#power lift chairs

[trans-axolotl]

hi! saw your recent posts and wanted to ask for some advice, if that's okay. I'm a wheelchair user and I really want to get more involved in protests, but I feel pretty out of my depth. A lot of protests seem inaccessible and I just have a lot of questions about how things would work as a wheelchair user. I guess, do you have any tips about protesting as a wheelchair user and how you deal with inaccessibility?

Thank you!!

Hey anon! completely okay to ask for advice about this--I feel very passionate about this topic and am happy to share some tips! disclaimer that not all of the tips I share here are going to be applicable to everyone's situation--even among wheelchair users, we have so many unique situations, types of wheelchairs, health variations, other medical devices, etc etc. and many of us are multiply marginalized, which can also shape our experiences pretty significantly. so i'll share some general tips, and feel free to take what works for you and ignore the rest! most of this is based on my experience in the type of protests I go to in my city, so I also understand that this advice might not be applicable to every type of protest in every location. i've been involved in many types of protests for the past 9 years, from marches to die-ins to encampments, and have dealt with many situations including tear gas, riot cops, police brutality, fascist agitators, getting arrested, and many different types of high risk tactics. i don't want to position myself as an expert or anything, because i'm always learning and growing, but I do just want to share that for context!

I think the first thing I want to say is just to affirm that it is absolutely possible for wheelchair users to get involved in all kinds of protests, including higher risk and escalated protests. I'll focus on actual on the ground protests in this post because that's what you asked about, but know there are many many ways to get involved with organizing if protesting in the streets is not accessible for you. There are many of us involved in these type of actions already and figuring out ways to make it work for us, so you are not alone in that. I won't lie that it can be complicated, there's a lot of inaccessibility, and some shit might not be possible, but a lot of stuff can be made possible if we get creative.

Before the Protest

For me, one of the most helpful things is trying to find out as much information as possible before the protest, so that I can have a really good plan going in. Sometimes this might be more difficult, because there might be legitimate security culture reasons that a march route can't be announced publicly, for example, or specific tactics aren't posted about on social media in order to keep people safe from police surveillance. But when it is possible, this is the type of information I like to figure out:

What is the location? is it a stationary protest like a sit in or an encampment? is it a march? what is the route? how long is the route? are there obstacles in the route? are there curb cuts? is there hills? construction? other barriers? are there easily accessible exit routes? is there pavement, grass, gravel, etc? are there accessible transit stops nearby? are there accessible bathrooms nearby? if it's indoors, are there elevators and ramps?

A lot of times, to find out this information, I look through google maps street view, ask friends, or go in person if i can beforehand. for me, as a manual wheelchair user, I can deal with a lot of of nonideal circumstances such as hills, curbs, rough terrain, especially when I have a protest buddy who can help push me when needed, but it helps to know if i'm going to have to deal with those situations. Often times, protests are held in pretty inaccessible locations. Sometimes, this is because organizers are not considering accessibility which pisses me off, but sometimes, there are legitimate strategic reasons that we might need to protest at an inaccessible location because of the specific circumstances of the protest. (maybe we're even protesting at it because it's inaccessible!) You'll know best about what geographic features are inaccessible deal breakers for you and having that kind of information can help you make a decision about whether it's possible to attend.

What is the risk level? What tactics are being used? Are people intentionally risking arrest? What patterns of repression and brutality are most commonly used by cops in your city? How high is the risk of chemical weapons?

This can be really hard to predict--there's no way to ever say for certain how cops are going to respond and we can't see the future. But paying attention to how cops in your city have been responding to protests and learning the patterns of what types of protests are more high risk can help us make more informed guesses. We can reasonably estimate that a silent vigil in the daytime is likely going to be lower risk than a occupation of a building, for example. And for some of these things--there's no real way to make getting tear gassed an "accessible" experience for anyone, but for some of us, the consequences might be more severe than others. I have a comrade who uses a ventilator who cannot come to protests where we think there's a risk of chemical weapons, so that can be really important information to try to figure out beforehand.

What do I need to practice? Do I need to teach my comrades how to de-arrest a wheelchair user? Do we need to practice lifting me and my wheelchair over a barricade? Do I need to teach my comrades the safest places to hold onto my wheelchair if we're locking arms and moving as a line? Do I need to practice wheelies to get over curbs? How will I plan to protect the electrical parts of my wheelchair from chemical weapons? etc.

For higher risk protests there might be a lot of different tactics that we can use to navigate things like barricades, arrests, facing down a riot line of cops, etc. It is so, so helpful to be able to practice these skills with your protest buddies before a protest, so that when these situations start happening in a chaotic, fast moving environment, you and your comrades are prepared to navigate the inaccessibility that can come with a lot of these situations. You'll know what is possible for you and be the expert on what feels important to prepare for before an action.

2. At the Protest

Navigating a Crowd. To be honest this can be one of the most frustrating things for me to deal with while at protests. A lot of people are not aware of their surroundings, areas will get very crowded with little space to navigate, and people will block my view. The main ways I try to deal with this are by trying to be in the front of a march or on the sides of a march when possible, to try to have the most space to navigate. As we move, I continually scan our location to find the closest accessible exit route, paying attention to where cops are, curb cuts, etc. My protest buddies know that if we're in a middle of a crowd, they need to provide me with updates about cop movements or any other information that I can't see. I get loud and tell people to get out of my way when I need to. I try to stay near other mobility aid users, bike marshals, or people with wagons because they often leave more room for me to navigate.

Roles. There are lots of different roles we can take on at a protest that might make it easier for us to navigate. I sometimes like to join the bike marshals and help block off roads and intersections. Maybe you have medic training and you act as a street medic. Maybe it's more accessible to act as a scout and communicate police movement to your comrades. Other roles could include leading chants, handing out supplies like water and masks, acting as a legal observer, filming the cops, organizing art builds beforehand, etc.

Community. It's been super, super important for me to always go to a protest with a protest buddy so that we can watch out for each other and keep each other safe. Oftentimes, situations can change rapidly at higher risk protests, and we might end up in an inaccessible situation that we didn't plan for. If I don't have a protest buddy, I usually just turn to the nearest person next to me and start saying loudly "I need you to help me exit this situation/grab my handles and get me up this curb/tell me what the cops are doing etc." It can feel really scary and vulnerable to have to rely on complete strangers in these type of situations, but I've found that a lot of people are really willing to help if I tell them exactly what I need from them.

Surveillance. A lot of us really can't bloc up or hide our identities, because our wheelchairs are easily identifiable. This might shape what tactics we use, and also means there might be added surveillance concerns after a protest. When thinking about your own risk tolerance, grappling with the fact we are visible in a crowd is a really important consideration. This might mean we need to be even more careful about security culture, use encrypted messaging to communicate, avoid cameras, stay in a middle of a crowd to block visibility, and other things like that.

Unique advantages. There can be advantages and skills that we bring as wheelchair users! In flat locations and downhills, I'm much, much faster than my comrades who are walking--I can easily pass messages or get in front of a line of bike cops. I can usually carry a lot more supplies on my wheelchair backpack without getting tired. In my city, there's only one cop van that has a wheelchair lift, and at a recent protest where there were multiple of us in wheelchairs, I heard a cop say on their radio that "There are too many people in wheelchairs and we don't know how to arrest them all." In situations where it's logistically difficult to arrest us or the cops think the optics are bad, that can allow us to cause a LOT of logistical delays, act as a front line, get in between the cops and other people, and just generally make the cops lives a little more difficult.

3. After the Protest

Arrests. If we're risking arrest, there's a lot of wheelchair specific information we need to know. Theoretically, under the ADA, cops are supposed to arrest us with our mobility aid and let us have access to our mobility aid in jail. In practice, this doesn't always happen. Cops might arrest us with our wheelchair but then take it away from us in the holding cell, make us use the jail's standard transfer wheelchair instead, or just completely take away our mobility aid altogether. Cops might zip tie our hands so that we have no way to independently move. The cops in your city might have a van with a lift, or might try to get you to fold or disassemble your wheelchair and put it in a standard car. If they don't have a van with a lift and your wheelchair doesn't disassemble, they might have a contract with a wheelchair van company. Once we're taken to a holding cell, there's a lot higher chance we might get put in solitary. We often won't have access to wheelchair accessible restrooms. We might get separated from all of our comrades--at my last arrest, all my other comrades were taken to a location that processes mass arrests, while I was taken to a separate, wheelchair accessible location and held in solitary. It's super important that whoever's running jail support knows these things and can advocate for us and also track us in the system, especially if we're taken to a different location. If your area has a chapter of the National Lawyer's Guild, they often have a designated person running a hotline. It can be super important to memorize that number, and also to reach out beforehand and explain your needs as a wheelchair user if you're risking arrest.

Overall, there are a lot of considerations for protesting as a wheelchair user, and you are going to be the expert on what is important for you! My general approach is that I want to have as much information as possible so that I can make an informed decision about if I want to attend a particular action. Then, when I'm at an action, I expect my comrades to respect my autonomy and support me in making sure that I can participate and that all of us can stay safe.

Also, for any abled people reading this post, I want you to read this very carefully and understand just how many barriers there can be at protests for wheelchair users. You have a responsibility to your community to whenever possible, mitigate these barriers, choose accessible locations, communicate with your disabled comrades, and support us in the moment. If your excuse is that "oh there aren't any disabled people at our protests, so we don't need to think about these things," you're wrong, and this attitude ensures that no disabled people can show up to your protests. and if that's the case, you're missing out on so much meaningful experience and knowledge that your disabled comrades could bring to the table. "We keep us safe" means that we actually work to meet everyone's needs, including the needs of your disabled comrades.

anyway, this turned into a very long post, but any other wheelchair users feel free to add on your own advice! love to share as much community knowledge as possible, especially advice from people who have different access needs than my particular situation.

anon, please let me know if you have any other specific questions that i didn't cover, and best of luck!

[violet-phoenix-nebula]

My power lift recliner came!!!

[babisawyer]

Late night with the devil was fun because it scared me but also because it had worms! 🪱

[actual-corpse]

I'm so excited to move out....

I can't sleep😫

[mechahero]

@earthforsaken asked- Room? send me room and I will give you a detail about my muse's room (accepting!)

Right when you come into his room, there's a TV on the wall. And in front of that, but set a little ways back for perfect TV watching distance (or at least, once the TV's moved down) without craning your head up painfully, is a little table with some beanbag chairs!

The table's usually empty save for whatever snacks or gaming devices might be set there sometimes and the beanbag chairs are a bright but not too terribly eye-searing blue. One chair's definitely been sat in more than the other and Lambda very much considers that one to be his seat.

[independentlivingsolutionsinc]

Affordable Used Power Lift Recliner Chairs Nearby

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[jamesvince9898]

Your Mobility of NM: Empowering Independence with Electric Mobility Scooters, Lift Chairs, Wheelchairs, and More

Introduction

At Your Mobility of NM, we believe in enhancing the quality of life for individuals with mobility challenges. Our mission is to offer the latest in electric mobility solutions, providing freedom, comfort, and convenience. From electric mobility scooters to power chairs, lift chairs, wheelchairs, and rollators, we bring high-quality mobility aids to help our customers regain control over their independence. We understand that mobility is essential to living a fulfilling life, which is why we offer a wide range of equipment tailored to meet the diverse needs of our community in New Mexico.

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Lift Chairs for Comfort and Support

Lift chairs are an essential piece of furniture for individuals who struggle with getting up from or sitting down in a chair. At Your Mobility of NM, we provide a wide selection of lift chairs that combine both functionality and comfort. Our lift chairs come with powerful motors that gently raise and lower the user to their desired position, reducing the strain on joints and muscles. These chairs are particularly helpful for individuals with arthritis or other conditions that make movement difficult.

The lift chairs we offer come in different sizes, colors, and styles, allowing you to choose a model that fits seamlessly with your home decor. Whether you need a chair with basic lift functions or one that offers customizable reclining positions, heated seats, and massage features, we have the perfect solution for you. Each chair is designed to provide maximum comfort, helping users maintain their independence in a safe and dignified manner.

Wheelchairs for Enhanced Mobility

Wheelchairs remain one of the most widely used mobility aids across the world, and at Your Mobility of NM, we offer a comprehensive selection of wheelchairs to meet every need. From manual to electric models, our wheelchairs are designed for both temporary and long-term use, providing maximum comfort and ease of use.

For those who prefer manual control, we have lightweight and foldable options that are easy to transport and store. These wheelchairs are built with durable materials, ensuring that they can withstand everyday use while providing comfort through ergonomic design. For users looking for more autonomy, our power wheelchairs offer the convenience of motorized control, allowing for easier navigation and extended travel range.

Our power wheelchairs come equipped with high-performance batteries, adjustable seating, and user-friendly controls. Whether you’re looking for a basic model or an advanced option with additional features like joystick navigation and custom cushioning, we have something to suit your specific needs.

Power Chairs for Advanced Mobility

Power chairs take mobility to the next level by offering motorized control with advanced technology, providing an ideal solution for those who have difficulty using manual wheelchairs. These chairs are equipped with cutting-edge features such as customizable seating, enhanced stability, and multiple speed settings. At Your Mobility of NM, we provide a variety of power chairs designed to offer comfort and reliability in every situation, whether it’s for indoor maneuvering or outdoor travel.

Our power chairs are also designed with the user's comfort in mind, featuring adjustable armrests, supportive back cushions, and smooth-operating motors for a comfortable ride. With long-lasting battery life and user-friendly controls, these chairs ensure that users can move freely and independently throughout their day. The versatility of power chairs makes them a great choice for those with more complex mobility needs, offering the perfect blend of function and technology.

Rollators for Flexible Mobility

Rollators offer an excellent balance between stability and mobility for individuals who require a little extra support while walking. Unlike traditional walkers, rollators come equipped with wheels, making it easier to move around without having to lift the device with each step. At Your Mobility of NM, we offer a range of rollators designed for different terrains and needs. Whether you need a lightweight rollator for indoor use or a heavy-duty model for navigating outdoor paths, we have the right product for you.

Our rollators are available in various sizes, with adjustable handles to accommodate users of different heights. Many models also include seats and storage baskets, providing a convenient place to rest or carry personal items while out and about. Designed for ease of use, our rollators help users maintain their balance and mobility, offering a perfect solution for those who need more support than a cane but don't require a full wheelchair.

Quality and Customer Care at Your Mobility of NM

At Your Mobility of NM, quality and customer care are at the forefront of our business. We are committed to providing reliable mobility solutions that improve the lives of our customers. Our staff is trained to offer personalized assistance, helping you select the mobility aid that best suits your needs. From electric mobility scooters and lift chairs to power chairs, wheelchairs, and rollators, we ensure that all of our products are of the highest quality and durability.

In addition to offering top-of-the-line mobility aids, we provide maintenance and repair services to keep your equipment functioning at its best. We understand that mobility equipment is an investment in your quality of life, and we’re here to ensure that your devices are reliable and long-lasting.

[alicia-js]

YK3001 Power Lift Chair: Comfort & Independence in Style

Need a lift? The YK3001 power lift chair offers comfort, support & independence with a sleek design and easy controls! 🛋️✨ Perfect for anyone with mobility challenges. 💪👵👴

[myliftchair]

Electric Recliners with Heat, Massage, and Power Lift Features

Experience unparalleled comfort with electric power lift recliner chairs featuring heat and massage functions. Perfect for relaxation and assistance, these recliners provide therapeutic benefits, ease of use, and stylish designs. Ideal for those seeking enhanced comfort and mobility support, they offer a luxurious addition to any living space.

For More:

[ahqkas]

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

[versadealshub]

Power Lift Recliner for Seniors: 9988 High Density Foam Lift Chair With Heat and Massage, Reclining To 180, 2 Pockets Cup Holders, 2 Remote Controls, Dual OKIN Motors - Breathable Leather Gray #amazonfinds #homegadgets

#amazon

[thedisablednaturalist]

Does anyone have experience with lift recliners? I found one that's perfect, texture and softness and it reclines completely flat and lifts up really well, the guy barely used it and is selling it for half off retail, however some reviews online have complained that it stopped working after a couple years. I'm hesitant to drop a lot of money on something that might not last as long as a recliner should, but it's all i can afford right now.

[queenpiranhadon]

"The fuck are you doin' up so late, hah?"

"I could say the same to you, Ryo."

The pink haired man in your college dorm rolls his eyes. "I had football practice. You know that. What's your excuse?"

You shrug. "Homework."

He squints at you in annoyance, kicking off his shoes without much care as to where they went, much to your protest. "Didn't you take like a billion AP courses back in high school? Why're you so busy?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. "I still got exams to study for." you yawn, tiredly. "What time is it?"

Sukuna sighs. "12:36."

You blink, your sleep deprived mind trying to wrap itself around that information. "They kept you till midnight?!"

He sighs, discarding his jacket and throwing his sweaty shirt onto his desk chair, joining the accumulating pile of laundry you know you'll have to do later. "We're going against Tokyo tomorrow. Said we needed to work our asses off to beat Satoru Gojo."

You raise your eyebrow. You didn't know much about football, but Sukuna forced you to go to enough games that you had the general idea. "The quarterback? They do realize you're only second to him stats-wise, right? It's very possible you'll beat him. The strongest has a lot of weaknesses too."

Sukuna grins, kissing your head before slipping into the shower.

He's not sure when he fell in love with you. You two were on basically on opposite sides of the spectrum that was college social circles. And then one day he saw you in the library, barely sparing a glance at him and brushing past him to leave.

To be honest, he was kinda shocked. Most girls tended to get extremely flustered or excited when they saw him, and you...you basically didn't give a shit.

But Ryomen Sukuna never encountered rejection - even if indirectly.

He wasn't going to start with you.

Eventually, you started to warm up to him, and you saw a different side to the merciless and arrogant heartthrob that walked through the halls of campus with such confidence it was almost palpable.

The next semester, the two of you became roommates.

Now, where there was you, there was Sukuna. The definition of a power couple, you supplied the brains and he the brawn.

Sukuna never really thought he was one for love, but when he steps out of the shower, finding you slumped over your papers, asleep, he seems to fall in love with you all over again.

You were strong.

Maybe not physically, by the determination and fiery look in your eyes he saw everyday was something he always respected, and eventually, something he fell in love with.

Slipping on a shirt and sweats, he stacks your papers to the best of his ability, before carefully lifting your sleeping form gently. "Damn woman, you're gonna be the death of me...falling asleep on me like this..." he mutters, a soft look in his eyes.

He'd rather die than have anyone see him like this, but you? You were an exception.

And as the brings you close and feels the soft lull of sleep beckoning him closer, he realizes you always would be.

A/N: This might be ooc shhhhhh this was just rlly cute I love him hehehe

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[kbwrites]

Devotion

synopsis: Sukuna discovers Uraume’s hidden desire for his wife. Amused and intrigued, he twists their devotion into a dangerous game of seduction and control, where loyalty, lust, and power collide..

⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f!reader, nsfw, slight Uraume x reader, power play, sukuna being sadistic, voyeurism

⚝wc: 3.2k

⚝a/n: guys am I slowly turning into a Sukuna glazer? Is that what’s happening?

“Uraume.”

“Yes, master?”

“Have you had…lovers before?”

Ryomen leaned forward over the dining table, his crimson eyes sharp with mischief, resting his chin lazily on his hand. One of his upper arms reached for the delicate porcelain cup, lifting it to his lips as he took a sip, all while gauging Uraume’s reaction with predatory precision. Uraume, ever composed, took a deep breath—perhaps steadier than expected, but not beyond Sukuna’s notice.

“No, my lord. I am only loyal to you.”

Sukuna could only chuckle darkly at his most trusted advisor’s iron resolve.

“Surely you’ve been attracted to someone before.”

It’s subtle, but Sukuna noticed how Uraume’s body tensed at the question.

“Thats…”

His eyebrow quirks in amusement, the thought of them finding interest in anything other than servitude absolutely intriguing.

“Oh?” He purrs “Tell me Uraume, who’s captured your interest?”

Uraume pauses, their mouth slightly agape about to answer until the doors to the dining hall swing open.

“Good morning~” You yawn strutting into the grand hall. Ryomen’s ears perk up at the sound of your voice. You were draped in a black silk robe, loosely fitting to reveal your cleavage. He didn’t miss the way Uraume suddenly went rigid, their spine straightening as though an unseen force had pulled them taut.

“My lady..” Uraume says quietly, bowing deeply, far lower than usual. There was a slight tremor in their voice, one that would be imperceptible to anyone else, but to Sukuna, it was as clear as day.

Something flickered in Sukuna’s eyes—something dark, cunning, and hungry. He was beginning to connect the threads. Uraume’s abnormal stillness, their faltering words, their body language—how had he not seen it before?

As a light bulb switched off in his mind. Sukuna’s eyes darken as his mind swirls with ideas.

“Good morning, peach.” he purred, his voice a rich, velvety drawl as he pushed his chair back slightly, creating space between his thick thighs. You settle between him, his lower arm wrapping securely around your waist. Your fingers plucked a few of the fruits, and with a mischievous smile, you lifted them to his lips. Sukuna’s eyes gleamed as he accepted your offering, his lips brushing your fingertips as he took the grapes from your hand, savoring the taste.

“Did you sleep well?” he hummed, his voice a rumble that reverberated through your body, his grip on your waist tightening.

Uraume was trying so hard to maintain their composure, but Sukuna was a master at unraveling even the most tightly wound strings. He didn’t miss the lingering gaze, the subtle admiration—the longing in Uraume’s eyes as they glanced at you.

You smiled softly, nodding as you fed him another grape. “I did.”

The room felt charged with an unspoken tension. Sukuna’s gaze flitted between you and Uraume.

“Uraume was just about to tell us something…” Sukuna chuckled, his voice a deep, velvet purr dripping with dark amusement.

“Weren’t you, Uraume?”

The words rolled off his tongue like a challenge, low and sultry, and Uraume flinched ever so slightly. Their mouth opened, but no sound emerged, their composure threatening to crack under the weight of Sukuna’s relentless gaze.

Uraume’s adams apple bobbed as they swallowed hard, their hands clenching at their sides. They looked as though they were standing on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to jump or retreat. Their gaze flicked to yours—full of something raw and unspoken—before they quickly averted their eyes again, their face flushing.

“Yes…” Uraume managed, voice tight. “The preparations for the festival next week are complete. I thought it would be a good outing for you, my lady.”

You perked up, Ryomen knew how much you loved going outside the castle. And even though he despised being among the general public he never chastised you for it.

He shifted in his chair, his arm still wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you just a little closer against him.

“An outing…” Sukuna mused, his voice low and thoughtful, malicious intent danced in his eyes. “How delightful.”

“Would you come this time Ryo?” You asked, eyes turning up to him with that innocent, pleading look he could never refuse.

His gaze flicks up to Uraume. He saw the way Uraume’s shoulders tensed, the way they remained painfully still. Sukuna could feel Uraume’s silent plea—don’t come. Don’t make this harder than it already is. But Sukuna, ever the sadist, felt the opposite.

His lips curled into a slow, wicked smile as he looked down at you. “How could I say no when you ask so sweetly, peach?” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble.

༺═────────────═༻

As the days slipped by, Sukuna’s amusement only deepened. What had once seemed like gestures of loyalty and respect from Uraume now held a different meaning altogether. The signs were there—delicate and unspoken, but there nonetheless.

He watched closely, sharper now, how Uraume’s hands lingered just a moment longer than necessary when adjusting your robes, or the way their fingers brushed your skin with a softness that would have seemed impossible for a being so devoted to carrying out the King of Curses’ bidding. Uraume, so effortlessly deadly, became something else entirely when in your presence—gentle, careful. As though you were made of glass. And Sukuna saw it all.

Of course, Ryomen Sukuna knew how captivating his wife was. You were beauty incarnate—graceful, magnetic, and utterly enchanting. He had always reveled in the way your presence could command a room, how your smile could make the world feel warmer. It wasn’t lost on him how others admired you, but he had never paid it much attention. You were his. That had never been up for debate.

The thought of his most trusted advisor being captivated by you was both amusing and intriguing. To think that Uraume, who had stood by his side through countless battles, who had remained steadfast and loyal through the bloodiest of wars, was not immune to your charm—it was almost laughable. But it was more than that. It was a game, a deliciously cruel game that Sukuna couldn’t resist playing.

༺═────────────═༻

It was bath time, the air thick with steam, curling up in soft tendrils around the marble walls of the grand bathhouse. You and Sukuna sat on opposite ends, your legs grazing one another beneath the surface. Uraume carefully washed your hair, applying the perfect amount of pressure when scratching your scalp.

Sukuna watched from his end of the tub, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he observed the way Uraume tended to you—so gentle, so precise. It was the kind of attention a lover would give, not merely an attendant.

You, of course, were oblivious. Your eyes were closed, soft hum of contentment escaping your lips as Uraume’s deft fingers massaged your scalp. The warmth of the bath relaxing you, Sukuna could see the soft smile tugging at your lips, unaware of the turmoil that brewed just beneath the surface.

“Uraume?” You question softly “Did those oils you ordered from Kuroshiki arrive yet? I think Ryo would like them today.”

“Yes…” Uraume says snapping out of their daze “I will fetch them right away my lady.”

“Bathing with fragrance oil? You really do spoil me” Sukuna says smirking.

You leaned closer to him, your fingers lightly trailing along the edge of the tub as you spoke, voice soft and inviting. “You seem… distracted as of late, my king,” you murmured, “I wish you would tell me what was occupying your mind.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his broad chest as he shifted slightly, adjusting his position as his crimson eyes traveled over your face, lingering on the way your wet hair clung to your skin and how the water caressed your naked form beneath the surface.

“My dear,” he purred, his voice low and smooth, “If I’m distracted, it’s only because of you.” He let the words hang in the air, his gaze darkening as he watched your reaction, the tension between you palpable.

Your lips curled into a slow, teasing smile, and you raised a brow, tilting your head as you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his chest.

Ryomen’s hand shot out, snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against him, your breath catching in your throat as you found yourself pressed up against his chest. His other hand trailed lazily through the water, his fingers skimming along your thigh just beneath the surface. Your heart raced, the warmth of the bath and the heat of his touch intertwining, making it difficult to think clearly.

“And you, my queen…” Sukuna’s voice rumbled with a dark edge, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck as he spoke. “What has been occupying your mind?”

Your breath hitched as you felt his lips graze your skin, the sensation sending a wave of heat through you. You tilted your head slightly, allowing him better access to your neck, your lips parting as you replied, your voice soft and laced with desire. “Only you, my king. Always you.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. “I like to know where your thoughts are.”

Just as the moment seemed to deepen, the door to the bathhouse creaked open. Uraume entered with their usual calm, carrying a small, ornate jar of oils. The soft clink of the jar being set down on the table was like a loud intrusion into your private world. Uraume cleared their throat, the sound sharp in the silence.

“My lady, my lord,” Uraume announced quietly, their eyes briefly meeting yours before darting away, their cheeks flushing slightly with the strain of maintaining composure.

You pull yourself away from your husband back to your side of the tub, smiling politely.

“Thank you Uraume.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as he observed Uraume. His earlier pleasure was replaced by a simmering frustration, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the timing of the intrusion.

They bowed respectfully, eyes fixed on the floor as they took their leave. The door clicked shut behind them, and the room fell into an uneasy silence.

As the two of you settled back, Sukuna’s thoughts were already racing ahead. He decided he would push Uraume’s resolve to the breaking point, manipulate their emotions, and watch with dark satisfaction as their carefully constructed façade crumbled. Sukuna was eager to see how far he could push his most loyal servant before they fell apart.

The morning light seeped through the dark curtains of your shared bedroom. Sukuna sat up, his muscular back pressed against the dark mahogany headboard as he watched you.

His eyes, sharp and intent, traced the curve of your body as you slept. The way your body stirred against the black silk sheets, the fabric of your sleep robe slipped off your shoulders—revealing more and more of your skin with every rise and fall of your chest. His own arousal growing at the mere sight of you.

He leaned down to you, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone. One arm snaked up to your chest, slipping under your robe to caress your breast. You whimpered in your sleep, squirming under his large hands.

“Ryo?” You question, eyes still closed as you feel the warmth of his palms set fire to your cool skin. Your body responding to him almost instinctively, heat pooling in your core as his touch deepened, awakening a familiar hunger within you.

“Awake already, peach?” he murmured against your skin. The sound of his voice alone—low, gravelly, and undeniably seductive—vibrated through you, making your breath hitch.

You hum as your back instinctively arches into his touch.

“Don’t you have… ahhh. Meetings in the morning?”

“Mmm.” he purred in acknowledgment, peeling the robe off of your body. “It can wait. There’s something far more… compelling… that’s caught my attention.”

Your body shivers slightly as Ryomen removes the covers, he drinks in the sight before him. Removing his mouth from your neck, before dipping his head between your legs.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of your dripping cunt. Ryomen flattens his tongue, the wet muscle circling your bundle of nerves. His two upper arms hold your thighs in place, nails digging into the plush flesh. The room fills with your sleepy moans and whimpers as The king of curses slurps up your essence. He latches onto your clit, sucking while his tongue swirls.

You grab tufts of his fluffy pink hair between your manicured fingers, tugging gently. He looked up at you through half lidded eyes, smirking against your cunt as you grind against his face.

You felt the pressure building in your core, Sukuna felt your heart quicken—continuing his ministrations. Just as you felt the dam about to break.

Knock knock

Ryomen let out a low growl, the vibration rumbling through your cunt. He reluctantly tore his face away from between your legs.

“What is it?” His voice laced with venom.

“It’s me, my lord.”

He pauses, gaze flicking between the door and your panting form. An idea pops into his mind.

“Come in.” Sukuna muses, his voice smooth and deliberate.

Your eyes shot open, widening in shock as the doorknob slowly began to turn. Panic flooded your veins, your breath catching in your throat as you realized what he intended. You tried to push against him, but Sukuna’s grip was ironclad, his body pinning yours down against the silken sheets.

“Ryo, please!” you whispered urgently, your heart racing as you felt the weight of the moment closing in on you, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. But your pleas only seemed to excite him further. Sukuna’s smirk deepened, a cruel chuckle escaping his lips.

Uraume stepped into the room, eyes respectfully downcast, holding a scroll of parchment.

“My lord, I—”

But the words died on their lips the moment they finally looked up. Uraume stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening in disbelief as they took in the scene before them.

“Ah, Uraume!” Sukuna drawled, his voice full of amusement. “You may speak.”

“I-if this is not a good time—“

Ryomen chuckles, his hand snaking up to give your tit a gentle squeeze. Rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. You bite back a whimper.

“Nonsense! Continue.” He says, gaze never leaving you.

Uraume glances at you, their eyes raking over your form. They had dressed and bathed you countless times. However nothing could quite compare to the way your skin glistened with sweat, chest heaving as you tried to regain a steady heartbeat. They way your eyes were nearly black, glazed over with pleasure. They shouldn’t feel this way… they couldn’t and yet it was impossible to ignore the growing heat, the tightening coil as Uraume saw you in your most vulnerable state.

“Speak, Uraume,” Sukuna commanded again, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He relished in the discomfort radiating from his loyal servant, the way their breath quickened and their hands trembled ever so slightly at their sides.

“U-Uraume… you don’t have to listen to him.” You manage to mumble, trying to separate your rational mind from the pleasure your husbands fingers were giving you.

“Oh? But darling Uraume wants to see this.” He purrs. “Don’t you Uraume?”

They want to go, to turn on their heels and walk—no run quickly, and far away from the both of you. But every movement—every verbal protest failed to ever come to fruition. All Uraume could do in that moment. Was watch.

Watch as you writhed under their master, as your supple skin they so tirelessly cared for was marked. As your aching cunt was toyed with, as the saccharine moans fell from your plump lips.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you glance at Uraume, who watched intently as Ryomen gathered the wetness from your folds and his index finger was slowly swallowed by your walls. The lewd noises your sloppy cunt uttered as he pumped slowly into you—like sweet music. He grinned maliciously as he felt you clench around his finger. Despite your earlier protest—he knew you were enjoying this as much as him.

You bit down on your lip, stifling your moans as he curled his finger up to your sweet spot.

“Don’t hold back, peach…” He hums as he inserts another finger. “Let them hear how good it feels.”

Uraume’s breath hitches again, body tensing even more as they watch your every move from the sidelines. Sukuna’s gaze falls on your hand, gripping the silk sheets for support. His eyebrow quirks as another idea pops into his head.

“Hold her hand, Uraume.” He commands softly. Their eyes widen briefly before following his command. Uraume’s hand wraps gently around yours, intertwining fingers. Their breath is heavier now, cheeks flushed with color.

You finally make eye contact with Uraume, looking up at them through half-lidded eyes. You had never seen them like this, such hunger in their dark pink gaze. Looking upon you with pure lust. It made your cunt clench even more around your husband’s fingers.

Ryomen continues his assault on your sopping hole, pumping in and out relentlessly. Every time his curled digits brushed against your g-spot you feel the all too familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen.

“Ryo! m’close…” You whine softly looking down at him. He only grins in response glancing at his advisor.

“Don’t tell me.” He growls “Tell Uraume how you feel.”

Tears now pricked your eyes, the overwhelming sensation proving too much for you. You look up at Uraume through wet lashes.

“U-Uraume… I’m fuckkk gonna cum!” You whimper, they don’t respond—instead squeezing your hand tighter as they struggle to breathe.

Sukuna smirks as his wife and most trusted attendant share the intimate eye contact. His own cock twitching in excitement.

“Uraume…” he hums in mockery “She’s right on the edge, should we give her what she wants?”

Their eyes flit between you and Sukuna, feeling dizzy with pleasure. You looked so needy, so desperate for release. They couldn’t deny you any longer. They needed to see you come undone.

“P-please Uraume.” You choke out—hiccuping as fat tears rolled down your face. “Can’t take much more!”

Uraume lets out a shaky breath, their gaze never leaving yours.

“Y-yes! Please my lord!” Their voice almost matching your own desperation.

And with one more thrust of his thick fingers your body shakes. You cry out in pleasure. Writhing as Uraume’s nails dig into the flesh of your hand, holding your hand in a vice grip. A gasp escaping their lips.

Sukuna slowly removes his fingers from you, bringing them up to Uraume’s face teasingly before sucking them clean of your slick. A silent reminder that you would always be his.

Sukuna and Uraume fix their gaze on you, sprawled out on the sheets, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. He glances over at them, noticing how their lips were parted. How their eyes were glued to you. As if they dared to blink you would disappear.

“She’s beautiful… isn’t she Uraume?” He purrs, lightly tracing the curves of your body.

“Yes master… she is… perfect.”

[surielstea]

Undercover Affection

Based on a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: While on a mission with Azriel, you must pretend to be a couple. During which it’s revealed that Azriel and you are mated.

Warnings: none (that I know of)

A.Note: After a month of ghosting you guys I’m finally back!! And with a fic I’m very proud of so I hope you guys enjoy!!

7.9k word count.

The instructions had been simple enough: "Blend in, gather information, and avoid getting caught." But for some reason, Rhysand had thought it necessary to throw in an extra condition—one Azriel seemed to want to claw his way out of.

"I work alone." The shadow singer gritted through his teeth, shadows billowing over his impressively sized wings.

"Not for this mission, you won't." The High Lord immediately dismisses him, not batting an eye at the male who perhaps every other fae in Prythian was terrified of.

"She's not ready, she'll be a distraction." Azriel counters. A foreign part of you panged with disappointment at that. Did he really find you so incompetent?

Rhys argues back immediately, his anger beginning to ramp up to meet Azriel's and you quickly decide you didn't want to be anywhere near when they collided. "You told me yourself just last week she's the best spy you've ever trained."

Your eyebrows lift a fraction at what Rhys had unconsciously confessed, the barest reaction but enough for the shadow singer to pick up on. His hazel eyes flicked to your own gaze, then back to Rhysand's.

They seemed to be having a conversation, one you couldn't hear. You doubted you'd ever get used to that, the way Rhys could slip into someone's mind—even someone as guarded as Azriel. A shiver went down your spine as you thought about the power of the High Lord of Night.

"You have to be out of your mind if you think I'll ever put her in that kind of danger." Azriel seethed to his brother through the mental connection, unable to even fathom the idea of you having a target on your back.

"She may be your mate but she is also your disciple, did you seriously think she'd never go out into the field?" Rhys could sense his anger, feel it ebbing against a shield that was thinning.

"I only taught her spy work so she'd know how to protect herself—never to put her in harm's way," Azriel says, his frustration making his voice sound almost pleading.

"Then you know she can protect herself. You will be beside her every step of the way, what she wants to do is entirely her decision." Rhys remarks.

"And what if the bond snaps? It could jeopardize the mission—much more, her safety." Azriel poses, the scenario would make all hell break loose in all situations.

"Are you implying you can't keep her safe?" Rhys taunts, the words finding their mark in the Spy Masters head.

You watch their expressions closely, attempting to pick up on what they were saying but the only reaction you could spot was the way Azriel's jaw feathered as he pushed off Rhysand's desk and turned to me.

"Do you think you're ready for this?" There was a certain softness in his eyes you only got rare glimpses of, the sight making you swallow hard.

Your throat felt tight, but you straightened your shoulders and lifted your chin. "I am." Your voice didn't waver, though the intensity of his hazel eyes made it a near thing.

Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair as he surveyed you both with a calculating air. The quiet smile tugging at his lips felt almost dangerous like he already knew the outcome of a game you hadn't even realized you were playing.

"The ball," he began, voice smooth, "is being hosted by High Fae whose loyalty to Prythian is questionable at best. Whispers suggest they're courting alliances with forces hostile to Velaris. If true, this could be the first move toward rebellion."

He slid a detailed sketch across the desk. The male's sharp features and cold, calculating eyes etched into the paper made your stomach tighten. Rhys's voice remained steady as he continued. "Kaieel is the orchestrator. We need names, allies, plans—anything we can use to dismantle his efforts before they gain traction. The masks and secrecy of the event work in our favor. You'll attend, blend in with the crowd, and leave no trace of your presence."

"And our cover?" you asked, though you weren't sure you wanted the answer.

Rhys's lips twitched. "Newlyweds."

The single word hit you like a jolt of lightning. Your heart stumbled, catching somewhere between shock and disbelief. "A couple?" you uttered, trying to keep your voice even.

"A young pair enamored with each other and blissfully distracted. The perfect cover." Rhys's eyes sparkled with mirth, though his tone was all business. "An unattached male draws suspicion. A pair in love does not."

Azriel didn't react outwardly, but his silence spoke volumes. You risked a glance at him, finding his gaze fixed somewhere distant. Was the idea truly so unbearable to him?

"The priority," Rhys continued, "is information. If your cover is compromised, you extract yourselves immediately. But until then, you'll need to act the part—dancing, whispering... perhaps even a kiss or two, if the situation calls for it."

"Rhys," Azriel growled, low and lethal.

Rhys only smirked, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Relax, Az. You might even have fun. Any questions?"

You shook your head, pulse hammering. The mission was simple in theory, but with Azriel by your side—close enough to feel his warmth, to brush against the bond neither of you had spoken of—it felt like you were stepping into something far more dangerous than a ballroom full of enemies.

"Good," Rhys said, dismissing you both with a wave. "You leave at dusk."

Azriel turned abruptly, the tension in his wings a visible reminder of the storm brewing within him. As he stalked toward the door, you followed, already bracing yourself for the days to come.

Whatever lay ahead, one thing was clear: the mission wouldn't just test your skills as a spy—it would test every fragile boundary you and Azriel had built between the two of you.

—

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your gown, the soft, luxurious material clinging perfectly to your frame before pooling at your feet. It was a deep shade of midnight grey, almost black, designed to shimmer as if it were the color of the moon itself, glimmering silver in the right lighting. The neckline dipped just enough to be daring without crossing into scandalous, and the fitted bodice accentuated every curve. The gown was a far cry from the shadowy leathers you had grown accustomed to during training.

Your fingers brushed over the mask lying on the vanity before you. It was delicate, intricate silver filigree adorned with tiny crystals that caught the light to match my dress. The sight of it alone made your stomach twist with nerves, though you refused to let the feeling take hold. You were a spy, not some jittery debutante.

Focus.

Your gaze shifted to the mirror as you adjusted the gown again, letting out a slow breath. The transformation was undeniable; the person staring back at you looked like they belonged at this kind of event. For a moment, you barely recognized yourself, and that unfamiliarity was almost reassuring. If you didn't recognize yourself, maybe no one else would either.

The soft knock at the door startled you. You turned, calling out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Azriel stepped inside, closing it behind him with deliberate care.

Your breath was stolen from your lungs at the sight of the Shadow Singer.

He wore an all-black suit that looked as though it had been tailored specifically for him—and knowing the resources of the Night Court, it probably had. The sharp lines of the jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and the subtle sheen of the fabric only added to the air of elegance that clung to him. His wings were glamoured away, leaving no trace of their presence—which was upsetting, but it was his eyes that made up for it—those piercing hazel eyes, framed by long lashes that truly captured your attention. They swept over you in a single, assessing glance, and you swore you caught the faintest flicker of surprise before his features smoothed into their usual calm.

"You look..." His voice trailed off, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

"Like I'm about to infiltrate a ball filled with potential traitors to Velaris?" you offered lightly, trying to break the tension that had settled in the room.

"I was going to say beautiful, but that works too," he said simply, his voice low and even. The words sent a strange warmth curling through your chest, though you quickly buried it.

Azriel crossed the room, the measured grace of his movements a reminder of the lethal precision he carried with him always. He stopped just in front of you, holding out his hand. "Your mask."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing it to him. His gloved fingers brushed against yours as he took it, and you were acutely aware of how close he was as he moved behind you.

The brush of his knuckles against your temple sent a shiver down your spine as he adjusted the mask, tying the soft ribbons at the back of your head with deft fingers. His scent—night-chilled mist and cedar—wrapped around you, a quiet distraction that made it hard to focus.

"There," he murmured, adjusting your hair around the ribbon before stepping back just enough for you to turn and face him. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and you wondered if he could sense the way your pulse quickened.

"You clean up well," you said, tilting your head slightly. "Almost didn't recognize you without all the shadows."

He raised a brow, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. "You'll have to forgive me for not returning the compliment."

Your lips twitched. "And why's that?"

"Because if I did, we'd be here all night," he replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare, fleeting smile.

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected flirtation. Azriel's humor was subtle, almost elusive, but when it surfaced, it always left you reeling.

Before you could find a response, you remembered the last detail. "Oh, wait." You turned back to the vanity, retrieving the small box you'd nearly forgotten. Inside were two rings—simple, elegant bands meant to complete your cover as a married couple.

You slipped one onto your finger, the cool metal fitting perfectly, the sapphire stone placed atop it glimmering in the sunsetting light. You hold out the other to him. "Rhys gave them to me, for authenticity," you said, keeping your tone light despite the awkwardness that had crept into the air.

Azriel's gaze dropped to the ring in your hand, his expression unreadable as he took it. For a moment, you thought he might protest, but instead, he slid it onto his finger with careful precision.

He slipped it onto his finger without breaking eye contact, the deliberate slowness of the action making your heart race. "There," he said, holding his hand up to examine the ring. "How do I look as your doting husband?"

You took a step back, pretending to assess him with a critical eye. "Hmm, you'll pass—just barely. Try smiling a little more. You're supposed to be madly in love with me, remember?"

Azriel leaned in slightly, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "If I smile too much, they'll think I've lost my mind."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Fair enough."

He reached out then, his hand brushing yours as he straightened an imaginary crease in the sleeve of your gown. The touch was fleeting but enough to send warmth creeping up your neck. When he pulled back, the air between you was thick with unspoken tension.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You nodded, grabbing the silver clutch from the vanity and looping it over your wrist. "As I'll ever be."

Azriel extended his arm, a rare gesture that made your lips twitch in surprise. "Shall we, gorgeous?" he teased, his tone low and smooth.

You slid your hand through the crook of his arm, matching his smirk with one of your own. "Lead the way, handsome." Whatever this mission had in store, it was clear the most dangerous thing you'd face tonight wasn't Kaieel or his allies. It was Azriel—and the way he made you feel.

—

The ballroom glittered like a scene from a dream, opulent and indulgent in every detail. Chandeliers sparkled with a thousand lights overhead, their glow casting a soft radiance across the sea of masked figures swirling on the marble floor. The air buzzed with muted conversations, laughter, and the soft strains of a symphony playing in the background.

Your arm was looped through Azriel's, his warmth bleeding into you even through the layers of your gown and his tailored suit. He guided you into the crowd with an ease that belied his tension, his hazel eyes scanning every face, every shadow, every corner.

"Stay close," he murmured, the words just for you, his breath brushing against your temple. His voice, low and commanding, sent a shiver down your spine, though you quickly disguised it as a nod of agreement.

"Hard to get closer than this," you quipped softly, unable to resist. You felt him stiffen slightly under your hand, his wings—glamoured away but somehow still present in your mind—practically bristling with restrained energy.

He didn't respond, but the faintest curve of his lips betrayed him. If it weren't for the mask obscuring part of his face, you might have caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Instead, his focus shifted, scanning the room until it landed on your target.

Kaieel stood near the far edge of the room, his tall frame commanding attention even in this crowd of nobles. His mask, dark and menacing, covered much of his face, but his icy blue eyes gleamed through the filigree, sharp and calculating. A small circle of sycophants surrounded him, laughing too loudly at his every word. He raised a crystal flute to his lips, sipping lazily as though the fate of Prythian wasn't potentially hanging on his next move.

"Eyes on Kaieel," Azriel murmured, tilting his head just enough for his words to reach you. "But keep it subtle. The last thing we want is him noticing our interest too early."

"Subtlety is my specialty," you whispered back, earning a flick of his gaze, though he said nothing. His grip on your hand tightened as he steered you toward the dance floor.

Before you could question him, Azriel pivoted smoothly, releasing your arm only to catch your hand and pull you into a waltz. The sudden movement startled you, your other hand landing instinctively on his shoulder as he spun you into the rhythm of the music.

"A dance?" you asked, arching a brow as you tried to ignore the way his hand settled on your waist, firm but not overbearing.

"Blending in," he replied simply, though the set of his jaw betrayed the faintest hint of awkwardness. "Everyone else is dancing. And from here, we have a better view of Kaieel."

You followed his lead, your feet moving in time with his despite the distraction of his proximity. The bond hummed faintly at the back of your mind, an awareness you fought to suppress as you focused on the task at hand. His scent—cedar and chilled mist—wrapped around you, grounding and maddening all at once.

"So," you ventured, your voice low, "do we just stare at him all night, or do we actually have a plan?"

Azriel's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "Patience. Kaieel will make his move eventually. Until then, we observe."

"Observation is all well and good," you said, your tone light despite the weight of the moment, "but what if he decides to slip away before we get what we need?"

"He won't," Azriel replied, his confidence a quiet anchor in the storm of your nerves. "He's too arrogant to think anyone here is a threat to him."

You were about to respond when Kaieel's laugh cut through the music, sharp and derisive. Your gaze flicked toward him in time to see him gesture grandly to his circle, drawing their attention—and yours. The words he spoke were lost in the distance, but the smug tilt of his head and the pointed glance he cast toward a cloaked figure in the corner sent a chill down your spine.

"Did you see that?" you murmured, tilting your head subtly toward Kaieel.

Azriel's grip on your waist tightened imperceptibly. "I saw. He's signaling someone."

Your next step faltered, and Azriel steadied you instantly, his hand at your back pressing you closer. "Careful," he murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver through you. "If you trip, they'll notice."

"Noted," you said, your cheeks warming despite yourself. You tilted your head again, pretending to focus on him as you spoke. "The cloaked figure in the corner. Could be a contact."

"Could be," Azriel agreed, his hazel eyes flicking toward the figure in question. "But we won't know for sure until we get closer."

"And how do you propose we do that without drawing attention?" you asked, trying to ignore the way his hand seemed to linger on your back, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your gown in a way that felt almost deliberate.

Azriel's lips curved into a smirk, subtle but unmistakable. "Leave that to me."

Before you could question him further, the song ended, and he stepped back, bowing slightly as he offered you his arm again. You accepted it, allowing him to guide you off the dance floor and toward the far side of the room. Kaieel's attention was still focused on his circle, oblivious to your approach.

Azriel leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "We'll circle the room, make small talk, and get close enough to overhear. Follow my lead."

"Always," you replied softly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. Azriel's gaze snapped to yours, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing as he led you deeper into the crowd.

The mission demanded your focus, but with Azriel at your side, his presence steady and unyielding, you couldn't help but wonder if the real danger tonight wasn't the secrets hidden in this ballroom—but the ones you carried in your heart.

You move through the ballroom like smoke, seamlessly blending with the opulent crowd. Strangers smile at you—glittering masks of civility over a sea of intentions. They don't need to know who you are; your presence, the confident tilt of your chin, and the luxury of your attire tell them enough. Wealth recognizes power, even in passing.

When you wave at a woman standing beside Kaieel, she returns the gesture, though her eyes narrow ever so slightly, a flicker of confusion betraying her effort to place you. Still, she beckons you closer with the smooth grace of someone accustomed to command.

"Lady Reven," Azriel murmurs in your ear, his voice as soft and deliberate as the shadows that cling to him. "Ex-wife of Kaieel. The hostess of tonight's spectacle."

"She invited her ex-husband?" you ask under your breath, your smile unwavering despite the furrow of your brows.

"He's funding it," Azriel replies, his golden eyes scanning the room. "This way, he and his associates can conspire without his name attached. If the plot unravels—"

"She takes the fall," you finish, your mind catching up to the threads he's weaving.

"Precisely," he says with a wry twist of his lips. Then, with a pointed glance at Lady Reven, he adds, "And she, my love, is your key to him."

Your heart stumbles at his phrasing. Your key? You open your mouth to protest, but he silences you with a slight tilt of his head. "I won't be far," he assures you, his voice a soft promise. And then, as if sensing your doubt, the cool, silken pressure of shadows winds beneath your dress, curling around your thigh like an unspoken vow. The sensation is enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

"What do I even say to her?" you whisper, frowning.

Azriel chuckles, low and teasing. "Have you forgotten all your training already?" The confidence in his tone steadies you. "You'll do just fine. I'll fetch us drinks and join you shortly," he adds, leaning down to press a brief, warm kiss to your temple before vanishing into the crowd like mist.

You force a breath into your lungs and set your shoulders, willing confidence into your stride as you cross the ballroom. The shadows move with you, unseen but ever-present, their cool touch synchronizing with the rhythm of your steps.

As you approach a table laden with crystalline champagne flutes and decadent sweets, your ears tune in to the sharp edges of Lady Reven's voice, drifting from where she speaks to a maid.

"And make sure he leaves alone tonight," she hisses. "He's humiliated me enough in public without dragging some—other female into it."

The maid nods, scurrying off, and you let your gaze fall to the intricately carved edge of the table. The urge to fidget nearly overcomes you before Lady Reven's voice pulls you from the habit.

"I wouldn't bother with the chocolates," she says coolly, stepping closer.

You glance at her, feigning an easy smile. "Good to know." You nod. "I've never been one for sweets anyway, Lady Reven."

Her ruby-red lips curl upward in a knowing smirk. "Have we met?" she asks, her sharp eyes studying you with thinly veiled suspicion.

"Only on paper," you reply smoothly. "My husband works for Kaieel."

Recognition softens her features. "Ah, a friend of Kaieel is a friend of mine," she purrs. "Call me Valenia."

"Of course. Valenia," you echo with a nod, subtly testing the name.

"And where is your husband tonight?" she asks, gesturing vaguely to the glittering crowd.

You tilt your head with a small laugh. "Fetching me something stronger than this champagne," you quip, gesturing towards the burbling fountain of sparkling wine in the center. The honesty surprises her into a laugh of her own.

"Well, I'll have to apologize for the watered-down drinks," she says lightly, her tone dripping with feigned humility.

"No need. This is a stunning event," you counter, gesturing to the ballroom.

A flicker of satisfaction crosses her face. "I think we're alike, you and I," she muses, before looping her arm through yours. "Come. I'll introduce you to Kaieel."

Your pulse quickens as she steers you across the room. You catch Azriel's golden gaze from where he's threading through the crowd, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

"I really should wait for my husband," you try, a nervous laugh slipping out. "We've been recently married, couldn't keep him away if I tried." You attempt to excuse.

"Then it'll be easy for him to find us, hm?" Valenia dismisses with a wink, tugging you forward until you're standing before Kaieel himself.

Kaieel was sprawled on a chaise lounge, maids bringing him drinks, butlers feeding him by hand like he was some kind of king. Even Rhys wasn't this ostentatious. His turquoise eyes fell on you as Lady Raven guided you towards him, dragging his gaze across every inch of your figure. You did your best to ignore it, giving him a bashful smile.

"What have I done to deserve the company of two such radiant creatures?" Kaieel drawls, his grin wide and smug as he leans back in his seat.

"Kai," Valenia greets, her tone deceptively warm, intimacy still flowing between them. "This is—oh, dear, I fear I never got your name."

Before you can answer, an arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you into the familiar scent of cedar and night mist, the warmth of his hold makes your tense shoulders relax.

"Mrs. Lawmore," Azriel announces smoothly, answering for you as he gives Kaieel a grin, his smile disarming as he shields you beneath his presence.

"Lawmore?" Kaieel's eyes narrow with interest. "Lysan Lawmore, is that you under that mask?"

Azriel bows his head slightly, keeping his eyes down in fear of being caught. "It's been some time, apology for my absence but my beautiful wife here needed to be spoiled after our wedding night." You didn't want to know what happened to the real Lysan, neither did you want to know what Azriel did to him to get this information out of him.

"And how exactly did you win over such a lovely companion?" Kaieel continues, taking your hand with practiced charm, his lips brushing lightly over the sapphire on your ring finger.

You smile, tilting your head bashfully. "I believe I was the one winning him over," you say, cutting in before Azriel can.

Azriel's fingers trail from your shoulder down your arm, taking your hand from Kaieel's grasp and threading his fingers with yours. His touch is possessive but gentle, a silent claim.

"How sweet," Kaieel remarks, raising his glass in mock toast. "Remember when we were like that, darling?"

Valenia's eyes flash, her smirk tightening as she looks away. "They're newlyweds, Kai. Still in the honeymoon phase."

"Newlyweds, you say? Well, then," Kaieel says with a devilish grin. "We must celebrate. Let's toast!" He stood, raising his glass. He didn't have to so much as say a word for the entire ballroom to halt and turn to him.

"So kind of all of you to join us on this fine evening, not only are we celebrating this beautiful gathering the lovely Valenia put together," He pauses for a moment to gesture towards the woman who gave a practiced smile and an elegant wave of her hand. "But we are also celebrating the recently pronounced Mr. And Mrs. Lawmore!" He raises his glass, and even if none of these people so much as knew your name, they cheered anyway. Like puppets on a string, controlled by Kaieel himself.

"Go on," Kaieel presses, leaning forward with a wicked glint in his eye. "Kiss the bride."

The demand sends a shiver down your spine. Even the shadows twining around your legs seem to still, waiting.

Azriel was already staring at you, his eyes searching yours. His lips quirk into a soft, almost shy smile, and the question in his gaze is unmistakable.

You nod, barely perceptibly.

"Come here, love," he murmurs, his voice coaxing, tender.

Your lips met, fitting together with startling, unspoken precision—like the final piece of a puzzle you never realized was incomplete until it clicked into place. The kiss lasted only a heartbeat, but in that fleeting moment, everything shifted. The air between the two of you thickened, buzzing with a quiet intensity, as if the universe itself had paused to watch.

Something deep inside you stirred, a part of yourself you'd long buried or perhaps never even known. It unfurled like a blossom in the first light of dawn, warm and aching, a golden thread spinning itself between you. It twined tighter with every second, binding not just your bodies but something deeper, something elemental.

For that brief, infinite instant, there was no ballroom, no crowd, no mission. Just the two of you—two souls suspended in the gravity of a pull you couldn't name but could feel down to your very bones.

And then, like the breathless silence before a storm, realization hit you with shattering clarity. This wasn't just a kiss. It was him. Azriel.

Your mate.

The kiss ended as gently as it began, your eyes wide and searching but he remained calm and steady, you whisper, "You've known?"

Azriel's gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he was going to kiss you again, and again, and again until the gods themselves had to rip him from you. But before he can answer, the room erupts into applause, Kaieel's voice booming with praise.

Even as the crowd cheers and music resumes, you hear nothing but the pounding of your heart, feel nothing but the truth that thrums in your blood.

Mate.

And he knew.

You don't have time to process the truth searing through your veins. Mate. The word echoes in your mind like a thunderclap, threatening to drown out everything else. But Azriel's hand tightens around yours, steady and grounding. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable—a mix of reassurance and warning—and you understand: you can't falter. Not here. Not now.

Kaieel's voice cuts through the applause, smug and commanding. "Come now, don't let the celebration stop the night's festivities. Dance, drink, enjoy yourselves!" His hand sweeps over the crowd, his charisma intoxicating, pulling their attention away from you. For now.

"You're too kind, Kaieel," Azriel says. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to spend some time with my wife."

Azriel tugs gently on your hand, guiding you away from the center of the ballroom. You follow, trying to shake the weight of the bond snapping into place. But even as he leads you, the golden thread between you hums with a new, undeniable awareness, the shadows brushing against you like a silent promise.

He doesn't speak until you've reached the edge of the room, tucked into the shadowy recess of a grand marble column. His lips are close to your ear, his voice low and smooth. "Are you with me?"

You nod, the words caught in your throat.

"Good," he murmurs. "We need to move fast. Valenia is the key to his plans. Now that you become acquainted we can use her."

You blink, willing yourself to focus. "How?"

"She's vulnerable," Azriel says, his tone edged with calculation. "Kaieel still holds power over her, and it's clear she despises him for it. We can exploit that. Learn who his allies are, how he's funding this rebellion. If we play her right, she'll give us everything."

You glance toward the center of the room, where Valenia stands at Kaieel's side, her posture poised but her eyes cold as she watches him bask in the attention of the crowd. Her mask of indifference is expertly crafted, but you can see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her champagne flute.

"She definitely hates him," you say quietly. "But will she betray him?"

Azriel's shadows curl against your skin, cold and steady. "She already has. Hosting this event on his behalf, exposing him to scrutiny. She's more desperate than she lets on." He tilts his head toward you, his voice softer now. "We just need to give her the final push."

You swallow hard, nodding. "And if she doesn't break?"

Azriel's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Then we'll find another way. We always do."

Before you can reply, a servant approaches with a silver tray bearing two glasses of dark red wine. Azriel accepts both, handing one to you with an easy smile that belies the sharpness of his focus.

"Drink," he murmurs. "And dance with me. They're watching."

"Again?" You ask, your heart stuttering, but you take the glass, letting him guide you back toward the dance floor.

"This is a ball, love." The music swells as he pulls you into his arms, his movements are fluid and natural as though you've danced together a hundred times. "You didn't think I'd be satiated with one dance, did you?"

The bond thrums again, golden and electric, and you can't ignore it any longer. "You knew, Az," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the violins.

Azriel's gaze flicks to yours, soft but unyielding. "Not here," he murmurs.

"But—"

"Later," he insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, grounding you. "Focus."

This is why he didn't want you coming, you realize. You force yourself to breathe, to move with him, to match the rhythm of the music. Around you, the crowd swirls, their laughter and chatter a muted backdrop. Kaieel and Valenia are watching from the edge of the room, their expressions unreadable.

"Valenia's looking for an ally," Azriel murmurs as he twirls you gracefully. "She doesn't trust him to win against Rhys. We offer her a way out, and she'll talk."

"How do we approach her without raising suspicion?"

Azriel's lips curve into a faint smirk. "Snead your way into her inner circle. Let her think it was her idea. I'll shadow you, gather what I can from Kaieel's other guests."

"And if something goes wrong?"

His hand slides up to your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your collarbone—a fleeting, deliberate touch. "It won't."

The music slows, and he pulls you closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And even if it did, I'd slaughter everyone in this room to get you out."

You shiver, both from fear and something you didn't have time to familiarize yourself with.

The song ends, and Azriel steps back, his mask of calm once again firmly in place. He presses a light kiss to your hand, his lips brushing your knuckles as his golden eyes lock onto yours.

"I'll be watching," he murmurs. Then he's gone, slipping into the crowd as if he were never there.

You take a steadying breath, turning your gaze toward Valenia. She's speaking with a pair of aristocrats now, her laughter light and airy, but her eyes remain calculating. You approach slowly, your steps measured and deliberate.

"Lady Valenia," you say with a soft smile as you reach her side. "I must thank you again for this incredible event."

She turns to you, her lips curling into a practiced smile. "Ah, Mrs. Lawmore. Enjoying yourself, I hope?"

"Very much," you reply smoothly. "Though I must admit, I'd hoped for a chance to speak with you more privately. Your reputation precedes you."

Her brows lift slightly, intrigue flickering in her eyes. "Does it now? And what exactly have you heard?"

You lean in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to draw her closer. "That you're the true power behind Kaieel's successes. A woman of vision and cunning."

She laughs softly, but there's a sharpness to it. "And what would you want with a woman like that, my dear?"

You smile, your gaze steady. "To learn from you, of course. I imagine there's much you could teach me."

Her eyes narrow slightly, studying you. Then, with a sly smile, she links her arm with yours. "Come, let's talk. Away from prying eyes."

As she leads you toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, you catch a glimpse of Azriel in the crowd. He's watching, his expression unreadable but his presence a constant reassurance.

The game has begun.

———

The ball had stretched into the long hours of the night. Most guests had already taken their leave, yet a few lingered—drunkards, their fingers greedily grasping for what remained of the free wine. You had spent the evening carefully cultivating a list of names, all while trying not to let the thought of your mate—a word that still felt foreign in your mind—distract you.

Valenia, meanwhile, had rattled on endlessly, weaving a tapestry of grand schemes to dismantle Kaieel's empire and seize it for herself. Such a fool. The way she outlined every step was invaluable, her unwitting admissions offering a clear view of both her vulnerabilities and Kaieel's. For someone who fancied herself clever, she didn't understand the dangers of oversharing. Perhaps conspiring alone for so long had driven her to some invisible line of insanity, one she'd now crossed with aplomb.

She was smarter than Kaieel, no doubt, but she wasn't as sharp as she thought herself to be. The rich rarely were. They plotted in circles, their plans frayed with assumptions that gold could patch any hole. A society built on corruption and greed was a society destined to crumble.

A knock on the door shattered the air between you, halting Valenia mid-sentence. Both of you froze as the door creaked open, revealing familiar black hair and molten golden eyes.

"Lysan," you said smoothly, forcing an easy smile.

Valenia hiccuped, swaying slightly as she glanced between you. The liquor had loosened her tongue and dulled her senses—a poor, unsuspecting thing. You'd kept her glass full all night, though yours had remained barely touched.

"You two are lucky," she murmured, her words slurred but still carrying a bite of jealousy.

Azriel tilted his head, stepping closer with his hand outstretched. You met him halfway, your fingers intertwining as if it were second nature.

"So in love," Valenia sighed wistfully. She swirled the deep red liquid in her glass. "Kaieel never looked at me the way he looks at you."

Azriel didn't miss a beat. "I am lucky, aren't I?" His voice was low as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. The touch sent a tremor down your spine, though you leaned into him all the same, your composure unwavering.

"You two lovebirds get out of here," Valenia hummed, waving you off with a glass in hand. "I'll see you soon, Mrs. Lawmore."

You smiled at the title she so easily handed over, bowing your head alongside Azriel as you both slipped out of the room. Moments later, you left the ballroom entirely, leaving behind the clinking of glasses and murmurs of deceit.

———

Once you winnowed into The Cabin, the air was thick with unresolved tension, a thread drawn too tight and ready to snap. You released Azriel's arm but remained close, your breath steady, your gaze piercing.

He shifted, glancing at you with that careful, measured expression of his, but you saw through it. His wings flared slightly before tucking back, as if the space were already too confined for what lay between you.

"We need to debrief with Rhys—" he began, but the words barely escaped before you cut him off, your voice sharp.

"No." You held up a hand, stepping back. "We're not ignoring this."

Azriel sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his dark hair. He reached up, removing the mask with a deliberate slowness that felt like deflection. "Can I at least get comfortable first?"

"Seriously?" you snapped, your arms crossing over your chest.

But he ignored your tone, unbuttoning his shirt with maddening ease. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing smooth, tan skin and the faint lines of tattoos curling down his forearms. Then came his wings—massive, stretching wide as the glamour faded, their dark beauty filling the room like a storm rolling in.

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to look away as he folded them neatly behind him.

“Go on," he said, leaning back against the couch, his tattooed arms crossing over his chest, the sight terribly distracting. "I'm listening."

You glared at him, your voice tight. "You knew," you state.

He nodded slightly, but he said nothing, his golden eyes fixed on you with unnerving calm.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts. "The bond—it's not something you just don't mention. Did you think I couldn't handle it?"

He exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it?" you shot back, your frustration spilling over. "You knew this whole time. Azriel, do you have any idea what it feels like to find out this way? To realize you've been keeping something this—this huge from me?"

His jaw tightened, but his expression softened just enough to betray a flicker of vulnerability. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to force it on you."

You barked out a bitter laugh. "Force it on me? What does that even mean? Did you think I'd reject it?"

Azriel stiffened, his wings flexing behind him as if to shield himself. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it simple," you snapped. "Because right now, it feels like you didn't tell me because you were planning to reject the bond. That you didn't want me—"

His voice cut through yours, low and rough like gravel. "Don't."

The single word silenced you, but only for a moment.

"Then tell me the truth, Azriel," you demanded, your tone breaking under the weight of the words. "Tell me why you didn't say anything. Was it because you didn't want me, or because you thought I didn't want you?"

That hit its mark. His jaw clenched, and he looked away, his wings shifting behind him as though he could fly away from the conversation. But he didn't. Instead, he took a step closer, the heat of his body suffocating.

"Love, please," he said, his voice tight with something raw and unspoken. "Do you know what it's like to see your mate and think, this is it—this is everything I've ever wanted—and to know they don't feel the same? To be terrified that if you tell them, they'll look at you like you're nothing?"

Your breath caught, the weight of his words crashing into you.

"Az."

"I didn't tell you," he continued, his voice quieter now, "because I didn't want to lose you before I even had you. I thought if I told you, it would scare you off. You'd think it was some obligation instead of a choice. And I couldn't risk that. I couldn't risk, us."

You blinked, the truth settling over you like a heavy blanket. He hadn't been withholding it because he didn't want you—he'd been scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of you walking away.

"Do you have any idea how hard it's been?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly. "To see you every day, to stand beside you, and know I couldn't tell you? That I had to act like you were just someone I trained?"

Your heart twisted at the vulnerability in his words, but the anger lingered, sharp and cutting.

"You still should've told me," you said, your voice soft but firm. "You should've given me the choice. You didn't get to decide that for me."

"I know." He looked at you then, and the regret in his eyes made your chest ache. "I know I should've told you. And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. But don't think, not even for a second, that I didn't want you."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. He took a step closer, his golden eyes searching yours.

"You can hate me for not telling you," he said, his voice low and rough. "You can hate me for being a coward. But don't ever think I didn't want this. Don't think I didn't want you. Please."

You stood there, his words reverberating in your chest, threatening to undo the last thread of your composure. His golden eyes never left yours, the air between you charged with too much to name. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your breathing even as emotions warred within you.

Finally, you broke the silence. "You should've told me," you said softly, the edge in your voice dulling. "Because for all your talk of not forcing it, you didn't even consider that I might have wanted it too."

His eyes widened slightly, and you took a half-step closer, the tension between you pulling tight.

"I've felt, something," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper now. "For a while. I just figured it was a stupid crush, that I was imagining the lingering glances and the all too long touches." You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "But now I know."

His breath hitched, and for the first time, Azriel looked truly shaken. Vulnerable. Like he didn't know what to do with your words.

So you took the choice away and kissed him.

It was tentative at first, your lips brushing his with a softness that belied the storm building inside you. He froze for a heartbeat, and you thought maybe you'd miscalculated—but then his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer.

When you pulled back, your lips tingling, you raised a brow at the stunned expression on his face. "Kiss me like that again and I might just have to accept the bond," you teased, your tone light but laced with meaning.

"Oh, I'll do more than that." He replied with an easy smirk on his face and before you could muster a flustered reply he connected your lips again, harder this time, more desperate. His hands slid up your back, his wings stretching slightly as though the emotions were too much for him to contain. You gasped into him, his shadows curling around your legs as his lips claimed you fully, unapologetically.

The kiss stretched, time losing meaning as you melted into him. His tongue brushed against yours, his grip on you firm yet reverent, as if he couldn't decide whether to pull you closer or keep himself in check.

He kisses you like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the world like you're the air he needs to breathe. His lips press against yours with fervent urgency, soft yet commanding, leaving no space for hesitation.

The warmth of his mouth sends a shiver racing down your spine, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of him—silken and deliberate, coaxing, drawing you in until everything else fades. His hands tighten at your waist, his fingers digging into your dress that rivaled the intensity of his kiss.

The world tilts, time seems to stall, and all you can feel is him—the taste of him, the way his body leans into yours as though he can't bear to be apart. Every brush of his lips, every slight tilt of his head, feels like an unspoken confession as if through this kiss alone, he's telling you everything he can't put into words.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. His lips were slightly swollen, his golden eyes darkened with something almost primal.

"What does this mean?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

You tilted your head, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "It means," you said, brushing a finger against his chest, "you're going to sit right there." You push him slightly, and he falls back onto the couch as if you struck him with an unrecoverable blow.

He blinked, clearly thrown off by the abrupt shift in your tone. "What?"

"Sit right there," you repeated, gesturing toward the couch. Then, turning on your heel, you made your way toward the kitchen without a backward glance.

He stared after you, confused as to where you were going during a moment like this.

The sound of pans clinking and spices mingling in the air brought him back to reality, though he still couldn't fully grasp what was happening. He'd faced centuries of war, unflinching in the face of death, yet now he sat there—utterly flustered.

An agonizing twenty minutes later, you returned with a tray, setting it down on the small table in front of him. The aroma was rich and comforting, a simple yet meaningful meal that made his chest tighten.

You placed the tray in front of him, your expression softer now, though the playful glint in your eye hadn't dimmed. "Eat, Azriel," you said, settling beside him. "You've earned it after all these years."

He stared at the plate for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Then he looked at you, his voice unsteady. "This... this is real, isn't it?"

You smiled, leaning down, pressing a kiss onto the corner of his lips just because you couch. "What do you think?"

Azriel didn't answer, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips as he picked up the fork. You watched as he took the first bite, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

The bond hummed between you, a quiet, unspoken promise. And as Azriel sat there, eating the food you'd prepared with shadows still swirling around your feet, you realized that this—this quiet moment—was the most eventful part of the night.

And for once, Azriel looked at ease. Flustered, yes. But undeniably yours. And soon, the frenzy would set in, and he'd show you exactly how much of him was yours, body and soul, mates.

Continued drabble here!

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