#dark skin envy

[denkigami]

more swap au Scott Pilgrim edits but takes off version, I loved doing Ramona and Roxie's futuristic designs

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 1

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; dom/sub elements; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Some warnings only apply to future parts!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Simon remembers telling Price to ‘piss off with that shite’ when the latter had approached him with the brass’ announcement of granting the Lieutenant the rare permission to become the handler of an emotional support hybrid.

There aren’t many officers on base who are allowed to have one, and Simon knows why that is. In his opinion, the whole handler/hybrid deal has all the negative connotations of a toxic and borderline abusive relationship, and Simon simply doesn’t want to be part of that.

Did anyone of those fuckers ever bother to read his file? He bloody well doubts it.

He does respect the official handlers and trainers of the military K9’s on base, though. Whatever bond they share was forged and solidified in battle and goes way beyond that odd and shallow power play that happens between some officers and their so-called “pets”.

So, Simon said no to the offer, firmly and several times at that. He doesn’t care for the bloody permission, no matter how rare it is, no matter how fellow soldiers who’d caught rumour about it had blatantly stated their envy about the possibility of gaining a hybrid pet themselves. Truthfully, Simon becomes sick to his stomach whenever one of the other officers and NCO’s talk about wanting to own a pretty pleasure puppy; something dumb and docile to have fun and unwind with in their time off duty.

Fucking hell. No, Simon doesn’t want to be part of that, let alone be responsible of some freakish hybrid mutt.

Weeks pass, both thoughts and arguments about hybrids and handlers are pushed back and filed away in some nook inside Simon’s mind as he falls back into his daily grind and familiar routine; running drills, paperwork, field trainings, preparing for missions, more paperwork.

Until one fateful day in January.

The UK weather has been more terrible lately; icy rain and howling winds beating down on base while Simon was trying to keep the rookies in line at the shooting range. By the end of the day, his fatigues were drenched and clinging to his broad frame while the chill was seeping through his pale skin, settling into his bones; making his limbs heavy and turning them stiff as if he’d carried a rucksack full of boulders on his back for a week straight.

The moment Simon arrives at the front door to his flat on base, though, the hairs at the back of his neck bristle immediately. The hallway is empty, but–

Something isn’t right. He can practically sense that someone was here, perhaps even inside his place in the worst case.

Halting in his measured steps while his breathing levels out to that eerie shallowness he’s adapted to on missions, his ears perk up under his skull balaclava as he listens for any odd noises coming from inside. Unable to pick up anything unusual, Simon still chooses to rather be safe than sorry as he reaches for his pistol in the holster strapped to his right thigh.

Simon manages to open the front door without any noise before he slips inside effortlessly, living up to his name as a ghost as he stalks through his flat on high alert; checking the small storage room before sneaking down the short, dark hallway leading up to his open living room. He can bloody sense that something is different, that someone has tampered with his safe space; he can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and tangy cologne even through his damp balaclava.

The sight that greets him on his old, tattered couch when he eventually flips on the light switch, is unlike anything he expected and Simon’s whole body tenses, eyes widening comically as if he’s met face to face by a firing squad.

But it’s just you, a bloody dog hybrid, curled up on his couch like you belong there–which you don’t.

And Simon slowly lowers his pistol, watches your fluffy white ears appear from under your hair as they perk up before you lift your head, like pristine cotton balls popping open in the sunlight; your body uncurling and stretching slowly while you squint against the bright yellow drop-light.

“What the bloody… fuck,” Simon breathes, chest deflating with a deep sigh as he puts his pistol back into his holster, securing it once more. Dark eyes flicker around the room before he catches a large black suitcase next to what looks like a gift basket.

Simon approaches the basket the way he would a bomb threat while his vigilant eyes keep shifting towards you as if you could attack him any moment, although you’re clearly still waking up, all discombobulated and sleep-drunk.

When Simon catches a clear view at the assortment of goodies and the black folder tucked between them inside the basket, his cold heart stutters and his blood freezes in his veins. At the sight of the pale pink collar with its matching leash, the vein in his temple throbs with a mixture of fury and revulsion.

The sound of your soft, sickly-sweet voice chirping out a greeting nearly makes his wretched soul leave his body. “Hi… Hello.”

Simon takes a step back, needing a protective wall at his back and as much space between himself and you as possible as he tries to assess the situation.

“How the fuck did you get inside my flat?” Simon mutters under his breath, dark eyes widening when he realizes the thumping in his ears doesn’t match his rapid heartbeat but belongs to your fluffy white tail gently wagging against the soft leather of his couch; just as fluffy and white as your ears, like freshly made cotton candy.

“I was brought here and told to wait for my new handler,” you answer as your head tilts to the side curiously, gazing up at the large man with bright doe-eyes. “Are you Simon?”

Simon’s narrowed eyes widen instantly again at the sound of your voice uttering his name so sweetly, so... casually. It makes him sick to his stomach, and he swallows back the sour taste in his mouth as it fills with saliva.

“Who the fuck brought you ‘ere?”

He needs a name, so he knows who to beat to a pulp before he grabs the first poor bastard who crosses his path next.

“Uhm–oh!” Your small, triangle-shaped ears perk up, and the giggle you let out makes Simon grimace underneath his mask. “They had silly names for humans,” you tell him, still giggling softly to yourself before adding: “Gaz and Soap.”

Simon huffs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it explains the “special orders” his bloody Sergeants had gotten from Price today; the reason he couldn’t attend today’s training session. And suddenly, it all clicks into place.

“You’re all wet, Simon,” you remark about his appearance; sweet voice laced with a concern so genuine that is has his spine tense and his stomach churn with aversion. “Are you not cold?”

He wants to bark at you to stop calling him by his name, to stop trying to appeal to him just because your bloody stupid nature tells you to, to stop imprinting on your so called “new handler” just because someone told you that you belong to him now. He wants you out of his flat and out of his life before anything terrible and out of his control can take root and blossom behind his ribcage.

“Get up,” he snaps at you before his thoughts can spiral any further and he almost, almost feels bad when you flinch in your seat, ducking your head submissively while your ears flatten against your head. “I’m taking you back. You’re not staying here, lass.”

“W-What?” Your face drops, your fluffy tail stops wagging; eyes glossing over as you begin to tremble and shrink on the spot. The sound of your soft whine only angers Simon more, because it tugs on his heartstring, makes his protective instincts flare.

“You heard me. Get up and grab your fuckin’ suitcase. ’m taking you back to wherever you came from.”

When Simon glances back at you, something mean and violent lodges itself into his chest cavity; twisting and squeezing his rotten heart as soon as he sees the devastated look on your face; ears drooping and shoulders slouching in defeat while another soft whine vibrates in your chest.

“Okay,” you answer eventually, snivelling when fat tear breaches your lower lash line and runs down your supple cheek as you untuck your legs from under yourself to move off the couch. “Okay…”

There’s a shrill ringing in his ears when Simon’s mouth seems to move on its own, making a decision for him. “Wait. Stay–Stay right where you bloody are.”

And you immediately do as you’re told, like the obedient pup you obviously are, settling back and perking up again as you blink dumbly at the brutish man with bright, big eyes and an expectant look that makes Simon groan internally before he reaches into one of his many pockets to retrieve his old smartphone.

He mutters and curses under his breath as the cracked screen lights up, and it doesn’t take long for him to find his Captain’s name in his short contact list. Simon taps the screen with his gloved thumb to call the man, ready to argue tooth and nail to have you picked up by from his flat again, so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

Simon’s jaw is clenched tightly while his sharp gaze keeps flickering back to you, still not quite believing you’re not some stress-induced hallucination, or nightmare.

It takes two rings before Price picks up.

“Ghost–“

Simon inhales deeply. “Price–“

“Getting acquainted with your new companion, son? She’s quite the sweetheart. Easy on the eyes, too, judging by what the lads told me.”

His chest deflates, air rushing from his lungs in a long exhale. That comment alone is enough to make him even more furious. “I don’t want her. Take her back to wherever she came from, Captain.”

There’s a beat of tense silence before Price speaks up again, and Simon can hear the squeak of the old office chair as the other man leans back in it.

“Did you read her file yet?”

“No, should I?” Simon counters gruffly, feeling his patience grow thinner by the second.

“Aye, son, I suggest you should.”

“Gimme the short version, Price. I’m this close to handing her over to the next lucky bloke who passes by my fuckin’ flat.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Price says decisively on the other; his gruff voice way too calm for Simon’s liking. “She’s a rescue, Lieutenant. Got rescued from one of those terrible puppy mills.”

That makes Simon shut up as his eyes flicker over to you; softening somewhat when his eyes lock with yours. You keep watching him with the slightest pout, waiting for orders or for him to finally send you away. He’s still considering it, though the revelation of your background makes him hesitate for some odd reason. Empathy.

“Simon?”

Simon squeezes the phone harder in his grip; hard enough he thinks he might break it once and for all. “You better find a new handler for her, Captain.” He bites out through clenched teeth. “It’s not gonna be me.”

Price sighs. “Alright.” There is another pause and Simon can hear it when Price scratches his coarse beard in contemplation before he speaks up again. “Just keep an eye on her for the night, aye? I’ll make the necessary arrangement to have her transferred to someone else.”

“Good. She can stay for one night. One. Night.” Simon growls before hanging up.

The soft sound of your tail thumping against the couch catches his attention again and when he looks back at you, you’re practically beaming at him.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

[cherienymphe]

Scorned

Friedrich Harding x Reader

Summary: With no possibility of a future with your lover, you make the decision to stop letting him break your heart.

warnings: Non-con, mentions of loss of virginity, obsession, forbidden relationship, power imbalance

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

♱

Friedrich Harding was a man who earned many compliments—he was a man of integrity, a man with wealth, and a man greatly respected in society. You personally had a few lesser known compliments for the dark-haired gentleman such as his caring demeanor and gentle touch and prowess in bed. It was something that only you had the pleasure of knowing. At least, that was what you were assured, and you chose to believe him for he was a man of integrity. 

Under the cover of darkness when you should have been asleep or even during earlier hours when he should have been using valuable time to find a suitable wife, Friedrich preferred to refresh his memory of what it felt like to touch you and taste you and find solace inside of you. The years-long friendship between Thomas and Friedrich made the former none the wiser to the true cause of the latter’s frequent visits over the past year. Your life was not the only one to be changed the moment you were taken in as a maid for the Hutter family.

Friedrich would spend every waking moment breathing you in and finding relaxation in your warmth if he had the choice, and you knew this because he told you so. He was, after all, an honest man. He told you how beautiful you were every time the thought crossed his mind and he told you about every time he thought of you while he was away and he told you how harder it was becoming to stay away from you. He was very honest…even when you wished that he would not be.

“You had to know that no other answer is possible…”

Those baby blues of his were heavy—with sadness or shame, you did not know, only that you yourself felt a bit of both. It was a silly thing to ask him one day—if he ever thought of marrying you—and truthfully you did not know what answer you were possibly expecting. Of course Herr Harding could not ever marry you. You were a maid, a servant—not much better than property in some places—and the gentleman that you had grown to care for needed a wife of good standing…a wife that many would envy him for. 

You were neither of those things.

Asking him such a thing only succeeded in making things tense for you two for a few moments and breaking your own heart, but that was quickly remedied when he told you not to think of such things before pressing his lips to yours. His manor only housed one, and so you were not so cautious in how you responded to him once he got his hands on you.

His lips did not stray from your face once as he slowly and gently curved his hips into yours, pushing his cock into you with a pace that he knew you loved. Nothing drove you crazier more, and you loved the sounds that escaped his lips whenever you grazed your fingers over his skin and pressed your nails into his naked back. The only time that you were not a maid and he was not a man out of reach was during these stolen moments, when he was inside of you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear and telling you that you were his.

Only…

You were not his.

He had made that clear to you. You were not his and he was not yours, and while it was never spoken of again, you moved forward with that in mind no matter how much it broke your heart day after day. You did not take words said in the heat of the moment to heart, and never did you ever think to.

“You did not come to me last night…”

The whispered words were said to you in a dimly lit hallway, Thomas’ family just in the sitting room and oblivious to your coupled absence. The dark-haired man had cornered you, his blue eyes hardly leaving your person from the moment he stepped into the house, so some part of you had expected it. With him so close—his warmth reaching out for you and the scent of him surrounding you—it was hard to remember why you had left his bedside cold the previous night. You took a deep breath before racking your brain for the truth.

“I did not think it was wise.”

Friedrich looked between your eyes for a moment before a light chuckle left him, his perfect teeth winking at you as he clearly found your response comical.

“When has it ever been…?”

He reached for you as he said this, but you were quick to grab his hand and halt his pursuit. The frown that knitted his brow was a rare sight—Friedrich hardly being the kind of man who was faced with a refusal from anyone—and you almost felt bad.

“Perhaps that is reason enough that I should have never warmed your bed to begin with,” you quietly told him, and you did not miss the way his face fell. “You must marry and have sons…and not only will that never be with me, but the longer this continues the longer you put it off.”

The man before you stared at you as if you were speaking another language, and when your words finally sank in, he straightened, staring at you in a way you had never been on the receiving end of before.

“It is not your place to worry about such things,” he said, making you bristle. “You let me worry about my affairs.”

You were not stupid. You could see that Friedrich was thinking and feeling way too many things than he was used to in this moment as the implications behind your words were finally starting to hit him, but it did not make his words sting any less.

“No, it is not my place to worry about your affairs,” you agreed. “...but it is my place to worry about mine.”

He was still as you slid from between him and the wall, his gaze stuck on you as you abandoned him in more ways than one. Refusing to sleep with Friedrich any more was no easy decision to make, even harder to execute. The man had introduced you to a world you wondered if you would ever be privy to, and he had made you feel things that made you shudder to think about even now, but you were tired of breaking your own heart day after day.

“I do not want any letters from you and do not seek me out. I no longer want that…”

Before your former lover could respond, you were rejoining the family who employed you. You ignored his gaze when he returned and throughout dinner and most especially as he was leaving. It was no easy feat because Friedrich had the kind of presence that was hard to ignore, and that was true in more ways than one.

Despite how many times you dreamt of the man in the weeks that followed, you told yourself that bittersweet memories were infinitely better than accepting the affections of someone who could never be yours. One day he would be married—guarantee—and maybe one day you would be too—not so much of a guarantee—and Friedrich was an honest man, yes, but it felt insulting to him to think that he might not possess the kind of strength required to never seek you out once he took a wife. You surely liked to think so, but the man himself had told you many times that he found it difficult to stay away from you.

…and he was no liar.

Despite your wishes, letters were still slipped beneath your door, waiting for you at the end of the day when he had long left and you were retiring for the night. Each one went unopened, too afraid of what you might do should you read what he had to say all the while imagining that smooth voice of his. In fact, none of your wishes were met, cornered by the blue-eyed man again and again.

“Friedrich…”

You nervously looked past his broad shoulders, your inability to hold his gaze bringing him great frustration.

“Forgive me for I believed that this was merely some tantrum, some lapse in thought brought on by fear or inadequacy or…”

He trailed off, seemingly unable to gather his thoughts as his eyes roamed your face.

“Friedrich, I have made my feelings clear to you,” you spoke before he could gather himself to do so again. “Leave me be.”

Your attempt to get away was stopped, and your wide eyes rested on his face. There was a deep frown on it, and the facial hair above his lip twitched as his fingers pressed into your arms.

“Have I not told you time and time again that you are mine? That I cannot be without you?”

“Words said while I was warming your bed,” you pointed out, the attitude in your tone clear. “Now it is you who will have to forgive me for not taking them seriously.”

You tried to slip away again.

“So, you thought I said them in jest? That they were not meant to be believed?”

He sounded incredulous, and you took that moment to finally break free.

“It is irrelevant,” you hissed. “Please, leave me be!”

Your voice slightly echoed, and you were quick to stride away from him lest someone come looking for you.

As it turns out, the only person who you ever had to worry about looking for you was your spurned lover. You did not know if his shameless behavior was scarier than if he had preferred to remain discreet. Gathering groceries for the Hutters was a shadowed task and every room you cleaned turned into a hiding place every time he came over.

Your dreams about the man who you had once thought you loved turned into nightmares.

…and those nightmares turned into reality.

“So, this is where you hide whenever you so much as hear my voice…”

His hands were on your face, and your lower back was pressed against a side table as he finally found you one day. Friedrich looked as distinguished as always, but his eyes…something about those eyes gave way to the disarray within him. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, and there was a pout on his own lips as he ran his eyes along your face.

“I have written to you,” he forced out.

“...and I have asked you not to.”

The man before you swallowed at that, and his fingers pressed harder into your skin.

“Have you read them?” he finally asked, and your resolute silence must have been answer enough because you did not miss the way his eyes dimmed and his face fell.

Friedrich was normally so composed and dignified, so to see him in such a way was not only fascinating…but also terrifying. A once predictable man had become anything but, and you did not know what to expect from him.

“Has your heart truly grown so cold towards me?” he murmured, a plea in his gaze, and you felt compelled to be truthful in your answer.

“No,” you whispered. “...but I know what I want, and you cannot give it to me, so why go on pretending otherwise?”

You wrestled yourself from his grip with difficulty, and when Friedrich reached out to you, you stepped away, his fingers grazing the fabric of your dress as you did so.

“If you ignore my wishes again…” you took a deep, shuddering breath. “...I fear that you might never find me should you seek me out.”

You did not miss his stricken gaze as you left him, and despite what you wanted, it still hurt to see. You loved working for the Hutters, and perhaps you shared some blame in getting involved with a man who was so closely intertwined with them, but Friedrich had become an overbearing presence that would force you to find employment elsewhere if need be. He did not respect any boundary you attempted to put in place, and that made you feel terrified in a place you once felt so safe in.

He consumed your every waking thought—and not in a way that was pleasing—and perhaps that was why you found yourself touching the pile of letters you swore you would never open. But open them you did, one by one, and each letter grew more worrying than the last. The first was mild in comparison, mostly filled with declarations of desire to be near you and the odd jest here and there about what he had wrongly assumed was some temporary break.

Each one after talked less and less about love and any other gentle feelings and more about the need to never be without you and the ramblings of a man whose thoughts were far from coherent. Words like ‘consume’ and ‘torture’ and ‘despair’ stood out the most, and as you read every one, you had not even realized that you had begun to tremble. The parchment in your hands was shaking, and the cold that gripped you had nothing to do with the weather outside.

So much of what he had written was not all that different from the things Friedrich would whisper in your ear in the dead of night when he was pinning you beneath him and gently biting your flesh and parting your legs to make room for him. So many things that he would say in passionate moments were not at all anything you ever thought to take to heart. After all, how could you possibly expect to believe that he would never want to be away from you when he told you in no uncertain terms that he would never marry you?

For days those letters haunted you, and you struggled with how best to proceed. You did not relish the thought of leaving, but Friedrich—while a well respected gentleman—was a man who often and almost always got what he wanted. You did not know if the hold he wanted to have over you was because he truly loved you or because he felt that being your first meant something more or because…you were simply denying him something he wanted.

All scenarios scared you, and while you were fretting over the unnerving words that never left your thoughts, a storm ravaged your coastal town.

A storm that stranded Herr Harding under the same roof where you laid your head.

Some part of you expected him to give into his temptations.

“I do not know if you think me fickle or you just do not take anything I say seriously…”

You quietly trailed off, shaking your head and moving away from him as the heavy rain pelted against your window. The bad weather kept the rest of the house unaware of the argument going on beneath their very roof.

“...but I told you-.”

“Where do you think you can go that I will not follow?”

His words stumped you, and a flash of lightning brightened the room for a moment before it was bathed in the warm glow from your candles once again. His bright eyes stood out in the low lighting, but you swore that the more you stared into them, the darker they grew. The silence between you was thick with tension, and you felt your throat tighten at the predicament you found yourself in.

“Friedrich,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Please…”

“You break my heart, and you are the one begging?”

When he moved closer, you stood your ground despite your fear.

“Your heart?” you gasped. “You tell me that you will never marry me, and you do not think that broke mine? That day after day of being with you while knowing that did not continue to do so?”

You watched as he pressed his lips together, jaw clenching at your words.

“Friedrich…you must marry…and you have no intention of making me your bride. Are you telling me that the respectable and honorable Herr Harding had it in mind to keep me on as some shameful mistress? Hardly more than some whore?”

Your tone was thick with incredulity, and the dark-haired man had no response, only looking away with a huff.

“Or did you simply never think that far?”

“That day is nowhere along the horizon-.”

“Of course, you did not think that far,” you sighed, interrupting. “You are a man. There is no such thing as ‘ruin’ for you. Of course, you do not care.”

“Never speak such things,” he spat, cornering you. “Of course, I care.”

“You care, and yet you have never concerned yourself with what will become of me after you have taken a wife. You care, but you ignore my every wish to be free of you, to move on from you…”

“...because I cannot-.”

He cut himself off, hands placed on your cheeks as he stared at you.

“...because I cannot bear the thought,” he eventually said, pushing the words out through his teeth. “The mere thought of you with another tempts me to do unspeakable things.”

Those words caused a shudder to crawl down your spine, not unfamiliar with them as you recalled reading those exact words on a piece of parchment. His thumbs brushed along your skin, and when he moved closer, your stomach twisted into knots.

“Do you even grasp the insanity that would send me into?”

“Does that seem fair to you? That you must move on one day while I remain here right where you would prefer me?”

“I will never be able to move on from you, what about that do you not understand?”

You looked away from him, and Friedrich touched the tip of his nose to your temple, breathing you in.

“You speak of things that simply make no sense, Friedrich. It seems that I am the one who has to be reasonable yet again…”

“...and how do you plan on doing that? By leaving?”

The silence was loud, and you stumbled out from between him and the wall the moment his hands trailed further down to your shoulder and arm. He softly called your name as you turned your back to him, twice, then a bit louder on the third time.

“I will not allow it,” he harshly whispered, a hand circling your wrist. “Surely, you know that.”

His other hand dug into your waist, pulling you against him.

“I saw the letters on your bed table,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I know you read them. I know that you know what you mean to me.”

“Let go of me,” you breathed.

“That will only happen if you manage to make me,” was his mocking response, and your heart skipped a beat at his words. “If I leave you tonight, I worry that I shall never hold you again.”

His soft lips swallowed whatever you were going to say, and as you went to push him away, he pinned your arm between you.

“I refuse to be without you,” he murmured into the kiss, one hand firm on the small of your back and preventing you from getting away.

Wind whipped rain and leaves against the window, and the thunder carefully hid your fearful yelp as his lips trailed down your jaw and to your neck. His facial hair brushed against your skin, and you shuddered from the familiarity of it. Every attempt to break free from him was thwarted, and you had half a mind to wake the entire house, but you feared the consequences for you should the discovery of such a scene get out.

The man before you would go on fine as if nothing happened.

You, on the other hand, would be lucky to find another decent place of employment…let alone a husband.

Friedrich was unlike anything you had ever experienced, acting so unlike himself as he forced you to go and move in whatever direction he wished. Your panic only began to set in when you found yourself on your bed, a place that had seen your coupling numerous times, but tonight would be different.

Nothing about tonight would be loving.

The sound of ripping fabric made your heart jump, and when Friedrich’s lips wrapped around one of your breasts, you could not hold in your gasp. His other hand slid between your thighs as it had a hundred times, and every push against his chest was useless. You were focused on too much at once—trying to get his lips off of you and his fingers out of you.

When he curved them into you and circled his tongue on your skin, you faltered.

What followed played out just as you expected it to.

The strong man—whose strength you had once admired—was not deterred at all by any hit or scratch or punch you gave him. He murmured many things against your skin as he released himself, pinning your writing frame between him and your bed. Some of it was loving words that you were not at all unfamiliar with, and some of it was reminiscent of the more unnerving things he had put into his writing to you. 

“I told you that I cannot resist you,” he whispered, slowly thrusting into you in the way he knew you liked.

It made your stomach churn, now.

“Every time I am inside of you, you bear witness to every confession I make…”

His fingers threaded through your own against your will, pinning your hand to the bed as he held it. His lips pressed opened mouthed kisses against the expanse of your neck, your tearful gaze on the ceiling as your lashes fluttered. Every time he sank into you, your stomach tightened.

He kissed you again, forcing you to move your mouth against his as he tasted the inside of yours. Your free hand unconsciously trailed along his arm, forgetting for a brief moment that this was not like all the other times you snuck away or was lowered onto his bed. Friedrich kisses you intensely, his hips moving against yours with the same intensity, and it made your toes curl.

“Tell me that you shall never leave me,” he gently demanded.

When you could not give him the answer he wanted, his gaze met your tearful one. If there was any guilt within him for his actions then it was not present in his eyes at all. Those blue eyes of his shone like you suspected yours did, the candlelight reflecting in his tearful gaze.

“Must I make it so that you never can…?”

The ominous nature of his words were not lost on you, and a million different scenarios filled your mind.

“You speak of ruin, now…but I imagine that whisperings of the true nature of our relationship would really ruin you…”

Your wide eyes did not look away from his, and you wondered if he was even capable of what he was saying. Friedrich would not—he was a good and honorable man—and even he did not look like he believed himself capable of what he was threatening. However, you remembered your current position and that a good and honorable man would never put you in such a place. His train of thought seemed to be on the same track as yours, and you watched as he mentally resolved himself to whatever he had to in order to keep you.

“Perhaps a delicate condition…”

You dug your nails into his skin, a few tears spilling over, and for the first time in months, you saw uncertainty in his gaze.

“Friedrich…you wouldn’t…”

He swallowed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your still lips.

“Then do not make me…”

Your lips trembled as he lifted his head and brushed his fingers over your mouth, a deep frown on his handsome face.

“I refuse to be without you,” he choked out. “You have already driven me to the lowest of moral character.”

You flinched as if he had slapped you, and he wiped a few tears away.

“Do not make me sink so low again, I beg you,” he breathed, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

He remained there and circled his arms around you as he continued to gently sink his cock into you, and too afraid to say anything but what he wanted to hear, you hesitantly nodded.

“Okay,” you shakily whispered. “I shall never leave you.”

The only response you got was a passionate kiss.

[risuola]

ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

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[prythianpages]

I've Been Waiting For You | Azriel

summary: Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate.

warnings: mentions of death (since the suriel & reader are friends); some angst but also fluff because Az deserves to be happy ♡

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: The lyrics kind of reminded me of Alice & Jasper from twilight and how she had a vision of meeting him. This does go back and forth a lot in the beginning between past and present and came out longer than I thought it would. It's 9.6K words (which for me is long lol.) I apologize if there are any spelling errors. I've read this multiple times but somehow, always miss a couple.

As the moonlight dances upon the water's surface, the river transforms into a liquid ribbon of silver, weaving through the city of Starlight. Anticipation fills the air as Azriel walks across the bridge that spans the Sidra, his massive Illyrian wings glistening in midnight hues under the pale moonlight. 

Shadows play hide-and-seek as they travel through the night, drawn to the silhouette of a female figure. An intruder. Yet, Azriel's shadows dare to whisper something different into his ears.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your voice, carried by the wind, reaches him like a sweet caress, daring to awaken something deep within him. Beautiful. His shadows respond with a frenzy, a whirl of darkness singing wild tales into his ears, urging him forward. Meanwhile, his brain screams at the potential threat.

More tendrils of darkness dart toward you, ignoring their master’s orders to return. You don’t seem bothered by them. In fact, you seem to welcome them as if they’re old friends of yours. 

Azriel swallows, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, unsure what to make of this. 

“Who are you?”

Finally, you turn around and Azriel feels like the wind has been knocked out of him when his gaze meets yours. In the midst of the surrounding darkness, your eyes gleam with an inexplicable brightness. Specs of silver glimmer in your eyes, mirroring the stars above, as they shine back at him.  

“That’s for you to decide,” you reply with a smile that carries both hope and a sense of knowing as you follow after him and take a step forward.

“But for now, I’d like to speak with your High Lady.”

Months before…

The brilliance of a thousand stars shine down on you and the night seems to hold its breath, as if it too, awaits the whispered prophecies from the celestial expanse above. Like always, you are itching to unveil them with your finely attuned senses. A gust of cool wind brushes through your hair, sending shivers down your exposed skin. Pulling your gaze away from the night sky, you turn in time to see a cloaked figure approaching like a shadow in the night.

Your lips curve into a smile. “Hello, friend.”

“y/n.” The Suriel greets you, hovering beside you. Then, not missing another beat, he says, “I told her Rhysand was her mate.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a gasp escaping your lips. “You did not.”

“I did.” He grins back at you, flashing you his stained teeth.

You can’t help but laugh a little at your dear old friend. The Suriel lets out a rattled sound you discern as a laugh as he joins you. Always the one for dramatics. You still remember hearing about his first encounter with Feyre Archeron and how he told her to stay with the High Lord.

“I told her she must stay with the High Lord.”

“Did you specify which one?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m sure she handled it well,” you respond but your smile fades, giving way to a wistful expression. “She’s lucky. Not only is she made but the Cauldron has blessed her with a mate. The High Lord of the Night Court at that.”

The weight of his gaze settles upon you. You’re aware that your words carry a tinge of envy, a sentiment that feels unjust when considering everything Feyre has endured. The Suriel, ever perceptive, acknowledges this as well. He chooses not to remind you and indulges you instead.

“The Cauldron has blessed you as well, my child.”

“Have you seen it?”

Hope sparks in your eyes as you turn to face him. His eyes, pools of ancient wisdom, seem to pierce through the veils of time and secrets. You sense one of them unfolding. But he only gives you a teasing glimpse.

“Perhaps.” 

With a furrow in your brows, you lift your head back up to glare at the night sky. The stars seem to blink at you in a teasing manner, as if finding amusement in keeping this secret from you. 

“How come I haven’t seen it?”

“You will soon.” He reassures, following your gaze upwards. A dance of amusement swirls within the depths of his eyes.  “He’s waited centuries for you. Count your stars lucky that your waiting won’t be as long.”

Back to the present…

Velaris lived up to its name. A dream compared to the horrors of the city you grew up in. But as the city sparkles and comes to life at the darkening hour, all your attention is drawn to the male before you. He’s even more breathtaking in person. Everything about him is classically beautiful and the moon seems to agree, shining down on him and casting an ethereal glow on the golden-brown of his skin.

As Azriel continues to approach you, his wings fold gracefully behind him. His gaze is locked onto yours and though his eyes are cautious and analytical, there’s a warm shiver running down your spine. The desire to lose yourself in the hazel depths of his eyes becomes an irresistible pull.

Before you know it, the shadows brushing against your arms rise and come to rest against your eyes in a blindfold. Darkness engulfs you, and the sensation of weightlessness takes hold as Azriel winnows both of you. You land on a soft cushion–a chair. The dark tendrils leave your eyes and wrap around your wrists and legs, binding them together.

“Stay here.” Azriel says, the shadows wrapped around your limbs tightening in a silent warning.

A chuckle escapes from you and when your eyes meet his again, you flash him a mischievous smile. It widens when he’s the first to fold, quickly averting his gaze. He has no clue. You’re exactly where you want to be.

He leaves the room and your eyes finally take in your surroundings. Veiled curtains made of midnight blue silk drape the expansive windows, pulled back to allow moonlight to filter through. Shelves line the walls, housing collections of ancient artifacts and magical trinkets. A large desk, crafted from dark, polished wood rests before you. Your gaze fixates on the wall behind it, where a captivating portrait of the female you seek rests.

The door behind you swings open, and you turn to witness the graceful entrance of the female from the portrait. Feyre, the Cursebreaker and High Lady of the Night Court. She's a vision of night and beauty, her golden-brown hair cascading down her exposed back, revealing glimpses of moon phases etched along her spine.

“High Lady,” you say in greeting, bowing your head in respect.

Surprisingly, the High Lord doesn't accompany her. Instead, it's Azriel who trails behind her. Her calm blue eyes assess you as she takes a seat across from you. Azriel stands guard behind her and you feel his shadows watching your every breath. 

"And who might you be?"

“I’m y/n,” you respond, choosing your next words carefully. “An old friend of the Suriel’s. I’ve come to pledge my allegiance to you and offer my help.”

Something flickers in her blue eyes at the mention of the Suriel and her stoic expression falters, if only for a moment. You send her a sympathetic smile, your own heart aching at the mention of the fearsome creature you both held dear.

“Your help?” She echoes.

"She’s a seer," Azriel interjects, his voice setting your heart alight as there's no hint of disgust or apprehension in his tone.

Your kind is often regarded with hostility. He might not know your connection...yet. But he’s paid you enough attention to recognize your abilities and appears to be indifferent about them. If the Suriel were still alive, you know he’d laugh at your slight delusion.

"I am," you confirm. "And I know your sister is one too." You don’t miss the tension in Azriel’s body at the mention of the cauldron-made fae, but you don't dwell on it as you can also sense Feyre's protectiveness. "She has great potential. I can help her hone her skills. Together, we can—"

"No," Azriel growls protectively. His sharp interruption has you startling in your seat and hope deflates as you feel the intensity of his glare.

Feyre raises a hand, signaling him to stand back. “Why should I trust you?”

“Let me show you.”

Months before…

“By the Cauldron, what did you get yourself into?”

The Suriel grins mischievously, his tattered cloak barely clinging to his bony form. He graciously accepts the cloak you offer, a luxurious piece made of the softest velvet in the darkest shade of black you could find. A purr escapes him as he revels in its warmth. "Nothing," he responds coyly, the satisfaction evident in the bounce of his form as he hovers in the air.

You shoot him a pointed look, yearning to know what he was up to. You’re certain it was no good. “Sure,” you retort and then gesture toward the crackling fire you started. “I also made dinner.”

“You spoil me.”

“It’s what friends do.”

"Friend," he muses, the white pools of his eyes burning into your soul, as he turns to you. "As a friend, I should tell you that your dress is absolutely atrocious on you. Cobalt blue is more your color."

With a glare, you playfully throw the roasted chicken over the fire at his face. He effortlessly catches it with his mouth, cackling as he chews on the tender piece of meat.

"What do you know about fashion? All you do is thirst for robes."

“You forget that I am older than the bones of this world. I know everything about everything. I also cannot lie.”

"Doesn't stop you from hiding the truth," you respond cheekily, and he hums in agreement,

Silence falls as he seats himself beside you on the ground. He breaks it a couple of moments later. “Remember what I told you last time?”

You release a deep sigh because you do remember. The mere thought haunts you nearly every night, and you’re often burdened by the heavy weight of it. Your shoulders slump in response. “Why can't you do it yourself?”

“It is your fate, not mine,” he states simply, a reminder of the immutable laws of destiny.

“I’m not ready.” 

You don’t think you ever will be and suddenly, you’re that fragile sixteen year old again, who had to run away from the only place you called home to escape a cruel fate. The one who was left to navigate through her new onset of divine abilities alone.

That is, until, the fateful night you had thrown your cloak over a tree branch to dry. It had been stained by blood after a rough and almost deadly encounter with a stray naga so you had spent all morning cleaning it in the river nearby. Completely unaware of the Suriel you were summoning.

“You do not fear me?”

“That is mine,” you had said through clenched teeth with a deep rooted glare.

In the midst of your tug of war with the Suriel, your cloak tore in half. In that moment, you braced yourself for the dark creature's wrath. However, something in you captured his attention that day, and he chose not to unleash his fury upon you. He decided to take you under his wing instead.

He recognized your lineage without a single word spoken about it. He could sense your power coursing through your veins, waiting to be unraveled. After decades of patience and practicing, he was there to witness the formation of stars weaving themselves into the depths of your eyes. The mark of your seer abilities.

As always, the Suriel reads you like an open book. He can sense your insecurity, your hesitancy. But, in equal measure, he can sense your power, your potential.

“You will be,” he insists, his words carrying the unwavering certainty of the all-knowing creature he is. “You must guide and open the eyes of Elain Archeron the same way I did for you.”

Your throat tightens. “When?”

“Soon.”

And when you look up to gaze at the night sky, the stars align for you. A cascade of visions unfurls, pouring over you like a celestial waterfall. Your eyes become a myriad of galaxies and ears are teased with glimpses of conversations and whispers from the stars above. One moment, you’re in a forest, standing before a female figure crouched over a cloaked one. 

“The tracking…I knew of it.” 

Then, a rattling breath. “Leave this world a better place than how you found it.”

Abruptly, the scene shifts, and you stand in an enchanting city of starlight, gazing at the expansive river before you as anticipation fills the air. He comes for you. Azriel, the shadowsinger. The name resonates in the echoes of your mind.

Then, the final vision envelopes you, drawing you into the depths of mesmerizing hazel eyes. The voice that accompanies it is carried by the enchantment of night, gently caressing against your ears. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Mate. That is your mate. Azriel, the–

“Do you see it now?”

With a sharp intake of breath, you’re pulled from the downpour of your visions, only to find your senses clouded with tears that pool at the corners of your eyes. How cruel, you think, your heart twisting in agony. And though meeting your mate–your fated companion–was among your greatest dreams, you no longer want it. Not if it means you’ll lose your greatest companion.

You can live without knowing your mate. After all, you’re doing so at this very moment. The Suriel has been your friend for decades. Two souls brought together by their mutual loneliness. An all knowing creature and a seer. Together, you’re a powerful duo, navigating through the fated intricacies of Prythian. You’d be lost without him.

“Please don’t go,” you’re begging.

The Suriel smiles but it’s not his usual mischievous grin. This time, a tinge of sorrow lingers in the curve of his lips, casting his expression in a veil of sadness.

“I have to. It’s my time to go,” he says. “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“That when it’s your time to shine, you’ll find Feyre. Help her make this world a better place.”

Back to Present

Feyre blinks back tears as she withdraws from your mind. She turns her head toward the Shadowsinger behind her, and for a moment, fear grips you. You allowed her to see the revelation of Azriel being your mate but only because it was deeply entwined with the other pertinent visions.

“Release her.”

The shadows release their grip on you and you let out a deep exhale in relief. But the inky tendrils don’t leave your side. They linger and hover over you and at this, Azriel’s eyebrows furrow.

Feyre extends her hand out toward you. Her blue eyes are warm, a gentle reassurance that she’d harbor your secret for you. A smile graces her lips, one that you're happy to reciprocate.

“I’ll gladly accept your help but let me speak with Elain first. You may stay here. There’s a spare room upstairs. Azriel will show you around.”

Following his High Lady’s orders, Azriel shows you around the grand estate. He’s a bit reserved around you and you don’t blame him. Both a blessing and a curse, your visions offer insight into his world, yet you're a mere stranger imposing on the family he protects fiercely.

And as he finally shows you to your room, the one right next to his, you can only hope that someday, he’ll welcome you too. After all, he is your mate.

Elain Archeron is infinitely beautiful. Inside and out. She is gentle and sweet and you see why some mistake her kindness for weakness. But it took only days for you to become well aware of the strength and power she harbors deep within.

While your abilities were limited to what the stars wanted to show you, you sensed that hers were limitless. With the right training, she could summon visions at her call, anticipate anyone's move. You wanted to help her achieve that and prove those people that saw her as something fragile wrong. Though reluctant toward your help at first, Elain was kind enough to listen to you and consider the advice you gave. It took some further convincing but you knew she was itching to unravel the depths of her powers too.

But it's proving to be a challenge. A hard and exhausting one. You're not surprised. It took you many years to become attuned to your powers. What is surprising, however, are Azriel's feelings for her. They're obvious and plain to see and could you blame him? Elain is wonderful...and you can't help but compare yourself to her. She's everything you're not.

Upon your arrival, you had been set on making Azriel fall for you. That was, until, you realized he was already entangled in the threads of another's heart. Could it be that the Suriel, in his all knowing wisdom, purposefully shielded you from such revelations about your mate? To delay the shattering of your dreams?

Now, you were just content to focus on your task at hand. To help Elain the way the Suriel did with you, even if Azriel was there as a safety net for her every session. Even if the way he was well attuned to every shift of her expression sent a sharp pain stabbing through your heart. He was blissfully unaware of your connection, clouded by his affection for Elain.

And you were tired of chasing after males. It's why you shot down Feyre's suggestion of confessing to Azriel. You dreamed of having a mate, pleaded to the Cauldron even. Now, you realize, that you want Azriel to like you for you. To chose you too the way Feyre did with Rhysand. If Elain was the person he chose at the moment, then so be it.

"I don't chase. I attract," you told Feyre. The same words you had uttered to the Suriel years ago after he poked fun at you over a failed romance. One of many, unfortunately.

"The only thing you'll attract with that attitude of of yours is a dark cloud of shadows," The Suriel had laughed at you, earning an icy glare from you.

But Feyre is much nicer about it than your dear old friend. She gives you an encouraging smile instead and wishes you luck on your upcoming session with Elain.

Your session with Elain ends terribly–with her screaming in pain and Azriel glaring at you and telling you to go, despite your attempts at apologizing. You spend the following days, weeks even, trying to make up for it. You slowed down in pace in your exercises with Elain, despite her protests. She held no animosity toward you at the dark turn that session had made.

You also buried yourself into any book you could find about seers in the magnificent Night Court library, grieving and longing for the Suriel. He would know what to do, and know exactly how to help. It’s the mere thought of him that fuels your determination to keep trying, despite how much you want to leave. It’s laughable almost, how in the midst of so many people, the sense of loneliness weighs heavier on you than it ever did in the solitude of Prythian's forests.

But perhaps, a break wouldn't be such a bad idea? You think as your gaze lands on an intriguing cover. It's a work of pure fiction. The ideal escape from reality. Retrieving it from its shelf, you settle into one of the plush chairs and immerse yourself into the words etched onto the pages.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

A nudge against your leg startles you awake, and as you blink away the remnants of sleep, your eyes widen at the sight of Azriel standing before you. Sleeping beauty, the words sink in, painting a soft blush over your cheeks.

“You missed dinner.”

“Oh.”

You turn your head, wincing at the dull ache in your neck from sleeping in an awkward position. The soft glow of the moon greets you through one of the library's windows. You don’t know when you had fallen asleep but you must’ve been out for hours. When you face Azriel again, your gaze drops to his hands, where he holds a carefully arranged plate of food. Your stomach growls as the scent hits you and your eyes linger on the generous serving of potatoes–your favorite–in comparison to the other vegetables and meat.

“Is that for me?” you ask, and immediately curse yourself for the seemingly silly question. You blame it on the lingering grasp of sleep, still reluctant to release its full grip on you.

"No, it's for the rats that come out at night," he replies, lips twitching upwards at the reaction it stirs from you. How the Suriel never scared you but a couple of hairy, smaller creatures do is beyond you. He places the plate on the small table beside you.

 "Yes, it's for you. A peace offering. For snapping at you."

"That was two weeks ago.”

"Bet you didn't see it coming," he teases, and you find yourself blinking in surprise. The Shadowsinger cracking a joke? It's a sight to behold. At least for you. 

Your eyes narrow. "Did Feyre send you?"

"No," Azriel replies simply, his tone carrying a sincerity that sets a flicker of hope alight in you. He then sighs. "I just realized I haven't been the most welcoming, that's all."

You smile in response and shift in your seat as you turn your body towards the food. The movement has the book in your lap falling. His hand reaches the book before yours could and the brush of your skin against his sends a delightful shudder through your body.

His eyes curiously look over the title and when he hands it back to you, you take note of the way he avoids looking at his scarred fingers. So you reach forward and brush your fingers against his again, letting them linger for a beat longer than before. Surprise flickers in his hazel eyes as he meets your gaze, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

“That book is one of my favorites," he says, his shadows dancing across his shoulders and peeking curiously at you. "I'm surprised you're into the mystery genre."

"Why?"

“Well, you’re hard to read sometimes. Like a mystery that refuses to be solved.”

An arched brow is your response, but the gleam in your eyes gives away more than you'd like. “Maybe I don’t want to be unraveled.”

Azriel's lips twitch upwards once more. “Maybe it just takes the right person.”

Bathed in the glow of sunlight, you and Elain sit across from one another on the soft bed of green grass. Meanwhile, Azriel leans against a tree, a couple of feet away. His gaze is intense as he watches you two. Too focused on not letting it faze you, you fail to catch the way it softens when he turns to you.

Azriel can’t help but frown when he catches you avoiding his gaze. He wonders if you still harbor some resentment toward the way he had snapped at you awhile back, even though he already apologized for it.

"Close your eyes and focus on your breath," he hears you instruct softly. "Feel the rhythm of the earth beneath you. Attune yourself to the heartbeat of the world around you. What do you hear?”

Elain closes her eyes in deep concentration. “I can hear the wind and the tremble of the grass beneath it. I can hear the wind carry all the way to the sea.”

“Good,” you say and though her eyes remain closed, you smile gently at her. A gesture that sends a rush of warmth through him.

“Now feel the whispers of the unseen.”

“I can’t.” Elain’s eyebrows furrow.

“Here, take my hands,” you say as you reach for hers. “Imagine a pool of water within you, calm and reflective. Use me as a vessel to carry you through it. I’ll guide you to where your visions will manifest.”

Elain does as told. The world stills around you two. You close your eyes. As Elain’s eyebrows relax, your own face contorts in concentration. Azriel feels himself tense when he realizes it’s not concentration etching onto your face–it’s pain. In a heartbeat, he’s kneeling before you and prying your hands apart.

“Stop!”

Your eyes snap open at the sudden disconnection, and Azriel is unsettled by the way you shrink back from him, panic widening your eyes.

“I’m not hurting her!”

But it’s not Elain he’s worried about. He hasn’t even spared her a glance. It’s you–you’re the one that’s hurt. Blood trickles down your nose and he’s urging you to lean forward, gently guiding you with his hands as Elain rushes for a towel.

“Are you okay?”

There’s a dull ache in your head but also one in your heart and you’re too disoriented to stop yourself from saying, “If you stop staring at me like that, I will be.”

Azriel releases a soft chuckle, his muscles relaxing in relief at the playful edge in your tone. Yet, his shadows, wanting to confirm you're okay themselves, flutter toward you in a delicate cloud of darkness.

"Like what?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

And you’ve never felt more relief at the sight of Elain coming in between you with a towel in hand.

A sudden sound has you stirring from your sleep. Your hand instinctively slides under your pillow, fingers grasping for the dagger you always keep with you when sleeping. The sound comes again and your initially alarmed body relaxes as you recognize it as the sound of someone knocking. Wrapping a robe around your night shift, you head toward the door, expecting Elain on the other side. 

Upon opening your door, you’re surprised to find Azriel standing on the other side.

“You’re not going to Starfall?”

“Good morning to you too.”

Azriel’s eyes rake over your form, taking in your disheveled state. His lips curl into a faint smile. "It's noon," he observes in an amused manner.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you pivot your head toward the clock that hangs on the wall of your room. There, confirming his statement, the hands point a half hour past twelve. You overslept. You didn’t have any plans today and it seems your exhausted body took advantage of it.

“Is everything okay?”

His voice, laced with genuine concern, draws your attention back to him. The soft furrow of his brow and the warmth in his eyes catch you off guard. You hesitate. You don’t want to lie but you also don’t want to burden him with the truth.

So you settle for a, “Why?”

"I've noticed you haven't been sleeping much," he remarks, and before you can interrupt, he gestures toward his room, the one adjacent to yours. A silent acknowledgment that he's been more attentive than you realized. It pulls at the strings of your heart. "Or attending family dinners, and now Feyre tells me you're not going to Starfall?"

The weight of his observations presses on you. You didn’t think anyone had noticed.  "Why do you care?" you retort, your words sharper than intended, and a wince follows.

"Isolation is not a good coping method," he responds, his tone steady and unfazed by your sharpness. "Trust me, I know."

"I don't have a dress."  The words escape your lips, but even as you say them, you recognize the feebleness of the excuse.

“I’ll buy you one.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you feel a telltale blush spreading as the thought of Azriel buying you a dress takes root. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself. His gaze remains fixed on you, hazel eyes bright and gleaming with curiosity, as if daring you to come up with another excuse.

“Starfall is tomorrow.”

Azriel grins at you. It sends a flutter through your heart and you wonder if he can hear the erratic beat of it. 

“Better make haste and get dressed then. We’ve got a couple of hours before the shops close.”

You deliberately take extra time getting ready, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within you as you prepare to spend time with Azriel. Half-expecting a hint of annoyance, you finally open the door to your room, only to find Azriel with a welcoming smile that has the bond in your chest humming. Still, you're met with silence at the other side.

You take a deep breath as he gestures for you to follow him. As you step outside, he offers his arm and winnows you, not wanting to waste anymore time. You both find yourselves in the bustling shopping plaza of Velaris, where the fragrance of blooming flowers and the animated chatter of people embrace you.

Elaborate Starfall-themed displays adorn the shops, enticing you inside. Suddenly, the sheer array overwhelms you, and an urge to step back washes over you. Azriel place a hand on your back, stopping you and guiding you towards one of the shops.

“Welcome!” A voice happily chirps. “How can I help you?”

A stunning female enters your line of sight, her gaze immediately fixating on the male standing behind you. Her lips curve into a captivating smile, causing a twinge of jealousy to flicker within you. It’s short lived as Azriel clears his throat, gently nudging you forward.

“We’re looking for a dress for her.” Azriel speaks for you.

“Splendid! What’s the special occasion?”

“Starfall.” Azriel answers.

The female’s eyes widen, her smile morphing into a strained one. “I’m afraid I’ve sold all my best work already.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Sorry for the trouble,” you quickly reply, attempting to conceal the relief in your voice. Turning to leave, Azriel's hands land on your shoulders, directing you back to face the female.

“I’m sure we can find something in here,” Azriel reassures with a polite smile, scanning the aisles of dresses. “Y/n isn't picky. Right?”

“I can be,” you mumble under your breath.

Azriel lets out a sound, what you discern as a muffled chuckle. He gives your shoulder a squeeze and then leans down toward your ear. “If I were you, I’d take advantage of the situation.”

You turn your head slightly and regret it immediately. It takes all your strength to hold back the shudder your body wants to give at his proximity. He’s so close you can feel his breath fanning against your neck and you wonder what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against that sensitive skin.

It surprises you how quickly you find your voice.

“I’m going to pick the most expensive one.”

“Go ahead,” Azriel says and you can hear the smirk in his voice without having to look at him. He doesn’t allow you to get another word in, urging you forward again to where the female patiently awaits for you.

She lightly grasps your arm, leading you toward a rack of dresses in various styles and colors while Azriel makes himself comfortable on the couch by the fitting room. “You are a lucky lady,” she muses, her hands gracefully exploring the textures of her creations. “I’ve had this shop for centuries and you’re the first lady the Shadowsinger has brought to me.”

A blush warms your cheeks as you divert your attention to the array of beautiful dresses. Each one is a work of art, making you question her earlier claim about not having her best work available. If these weren't her finest creations, the thought of what her best work looked like leaves you intrigued.

The female, who’s name you learn is Willow, has you try on a couple of dresses that differ in styles. You’re reluctant to show Azriel each one but given he’s paying for it and the only other one in this shop, you feel like he should have some say.

“Do you like it?” Willow beams at you, admiring her work.

On the fifth dress, your hands run over the tulle of the vibrant yellow skirt. The fabric feels itchy against your skin, and the color is too bold for your taste. You swear you are not trying to be picky, despite what you told Azriel earlier. 

“I li–”

“Let’s try another?” Azriel cuts in as if sensing the lie that was about to unfold. He rises from his seat toward one of the racks and pulls out a dress that caught his eye earlier. “How about this one?”

He holds the dress out to you, smiling softly when you take it from him. It’s much simpler compared to the other dress you’ve tried on but still just as elegant. It’s also soft against your skin. Willow guides you back into the fitting room, deftly assisting you out of the vivid yellow dress and into the cobalt blue silk one.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Cobalt blue is more your color!" Willow says as she gushes over you.

Her choice of words leaves you momentarily stunned. Cobalt blue is more your color. The exact words the Suriel had spoken to you. Also, the exact same shade as Azriel's siphons. The Suriel must’ve enjoyed himself a lot when he said those words to you. That sneaky little creature... You can hear his laugh echoing through your mind.

As you finally emerge from the dressing room, Azriel can’t help but stare. The fabric drapes gracefully around you, accentuating curves he hadn't noticed before. Sensing his prolonged gaze, your eyes meet his. It was him quickly averting his gaze, a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure.

"This is the one. It looks…good on you," he manages to say, his voice slightly strained.

“It’s 500 gold marks.”

He picks up on the teasing in your tone and the way Willow shakes her head in reassurance at him. Still, he humors you and says, “I don’t care.”

He’d pay more than 500 gold marks just to make you happy.

Azriel battled with restless thoughts that night, unable to find solace in sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, the vivid image of you in that dress invaded his mind. He couldn’t wait to see you in that dress again. Maybe then, he’d have the courage to compliment you better.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the first guests arrived for the Starfall celebration, Azriel's eyes eagerly scanned the gathering crowd, seeking a glimpse of you. Just as a twinge of disappointment crept in, his shadows stirred, signaling your proximity. His wings twitched with anticipation, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. You are absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. 

In an instant heartbeat, he’s pushing Cassian, who was ready to fly you up to the House of Wind, aside. With a warning look, Cassian steps away with a chuckle.

"You're here," he whispers, a blend of disbelief and relief saturating his breath.

“Well a very nice male spent a lot of money for me to be here.”

“Well I’m glad.” Azriel chuckles, eyes drinking you in again. Savoring you. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

Azriel flushes at the unexpected compliment and his shadows to come to life around him. He smiles at you. “Shall we?”

He waits for your nod before carefully hooking an arm beneath your knees, eyes never leaving yours. A thrill courses through him as he revels in the sensation of your arms around his neck, taking delight in the way you feel in his arms. His wings unfurl behind him, preparing for the short flight up. The sound has your eyes fluttering shut, arms tightening around him and face burying into his neck. He finds it absolutely endearing. He never wants to let you go.

Against his wishes, the flight up to the balcony was short. He sets you down, helping you regain your footing, a lingering touch before reluctantly releasing you. There’s still more guests he, unfortunately, has to fly up. It’s as if you sense his internal conflict because you’re turning around to face him, eyes bright and alight.

“Yes, Azriel. I’ll save you a dance.”

The way his name rolls off your tongue sends a thrill up his spine. He opens his mouth to say something but once again, you beat him to it.

"Thought I'd save you the question," you stated, an all-knowing grin gracing your features as you tapped the corner of one of your eyes. Ah, so you had a vision of him. He wonders about the other glimpses you might have seen.

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it as Elain is rushing toward you, showering you with compliments. He takes that as his cue to depart. He is determined to finish his tasks in bringing the remaining guests up as fast as he can so that he can return to you and that dance you promised.

Azriel finds himself stealing glances whenever he thinks you won’t notice. The sparkle in your eyes, the way the dress accentuates your features–he can't look away. Caught up in the melody of your laughter, provoked by something Elain said, Azriel and his shadows are too mesmerized in the beauty of you to notice Feyre approaching until she speaks.

"She’s beautiful," Feyre remarks, her eyes following the same path as Azriel's gaze.

A soft affirmation escapes Azriel's lips. "Yes."

Feyre, well aware of the answer, delves further. "You bought her that dress?"

“Yes.”

A mischievous gleam flickers in Feyre's eyes as she delivers her next statement. "You like her." 

Azriel's response slips out before he can even grasp the depth of his own admission. "Yes."

He turns to Feyre, his wide eyes betraying the shock of his own revelation. A slight pallor washes over his skin, and Feyre chuckles at his reaction. Sensing the tension in the air, she rests a reassuring arm on his shoulder. “I like her too,” she confesses.

Though, both of them recognize that Azriel's feelings for you run deeper and in more intricate ways than Feyre's own fondness.

“I offered her a place in this court. She said she’d think about it. Maybe you can convince her? The same way you convinced her to come to Starfall,” Feyre says and then with one last pat on his shoulder, she makes her way back toward Rhysand.

Still recovering from the revelation of his own feelings, it takes a while longer for the weight of Feyre’s words to sink in. A mixture of surprise, uncertainty, and a flicker of hope plays out across his features. You weren’t planning on staying? The thought of you leaving–leaving him stirs a feeling in his chest. His eyes seek you out again but you’re no longer standing beside Elain.  

In your place, stands Lucien and normally the sight would trigger dark emotions from him. But now? He feels nothing. There’s no sense of envy. His affections have shifted elsewhere.

Azriel’s shadows fall to the floor, slithering against the cool tile like serpents of the night. They lead the way directly to where you stand, by the champagne table. He makes his way toward you and you're downing the rest of the liquid in your glass.

“Azriel.” You smile at him.

“It’s time for you to fulfill the promise you made me.”

“Of course,” you reply, offering him your hand.

Azriel gracefully pulls you into his embrace. One hand wraps around yours while the other rests on your waist. The enchanting melody guides your movements as the two of you glide across the floor.

“Feyre told me she offered you a role in this court.”

Your eyes, wise and mysterious, meet his, and he feels your body tense under his hold. “What else did she tell you?”

“That you’d think about it,” he says, the rhythm of the dance allowing for a moment of ease to settle between you. “You should stay.”

“Why?”

A wistful expression colors your features and the soft glow of stars are reflected in your eyes. The music comes to a gradual end and you free yourself of his hold before the next song begins.

“There’s no one here for me.” You admit and then give a small laugh as you look down. There's a deep, haunting sadness to your laughter, striking a chord within him.

“I’m right here.” 

Lifting your head back up, your eyes search his for something with a glimmer of hope. An eternity seems to pass in your gaze. A frown settles over your lips and he feels a tinge of sadness. Whatever you sought, it seems you did not find it.

Suppressing the surge of emotions within him, his hand reaches for yours again. He guides you to somewhere more private, toward one of the balconies that is off limits to the guests. “Talk to me,” he says, his words carrying an invitation for you to unburden your heart.

Your hands grip onto the railing before you and attention is directed up towards the night sky. He mirrors your actions, resting his hands close to yours. So close he can feel your warmth but not close enough to touch.

"It feels weird being here," you sigh deeply. "My mother and I used to sneak out of Hewn City on Starfall just to catch a glimpse of these migrating spirits every year...until she realized what I was. She said I was a curse, said she would turn me into Keir and let him have his way with me if I didn't leave."

Azriel's fingers clench into a white knuckled grip at your words.

"Not that leaving a horrible city such as Hewn was exactly a punishment. It was probably for the best. Still didn't stop me from being scared. It was the first time in my life that I was actually alone. I learned how to survive."

"I met the Suriel a year later. He must've taken pity on me and would visit me without being summoned. Sometimes, it'd be to tease me with some gossip. Other times, to annoy and chide me for my mistakes. Most importantly, he taught me how to not only survive on my own but live alone. I don't know, it's probably silly but I just felt a lot less lonely when I was actually alone than I do here."

“It’s not silly. I used to feel that way too.” Azriel admits and after a moment of silence, he’s turning toward you.  “Am I not your friend?”

“I don’t know,” you find yourself saying again, uncertainty clouding your expression. Pausing, you tear your gaze from the night sky to look at him. “Do you want to be?”

“Yes,” Azriel smiles at you. And so much more. 

You smile back at him but it doesn’t last long. Turning your head to face directly ahead, you bite the inside of your cheek in hesitation, revealing to Azriel that there’s more troubling you than your sense of loneliness.

“What else?” 

“There’s nothing else.”

“y/n.”

“I feel like a failure.”

Azriel's eyes widen, his heart sinking to his stomach. “You’re not,” he reassures quickly.

“I–I just,” you stammer, the weight of self-doubt evident in your voice. “It’s nearing four months since I’ve arrived, and I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface with Elain.”

“How long did it take you to harness your abilities?”

“Decades,” you respond, the admission carrying a hint of sheepishness. “But Elain is different. This is different. I don’t want to disappoint her. Disappoint Feyre. The world we know is crumbling apart, and we don’t have time. If–if we cannot fix it before it’s too late, I will have failed him.”

“Hey, look at me.”

When you don’t, Azriel lightly grips your chin, coaxing your gaze to him. “You’re here, aren’t you? You’re honoring his wish by just being here. Keep trying,” he encourages, wiping away your tears. “I’ll be here with you every step of the way. You’re not alone. We’ll face this together.”

“Together?”

He releases his hold on you, resting his hand once more on the rail. This time, it’s even closer to yours.

“Together,” he confirms, heart swarming with warmth when your hand bridges the gap between you and brushes against his. 

And finally, it seems your lonely days are through.

Azriel’s been in love before. Twice. Or at least, he thought it was love. One was unrequited, a silent ache he carried within. The other was forbidden, a love he had clung to with misguided hope. He was beginning to come to the begrudging conclusion that love was simply not meant for him.

Then, you came along. Strange as it seems, you've seemed to have brought back that old feeling to him, awakening something deep inside of him. And though he doesn't know what you did, he thinks--he hopes that you could be the one. The one to possibly release him from the chains of solitude and longing.

You've rarely left his mind since the night he met you. The echoes of your first words to him lingered in his mind long after your encounter, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your voice was cloaked in both mystery and certainty, as though you held the threads of destiny within your grasp. It prompted him to ask who you were but your answer, “that’s for you to decide” only gave rise to more questions. 

Then, there was that smile. So beautiful, so hopeful. It etched itself into the recesses of his memory. It was a smile no one had ever bestowed upon him before and one he longed to see it again.

And he almost ruined it all–that day he snapped at you after a session gone wrong with Elain. Your intentions were always pure. He knew this. No one was at fault as everything that transpired between you and Elain was completely consensual. But the scream that tore through Elain sent him in a heightened frenzy. He had sworn to Rhysand and Feyre, his High Lord and High Lady, that he would protect Elain. Before he could properly assess the situation, he had roughly pushed you aside with a growl. The hurt that flashed in your eyes in response haunted him nearly every night.

You began to actively avoid his gaze and presence whenever possible, and guilt gnawed at him relentlessly. Even his shadows, missing your attention, seemed angry with him. Truth be told, he was angry with himself too. You had made friends with everyone. Everyone but him.

The following two weeks became a series of futile attempts at groveling, your obliviousness to it all cutting deeper than he cared to admit. The breaking point came when you missed dinner, and he knew it was time to set things right then. So he sent his shadows to look for you and when they reported back to him that you were sleeping in the library, he brought your dinner to you.

After that moment, the atmosphere between you two shifted. He became the chaser, gradually closing the distance between you.

You looked his way more, approached him with a newfound openness, and your conversations became more frequent. You teased him at times, even, with your cryptic words. But rather than frustrating him, it only made him seek you out more. He wanted to be the one to unravel the mystery that was you.

Somewhere down the line, his eyes stopped searching for Elain's. The private moments he sought with her became mere echoes of the past—no more lingering touches, exchanged glances, or pointless conversations. Instead, it was you who occupied the center of his attention, infiltrating his dreams and igniting desires he never knew he harbored.

You eased him like no other, effortlessly coaxing smiles and laughter from him. It was in these moments that the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning—he had never truly been in love during the first two instances. What he felt for you was different. He was unwilling to let his feelings linger in the shadows, as they had done before. He yearned for them to step into the light. To be acknowledged and acted upon openly.

He decided to wait until after Solstice to confess to you and hoped that your visions wouldn't give him away.

Laughter and clinks of wine glasses ring through the air. Azriel knows it’s time to open presents, his shadows singing loudly and overwhelming him with information. Cassian is sneaking a peak. Rhysand is rolling his eyes. Elain got Lucien a present. y/n is holding back tears.

Azriel tenses at the last bit of information, eyes immediately finding you. You’re seated beside Feyre–the two of you exchanging smiles. There’s an unwrapped present on your lap and his shadows dart toward it. It’s a small portrait of the Suriel. He hears you thank Feyre and he swears he can feel your ache of grief. He moves to stand from his seat but Elain stops him.

“Happy Solstice,” she says, holding out a small present. He takes the box albeit reluctantly but politely and opens it to find two tickets to an upcoming play. 

Elain smiles at the frown he’s trying to hide.

"Elain, I can't--"

“Y/n mentioned always wanting to go see a play. I thought maybe you could be the one to take her. After you confess."

His eyes search hers for any traces of hurt. He’s relieved when he finds none but the frown in his brow remains. “How–”

“She trained me well," Elain replies, eyes shining with an all knowing gleam he's seen in yours. "She deserves to be happy. You both do and something tells me that she’s the one you’ve been waiting for.”

Gods, you and Elain have been hanging out so much with one another that now she’s beginning to talk like you. There's a tightening in his chest, like a band about to snap at her words.

Azriel looks back at Elain in question but she only smiles at him once more before retreating back to where she was sitting previously. Next to Lucien, who also sends a smile his way.

Looking down at the tickets, he thinks of you again. His shadows stir, mirroring the strange sensation in his chest. It’s almost like a pull and his shadows guide him toward it, turning his head for him. Just in time to catch a glimpse of you quietly slipping away from the festivities. His steps quicken as he follows you, pulling his coat along with him.

The soft flakes of snow flutter down, a delicate dance in the winter night. Despite weeks of continuous snowfall, the enchanting beauty of it never fails to captivate you. It differs markedly from the unforgiving snowstorms you endured while wandering the Night Court's forests. Though just as cold, it prompts an involuntary shiver, a reaction to the biting chill in the air.

As the door behind you creaks open, a rush of warmth accompanies its movement. The scent of cedar invades your senses, growing more intense as you feel a fabric drape over your shoulders, bringing forth an intimate warmth.

"Hey," Azriel breathes, a visible puff of white escaping his lips.

"Hi," you smile back at him, your fingers instinctively reaching for the coat that draped over your shoulders. You can't help but notice the thin sweater he wears. "Won't you be cold, though?"

Azriel stops you, securing his coat back onto your smaller frame with a reassuring smile. “I grew up in a camp where it snowed a lot more than this. I’ll be fine.”

You look back up at the night sky. The stars are shining so bright. It makes you wonder if they ever tire. They seem to answer you as their radiant beams cast a celestial glow upon you. Your vision blurs in surrender.

“What are you seeing?” Azriel inquires, curious. He hopes it's not the confession he's aching to spill.

Your eyebrows knit together, and you close your eyes, immersing yourself in deciphering the messages woven between the stars. Upon opening your eyes, you turn to Azriel, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“You're going to get frostbite."

Azriel lets out an amused huff. "I don't care. As long as you're warm."

"We should head back inside," you suggest.

"No," Azriel insists, enfolding a wing around your form, anchoring you in place. His shadows can sense you don't want to go back inside yet. "I like being alone with you."

The wind nips at your cheeks, a sensation you welcome as it gives the perfect excuse for the blush creeping across your face. Tearing your gaze away from Azriel before he can discern his effect on you, you quietly share, "Nyx is going to say his first word in three days."

Azriel leans forward and you can feel his anticipation. A familial bet circulates among his uncles and aunts (save for Elain) regarding what the young heir’s first word will be. “What is it?”

“Cas.”

Azriel can't resist glancing back toward the house, his eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. There, he catches a fleeting glimpse of Cassian playfully hoisting Nyx in the air, the two engaged in a lively game of chase around the living room. When he turns his attention back to you, mischief twinkles in your eyes.

“You’re lying.”

“You fell for it."

And that smile he’s been longing for since he met you graces your lips as you laugh. A sweet and beautiful sound that warms the winter air. Azriel's gaze dips toward your lips, captivated by the sound, before lifting back to meet your eyes. He leans in even closer.

“I fell for you.”

You also lean in, eyes never leaving his. "The answer is yes."

"What?"

Azriel nearly stumbles back, caught off guard, but you remain close, lifting a hand and cradling his cheek. It's surprisingly warm and he instinctively leans into your touch. His eyes widen. Did you—

“To you taking me on a date,” you reveal, your smile deepening, and he swears his shadows snicker in response. “The vision I just saw. It was of me and you at a theater. Next Friday at seven.”

“Next Friday at seven,” Azriel confirms, a tender affection lighting up his expression.

The air seems to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting future. You reach out, tugging at the bond in your chest. Once again, there is only silence. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. Not when Azriel is gazing at you as though you are the very stars illuminating the night sky.

And then you're kissing him.

The snow crunches underfoot as Azriel moves, his usually keen senses dulled. His mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of you. Even as the icy missiles fly past him, Azriel remains lost in the memories of shared glances and smiles and the way your lips felt so perfect against his last night.

For the first time in years, Azriel finds himself on the losing side of the annual snowball fight. Oddly, no disappointment lingers, even after meticulous planning for this anticipated victory. All he wants is to return home—to you.

Amidst the snowy chaos, revelation strikes him simultaneously with a snowball from Rhysand. The snap, the bond—everything falls into place. It all makes sense now. Your words when you first met. Elain’s words last night at Solstice. Why your presence thrilled and delighted him. Why he couldn't shake the feeling of love and adoration for you.

You are his mate. 

The one he had been longing and pleading for, and the realization left him breathless. He shakes the snow from his face and Rhysand blinks back at him in surprise. The High Lord had been expecting a glare but he only finds pure shock on Azriel’s face.

“Oh come on, I didn’t hit you that hard,” he teases.

“I have to go.”

“If you leave, you’re forfeiting,” warns Cassian, but the glint in his eye betrays a desire for Azriel to leave, eager for a victory.

“I yield,” Azriel says mindlessly, surprising even Rhysand. Feeling his friend's talons probing his mind, Azriel throws up his shields and disappears into his shadows, abandoning the snow-covered battlefield. He'll explain later.

For now, he has to find you.

His shadows winnow him back to the River house and he doesn’t have to look for long because there you are, making your way down the last step and standing in his path. There’s not much that surprises you but that has changed since meeting Azriel and this moment is no different. Your eyes are widening, mouth parting.

“Azriel," you say. "What are you doing here? I thought you were–”

“It’s you,” Azriel interrupts breathlessly as if he was running, chest rising and falling quickly in step with the erratic beating of his heart. He’s bridging the distance between you. “All this time. It’s been you.”

You swallow thickly. “You know?”

The glimmer of hope that had ignited during Starfall returns to your eyes, revealing a world he hadn’t realized existed. How could he have been so blind?

Azriel smiles at you and it’s as if that’s the last piece to the puzzle as the bond between you both comes to life, singing loudly against your chests. He pulls you flush against him and spins you around, eliciting a delightful squeal from you. Cradling your face in his hands, he kisses your forehead, then the corners of your eyes. He saves your lips for last, lingering in the sweet taste of them for a moment longer.

“You’re my mate,” he says quietly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yes,” you manage to whisper back, surrendering yourself to the depths of his mesmerizing hazel eyes, just like in the vision from months ago. And it’s not you who speaks again but Azriel.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

a/n: hope you all enjoyed this (: It took me longer to write than I thought because i'm used to writing more angst for Az than fluff but I wanted this to be different. It's canon that Elain found out that reader and Az were mates through a vision around the same time she decided to give Lucien a chance. I just want them all to be happy ♡ in terms of my ABBA x ACOTAR series, I think I'll work on another one for Cas next inspired by Honey, Honey. If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know!

tagging: @hellodarling1357

if you want to read more about Az x Seer reader, I wrote a couple of bonus scenes that didn't quite make the final cut. You can read them here.

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: How You Hypnotize

❤︎ "People are afraid, very much afraid of those who know themselves. They have a certain power, a certain aura and a certain magnetism." - Rajneesh

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you.

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

✿ Pile One (5oW, Strength, 8oC, Judgement)

Do you have Mula (Sagittarius), Magha (Leo), or Ashwini (Aries) placements? You’re giving off some serious last-one-standing energy. Mula is particularly known for its ability to defy all odds, taking down a “beast” that seems far stronger through wit and quick resolve. It embodies the Belle archetype—well-read, gentle, and kind—able to reign in even the most formidable challenges. This energy suggests a remarkable strength in navigating difficult situations, using intelligence and empathy to emerge victorious.

Life has tried you, pushed you to the brink, and dangled you over a cliff. All while a crowd of people whooped and hollered, rooting for your demise.

But guess what… you’re the one sitting pretty on top of a mountain while everyone else is where?… oh, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE FUCKING CLIFF!

I didn’t plan this reading to be so… boastful? But you deserve to puff your chest out, babe.

You’ve had enemies. Honestly, this isn’t common. When the average person hears about somebody having a lot of “haters” they brush it off and assume that person just has a big head. However, that’s your reality. Your energy triggers people so they consider you a threat to whatever they have going on. For some of you, this could be your own family or closest friends. 

There’s a quiet, obsessive intensity behind your eyes. The fire element is prominent in this reading, indicating a deep, aching desire to consume, burn, and clear everything in your path. While you may feel exhausted from a lifetime of battles, your soul thrives on challenges, igniting a fierce determination within you. This duality fuels your passion, pushing you to confront obstacles head-on, even when the struggle feels overwhelming. Embrace that fire; it’s not just a source of exhaustion, but also a wellspring of resilience and transformation.

🎵YOU KNOW WHEN TO HOLLLDDD ‘EM, KNOWW WHEN TO FOOLLDD ‘EMM, KNOW WHEN TO WALLKKK AWAY, KNOW WHEN TO RUUUUUNNNNNN! 🎵

Your intelligence transcends mere book smarts and common sense, creating an incredibly hypnotic aura around you. Your situational awareness allows you to navigate social dynamics effortlessly, running circles around people, and leaving them tangled in their own webs of thought. You’re scarily smart, a strategic thinker who sees layers others miss. There’s a striking contrast between your physical appearance and the cunning nature beneath the surface; you may look like a doll, seemingly delicate and innocent, but there’s a fierce and dangerous intellect at play. This duality not only captivates those around you but also keeps them guessing about your next move. You also possess incredible endurance—not just in a physical sense, but in your ability to withstand a remarkable amount of bullshit that would have caused most people to tap out long ago.

People look at you and think, “How?” How are you still standing, and how did you manage to come out on top? This aura of resilience draws some people in, compelling them to want to learn your secrets. However, not everyone’s interest is innocent; for some, it morphs into a dark obsession, pushing them to challenge your resolve and see if they can crack your thick skin. This dynamic creates a complex dance around you, where admiration and envy intertwine.

P.S. Even if you’re not Ketu dominant or a Mula native, please watch Claire Nakti’s, The “Final Girl” Astrological placement research video, you will definitely resonate. If you comment, tell them AriJackz from Tumblr sent you!

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

✿ Pile Two (Knight of Pentacles, 2oS, Strength, 7oC (S?), The Star, Judgemental, Short, Melancholic, 4oP)

“HEART BEEN BROKE SO MANY TIIMMESSS

I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO BELIEVEEE

MAMA SAYS IT’S MY FAULLT, IT’S MY FAULLTTT

I WEAR MY HEART OF MY SLEEEEVVVEEEE!”

It’s not your fault, baby! Bitches are just greedy 🙄

This is straightforward, you’re a star! You have that undeniable je ne sais quoi, ¿Cómo se dice… “Everyone wants to be them” energy. As a multi-faceted individual, you possess countless layers that draw people in. Each aspect of your personality holds a unique appeal, making it so that there’s a piece of you that everyone desires. This captivating nature not only sets you apart but also invites beggars who benefit from being near your energy. 

You’re not consciously aware of this power and that’s what makes it great; it’s not manipulated or curated, you just are. In your younger years, you were like a fairy prancing around with a basket of love, giving away pieces of your heart to anyone who looked your way with sad little-kicked puppy eyes. 

However, the world is full of greedy hands that have no intention of giving as much as they receive. You were born with a heart of gold and encountered these all-consuming energies quite early in life, prompting you to spend your adolescence developing discernment and better judgment to avoid getting burned again. This journey has shaped you into someone who values authenticity and reciprocity, allowing you to navigate relationships with a keen awareness of what truly nurtures your spirit.

Even if you don’t feel you have anything explicitly special about you, everyone else sees that you do! In a world where many feel boring and unoriginal in their own skin, your vibrant energy can be a source of irritation for those who struggle with their own identity. Your unique shine serves as a reminder of what they lack, sparking feelings of envy or frustration.

Although, that doesn't mean they won’t play nice in your face while robbing you blind behind your back. You learned this the hard way. 

“There's an old saying in Tennessee — I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again.” - George W. Bush

YOU DON’T PLAY. You hold your magic close to your chest and are very weary of possible leeches. This guardedness reflects your hard-won wisdom; you know how precious your energy is and are selective about who gets to share in it. THIS IS HYPNOTICCCC.

Your presence is exclusive; not just anyone gets to brush shoulders with you. This rarity makes people eager to be seen as special enough to get close to you. You have options—a variety of choices in friends, partners, lovers—and that selectivity only heightens the allure. People yearn to be among the few you hand-select to join your inner circle, hoping to share in your energy and insights. This creates a magnetic pull, as they aspire to earn a place in your life.

If you didn’t know this, I’m telling you now. Look back on your social interactions and the slick words said to you, probably people accusing you of thinking you’re the shit (you are), and you’ll see just how much of a star you are. 

P.S. Some of you are tiny little spitfires. I don’t think that’s important, but I felt inclined to mention it. If so, that adds to the allure. 5 foot nothing but your attitude is 10 feet tall.

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

✿ Pile Three (Knight of Pentacles, 2oS, Strength, 7oC (S?), The Star, Judgemental, Short, Melancholic, 4oP)

You’re a storm, baby. I know I got some Adra natives in the cleerrb!

A few days ago, my 59-year-old neighbor and I were walking around the park, it was eerily quiet- no children were playing in the field and the trees were the stillest I had ever seen. Breaking the silence, she told me about a belief in ancient Hindu folklore that on days when the sky is framed in dark, dense clouds and the winds are still- not a single gust rustling the trees- the Earth is waiting with weighted breath for the outcome of a long-withstanding battle against good and evil.

She said that when I woke up the next morning, to check the news and see if a famous politician or some powerful person behind the scenes had died- thus being defeated. I checked; a few notable names had passed but the stand-out thing that happened was a vision I saw in a dream where an ex-friend sent me a letter in the mail admitting to some harmful actions I had growing suspicions about. This finally put my mind at ease and reaffirmed my gut intuition. 

I don’t know how to say this without sounding so… metaphorical/poetic, but you’re the person divine consciousness sends to represent the light’s grand victory. You are the embodiment of a prevailing soul. With all ten swords in your back, you’ll get up again and again. 

You’re not sent to the world as the Universe’s sparkling trophy because of luck; no, you’re highly regarded because you walked the same path, you’re no stranger to going to war and coming out with more than a few bumps and scrapes. 

This is not a flashy victory. Not like in the movies where you get ganged up on by bullies, pull out karate moves, whoop some ass, and come out looking like an underdog. This war consists of consecutive, painstaking setbacks and challenges slowly chipping away at your character, leaving behind a shell of a person for you to pick the pieces up and rebuild stronger. It’s a series of quiet battles fought within, where the scars aren’t always visible but the growth is profound. Every moment of doubt, every instance of perseverance, shapes you in ways that aren’t always glamorous but are deeply transformative.

You have scars that manifest as art, each one a mark of survival. Artistic souls look at you and see a single tree still standing after a hellish storm—roots deep in resilience, branches reaching for the light. Each scar is a testament to your journey, a story etched into your skin, reminding the world that even after the fiercest winds, life is reborn with greater tenacity to endure and thrive. 

You carry a thick atmosphere with you, whenever you’re coming the Earth seems to hold its breath to await you. You’re not abrasive or stand-offish, conversely, you’re quite soft, well-balanced, and can even be romantic at times. But that only emphasizes the sharp, heaviness of your presence. 

Yea, we all go through shit but do we all come out the other end with an open heart and willingness to live life optimistically? Fuck no 😭😭.

Somehow... you do and that’s hypnotic as fuck, my love! It’s like, hOW?! Even if people didn’t see the wars you fought, your backbone poses itself like a warrior’s. The way you carry yourself speaks volumes; it imprints on the minds of others far more than words ever could. Your presence is magnetic, a silent testament to your strength and resilience. Talking is just the bare bones of communication; it’s your spirit, your aura, that truly captivates. 

LMAO you’re the type to say less than five words to someone and they’re running back to their friends telling them you’re different from everyone else.

P.S. Your key to bagging anyone you want is your eyes, learn to flirt with your eyes. 

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

✿ Pile Four (The Emperor, Ace of Wands, 3oS, Judgement, The Fool, courageous, Spiritual, Observant, Self-assured, Thirsty, Aimless)

Hmmm, you’re a playboy, stay far away from my easily attached heart, DEMON 🫵.

I’M PLAYING. But for real, you knew the answer to this question before you chose the pile LMFAO.

You’re just plain sexy! That’s it! You’re vivacious and a smooth talker; you like to razzle dazzle your way into people’s minds where your imprint overstays its welcome, making them sick with their lack of permanent access to you.

You’re a social butterfly, flying from person to person, pollinating them with the attention they yearn for, and then flying off to the next adventure, leaving them dizzy with the need to catch and keep you in a cutely decorated mason jar with poked holes up top. Of course, this would kill you, so stay how you are, beautiful!

This might be a bit explicit, but you have a unique way of stirring people’s desires. You don’t need to be overtly sexual; it’s your rare lack of fear of rejection that draws people in. At least, that’s how others see it. In a social world laced with fear, you seem to have an optimistic mentality where, “Every shot you don’t take, you miss.” So you are one of the few humans who aren’t riddled with worries about how you’re perceived and people’s judgments of your character. What is rare is wildly hypnotic.

People thirst over you, like foaming-at-the-mouth rabid dog ARFF ARFF BARK BARK type of thirst… in silence. You are actually way too intimidating to approach. Male or female, socially, people perceive you as high quality and assume you get a lot of attention that the everyday person can not compete with, so they only daydream from afar. 

You’re arm candy. Throughout writing this I pictured famous videos of celebrities like Angelina Jolie, Jhene Aiko, and Chris Evans seducing and unnerving the interviewer through subtle actions. Like the other piles, your aura is the dominant communicator and it doesn’t take much for you to get a mf barking. 

People fear you’ll break their hearts, but funnily enough, you’ve entertained one or two losers in the past and left relationships with a few scars and stories you have to sniffle through to tell. But that’s okay; those experiences teach us how to discern who deserves to be in our lives and who doesn’t. You only let them in because you try not to discriminate, and truly just have a deep passion for connection with anyone and everyone you encounter. Never change, you’re the flame the rest of us moths flock to.

P.S. Discernment and trusting your judgment is a lifelong study; don’t beat yourself if someone who you thought had your best interest at heart, doesn’t in reality. Count that towards your research, dust yourself off, and try again. You’re too brave to let a liar stop your ability to enjoy human company. 

Okay bye, MUAH 💋

[dollyyun]

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT ✧ P.JS [ TEASER ]

PAIRING ✧ sugar daddy!jay x fem reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), adulthood, 12 years age gap (reader is 22, jay is 34), ceo!jay, strangers to lovers, fluffs, soft love kinda, he falls first and falls harder, jay is a huge simp WARNING ✧ slow burn-ish, some dramas, slight misunderstanding and miscommunication, mild angst, explicit themes, 2 smut scenes (smut warnings will be indicated under cut) TEASER WORDCOUNT ✧ 2.4K CURRENT WORDCOUNT ✧ 15K (est 42k)

SYNOPSIS ✧ jay park is famously known for excelling in anything he does, except his mundane love life — it's practically nonexistent. maybe it's the pressure that constantly presses down on him due to being surrounded by his peers who are either engaged or married, but he no longer desires to retain his solitude, yearning to find someone with the intention to settle down. that is when he finally meets you — the perfect woman just for him, and perhaps the one that his heart and soul have been searching for in a long time. but the only issue is that you only see him as your sugar daddy, or so he thought.

FULL FIC HERE

JAY: I’m on my way to your place, doll. Can’t wait to see you :)

That was forty minutes ago, but you’ve been anxiously checking his message every so often, your nerves going erratic to the point where your empty stomach churns unpleasantly that you feel the urge to throw up. You have never felt this extremely nervous before, not even for your finals back in college.

You can still feel the weight of exhaustion in your eyelids that threaten to close, but the thought of Jay ringing your doorbell keeps you conscious. You couldn’t sleep well last night, tossing and turning on your bed, and you knew that it was either the excitement or the nervousness of finally meeting your sugar daddy that prevented you from getting a good night's sleep.

Plus, you had to get up four hours early to do some light chores in order to make your apartment look neat and to make yourself look as impeccable as your skin that is devoid of any unnecessary hair since the dress that you’re currently wearing displays more skin than you intended. You didn’t put in much effort in your makeup, just the perfect volume to enhance your features.

You let out a quiet groan at the realisation of the effort you put in just for a man, an older man at that, which is also utterly ridiculous, because it’s as if you are keen on impressing your sugar daddy, and this is not even a date, or is it?

The doorbell chiming throughout the apartment startles you, prompting you to abandon the couch as you pad across the living room to get to the main door. You don’t bother to check through the peephole, your hand immediately latching on the door handle, albeit your nervousness remains unabating.

Before you can spiral further, your hand has a mind of its own, because the next thing you know, you are greeted by a very handsome man whose stature towers over your figure in an imposing manner, and he’s the very same man who is also your sugar daddy.

You can barely check him out when his dark eyes compel yours, your breath hitching in your throat at the sharp intensity in his dark irises that intimidates you, but in a good way that has your heart beating rapidly. You take the opportunity of the awkward silence to trace every feature of his face with your keen eyes — how strikingly handsome he is with his chiselled forehead and jaw, his flawless nose that evokes envy within you, his dark eyebrows that look naturally refined, and his lips in mutated pink. His jet-black hair is styled impeccably in a slick back, enhancing his striking face. Oh, he’s absolutely the most gorgeous man ever.

Little do you know that while you are in a state of intimidation due to his potent yet irresistible aura that feels overwhelming, Jay feels just the same, his tongue completely tied the moment you opened the door. It is as though he’s seeing an angel, rendering him starstruck. Those pictures of you that he spent almost the entire night admiring did not do you justice, because you look radiantly beautiful up close that even the beautiful constellations in the starry sky pale in comparison.

His eyes roam around you shamelessly, his throat feeling parched while his mind is storming with such dangerous thoughts he has been trying to keep them at bay. You look sweet yet alluring at the same time as you are adorned in a blue floral printed dress that reaches above your knees, revealing the perfect curves of your legs, and the subtle low cut displays your dainty neckline that is bare of any jewellery, to which he makes a mental note to buy you one. He fights off the strong urge to ogle at your defined cleavage and how noticeably succulent the curves of your upper mounds are.

When his eyes return to your face, you are already staring at him with a small smile, your shyness nearly has his knees buckling underneath him. He simply can’t believe that you’re real. Oh, what a wonderful privilege to be able to see you up close.

“Hi.” Jay greets you breathlessly, but you are more surprised at how soft-spoken he is, such a contrast to his unyielding facade that intimidated you earlier.

“Hi.” You reciprocate softly, and it is enough to shoot a Cupid’s arrow to his beating heart. Your voice sounds velvety, a mellow that soothes him.

Jay takes another look at you, blinking his eyes as though you are unreal. “W-Wow. You look—“ He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows a nervous lump in his throat. He softens with an awkward smile that completely charms you. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You can’t believe how shy you are right now compared to the yapper you were last night when you texted him for nearly two hours. You take another look at him, feeling a strange flutter in your heart as you admire how he looks delectable in a button-down navy-coloured blouse that displays a teasing peek of his toned chest while his gold necklace complements his metal studs on his earlobes. “And you look really handsome.”

Jay is about to combust right here and now at your compliment that he has heard countless times from the ladies that pinned his attention back then, even more so when you beam at him with a slightly wider smile now. The weight in his hand immediately reminds him of what he intended to do after you opened the door before your beauty distracted him.

“This is for you.” Jay extends his hand to you, prompting you to look down at a small bouquet of flowers in his grasp, but you can see the hesitation in the way his hand slowly retracts from you. “Unless you have allergies to flowers, which is totally fine. I can keep it—“

“I don’t have any, so don’t worry.” You reassure him, and without thinking twice, your hand quickly reaches out to accept his sweet gesture, only to feel a faint electricity when your fingers brush against his before you finally grab the bouquet from him. Your heart swells with something unfamiliar as you look at the flowers before meeting his kind gaze. “Thank you for these. It’s the first that someone has ever given me flowers on a first meeting.”

You almost wanted to utter the word ‘date’ because this is certainly not a date but more like a formal meeting with your sugar daddy as part of the first transaction. You mentally berate yourself for hoping for something that you were initially against and the fact that you only intend to regard him as your sugar daddy. 

Jay’s bashful shell cracks when he adorns a smirk on his handsome face that has you swooning on the inside. “You can call me old-fashioned.”

“I love old-fashioned.” You decide to play along as you notice the spark of mischief in his eyes, but really, you do love yourself some old-fashioned.

“Are you ready to go?” Jay asks coolly, hoping that he doesn’t sound too eager as to how impatiently desperate he really is to spend the day with you.

“Yes. Just give me a sec.” You tell him while making your way to the shoe compartment, where you also place the bouquet on the counter, before grabbing your ankle-strapped heels.

As you return to him, you busily place your feet onto the heels before attempting to secure the strap around your ankles, only to be surprised when Jay gets down on one knee in front of you, rendering you flabbergasted. “Please. Allow me.” He insists without looking up at you, putting his hands into the task.

“It’s okay! I can do it myself—“ But your protest goes unheard as he secures the straps for you with such gentleness that it sends the weird flutter to your heart again, while the way his fingers brush against your skin feels electrifying.

Your eyes never leave him even after he’s done, his figure towering over yours again despite the heels that elevate your height. “Shall we?” Jay asks with a smile, to which you nod your head at before stepping outside of the threshold and locking the door.

The two of you proceed to make your way to the elevator, silence wrapping around you once more, but only less awkwardly. You chew your bottom lip out of habit, wanting to say something to dispel this awkwardness, but the heat of his body close next to you sends your head into a frenzy.

“Do you live alone?” Jay breaks the ice, and you silently thank him because you were slowly going insane. As soon as he presses the button, the elevator chimes open, and he gestures to you to enter first before he follows suit.

“Sort of.” You answer unsurely, earning a look of intrigue from him. You decide to explain shortly. “I live with my best friend, but ever since she got into a relationship, she’s rarely ever at our shared apartment, not that I minded. She can be quite a headache.”

His lips twitch into a smile, almost as if he’s being fond of something. “My best friend’s the same too.” He chuckles lightly, but they sound heavenly in your ears. “What about family? Any siblings?”

“And here I thought it was my turn to ask you a question.” You say cheekily, your lips stretching a little wider as you feel inclined to be frivolous towards him after the lingering awkwardness dissipates into thin air.

His eyes narrow at you in a playful suspicion, followed by a broad smirk on his lips. “You’re a cheeky doll, aren’t you?”

“It’s only fair that I ask you a question after you asked me one.” You say in an airily manner, ignoring how his handsome smirk has your mind in a frenzy once more. “But to answer your question, I’m an only child. My parents are divorced, so I’m kinda my own now. Always have.”

Being a natural observant that comes with an ability to heed the tone of voice, even the subtlest intonation, Jay recognises the underlying resentment in the neutrality of your voice and how he catches a fleeting sentiment he knows all too well in your eye, but the radiant smile on your face immediately overshadows any traces of somberness, albeit he is quick to grasp that family must be a sensitive topic for you. 

“It seems that we have a lot more in common than I thought. I’m an only child too.” Jay says lightly in an attempt to dispel any sour feelings within you. He opens his mouth to say something, but the elevator chimes open, revealing the view of the basement parking lot. He allows you to step out first before he follows suit, guiding you to his car. “So what’s the next question you have for me?”

“What made you become interested in me? You could’ve chosen other sugar babies.” You ask with genuine curiosity. The question has been lingering in the back of your mind all night. As he looks at you with an eyebrow raised, you try to search for something in his eyes, any falsehood or that he’s actually a bad guy with ill intentions, but all you see is the pure kindness that reflects the window of his soul.

“I just had a good feeling about you.” He answers with utmost sincerity, his eyes softening before giving you his signature smirk. “Besides, there was no way I would ever pass up a woman as gorgeous as you.”

A part of you feels so tempted to wipe away that handsome smirk off his face with a kiss, but you immediately ward off any inappropriate thought, diverting your attention to the sleek black Mercedes-Benz, his car.

Jay, being the gentleman he is, opens the passenger door for you, to which you shyly thank him before you carefully settle inside. Not too long later, Jay is right next to you, operating the functions of the vehicle that is wheeling towards where the main road is at.

The silence is accompanied by the music emanating from the radio on the dashboard, but it still isn’t enough to allay the newfound tension settling in your bones. You even distract yourself by discreetly examining the impeccable condition of the car that comes with a pleasant lavender smell before you notice the small bottle of fragrance diffuser that hangs in the air from behind the rearview mirror.

Something different flutters within you, how oddly intensifying it is, but one thing is for sure — you find Jay dangerously more attractive than the first time you felt.

You cave into the temptation to take a glance at him, only to nearly gawk at his strong yet flawless side profile, how his angular jawline looks defined up close. His face displays such cool impassivity, exuding an air of confidence compared to your meekness. Your eyes fall to his veiny hands before they travel lower; his sleeves had been pulled to his elbows, allowing the sultry veins that protrude in his arms and revealing a golden Rolex that latched around his wrist. You quickly look away, feeling the gradual heat building up in your body.

You swear that older men are not your type, but Jay may be the first to change that.

“Are you okay?” Jay asks, his soft voice startling you. The way he’s hot, a stickler for cleanliness, and soft-spoken? You must have done something incredibly honourable in your past life.

“Nervous, actually.” You tell him honestly, daring yourself to look at him as he briefly takes a glance at you before refocusing on the road. Though you still feel diffident, something about him compels you to confide your worries in him. “I just don’t want to mess things up on our first meeting.”

Jay cracks into a humorous smile. “Funny, because I had the same thought earlier.” Oh, he really did, worrying incessantly all morning that he might have fucked up by coming off too desperate for your attention.

“Is this a date?” You accidentally blurt out the question you intended to expel, but a part of you genuinely keen that this is actually a date and not just a formal transactional meeting between a sugar daddy and his sugar baby.

As the traffic light turns red, the car comes to a stop. Jay directs his full attention to you, a gentle smile touching his lips. “You can call it whatever you want, doll.”

You hold his gaze for a little longer, unable to fathom the inscrutable emotions behind the window of his eyes despite the unwavering kindness. You find yourself lifting a smile that mirrors his. “A date it is.”

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[aphrodicci]

ᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴏɪᴅ ʙᴇʟʟᴀ [695]

follow for more content <3

get a chart reading done!

❦  asteroid bella [695] is an asteroid that means beauty, how and where you value beauty. this asteroid is also about your beauty on an energetic level, and how it manifests and shines.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 1H/ARIES ⟶ very in your face beauty, sharp and very bold. strong features, cheekbones are strong. head might be prominent even forehead. can value beauty a lot and even chase it. can even chase compliments. embracing sexuality, and very bombshell type of beauty. nice body and even chest. might have a beauty spot on their face or body.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 2H/TAURUS ⟶ can value beauty a lot. can only feel valued when they feel beautiful, very earthy type of beauty. like garden fairy or nymph type of attraction. very good singers, could like to kiss a lot. might buy a lot of beauty and self-care products. very feminine beauty, makes the people around them calm, and can have a really nice scent and voice.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 3H/GEMINI ⟶ the girl next door type of beauty. my friend's "sister" or like the school crush. could never see them again type of beauty. could either be careless about their beauty or could be very anxious about it. they could be the type of people to care about the trends, influencer type of essence like leah halton and can be a charming person, very flirtatious. could look similar to a relative.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 4H/CANCER ⟶ looking like your mother type of beauty, could have nice chests and cheekbones, the "i want to make you my wife or baby mother " type of beauty, beware of trappers! many beauty spots especially around chest area. classical type of beauty, like old hollywood. luscious hair and mysterious type of essence, classic television type of beauty, childhood crush and very sea mother type of energy.

♱ ASTEROID BELLA IN 5H/LEO ⟶ youthful but glamorous type of beauty. curly/big hair like starfire type of beauty. nice posture, could pose a lot, very 2000's beauty, not y2k aesthetic specifically. born for the spotlight, gold highlights and being a superstar type of essence. "i think you're famous" or "i think i've seen you before" type of beauty. stuck in your mind. could have beautiful children, creative and expressive style, many colours or dramatic makeup.

♱ ASTEROID BELLA IN 6H/VIRGO ⟶ classy type of beaut, might look for trends you could fit in. clean girl type of beauty; can chase beauty and could strive for perfection. "office girl" type of essence, glasses and cosplaying as another identity. wants to be better than other people, others could feel judged around them. work crush type of beauty. other people could envy your looks.

♱ ASTEROID BELLA IN 7H/LIBRA ⟶ temperance card/angel type of beauty. approachable, looks like a kind person, reminds me of the type of girl you would see in a perfume advert. light colour palette. flowy hair could be straight, can be very hip when it comes to their beauty, "she's like a rainbow" type of beauty, from the song she's a rainbow by the rolling stones. very beautiful people, could be known for that, and might take care of themselves all the time and could care of the opinions of others too much. could look nice in suits.

♱ ASTEROID BELLA IN 8H/SCORPIO ⟶ striking beauty, like a vampire. van helsing/dracula's brides. or like form interview with the vampire. could intimidate other people, other people would want to know your secrets. embracing sexuality and putting dark make up on yourself with white eyeshadow, it reminds me of alexa demie and gabriette. dark hair, luscious, big fur cat, wide and sharp smile, more succubus than siren.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 9H/SAGITTARIUS ⟶ another very in your face type of beauty, colourful beauty, might be fetishised, "exotic beauty", very catchy beauty; ambiguous as well. golden skin, type of holiday romance type of crush, can look good in a variety type of make up, especially blues. dimples and a lot of beauty moles, very nice hair, the attractive person in an air port. the type to be everybody's type. easy-going energy, makes other people laugh, and their humour also makes them attractive.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 10H/CAPRICORN ⟶ another classic beauty, being a model type of beauty. slicked back hair and up do's. type to influence other people with their styles, strong and sharp features, either jaw, cheeks or eyebrows. can look good in either muted or bold colours, women in suits, intimidating beauty, cares about how they look. another indicator of work-crush type of beauty, are known for their attractive features, could have a nice body as well.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 11H/AQUARIUS ⟶ very other-worldly type of beauty, alien, mermaid and fairy. the type to rock every outfit you wear, creating trends and could gain fame on the internet because of your looks. being eccentric makes you liked by other people, could be the friend crush, or you crush on other friends. could also manifest to your friends friend having a crush on you. "i did it first" type of beauty, like make up trend other people might find weird in the beginning but as time passes they would follow it.

♇ ASTEROID BELLA IN 12H/PISCES ⟶ mystical beauty, past lover type of beauty. "i think i know you from another life." haunting and siren beauty. like a ghost, has the type of essence that'll make other people want to drop everything for you. but could chase compliments/people. others could envy your beauty. glamour magick type of attraction. could be watched a lot, can draw people in easily. people could stalk you because of your looks. could remind other people of the fae, could be the one that envies other people.

masterlist

get a chart reading

♇ pluto

[denkigami]

this meme is literally them, their first kiss would be like this

[anto-pops]

Envy's Grip - Sylus x Female!Reader

Summary: There was no field guide on how to handle your best friend coming back to life. But in hindsight, maybe keeping it from your crime lord boyfriend wasn’t the best course of action. 

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, rough sex, miscommunication (kind of), a sprinkle of jealous Sylus (or as jealous as he can be, he knows he's fine)

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3

Sylus was perceptive. 

It wasn’t a new trait, by any means. He had always been annoyingly aware of everything. Sometimes it seemed like he knew your own thoughts before you voiced them– though he insisted you were just easy to read and that it had nothing to do with him using his Evol to his advantage. Now was one of those times where you could tell he was scrutinizing you from afar, having picked up on the influx of emotions that overwhelmed your mind and left your body tense. 

Caleb was alive. 

The revelation had left you breathless– utterly at a loss for words as you had stared at him standing before you whole and well. Well, almost whole. The mechanical arm had thrown you for a loop, but it was his eyes that had broken down the wall of doubt between the two of you. Those bright, violet irises silently conveyed a lifetime of emotion that told you then and there that somehow, someway, your childhood friend was back from the dead. 

How the hell were you supposed to go about your day after discovering something like that? 

When Sylus had asked you the day after what had you looking so dreary, you had waved off his concern with a lie. “There’s a mandatory work meeting next weekend. All my plans with Tara are ruined.” 

He had furrowed his brow at that statement, evidently confused as to why he hadn’t heard anything about your weekend plans up until that moment. You were terrible at lying, and it felt awful to do it– especially with Sylus. You had just prayed that he would overlook your nervous behavior and let you get away with it. 

That same day, Sylus’ eyes had narrowed during lunch while you’d chewed your own nails off in favor of the roast he had cooked for the two of you, but you had done your best to play off the anxious habit as something else work related. Then you had jumped– actually jumped– when he’d walked into the living room while you’d zoned out staring at a wall, his sudden presence jerking you back to the present with your heart hammering and your eyes wide. 

“You need to wear a bell,” was all you had said when he’d asked why you were so jumpy. His lips had pursed while he’d worked a muscle in his jaw, opting to keep his innermost thoughts to himself. 

Then there was right now; your form was sloppy, and your shoulder was aching from the lack of control you threw your punches with. The boxing bag hanging from the ceiling of Sylus’ home gym swayed towards you listlessly, the lack of power in your attacks barely causing the chain to rattle the way it normally would. Using your gloved hand, you halted the bag’s momentum, your chest heaving as you drew in deep, steadying breaths to ground yourself. The sweat that dripped down your temples chilled your otherwise heated skin, and you hastily wiped the moisture away using the back of your forearm before swallowing thickly. 

You were a mess.

As you turned to make your way to the edge of the ring for your water bottle, Sylus tracked your movements with predatory-like precision. He didn’t blink, didn’t shift from his spot against the wall. It hardly looked like he was even breathing. The floor to ceiling mirrors that lined the entirety of the gym clued you in on the dark expression that crossed his face the second you turned your back to him, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the air vent overhead snaked its way down your spine. 

“How do I put this nicely…” Sylus’ deep, throaty timbre reverberated off the walls, and you did your best to ignore him as you brought your bottle to your lips. “The way you’re performing now, you’re on par to fight a toddler.” 

Prick. Water dribbled down your chin as you tightened the water cap and set the container down. “That’s what the practice ring is for. Practice. I’m not trying to show out.” 

“No, clearly you’re not. You’re trying to distract yourself.” 

Ever the discerning crime lord. “I’m working out, Sylus. Since when does that require perfect form?” Placing your hands on your hips, you glared at his reflection in the mirror. “More importantly, why are you just standing there watching? It’s weird.” 

He feigned disinterest by looking at his nails, a move that infuriated you as much as it intrigued you. Sylus always looked so effortlessly handsome. The sight of him posted up against the wall with his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest almost distracted you from the rampant thoughts about Caleb that had plagued your brain for the last two days. Almost. “You might be ‘practicing’, but you’re doing yourself a disservice by not utilizing your full potential. That stance is pathetic, and your punches couldn’t hurt a fly. To add insult to injury, you already know all of this.”

“And I really don’t care. Go find Kieran or Luke if you want to criticize someone, I’m not in the mood.”

Sylus went quiet behind you as you began unstrapping your gloves, and a few beats of silence passed before you lifted your gaze back to the mirror. He was staring at you intently, ruby red eyes flickering darkly and narrowing. It wasn’t exactly the expression he wore when he was angry– not when it still hid a sliver of possessive longing within his dark pupils. But even so, it was enough. You felt arousal curling hot in your gut at the sight, and Sylus’ eyes flicked up to your damp hair clinging to your forehead as a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“Then what are you in the mood for?” Sylus purred the question, pushing off the wall to stalk over to the boxing platform. He shrugged off his jacket as he walked, tossing it haphazardly over the rope barrier before effortlessly hoisting himself up and stepping into the ring. “Want me to leave you alone? Completely? Back off and let you think about your long lost friend in peace?” 

Oh, shit. 

Your mouth fell open at the realization that he knew. How? When had he found out? Your mind whirred with the possibilities and your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your skin and imbuing you with an overwhelming sense of guilt. It had never been like that with Caleb, but did Sylus know that? Did he think the worst? How much of the impromptu reunion was he aware of? 

“Cat got your tongue, kitten?” He goaded you further, prowling towards you without an ounce of hesitation. You held up your palms towards him as though to stop him, but he captured your smaller hands in his larger ones and threaded your fingers together, pulling you against his chest with a throaty chuckle devoid of any humor. “Did you really think I didn’t know why you’ve been so out of it lately?” 

“Sylus, I–” you stopped yourself, indignant anger taking root as you realized he had somehow invaded your privacy. “Did you follow me? You ass! How do you even know about that?”

He ignored your pointed line of questioning and pressed on with his brows furrowed. “Were you ever planning on telling me? Or would you have kept quiet and silently debated on whether or not rushing back to his side is a good plan?”

“What? Don’t you dare turn this back on me, you spied on me!” 

“I was in the city on business. Nothing special, but I wanted to stop by to see you once I was done. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in the park with him on the way to my meeting.” 

You tsk’d in annoyance, rolling your eyes in disbelief. “Business. It’s always business with you. Why does it matter that I didn’t immediately run to you to fess up about my friend not being dead?” 

“Because you lied to me.” The way he growled the blatant fact made your retort die in your throat. The anger that had burned hot in your veins cooled instantly, and you blanched as Sylus continued icily. “Taking your time to process it? That I can understand. But you looked me right in my eyes and came up with some half-assed excuse about work. You didn’t trust me with this, even though we agreed we would always be honest with one another.” 

You stammered, “Sylus, wait– I wasn’t–” 

He let go of one of your hands to capture your chin in his firm grip, forcing your eyes to meet his as he stared down at you. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was unrelenting, and the angle left you wholly at his mercy as he slipped his other hand around your back to hold you flush to him. “You weren’t what? Keeping secrets? Giving me unwarranted attitude?”

“None of this is your business!” You jerked your head out of his hold and wedged your hands between the two of you, shoving him away so abruptly that the tiniest grunt escaped his lips. Your eyes were frantic as you exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have left– I just– dammit! Just give me a minute here!”

He gave you ten seconds of uninterrupted silence. The tense kind that set your teeth on edge and made your skin crawl. Then you looked back at him, shocked to discover an icy cool expression painted across his sharp features. The unyielding wall that had existed between you both when you’d first met had been reconstructed in record time, the lack of warmth in his eyes speaking volumes of how he really felt. 

“Take all the time you need, Miss Hunter.” 

When he turned his back to you and started towards the ropes, your heart nearly gave out as your stomach plummeted into your feet. He couldn’t walk away from this– not after he had implied the worst without letting you explain. You had no clue how he even knew about Caleb, but clearly Sylus assumed your relationship with him was something more, and it scared you to think that your lover doubted you. Worse, that he doubted himself. 

Your body acted of its own accord, carrying you forward fast enough that you were able to coil your fingers around Sylus’ thick wrist. He stopped dead in his tracks, but he didn’t turn to look at you. On instinct, you darted around him so you were standing before him, then rose up onto the tips of your toes so you could crush your lips to his. 

Sylus’ reaction was slow; he inhaled sharply before his hands slowly came to the back of your neck, holding your mouth to his as an animalistic growl resonated from deep within his chest. He stepped closer to you, blindly leading you towards the edge of the ring until you felt your back press against the ropes, and Sylus used the newfound barrier to his advantage and rolled his hips against yours while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth. It was equal parts suffocating and exhilarating. Your every sense was overtaken by him– his heady scent, the muscular feeling of him, the guttural sounds he made as he devoured you. 

Sylus’ lips trailed away from yours to mouth wetly at your jaw, and your head fell back as a raspy moan escaped you when he ground his hips into you. The hard length of him was tangible through his dress pants, and the thin pair of leggings you wore did little to deter the feeling. Your hands drifted down his toned biceps and along his taut stomach before your fingers curled tellingly over his belt buckle. The tug you gave the leather material was ardent, your desires taking over your better judgement. Rational thinking had suggested you talk things out with Sylus like adults. To speak to him about loyalty and remind him that he had nothing to worry about as far as Caleb was concerned. 

But bringing up Caleb right now was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. Fucking like adults might also do the trick. 

An airy whimper sounded from you as Sylus roughly brushed your hands away from his belt, taking control of the situation and yanking your sweat-soaked t-shirt over your head. Your sports-bra went next, and the peaks of your breasts pebbled in response to the cold air surrounding you. When you blinked up at the man through hazy eyes, his own orbs were dark and hooded, and the way he licked his lips made you want to kiss him again badly. You weren’t far gone enough to think you deserved it yet, though– not even when Sylus leaned forward to start mouthing down your throat, his tongue trailing against your sweat-slick skin as he descended lower and lower. 

Just when you thought Sylus would end up on his knees in front of you, he was back to his full height. He wasted little time taking you by the hips and assertively guiding you down to the floor of the boxing ring. Dazed, you blinked up at the white haired man, staring at him long enough to catch sight of the strained expression he hid behind his calm facade. It almost looked like he was pained. It confused you, but questioning it wasn’t possible once Sylus shuffled down to settle between your legs. 

You felt his blunt nails scrape against your hip bones as he tugged your panties and leggings away, tossing both of them aside before laying flat between your bent knees. He wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t talking with you the way he normally would when the two of you were intimate. In fact, there wasn’t anything that was intimate about this aside from you being fully exposed to him. There he was, fully clothed between your legs and inches away from your womanhood, and yet not a lick of warmth emanated from him. 

Suddenly, your morose thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Sylus licking a broad, flat stripe up your slit, your breath catching as the man took care to add a sinful amount of pressure to your bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck,” you managed to wheeze, your hands flying to Sylus’ soft locs as he wrapped his lips around your clit, then sucked hard enough that your back arched off the floor. Another rough moan escaped you as Sylus splayed his fingers against the underside of your thigh and dug his nails into the tender flesh there. He did the same with your other leg, and the bruising strength he held your legs apart with was something that enticed you as much as it confused you. 

Make no mistake: rough sex with Sylus was always phenomenal, and it was most definitely something you enjoyed partaking in. But there was a missing puzzle piece here– something irregular that had your heart weighing heavy in your chest as you gazed breathlessly to the ceiling. 

You wished Sylus would say something. He hadn’t since you had grabbed for him just minutes prior, nor had he let you undress him like you’d wanted to. The disappointing memory of him crudely swatting your hands away from his belt returned to you then and imbued you with a lingering sense of remorse. Shit, you would settle for him just looking at you by this point. Anything other than the cold, rigid version of your lover before you now. 

Unbeknownst to your internal turmoil, Sylus sat back on his haunches and slid his hands to your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach and allowing for him to manhandle your legs apart. Part of you wanted to protest against the position, but then you felt your lover begin to mouth hotly down your spine and press chaste kisses to your warm skin, and your inhibitions started to melt. It was the first real show of Sylus’ softer side. The gentle press of his index finger against your entrance further derailed your train of thought, and as Sylus slowly breached your fluttering walls with the digit, you couldn’t help but breathe out a soft moan.  

The tenderness left you shaking– trembling–  for more. 

As Sylus started to pump his finger slowly, he took care to remain incredibly attentive to the way you wriggled and keened for more, your face half-buried in the crook of your arm. His free hand came to rub soothing circles against your hip as he gingerly added a second finger to join the first, and the tantalizing stretch had you gasping and squeezing your eyes shut. “F-Fuck, Sylus,” you mumbled, the words muffled slightly by your own arm pressed against your lips. 

You felt Sylus lean forward, his warm breath fanning across your ear as he asked, “Does it feel good?” 

You rocked your hips back onto the fingers easing you open, nodding and gasping breathlessly as the crime lord pressed against your inner walls incessantly in search of that one spot he knew would reduce you to a babbling mess. It didn’t take long for him to find it. Before long, Sylus slid his fingers deeper and curled them up, and the sudden jolt of pleasure that ran through you caused you to mewl your lover's name loudly. 

Taking your reactions as his cue, Sylus proceeded to work you with his fingers faster, brushing the pads of his digits over that magical spot within you every time without fail. The overwhelming sensations left your body quaking as fiery hot arousal coursed through your veins, the beginnings of your climax festering in your gut. As blissful as it was, you had no desire to end things like this; on your knees and with your back to Sylus while he used his damn hands to undo you. 

Blearily, you pushed yourself up with your arms, craning your head around to stare at the man through your lashes. “C-Come on, Sylus,” you implored him weakly. “Please?” 

Sylus met your gaze for the briefest of moments, his eyes dancing away before you could get a good look at him. He mercifully withdrew his fingers, trailing the appendages against your inner thighs and inducing a wave of goosebumps along your skin, then sat back to begin removing his clothing. It was methodical– swift, even. All you could do was watch in the reflection of the mirror as Sylus stripped himself bare without your aid, tossing his clothes off to the side of the boxing ring before returning to his kneeled position behind you. 

Sighing, you ran your hand through your hair dejectedly, accepting that Sylus’ colder nature was your own fault. How could you blame him? Beyond keeping the truth about Caleb from him, you had pushed him away when he’d tried to get close to you. It didn’t look good for you, and you found yourself lowering yourself back to the ground with your face buried in the crook of your arm. Whether you were hiding from Sylus or your own embarrassment, you didn’t know. 

As Sylus lined himself up with your wet entrance, the tiniest sigh escaped him when the blunt head of his cock rubbed softly against you. His firm, warm hands settled on your hips as he asked, “Ready?” 

You could sass him, or rush him along, or just generally be an ass to him in response to him being so closed off, but you didn’t. The air between the two of you was different than it was before, even though Sylus was keeping all his sweetness to himself. You told yourself that you didn’t deserve it anyways and nodded shakily. 

At your confirmation, Sylus sighed and squeezed your hips, then began to sink his thick, perfect cock deep inside of you with slow, gentle thrusts. You gasped and hid your face in your arms, rocking back onto the larger man as you muffled needy little noises against your skin. When Sylus bottomed out, he moaned and ran his hands up your sides, over your ribs, so gentle and so fucking nice that you kind of wished he would just rail you through the floor of the ring. How amazingly soft he was being while distancing himself was making your chest ache. 

It didn’t last long, thankfully. When Sylus gave an experimental roll of his hips and found you more than a little eager for his cock, he groaned and pulled back farther before ramming his dick into you, and the way you cried out for it covered the throaty moan that had escaped his lips. The crime lord set the pace just like that; hard and fast, impaling you and wringing gasping cries out of you easily. The arch of your back let Sylus’ cock slide along your sweet spot with every rough thrust, and the feeling had your eyes fucking crossing. 

It was too good. Your thoughts were crashing, noisy moans sounding from you freely. You were entirely sure you were drooling all over the padding of the ring’s floor, but you didn’t really care when Sylus was fucking you so thoroughly. The fingers digging into your hips pulled you back hard even as Sylus pounded his cock into your wet, tight heat, leaving you completely and utterly helpless for it. 

You didn’t know if Sylus had a cruel streak or a merciful one, because eventually he peeled one hand off of your hip and wound it immediately into your hair, and then you knew you were fucked. So very fucked. And not just by the cock driving you crazy. 

Sylus yanked your hair– just a little on the side of painful– and you couldn’t help the way you fucking wailed Sylus’ name, your thighs shaking and your hips slamming back into his fast thrusts. When he pulled again, you obediently scrambled up onto your weak hands, your shoulders trembling and your stomach churning with wanton pleasure. Sylus leaned down and moaned in your ear, his grip on your hair unrelenting as he urged, “Say my name, say my name for me, come on…” 

You didn’t even have to think about it. You leaned your head back against Sylus’ shoulder and gasped his name over and over, your voice pitched high and desperate from the way his cock owned you so perfectly. Sylus’ soft sounds were driving you mad for him, eager to hear his voice again, to hear the white haired man tell you how good you were. The hand pulling at your hair made it impossible to form words, though, save for the increasingly needy cries of Sylus’ name and shaky iterations of please, please, please. 

The floor of the boxing ring creaked as Sylus pressed the two of you back down against its surface to speed up, his hips slapping against your ass so aggressively that you couldn’t help but scream for him, the pleas coming in shaking sobs. 

Even though Sylus was so thoroughly possessing you and fucking his cock straight into your cervix, something was still keeping you from getting close. It felt so good, absolutely amazing, but you couldn’t finish like this. Not when Sylus was biting his lip against his own noisy moans. Not when Sylus hadn’t said your name once this entire time. Not when Sylus had yet to look you in the eyes. 

Whining, you turned your head forward so you could look at him in the reflection of the mirror straight ahead. The muscles of his back rippled with effort as he continued pumping his hips, and his own forehead was pressed into your shoulder so he didn’t have to look at you. The change in your breathy sounds caught his attention, however, and Sylus slowed his hips to a rough grind to give the two of you a damn break. He finally lifted his dark, fucked-out gaze to yours, and proceeded to finally made eye contact with you in the mirror. Even hazy with lust, you could still pick out the hurt in Sylus’ eyes. 

You had put that there. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimpered and spread your fingers out against the padded floor, an unspoken invitation. After a long moment of consideration, Sylus mouthed at your sweat-slick shoulder and carefully unwound his fingers from your tangled hair to twine them together with yours. You gripped his hand tight and shivered for him, rocking back into now-gentle thrusts with a soft moan of his name. 

“I’m s-sorry,” you breathed, looking back at Sylus from over your shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sylus.” 

He stilled then, his free hand moving to tenderly brush your sweaty bangs out of your eyes. He didn’t respond yet, though, instead pulling out entirely to ease you over onto your back. 

Winding your violently trembling legs loosely around his waist, you wiggled as Sylus leaned back over you and aligned himself with your throbbing center once again. When he slid home, it was slow and easy, leaving the two of you gasping. To make things even better, Sylus reached over to grab both of your hands before lacing your fingers together again, balancing easily on his elbows so his chest was nearly flush to yours. It was so close, so damn intimate, and so much better than you deserved that you couldn’t even begin to hope for anything more. 

Sylus was so kind, though. He was thoughtful and courteous and so damn sweet, and he nudged your nose with his own before he finally kissed you again, thank god. You whimpered pitifully, squeezing his hands while he slid his tongue easily between your lips, deepening the kiss and drawing a keening moan from your sore throat. 

This time, Sylus’ thrusts were steady and slow, following an even tempo that left you sputtering against his lips. 

It was a world apart from earlier. Before, Sylus had been fucking you, marking you like you were his territory, holding back even as he let loose some wild, animalistic part of himself brought on by you pushing him away. 

Now, by some grace from god or by virtue of Sylus’ incredible capacity for dealing with your shit, it was like he was making love to you, his cock continuing to fill you up so good but just slow enough that you had time to understand how amazing he made you feel. Sort of. As much as you could understand when you were whispering Sylus’ name against his lips, your voice still rough from screaming and hitching audibly when he thrusted into you. 

You swallowed thickly to coat your dry throat, then opened your eyes to stare up at him again. 

Sylus had pulled back enough that he could see the faces you were making perfectly, how flushed your cheeks were, and how watery your eyes were. Being watched so intimately caused you to flush darker, and you closed your eyes again and arched your back with a broken groan when Sylus’ cock slid over your sweet spot once again. 

“Sylus,” you moaned, sliding your thighs further up his sides and spreading them wider. “Sylus, you’re so good…”

You felt as Sylus bumped your noses together again, squeezing your hands with a contented sigh. You were more than okay with the pace things were moving at, especially once your lover brushed his lips against your cheeks so incredibly tenderly and thrust deeper into you. Spine rounding again, you let loose a shuddering gasp before your mouth fell open with an airy whisper of Sylus’ name. 

“You look so good like this,” Sylus purred, the sound of his voice sending you reeling once again. It was beyond unfair how Sylus had you wrapped around his finger. You instinctively tightened around his cock, and the lecherous moan the action pulled from him made your stomach flip. He chuckled softly shortly thereafter and squeezed your hands again, “So pretty, you know that, kitten? And you take me so well, with the prettiest little noises. God, the noises you make…” 

You were losing your fucking mind. You rolled your head to the side with a bitten-back whimper, your body rocking perfectly into Sylus’ thrusts. There was no way you could have known that the way Sylus whispered to you would set you so on edge, but you had missed it so badly in the seemingly endless period of time you’d had to go without it. Sylus’ praises made you so hot, so damn brainless that you didn’t know what to do with yourself, and the bastard knew it. When Sylus sped up, you were still helpless– still unable to do anything other than gasp your lover’s name into the humid air between you both. 

Even as he smiled down at you and chuckled at the way you fell apart, Sylus’ own voice was growing breathier, his moans louder. Apparently you weren’t the only one so deeply affected. 

“I can feel you getting close, kitten,” Sylus moaned against you, his hips moving in deep, quick thrusts that filled you up easily. You licked your lips and cracked open your bleary eyes to watch as Sylus’ brows pinched together in response to your walls clamping down on his cock harder. With a stammered moan of your name, Sylus’ head drooped between his shoulders as he murmured, “You feel incredible. You’re so good for me.” 

That was what you needed more than anything. Sylus moaning your name while his thrusts picked up with more force, his teeth worrying his lip as he fought against his bone-deep urge to finish. Your name spoken by Sylus would forever be your favorite sound, and hearing it now was driving you straight to the edge and building your orgasm up quickly in your gut. Your moans spiked into breathy cries, your muscles tensing and twitching in earnest. Unable to stop yourself, you started to beg, “S-Sylus, Sylus, I’m almost– I’m– please, Sylus–”

Sylus obliged your senseless word babble. He untangled your fingers from his so he could sit up on his heels, looping his arms under your back to bring you with him. With you balanced easily in his lap, Sylus kept one arm around your midsection while the other came to grip your hip before he started thrusting again, his cock angling up and hitting you so deep and so perfect that you were certain you were seeing stars. Your hands flew frantically to Sylus’ toned shoulders, your nails digging in for purchase as that telltale sensation in the pit of your stomach grew stronger and more potent. 

Once Sylus breathed your name again, his voice trailing off into a raspy, rumbling moan, it was more than enough to carry you over the edge. 

Your breasts pressed into Sylus’ chest as your spine arched, your climax crashing over you violently and rendering your brain useless. Sylus groaned long and loud as you clenched impossibly further around his cock, and as you clung desperately to him and buried your face into the crook of his neck, he managed to thrust once, then twice, before he came with a shuddering groan. 

Sylus curled around you possessively and ground against you mindlessly, his large hands gripping you so tightly that you were certain they would leave bruises in their wake. He continued to mumble your name breathlessly into your ear as the two of you came down together, and eventually you were able to think through the pleasured fog that still tinged your vision. 

You continued to breathe heavily, your limbs shaking and twitching as you clenched your eyes shut and continued to hide your looming shame in the crook of Sylus’ neck. The only thing that pulled you out of your makeshift cocoon was the feeling of the larger man’s lips pressing against the top of your head, and you jolted almost violently at the attention. 

“Damn, sweetie,” Sylus said roughly, his hand trailing up your bare back to hold the nape of your neck. “You’re still shaking an awful lot. Are you alright?” 

You were silent for a long time, trying and failing to get your breathing under control again while Sylus simply cradled you. There was nothing you wanted more than to keep holding him, to keep him from leaving you and walking away, but as the dust settled around the two of you, you remembered how bad you had actually fucked up. So you waited for Sylus to release you, to stop mumbling sweet nothings into the top of your head, to banish you from his home entirely and send you back to Linkon City. 

But he didn’t do any of those things. He surprised you by lowering his own head so it was right beside yours, using his chin to gently nudge you out of your hiding spot in his shoulder so he could look at you. “I’m going to need an answer, sweetie, because I’m becoming increasingly worried that I hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry, Sylus,” you mumbled, avoiding meeting his gaze in favor of directing your words to his chest. Your voice was meek and pitiful, and your lower lip trembled as you tried and failed to fight the influx of tears that welled in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

At first, Sylus was quiet. You felt his arms slide away from your back, and for a split second you were convinced that he was going to shove you away and end things with you then and there. But then his hands reappeared between the two of you, tentatively cupping your jaw to angle your face up at him. He looked at you curiously, sweeping his thumb under your eyes to catch the stray tears that slipped down your cheeks. His voice was calm and gentle when he finally asked, “What exactly are you apologizing for?” 

“For lying to you. For saying those hurtful things. I know I was overwhelmed by Caleb just… showing up the way he did, but that was no excuse for being so cruel to you.” You swallowed, your brow furrowing as you stared up at the literal love of your life and became overtaken by a fresh dose of remorse. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want Caleb. I don’t want you to think that you’ve been some replacement for him this entire time because I never had feelings like that for him. I should have been honest from the jump instead of getting so defensive. I’m really, really sorry, Sylus.” 

Sylus seemed to mull your confession over– always so careful about picking his words. It was a trait that you could certainly stand to learn from, if only you could manage to stop talking out of your ass for five seconds. 

“I didn’t exactly broach the subject with you delicately,” he admonished with a grimace. “I didn’t stop to consider that your childhood friend was back from the dead. I just assumed the worst and jumped head first into the conversation with that thought driving me. So for that, I’m sorry.” 

A watery smile stretched across your face, and you wrapped your arms around Sylus’ waist with your ear pressed against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothing your previously frayed nerves. “So does this mean you forgive me?” 

To your mild surprise, Sylus laughed. Softly, and far from the mean-spirited kind. He returned your embrace eagerly, tracing small circles against your back with his fingers as he shook his head to himself. “There’s hardly that much to forgive. You’ve said worse things to me in the past, remember?” 

“Don’t make me beg. Just answer the question.” 

“Yes, kitten. I forgive you.” 

Sighing contentedly, you felt Sylus press a quick kiss to your forehead before holding you tighter to him, then he rose swiftly and easily, not at all slowed down by hoisting you up along with him. You yelped a little in alarm and wrapped your legs around his waist, entirely at his mercy as he somehow managed to duck under the ropes of the boxing ring with you coiled around him like a baby monkey. “Where are we going?” 

“To shower. I have every intention of making the most of your apologetic mood. And I think I might like to see you beg a little.” 

You sat upright in his firm hold, placing your hand on his chest to put a modicum of space between the two of you. “But you said you forgave me! What about Luke and Kieran?! Your room is on the other side of the house– Sylus, we’re naked!” 

Undeterred, Sylus flashed you his trademark smirk– the one that never failed to lower your inhibitions. “Oh, I forgive you. But since I have heard worse things from you before, the way I see it is you can go ahead and earn some more forgiveness while you’re at it.” 

Anxious beyond belief at the prospect of the twins seeing you in the nude, you shoved at Sylus more and scrambled to get out of his hold. He was having none of it, however, and swiftly readjusted his grip so he could toss you over his shoulder, your rear on full display in the event anyone crossed paths with the two of you. When you frantically started kicking your legs and hitting his back, he returned the motion with a playful slap to your ass that pulled a loud yelp from your lips. 

You loved the man with all your heart. You truly couldn’t fathom yourself ever leaving him, nor could you imagine your life without him. He brought a certain excitement to your otherwise dull day-to-day that you treasured and valued endlessly. 

But be that as it may, you were so, so going to kill him for this. 

[illyrianbitch]

A Sleeping Guide for Insomniacs

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel has spent weeks watching the light from your shop burn long into the night. Tonight, when sleep refuses him once again, he finally follows it.

Warnings: Az's mental state is not the greatest aka self-deprecation, envy, loneliness, insomnia… but also a growing cruuuush!!

Word Count: 3.9k

Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Step One: Find the Light

Every insomniac has a lighthouse — some flickering glow that keeps them tethered through the long, unbroken dark. It might be the streetlamp outside your window. The low burn of coals in the hearth. The lonely glint of a candlelit window across the city. It will not always be the brightest light. But it will be the one you cannot stop looking at.

— (A Sleeping Guide for Insomniacs, 14)

Azriel never slept. 

Not really, not the way the others did.

He’d gotten used to it over the centuries, the way his mind, despite being fraught with exhaustion, never seemed to leave him alone. When he was younger, he used to think it was a blessing —in some weird, twisted way.

His ability to remain constantly thinking, worrying, conjuring up every thought he could, occupied him. Kept him company. That, along with his shadows, made him feel less alone. Even if it made him miserable.

Because at least then, he was miserable with company—of his own making, of course.

But lately, it had been worse.

It wasn't just the exhaustion anymore. Not just the restless hum beneath his skin that never truly faded. It was something else, something much heavier.

His shadows felt it, too. They lingered closer than usual, curling over his shoulders, tugging at his wrists—searching for something they couldn’t name. Herding him toward sleep he never took. They were restless, too. Tired in a way that wasn’t natural.

Tonight was no different. Sitting in bed was proving to be pointless. He was too exhausted to untangle everything he felt, anyway. It was all muddled together now—the anxiety, the anger, the fear, the stress. Heavy and dark, pressing into his ribs until it hurt to breathe. Like something had cracked inside him. Like he was suffocating beneath the weight of his own life.

He exhaled sharply and glanced toward the window. The sky outside was clear. He stared at it for a few moments.

Then, like always, Az moved.

The roof was where he ended up on nights like this. Perched above the world, half-hidden in the shadows, he could watch the city without being seen. He tried not to think about the joke Mor had made once—that he looked like some strange gargoyle up here. She wasn't entirely wrong. 

But he couldn't shake the habit. Something about it made him almost feel like a child again. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Didn't care enough to think about it too long.

Azriel leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, scanning the quiet streets below.

He thought he would get used to the silence. After all, Az liked his solitude. 

But with everyone else moved on, living in their own spaces, the townhouse was too still. Too empty. He missed the sounds of life filling the space. The steady heartbeats. The familiar voices. The laughter of his family drifting from different rooms. Sure, he didn’t always join in, but he liked knowing they were there. Liked knowing they were safe.

Without them, the loneliness settled in his bones. 

On nights when the ache felt unbearable, when the silence stretched too long, too empty—he hated how bitter it made him. Hated that he wished his family felt it too. Wished they were just as alone, just as lost, so he wouldn’t be the only one.

And then he’d hate himself for it. The thought made him sick. Made him ashamed.

It wasn’t fair. He knew that. He didn’t mean it, either. He knew that, too.

But it was getting harder to tell which version of himself was real—the one who loved his family enough to encourage them moving on, or the one who resented being left behind. The one that seethed with loneliness.

Maybe both.

Maybe neither.

He tilted his head back, staring at the night sky. A few birds—maybe bats, though Az wasn't sure—flew overhead, their dark shapes cutting across the stars. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to just fly. To fly without a destination, without a place to go. Just fly, and be free, and not have to think about anything at all. 

Great. He was jealous of a fucking bird.

Azriel huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head, and let his gaze drift back down. The city stretched before him, lanterns faintly glowing along the cobbled streets.

It was there again.

A single shop, its light still flickering in the dark.

He’d noticed it before. He knew the shop, too—a small candle store tucked between the narrow alleys, the one he passed by more often than he should. He’d seen you through the windows, tending to customers, organizing shelves. You weren’t a stranger, not exactly. He knew your name. Your business. And yet, he didn't know you.

He wanted to, though. Strangely enough, he did.

Because every night, long past reason, your light was still on.

And every night he found himself looking for it. Searching for that small, flickering glow in the dark.

It was curiosity at first. A distraction. Something to focus on when the silence became too much. But then he started wondering. About you. About why you stayed up so late, what kept you there when the rest of the city had long since gone to sleep.

Perhaps it was selfish of him to be grateful that someone else was as sleepless as he was. But he was. He was grateful that within the past few heavy and lonely months, you had kept him company without even realizing it.

Azriel stared at the light for a few more moments. 

And then, before his mind could catch up—

He was moving once again.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The city was different at this hour. Liminal. Caught between worlds. Azriel liked it like this, when it was neither awake nor asleep. When it was just existing—silent and undisturbed.

And yet, as he walked, that quiet was not as comforting as it should've been.

Because he noticed, now, how much darker some streets were. How the silence didn't feel like peace and safety.

When he reached your shop, he stopped.

The door was open.

Not just unlocked, but open. The sign hanging in the window still read: OPEN.

His brows furrowed. That was dangerous. Reckless. Did anyone else know you were here, alone in the dead of night? Was there someone inside with you?

Anything could happen.

He hated that thought.

Hated it because it was true. Because his city was not as safe as it should be. Because if he—the Night Court’s Spymaster, its protector—could think such a thing in the middle of Velaris, then what did that say about him?

What did that say about what he had failed to protect?

His jaw tightened. His shadows shifted. He thought about leaving. Thought about stepping away before he made this mean something it didn't.

Then the door moved.

A figure stepped out—a male, hunched over slightly, shoulders drawn. There was something shaken in his expression, something raw. His eyes flicked to Azriel, widening slightly in recognition before his gaze dropped in silent understanding. He nodded—just once—before slipping into the night.

Azriel watched him go. Then turned back to the open door.

And stepped inside.

The shop was warmer than he expected, its air thick with scent—layers of them, pressing in from all sides. Sweet, sharp, earthy, floral. It should've been overwhelming. Usually, it would've been. Azriel got overwhelmed quicker these days.

Instead, it felt comforting. Welcoming.

And, for just a moment, Azriel forgot that outside was still cold. Still dark. Still waiting.

He stood in the entrance for a few more seconds. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, if he was waiting for anything at all. All he knew was that your light stayed on long after every other window in Velaris had gone dark— and something about that made him feel connected to you.

A small thud pulled his attention.

And, for another moment, Azriel forgot how to move.

You were there, at a small front counter, and you were beautiful.

Not in the way that all beautiful things were, but in a way that felt undeniable. A certain kind of beauty that made his body stop. Made his mind stutter.

It was a stupid reaction from him, really. He'd seen you before in passing, had walked past this place nearly a hundred times. He knew, on paper, who you were. And yet—

He had never seen you like this. In the dead of night, surrounded by sleepy fae lights and the smell of a thousand memories.

He forced himself to look away, feeling a timid sense of embarrassment burning under his skin. He did the only thing he could think to do, then. He wandered.

The store wasn't a large space by any means, but Az made a show of studying it, drifting through the narrow isles, letting the scents shift around him. He tucked his wings in tight, careful not to knock over any of the delicate glass jars and candles. He knew his luck well enough to know that if something could be broken, it would be.

His shadows stirred with his movements, tugging at him like restless children eager to explore. Az let himself indulge, just slightly, as his fingers trailed over the shelves' edges.

Az reeled them in when they spread out too far.

Usually, he felt guilty for how little rest they got, how they tried to match his own sleeplessness. Even after all these centuries, he wasn’t quite sure how they slept, if they needed it the way he did. But tonight, they were quieter. Slower. And for once, he was grateful. It made it easier to keep them close, to keep himself contained.

Azriel stopped in front of a small display of candles.

They weren’t perfect. The wax wasn’t always smooth, some wicks sat slightly off-center, and a few had tiny air bubbles trapped beneath the surface. But they were beautiful. The glass containers varied—some clear, others tinted amber or deep green. A few were housed in pottery, the edges slightly uneven, the glaze catching the dim light in soft, imperfect ripples.

The labels on each were equally beautiful: handwritten in careful script, some adorned with pressed flowers or gold foil.

He could tell that care has been put into them. None of them had been made to look exactly like the next. Something in his chest ached at that. In awe, maybe. In envy, too. He wasn't sure why. He didn't question it, though. He was envious of everything recently. Bitter.

Slow, gentle tendrils of shadow ghosted across the shelf, slipping over the carefully arranged candles, tracing the delicate script on their labels. They curled against the wall before settling over one in particular.

Az picked it up.

He wasn't sure why he did. There was no real reason to smell any candle—nothing but the simple truth that he was stalling. That he wasn't quite ready to leave, that standing here doing nothing was more conspicuous than pretending to browse.

So he lifted the candle to his nose.

And immediately regretted it.

The scent that filled his lungs was atrocious.

Something rotting, something sour, something deeply wrong. Like burnt hair and spoiled fruit and the sharp tang of metal. He nearly recoiled— nearly.

Years of his duties had taught him how to keep his face unreadable. He was grateful for that training now, for those unrealistic expectations he'd set upon himself. He didn't need to see his reflection to know there was no hint of his disgust in his face.

There could be a trace in his eyes, maybe. His mother always said they were rather expressive. It was why he didn't hold eye contact as long as his brothers.

But no one was looking at his eyes now.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered the candle.

And glanced at the shelf.

There was no visible label. No indication of what, exactly, he had just inhaled. Only his shadows, spread across the wall still. Although they sensed his distress, they were utterly unhelpful — a few lone wisps coiling around him in amusement, their edges twitching with silent laughter.

He exhaled sharply. From across the room, he heard the sound of something else. The sound of you—soft laughter, just barely contained.

He glanced up to you already watching him, a knowing look in your eyes. He willed himself to look away, quicky placing the candle back on the shelf, pulling his hands away from view. But seconds later, he felt you approach him, felt the warmth of your presence stretch out like he was sat near a fire.

You cleared your throat. Gently, elegantly, like you were afraid to spook him. He took a deep breath, focused his control on his shadows, and turned to look at you.

You titled your head. "So? What do you think?"

He offered you a tight, polite smile— if you could even call it that. In reality, it was a tiny tug at the corner of his lips. Just movement enough to show he was not a threat, movement enough to not seem rude.

"It's lovely," Azriel said, lying.

"Really?"

"Yes."

You paused. Watched him too closely. Then, with what seemed to be barely contained amusement, you said, "Would you like to buy it? I'm having a sale."

There was a beat of hesitation. He should've said no. He knew this. He had no use for any candles, let alone ones that stirred up a gag reflex he never knew he had. But he couldn't. It would be rude, to enter your shop, to touch all of its offerings, and not buy something — right?

His shadows curled around his ear, whispering their betrayal in a hushed murmur.

Must buy. Sweet. Perfect.

Another wisp twined around his wrist, prodding at his fingers, amused. It appeared him and his shadows had different definitions of what perfect smelled like.

"I would," Azriel said.

"Really?"

"I have some people in my life who love scents like this."

You furrowed a brow, the corners of your lips tilting into a hesitant smile. There was something so alive about the way your features moved. Animated, shifting, vibrant. He wished Feyre was here—if only to memorize your face and paint it later. Capture whatever it was that made you feel so… present. "You do?"

He didn't, but Azriel nodded anyway.

"That's interesting."

Azriel immediately regretted speaking. There was a right and a wrong answer, it seemed. And he knew, from the glint in your eye, that his answer was wrong.

You plucked the candle from the shelf, turning it between your fingers before giving him a slow, knowing smile. “Because this one is specifically designed to be awful.”

His brows lifted slightly. He glanced back at the shelf, at the small section his shadows had now uncovered—an area filled with other unlabeled candles, their scents likely just as offensive. And there, right above them, a small carved sign: For Particular Noses and Mischievous Reasons.

Azriel exhaled through his nose. His shadows curled around him in clear amusement. Traitors.

They whispered back, gleeful and smug. Mischievous reasons, yes.

“They’re kind of oddly specific,” you admitted, setting the candle back down. “People like to use them as jokes, but sometimes they sell—people have weird cravings. You’d be surprised what some fae miss from their old lives. Even the gross stuff. I think it's sweet, in a way.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes drifting back to you.

You didn’t sleep.

He knew that, of course, from the days spent watching your light from across the city.

But he could see it now, even more clearly than before. The faint shadows beneath your eyes, the way your movements were just a little too slow, too careful, as if you were running on borrowed energy. He knew that feeling well.

It was strange. He hated the way exhaustion looked on himself. It made him feel weary, tired, unapproachable. Unattractive. But on you…

He was inclined to say it was pretty — and that it was wrong. Wrong that you were awake only at night, that you were tucked away in this tiny shop, unseen by most of the world. It felt almost sinful that the daylight, and those who thrived in it, couldn't witness you like this.

Azriel shifted his weight, forcing the thought from his mind.

It was just the lack of sleep making him strangely soft, uncharacteristically fond of a stranger. He needed to fix his image now before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

“You don’t have to get that one,” you murmured, your fingertips brushing over the candles like they were something precious.

Azriel had seen lovers touch each other with less fondness. A strange, twisting thing settled in his chest at the thought—because he couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like that.

He suddenly felt like an intruder in a place meant for softer things than him.

“No,” he said, too quickly. “I liked it.”

You pressed your lips together, amused. He was making a fool out of himself, this he was sure of. But he didn't mind. You looked at him. Said nothing. Just looked.

Az was suddenly very aware of himself. Of the way his fingers curled against his sides, of the way he was standing too stiffly, too awkwardly. He felt on display.

His shadows betrayed him first—darting toward you, reaching, playful. He clenched his fists, willing them back before they could weave themselves around your wrist or through your hair. They had never done that before, not without his command. He had to fight them. Maybe himself, too.

You turned, slowly walking and scanning the shelves until you plucked something from one of the quieter, more tucked-away sections.

Azriel barely noticed at first. His mind was elsewhere—distracted, unmoored. The scent of you lingered in the air, something soft, something warm, and his shadows—traitorous things—drifted toward it. Like they wanted to pull it apart, understand it, memorize it. He only just managed to reel them back in before you turned.

You held the candle out to him. 

He stepped toward you. “What is it?”

“Something I think you’d like.”

He hesitated before taking it, siphons glowing faintly as his fingers brushed against yours. He stilled. 

He hated how much they stood out in places like this, how the gleam of them felt unnatural against the warm, quiet glow of the shop. He never took them off. Never would. He wondered if you thought it was strange. 

If you did, you didn’t show it. You didn’t even glance at them, didn’t react to the scars on his hands. Your fingers didn’t flinch against his. 

You didn’t seem to notice at all. 

But Azriel did. He always did.

He looked at the object in his hand.

It was a small thing, carefully crafted like all the others, and the glass was warm from where your fingers had been. He turned it over, reading the handwritten label. The written scent was unfamiliar, but when he lifted the lid and breathed it in, something settled inside him.

It was subtle. The first thing he caught was something clean, airy—like the hush of the sky just before dawn. Then something deeper, warmer. A hint of cedarwood, maybe. And beneath it all, the faintest trace of something he couldn't quite name—something like parchment, like ink that settled into the pages of a well-worn book.

It smelled… quiet.

Reminded him of early mornings in the House of Wind before anyone else was awake. Of sitting in the dim glow of faelight, tracing his fingers over old maps during times of peace, his shadows curled lazily at his feet. It smelled like the moments he let himself pause.

There hadn't been many of those recently.

“One of my favorites,” you said softly. “I call it Stillness.”

He swallowed, carefully put the lid back on, and met your eyes. "I can see why. I like it."

You smiled at him. It was a shy smile, much more reserved than your other reactions. "Yeah?"

Azriel nodded. Meant it, this time, as he said, "It's lovely."

For a moment, everything slowed as he held your gaze. 

His chest felt too tight, his shadows too still.  He cleared his throat.

His shadows jumped at the sound, gently scattering like birds startled from a perch. It made him feel better—that they, too, had been stuck in some strange, lingering moment. That it wasn’t just him.

"I'll take this one."

You led him to the counter, and he watched as you carefully wrapped the candle in brown paper. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a few coins, but before he could set them down, you shook your head.

“It’s on the house.”

He frowned. “No, that’s—”

“It’s on the house,” you repeated, "Consider it an apology gift, for not offering the proper warning regarding my more…unique scents."

You leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something conspiratorial, something soft. "I saw your face. I'm just happy I didn't have to clean vomit off my floor."

Azriel's ears burned. He was suddenly very grateful his hair had grown out some, that the longer strands covered the worst of it. He looked down, collected himself for a brief moment, and then met your eyes once more. 

“You’re welcome to come by anytime. I appreciate the company.” You slid the package toward him, gaze flicking to his shadows. Your lips twitched, just slightly, as you added, "In all the forms that they may come in." 

His shadows preened at the words, swirling a little closer to you, begging to brush against your wrist like a cat seeking affection.

He didn't know why that made his heart stutter. 

Maybe it was because most people ignored them. Or feared them. Or spoke about them in hushed tones, like they were something to be managed, tolerated.

You acknowledged them. Spoke to them like they were something welcome, something natural. And they responded to you, drawn in, pleased. As if they liked being seen by you. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

With a small nod, Az murmured, “Thank you.” 

And then he left.

When he got home, Azriel placed the candle on his bedside table.

He didn't light it. Couldn't bring himself to, for some strange, aching reason. He only lifted it to his nose, breathed in its scent, and let it settle into his lungs. 

For once, the weight in his chest felt manageable.

He thought about that first awful candle. Thought about the small smile you'd given him, how you'd let him flounder in his own forced politeness before revealing the joke.

In the quiet of his room, Az exhaled a quiet breath. Something close to a laugh. An almost-smile accompanied it.

He wondered if you could make candles that were even worse— if he could somehow commission a magical candle that smelled different to two halves of one whole. A sweet and sultry vanilla scent for Nesta that could bleed into rotten milk and dirty clothes whenever Cassian smelled it himself. 

That gave him another almost-smile.

He didn't sleep. He didn't expect to. But when he laid down, shadows stirring beside him, falling into their gentle rhythm of rest, he didn't feel so sad anymore.

Whatever this was, this quiet, weightless feeling—it was close enough to peace for now.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: new mini series that’s already planned out!!! yippe!!! something about this series makes my heart warm. trust me when i say they’re so so so sweet. what do yall think 🥹

creating a taglist for this series tonight, lmk if you’d like to be added <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

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

@feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

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

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

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

[konigsblog]

Imagine König punishing you because you have a celebrity crush

He just wants to be the only man(more like only person) you look at :(

Oh, he's definitely the type of man to get offended and consider it cheating when you have a fictional or celebrity crush.

It's all about his insecurity. He hates how attractive these men are, especially when he's struggled his entire life due to his grotesque and horrifying appearance. The scars that litter his freckled and hauntingly pale skin scare women off as they wonder what kind of life König lives. His terrifying height only adds to that horror and fear. The sight of children sobbing at the sight of him tugs at his heartstrings. He wants nothing more to settle down with a woman and have children together. Hopefully his offspring don't fear him.

So, when he realises that you have a celebrity crush, his frustration and envy is uncontrollable. Especially when the celebrity crush doesn't look anything like König. Tall, but not freakishly tall in a petrifying way. Tall, dark, and handsome, and not littered with auburn, ginger hair and pale blue eyes. And although you reassure König that he's the one for you, that no one compares to him, his jealousy still blooms.

He's petty. He'll hide your phone above the kitchen cabinets where you would never look to think, and couldn't possibly reach all on your own. When you get scared during horror films, he'll push you away, telling you to find your beloved and favoured celebrity crush to protect you. He'll cause arguments until you stop talking about that man and start doting on him 24/7, complimenting him, and gushing over him... (⁠T⁠T⁠)

[8housevenus]

lilith through the houses

hii, it has been a while since i have made a post on here; hope everyone is doing well. i wanted to dive into a post about lilith, i see a lot of people who are curious about lilith and how it manifests in their charts. lilith represents many things; rebellion, dark feminine, jealousy, envy, and sense of freedom/power.

lilith in 1st - blessing & a curse. you have a sultry-esque to you, can appear a bit intimidating and off-putting from some sort of intensity; unintentionally. you have habits to always appeal to other people, you have a need to feel approved by others and rejection has always been a hard concept for you. you might have been bullied from women who were jealous of you when you were younger, or often left out on purpose because you seemed "untrusting," people often would read you wrong because they were too afraid to approach you. luckily for you though, you can pick up on these things right away. you have gifts for discernment and are good at blending into your environments nowadays. you are much harder to crack while you age, and that is because you have worked on your confidence & beauty through time- nobody can get under your skin as much as you do.

lilith in 2nd - loves to feel different. you love doing things that go against the standards. while everyone else was stressing over financial issues, housing, and overall structure, you had other plans. you preferred to feel free-spirited with your spending, and always found a way to attract money whether you worked for it or not. others despised you, thought you had it easy, or thought you let yourself go. you have a tendency to let others go, not in a bad way, but in a way that if there's anything stopping you from obtaining something, you will cut ties. you hold onto things that can be used to prove others wrong, probably still clings to photos, messages, etc. hates giving up easily. points out hypocricy on others a lot. you typically hate any form of control over you, not a fan of commands or orders, dislikes an overly organized environment. you like feeling accompanied in your habits. you always play your cards well.

lilith in 3rd - says it how it is always. you notice people usually love you or hate you there's no in between. sometimes attracts people who are two-faced, or always downplaying their achievements. you will really see the ugly side from people because of the way you can easily trigger them. felt held back from a young age to express certain thoughts, always likes to interject, say the things that others do not want to. has a serious tone, usually sounding mature and easily believable. you love pushing the boundaries with society and taking the lead. you are one of one, and you might notice some people have humored you a lot because they don't take you serious enough. people usually never let your past go, or they want to have a say in your reputation. to you though, any attention is good attention.

lilith in 4th - family matters. usually mother or prominent female figure forcing you to follow a path you don't want to. lots of household turmoil's, probably the ones to break a generational trauma, feeling suffocated by family and close ones. you have a hard time with making long-lasting friends and relationships out of fear of being abused emotionally somehow. easy for you to feel drained by others, feels and moves better alone. might have family members who are jealous of you or leave you behind because they cannot stand to see you succeed. maybe you felt that you hadn't been caught up as much as other kids growing up, late learner & way too self-dependent. you are strong in the sense that you take care of yourself better than others have. your pain has taught you how to provide a safe space for other people.

lilith in 5th - felt like you had a lot of energy vampires around you, anytime you wanted to feel fun-spirited you always had some people trying to void that. you are actually very easygoing, attract attention very easily, and people really admire your fierceness. however you fall short depending on the people you surround yourself with. you need uplifting beings around you, those who match your energy very well. you can always decipher who fits for you and who doesn't. you have a tendency to push away your intuition and gut feelings, you like giving chances and the ability for people to restart with you, however you realize it is a waste of time. lot of people will cling to you to try and analyze you, study you. relationships or friendships have used you to try to get the upperhand. people steal your ideas. tired of feeling bad for being yourself. you hope to remain light hearted and unravel new interests that give you a chance to understand yourself a bit more.

lilith in 6th - usually gets bullied because they are healthier than others. i know that sounds kiddish, but im serious. you know how to work twice as hard to get to where you want to be, whether that is career wise or health wise. you experience a lot of significant changes with your appearance, and you will have people trying to tear you down and invalidate your efforts. can deal with people speaking badly about your body, wishing to have your body, or lusting over your body. can have jealous co workers, outside peers, or in general you will notice that as soon as you want to change, many people do not like this. people have this preset notion of you and hate to acknowledge that you are in a better position than you used to be. you like doing things on your own schedule, you are known to being very picky, but as long as it is convenient for you, you do not mind. you're not a heavy complainer, instead you observe a lot and make do with whatever you got.

lilith in 7th - dealt with narcissists a lot of your life, has a fainted image of love and relationships. you guys love to reject other people lol, rightfully so though, most of the time you guys will have people trying to spin back to you. you are unforgettable to the ones you have had close bonds with, specifically with the other gender. can lead to men/women hating you so they can try to get over you. you love being able to try new things in relationships, switching it up is super important to you, and you love a 50/50, good give and take. if someone is too simple with you or doesn't seem as risk take-y as you, you kind of repel that. you crave to be unconditionally loved by someone that loves you in the right conditions. loves speaking out on things you find abnormal. you don't have many standards, which is why you have a lot of experience with the dating realm; however you only feel safe to settle once you see the imperfections in your partner. you hate anything superficial. you feel you can only trust those who are as damaged as you are.

lilith in 8th - feelings of powerlessness, inability to change, or endless karmaic cycles. you have been through harsh times with your inner self, and it has depleted a lot of your confidence. you are naturally more "darker or deeper" than others, you like reading between the lines and that is your superpower. you pick up on the things that most people slip. you have a strong aura of sensual energy whenever you do come together with a partner. seductive and manipulative at times, if you feel that you do not get what you want, you have a way to really make shit break out. lot of internal chaos with trying to figure yourself out. you have a strong admiration for the occult, and it is very known off of you. people often feel jealous that you know more than them, or that you are with-holding information, or that your energy is the most magnetic thing about you. you want to be able to explore everything that nobody wants to. it brings you peace to look from within more than on the out.

lilith in 9th - felt that higher purpose was always a challenge to try to figure out, religiously could have dealt with a traumatizing incident, or felt disconnected. turned against morals at one point and never looked back really. hates feeling narrow-minded, opened to new possibilities, hates certainty because things are so variable. people jealous that you can etach easily, and that you can expand onto bigger and better things. could been troubled in school for minor or major things, free will is a thing you love to test a lot. could have a lot of enemies from different backgrounds and countries, feel easily attacked for thinking differently than others. you notice how your mentality is far more different than others; you tend to be more receptive and optimistic, while other people could be more sensitive and reserved to their own thoughts. you dislike people with the inability to be free thinking as you are. you have a hard time connecting with others because of this, you feel only you can truly understand yourself. you can get frustrated easily and silenced due to it.

lilith in 10th - could feel scrutinized by authority figures in their lives, you might have a father who is controlling or somebody who is a male figure that will try to steer you from your goals. you have tried to make a lot of jobs work, however none feel too important to you. sometimes you feel that work industry can even be useless, simply because it doesn't bring you the satisfaction you want. you can even feel afraid to tap into your power in front of others, maybe seen as too shy or timid to go after what you really want. you sought more attention to what others would think rather than what you think of yourself. attracts jealousy through their jobs and careers anyway, some people find you "too this, too that" to the things you want to accomplish. you put up many facades and fake smiles to people because you feel that a lot of what you do is on display or talked about anyway. people honestly really love to throw some confusion your way, or doubt. you might really like a career that is extremely perplexing or doesn't require much at all.

lilith in 11th - felt weird from everyone else. you learned a lot of harsh lessons when you were younger, matured fast and enjoyed life much later. socially, well liked and easily applauded by others, which means that you also do have folks who have been envious of your abilities to drive the masses. you are unique and set trends. people follow you around or follow you online just to keep up with your aesthetic, it is like you are a hidden gem that prefers to be hidden. you've probably dealt with people trying to get close to you to steal from you or get with your other friends or even partners. you are naturally independent and sometimes too isolating. the feeling of needing nobody can stem from the fact that not many people surrounded themselves with you when you were younger. you socially blend in very well and use it to your advantage, as a lot of people will behave like "kiss-asses" to you. might have also dealt with fallouts with friends that have blamed you regardless of if you were guilty or not. they switch-up just as easy as they befriend you. it is undoubtedly hard to connect with some others.

lilith in 12th - spiritually been at war with yourself for a while, felt like there wasn't a place for you to confide without being shunned. hard time making sense of feelings that actually are justified to feel. others expected you to be strong and to bottle up a lot of your feelings, there was a lack of fulfillment also in teenage years due to the isolation you have went through. felt like you weren't good enough to go through with your ideas, fantasies, and goals. some part of you feels resentment towards yourself, as you learned that you were so hard on yourself when all you needed was to just experience life for what it was. always searching for something deeper. prone to nightmares or visions that have made you cautious, traumatizing experiences that nobody knows about or that has happened that was hidden from you or forgotten. sometimes you feel you don't even know what you are fighting for. you have a unique ability to contact your spiritual guides, manifesting comes easy for you once you work on this burden. you can bring out such strong changes in yourself and are capable of ending your "hellish" loops. people can feel envious of you for your trauma, and i know that sounds off, but you have been through a lot and others will try to act like they understand or can relate when they in fact do not. beware of people who pretend to be in the same boat as you. some will secretly just not like you, plain and simple.

thank you for reading this all through, if i was accurate or off, let me know i would love to see some of your input. there's so much more i can say about each and if you want me to elaborate i will! i know i have put more for some of these and less for others, regardless, i am open to your inputs, thank u <3

[oofthwoods]

STEPS TO YOU! ── ˙ ̟ lando norris !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: lando norris hates the idea of soulmates. for him, it's hard to see everyone in his life with a matching tattoo, or a timer, or the inability to see colors, while he has to be content with the fact that he may never find his perfect match. that is, until he starts to see mysterious footprints around the paddock, hinting at a path he never expected.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: this is my confession that my favorite soulmate!aus are the ones where they don't think they have one. the sadness of thinking you are not destined for a great love only to find out that there's someone out there for you??? mwah chefs kiss

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: to be added.

LANDO NORRIS WAS A ROMANTIC AT HEART.

He had a secret love for romantic comedies. Watching couples overcome comical obstacles before finding their happy ending always brought a smile to his face. Though he would never admit it, he found joy in the cliched plots and endearing moments portrayed on screen.

The Brit also enjoyed weddings. Family, friends, or mere acquaintances— it didn't matter. To him, the ceremony was a tangible display of true love that existed beyond the silver screen and scripted Hollywood romances.

Despite everything, Lando knew that he would never experience anything like it. Everyone around him seemed to have a sure sign that they were meant for great love: Carlos with his past life visions shared with his beloved, George with his key pendant symbolizing his destiny, and even Oscar, who occasionally vanished, leaving a girl in his place. But not Lando. No visions, no tattoos, no words etched on his arm foretelling what his soulmate would say upon their first encounter. He felt like an outsider in a world where everyone seemed to have found their perfect match, while he knew he would be alone forever.

As Lando's realization sunk in, it was an emotional rollercoaster. He wasn't just a late bloomer; he wasn't meant to blossom at all. In his childhood innocence, he embraced his supposed independence and declared that girls were gross and he could live without someone by his side forever. But as adolescence took over, he found himself increasingly on the sidelines, watching as close friends shared stories of connection and love, filling him with a painful mix of envy and despair.

Every tale of someone else's romance felt like a dagger to the heart, a wound that refused to heal. Lando couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve this solitary fate in a world where everyone else seemed to find their soulmates.

Occasionally, he gazed up at the dark expanse above, yearning for solutions. Had the universe overlooked him or was love just not in his destiny? Some claimed that soulmates were like atoms connected since before the Big Bang, their bond enduring despite eons passing. But what did this mean for Lando? Was he destined for a solitary life even before the cosmos took shape?

As an adult, Lando struggled to convince himself that he had come to terms with his fate. He told himself over and over again that finding true love was possible without a soulmate being involved. It didn't have to be some cosmic arrangement. Yet, deep down, even as he tried to comfort himself with this reasoning, he couldn't shake the desire for something more. He yearned to be uniquely crafted for someone, to be cherished wholeheartedly despite his imperfections and weaknesses.

Lando shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts and back into the present moment. The unforgiving Melbourne sun beat down on him, its golden rays spreading across the circuit. Heat radiated all around him, almost suffocating in its intensity. He cursed his decision to wear an orange hoodie that morning as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Walking from the entrance to his garage, he couldn't escape the discomfort caused by the heat. The thick fabric clung to his skin, trapping him in its grasp as the temperature continued to rise.

Beside him, Oscar emanated an infectious energy. The pilot was fully immersed in the atmosphere of his home country's race, evident through his beaming smile. Despite the hustle and bustle around them, they maintained a calm demeanor, as if they were in a world of their own, oblivious to the cameras of the photographers trying to capture every moment.

Lando observed Oscar's anxious glances, as if he was searching for a particular person.

Deciding to break the silence, Lando asked, "Has your family arrived?"

Oscar's mind seemed elsewhere as he replied, "Oh, yeah. They're here. I'm just looking for someone else."

Someone else. Lando's brow furrowed as he thought about the mysterious bond between Oscar and his soulmate. Every now and then, without warning or explanation, the Australian would switch places with the girl he was connected to. Initially, Lando feared that this could happen during a race and result in a disastrous outcome. However, he soon realized that the universe was smart enough to only make these switches when both were safe.

"You met her?" Lando finally asked, curious about Oscar's soulmate. He looked at him with confusion before smiling sadly.

"Not yet, and she's not the one i'm looking or," Oscar replied, bringing a small sense of relief to Lando. He immediately felt guilty for wishing that others wouldn't find their soulmates, knowing it was selfish and petty.

Additionally, Lando could recall a peculiar incident from the previous year, when Oscar suddenly disappeared, and a girl had surprisingly turned up in the McLaren garage, clad in pajamas and exuding an unusual calmness about the situation. He remembered her as a charming and witty girl, and the thought that Oscar had someone special to share his life with brought a comforting warmth to Lando's heart, though it was tinged with a hint of jealousy.

"I have a friend coming over today," Oscar interjected, breaking through Lando's thoughts. "We went to elementary school together, but it's been a while since we've seen each other. She finished college last year, and managed to take a few days off to visit."

Lando nodded along as Oscar talked about his friend, dividing his attention between their conversation and the busy paddock. He couldn't help but notice weird stains on the ground and wished people would be more considerate of the space.

The two McLaren pilots still had a few minutes before the first meeting and the final free practice before qualifying. They decided to take refuge from the scorching sun inside their respective driver's rooms, seeking a moment of tranquility before the hustle and bustle of the track.

Lando made his way down the narrow path to the driver's room, noticing strange marks on the floor. The team garage was typically spotless, and he couldn't comprehend how it had become so messy.

"Who the hell made this mess?" Lando furrowed his brow and glanced around the room.

Oscar, perplexed, asked, "What mess?"

With a chuckle, Lando replied, "Are you blind? Look at the damn floor, it's covered in stains." He pointed to the ground with his arm.

Oscar tried to play along, forcing a laugh. "Mate, did you hit your head on the way here? The floor is spotless, as always."

Lando's eyes narrowed as he examined the stains on the ground more closely. What he imagined was dirt from a worker's shoe, appeared to not be random splatters; they seemed deliberate, almost forming a pattern. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Lando's heart skipped a beat as he realized the stains looked like footsteps.

"This is strange," he muttered, crouching down to get a better look.

Hearing Lando's concern, Oscar joined him and peered at the marks. "What are you thinking?"

Lando's mind was filled with various thoughts. He wondered if the intense heat was causing him to hallucinate. A thought crossed his mind that someone had wandered into the garage barefoot, possibly in search of new shoes. Everything seemed mildly possible.

Despite his efforts to suppress it, a nagging part inside him reminded him of the nights he spent wondering about potential invisible soulmate connections. He couldn't help but recall the excitement of discovering invisible threads - like leaving colorful marks upon touch or having their thoughts connect when within a certain distance, almost like telepathy. Things that wouldn't appear on his body when he turned eight, but still meant he had someone.

The 15-year-old version of himself seemed to be pounding on his chest, making him remember the thread through footsteps that he had long forgotten about, and started to question if even existed. Yet, Oscar didn't seem to notice the distinct marks on the floor and Lando couldn't possibly be hallucinating from dehydration.

Oscar placed his hand on Lando's back and felt a shiver run through his friend's body. "Lando, you're starting to worry me. Do you want to go to the medical bay?"

Lando quickly got up from the floor, shaking off Oscar's touch. "No need, Os. I'm fine." He forced a smile, but there was a lump in his throat as he tried to swallow down the fear and uncertainty. He didn't want to get his hopes up again, only to have them crushed once more.

"What do you think of the place?" Oscar's voice startles you from behind,.

A smile lights up your face as you turn around to see your friend in person for the first time in a long while. You eagerly embrace him with open arms, attempting to lift him off the ground like you used to when you were kids.

"Wow, okay, you're not as light as you used to be."

Oscar chuckles, and playfully returns the favor by lifting you up. "Nope, I'm not. Or maybe you're just not as strong anymore."

You tease, giving his shoulder a light slap. He winces and holds onto it, pretending it hurts.

"It's impressive." You answer his previous question. "So many people, so much noise, but I can see why you love it here." You take in the bustling atmosphere with a laugh.

The Aussie leans back against something and asks with a playful glint in his eye, "So, what's been going on in your world?"

You chuckle, immediately feeling at ease with him. "Just the usual post-grad life. Trying to figure it all out."

"Will you stick with auto sports?" He asks hopefully.

"I have an interview lined up to shadow a F2 journalist, so let's hope for the best." You make a gesture of crossed fingers. You thought that graduating with a degree in Journalism would give you direction in life, but almost a year later, you're still searching for your calling.

"It's already yours. I've never met anyone who could get honest answers from drivers like you do." He tried to calm you.

"I interviewed you once for a college project, Os. I don't think that counts." You chuckle.

"Come on, I was in f2 back then. That's definitely something to put on your resume."

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod.

It didn't feel like it had been so long since you two last saw each other in person.

As your gaze sweeps over the cluttered garage once more, something strange catches your eye, and you furrow your brow in confusion.

"Isn't Easter still a ways off?" Your eyes follow a trail of small, misshapen footprints leading around the room and you can't help but comment, "And whoever left those prints definitely didn't excel in their Arts & Crafts classes. They look nothing like bunny paws."

Oscar couldn't believe it. What was going on with his friends and footprints that day?

He squints and shakes his head. "I don't see anything," he says, trying to follow your gaze.

"Of course you don't. I've been telling you to get your eyes checked for years," you tease with a laugh. You walk over to him and point directly at the pawprint (that looks more like a footprint) on the ground that you can clearly see, even though it's slightly faded. Oscar looks at you with confusion.

"Are you and Lando in on this together?" He starts to suspect a prank.

"Lando? Your teammate?" You shake your head. "I've never even met him, Os." A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "But maybe I should."

Oscar's gaze shifted from the empty space in front of him. "Don't even go there, missy. Teammates are strictly off-limits."

You couldn't help but tease, "Why, does he have a soulmate?"

Oscar used to give you pitying looks whenever you mentioned not having a love thread, but it had been a while since then. He missed all of you - including your bad puns.

"I don't know. We've never discussed it," Oscar shuddered. He and Lando had grown closer over the past year, but the Brit never seemed to want to talk about that topic, so Oscar left it alone.

You continue to tease, "I still don't see why he's off-limits."

"Can you imagine how traumatizing it would be to see Lando making out with my best friend?"

"It wouldn't be any weirder than collecting bugs with my best friend and then suddenly having a random girl in front of me," your counterpart argues.

"Touché" It wouldn't be right for Oscar to dictate who you should pursue, especially since you had no control over randomly talking to his soulmate after swapping places. "It still would be fucking weird."

"You know, if two people saw those pawprints and you didn't, I think it's safe to say who's the one in the wrong here," You nudged him playfully. "Maybe you're just not looking close enough. Let me guide you."

Stepping closer to the mysterious prints, you crouched down and examined them closely. "They seem... fresh, don't they?"

Oscar joined you, squinting his eyes as he tried to make out any shape or form on the ground. "I swear, there's nothing there. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate prank?"

You shook your head, running your fingers over the indentations. "No, these are real."

Despite trying his best, Oscar couldn't make out what he was supposed to be looking at. "Alright, you got me. Congrats on your and Lando's little joke."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Your frustration grows as you wonder how he could have missed the obvious footprints right in front of him.

"He saw these so-called "footprints" too." He gestured with air quotes, convinced that his best friend and teammate were up to some strange prank together.

Before you could protest, someone called out your friend's name. "I have to go, it's my engineer," he said, getting up from the floor. He gave you a friendly smile that quickly turned into a knowing smirk. "And don't follow the footprints, Alice. They won't lead you to wonderland."

Wonderland or not, you would be stupid not to follow it.

As you follow the trail of footprints through the crowded garage, your curiosity builds with each step. You maneuver carefully around toolboxes and piles of spare parts, focusing on the prints as they lead you deeper into the maze-like space.

At last, you reach the end of the trail and come face to face with a closed door. Your heart races with excitement and anticipation as you stare at the sign above it: "Lando Norris' Driver's Room"

You furrow your brow in confusion. How could Norris' driver's room be connected to the strange footprints you've been tracking? Is this some kind of elaborate prank that Oscar roped Lando into as well?

Despite the nagging feeling that something was off, you stood your ground and refused to give into whatever it was that was trying to lure you in. You mentally prepared yourself to turn around and head back to Oscar's garage, where at least you felt familiar, and he couldn't pull pranks on you in front of his entire team.

And then, as if on cue, the door swings open, revealing Lando Norris standing on the other side. His presence fills the doorway, commanding attention with an effortless grace that leaves you breathless.

In that moment, you can't help but drink in the sight of him—the way the soft glow of the room illuminates his features, casting his angular jawline and chiseled cheekbones in sharp relief. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of azure, hold a glint of mischief as they meet yours, and you find yourself drowning in their depths.

Lando is clad in his fireproofs, the sleek material hugging his lean frame in all the right places. His racesuit hangs by his waist, a vibrant burst of color against the backdrop of the room. There's a confidence in the way he carries himself, a hint of swagger that speaks of countless hours spent behind the wheel of a racing car.

But it's not just his physical appearance that captivates you—it's the strange electricity that seems to crackle in the air when your eyes meet.

Your heart skips a beat as you find yourself in a predicament, searching for a clever excuse. You definitely didn't want to appear as a stalker-fan who snuck in. "Um, I was just... uh..."

"Oscar?" Lando interrupts, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Yes, Oscar!" You latch onto the name like a lifeline. "I'm a friend of his."

"He mentioned you," Lando nods, a friendly grin spreading across his face.

"Ah, so Oscar's been gossiping about me, huh?" You tease, a playful smirk curling your lips as you lock gazes with Lando. "I hope he said only nice things."

Lando chuckles softly, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Oh, absolutely. But he forgot to mention how gorgeous you are"

You feel a warm flush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment, and you playfully bat your eyelashes. "Oh, did he now? Well, I'll have to thank him for the rave reviews later."

An easy silence falls between you, charged with unspoken chemistry and the promise of potential. Lando breaks the quiet with a mischievous smirk, closing the gap between you.

"Care for a little tour while we wait for Oscar? I promise not to lead you astray... too much," he adds with a wink.

Despite the lingering adrenaline from the close call and the unexpected encounter with Lando, you find yourself nodding eagerly. Oscar had been too occupied to give you a proper tour, and you were itching to explore the place.

"Lead the way, but I'm holding you to that promise of not getting lost," you tease, motioning for him to lead. As he begins to walk, you fall into step beside him, the playful brush of your shoulders sending sparks flying.

"Do you have a habit of getting lost?" Lando asks with a playful glint in his eyes.

You laugh, shaking your head in mock dismay. "Define 'a habit'," you retort, a playful sparkle in your eyes. "When we were younger, Oscar and I used to roam around this massive mall near our homes. I lost count of how many times he had to page me over the speakers because I got sidetracked and wandered off."

"I'll have to keep a close eye on you, then," Lando quips. "Can't have Oscar's friend getting lost on my watch."

You chuckle at his teasing, reveling in the easy banter between you two. As he continues to show you around the McLaren paddock, pointing out various spots and sharing amusing anecdotes, you find yourself drawn to his effortless charm and infectious energy.

"You know, I never expected today to turn out like this," you admit, stealing a sideways glance at Lando. "But I'm glad it did. Especially if it means getting a personal tour from McLaren's charming star driver."

Lando beams at your words, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Consider yourself lucky, then. Not everyone gets the VIP treatment around here." He pauses for a moment before adding with a playful grin, "Although, I must confess, it's rather challenging to focus on giving a proper tour with you flashing that smile."

Your heart flutters at his words, but you play it cool with a playful roll of your eyes. "You need to work on your flirting skills, dude."

"But do they work?" Lando counters with a cheeky smile.

"Maybe. Keep trying, and who knows where it might lead."

"Ah, so you're admitting my charm has potential?" Lando shoots back, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I didn't say that," you reply with a smirk..

"Ouch, that hurts," Lando feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Here I am, giving you the grand tour, and you won't even give me credit for my rizz."

"Okay, okay, maybe just a little credit," you concede with a laugh, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But don't let it get to your head."

Lando grins. "Don't worry, I'll try to contain my ego."

As the tour comes to an end, you and Lando bid your goodbyes, thanking each other for the enjoyable time spent together. It's time for qualifying, and Lando is escorted towards his car by a member of his team. Just before he gets in, he looks back towards you with a faint smile. In that moment, his gaze locks with yours, and he freezes as a realization dawns upon him. The footsteps he had noticed earlier, weaving through the McLaren paddock, had a familiar pattern. They were from you.

He looks back to the path he took with you, and the marks on the floor as clear as day. They appear in front of his driver's room, in the small cafeteria where he took you to get the best coffee from the paddock (his words), and they follow you as you make your way to Oscar's side of the garage.

Lando's lips part slightly, as if he couldn't get enough air.

Before Lando could take a step towards you, his engineer's firm grip on his arm pulls him back. "Where are you going? Quali is about to start," his engineer reminds him, snapping him out of the mesmerizing realization.

Lando looks torn, torn between the exhilaration of discovering a potential connection he never noticed before and the responsibility of his racing career. He gives you one last longing look before reluctantly turning away, his mind buzzing with newfound thoughts and possibilities.

As he slides into the driver's seat and revs up the engine, he can't shake off the image of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and now, the footprints you left behind that seemed to lead straight to him. The engine roars to life, drowning out his racing thoughts as he steels himself for the high-stakes qualifying round ahead.

There were various theories floating around regarding why Lando secured the pole position. Some attributed it to an engine change, while others praised McLaren's performance on the specific circuit. But deep down, Lando knew that his main motivation was to finish everything quickly so he could talk to you.

He heard his engineer's voice in his ear through the radio, but he wasn't really paying attention. He knew he had interviews to do, photos to take, and a tire to sign, but as he stepped out of the car, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the girl he never knew existed.

After the whirlwind of interviews subsides and Lando returns to the bustling garage, his mind remains fixated on one thought: finding you. He navigates through the maze of mechanics and engineers, his determination unwavering.

Spotting Oscar amidst the commotion, Lando strides over, his expression a mix of eagerness and urgency. "Hey, Oscar," he calls out, drawing his friend's attention.

Oscar looks up from his conversation with a mechanic, a puzzled expression crossing his face at the intensity in Lando's gaze. "Hey, Lando. What's up?" he asks, curious yet cautious.

"I need to talk to your friend," Lando replies, his tone serious.

Oscar's confusion deepens, and a hint of protectiveness flickers in his eyes. "My friend? Why do you need to speak to her?" he inquires, his tone guarded.

Lando hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "I... I just need to ask her something," he says evasively, unwilling to divulge the true reason behind his urgency.

Oscar studies Lando intently, sensing there's more to the story than meets the eye. "Is everything okay?" he probes, his concern evident.

Lando shifts uncomfortably under Oscar's scrutiny, torn between his desire to find you and his reluctance to reveal too much. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assures, attempting to brush off Oscar's concern.

But Oscar isn't convinced, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Look, if you're going to involve my friend in something, I need to know what's going on," he insists firmly.

Lando sighs, realizing he can't keep dodging the question. "It's just... I met her earlier, and I... I need to talk to her," he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Oscar's expression softens as he recognizes the sincerity in Lando's words. He may be protective, but he also trusts his instincts when it comes to his friends. "Okay," he relents, nodding in understanding. "She's in my driver's room."

Before Lando can make his way there, Oscar grabs his arm, a serious expression etched on his face. "Look, I know we don't talk about this, but…" He hesitates momentarily. "I don't know if you have a soulmate, but she doesn't. And I don't want you giving her false hope, only to disappear the moment someone mentions what's on your arm, or whatever."

Lando offers a reassuring smile. "You're wrong."

"Listen, I don't care if your mark is on your arm or your ass, my point was-"

"It's not about that. It's about her not having a soulmate," Lando interjects.

Oscar's expression turns grave. "What do you mean?"

"Footsteps," Lando responds simply.

Oscar's frustration bubbles to the surface. "What's going on with both of you? First, you mention footsteps, then her." He glances at his teammate, who meets his gaze with a serene smile. In Lando's eyes, there's a glimmer of hope and relief that Oscar can't quite comprehend. Initially, he considers escorting both of his friends to the medical bay, puzzled by their strange behavior regarding footsteps that only they seem to perceive—

Footsteps that only they can see.

A sudden realization dawns upon Oscar, his eyes widening. "You two are soulmates."

"Hopefully," Lando murmurs. "I—I never thought I had one. No marks, no dreams, nothing. But this morning, I saw footsteps. And then we met, and I showed her around. We were side by side, so I didn't pay much attention. But before Qualifying, I noticed her walking toward your side of the garage, and there were footsteps leading there."

As the realization settles between them, Oscar reluctantly releases Lando's arm, allowing him to continue on his way. However, just as Lando begins to move away, Oscar calls out to him, his tone a mix of seriousness and jest.

"Lando, wait," Oscar says, his voice tinged with playful threat. "Soulmate or not, if you ever hurt my best friend, I'll make sure to crash into you in every single race."

Lando stops in his tracks, turning back to face Oscar with a wry smile. "Fair warning," he replies, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But I can assure you, if I ever did hurt her, I'd deserve every crash."

The Brit's heart races as he stands before the door, realizing he doesn't need to ask Oscar about the girl when the footsteps guide him straight to her. He wonders if he'd ever noticed those phantom imprints before, dismissing them as mere smudges or dirt. And in a fleeting moment of clarity, he wonders if those same invisible marks had led you to his door earlier, tracing a path he hadn't noticed until now.

As Lando hesitates outside the door, uncertainty gripping his thoughts, he contemplates his next move. Should he pace back and forth until you notice the traces on the floor? Or perhaps he should boldly declare their connection as soulmates upon entering? Before he can settle on a plan, the door swings open.

"Wow!" You exclaim, your initial fright giving way to laughter. "Okay, I probably deserved that. Second time's the charm, right?"

"Uhm," Lando's throat constricts, his words stumbling over each other. In his mind, this conversation had seemed much simpler. "Look, I—I need to ask you something. Do you… have a soulmate?"

Your gaze hardens, but it's not anger that flickers in your eyes, only a hint of sorrow. "We just met today," you confess, your tone tinged with vulnerability. Lando realizes it might be an invasive question; after all, some people prefer to keep such matters private. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean—" Lando fumbles, his nerves getting the best of him.

"It's alright, I understand," you say, crossing your arms with a sad smile. "You do?"

"I do," Lando confirms, gesturing subtly to the scattered footsteps that crisscross the room.

"Cool," you respond, your expression disoriented.

"No, wait, that's not what I meant." Lando's frustration mounts as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. Was this what it felt like to be stupid in love?

"It's okay, Lando, really," you reassure him gently. "I know some people like to have... fun before finding their soulmate. I won't judge you for that." Yet beneath your understanding tone, a pang of sadness lingers, the thought of forever being a mere diversion rather than a final destination.

"Listen," Lando interjects, laying his hands gently atop yours, a jolt of electricity coursing between them once more. "Earlier today, you saw those footsteps, didn't you?"

"Actually, yes," you reply, confusion clouding your features. Oscar had vehemently denied their existence, leaving you to question your own perception.

"Me too. I saw footsteps this morning. Then I noticed footsteps leading towards Oscar's garage," Lando reveals, his voice soft with emotion. He silently pleads for you not to notice the trembling in his hands. "And now, I see footsteps again. Emerging from the door and heading toward the couch. A circle of them, right in front of the television."

As Lando confides in you, his vulnerability palpable, you begin to piece it together. Your eyes widen in realization as you look around. Although you can't see the invisible footsteps he's describing, you can distinctly perceive a path, stretching from the door to where Lando stands before you.

"Every step leads me to you," he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours with unwavering intensity.

A tender smile graces your lips as you absorb Lando's words, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. "I never thought I had a soulmate," you confess softly, your voice tinged with wonder.

Lando's own smile mirrors yours, a mixture of affection and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Look at that, one thing that we already have in common," he replies, his tone gentle yet playful.

You share a moment of quiet understanding, the air thick with unspoken emotions swirling between you. It's a realization that defies logic yet feels undeniably right, as if the universe itself had conspired to bring you together. Well, it did, didn't it? Maybe you should apologize for all the times your cursed at it.

"And here we are," you say, a hint of awe coloring your words.

"Here we are," Lando echoes, his gaze never leaving yours.

A mischievous glint twinkles in your eyes as you playfully tease, "You know, when I suggested you keep trying to flirt with me, this wasn't exactly the outcome I had in mind."

Lando chuckles, his grin widening. "Well, lucky for me, there's no one I'd rather up my game with than you."

You laugh, feeling the tension ease between you as the playful banter continues. "Smooth talker," you tease, giving him a playful nudge.

"Just stating the truth," Lando replies, his tone lighthearted yet sincere. "Besides, you will have to deal with it for the rest of your life."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the playful façade giving way to a deeper connection between you. "I suppose you have a point," you concede with a smile, feeling yourself drawn even closer to him.

Lando's eyes light up with mischief as an idea sparks in his mind. "You know," he begins, a playful grin tugging at his lips, "I've spent my entire life thinking you didn't exist. I have a lot of making up to do."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his bold statement, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, intrigued by his playful demeanor. "Oh really?" you reply, a teasing glint in your eyes. "And just how do you plan on making it up to me?"

Lando's grin widens as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I was thinking we could start here. I can't really go out, but my hotel has an amazing restaraunt" he suggests, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "After that... Have you ever been to Monaco? Or Italy? Maybe after that, we could..."

You can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm, charmed by his playful spirit. "I say you're full of surprises, Lando Norris," you tease, interrupting him, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes. "But I like the way you think."

A bashful smile graces Lando's lips as he chuckles softly. "Great," he replies, his tone now tinged with a hint of shyness. "I've got a meeting to attend, but after that, how about we meet back here?"

"You'll know exactly where to find me."

As warmth floods through Lando's heart, a tender smile graces his lips. In that fleeting moment of realization, it dawns on him—he'll never doubt your existence again. Not when there's a trail of footsteps leading him straight back to you, a path he'll eagerly follow time and time again.

Lando Norris is a romantic at heart. The universe, in all its wisdom, understood that he deserved nothing less than the greatest of loves.

fun fact i actually hate this

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed. crossed names means i couldn't tag you) :: @saturnssunflower @sopheeg @minkyungseokie @alexander-hamilhoe @butterfly-lover @cool-ultra-nerd @tomriddleswhorecruxes @everbizzare @chonkybonky @styl1shl1v

[little-jana]

- 5 times you ask Hotch to touch you and the 1 time he asks to be held -

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Genre: fluff, some angst (not between them)

Warnings: case talk, injuries during a case, blood mentioned, insecurities, crying, needing comfort, kissing, happy ending

1. "Can you hold my hand?"

The first time you asked him to touch you, it felt like a lifeline — a fragile tether keeping you from falling into the darkness that had begun to creep in. You were both walking out of the interrogation room, the air still charged with the tension left behind. The unsub had been particularly vile, his words slicing through your defenses like a blade. You had held your composure in the room — you always did — but now, with the door closed and the weight of the case pressing on your chest, the cracks were starting to show.

You could still hear the unsub’s voice in your head, the way he had spoken about his victims as though they were nothing more than objects. Your hands trembled as you clenched them into fists, trying to push away the nausea rising in your throat.

Aaron walked beside you in silence, his presence calm and steady, as it always was. You envied his ability to compartmentalize, to walk away from horrors like this without letting them leave a mark. But as you glanced up at him, you caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders seemed just a little more rigid than usual. He felt it too — he just hid it better.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke through your thoughts, low and grounding.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, though your voice wavered.

He didn’t respond right away, his sharp eyes flicking down to your hands, which you had unconsciously begun rubbing together in a futile attempt to steady them.

“No,” he said quietly but firmly. “You’re not.”

Your instinct was to deny it again, to brush off his concern and pretend you had everything under control. But the words died in your throat as the tremors in your hands grew worse. Without thinking, you reached out toward him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can you hold my hand? Just… just for a second.”

He didn’t hesitate. His hand slid into yours, warm and solid, his fingers wrapping around yours with a strength that was both gentle and grounding. The world seemed to tilt back into place as his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a slow, reassuring motion.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his deep voice steady and unwavering. “I’ve got you.”

You stared at where your hands were joined, the contrast between your smaller, trembling fingers and his strong, steady grip. A lump formed in your throat, and you took a shaky breath, the trembling beginning to subside as the warmth of his hand anchored you.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t let go right away. His thumb continued its gentle path along your skin, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t rushing you, that he was there for as long as you needed.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice soft but firm, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket.

For the first time in a long time, you felt the truth of those words sink in. And for the first time, you let yourself believe him.

2. "Will you help me up?"

The chase had been brutal. It was the kind of pursuit that left no room for hesitation, no time to think beyond the thundering of your heart and the pounding of your boots against the forest floor. The unsub was fast, darting between the trees with the desperation of a cornered animal. You were faster, but the uneven terrain was unforgiving, and your focus was split between keeping your eyes on him and avoiding the roots and rocks scattered across the ground.

You didn’t see the root until it was too late. Your foot caught on it, and you went down hard, the impact jolting through your body as your ankle twisted beneath you.

“Damn it,” you hissed, trying to push yourself up. But when you shifted your weight onto your injured ankle, a sharp, searing pain shot through you, forcing you back onto the ground.

The sound of footsteps brought you back to the present, and you looked up to see Aaron sprinting toward you. His gun was drawn, his eyes scanning the trees even as he made a beeline for you.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as he dropped to his knees beside you, his voice calm but edged with urgency.

“It’s nothing,” you said through gritted teeth, waving him off. “I just need to get up—”

“Stop,” he said sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced you. He was already reaching for your ankle, his hands sure and gentle as he assessed the injury.

“It’s sprained,” he said after a moment, his brow furrowed. “You’re not walking on this.”

“I can manage,” you insisted, even as the pain made your vision blur. “Just help me up—”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Before you could protest further, he moved with a decisiveness that left you momentarily stunned. Sliding one arm under your knees and the other around your back, he lifted you off the ground as though you weighed nothing.

“Hotch—”

“Don’t argue,” he said, his tone softening just enough to take the sting out of his words. “You’re hurt, and I’m not letting you make it worse.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you realized how close you were to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for balance. His chest was solid beneath you, his heartbeat steady and strong, a grounding rhythm against the chaos of your own.

“I can walk,” you mumbled, though your voice lacked conviction.

“You don’t have to,” he said simply, his gaze fixed ahead as he carried you back toward the team.

The words hung between you, their weight sinking into your chest. For once, you didn’t argue. Instead, you allowed yourself to lean into him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder as his arms held you secure.

And for the first time, you felt what it meant to truly let someone else carry the weight for you.

3. "Can you hug me?"

The case had been devastating. Cases involving children were always the hardest, but this one had left a particularly deep scar. The unsub, a man who had systematically targeted families, had shown no remorse — if anything, he seemed to revel in the pain he caused. Even though the team had caught him, the damage was done. A family was gone, ripped apart, and no amount of justice would bring them back.

The jet ride back was suffocating. Everyone was quiet, the weight of the case pressing down on the cabin like a physical presence. You sat by the window, staring out at the night sky as the clouds blurred past. Your stomach churned, and your throat felt tight, but you held it together. You always did.

When the jet landed, you lingered behind as the others disembarked. The thought of going home to an empty apartment, sitting alone in the silence, was unbearable. You told yourself you just needed a moment to collect yourself, but the truth was you felt stuck, unable to move or breathe properly.

“Are you alright?” Aaron’s voice cut through the quiet, startling you.

You turned to see him standing near the doorway, his expression calm but his dark eyes watching you closely. You hadn’t realized he’d stayed behind too.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out without hesitation.

He didn’t move, didn’t look away. His silence stretched, unspoken but understanding, and suddenly you felt exposed. The walls you’d so carefully built over the years began to crack under the weight of his steady gaze.

“I’m just… tired,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brows drew together, concern flickering across his face. “Do you want me to stay?”

You shook your head quickly, embarrassed by the question and the vulnerability it implied. “No, I’m fine. I just need to—”

You stopped, the words catching in your throat as the ache in your chest grew unbearable. You looked down at your hands, clenching and unclenching them in your lap as you tried to find something to hold onto.

Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Can you hug me?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and raw. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid of what you might see.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, you heard the soft rustle of his jacket as he crossed the space between you.

“Come here,” he said gently, his voice low and steady.

You looked up, and before you could second-guess yourself, he was pulling you into his arms. His embrace was warm and firm, his hands resting on your back as he held you close. You buried your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

His hand moved in slow, soothing circles on your back, and the knot in your chest began to loosen. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the wetness on his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he held you tighter, as though he could physically hold you together while you fell apart.

For what felt like the first time in forever, you let yourself lean on someone else. And in his arms, the weight of the case, of everything, didn’t feel quite so crushing.

4. "Can you just stay with me?"

The motel room was small and unremarkable, its beige walls and faded floral bedspread screaming mediocrity. The case had taken its toll on everyone, and you could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your chest as you stepped out of the shower, toweling your hair dry. Your limbs were heavy, your mind foggy, but you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest — the remnants of a particularly brutal day on the job.

You’d seen it before: the aftermath of people’s worst moments. But this case was different. It had crept under your skin, latched onto your soul, and refused to let go. The faces of the victims lingered behind your closed eyes, and no matter how many deep breaths you took, you couldn’t shake the suffocating weight.

When a soft knock came at your door, you startled slightly, pulling the towel tighter around you before calling out, “One second!” You scrambled to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, padding barefoot across the cheap carpet to open the door.

Aaron stood on the other side, his presence grounding and commanding even in the dim light of the hallway. He looked as tired as you felt, his tie gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up. There was a faint crease between his brows, one you recognized as his default expression when something was troubling him.

“Hotch,” you said, surprised. “Is everything okay?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as though searching for something. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and careful.

“I saw your light was still on,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you.”

The words were simple, but the weight behind them wasn’t lost on you. He wasn’t just checking in as your boss or your team leader. This was personal — a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment of the fact that he could see the same weariness in you that he felt in himself.

You stepped aside, holding the door open. “Come in.”

He hesitated for only a second before stepping into the room, his presence filling the small space. He moved toward the lone chair by the window, sitting down with a quiet sigh as he leaned back, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“You don’t have to check on me, you know,” you said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m okay.”

He gave you a pointed look, one that said he didn’t believe you for a second. “You’re not okay,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Guess I’m not hiding it very well.”

“You’ve had a hard day,” he said. “We all have. It’s okay to not be okay.”

Something about the way he said it — so calm, so matter-of-fact — caused the knot in your chest to loosen ever so slightly. You looked down at your hands, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“I can’t stop seeing their faces,” you admitted quietly. “Every time I close my eyes… it’s just there. And it feels like no matter what we do, it’s never enough. We can’t save everyone.”

There was a long pause, and when you looked up, Aaron was watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“No,” he said softly. “We can’t save everyone. But we saved someone today. And that matters.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only brought the sting of tears closer to the surface. You swallowed hard, blinking quickly to keep them at bay.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “How you keep going, case after case, loss after loss.”

He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. “Because I have to,” he said simply. “Because if I stop, if I let it get to me… then it wins. And I can’t let that happen.”

There was a rawness to his voice that you rarely heard, a vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. It was a side of him that reminded you he wasn’t just your leader — he was human, just like the rest of you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence in the room was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight you both carried.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can you just stay with me?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and tentative. For a heartbeat, you thought he might say no, that he might retreat behind his walls and insist on maintaining the professional distance he was so careful to preserve.

But then he nodded, his eyes softening as he stood from the chair. “Of course,” he said quietly.

He crossed the room and sat down beside you on the bed, his presence warm and solid beside you. For a moment, you didn’t move, unsure of how to close the distance between you. But then his hand came to rest on your back, his touch gentle and reassuring, and the tension in your shoulders melted away.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His hand moved in slow, soothing circles against your back, and you felt yourself relax for the first time all day.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “I’m here. Always.”

The quiet conviction in his voice sent a warmth spreading through your chest, and for the first time that day, the suffocating weight began to lift.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, wrapped in his embrace. The minutes blurred together, the world outside fading into insignificance as you let yourself lean on him, let yourself draw strength from his presence.

And when you finally closed your eyes, the faces of the victims were no longer the first thing you saw. Instead, it was Aaron’s face, his quiet strength and unwavering support a balm to your weary soul.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but in that moment, you knew you weren’t alone. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

5. "Can you hold me?"

The house was silent now, eerily still in the aftermath of chaos. The team had already left, but you and Aaron remained behind to tie up loose ends — packing evidence, reviewing case notes, and ensuring the crime scene was left intact for the local authorities. The work was necessary, methodical, but it felt like moving through molasses. The weight of the case clung to you, thick and suffocating.

You stood in the unsub's living room, staring at the remnants of his twisted life. The photos on the walls, the personal items strewn across the floor, all told a story of pain and control. You’d seen scenes like this before, but tonight, it felt like too much. The air felt heavy, as though the walls themselves were pressing down on you.

Behind you, Aaron’s steady presence filled the room. You could hear the soft rustle of his coat as he moved closer, the faint creak of the floorboards under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel his gaze on you, warm and steady like the sun breaking through clouds.

“You should sit down,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though the tightness in your voice betrayed the lie.

Aaron stepped closer, his footsteps deliberate. “You’ve been standing there for ten minutes,” he pointed out, his tone carrying a gentle note of concern. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and your throat tightened. You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but the weight of everything — the victims, their families, the endless parade of darkness — pressed down on you like a tidal wave.

“I’m just tired,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tired of seeing all this pain, all this... evil. Sometimes it feels like no matter what we do, it’s never enough.”

Aaron didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped closer until he was standing right beside you. The warmth of his presence was grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“It’s not easy,” he said finally, his voice soft but steady. “But you’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone in this.”

The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. You turned to face him, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t feel strong right now,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I feel... lost.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as though trying to find the right words. Finally, he reached out, his hand brushing your arm in a gesture so gentle it made your chest ache.

“You’re not lost,” he said quietly. “You’re here. You’re standing. And that’s enough.”

The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, and you quickly swiped at them, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” he interrupted gently. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”

His words were a balm to your frayed nerves, and before you could second-guess yourself, you asked, “Can you hold me?” The words came out soft, almost hesitant, but they hung in the air between you like a plea.

For a moment, Aaron hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was Aaron Hotchner — measured, thoughtful, always careful with the boundaries he set. But then his expression shifted, and without a word, he stepped closer and opened his arms.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped into his embrace, your hands clutching the fabric of his jacket as his arms wrapped around you. The world seemed to fall away as he held you, his touch firm and steady, as though he was anchoring you to the earth.

His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and his hand moved in slow, soothing circles against your back. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble.

The floodgates opened then, and you let yourself cry. Not the quiet, restrained tears you’d been holding back, but the deep, gut-wrenching sobs that came from the core of your being. And through it all, Aaron didn’t let go. He held you as though his only purpose in that moment was to keep you from falling apart.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his breath warm against your hair. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, wrapped in his arms, but time seemed to lose all meaning. Slowly, the sobs began to subside, and your breathing evened out. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, but his hands remained on your arms, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, though this time your voice was steadier. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”

Aaron shook his head, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to apologize for being human,” he said firmly. “You carry so much, and sometimes it’s too much. That’s why we’re a team. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The warmth in his voice, the unshakable conviction in his words, made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with sadness. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave you a small nod, his hands still resting on your arms. “Anytime.”

The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. You wanted to tell him how much his support meant to you, how much he meant to you, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you leaned into his embrace once more, resting your head against his chest. He didn’t hesitate to hold you again, his arms wrapping around you like a shield against the darkness.

And in that moment, you felt lighter. Not because the weight of the world had disappeared, but because you weren’t carrying it alone anymore. Aaron was there, solid and steady, and as his heartbeat thrummed beneath your ear, you realized something important: with him by your side, you could face anything.

+1. "Can you hold me?"

It was late. The office was shrouded in shadows, the hum of the building’s air conditioning the only sound cutting through the silence. You’d expected the bullpen to be empty when you arrived, yet the faint glow spilling from Aaron’s office told you otherwise. You weren’t surprised — late nights like this had become the norm for him, his relentless dedication often bordering on self-punishment.

You pushed the door open softly, peeking inside to find him sitting at his desk. His jacket was slung over the back of his chair, his tie loosened, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Papers were scattered across his desk, though it was clear from the distant look in his eyes that he hadn’t been reading them. He was staring blankly at his hands, his brow furrowed, the weight of something heavy pressing down on him.

“Hotch,” you said gently, stepping inside.

His head snapped up, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looked exhausted — not just physically, but emotionally, the kind of weariness that ran bone-deep.

“You should go home,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, though it lacked the sharpness you were used to hearing from him.

“So should you,” you replied, stepping closer to his desk.

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the desk as his fingers traced aimless patterns on the surface. There was a vulnerability about him that you rarely saw, a crack in the unshakable armor he always wore.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, concern threading through your voice.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He seemed to wrestle with himself, his jaw tightening as though he were trying to force the words down. But then he looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Can you hold me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The vulnerability in his words hit you like a punch to the chest. Aaron Hotchner, the stoic, unshakable leader who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, was asking you for something so raw, so human.

You didn’t hesitate. Closing the distance between you, you reached out and pulled him into your arms. He came willingly, almost collapsing into you as his head dipped to rest against your shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his grip desperate, as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

For a long moment, neither of you said a word. You simply held him, your fingers threading gently through his hair as he buried his face against your neck. His breathing was uneven, the tension in his body radiating off him in waves.

“It’s okay,” you murmured softly, your lips brushing against his temple. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His hands tightened on your back, and you felt him exhale, a shuddering breath that seemed to carry with it the weight of everything he’d been holding in. You had always known Aaron carried more than he let on — the responsibility of the team, the guilt of the lives he couldn’t save, the endless burden of being the one everyone else relied on. But in this moment, he let himself lean on you, his walls crumbling in your arms.

“I don’t…” he began, his voice muffled against your shoulder. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his brow furrowed, his expression pained. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let someone else—”

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” you said, cutting him off gently. You brought a hand to his face, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Aaron. Let me help you. Let me be there for you.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into the safety of his walls. But then something shifted in his expression, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned into your touch.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Before you could respond, his hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. The intimacy of the gesture sent a warmth spreading through your chest, and you felt yourself leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

When you opened them, he was watching you with an intensity that stole your breath. His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to still.

“Aaron,” you whispered, his name barely audible.

He closed the distance between you in an instant, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender. His hands framed your face, his touch reverent as though he were afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as your heart pounded in your chest. There was no hesitation, no holding back — just the raw, unspoken emotion that had been building between you for so long finally spilling over.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together as the world slowly came back into focus. His hands remained on your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your skin as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said again, your voice soft but firm.

For the first time, you saw the tension in his face ease, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I know,” he said quietly.

And as he pulled you back into his arms, holding you tightly against him, you knew he meant it. For the first time, he was letting himself believe it too.

[toothfa-1-ry]

LOVE THEORY 101

Tw: dead dove do not eat,manipulating, gaslighting, torture (ig but not in details), just messed up af

Husband! Salesman x wife!reader

Your scared.

Terrified actually and yet you still plant a soft kiss on your husband's cheek before he goes of to work, like you always did every single day without fail

He bends down slightly for you to be comfortable, a smile gracing his handsome features which you observe as he breaks away, whispering you a soft "goodbye" before he walks out of your house

You notice the way his smile never really reaches his eye, the way it vanishes immediately the second he's not facing you but you know better to question him

He likes it when you obey him, nodding to his evey word silently, soaking up his instructions. He likes how you don't question him,

Atleast not anymore

No, he demands that you don't question him

To be really honest, you and your husband never really got married, even if you did who would show up?

By law, the both of you were wedded as a married couple, the both of you signed the marriage contract, followed by a gentle kiss and some not very gentle ones

In theory your husband was perfect

He was gentle, slowly guiding you whenever the both of you went out, his hand on your lower back or his hand gently resting on your hips

Gently brushing your hair back whenever it got in the way, making patterns on your skin while you layed in bed next to him

He was sweet, whenever people saw the both of you in public they would gush, sometimes faces painted with envy, sometimes faces painted with joy upon seeing such a pure love

Young highschool couples gazing at the both of you while the girl would excitedly whisper to her boyfriend, saying that was what she wanted them to be in the future

Or old couples approaching the both of you, telling the both of you to stay happy and to hold on to eachother, they swear that young people these days don't know how to love eachother but says that the both of you were proving then otherwise.

He was wealthy too, and he made no efforts of hiding the fact. Buying you whatever you said you wanted- no he bought you things that you didn't even say you want. Even the smallest thing you glanced at was soon in the mercy of your palms, the receipt thrown away promptly

He even bought you your dream house, the very one you dreamed of having when you were a teenager, your teenage scrapbook filled with pictures of celebrity houses or pictures of houses from magazines, next to the pictures a lengthy description of how the house would look like

He made sure whatever you owned was perfect. Too perfect infact, it made your skin shiver

He strived for perfection, he expected it too

He was handsome, so very handsome. The first time you saw him you were left speechless, the air inside the room leaving you gasping, his dark eyes, smootly combed back hair and his smile. Oh god the smile that was etched in his face

His face

You could never forget it even if you tried too

Your a good wife too, in theory, atleast you think. Your husband might argue and say that you were perfect.

Always waking up early to pack him his lunch, making him his morning cup of coffee just the way he liked it

No sugar, no milk, just pure pure, hot black liquid in his cream coloured cup which it contrasted against

Helping him wear his suit, a white plain shirt accompanied with a grey or dark blue blazer and pants, the usual colour he sported

You'd stand infront of him, inbetween his legs as you combed his hair back, gelled and slick. You knew how exactly he did his hair, how he liked it done

Never forgetting to bade him goodbye as he left for work, kissing him on his cheek, still wearing your apron, sometimes the kiss would linger for a second or two before you'd pull away

He likes that too

And when he comes back home, tired after a long day at work, you don't ask him what he does, you don't know the answer to it either but your smart enough not to mention it, you simply ask him how was his day with a smile on your lips

He'd simply grunt in return taking out his shoes while you'll swiftly help him with his blazer and shirt, before taking them away for washing

You always prepared dinner on time, the food layed ready on the table warm and toasty, all his favourite dishes lined up.

God, he loved it that you knew him so well, it made him go crazy, he simply glances at the table and back at you

You make him go crazy, he is crazy

After dinner he'd make love to you,

but that wasn't love, no love doesn't feel like that, you think

Infact it was closer to hate, desire, craving. It was closer to obsession, it was the farthest thing to love

But what would you know about love?

Only a person who loves you would take care of you the way your husband did. Only a person who loves you would take someone's as broken as you and marry that person, only he would tell you how much he loves you while your squirming and struggling against his touch when your pinned down by him

Only a person who loves you would spare your life

If this was what love truly felt like then you were terrified of it, but it was all you had left now

when your husband is away at work your left all alone at your house, you feel uncomfortable, fidgeting against the soft sofa

The accuracy sends a shiver down your spine while your eyes traced the corners of the walls, the exact colour, exact descriptions

This truly was the house of your dreams, living in it also felt like a dream except you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not

You turn on the washing machine, sorting out the different colours of clothes when your eye spies on a pile in the corner

You notice them as your husband's

You pick it up, your hands against the fabric, before you can stop yourself you take a sniff of it

Expensive perfume, a little bit of sweat and suddenly your taken back by a disgusting smell, you gagg, bile raising in your mouth as you turn away from the jacket, dropping it on the ground

You look down at your hands and there's an unmistakable red painting them

Blood

Something goes quiet inside you, you could only hear the soft rumble of the washing machine as you stared at your hand

You bend down, turning over the jacket as you held your breath, there it was, a bloodstained corner and something inside of you told you that it wasnt your husband's blood

You think, why didn't i notice this before? Why didn't I say anything to him before?

But you did. You did notice it. You notice the bloodstains he brought home everyday after he comes back from work but every day you don't say anything and the next day when your washing his clothes you ask yourself why you didn't notice it, why you didn't question him

You gaslight yourself into feeling better about yourself, you are better than him aren't you? Your not like him, your a good person.

You are

You are a good person, so why were you forcing yourself to believe it

Little do you know, After you wash his clothes, scrubbing and scrubbing the bloodstain away with your own hands cause the machine doesn't do it justice

After you iron it, and fold it, keeping it neatly, your husband would throw it away, all with a gleam in his eyes

He doesn't wear clothes tainted by other people, but he finds it amusing, how you, his sweet wife would not say anything to him about it

How you would mumble to yourself, gaslighting yourself into ignoring everything, telling yourself whatever it is you mutter to yourself to make you feel better about yourself, your moral compass and your ethic judgement

He knows he has ruined it all, he has ruined you, but seeing you cling on such a belief that your still pure, fuck that turns him on so much

Every day he pushes you, he pushes the last bit of humanity out of you and it works. He sees the way you choose to ignore how messed up he is, he sees you justifying yourself for staying with him

It makes him so happy, you make him so happy

And so he gives you whatever you want, anything you so far glance at. He can afford it, his dirty money, the one stained in his victims blood can afford it atleast

He makes sure everything is to your liking, your house, your apartment, he knows every single thing about you, it makes goosebumps appear in his skin, he has so much power and information over you

He knows you think he's handsome, don't think he didn't see your face when you first saw him.

The way your eyes widened and your chest rose, the air inside the room stripping away in a mili second

He shot your friends right infront of you, I guess they were you friends atleast

Your eyes filled with tears while you tried to look away, his hands tightly gripping yours, pulling your closer to him, him and the gun in his other hand

He leaves you gasping, groaning, screaming, it makes him want to hear it even more

Your eyes search for any amount of pity or guilt in his dark eyes, but it's pitch black dark, the white surrounding his eyes contrasting against his iris

His hair, which was smoothly slicked back was now slightly messy and frayed, few of his strands sticking out, covering his forehead which was scrunched with excitement, completly enthralled while yours was filled with terror

He coos at you, poking the gun inside your mouth, telling you that the odds of you living are 1 to 6, changing the entire trajectory of the game

He tells you russian roulette is more fun when played this way

He pulls the trigger, you wince, shutting your eyes tightly, i want to live please, you think- no you beg

A shot comes out, you feel smoke in your mouth but your still alive, your heart beat still beating swiftly, your head throbbing, your tears cascading down your face but your still alive

"The chances of your survival was 1 to 6, you getting your head blown to bits was 5 to 6" he says, the gun lingers at the tip of your lips before it slowly exits your mouth and thats when you see it

The most scariest thing you've ever seen in your life, more scarier than your friends getting shot infront of your eyes, more scarier than the gun, more scarier than the dark look in his eyes when he shoved the gun in your mouth

The man infront of you smiles, his lips stretch and widen, there's a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before but that seems more dangerous to you, more horrifying than staring at his soulless black eyes

"You survived" he murmured, his voice beyond a whisper but you could still hear the excitement dripping down every syllable "good job"

He kisses you, you don't expect it to be so soft and tender, your hands are still behind your back, you thrash against his touch

"You beat all the odds" he murmured

Just like him

You beat all the odds, his precious sweet wife

Another reason why he likes you, your husband recollects while entering the house after a long day at work

And now, your welcoming the man who killed all your friends, who almost killed you with so much tenderness in your voice

Your broken

He likes the fact that it was because of him

He smiles when you help him remove his jacket, leading him into the dining room, he holds your hand, pressing his body against yours

"Sweetheart" he touches your lips and you freeze. You've seen that smile before

"let's play a game"