝑀𝐴𝑁 𝐷𝑂𝐸𝑆 𝑊𝑂𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑇𝑂 𝑀𝑌 𝐵𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁.

[rosicheeks]

i have been following you for a couple of years now, mostly silently. you are so beautiful, inside and out! the few times i have seen your face uncensored have made me swooon! the even fewer times i have heard you sing, my heart overfilled with such joy!

your honesty about your struggles and how you keep going are simply inspiring. thank you for sharing.

i am manifesting love and joy for you! 💕