#not all fluff

[autobot2001]

Day 25.2 Letting His Gaurd Down

Fadnom; transformers Characters: Crosshairs, Drift, Jamie (OC) Rating: T Description: Crosshairs tries to talk to Drift about what happened but ends up having an anxiety attack.

Pt. 4/5. Part 3 here.

OC-tober: difficult conversation Flufftober: candle, lantern, fairy lights

After Crosshairs and Drift see Jamie for a while and eat breakfast, Drift decides to go to his mediation room. He turns on the fairy lights on the wall and lights some candles. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the floor. The door opens. Drift worries about the expression on Crosshairs' face as Crosshairs sits next to him. Glad we don't wear our boots inside here. Drift thinks but knows Crosshairs would follow the rules regarding the tatami in Drift's meditation room. Crosshairs looks around the room. "When did you put fairy lights in here?" Crosshairs asks. "When we returned." "Have you been able to meditate?" "No, I still can't stop picturing Jamie dead when I try to." Crosshairs sits next to Drift and hugs him. "You ok?" Drift asks. "No," Crosshairs replies before Drift can argue about how Crosshairs would act like he's ok and how he hates it, "I can't believe she tried again. No matter what we do, we're not helping her. Her mental health is scrap." Crosshairs struggles to breathe. He feels his chest tightening and that he can't get air in. "Crosshairs? Hey, look at me." Drift quickly texts Hound to help him. Worried they're going to have to resort to drugs. Hound rushes in, carrying a small bin. Which quickly comes in handy as Crosshairs needs to throw up. Cade rushes in to help Drift get Crosshairs up and out of the room.

The two have Crosshairs lie on the couch. Both can't believe Crosshairs is having an anxiety attack as they watch his hands tremble. No one knows Optimus is watching the situation. "I know she'll be on oxygen until she wakes up, but I think carrying her downstairs is a good idea for these two," Cogman whispers to Hound. "Let's go check on her," Hound whispers. Only Cade sees the two leave the room. He turns his attention back to Crosshairs. He sees Drift is handling getting Crosshairs to calm down. He sits on the couch across from the two. Which turns into being used as the focus object to get Crosshairs to relax.

"95°," Hound reads, "she'll be ok being wrapped in her red blanket. She's been breathing on her own for the past two hours. We can take this tube out, but I'm putting her on a little oxygen."

Hound walks into the living room, seeing Crosshairs sitting up and Drift and Optimus sitting on either side of him. Cade is still on the other couch, watching Hound walk over carrying Jamie. Hound sits on the coffee table in front of them. "She still needs to warm up a little, but she'll be ok," Hound explains as he has Crosshairs hold Jamie, "she's on one liter of oxygen at five percent. Until she wakes up." "Is it bad we like how short she is?" Cade asks. "Oh, I think they'd be holding her even if she was only five inches shorter," Hound comments. Cade and Hound laugh while Crosshairs and Drift's cheeks turn bright red. Cade, Hound, and Optimus leave the living room.

"So what's the decision?" Cade asks. Optimus sighs, "even on Cybertron, if an Autobot was like Jamie, they would be discharged from the army, but with Jamie…I can't. She needs us, even if it seems like it doesn't matter if she's with us." "The problem is she can't cut back on how often she returns home to her dimension," Hound comments, "there's nothing Crosshairs and Drift can do about that. Even being with her isn't helping." "I hate that our only opinion seems to be accept we can only keep her safe," Cade rants, "and how things are in her dimension is fucking disgusting. Fucking humans argue there needs to be more love and compassion in the world, but no one practices what they preach. It's all hate turned up to eleven thousand." "There's got to be something we can do," Vivian jumps in, "at this point, it'll be to help the three of them." The three look in the living room, seeing Crosshairs and Drift worried as they hug each other with Jamie between them. Hating that they don't know what to do.

[fairiesthrum]

reader who can’t stand satoru but then he gets hit by a curse that turns him into a cat. you find him, to his dismay, and take him home, only for him to realize how different you are when he isn’t around to pester you.

at first, he causes a lot of trouble. breaking things in your house, tearing up the pillows. he just wants to be a human again, but nobody can understand him! but you still take care of him and coddle him no matter how much trouble he causes, so different from how people treat him normally, as if he were a nuisance (which he kind of was on purpose). and he finds himself falling for you without realizing it.

so he stops being a bad cat, steadily losing hope that he’ll ever be human again. and satoru would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy how you stroked him while you read a book or let him sleep beside you at night. maybe it wasn’t so bad? so he decided then if he was going to be just a cat, he was fine with being your cat.

the higher-ups had taken note of his absence, obviously, and he only knows cause you’ve mentioned it to him. you had this endearingweird quirk where you’d talk to him as if he were a real person.

throughout his stay in your home as a house pet, satoru finds out a lot about you. you’ve always kept to yourself, but you vent your frustrations out to him while he’s like this, and he offers his comfort the best he can. which you appreciate, rewarding him with kisses that he secretly enjoys.

once he turns human again, by some miracle, his first thought is to go and find you. and when he does, you give him the cold shoulder like you used to, and it surprises him. before he realizes that, ah, he wasn’t your pet anymore. he was gojo satoru.

satoru realizes his feelings for you in that moment. when he feels the ache in his chest from your dismissive behavior, it leads him to starting his most important mission yet—winning your heart once more.

but this time, it’ll be as a person, not a damn cat.

[stewedlycan]

Quick and easy way to warm your gf (if you’ve previously been transmuted into a chimera) !

(little Farcille art trade for @exytapes ♡)

[tswkento]

gojo loves it when you come up behind him and hug him. he will drop anything he was busy with just to turn around and hug you back.

he could be conversing with kids and you’d be behind him, and he just chuckles, asking for his students to wait a second, before he turns around and wraps his arms around you, lifting you up and kissing you, which elicits gagging sounds from nobara and yuuji, and a confused groan from megumi.

but you don’t have to necessarily hug him for him to shower you with his love; you could just call out to him from one side of the room or accidentally walk by and satoru is already by your side, abandoning whatever he was doing just so he could be in your space. make you laugh at something, make you swoon with his undeniable charm, make you melt into him just like he melts into you.

kiss you on your cheek, then do it again, then leave a wet trail until he reaches your lips and bite you, make you squeal and giggle, writhe in his hold because you can’t escape him, can’t escape his love. gojo won’t let you, he has to show you.

it’s okay if you aren’t the most affectionate person in the world too!! and if you show your love differently, then gojo will treat every time you do show him affection like a special occasion.

whenever you feel the overwhelming need to spoil gojo with your love, he is on cloud 9 and can for sure say that those are his favourite moments with you.

when you hold him to your chest and you gaze down at him with a look that only feeds into his desire to be cherished and adored, and you brush back his bangs and kiss his forehead, his brows, between them, his eyes, his rosy cheeks and his pinkish lips. teasing him about using your tinted lip balm and kissing it off of him whilst he just proudly declares that it looks better on him!

he loves to bask in your affections and satoru’s heartbeat is never ever stable when he does, even more so than his usual elevated heartbeat from just being in your presence.

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the Wife at First Sight series)

In Ghost’s eyes, the first time you smiled up at him was the moment you became his and his alone.

So what if everyone apart from you knew it?

Didn’t make it any less of a fact, as far as he was concerned.

Still though, he wanted to learn more about just who his pretty little wife was, including anything that might make letting you know about your marriage a little easier. And so like the good soldier he is, he goes about it as though it were a reconnaissance mission.

He asks you how you take your coffees and teas, holding his breath as he watches you take the first sip of whichever drink he’s made you that day, pride swelling in his chest when you tell him it’s perfect, even better than when you make it.

The first time he’d done so, your eyes widened in surprise when he put his large, gloved hands over yours where they were wrapped around the mug, leaning forward and bringing the rim to his lips where he took a sip for himself, eyes locked with yours. You were unsure of what to think or say, but he apparently decided for you that this was okay, returning the warm drink to your mouth where he encouraged you to take another sip.

You figured that it was alright, he did make the tea for you after all, right?

You even laughed when he started only serving you in a mug with ‘Mrs.’ printed across the side, certain that it hadn’t been in any of the common room’s cupboards before.

He eyes the book peeking out of your bag one morning as you tuck it away, purchasing his own copy the very same day, curious to know what you like reading. You’re pleasantly surprised, if not a tad confused, when you find the next two books in the trilogy sat atop your desk soon after, a small note written in chicken scratch lain on top reads ‘To : Wife’. He’ll make a point of commenting on the novel if he sees you holding it, slipping in tid bits of information to impress you show he’s read it as well, likes the same things you like.

He’ll joke about how the food on the dining hall is always subpar, trying to casually find out what you like eating, subtly pulling out his phone and typing anything new into his notes app where he’s been keeping track of all your likes and dislikes. He just wants to get things right with you, be good for you, prove he can be the husband you need. You’re already perfect in his eyes, his sweet little soulmate who just doesn’t know it yet.

Though this was the first military base you’d ever worked on, you couldn’t recall anyone having ever warned you about the way Lieutenants apparently like to haze the new hires, never mind the fact that everyone else was apparently in on it.

No one bats an eye when you go to take the empty seat next to him in a briefing, and he wraps his strong arms around you to instead plop you down onto his muscular thighs, carrying on with the task at hand as though this is perfectly normal and professional. Even the Captain hardly glances at the interaction, so you figure it’s okay, some strange form of team bonding?

Not a soul comments on the way the Lieutenant insists on being the one to cut up your food and feed you bites during meals in the dining hall, pretending as though they don’t hear him telling you about how “my wife works hard enough, don’t need to be liftin’ a finger wit’ me around, love.”

They know to move out of the way if you’re approaching a closed door, knowing if the Lieutenant is anywhere near, he’ll be rushing to open the door for you before you can even attempt to do it yourself.

Even Soap has stopped complaining aloud and only rolls his eyes when Ghost drops anything and everything he’s doing- whether it’s spotting the Sergeant in the gym, being out on a morning run, hell even being in the middle of a shower- to send you a good morning text at six o clock on the dot. Every. Single. Morning.

No, you never exactly anticipated this sort of a running gag from a hardened military base, but you’re not exactly complaining either.

Not when you find your heart fluttering every time your fake work husband dotes on you like he really would marry you at the drop of a hat.

Besides, it’s all just playful, innocent fun, right?

Especially when everyone begins to apparently forget your name and instead refers to you only as Mrs Riley.

And when the Captain tells you that your requested time off for a honeymoon has been approved, something which you definitely don’t remember requesting, well that’s all just fun too, right?

[lilacgaby]

katsuki bakugo was a private, not secret, type of guy.

though it came as a surprise to many, he never hid that he had a girlfriend. he just chose not to speak of you, unless prompted, which resulted in whoever asked about you being surprised at how he seemed to forgo his hard exterior when speaking of you.

you were his lock screen photo, in fact every wallpaper included you in it. couple photos of you two together and candid ones he'd take of you randomly. a polaroid picture of you with a small 'i love you!' written by you with sharpie on the white frame sat nicely in the clear case of his phone.

you were in the heart-shaped locket he'd keep on him at all times in the pockets of his outfits. he'd developed a habit of running his finger along the groves of the chain, opening it and raising it out just enough for him to see the photo, then safely putting it away.

your initials were in the laces of his shoes, your first letter next to his. the back of his favorite pair had an embroidered heart with your initials encased in a heart.

he was a private man. that's why his fans were so shocked when he had dropped two bombs on them all at once.

first, with a simple post of your hand in his, manicured with the colors of his hero outfit, with a noticeably large diamond adorning your finger.

but when he had let it slip that you two were expecting a baby in a t.v interview, nobody expected that he'd stay relaxed instead of being annoyed.

and not even you knew that instead of face- palming at his slip up, cursing or walking off set, that he'd proudly show the ultrasound. the one he'd cut up in a perfect small heart so it could fit into the other slot of the locket he adored so much.

how he decided to wear his heart out on his sleeve, just for you.

tags: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @uy242c @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans

[rubyarerosies]

to add onto lowkeyartist!sukuna, he most definitely pulls the same nonchalant act when people start speculating if he has a baby now.

After releasing a wedding photo where your face isn’t visble (he does not want you to face the brute force of fans, and you don’t as well) finally giving the public a glimpse of his now wife, he starts uploading his normal covers and new mixes around 3 months after but because you are still the hot topic people notice your absence. You’re out of his videos for a whole year, and people again start to speculate what is going on in Sukuna’s private life.

And because of how tempting the public can be to tease, he goes live again.

Question after question start, most are of you, again. But to make the mood start off hot, he answers questions about the wedding, “how was the wedding? It was good, was a bit nervous cause my wife and I spent months preparing, happy it all went good.”

He edges everyone watching, answering questions about you but not in too much detail, he knows what he’s doing, everyone watching too - he’s not answering the burning question: where are you?

“So, where is she? In the lounge, she’s probably watching,” he replies, trying to remain as relaxed as possible, “Show her to us? Nah, she’s busy right now,”

“Busy with what? My son,” you’re in the other room giggling to yourself, kissing your son’s cheek while his dad keeps up the act of a straight face. You know after it’s over, he’s going to come laugh with you and your new addition about it, like how he did before.

“Can we see him? No,” he laughs, “my wife would kill me if you guys were to ever see him.”

(After the live, he posted a picture of you and your son at the beach. Your son is in your arms and you both are facing away from the camera, he captions it with a heart and the internet buzzes like wildfire having finally caught a glimpse of Sukunas family)

[gothamite-rambler]

"Who do we know that did drugs? I got it!" Batman said, calmly.

Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, looking over some data on the Batcomputer.

Dick: None of us have done drugs or made drugs, but we need someone who's versed in it. Who?

Bruce (excited, sudden realization): I got it! Call Jason!

Dick: He blocked you again?

Bruce looked a bit sheepish, but quickly recovered.

Bruce (defensive): You’re not calling him?!

Sighing, Dick reluctantly pulled out his phone and dialed Jason’s number. Jason answered, but before Dick can say a word, Bruce suddenly knocked him to the ground and snatched the phone from his hand.

Bruce: Are you still friends with Roy? We need to learn how crack is made. We’re tracking someone!

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Then, Jason started laughing—slowly at first, then breaking into fits of uncontrollable laughter. In the background, a weary sigh can be heard that isn’t Jason’s.

Jason (laughing, catching his breath): I’ll ask him. Hey Roy—

Roy (in the background, exasperated): Fuck you!

Jason (chuckling, responds to Bruce): I think he can help us.

Bruce: Oh, thank God.

Dick, now back on his feet, glaring at Bruce with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

Dick: You could’ve just asked for the phone!

Batman: Get over it.

Roy: You know I was on heroin not crack!

Batman: I will send you $6,000 if you are honest with me and tell me you at least know how it's made.

Roy (huffing as Jason laughs harder because he knows what's about to happen): Okay, you're going to need a pen.

[luvnami]

ushijima wakatoshi gets married at 32 and is slightly overwhelmed by the intimacy of someone sharing his family name. he thought he had experienced everything: toothbrushes next to each other, laundry with your whites mixed with his, the almost empty bag of rice that he reminds himself to get another of after practice. what he doesn't realise is how tender it feels when someone calls out for "ushijima-san!", and you react because that's your name, too. the neighbours who greet you in the lift, the dentist where wakatoshi waits in the reception, even electricity bills titled to you, because now ushijima doesn't just refer to him.

[euthymiaaa]

— subtle physical affection prompts 𓆩♡𓆪

i hope everyone is having a great new year so far! enjoy :D

pushing strands of their hair out of their face

brushing the dust of their clothes

wiping off a food stain near their lips (bonus: you lick it off your fingers)

briefly tracing the lines of their palms

patiently helping them put their shoes on

teasingly playing with the string of their hoodie

nose boops

comparing hand sizes

accidentally grazing their hands as both of you are reaching for the same object

gentle massages for their shoulders

delicately putting your hand on their back

playful stabs with your fingers onto the side of their waist

ever so light forehead pecks

[peachsukii]

Bakugo walks into your shared apartment to see you in the living room surrounded by packages, all excitedly torn open with discarded bubble wrap lying around you. Various Dynamight themed trinkets are littered at your feet, everything from keychains to can badges and exclusive cafe coasters.

He chuckles to himself while placing his boots in the closet by the door. “Go on another shoppin’ spree, sweets?”

You turn your head away bashfully, tapping your fingers against your thighs. “…yeah. Someone was selling a bunch of limited edition merch.”

Bakugo strolls into the living room and observes all the items on the floor. He leans down to leave a kiss on your cheek before turning to head for the bathroom to shower.

“Ya know I can get ya that shit for free, babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “I am Dynamight.”

“I know!” You answer, picking up one of the keychains and smiling. “Just being a supportive girlfriend is all.”

[ysaona]

See they are fine they are okay they are ALIVE! 😁

[konigsblog]

König who has a high sex drive. (🌽 link)

As humiliating and humbling as it sounds, you're nothing but a fleshlight for König. He can't control how horny he becomes, especially in the morning, after a workout, and while drinking together. He becomes a giggling pervert who can't help but touch you all over, his hands reaching between your thighs to grope your tight cunt.

“Please, Maus, just one more round, that’s all I desire.”

He's obsessed with the gummy, sticky sensation of your walls wrapped tightly around the shaft of his meaty cock. He'll bend you over any surfaces he finds, whether that's the kitchen countertop, a desk, or the couch. He adores having control, but occasionally, he'll allow you to take control — well, he has to plead with you through whines and tears to ride him, stinking of booze and nicotine, too tired to take control, but too horny not to have sex or receive any stimulation. König is like a dog in heat. For König, the need is constant and perverse thoughts won't stop rushing through his mind until he's fulfilled and satisfied.

“Bitte- stop moving, please. Gottverdammt, you add fuel to my addiction, Liebling. How do you expect me to resist something so tempting? So addictive?”

König will use you for hours if that's what he feels like doing. He'll wipe the tears from your glassy eyes, thanking you between rounds by kissing your bare shoulder, sinking back inside before you can catch your breath. He'll whine about having to use protection, that it ruins the session he's having with his beloved angel.

König is uncontrollable when he's aroused and pent up, constantly trying to rip your clothing from your body, sometimes sobbing through drunkenness, desperation, and derangement.

[amikoroyaiart]

Some 22 and 09 angst doodles

[florencemtrash]

He Feels Safe With You — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation.

Warnings: Major fluff. Like tooth-rotting sweetness. Sleepy Az.

Author's note: I should be sleeping because I have work tomorrow but instead I've chosen to write this oneshot and I have no regrets.

It was starting to become a problem now. 

You cocked your head to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and watching Azriel as he continued to sleep soundly in your bed. You had the windows cracked open and the early Autumn breeze swirled indoors with the scent of lavender, bergamot, and the strawberry jam you’d slathered over your toast. You checked the time once again on the glossy marble clock face. The arrow-shaped hour hand clicked ever closer to 11am, the minute hand close to overtaking its competitor. 

10:55am and Azriel was still asleep. 

The sheets clustered loose and low around his waist, mimicking the curling of his shadows up and down the ridges of his spine and across the delicate membrane of his wings. His wings hung loose and relaxed, stretching off the edges of your bed and caressing the floor with a lover’s touch. You blushed at the sight. When you and Azriel had first started courting each other three years ago, you’d thought through the mechanics of housing an Illyrian warrior in your bed — should you buy a new bed frame and mattress? Did you even have space for it in your apartment? The answer had been no to both, and yet Azriel loved when your daytime activities ended here instead of at the townhouse. If he cared about having to walk sideways to avoid the bookshelves in the halls or having to crouch to avoid the overhang above the staircase, he didn’t mention it. 

Three hours ago you’d woken up beneath the gentle weight of his wings, untangled yourself from Azriel’s greedy limbs, and crept down the stairs to your kitchen, bleary eyed but well rested. But that was three hours ago! Since then you’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, and eaten breakfast, and still the Shadowsinger hadn’t stirred. You were beginning to question whether he truly was the Spymaster of the Night Court as you sat in your velvet chair and admired your lover. You traced all the subtle movements of his body as he muddled through dreams you could only wonder at — the creasing of his brow, the slack line of his lips as he breathed, the twitching of his fingertips as he reached for some phantom object. 

The clock struck eleven and you sighed, gathering your plates but leaving Azriel’s pile of toast, butter, and honey alone. You also left the teapot and its mismatched cup, blowing magic over its lid in a silent command to keep its contents hot until Azriel awoke. 

“I’ll be down in the shop,” you whispered to his shadows, trusting that they would relay the message when their master finally decided to grace the daytime with his presence. 

One by one, shadows slipped off Azriel’s skin, curling around your ankles and wrists in a silent plea to stay. You shook them off like one might a needy child, promising you’d only be two floors down. 

The artists’ corner in Velaris was an eclectic array of compact townhouses, each outwardly dressed in their unique, dazzling finery. Your townhouse was squished between a painting studio and a luthier’s. The painting studio’s owner seemed intent on changing the color of the wooden sidings every other day and the drawings scribbled over the windows every other week. Today it was periwinkle blue to match the hydrangeas overflowing from the window boxes. 

You nodded in approval as you flipped the apothecary sign over from “Much apologies, please try another time” to “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” The blue would match your tulip yellow sidings and the clean white accents of the luthier’s. Last week it had been red and that had looked gods-awful. 

You busied yourself in the shop, crushing up lavender and herbs and boiling mugwort in fire-stained glassware in between flurries of customers until the medicinal stench in the air grew thick and strong. You were used to it by now. It smelled clean. Like home. 

You were finishing tying up a bundle of teabags when Cassian came in carrying a sturdy wooden box under one arm like it weighed five pounds instead of fifty. You snapped out the wrinkles of a cloth bag, dropping the teabags and five vials of sleep serum for the nightingale-winged nymph in front of you. 

“Four feathers and three strands of hair, as we bargained for,” you said, sliding the bag across the counter. 

The nymph nodded in approval, extending out a wing and shoving her fingers into the pillowy softness. She tested for loose feathers ready to pull.

“You’re a godsend, Y/n, has anyone ever told you that?” She pulled out three feathers, closed her wing, and started testing the feathers on the other side. “Finnigan’s was asking me for ten. Ten! Can you believe that? If I hadn’t found you in time I’d have been reduced to a plucked chicken.” She was much less precious about her mousey brown hair and yanked out three strands at random. “Oops, you get an extra strand today,” she sang, dropping the feathers and hair into the jars you held out. 

“Well it’s a good thing you found me then, Moricka.” 

“Honestly! I understand he’s got a large studio space he’s renting in the thick of the Palace, and even I will admit the ambiance is rather professional—” 

Cassian raised his brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred lips as he continued to stand motionless in the doorway. It was true your space was more… homey than Finnigan’s, but your expertise shined in intimate spaces. You liked the control and the familiarity that came from running a smaller business and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

“But I do think the success is getting to his head. You both studied under Lady Madja so I don’t see why—” 

You nodded absentmindedly. It was always like this with Moricka. The songbird in her made it difficult for her to stop talking, but at least her voice was pleasant. 

She threw her hands up in the air before finally catching wind of another presence in the room. Cassian waved at her with a wink and an orange blush creeped onto her full cheeks. He tended to have that effect on fae with his towering size and the wild beauty of his chiseled jaw and smattering of scars over his cheeks and brow. 

“Oh… oh dear, I didn’t realize you had another customer. Oh my goodness I’ve been talking your ear off all this time and you’ve been too kind to say anything. You’re a godsend, Y/n. A godsend! I don’t know what I would do without you, although I should really be letting you go now.” She grabbed her things and sidestepped the range of Cassian’s wings, trying and failing now to gawk. “I’ll see you soon enough again I’m sure.” 

“I’ll be here.” You sighed in relief when the doorbell rang behind her petite frame, the inoffensive smile you offered all your customers sliding off your face like oil on water. Cassian chuckled, dropping the box onto the countertop with a dull thud. 

“Long day?” 

You pulled out a stepstool and began rummaging around through the box, pulling out jars of squid ink, bark trimmings, buttons, and one particularly nasty jar containing a large eye suspended in yellow goo. “It’s not even three.” 

“Did I stutter?”

You tapped the glass and the eye swiveled around to look at you, pupil enlarging and constricting with a stutter. “Yes, yes very good,” you muttered your praise and Cassian fought hard not to shiver. He had a stomach for a great many things, but some of the specimens you handled tested his resilience.

“Thank you for bringing all of this. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.” 

“Perhaps you could do the same for me and tell me where my brother is? I’ve been looking for him all day.” Cassian leaned forward on the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you holding him hostage, Y/n? Are you using your feminine powers to bring the poor male to his knees? I must admit, I didn’t imagine you as the kind capable of kidnapping. Or shadow-napping, shall we say?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly holding him hostage.” You gestured down the hallway past the bookshelves and the cases of empty glassware where the light from the staircase glowed like an iron eye. “He’s upstairs sleeping.” 

Cassian furrowed his brows, stepping around and past you. He kept his wings tucked closer to his shoulder blades, careful not to upset the cramped organization you maintained in your shop. 

He smirked. “Still? Are you sure you didn't work your feminine powers last night?” 

You glanced out the store window. A few fae lingered outside the coffee shop across the street clutching takeaway boxes against their chest as they chatted and sipped their drinks. The street was otherwise empty. For now, you wouldn’t have to deal with any customers. 

You looked back at Cassian. “I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

His brows furrowed. “About feminine powers?” He'd meant that as a joke.

“Gods, Cassian let that go.” You wrung your hands. “I wanted to ask if Azriel was alright? Has he seemed… normal to you?”

“I don’t know, has he?” Cassian lowered his voice, sinking into one of the stools by the clear glass medicine cabinet. “From what I can tell he seems well. Happy.” 

Although happy was an understatement. Ever since you’d stumbled into their lives with Madja’s accolades and your wry humor, Azriel had been a goner. You’d pulled emotions from him as deftly as a spinster with a pile of wool, reduced him to a reverential, lovesick mess, and imbued his existence with a color not even Feyre could mix up. Which made it all the more confusing why you looked so nervous.

“You’ve seen more of him than I have, Y/n.” Cassian said. He braced his elbows against his knees, turning serious. The faint bags under his hazel eyes hinted at sleepless nights spent fussing over Neera. It was their fault really, any daughter of Nesta and Cassian was destined to be restless and particular.

“He just… he’s been sleeping more. Falling into bed early, but waking up late. Sometimes we’ll be reading together or just existing side by side and when I turn to face him, he’s dead asleep on the couch.” 

Cassian’s lips twitched, slowly stretching into a smile. You plucked a hemp bag off one of the wall shelves at random, tossing its contents into a mortar and beginning to grind just so you could have something to do with your hands. 

“At first I brushed it off, but it’s gotten to a point where I’ll be talking to him — mindless things, but regardless — and I’ll catch him dozing off. He’s always very apologetic after but I…” The mortar and pestle clattered to a stop. “I worry that he’s growing bored of me. Or that he’s sick in a way I can’t help.” 

“Y/n.” There was a smile in Cassian’s voice, and indeed when you looked at him, his teeth were glistening in the soft afternoon haze. His eyes shined knowingly, as if the answer were obvious.

You paused. “Yes?”

“He feels safe with you.” 

You blinked once. Twice. 

“Pardon?” 

Cassian tipped back in his seat, knocking his head against the cabinet with a rattle of jars and glass as he laughed. “He’s sleeping so much because he feels safe with you. It’s probably why he prefers to spend time here instead of at the townhouse and why he’s still dead asleep while we’re sitting here gossiping about him. Three years ago you couldn’t even whisper his name in a crowded room without him appearing from the shadows as if summoned.” 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Oh... I see.” 

Cassian was grinning. “Y/n, I promise you he’s not bored of you. Azriel sleeping is a good thing. The gods know he could use more rest. I think he might be the worst of us when it comes to taking care of ourselves.” 

Something about Cassian’s words had a crack splintering in your chest. You knew about his past. You knew of the horrors burned into the ruined skin of his hands and the weight his duties deposited on his shoulders.

And here you’d been worried over him sleeping past noon. 

Shadows slipped down the stairs, pooling around your feet in a neat circle and kissing the exposed skin of your ankles. Azriel followed closely behind, still wearing his rumpled hair and pants and a shirt he’d hastily shoved his neck and arms into. He hadn’t even buttoned up the slits below his wings, opting to let the fabric swing free and loose and expose flashes of skin as he walked. 

He jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of Cassian and then folded himself over your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and dropping his face into the crook of your neck where he breathed in the scent of lemon and lavender and medicine. 

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said, frowning. There was a slur to his words.

“It’s past three, brother.” 

Azriel snapped his head up in surprise, squinting at the window and the afternoon sunlight streaking in. The pale cobblestones shone like they’d been drenched in honey. 

“What?” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, patting Azriel’s back fondly and mussing up your hair before walking towards the door. He flipped the sign from “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” to “Much apologies, please try another time.” 

“Goodnight, you two!" He called from over his back. "Remember we’re meeting at Rhys’s for dinner tonight.” He turned, bracing his arms against the top of the doorway and leaning forward like he meant to share a secret. “8pm sharp. Don’t be too late or we’ll get the wrong idea about what you two are up to.” He winked, then whistled down the street, letting the door close on its own behind him. 

Azriel sighed, going back to nuzzling his face in your neck. He peppered the sensitive skin there with kisses. 

“Will you be coming back upstairs then?” He murmured hopefully. "Now that you're finished with work?"

You bit your lip and decided rather quickly that the world would not end because you closed a few hours early. 

You led him up the stairs, past the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and then up to the third floor — your bedroom. The window was still open, the hustle and bustle of the city and the smell of coffee from across the street wafting in. Steam no longer poured from the lip of the teapot, so you knew Azriel had had something to drink, and where you’d left toast on his plate this morning lay only crumbs. 

Azriel dropped to his knees, untying your laces and helping you out of your boots. Then he straightened and tugged at the belt loops of your trousers, silently asking for permission before unbuttoning them and sliding them off your legs. Your shirt, then his shirt, and then his trousers joined the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, falling face first after you with a sigh. This was his favorite position to sleep in — you comfortable on your back and him laying with his hips slotted in between your legs and his head resting over your heart. 

You sank your fingers into his velvety, black hair. His hums of satisfaction flowed through your body, lighting every nerve with a comforting buzz. 

“Azriel?” You asked him, before sleep could finally claim him once more. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Do you feel safe with me?” 

He pressed his face further into the soft flesh of your chest, bringing his arms up and around your waist before allowing his wings to do the same. The thin membranes glowed red as hot coals, blocking out the most offensive rays of light from outside. 

“When I am with you, I forget that I was ever that boy whose hands got burned. When I am with you, the hundreds of years I spent feeling alone and worthless in this world melt away into nothing. When I am with you — when I am in this place that smells and feels so strongly of you — I can imagine a future that is good and pure and perfect.” He sighed deeply, seemingly ignorant to the pounding of your heart and the waves of feeling flooding your system. “So yes, my love — my Y/n — I do feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too,” you murmured. “I love you, Azriel.” 

You kissed the crown of his head, earning one last smile and a slurred, “I love you, Y/n,” before his jaw went slack and the room went silent save for the mixing of your breaths and the stirring of shadows.