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happy74827 · 8 months ago

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A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

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mellowmusings · 1 month ago

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Pretty Princesses | fluff

Azriel x reader A/N- thank you so much for a 100 followers love you all so much, this is the best birthday present ever <33 also my requests are open for a 100 followers celebration so ask away and let me know if you wanna be tagged also i stole inspo from the rocks video Warnings- none just a lot of fluff

Azriel was a force of nature. A warrior whose name sent shivers through the spines of enemies and allies alike. The darkness clung to him, not as a curse, but as an extension of his very being. His mastery over the shadows was unparalleled, his blades quicker than the eye could track. No one controlled him, no one commanded him—except perhaps Rhysand, but even then, it was a tenuous thing, a bond of trust rather than obedience.

There wasn’t a battlefield he hadn’t conquered, a war he hadn’t outlived. The mere mention of his name was enough to strike fear into the hearts of those who opposed him. He was lethal, ruthless, a whisper of death carried on the wind. But time, it seemed, was the one thing even the great Shadowsinger could not fight.

Three Centuries Later

The once-feared warrior now sat cross-legged on a plush rug in the middle of his home, his usually sharp, scarred hands now adorned with glittery rings and sticky, colorful paint. His daughters, twin toddling whirlwinds of mischief and delight, were giggling as they draped him in layers of fabric, a tiara slightly too small perched atop his head.

“Papa, you have to drink your tea,” the older of the two, barely three years old, declared with all the authority of a queen addressing her court. She held out a tiny teacup filled with absolutely nothing, but her golden-brown eyes—so much like her mother’s—shimmered with expectation.

Azriel, the mighty warrior, the deadly Shadowsinger, lifted the cup delicately between his fingers, took an exaggerated sip, and sighed as if it were the finest wine in all of Prythian. “Exquisite, my lady,” he said gravely, bowing his head slightly. “A most delightful brew.”

The younger one, barely two and still unsteady on her chubby feet, clapped her hands in delight. “More tea, Papa!” she insisted, lifting her own cup towards him. A tiny stuffed bear sat in her lap, watching with button-eyed approval.

From the doorway, you watched it all unfold, barely holding back laughter. Your husband—your terrifying, untouchable, deadly husband—was currently covered in pink and purple scarves, fake pearls draped around his neck, and a large butterfly sticker plastered to his forehead. And yet, he looked more content than you had ever seen him.

Azriel caught your eye, his shadows curling lazily around him, brushing against his daughters like affectionate pets. There was warmth in his gaze, a depth of love that no one else had ever been privy to.

“You dare laugh at a princess?” he rumbled, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

You grinned, stepping into the room. “Not at a princess,” you corrected, moving to press a kiss to his cheek. “Just at my husband, the prettiest warrior in all of Prythian.”

Your daughters squealed with glee at the declaration, their little hands eagerly adding more adornments to their father’s unwilling but unresisting form. Azriel simply sighed, resigned, and let them.

The feared Shadowsinger, tamer of shadows, wielder of truth and steel, had been utterly and completely conquered by two tiny, giggling girls.

“Papa, you need more sparkles!” your eldest announced, furrowing her tiny brows in concentration as she grabbed a small container of shimmery powder from her collection of “makeup.”

Azriel arched a brow, but he did not protest as she dusted his cheeks with the glitter. Instead, he feigned a dramatic gasp, touching his face. “I feel positively radiant,” he declared, making both girls shriek with laughter.

The younger one, now sitting snugly in his lap, reached up with her tiny fingers and patted his cheek. “Pretty Papa,” she murmured approvingly.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore, stepping forward and taking a seat beside him. “I think they’ve truly transformed you,” you mused, reaching up to gently adjust his tiara. “The mighty Shadowsinger, reduced to a glittering spectacle.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, leaning in slightly as you ran your fingers through his dark hair. “And yet, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Your heart swelled at his words, at the sheer adoration in his voice as he looked at his daughters. These two little girls had him wrapped around their fingers, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Papa, we have one more thing,” your eldest declared, grabbing something from her toy chest. She and her sister exchanged a mischievous look before presenting it with a flourish—a pair of delicate, pastel wings meant for playing dress-up.

Azriel blinked, glancing at the small, feathery appendages. “You wish to give me wings?” he asked, amusement dancing in his voice.

The younger one nodded eagerly. “Pretty wings, like Mama’s!”

You stifled a laugh as you saw the seriousness in their eyes, their tiny hands already fastening the wings to his back. And just like that, the mighty warrior who had once been feared across battlefields now sat, utterly regal, in a tiara, scarves, glitter, and a pair of tiny, pastel fairy wings.

Azriel sighed dramatically. “I have been defeated.”

Your daughters cheered, climbing into his lap to hug him, their tiny arms wrapping around their “pretty princess” of a father.

You simply smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I think you’ve won, actually.”

And as Azriel sat there, holding his daughters close, his shadows curling around all three of you, he knew without a doubt—you were right. @anarchiii @darkbloodsly @sunnyspycat @er1023 @clementine111002 @buubblles @onebadassunicorn @donnadiddadog @ren-ni @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @tele86 @sillyfreakfanparty @sopheeg @secretlyhers @isa1b2h3 @readinshadows @thesunloveschips @generalmoonpolice @kathren1sky-blog @willowpains @theravenpheonix26

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guacbuac · 1 month ago

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talked about this in the car with oomfs… rusty my fav butch lesbian

#starlight express #rusty the steam engine #shitpost #tbh i would have preferred rusty being gender swapped over greaseball…#bad opinion probably sorry #i still like fem greaseball promise but… idk imagine!!!#stex

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qu1cks1lversb1tch · 4 months ago

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☆ Silver's Sinful Sunday ☆

Week Four: Azriel

Warnings: 18+ [MDNI], enemies with benefits (mates), fem reader, choking, p in v, reader is kinda a brat, dominant Azriel, no use of Y/N, pet names, slight angst at the end, it's my writing — that's a warning within itself (cringe), all actions are with consent ofc

A/N— Week four was originally Vox (Hazbin Hotel). Refer to this post for the reason why it's not. Azriel was intended to be week five, but he's been moved to week four. The style for this one is also a little different than the others. . . Oopsies. . . Your honor, they're actually in love with each other but they're idiots. . .

Word Count: 2.8K

“Let me in.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine despite the massive argument the two of you had been in less than an hour ago. It was over something so petty that you didn't even remember what it was about, but you were still heated over it.

The anger simmered just beneath the surface, a feeling only he could evoke. It both drove you wild and pissed you off at the exact same time.

“I know you're in there. Let me in.”

After every argument, Azriel found his way to your door. After every argument, it always ended the same way. There were never apologies. Apologies didn't exist between the two of you. The thought of one alone was highly amusing.

You reached the door with a scowl, twisting the brassy colored knob in your firm grasp. The door swung open, revealing the very male you knew it'd be.

His gaze roamed unabashedly over your form. From your hair to the silken midnight blue nightgown that hugged your curves in all the right places, all the way to the soft glow of your skin in the warm light of your bedroom.

“What?” You hissed, eyes narrowing.

He hummed approvingly, noting how you were still heated from the argument. “Are you going to let me in, or just glare at me?” His voice was deep and raspy, telling you everything you needed to know. The reason why he'd come, just like the other times.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, turning on your heel to return to your vanity. The door was left wide open; Azriel stepped in, shutting and locking the door behind him, watching closely as you walked away from him.

“Do you have any idea how mad you made me out there?” Azriel asked as he walked towards you, his steps quick, but quiet. His body moved with ease, like a prowling animal, every muscle rippling with every step.

“You started it. You pissed me off.” You sharply bit back, stopping in front of the mirror to take off the last remnants of the lipstick that Mor had wanted you to try because she thought it would look good on you. She was right, as usual.

He came up behind you, his large frame towering over you in the mirror. Azriel's hands landed on your hips, pinning you against the vanity in front of you. His hard chest pressed against your back, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear. “I may have started it, but you don't know when to shut your little mouth.”

"I thought you liked my mouth wide open." You snapped with a small, barely noticeable rumble of a growl, glaring at him in the mirror as he pressed against you.

He chuckled and he slid his large hand up your body, gently wrapping his fingers around your throat, his hand almost covering your entire neck.

"I do. But I also like it when you're a good little princess and shut up and listen. I like it when you're good for me." He moved his other hand, letting it run over your thigh.

He moved his lips over your neck, letting his tongue trail over your sensitive skin, feeling your pulse in his hand. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before you open that pretty mouth of yours to say something you'll know will piss me off, hm?"

His hand on your thigh moved higher, letting his hand slide under the fabric of your nightgown, running his hand over the smooth skin of your hip.

“Don't act like you don't fucking love it.” You growled, fighting the urge to react to his touch. He didn't deserve to see you melt into his touch. Ha. No.

A dark chuckle fell from his lips, his breath warm on your skin. “You're right. It makes it more fun when I shut you up. . . I like it when you can't hide how much you want me.” His teeth grazed your neck.

“Go fuck yourself.”

A low chuckle came from him again, he didn't expect anything different from you. You were stubborn and defiant. But he liked it, loved it even. You were the only one who dared to talk back to him, to fight and argue with him. It drove him crazy.

"Such a filthy little mouth." His hand fell from your throat and he spun you around to face him, lifting you up, sitting you on the vanity and standing in between your thighs.

His hands ran up your thighs, his hands disappearing under the fabric of your nightgown, gripping your hips and tugging you closer against his front. He moved his lips to your ear again, his chest now pressed up against yours as his breathing quickened.

"You know, for someone who was so angry a moment ago, you seem to be enjoying my touch now. Your breathing, the way your heart is racing, the way your legs are opened wide for me.”

You growled at the clear smugness in his tone, your eyes narrowing into a glare once the brief shock from his quick movements wore away.

"You know, your little growl sounds more like a moan to me, love." He grabbed your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he stepped forward, pressing his hips against yours so you could feel how hard he already was. His mouth moved down your neck again, gently nipping and sucking your skin.

"You can stay defiant, but your body is telling a different story.”

Your slender fingers gripped the collar of his clothes and forced him to look at you as your legs locked around his waist, pulling him closer. "Stop. Playing. Games. Azriel." You snarled.

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him as he stared down at you with his darkened gaze. He leaned close, his lips hovering just inches away from yours. "Why don't you just admit you want me, princess?”

"Maybe I should just go ask Cassian if he'd want to —”

The moment you mention Cassian's name, something snapped inside of him. His grip on you tightened, and he let out a low possessive growl. His hand slid up, wrapping around your neck. "Not. A. Chance. He's not allowed anywhere near you, do you understand me?”

"It seems I've struck a nerve." You spat, a dark grin spreading across your face as you stared up at him.

He let out a low growl, his grip on your throat tightening a bit more. "Cassian won't be able to give you what you need, sweetheart. I know how much you want me right now, and deep down, you know you can't deny it. You're mine."

His hips ground against yours, making you feel the further evidence of how much he wanted you. "You're mine, princess. Say it.”

“Choke.” You muttered darkly.

His hand tightened around your throat, constricting it in a way that had you releasing a soft moan despite the glare set on your face.

He chuckled again, watching that expression on your face. "I can tell how much you want this." His voice was low and gravelly against your ear. His hips continued to grind against yours, putting just the right amount of pressure where you wanted it.

You groaned, which turned into an almost embarrassingly needy moan very quickly. You glared harder, hating the way he reduced you to a writhing mess so easily. . . Knowing what was imminent, you reached down and began unlacing his pants at a tantalizing slow pace.

The fabric came loose in your grasp and he immediately shed them, along with his underwear, tossing them somewhere in the room before he slid a hand back under the hem of your nightgown, expecting to meet the lace fabric of your panties. He let out a low growl when, instead of fabric, his hand immediately met your slick folds.

You gasped softly as he ran a finger through them before gently thrusting two fingers into you, while his thumb rubbed gently on your clit, his other hand finding its way back to your throat as if it was magnetic.

He moved his hand in a steady rhythm, listening to the sweet sounds you tried and failed to stifle.

“You're so desperate for me, aren't you? You need me, don't you?”

You could only moan softly as his fingers curled deliciously within you.

“Say it. Say you need me. Say you're mine.”

"Yours." You gasped out a moan. "I'm all yours — GODS, I need you, Az. . ."

He loved hearing those words from you, loved hearing you admit how much you needed him. . . Loved seeing you completely surrendering yourself to him. "Good girl. That's it, princess. I'm the only one who can make you feel like this.”

He dipped his head down, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin on your neck, as his hand continued to move in that steady rhythm between your thighs. "You're all mine, princess. No one else gets to touch you, to make you needy and desperate for release like this. Say it. Tell me you're mine.”

"I'm yours." You moaned, your hips bucking slightly, seeking more friction than what he was giving you.

You hated how in control he was.

You hated the way his fingers alone made the heat within you build, threatening to snap.

You hated the way you didn't really hate any of it.

He grinned as he continued to leave marks on your neck, moving down to your chest. "Louder, princess. I want you to say it, louder. I want you to admit how much you need me." His hand between your legs moved faster, applying more pressure, knowing it will drive you crazy.

You let out a loud, needy moan. "Need you so bad, Az. . . So bad. . . Please. . !" You gasped.

You needed him. You hated how much you needed him, but at the end of the day, the two of you were mates, destined to be, and maybe, just maybe, the harsh words exchanged could turn into soft, reassuring words. . . Unlikely, but possible. . . Maybe.

"Good girl. That's it, princess. I like it when you're needy like this. I love knowing that you're all mine. I love hearing you begging for me." He says against your chest, his mouth moving down to one of your sensitive mounds. He continued to suck and lick, his hand between your legs still moving steadily, but he could feel how eager you were, how impatient you were getting. "Be a good girl for me, princess. Tell me what you want. You need to ask for it.”

“Fuck me, Az. . . Please. . .”

He chuckled, a low, possessive growl coming from his chest. There was an intense look on his face as he slowly moved his hands away from their placements — stealing his fingers away from your core before you could come around them — gently grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward off the vanity. With ease, he pushed you up against the wall next to the mirror, pressing himself against you.

He moved his hips forward, letting you feel how hard you made him, letting you feel how much he'd been wanting you. "I'm going to make you remember who you belong to. Who you've always belonged to." He looked into your eyes, his expression full of desire and possession, a hint of a smirk on his face.

You glared slightly but gasped softly as he pressed forward, entering you inch by inch.

He let his mouth roam over your neck again, moving down to the top of your chest, gently nipping and sucking on the skin, leaving marks that would be visible in the morning. His hands stayed firmly on your hips, keeping you in place as he slowly moved in and out of you.

"You're mine, princess. You're mine, not only in this room, but out there too. Everyone needs to know who you belong to.”

"Fuck you." You ground out, fighting back a moan at how he was making you feel. But the moan spilled out anyway.

He grinned against your skin, knowing he was getting to you. "That's it, princess. You can try and be defiant, but you'll eventually break. You'll break for me, like you always do. That mouth of yours is always going to end up wide open, just for me, whether you admit it or not." He moved his head up, looking into your eyes, his intense stare holding you captive.

You moaned as he hit a certain spot before growling and capturing his lips in a fiery, lustful kiss. It was new territory, but something within you told you to do it. . . Perhaps it was that taunting golden string tethering your souls together. . . Or maybe you just wanted him to shut the fuck up.

He quickly took control of the kiss, pushing your head up against the wall as he dominated you. His hips moved harder and faster against yours, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the room, combining with the sound of your and his moans.

"You're mine, princess. No one else can make you feel like this.”

You knew without a doubt in your mind that he was right. No one could. No one would.

He couldn't take his eyes off of you, watching your face twist into ecstasy and pleasure, hearing your moans and sounds fill the room. He loved how shamelessly you gave yourself over to him, how you couldn't fight it, no matter how much you'd tried before. He loved how you were his.

He moved his hands from your hips, one gripping your neck again, his fingers lightly closing around your throat, the other moving to your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip, giving him a deeper angle to work with.

Your eyes rolled back as you moaned louder. Gods, he knew your body far too well. Your desires. Just the right way to push your buttons — just the right angle to thrust mercilessly into you.

He loved the sound of your moans, the way your body was responding to him, the way your eyes rolled back when he pushed you right to the edge. He knew you better than anyone else, and he loved that he had this power over you, that you willingly gave into that power, even if you didn't like it a few minutes ago. He knew you needed this, just as much as he needed you.

He leaned forward, whispering against your ear, his voice low and gruff. "You're mine... say it. I want to hear you say it, princess.”

"Shut up." You moaned out with a slight groan.

He chuckled against your skin. You could always try to resist him, but you'd never be able to win. He loved how stubborn you were, but he also loved being able to take that stubbornness away from you, to make you completely surrender to him.

"You just can't help defying me, can you, princess? But then again, I know exactly how to set you straight, don't I?" He tightened the grip around your neck, his fingers pressing against your pulse point, knowing how wild it would make you.

"Fuck — I'm yours." You moaned pathetically. "I fucking hate you, but I'm yours. . .”

"That's right, princess. You're mine. Now, and always. You can hate me and fight me all you want, but deep down, you know that you belong with me..” He continued to move against you, faster and harder, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

He moved his hand down, his thumb gently tracing slow circles against your clit, adding even more sensation and pleasure.

You knew he could tell you were close. He always could. The way your breath caught. The way you subtly met his thrusts. The way you clenched around him so sinfully and your eyes fluttered closed.

"Give in, princess. Let yourself go. Let yourself feel all of this.”

Then pleasure crashed into you as the steadily growing, hot coil snapped and you fell over the edge right into an orgasm, your breathing heavy as you slowly began coming down from the high.

Seeing you completely lose yourself sent him over the edge, his release intense and powerful, his body going taut as he let himself go inside you, his forehead falling against yours as he leaned against you, trying to catch his breath.

He took a few moments to regain his bearings, his body still pressed up against yours as his hands gently held your hips, still holding you in place.

There was some part of you that wanted to ask him to stay, but as he slowly separated the two of you, setting your feet back on the smooth hardwood floor with shaky legs, before going to locate his clothes that he had hastily discarded in the heat of the moment, you knew this was how it was.

He dressed, sparing a quick glance back at you before leaving your room. Wordlessly. Leaving you with his cum slowly spilling out of you. . . You also knew that you'd have to start another argument with him tomorrow. . . Just so you could have him close again.

Because even you knew that you didn't truly hate him.

#☆ silver's sinful sunday ☆#azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel acotar x reader #azriel x reader acotar #azriel x reader smut #azriel x female!reader #azriel smut #x reader #fem reader #Reader x Azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames

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unknown-art-room1 · 3 months ago

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I found this on Pinterest and... Should I draw this? But with male and female Greaseball?

Update, I got a lot of people wanting this so I did it. I'm gonna try to attach a link here for anyone who see this to find the finished piece who hasn't.

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ellieabbyy · 6 months ago

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“Endure and survive.”

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deansbeer · 2 days ago

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between constellations ྀི ・ BABY!CLARK KENT. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ library

୨୧ synopsis. you love space, stars, and galaxies—so much that you barely notice when clark catches you mid-fall, utterly unfazed.

୨୧ word count. 1296

୨୧ kari notes. it was time i did my part and share this little with yall for me and bree's baby <3 we love her and her quirks oh so much :') her in roller skates with stars on it was just too cute of a detail not to add !!! i also did some light research to make sure that the astronomy in this was accurate (???) so i'm sorry in advance to all the astronomy girlies, if any of this is incorrect <3

the world outside your window is quiet, wrapped in the deep indigo of night. the only sounds are the faint rustling of leaves in the cool summer breeze and the occasional chirp of crickets hidden in the grass. the air smells of late august—warm earth, freshly cut wheat from the nearby fields, and the lingering scent of your mother’s lavender-scented laundry detergent clinging to your pajamas.

you’re tucked beneath a soft quilt, propped up by a collection of pillows, your small hands gripping the edges of your favorite teddy bear as your mother’s voice carries through the dim glow of your bedside lamp.

her tone is warm, gentle, like the softest whisper of the wind through the corn stalks outside. she reads with practiced ease, her voice rising and falling in a familiar rhythm as she turns the page of A JOURNEY THROUGH THE STARS—one of your most treasured books. the worn edges and slightly creased corners are proof of how many times you’ve begged her to read it to you.

you already know everything about the words printed on these pages. you could recite them in your sleep, and yet, you still hang onto every sentence as if it’s the first time you’ve ever heard them.

“and so, the stars were born,” your mother reads, her voice soft and full of wonder, “burning bright in the endless fabric of space, their light traveling for millions of years before reaching us here on earth.”

your lips curl into a small smile, your heart swelling with something warm and familiar.

stars. light. space.

your entire world.

she reaches the end of the chapter and closes the book gently, smoothing a hand over your hair before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“alright, starlight,” she murmurs, her voice laced with affection, using the nickname clark had given you. “time for bed. sweet dreams, my love.”

you blink up at her, already feeling the weight of sleep tugging at your eyelids. or at least, that’s what you want her to think.

“goodnight, mama,” you whisper, your voice small and warm with feigned drowsiness.

she lingers for a moment, brushing a few stray hairs from your face before finally standing. with a soft sigh, she turns toward the door, her footsteps quiet against the wooden floor.

you listen carefully, waiting, your breath caught in your chest as she moves down the hall.

and then—silence.

you wait a little longer, just to be sure.

when you’re certain she’s far enough away, you let out a tiny sigh of relief and reach under your pillow, fingers closing around the cool, smooth cover of your newest treasure.

THE WONDERS OF THE UNIVERSE.

even the title makes your chest flutter with excitement.

you sit up slowly, careful not to make a sound, and prop the heavy book open on your lap. the dim glow of your bedside lamp isn’t enough to properly read by, so you do what you always do—what you can do ever since you discovered the strange, shimmering power that now lives inside you.

you reach out a tiny hand, palm open, and let the light bend and shimmer at your fingertips.

a soft, golden glow spills across the pages, specks of light swirling like tiny fireflies in the air. it’s warm, comforting, and familiar—your own little piece of the cosmos resting in the space between your fingers.

your breath catches as the soft glow illuminates the first page, revealing a breathtaking illustration of a spiral galaxy.

“the andromeda galaxy,” you whisper, your fingers tracing the delicate swirls of stardust.

your eyes are wide, drinking in the beauty of it. the way the light from a billion stars twines together, stretching across the vast expanse of space. you read the tiny caption beneath the image, your lips barely moving as you murmur the words aloud.

“the nearest galaxy to the milky way, only 2.5 million light-years away.”

your little heart thumps with excitement.

only 2.5 million light-years.

to anyone else, that number would seem impossibly large, an unfathomable distance. but to you, it’s close—so close, you almost feel like you could reach up and touch it.

you flip to the next page, then the next. nebula, galaxies, exploding stars—an entire universe alive within the pages of your book.

you don’t even notice how late it is. you don’t realize how heavy your eyelids have grown until the book starts to slip from your grasp.

you blink sluggishly, forcing yourself to stay awake, but the warmth of your blankets, the soft hum of your powers, and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat lull you into submission.

with a reluctant sigh, you close the book, tucking it safely back under your pillow before settling under your blankets.

your eyelids droop, the golden glow at your fingertips dimming.

and as sleep finally pulls you under, you dream of galaxies dancing in the sky.

the next morning, the air is crisp, the scent of damp earth and fresh-cut grass filling your lungs as you step outside. the sun is still low in the sky, painting the world in soft hues of gold and pink.

you tug on your backpack straps, your roller skates gliding smoothly over the pavement, the tiny stars on them shimmering in the early morning light.

beside you, clark walks with easy strides, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he’s always been taller than you, always had that steady presence that makes you feel like nothing in the world could ever really go wrong.

you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your book clutched tightly in your hands as you flip through the pages, barely paying attention to where you’re going.

“clark!” you spin toward him, nearly shoving the book in his face. “this is the andromeda galaxy! it’s the closest galaxy to the milky way—our galaxy—at 2.5 million light-years away! can you believe that?! it’s basically our next-door neighbor in space!”

clark blinks at you, his lips twitching into an amused smile. “that’s… really far away, starlight.”

“not in space terms!” you insist, flipping the page dramatically. “and look! look at this one! the whirlpool galaxy—it has a companion galaxy that it’s pulling in with its gravity! isn’t that awesome?”

you’re so caught up in your excitement, in the sheer wonder of it all, that you don’t notice the rock in your path.

your skate catches.

the world tilts.

but before you even have time to process the fact that you’re falling, a pair of hands grabs you, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

your book wobbles in your grip, but you barely even falter, immediately turning back to clark with wide, starlit eyes.

“and this one!” you continue, flipping to another page without missing a beat. “the sombrero galaxy! it’s got this really cool dust lane and a super bright nucleus—”

“wait—hold on—” clark interrupts, brows furrowing. “you almost just ate dirt a second ago. are you okay?”

you blink up at him like you don’t understand why he’s even asking.

“yeah?” you answer easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “why wouldn’t i be?”

he stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head with a laugh, letting go of your arms.

“you are so weird, starlight.”

you just grin, a front tooth of yours missing, unbothered, flipping to another page.

“okay, but listen to this—did you know there’s a planet made entirely of diamonds?!”

clark sighs, but there’s fondness in his voice when he says, “of course there is.”

and just like that, you’re back to rambling, your skates rolling smoothly over the pavement as clark walks beside you, listening to your endless fascination with the stars.

he thinks you shine brighter than any galaxy ever could.

៸៸៸ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @honeyryewhiskey@ultravi0lence14 @abox-of-rocks @deanswidow @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @beausling @stereotypicalbarbie @bejeweledinterludes @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @sunsbaby @jjmbbg @freeluigihesbae @unfortunate-brat @a-lil-pr1ncess @starzify @notsocoqquete1 @deerlysacred @severe-mental-illness

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urlocal-cryptid7 · 2 months ago

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This fucking lesbian train is ruining my life

#why am I cursed to be in niche musical fandoms #I’m talking to you the 25 Dinah x female greaseball fics on ao3 #this stupid ass train musical is taking over my live #starlight express greaseball #starlight express revival #starlight express london 2024 #starlight express 2024 #stex london 2024 #stex revival #female greaseball #fem greaseball #I want her so bad

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bldhrry · 7 months ago

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The Brute and The Scholar

Cassian x Fem!Reader {Ongoing} Summary: Graduating at the top of your class from Velaris University with a degree in Diplomacy, you land a job at the Night Court dealing with the aftermath of the Second Hybern War. Tasked with assisting in the rebuilding of the Autumn and Spring Court alongside Cassian, a newly promoted Emissary who is horrible at his job, you and Cassian must handle political rivalries and tensions while also navigating your own strikingly different personalities and work ethic.

warnings: ptsd, cursing, blood, violence, smut (18+ minors dni), alcohol, the rest TBD

Everything Has Changed

State of Grace

Untouchable

I Wish You Would

Treacherous

Sparks Fly

Delicate

You Are In Love

Midnight Rain

The Story of Us

imgonnagetyouback

Untouchable

#cassian fanfiction #cassian fanfic #cassian x reader #cassian x fem reader #cassian x female!reader #cassian x female reader #acotar #acosf #acofas #acomaf #acowar #c writes!#a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin

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cameronmitchelljohn · 7 months ago

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people hate on the london production of starlight express but i see colourful gay trains and im happy

#i love the london production #its not a matter of if.... its a matter of when.#forrrrr hydrogennnn #it was so funny seeing people hate on fem greaseball and now you dont hear ANYONE insulting her . al knott is just too good #starlight express #stex #stex revival

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m1dgemodge · 2 months ago

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What time is it? It’s race time!!!

More doodles!! I LOVE STEX RGEGAGAGEGE

I also tried stylising the passenger cars!!! Tassita is the biggest cutie ever omg ily Tassita!!!!

#artists on tumblr #art #c.b stex #stex #stex london 2024 #stex revival #stex fanart #stex 2024 #stex greaseball #i prefer fem greaseball #greaseball the diesel #pearl the observation car #dinah starlight express #belle the sleeping car #tassita the quiet car #electra the electric engine #rocky 1 #rocky 2 #rocky 3

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gutsofgold · 6 months ago

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ily woman greaseball

ily man greaseball

ily greaseball

there's no difference aside from the fact that one of them is a girl and the other is a man. can we keep in mind that they're the same character

they're the same character!!!

#greaseball the diesel #stex greaseball #stex #starlight express #starlight express revival #greasedinah #I've seen people say they dont like fem gb but love masc gb #and vice versa #but like #they're the same character #they just look and sound a little bit different #but they're still greaseball!!#i absolutely ADORE female gb btw #i just also am a fan of male gb!!

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mellowmusings · 2 months ago

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Blessed mistakes | part 2 (reworked)

part 1 part 3 there aren't much changes just a few subtle ones

Azriel x reader

A/N- Literally thank you so much to my wifey @anarchiii for being there for me and proof reading this story when it was just a stupid little drabble, if you all want some soft but well written fics she has some amazing ones especially her gwynriel fic,(ps: shes already taken and so are her cats too so dont even try anything else >:<) also i might be going off summary a bit but its fine,let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

Summary- After over 5 centuries of waiting Azriel hasn't found his mate, given up all hope of any chance of finding her he decides to start pursuing Elain, not seeing what was in front of him all along.

Part Two: Fading Echoes

(*A few years after y/n had left, timeline during Amaranthas reign*)

The years had a quiet way of passing, like a river flowing slowly under the weight of the stars. Azriel couldn’t remember the moment when the ache of her absence had begun, nor could he pinpoint when it had deepened into something permanent, something that hummed just beneath his skin. Fifty years. They had come and gone, one after the other, a steady stream of days filled with work, with battles, with the constant motion of life that had never quite let him stop. And yet, the absence of her—her—never left. It lingered, as if it had always been there.

Y/N had left without a word, without a trace, slipping quietly from his life as though she had never belonged there. He had never asked her why. Maybe he thought the answer was too simple, or perhaps he didn’t want to hear it. And so, he had never asked.

He thought of her that night—the night she told him she was leaving—as he often did, though the memory felt like a soft echo, fading at the edges. It had been a simple conversation, nothing remarkable at first. They had been in the garden, the air cool and still around them, the moon casting its pale light over the courtyard. Azriel had been lost in his thoughts, as he so often was, his mind drifting from one responsibility to the next.

She had been quiet, more than usual, and when he had finally turned to her, he saw it in her eyes—the tiredness, the distant look that hadn’t been there before. It was the look of someone who had been carrying something heavy for too long.

“I think I need to go,” she had said, her voice soft, almost like a whisper. “There’s a mission in the Autumn Court... It’s time for me to leave for a while.”

He had nodded, of course. She had always been so independent, so steady. He didn’t think much of it, didn’t realize the weight of her words, the finality in them.

"Of course," he had said, offering a smile, thinking it was just another one of her short trips—another mission, another step away from Velaris that would bring her back once more.

But she hadn’t come back.

The days stretched on without her, and slowly, the absence began to settle over him like a thick fog. He kept himself busy, as he always did, throwing himself into his duties, his work, anything to keep his mind from wandering to her. But she was never far. She lingered in the corners of his thoughts, in the spaces between meetings, in the quiet moments before sleep would claim him.

And then there was the silence. The silence of not knowing. Not knowing where she had gone, why she had left so suddenly, why she hadn’t come back. At first, Azriel had told himself it was nothing—just a mission, just time apart. But as the weeks turned into months, and the months into years, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of her absence pressing on him.

He had searched, of course. He had gone to the Autumn Court, asking quietly, desperately, if anyone had seen her. He had questioned every contact he had, asked around the realms, sent word through every possible channel. But no one had known. No one had seen her.

She had simply... disappeared.

It wasn’t until years later, when the weight of her absence had begun to feel like a constant ache in his chest, that Azriel had realized the truth. The truth that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface of everything he had felt for her. She hadn’t just left because of a mission. No. She had left because of him.

He hadn’t seen it then. He hadn’t understood. But looking back now, with the distance of time and the space of so many years between them, the truth became clear. Y/N had loved him. Loved him in a way that he had never allowed himself to see. She had loved him in the quiet moments, in the way she had looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. But Azriel hadn’t noticed. He had been too wrapped up in his own world, in his own pain, his own battles, to ever see it.

To him, she had always been like a sister—steadfast, loyal, someone who understood him without needing words. She had always been there, always by his side, always offering him the quiet comfort he hadn’t known he needed. But to her, it had been more. It had always been more. And she had waited, hoped, for something that he had never been able to give.

And when she left, when she quietly walked away from him without so much as a second glance, it had been the final piece in a puzzle he hadn’t even known he was putting together.

He hadn’t loved her in the way she had wanted him to, in the way she deserved, he had realized the reason she left long after it was too late. But even now, fifty years later, the ache of that unspoken truth gnawed at him. The truth that he had broken her without ever knowing it. Without ever meaning to.

In the years that followed, Azriel had buried it. Buried the regret, the guilt, the unanswered questions deep within himself, like a wound he was too afraid to touch. He had never spoken of it to anyone—not even Rhys. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them that he had failed her in a way that he would never be able to undo.

And so, he carried it. The quiet weight of knowing that someone—someone who had been everything to him—was gone, and he didn’t even know why.

It wasn’t until after the war, after Amarantha’s reign had ended, that Rhys returned. The air was filled with victory, with the promise of a future that seemed almost too good to be true. But to Azriel, it felt hollow. Empty. Because in the midst of all of it, there was still the question of Y/N.

Rhys had come to him, as they always did, to speak of what had been won, what had been lost. But there was something else in the air that night, something unspoken between them. Rhys, as always, seemed to sense it.

“Az,” he began, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, as though he had been waiting for the right moment. “I know you’ve been looking for her. I’ve heard the whispers. The Autumn Court... You thought she might have gone there?”

Azriel’s heart skipped in his chest, the hope that he had long buried resurfacing just for a moment. He had never told Rhys the full truth—the way he had searched for her, the way he had never given up. But Rhys knew. Rhys had always known, his brother always did.

“I did,” Azriel said, his voice thick with something he couldn’t name he couldn't help as his voice broke. “But I couldn’t find her. No one has seen her.”

Rhys’ expression softened, as if he had known all along that this moment was coming. “I searched, Az. I went to the Autumn Court. I asked around... but there’s nothing. She’s gone.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He knew it, he did. But hearing the words—hearing it from someone else—made it feel final in a way that it hadn’t before.

She was gone.

All because of him.

He had failed her.

And as the truth settled over him, as the weight of the years pressed in, he realized something else—that even after all this time, even after all the battles he had fought, the scars he had earned, there was a part of him that still, somehow, hoped she might return. That hope had been foolish. She wasn’t coming back.

Azriel stood there, the weight of Rhys’ words hanging between them, and for the first time in decades, his thoughts weren’t on his duties or his responsibilities. They were on her. Y/N, the girl he had known since childhood, the girl who had always been like a sister to him. His heart, ever steady in the face of battles and wars, felt something more raw now. More broken. She had been the one person who had always understood him. And now... now she was gone.

She wasn’t just a sister, a friend. She had been the one constant in his life, the one person who had given him something real, something solid. And now, he would never get the chance to tell her how much she meant to him. He would never get the chance to apologize for not seeing her.

His chest tightened with the weight of it all. The girl he had grown up with, the girl who had quietly woven herself into the fabric of his life, was gone and Azriel, the Shadowsinger, could do nothing but stand there in the empty quiet of the night, broken by the truth that she was lost to him forever. And so he sunk to his knees and let himself shatter, under the weight of his heart.

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