#reserved healer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crystallinestars · 9 days

Text

NSFW Alphabet - Jiaoqiu

The 2.5 story quest destroyed me, so I wrote this to cope. This is probably the most detailed and longest alphabet I have written so far. Jiaoqiu ended up being kinkier than intended, but I hope you guys enjoy. These HCs take place some time before 2.5.

Jiaoqiu x fem!Reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

As a doctor, Jiaoqiu is good at spotting any signs of discomfort in your body and knowing what to do to help you feel better. He usually runs a warm bath with herbs for both of you to soak in to alleviate any soreness or fatigue and clean yourselves up. If a bath is not an option, he’ll wipe you down with a damp cloth at the very least.

Jiaoqiu carefully massages any parts of your body that have been restrained or forced into one position for too long to stimulate blood flow. He's gentle with you, carefully caressing your face and kissing any mark he left on your skin as if saying sorry for being too rough on you. He also makes you drink water to keep yourself hydrated.

He’s very caring toward you but can underestimate or ignore his aches and pains, so he appreciates it when you return the favor and take care of him, too.

If he’s not too tired, Jiaoqiu also whips up a simple but delicious meal for you to enjoy and regain your stamina if either of you has business to attend to afterward.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jiaoqiu likes to joke that he’s perfect all over—from his looks, down to his abilities— but if he were to be serious, the foxian would choose his hands as his favorite body part. Despite the war making him doubt his worth as a healer, the fact remains that his hands saved the lives of many soldiers. Moreover, his hands allow him to cook delicious and nutritious dishes for others to enjoy and seeing their happiness at eating his food brings Jiaoqiu a sense of satisfaction. Being able to touch and caress your body is also a huge plus, so how could he not favor his hands?

On you, he adores your face. More specifically, your facial expressions. Don’t get him wrong, he finds you very pretty from head to toe, but Jiaoqiu simply loves the various expressions you make. Whether it’s the way your face lights up in delight when eating his cooking, or how your brows scrunch and lips purse into a thin line while glaring at him for teasing you, or the way you wince in pain when sampling his super spicy dishes, or the soft way you look at him when saying you love him—Jiaoqiu adores them all. Even if you’re not very expressive, Jiaoqiu will try his best to get a reaction out of you because he likes seeing the different sides of you. Plus, the expressions you make when orgasming or when he pleasures you also fill him with pride. He likes knowing he makes you feel good, and that these cute faces of yours are reserved for his viewing pleasure only.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jiaoqiu’s semen is an off-white color and has a jelly-like consistency. His cum tastes a bit salty.

Jiaoqiu enjoys filling you with his cum or painting your skin with it (especially your lower belly or back), though he does have a slight preference for ejaculating inside you, be it your pussy or mouth. He also enjoys pouring his cum onto bits of good and feeding them to you (more on that in the kinks section).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jiaoqiu won’t tell you outright, but he has a keen nose and can smell where you are in your menstrual cycle. Your needy scent during your most fertile period increases his horniness, so he tends to get more handsy with you during that time.

He can also smell when you are about to get your period, and preps for it by cooking dishes infused with herbs meant to alleviate cramping and pain.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before joining the war as a medic, Jiaoqiu did have one partner he was intimate with, though the relationship did not last long. As such, he has a bit of experience. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for Jiaoqiu to know what to do.

Even so, he pays careful attention to your guidance and reactions when having sex. He may have experience, but he knows each person has different preferences, and he wants to learn all the ways you like being touched so he can cater to your needs.

As a doctor, he’s very knowledgeable about the body, so he knows which areas can bring great pleasure when stimulated just right. There’s a good chance he will find an erogenous zone on your body that you didn’t even know you had.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Jiaoqiu really likes positions where you’re on top. Cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, lotus, etc… are all ones he likes because he can sit back and let you do most of the strenuous work. He keeps his hands securely on your hips and helps guide you up and down his cock, admiring the view of your body bouncing on his lap.

Additionally, he is fond of spooning. Laying on your sides with his elbow under one of your knees, hiking your leg up in the air while he leisurely thrusts into you is both comfy and hot for him. It also allows him easy access to kiss and mark your neck or shoulders, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

Jiaoqiu also enjoys upright doggystyle and pronebone. Regular doggystyle is fine, but he likes to press your back flush against his chest, wrap his arms around your waist, and rest his chin on your shoulder so he can watch how your jaw goes slack and eyes glaze over while he fucks you nice and deep. After all, he loves to watch your expressions of pleasure.

The foxian is a bit possessive, particularly when he’s feeling jealous or horny from smelling you during your fertile window. Pronebone is a great position for him because it makes him feel like you’re his and his alone. Trapping you under his weight, fucking you deeply while marking your neck, shoulders, and back in bite marks gives him a primal sense of satisfaction.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jiaoqiu can be a little goofy or serious depending on your needs, but he’s typically a nice blend of both. He tries to keep the mood lighthearted with an occasional harmless taunt or tease to get a reaction out of you, but he doesn’t overdo it. He approaches sex responsibly, and does his best to relax you and take your feelings seriously. It’s important to him that you enjoy the experience, after all. If a little joke or a whispered reassurance helps you feel more at ease, then he’ll do whatever is necessary to make you comfortable.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has a bush of curly pink hair down there that he keeps neatly trimmed, but it lacks the ombré of the rest of his hair. It’s one solid, dark pink hue.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jiaoqiu isn’t one to wax poetic during sex, but he does bring his version of romance into it. You can feel his love for you mainly through his actions. His touches are always gentle, never rough or bruising. His lips leave kisses all over your skin, covering your face, neck, shoulders, and back in a branding of love.

Jiaoqiu always holds you close to him, desiring the feeling of your bodies pressed flush together as you make love. Whether you’re on top or he is, his hands gravitate toward your body and trace the contours of your figure, admiring how he can call someone as beautiful as you his lover. He didn’t think he would fall in love again after the war left him so numb and afraid of attachment, but you and Feixiao helped to heal his wounded heart, for which he is forever grateful. He holds you in high regard for you made him feel alive with your mere presence and touched his heart deeply where he thought nothing but ashes remained.

Jiaoqiu likes to cup your face when you have sex and trace his thumb along your cheek in a tender gesture. Even if you look like a drooling mess from what he’s doing to you, he gently cradles your face and murmurs how cute you look before leaning in for a sweet kiss. The healer is always loving toward you, even while engaging in kinkier play.

On the occasions where you two have romantic sex, Jiaoqiu lets his guard down and exposes his vulnerable side. He seeks comfort in your closeness, treating your body with gentleness and reverence, and feels overwhelmed in a good way when you treat him just as tenderly in return. Times like these result in slow lovemaking and whispered “I love you”s where he holds your hand and touches his forehead to yours, your gazes meeting. During such moments, Jiaoqiu is more vocal about his feelings, murmuring quiet compliments and praises about how happy he is to be with you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jiaoqiu has a healthy sexual appetite, and masturbates about three times a week, mainly as a way to relieve stress. That number went down once he entered a relationship with you since he finds sex more fun than jacking off by his lonesome.

When he wants to masturbate, Jiaoqiu chooses moments when he’s completely alone, though he still muffles his voice just in case. He likes to start slow, leisurely pumping his cock to stoke the flames of desire in his abdomen, before speeding up and gripping his dick tighter. He sometimes uses toys to help him reach release faster, like vibrators or warming lube for the added sensation.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jiaoqiu is a switch. He’s comfortable being dominant and taking the lead in the bedroom, enjoying having you at his mercy. Likewise, he can be submissive and find relief in relinquishing control and being taken care of, but can be a bit bratty as a sub due to his sharp tongue.

As a foodie, it’s no surprise that he enjoys food play. Garnishing your body in tasty morsels and drizzling sauces (not spicy) over your skin makes you look like a delicious treat. Like a hungry cat, he licks his lips before diving in to consume the food off your body, licking up every crumb. He loves your body, and he loves good food, so having both at the same time is like heaven.

Aside from decorating your body with food, he also enjoys the idea of covering food in your or his cum. He likes gathering up some of your slick onto a bite of food, like a strawberry, before consuming it. Similarly, he likes smearing some of his ejaculate onto food and feeding it to you with his cum acting as garnish.

Along with food play, Jiaoqiu is into temperature and sensation play. He likes blindfolding you and watching your reactions to him running feathers, ice cubes, warm towels, his tail, and many other textured items along your skin and erogenous zones. He’s also a fan of receiving this treatment since his other senses become heightened with the loss of his sight, and the stimulation feels novel and exciting. If you stimulate his erogenous zones using this method, he’ll become aroused quite quickly.

Additionally, Jiaoqiu enjoys mirror sex. As much as he loves reverse cowgirl and doggystyle, these positions obscure your pretty face from him, and it’s a pity because he loves your facial expressions. The perfect solution to his dilemma is to have sex in front of a full-length mirror. It allows Jiaoqiu to see how your face slackens with pleasure, how you bite your lip to muffle a moan, or how your eyes roll back when he hits a good spot. He doesn’t want you to miss out on how ravishing you look, so he cups your chin and gently guides your head to make you look in the mirror and see the debauched state you’re in, murmuring for you to watch how well you take his cock.

Another one of his kinks is hair-pulling. He enjoys it when you lightly tug on his hair, whether when he’s got his face buried between your legs or during sex. He sometimes lets out a soft growl when you do that.

Jiaoqiu enjoys a bit of pain. He mainly prefers things like biting, hair pulling, or electric shocks to get that high, but can handle whipping and spanking if you’re gentle with him. Despite his attraction to pain, he doesn’t enjoy rough treatment. He can also enjoy light choking (receiving) provided you can do it safely and build up trust with him.

To add to the long list, Jiaoqiu also likes light bondage with scarves or handcuff (giving and receiving), and if you’re willing, he’s interested in trying shibari on you. Some of his other kinks are biting and marking, edging, blindfolds, and dirty talk.

However, not every session with Jiaoqiu is this kinky. He does enjoy vanilla sex where you can both just relish in the intimacy and romance of the connection, sharing sweet kisses and tender touches.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jiaoqiu prefers having sex at home where things can be kept private and he has access to all kinds of equipment to spice up your sessions. He wouldn’t risk doing it in other places and potentially getting caught since he has an image to maintain as Feixiao’s retainer.

At home though, almost every room is fair game except the kitchen. Jiaoqiu considers the kitchen his workspace and doesn’t like the idea of having sex where he works to make medicine. Otherwise, places like the couch, office desk, and bathtub are all potential lovemaking spots, though he does prefer the bed since it makes it easy to cuddle and fall asleep afterward.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Usually, when you stroke Jiaoqiu’s ears, he feels a sense of peaceful relaxation, but if you rub the sensitive spot at the base of his ear or run your fingers along the rim of his ears just right, the pleasurable tingles can become arousing for him.

He also gets turned on by your obvious desire for him. Give him a few sensual caresses, whisper a tasteful innuendo in his ear, a lustful look, and his interest is piqued. He finds excitement in a sexually charged game of cat and mouse, regardless of which one of you is chasing or being chased.

Jiaoqiu can smell when you're ovulating. The scent is weak, but his sharp nose can pick up on when you're feeling horny, and it influences his libido. As mentioned previously, he can get more handsy with you during that time.

Another thing that arouses Jiaoqiu are your reactions to his teasing. If his teasing manages to fluster or arouse you, he’ll keep pushing your buttons to make you even more flustered. Something about your flushed cheeks, shallow breaths, and wavering voice makes him want to tease you more and get a greater reaction out of you. You look so cute when flustered, positively adorable, even. Just how much cuter would you look and sound if he touched your chest? Kissed your neck? Made you moan? Why don’t you show him, darling~?

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Absolutely no sharing. Jiaoqiu gets jealous easily, so threesomes get a hard no from him. He is also prideful, and dislikes being humiliated or degraded. It’s an instant turn-off for him.

Although he's okay with being hurt, he won’t do things that might harm you, such as asphyxiation, impact play, or knife play. He’s a healer—he could never bring himself to hurt you that way, even if you begged him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jiaoqiu loves eating not only hotpot but also pussy. He could spend hours between your legs, burying his tongue into your cunt and lapping at your slick. He wants to see you fall apart under his mouth, so he snakes one arm around your hips and pins them down, taking your clit between his lips. He softly sucks on it while deftly flicking his tongue over the bud, ears twitching when he hears you moan.

To truly bring you over the edge, Jiaoqiu slips two fingers into your dripping cunt and curls them to find that roughly textured spot he knows will make you keen for him. The dual assault of his mouth and fingers never fails to make you see stars as you orgasm, and Jiaoqiu opens his eyes to soak in the sight of you unraveling under his touch. It turns him on to see you feel this good because of him, and he can’t get enough of the experience, so he ends up eating you out for a while longer, making you come undone over and over until you’re tugging at his hair to spare you from the overstimulation.

He’s always breathless by the end, face glistening and dripping with your juices, but the look of desire in his golden eyes promises he’s not through with you. Not when you’ve got him so hard and aroused from watching you fall apart on his tongue.

If you want to return the favor, the foxian healer will be more than happy to watch you go down on him. When you blow him, Jiaoqiu tends to be more vocal, unable to fully hold back his soft sighs and strained moans. If you rub the base of his tail while sucking him off, he’ll buck into your mouth with a soft hiss of your name.

Jiaoqiu has a tendency to keep at least one hand on your head while you work your mouth along his cock, guiding your pace or gripping your hair when he feels his orgasm approaching. The closer he is to orgasm, the more he will squirm, running his hands through your hair, gently urging you to take him deeper or bucking his hips into your mouth. Jiaoqiu's usually sly smile gets replaced by a flushed, slack-jawed expression of pure pleasure, tail lashing in excitement behind him. However, he still tries to maintain his composure and murmurs gentle encouragements and praises so you'll keep going, before his words get cut off by a choked moan as he spills down your throat. He also goes weak in the knees when you suck his testicles.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jiaoqiu likes to take his time with foreplay, prolonging it for as long as possible, but for the actual act, he enjoys a more moderate pace. On a rare occasion, he might play around with the speed of his thrusts, going from moderate, to slow, to fast just to tease you, but overall, he likes to maintain a moderate and steady space. Not too slow to the point it feels teasing, yet not too fast so you won't wear yourselves out too quickly.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As mentioned above, Jiaoqiu likes to take his time with foreplay and draw out the session, but he can be convinced to go for a quickie if you show your strong desire for him. Though if either of you are horny enough to want a quick fuck, Jiaoqiu would prefer to settle it with oral sex.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jiaoqiu is willing to take risks in the bedroom to an extent. He’s eager to try new things to see if there’s something either or both of you can discover you like, but he isn’t willing to have sex in public places or get rough with you. He would much rather be the one treated roughly than hurt you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This foxian healer doesn’t exercise much, so his stamina isn’t high. He lasts an average amount in bed and goes for only one round, but his foreplay is usually drawn out for quite a while, making the session lengthy. Sex is more than just the act of copulation, he says. Foreplay is just as important, if not more so.

If he’s under the effect of an aphrodisiac, then Jiaoqiu lasts another 1-2 rounds, but he becomes dead tired afterward and is likely to pass out quickly once it's over.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jiaoqiu owns a few toys for himself, mainly a bullet vibrator. The vibrating sensations against his cock and other erogenous zones provide a powerful stimulation that gets him going.

For you, he has a whole box of toys he want to try. Blindfolds, handcuffs, vibrators, dildos, anal plugs, electric wands, etc… He’s eager to test them out on you to see how you’ll react. Will introduce toys he thinks you might like into your sessions, though you don’t have to accept them if you don’t want them.

He’s not opposed to you using toys on him, particularly the electric wand, wax candles, and handcuffs. He might put up a fuss, but he does enjoy it when you play with and stimulate his body. Just make sure to properly care for him afterwards.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jiaoqiu loves teasing others, and you are no exception. He enjoys messing with you in your daily life to see your reactions, but he loves teasing you during sex even more. He teases you by tying you up and stimulating your sensitive spots with sex toys or feathers, giving you just enough pleasure to feel good but not enough to make you orgasm, until you’re writhing and begging for more stimulation. While fucking you, Jiaoqiu can also switch up the pace of his thrusts from moderate to slow or completely still just so he can hear your frustrated whines and watch you desperately push your hips back against his, before suddenly pounding into you at a quick pace.

Jiaoqiu is even better at verbal teasing, particularly while edging or fucking you silly. He might say “Oh my, there’s drool running down your chin. Does it feel that good?” Or “You’re dripping wet, dear. Can you feel how easily my fingers slide inside your pretty pussy? Aeons, you’re squeezing them so tightly, do you want me inside you that badly?” and the like.

If you decide to tease him back, it’s best that you’re nice about it. Jiaoqiu might kick up a fuss at first since he’s more used to teasing than being teased, but he can enjoy having you tie him up and run your hands along his body or stimulate him with sex toys. However, he doesn't take kindly to being edged for a long time because he gets impatient and frustrated easily for being denied. The next day, he'll cook a super spicy dish full of foods you dislike and makes you eat it as revenge, or he'll edge you to oblivion the next time you have sex.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jiaoqiu has two modes depending on who is in control. If he’s dominating, he’ll have better control of his voice and will let out grunts and soft moans. He also talks a lot, making teasing comments or talking dirty to rile you up.

If you’re dominating, he’ll be whinier. He lets out choked gasps, quiet hisses, and louder moans. Will also try to shake your control by responding with witty retorts to your teasing, but if you successfully maintain your authority, he’ll reluctantly submit and whine.

In either scenario, when he gets close to orgasm, his voice turns breathless and obtains a raspy quality, and he tends to call out your name.

Jiaoqiu is a huge fan of hearing your voice. Even if you're the quiet type, he does his best to make you moan louder because he loves hearing you feel good. If you moan his name, it riles him up so much that he has to resist the urge to cum on the spot. He really loves hearing you call his name in that wanton voice.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jiaoqiu knows how to make aphrodisiacs. If anyone’s watched The Apothecary Diaries where Maomao made aphrodisiacs, it’s similar to that. Jiaoqiu makes chocolate or chocolate-covered fruit (or another kind of dessert if you’re not a chocolate fan) with aphrodisiac properties. He likes the idea of using aphrodisiacs to occasionally spice up your sex life, but he only gives them to you with your explicit awareness and consent. He would never sneakily give it to you.

Jiaoqiu can adjust the dosage and potency to make the aphrodisiac quick or slow acting, stronger or weaker, etc… depending on the kind of sex you’re looking to have. It’s so much fun to watch how your gaze clouds over and your behavior changes once the aphrodisiac kicks in. He loves seeing you needy for him, it’s a massive turn-on. Whether you pin him down and have your way with him or become a needy, pliant mess for him to do with as he pleases—either outcome is fun. He just loves feeling desired by you and making you crave his touch.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Has a slender cock with a slight upward curve and a couple of prominent veins along the underside. 11.5 cm (4.5 inches) in length and 10 cm (3.9 inches) in girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jiaoqiu has a healthy sexual appetite and craves sex a few times a week. However, due to his busy life as Feixiao’s retainer and personal healer, he’s sometimes too drained to engage in lovemaking as often as he’d like. Still, he tries to squeeze in some intimate time with you 1-2 times a week. Even if they're not frequent, the sessions last a long time due to his love for foreplay, so it is usually enough to satisfy his needs.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If he has nothing to attend to afterward, Jiaoqiu will help you clean up and then cuddle under the sheets. Even when he feels the pull of sleep, he resists it so he can enjoy the afterglow with you. During moments like these, he likes to chat about anything and everything, like how your day went, which dishes he plans to cook for you tomorrow, what hotpot place you should visit during a future date, the silly shenanigans he got up to with Feixiao and Moze that day, etc… it’s just a sweet time to catch up before you both succumb to sleep.

When settling in to sleep, Jiaoqiu likes to spoon. He’s fine with being the big or little spoon, though has a slight preference for big spoon because he likes burying his nose in your hair and smelling your scent. It’s comforting to him. If he senses you're about to fall asleep, he kisses your forehead and wishes you goodnight before hugging you closer and covering you with his tail.

He also lets you gently pet his ears or tail, finding the caresses soothing after a strenuous round of sex. If you’re gentle enough, your touch can relax and lull Jiaoqiu to sleep. Though it might be hard to tell he’s asleep at first glance due to the natural state of his closed eyes, his lack of verbal responses and slow, even breathing will give him away.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x female reader #jiaoqiu x reader smut

479 notes · View notes

the-actual-last-quincy · 2 years

Note

Due to spatial and time differences and the postal service between the worlds getting mixed up, an envelope bearing a birthday card with a whisky motif would have arrived at the office of the Director of Karakura Hospital several dates late, unbeknowst to the sender. The message within simply reads: Dear Dr Ishida, Please forgive the audacity of this card. As it would be a shame not to remember our friends and allies, and hardly anyone appreciates the work done by medical professionals, this is for you. Here is wishing you many happy returns. Sincerely, Isane Kotetsu, Fourth Division, Soul Society.

Unprompted ask || always accepting || @reservedhealer

This was unusual

Ryuken turned the envelope over and over in his hands, noting the type of paper and the handwriting. Between liking to keep a professional distance from the lower ranks, and keeping a comfortable distance between work and home, post like this arrived for him at the hospital. His eyes narrowed as he toyed with the envelope's edge, struck by the sudden, uncomfortable thought that someone on staff had worked out the day and decided to mark the occasion, whether he liked it or not. They've done an adequate job of disguising where it came from, he thought—imagining coming out of his office to be greeted by singing and cake, the address was a nice touch...

Mind still on this worst case scenario, he finally tore open the envelope, finding the expected card but with a completely different sender. It didn't surprise him that he was wrong. Out of all the people who might have known when his birthday was, she had to be the bottom of the list. He scanned the text a couple of times, unsure how to feel, as he places it on his desk. Accepting stuff like this never had come easy to him, especially when coming from a technical enemy. he, meant well, he eventually decided, a not quite smile finding its way across his face. He couldn't fault her for that, assuming this meant he would likely see her again.

#tsp activity check #ask response #reserved healer #((thank you so much!#he's so awkward lol))

3 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

Text

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'ow'

rated t | 926 words | cw: injury, hospitals | tags: established relationship, steddie, famous corroded coffin

🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕

Steve woke up to his phone ringing. He wouldn’t normally be too concerned about that happening, especially when it was barely eleven at night and Eddie was known to call when he got offstage for the night, but the ringtone wasn’t Eddie’s.

“Gareth?” Steve answered, heart already racing from the adrenaline of being woken up so quickly.

“Eddie fell!” Gareth’s voice was panicked as he spoke.

“Fell? Where? Is he okay?” Steve started to rush out of bed, mentally calculating what he would need to shove into a carry on bag to get to wherever Eddie was.

Dallas? Las Vegas? He forgot.

“Off the stage. He’s in the ambulance and we’re on our way to the hospital now. He was awake and yelling at us to call you when he left,” Jeff answered. Apparently Gareth had him on speakerphone. “I don’t think he hit his head, but he said his leg and hip hurt. Could have broken something.”

“Shit. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Steve threw his backpack on the bed, shoving his phone charger in first. “Send me the hospital info so I can try to call.”

“No, no. He said to tell you not to rush here.”

“His exact words were ‘’Tis but a scratch.’” Frankie said through the phone. “Which is code for he’s being very brave.”

“Exactly. I’ll be on the next flight to-“ Steve leaned over to check his printed out schedule of the tour. “Kansas City.”

“See you soon.”

****

When Steve arrived at the hospital, the entire crew filled the waiting room. A nurse was standing at the reception desk talking to Gareth, Jeff, and Frankie.

Steve rushed over to them.

“How is he?”

“They won’t let any of us see him. He’s been in recovery for two hours now.” Frankie said over his shoulder as he glared at nurse.

“Apparently Eddie doesn’t want to see anyone.” Jeff said as he turned to Steve. “Not until he saw you.”

“Okay, so let me see him.” Steve adjusted his backpack over his shoulder.

“He’s asleep. Nurse said he finally passed out about 15 minutes ago and he needs rest,” Gareth shook his head. “Dramatic bitch.”

“Wait. Recovery?” Steve shook his head. He needed to focus, figure out what was going on exactly. “He had surgery?”

“They had to repair his knee that he shattered. Idiot.” Frankie said before walking towards the crew.

“He’s just mad it took so long to find out anything. He was worried,” Jeff explained. “Glad you’re here now, man. Flight okay?”

“Got stuck in the middle seat between a business man who spent the entire flight calling his wife a bitch and a woman who spent the entire flight crying about leaving her boyfriend. Also anxious as hell. Pretty sure my leg is still numb from not sitting still.” Steve sighed. “Any way I can just go sit in his room?” He asked the nurse.

“Will everyone leave if I let you?” She asked in return.

“I’ll clear ‘em out.” Jeff promised as he patted Steve’s shoulder.

Gareth gave him a quick side hug before following Jeff to the crowded room.

The nurse still didn’t seem pleased, but she must’ve sensed that Steve would put up a hell of a fight. She nodded her head for him to follow her through the double doors to the elevators.

“Room 3186 is where he’ll be for the next 24-48 hours. Then he’ll either get released or moved to the inpatient physical therapy hall,” she explained as they rode up to the third floor. “That’s usually reserved for particularly slow healers and older people, so hopefully he’ll be able to do outpatient PT.”

“How long before he can go on stage?” Steve asked, already scared of the answer.

“I guess it depends on if he plans on falling off another one.”

Any other time, Steve probably would’ve laughed, but right now, he was full of too much anxiety.

“I doubt he planned on falling off of this one,” Steve snapped back.

She apologized when they got to Eddie’s room. “It’s just been rough dealing with that crowd.”

“Well, he’s got a lot of people who care about him.”

She gave him a small smile before leaving him to go into the room on his own.

Eddie was asleep, but Steve could tell it wasn’t a deep sleep. They must not be giving him strong medication.

Steve set his backpack down by the chair and sat down as quietly as possible.

When he looked over to Eddie, his eyes were open and his lips were turned down in a frown. “Ow.”

“Want me to call a nurse?” Steve leaned closer to the bed, worry creasing his brow.

“I broke my knee.”

“I know, baby.”

“Floor got me.”

“Yeah, it did,” Steve barely managed to hold back a laugh as Eddie sighed. “You wanna hold my hand?”

“Always.”

Steve watched as Eddie drifted back to sleep, his hand loose in his grasp.

He sent a text to Gareth to let him know he was with him and he was sleeping somewhat peacefully. He made sure to tell him they could all head back to the buses and vans if they hadn’t already.

Eddie got released two days later with a very intense PT schedule and a restriction on playing on stage standing up for four weeks.

When he got the cast and bandages off, his first stop was a tattoo parlor, where he got the word ‘ow’ tattooed over his kneecap, just above the scar from his surgery.

#corroded coffin #corrodedcoffinfest #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things

716 notes · View notes

ravensvalley · 2 days

Text

#TheWatchTower

Evening at the wildfires watch tower. Mountainous Parts of the Northern Hemisphere.

@BenAdrienProulx September 20, 2024.

228 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 5 months

Text

veil // fushiguro megumi

tw ⇢ friends to lovers, mutual pining, sexual tension, insomnia, codependency(?), teasing, nipple play, body worship, clit play, unprotected sex, marking, making out, mentions of violence and injuries

wc ⇢ 7.4k

Megumi sighed heavily as he stared up at the ceiling of his dorm room. As a third-year jujutsu sorcerer, he had seen more traumatizing events than most people could even fathom. The visions played on an endless loop in his mind - the grotesque curses, the brutal battles, the lives lost right before his eyes.

It made true rest nearly impossible to come by. Night after night, insomnia wrapped its icy tendrils around Megumi, holding him hostage to the waking world no matter how utterly exhausted he felt. His body craved the sweet release of slumber, but his mind stubbornly refused to quiet.

The only person who seemed to provide any semblance of peace, any eye in the storm of Megumi's turmoil, was you. You were a fellow classmate and a healer, frequently patching up Megumi and the others when they returned from missions bloodied and weary. While you didn't often join them on the battlefield directly, you had been by Megumi's side through it all for the longest time.

There was something about your calming presence, your unwavering care and support, that helped soothe the jagged edges of Megumi's psyche in a way nothing else could. He felt safe when you were around, like he could fractionally loosen the iron grip of hyper-vigilance that kept him tethered to consciousness.

It happened by accident at first, the realization that your company helped calm the storm in his mind enough to actually fall asleep. The two of you had been studying late one night, poring over ancient texts and trading observations in hushed tones. Megumi couldn't even recall when he had started nodding off, utterly unaware that he was drifting until his head came to rest against your shoulder.

The gentle warmth radiating from you and the faint floral scent of your hair had proven too soothing a lullaby. Megumi jerked awake with a panicked start sometime later, disoriented by the unexpected lapse in consciousness. But as his eyes landed on your peaceful, resting form beside him, he couldn't recall the last time his mind had been so blissfully quiet.

From that point on, a new unspoken routine slowly took root between you. With the dark circles deepening beneath Megumi's eyes, you began to pick up on his struggles to find any respite. So you simply...made yourself available to him, leaving the door to your room cracked in open invitation.

At first, Megumi felt paralyzed by indecision and unspoken hesitancies. But the bone-deep weariness eventually overwhelmed his reservations. He found himself gravitating to your door sometime after midnight, footsteps soundless in the corridor as he slipped inside without preamble.

You never acknowledged his presence beyond a slight smile and shifting to make room for him on the small bed. Megumi would settle in behind you, molding his body to fit the slender curves of yours as you tugged the covers up over both of you. Inhaling the comforting amalgam of your scents, he would finally feel the vise grip of anxiety start to loosen its chokehold as you laced your fingers through his.

Within minutes, the cadence of your breathing descended into deep, even respiration - an anchor amidst the turbulence of Megumi's mind. He focused intently on matching that peaceful rhythm until the world gradually receded and slumber claimed him once more in its warm embrace.

The arrangement continued nightly, becoming as natural as breathing. You never pried or demanded anything from Megumi other than to allow you to provide this small shelter of serenity. And he took unconscionable solace in your unassuming care and discretion, even as it stoked an undercurrent of deeper longing that went unspoken.

Megumi's crush on you was a secret he guarded with the same intensity and vigilance as he did curses on the battlefield. He told himself it was merely an extension of the profound gratitude he felt for how you grounded him, kept him anchored to reality when his psyche threatened to drift into darker depths. But his heart knew better.

With each passing night Megumi spent wrapped in the cocoon of your arms, his feelings for you blossomed into something deeper and more complex than simple appreciation. He found himself studying you in quiet moments - the rhythmic fluttering of your eyelashes as you slept, the gentle swell of your breasts rising and falling, the wispy tendrils of hair escaping their bindings to frame your face.

In those hushed interludes where the rest of the world seemed to fade into insignificance, Megumi drank in every nuanced detail as if committing you to eternal memory. The way your brow would occasionally furrow while dreaming, or how your fingertips would twitch restlessly against his skin in an unconscious caress that set his pulse fluttering.

He memorized the soft little noises you made as you drifted through the cycles of slumber - the nearly inaudible hums and murmurs that rumbled like satin against his jawline when you instinctively nuzzled closer. Each one catalyzed an answering riptide through Megumi's consciousness, an electric thrum of awareness and thinly-veiled yearning that he didn't dare shed light upon.

Because to truly acknowledge the depths of his burgeoning affections would be to open a door to possibilities and vulnerabilities that terrified him in equal measure. What if you didn't feel the same? What if the tranquil sanctuary you'd created together shattered under the weight of his selfishness? The mere prospect of shattering this fragile equilibrium became increasingly more harrowing than any curse Megumi could envision.

So he remained a silent supplicant, content - or so he tried to convince himself - to bask in your radiance from a respectful distance while allowing the steady cadence of your existence to lull his demons. He told himself the secret thrill igniting low in his belly whenever your bodies instinctively intertwined was simply gratitude given corporeal form. That the occasional ghost of your breathfanning across his lips didn't catalyze endless agonizing fantasies about capturing that elusive exhalation with his own mouth in a scorching tandem.

Megumi became adept at compartmentalizing those unbidden yearnings, shunting them into airtight chambers to be unspooled and examinedin the solitary, sleepless hours before you rejoined him each evening. With clinical detachment, he would sketch out every hypothetical nuance should he actually carry through on giving physical form to his deepest cravings.

The way your eyes might widen in surprise before fluttering closed in acquiescence as his mouth claimed yours with lingering insistence. How it would feel to map every sloped and bowed plane of your soft curves, adoringly tracing the constellations of silvered scars and incandescent birthmarks that comprised the physical galaxies of your existence.

He imagined your incredulity giving way to the same yearning need which strained against his composure with each passing night spent laced together in willful obliviousness.The intimate echoes of pleasure and wonder he would eagerly consecrate upon your body with his lips, tongue, teeth—

And just as the delirious spiral of ideation attained true escape velocity from the bounds of propriety, Megumi would forcibly abort the mental exercise. He fashioned those fleeting indulgences into a singular razor's edge to test his willpower and resolve against - proof that he could still discern the boundaries of what was permissible to feel for someone who had become such an indispensible part of his life.

Because the truth was, the fear of irreparably damaging the precious dynamic you had both cultivated outweighed any ephemeral cravings borne from his hormones or sublimated psyche. Having you close, feeling the tranquil balm of your very presence, was powerful enough medicine that Megumi would happily sacrifice his own needs to maintain it indefinitely.

At least, that was what he continuously reassured himself of in those shadowed, liminal hours where one's defenses deteriorated and brutal honesty took on corporeal form.

The fear of your potential rejection, or worse - revulsion and withdrawal - haunted Megumi like a curse given sentient breath. He refused to be the one to risk upending the profound unspoken covenant you had both entered into by broaching those perilous waters of intimacy uninvited.

He would happily consign himself to being your eternal shadow self if that's what it took to keep experiencing those nightly respites where the world became reduced to the twin rhythms of your conjoined breathing. To exist in that warm, blissful refuge beyond expectation or want of anything further.

Until, eventually, the sinuous pull of temptation became too seductive to ignore any longer. Until the idea of not indulging those carnal curiosities burned hotter than any consequences they risked catalyzing. Until the all-consuming gravity between you both attained criticality and Megumi could no longer resist the possibility of you both rupturing into brilliant coalescence...

The tension built slowly, anonymously, over the countless nights you and Megumi continued your ritualistic communion. What had started as a simple quest for respite gradually deepened into something more primal, more erotically charged as the weeks and months slipped by in your endless cycle of slumber and wakefulness.

Perhaps it was the sheer physicality of your sleeping forms twining together in such unguarded vulnerability that catalyzed the undercurrent of awareness. The way Megumi's heightened senses seemed to blaze with renewed intensity whenever he inhaled the warm, intoxicating amalgam of your essences mingled on the sheets. How your fingers would occasionally trail idle, unconscious patterns over the taut contours of his abdomen, trailing dangerously close to where he needed you most.

Or maybe it stemmed from the unprecedented intimacy of witnessing one another at your most unguarded and rumpled - hair mussed and defenses lowered in that indeterminate state between dreaming and wakefulness. The thin veneers of propriety sloughed away until you existed as little more than twin points of radiant energy thrumming in sympathetic resonance.

Megumi couldn't pinpoint the precise genesis of when he started permitting his subconscious to indulge in more sensually-charged reveries while tucked against your pliant form. All he knew was the gradual awakening of a profound, smoldering need that made each successive separation from your warmth more achingly profound.

It started small at first - like catching himself studying the gentle swell of your cleavage rising incrementally with each inhale a beat too long. Or feeling a forbidden frisson of arousal whenever your backside would cant backwards into the cradle of his hips as you instinctively cuddled closer while sleeping.

Megumi found his palms growing slickened with unconscious desire at those titillating moments of contact, fingers twitching with the impulsive need to boldly map the elegant geography of your curves rather than simply appreciate them from a chaste distance. To consummate those indefinable cravings with searing, profane action before the last vestiges of his restraint withered away entirely.

He fantasized about robbing you of that peaceful, slumbering purity - envisioning scenarios where he lost control over that banked reservoir of lust and simply took you in a single, consumptive rush. His calloused palms cupping the weight of your breasts as he nuzzled open-mouthed against the graceful column of your throat, chasing each shivering inhale with lips and tongue until you succumbed to awakening in a spiral of bewildered pleasure.

Or picturing your lithe form arching bowstring-taut against his awakened bulk as he worked methodical paths down the tempting vee between your breasts, teeth grazing hardened nipples through thin cotton until you writhed feverishly against him. Megumi would stifle your incredulous whimpers and plaintive cries into the blackened hollows of his palms, swallowing each punched-out exhalation as he rutted his painfully stiffened cock against your inner thigh in mute supplication.

He knew every ridge, every striation of musculature comprising his own physique in exhaustive detail after years of rigorous training. Yet the prospect of intimately mapping those same minutiae across your untasted terrains literally stole his breath at times. To splay his palm over your lower abdomen and simply feel those powerful, feminine planes flutter beneath his touch as Megumi brought you to the brink...

But just as those delirious reveries risked spiraling out into openly obscene territory, Megumi would reign them in through sheer force of will. Harsh, panting breaths rapidly cooling the molten burn of lust simmering in his veins as he tamped it back into submission. He could no more give literal expression to those basest impulses than he could forfeit the solace your presence provided.

Anything beyond the fulcrum point of temptation represented a line which, once crossed, could never be uncrossed. You'd proven time and again the depth of loyalty and unconditional care comprising your bond. But that depth of trust and acceptance could so easily be severed should Megumi press his desires too insistently.

So he continued subsisting on hazy intimations and fevered imaginings while keeping his more prurient instincts solidly leashed. Savoring the sensuality of each whisper-light caress and breath-mingled proximity while outwardly maintaining his carefully modulated impassiveness. Permitting himself to indulge in those lascivious mental sojourns until the edge of release loomed...before sublimating everything back into restraint with a harsh indrawn breath.

The rigid alternating current between unspoken need and staunch self-denial formed the pulsing heart of the ritual you shared nightly. You remained the serene eye holding the tempests of Megumi's warring compulsions at carbonized bay. And he...he simply basked in the tempering balm of your presence while the embers of want smoldered in secret - flaring incandescently before being ruthlessly banked once more.

An intricate dance of torment and grace, spiraling indefinitely around one another while the thermonuclear potential for something cataclysmic swelled with each passing cycle. Until the day that escalating tension breached the limits of its containment and detonated in a searing, irrevocable rush.

The nightly ritual of entwining yourselves together became more intricate with each passing week. What had started as simple proximity gradually deepened into a choreographed embrace, limbs instinctively mirroring familiar handholds and points of seamless contact.

Megumi found himself unconsciously cataloging and savoring each minute variation, eagerly committing the details to memory like a lifeline anchoring him against the relentless tides of his insomnia. How you would slightly angle your body onto your side to accommodate the hard planes of his chest molding against your back. The specific cant of your hips that allowed his arm to drape possessively over your waist while still permitting unimpeded breathing.

Each successive joining attained an elevated courtship of calibration that fostered unprecedented intimacy. Like two galaxies engaged in an inexorable drift towards eventual coalescence, your sleeping existence warped and bent in perpetual accommodation of the other.

Some nights the restless thoughts careening through Megumi's psyche demanded an even more grounding proximity. Those were the occasions where he found himself cautiously resting his head atop the slender practicality of your sternum, jugular notched against the crown of his brow. Here, tucked into the cradle of your neck, he could literally feel the solidity of your pulse thrumming through his awareness - a primeval mantra of vitality wresting equilibrium from his frenzied mind.

On those nights, you always seemed to sense Megumi's deeper unrest without any prompting or vocal admission required. You would instinctively burrow your fingers into the thicket of his tousled hair, blunted nails scoring heated trails across his scalp in soothing, repetitive strokes that cauterized the hairline fractures in his self-restraint.

Megumi remembers with vivid intensity the first time you combed your touch through his dishevelment that way - the liquid shock of sensation cauterizing every other intrusive external stimulus until only the molten rapture of your caress resonated. He fought not to stiffen with startled arousal, reminded himself to regulate each breath into an even, practiced cadence as your fingertips continued kneading shivery nirvana against his sensitized cranium.

From that point on, the act became like an invocation murmured between you in a language far older than spoken tongues. You cradled him to your heart's steady timekeeping, lulled his mind's frantic metronome into matching harmony through the steadying conduits of your tenderness. And Megumi absorbed the ritual like one of the world's most profound sacraments - folding himself into the sensual harbinger of your care until the disquieting echoes whittling away at his sanity peeled back into irrelevance.

Of course, the intoxicating pleasure of those protracted instances of physical intimacy was not without its tolls as well. Megumi spent countless bouts wrestling his painfully hardened cock back into submission, terrified you would somehow notice the evidence of his lascivious response to your ministrations. He fantasized about angling his hips in pointed invitation, grinding the formidable ridge of his desire against the plush give of your ass until the tantalizing friction robbed all capacity for forethought.

But somehow - through sheer force of will and practice - he always steadied himself before breaching that line of propriety entirely. Allowed the exquisitely tortuous yearning to crest and plateau before carefully redirecting the bonfire of his lust into more neutral, innocuous channels once again. Still, the agonized throbbing of his cock during those lapses in control served yet another agonizing reminder of how precarious his restraint remained where you were involved.

Then there were other nights where the metaphysical gravity between you intensified to a nigh-insupportable degree. Occasions where the low ebb of tension shading toward outright erotic charge became too much to simply bear in polite, silent observation. Megumi would find you seeking solace in the solid bracket of his arms wound around your waist from behind instead - your smaller form bracketed into his sculpted embrace with your back sealed flush to his chest.

Here, intimacy rankled in subcutaneous tactilities and the somatic topographies of skin all but extinguishing its own illumination. The physicality of your closeness overwhelming every dulled sense until each shallow inhalation fluttered through Megumi with gut-punched intensity. On these smoldering occasions, he could literally feel the downy caress of your exhales pebbling the bare skin of his forearms, teased the rarefied definition of every flexed musculature sheath bracketing your form.

He frequently surrendered to the delirium of nuzzling into the fragrant tumult of your hair during those times, drugging himself further on the precious methedrine of your proximity. Inhaled in ragged drafts the musky underlays of your exertions that day mingling in sublimated ritual with the powdered-silk bouquets of soap and shampoo until the composite scent became more intoxicant than oxygen itself.

Unconsciously, reflexively, his touch would grow more covetous - fingertips trailing intricate emblems against the exposed expanses of your abdomen in strange forgotten glyphics. Heated brands of delirious possession emblazoned like scripture against the divine of your body's topography as silent offering. Molten lust tamped down to smolder through ingrained ritual until only the indelible physicality of shared consecration remained between your inosculating forms.

In those fevered raptures of near-dissolution, Megumi orbited nearer to capitulating before the magnetizing gravities arrayed against what little restraint remained binding the sanctities of your bond together. It became increasingly harder to weigh the cosmic indifference of his need against the fearsome recompense that awaited any expression more literal than molten dreams and carnal hallucinations left unenacted.

You never called overt attention to the escalating delirium, never gave voice or acknowledgment to the unraveling stair-step of intimacies unfolding between you with each passing union. You simply absorbed the degrees of erotic intensification catalyzing in his embrace with the same serene grace and mindful presence that had allowed the ritual to precipitate in the first place.

An ouroboric trine of Megumi giving in to the pull of temptation by slow increments, only to reign himself in before the full dissolution of your communion - with you radiating patient understanding all the while.

Until the fateful night when the fragile membranes separating fantasy from reality ruptured entirely under the relentless onslaught of those gravitational accelerations. And neither one of you could profess any clarity on who crossed the event horizon first to send your orbits careening into the devastatingly inevitable.

The harmonic symmetry of your nightly ritual began taking on newer, increasingly charged dimensions as the weeks slipped past. Megumi struggled to pinpoint when precisely the lines between chaste intimacy and burgeoning eroticism had started to blur, but he found himself gravitating towards more indulgent variations of your standard embrace.

Certain nights, when the frayed edges of his self-restraint rayoned to diaphanous threads, Megumi allowed himself to settle against you in a new configuration entirely. Rather than wedging his head into the immaculate cradle of your neck and shoulder, he would burrow deeper - descending until the fevered crown of his brow came to rest in the plush valley between the gentle swell of your breasts.

Here, cradled against the supreme sacristy of your body's undulating topography, Megumi could absorb the vital thrum of your heartbeat through the heated stratum of your skin. The rhythm became an intravenous infusion mainlined straight into his faltering sanities, syncing the frantic piston-stokes of his mindfire back towards equilibrium.

On those nights, the two of you seemed to meld into seamless isotropy, bodies twining as one through elemental planes of gravity's maddening allure. Megumi's arms would wind inescapably around your waist, fingers instinctively spanning the narrow concavities between ridges of musculature before rooting against the flared terrain of your hip bones. Anchors thrumming mute benediction upon quivering expanses of flesh so achingly welcoming he thought he might disintegrate into the static charge between you.

There, suspended in what felt like a continuous drift across the eventuality of an intergalactic collision, Megumi allowed himself to telescope further into those fraught reveries silhouetting your sublimated desires. Imagination indulging the lascivious curiosities of devoting open-mouthed penance to those beckoning curves rising and falling in incandescent offering before his gaze. To splay prodigious fingers across the sloped flanks and reverently pepper the soft, vulnerable underswell with the calibrated intensity of his attentions until you arched in supplication to an even more consumptive benediction.

The decision to stay late one evening, when a badly injured student arrived on the cusp of hemorrhaging out, nearly unraveled Megumi's already tenuous grasp on reality.

You hadn't even spared him a backwards glance as you rushed to meet the emergency, instantly sublimating into a seamless triage protocol borne from years of battle-contested experience. Though more accustomed to demons as your primaries, bodies remained bodies - frail geysers of anatomy ruptured by violence no matter the catalyst.

Megumi drifted into the treatment bay behind you sightlessly, an errant moon trailing in your brilliance's wake. His presence registering only as an afterthought, a peripheral white-noise of observation as you went about prepping tools and sterilizing surfaces with economical grace. Only when you paused in mercurial deferential to bark clipped instructions did your gazes intersect momentarily - sending fresh riptides of heated consternation slaloming through his marrow.

He felt unmoored by your crisp, no-nonsense decorum in such surroundings. This whetted, highly-attuned aspect of your persona catching him off-guard in a way that transmuted the erotic undertones scaffolding your nightly intimacies into something more visceral and inflammatory.

So when you didn't dismiss him outright after the fact, Megumi remained transfixed on the periphery of the infirmary. A silent supplicant greedily trailing every deft juncture of your ministrations as you worked to isolate, debride, then definitively seal each sucking anatomical rupture. The sight catalyzed impressions of you peeling back layers like veiny petals, exposing rich carnal terrains of divine primality to his heated, overeager gaze.

At some point, Megumi had drifted closer until he stood a looming sentry presence directly behind you. Unwittingly or not, he radiated an indelible body heat that wreathed your shoulders in its feverish exhalations while you steadily worked. Yet if his covetous proximity registered any disquiet or distraction, you betrayed no evidence of such - your practitioner's aplomb never flagging even as Megumi boldly encroached upon your sphere of regard.

When at last the worst trauma had been staunched and dressed in immaculate, woven geometry, you let out a lengthy, tremulous exhalation that unleashed its own micro-shock wave of spent tension. Megumi was close enough that the resonant echoes of your breath feathered against his parted lips, igniting fresh smouldering in the banked, affective synapses sheathing his corporeal awareness.

Before higher reasoning or conscious thought could intervene, Megumi's hands had already settled in bold supplication upon the sweeping inclines of your hips. His thumbs instinctively spanned the concave valleys radiating from your sacrum, kneading small hieroglyphs of worship against the thin muslin barriers draping your skin as you swayed minutely back against his anchoring solidity.

Under the recycled ambience of the treatment wing, you slowly craned your head until the elegant willow-column of your throat bisected the charged ley lines separating your bodies. Megumi's gaze became immediately transfixed by the graceful relief of your jugular pulsing beneath tanned satin expanses - so deliciously bare and vulnerable that the yearning to mouth heated benediction against its thrumming cadence transmuted into pure visceral static shorting through his nervous relays.

When at last the vertigo of your shared proximity located a single tremulous point of intersection, your eyes blazed forth from beneath heavy-lidded admissions of naked need. In them, Megumi witnessed perfect reflections of his own answered compulsions, blurring thermal distortions of past reservations into gauzy irrelevance, catalyzing one final abeyance before conjoined surrender -

The intimacy between you and Megumi escalated rapidly in the nights that followed. What had started as simply holding each other for comfort was quickly evolving into something more charged with unspoken desire.

One night, Megumi clung to you desperately, the weight of the day's stresses bearing down on him. He pulled your body flush against his, hands roaming over every curve as if mapping out sacred territory. You could sense the franticness thrumming through him and tried to provide soothing caresses in response.

But your gentle touches seemed to inflame Megumi's need even further. He looked at you with an intense, hungry gaze, as if seeing you for the first time. When you met his stare with calm acceptance, any restraint still holding him back collapsed entirely.

In a sudden flurry of movement, Megumi rolled until his weight was pressed against you. He wedged his hips between your parted thighs as you arched up instinctively. Without hesitation, Megumi tugged aside your top and latched his mouth over your exposed nipple.

The feeling of his lips on your skin was electric. Megumi licked and sucked feverishly, savoring your softness and taste like a man starved. You cried out at the overwhelming sensations, back bowing even as your fingers threaded desperately through his hair to hold him close.

It was as if a dam had burst within Megumi after holding back for so long. He lavished open-mouthed devotion across every inch of newly uncovered skin. Your gasps and whimpers only spurred him onwards in worshipping your body.

You matched his ardor, nails raking down his back as you pulled him impossibly closer. The two of you moved with frantic need, exchanging gasps and whispered endearments. Rational thought ceased to exist, overwhelmed by the roaring hunger to finally culminate the intimacy that had been building relentlessly.

Every boundary, every tantalizing hint of temptation leading up to this moment disintegrated under the searing reality. You and Megumi were left teetering on the brink of something profound and life-altering. To cross that line was to tumble into the abyss together, scorched by the annihilating ecstasy of at last giving in completely to your deepest desires.

In the aftermath of that pivotal encounter, the dynamic between you and Megumi was irrevocably altered. What had once been a chaste, if intimate routine of shared comfort, was now electrified by the undercurrent of bared desire.

Each night when Megumi slipped into your room, the air felt thick with heated tension and unspoken hunger. You would pull him into your arms as always, molding your bodies together in that sacred muscle-memory embrace. But now, there was always that loaded pause where you both hung suspended - breath bated, skin hyper-aware as you awaited the first catalyzing spark.

Sometimes it was the slightest accidental brush of Megumi's fingertips skimming along the sensitive undersides of your arms that ignited the conflagration. Other nights, it would be you unconsciously arching into the solid wall of his chest, beckoning hips angling in mute provocation. But inevitably, one simple point of friction would unlatch the fragile tether still constraining you both.

And then Megumi would descend upon you with desperation befitting a man dying of thirst. His mouth would latch over your nipple with a heated suction that robbed the air from your lungs in a sharp gasp. Teeth grazed the pebbled peak with exquisite delicacy even as his tongue laved broad, revering strokes across the tender areola.

You trembled helplessly under the lavish attention, back arching on instinct as waves of molten pleasure radiated outwards from that scorching nexus. Megumi seemed utterly transfixed, working your breast with an almost spiritual devotion - alternating between feather-light flicks and deep, hungry pulls that threatened to unravel you entirely.

Each desperate whimper or broken moan only spurred him on further. His free hand would knead and tug at your other breast, nimble fingers rolling and plucking at the stiff peak until you squirmed deliriously. The rough pads of his palm abraded your silk-soft skin with delicious friction in stark contrast to the velvet heat of his mouth's reverence.

Megumi chased every quivering rise and fall of your chest, lavishing open-mouthed worship across the sloped swells until your every exhale emerged as a ragged, punched-out keen. He was inexorable in his devotion - laving, sucking, even nipping at your puckered areola until that singular point of contact became the entire axis of your existence.

You quickly grew addicted to the exquisite agonies of having him worship your body so thoroughly. The harsh rasp of Megumi's breathing overwhelming your senses as he discarded any remaining barriers between you. The searing brand of his palms mapping every plane and curve as if frantically committing you to permanent memory through tactile consecration alone.

On those nights, your pussy throbbed with relentless emptiness, weeping silent pleas against Megumi's corded abdomen as he ground his weight into you. You lost entire pressures of coherency, retreating into the madness of fingernails scoring pleasured firesongs down his flexing musculature as lightning dances of sensation arced between nerve clusters.

But no matter how deliriously you offered yourself in the shuddering apotheosis of his undoing, Megumi would inevitably regain control before claiming that final, most profound capitulation. He seemed to carry you both to the very brink of annihilating rapture before caging his own explosive impulses once more.

Only once your breasts glistened with the obscene sheen of his lingering efforts would Megumi eventually show mercy. Even then, he stubbornly resisted pulling away entirely, instead lavishing languid, consoling laps of his tongue against your nipple whenever the stimulation verged into overwhelming intensity anew. Only then would he descend, pressing his length against your side while burying his face into the damp, perfumed haven at your breast.

Megumi's grip would anchor around you with crushing finality while he fought to regain his tenuous grasp on composure once more. You could feel his cock throbbing through the layers separating you, sense the molten restraint burning through him as he trembled on the very precipice of violent culmination.

But he held himself back from that plunge with grim determination. And you paradoxically admired and ached for him in equal measure - as if some essential core of Megumi's being would utterly unravel should he ever relinquish those final threads of control entirely.

So you gathered what tattered strands of sensibility remained, gentling him through the shuddering aftershocks with languid caresses until his breathing evened out once more. Until the rigid planes of muscle gradually unwound into the boneless repose of slumber as Megumi slipped into the blessed refuge of unconsciousness, face nestled against your chest and cocooned in your warmth just as before.

Only this time, the hollows carved from nightly denial scored matching valences across both your souls in the aftermath. Reminders of how perilously, combustibly close you had come to breaching that ultimate horizon together before retreating once more. Stoking that banked wildfire anew with each passing cycle of slumber and wakefulness to feed its insatiable, all-consuming hunger.

The night draped the dormitory in hushed stillness, but sleep remained an elusive specter for Megumi. He tossed and turned, sheets tangling around his restless form as thoughts whirled incessantly. No matter how he tried to calm his racing mind, an inexorable restlessness took root.

Until finally, he could no longer ignore the magnetic pull drawing him from his solitary bed. Muscles coiled taut, Megumi rose and padded down the hall like a prowling panther. Each silent stride carried him inexorably closer to the one presence that could dull his frayed edges into blissful quiescence.

He didn't pause outside your door, didn't announce his arrival. Merely slipped into your room like a wraith, instincts guiding him through the familiar motions. You were already there in the rumpled bed, turned towards the door in seeming expectation of his arrival.

Megumi's breath stalled in his throat at the sight of you bathed in the moon's caress. He drank in the tousled spill of your hair, the perfect bow of your lips slightly parted in unconscious invitation. The naked vulnerability in your expression as you waited for him to join you lanced straight through to Megumi's guarded core.

He crossed the room in a few economical strides, body angling towards yours like branches entreating the sun's warmth. You didn't startle when the mattress dipped to accept his weight, simply made space amid the rumpled bedding for him to settle against you.

Your backs melded together in the practised ritual, his arm curved possessively around your waist as if to anchor himself. To tether his unquiet spirit to the only point of equilibrium.

Yet this time, Megumi's control stretched thinner than gossamer. He could no more ignore the fevered thrum of your pulses, the tantalizing warmth of your body cradled against his own. Scalding tendrils of yearning unfurled through his entrails as your familiar scent - crisp citrus and earthen musk - surrounded him in its intoxicating haze.

Megumi's fingers mapped the dip of your waist in a scorching caress, his calloused pads tracing the silken terrain as if committing it to memory. A tremor lanced through you at the molten intensity of his touch, your back arching infinitesimally into his solid frame.

He felt the nearly imperceptible motion like a lightning strike, every nerve ending suddenly hyper-aware of your proximity. Of the whisper-soft sounds of your breathing, the gentle cadence thrumming against his own ribs. The fragrant warmth of your hair fanning across the pillowcase, beckoning him closer into its silken snare.

Reason hazed into distant white noise, subsumed by the primal riptide pulling them into deeper, uncharted waters. Megumi's arm contracted around your waist with inevitable gravity, eliminating what little space remained between your entangled forms. His caged exhale gusted hotly against the nape of your neck, stirring the fine baby hairs there.

You tensed for a charged beat, attuned to the smoldering simmer of intent that Megumi could no longer leash. Then, almost imperceptibly, you melted back into the unyielding plains of his chest in wordless capitulation. An invitation and challenge housed in that simple motion.

He groaned out a ragged exhale, the last tattered vestiges of restraint unraveling. Megumi's palm cradled the juncture of your shoulder, urging you to roll onto your back as he followed like the inexorable path of smoke towards an inferno. Until his searing gaze bored into your own, igniting answering embers that danced across your half-parted lips.

In that electrifying stillness, the world compressed to a single point of gravity enclosed between your bodies. Then Megumi's mouth claimed yours with years of banked, seething hunger finally breaking free in a firestorm of fevered intensity...

Megumi's mouth slanted hungrily over yours, initial restraint giving way to unbridled fervor. Years of simmering tension, of aborted glances and near misses, combusted in that heated collision. His calloused palm cradled the arch of your nape as your fingers fisted in the fabric of his sleep shirt, anchoring him firmly against you.

You exchanged scorching kisses with ardent enthusiasm, bodies straining ever closer until not even a whisper of space remained between them. Your curves melded seamlessly with the unyielding planes of Megumi's torso, seeking that blissful union you'd both sublimated for too long.

When the primal need for oxygen finally overwhelmed the compulsive joining of your mouths, you broke apart with a ragged inhalation. Shared breaths mingled in the scant space, gazes locked in an electrifying exchange of unguarded yearning. Then Megumi dipped his head again, trailing a molten path of kisses along the swell of your jaw and throat.

A tremulous sigh tumbled from your parted lips as you instinctively arched into his smoldering caresses. You could feel the delicious rake of his teeth grazing your pulse point before he soothed it with an openmouthed kiss that seared like a brand. Your fingers combed through the silken strands at his nape, nails scraping lightly to elicit a full-bodied shudder against you.

Rational thought frayed and disintegrated like so much smoke into this blissful oblivion of tangled limbs and questing hands. There was only the unhurried rediscovery of sacred territories and the intoxicating thrum of Megumi's ardor reverberating through your bones.

You luxuriated in the exquisite agony of his mouth worshipping your bare skin. His lips and tongue and teeth traversed the graceful curve of your throat, leaving behind a searing map of claim. Then they skimmed across the slope of your collarbones, his breath a hot gust against your fevered flesh.

He pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat before descending. Megumi trailed a blistering path along the valley between your breasts, savoring every twitch and gasp of pleasure elicited. Finally, his lips latched onto a peaked nipple, sucking and nipping and laving until the molten tension pooling in your abdomen tightened unbearably.

You cried out softly, a broken sob of desire. Your nails raked across his broad shoulders, seeking purchase. His answering groan was nearly feral, reverberating through you as he tugged at the stiffened peak with his teeth.

Your spine arched off the bed, hips bucking against his thigh that had wedged between yours. A whimper spilled from your parted lips as Megumi continued lavishing attention upon your breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip in teasing strokes. His hand palmed the other, kneading and pinching and tugging until the twin sensations became a dizzying feedback loop.

Every touch sent shocks of pure pleasure coursing through you, igniting sparks along nerve endings and setting your blood alight. You writhed against Megumi's muscular frame, seeking more, more, more. He answered your unspoken plea with a deep groan, his arousal hard and heavy against your hip.

The sound of his desire echoed in your core, the slickness between your thighs growing unbearable. Megumi was relentless in his ministrations, as if determined to worship every inch of your exposed skin. His tongue and teeth left a scorching path across the delicate swell of your breast, his hands trailing a fiery trail across the quivering plains of your abdomen.

The molten friction of his palms mapping the sloped concavities where hip met thigh, then the supple give of your ass, made you delirious with desire. Every part of you was alight with need, the coil of tension within you tightening beyond bearing. You writhed desperately beneath Megumi, the air filling with a symphony of broken moans and breathless pleas.

Then his fingers skimmed along the apex of your thighs, and the world went white. You were so wet, so ready, that the first touch sent a lightning bolt of pleasure arcing through you. Megumi's eyes blazed into yours as he stroked your aching folds, the heat of his gaze searing you more than his touch.

The slick glide of his fingertips against your swollen clit was exquisite, the pressure exactly what you needed. Megumi seemed to sense your desire, circling and rubbing the bundle of nerves until you were practically writhing beneath him. Your hips bucked up to meet his hand, thighs trembling and voice breaking.

With his free hand, he pinned you down to the mattress, fingers gripping your hip with bruising intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, his dark irises blown wide with lust. He looked at you as if you were a goddess to be worshiped, his expression filled with awe and desire.

Your climax crashed over you in a devastating wave, the pressure within you cresting beyond containment. A sob tore from your lips as the sensations overwhelmed you, the muscles of your abdomen spasming and your thighs clamping together around his hand.

Megumi continued stroking you, prolonging the ecstasy, until you were a quivering mess. Your whole body was alight with sensation, aftershocks of pleasure radiating through you with each ragged breath. You felt utterly boneless, sated beyond imagining.

Yet beneath that languid satiety, a renewed undercurrent of hunger simmered. The sight of Megumi's fingers, slick and glistening, only fueled the need within you. You watched through heavily-lidded eyes as he brought them to his lips, licking them clean. The sight was indescribably erotic, the knowledge that it was your taste on his tongue making you ache for more.

With a low growl, Megumi descended once more, capturing your mouth in a blistering kiss. His tongue slid against yours, the tang of your arousal filling your senses. Your arms wound around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. The press of his bare chest against yours sent a fresh surge of want coursing through you, your desire already mounting anew.

Megumi kissed you hungrily, as if he were a man starved. His hands roamed restlessly across your body, leaving a trail of searing heat in their wake. Your hips rolled up to meet his, the hard line of his arousal pressing against your slick core.

The friction was delicious, the need within you coiling tighter with each passing second. You were aching for him, desperate for more. With a muffled moan, you tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, urging them down.

Megumi pulled back just enough to shed the rest of his clothing, baring himself completely to you. His cock jutted proudly between his muscled thighs, the tip glistening with precum. Your eyes widened at the sight, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Megumi's gaze was dark with desire, his expression a heady combination of longing and restraint. He loomed over you, his body thrumming with barely leashed power.

You felt a frisson of anticipation as he settled between your parted thighs, the thick heat of his arousal pressing against your entrance.

Then, with a guttural groan, he sank into you. The stretch and pressure were almost overwhelming, but the delicious friction quickly overrode any discomfort. Megumi moved with slow, steady thrusts, his hips grinding against yours in a sinuous rhythm.

You clutched at his back, fingers digging into the corded muscles. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer. The room filled with the sound of your panting breaths and the slap of skin against skin.

The molten coil within you tightened, winding tighter and tighter. Megumi's pace increased, his thrusts growing more erratic. His breath was hot against your ear, his groans echoing in your skull. You could feel the tension within him mounting, his movements becoming more frantic.

And then, with a final, desperate thrust, he drove you both over the edge. Your climax shattered through you, wave after wave of pleasure rippling through your core. Megumi followed suit, his cock pulsing inside you as he shuddered above you.

In the blissful aftermath, you and Megumi remained entwined as one - a tangle of flushed limbs and shared breaths that defied any attempt at separation. Though your bodies had been driven to sublime extremes, there was no sense of depletion, only a profound fullness expanding within your joined spirits.

You trembled in soulful rapture, gasps intermingling with Megumi's own ragged exhales as the world gradually recomposed itself around you. Every nerve ending still burned with the rapturous afterglow, an exalted benediction lapping against the most primordial hollows of your being.

In that sacrosanct cocoon you had spun together through devoted passion, the fragile shells of individuality had fallen away to reveal the scintillant essence beneath. You didn't just feel sated, but spiritually transmuted - two souls having shed their chrysalides to be reborn as something greater through sacred rites of unity.

Boneless and weightless, you could only bask in the incandescent glow of that metamorphosis. For in that endless moment spanning innumerable lifetimes and worlds, you had glimpsed the divine truth at the heart of humanity's highest calling - to love, and be loved completely in return.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #fushiguro megumi x reader smut #megumi x reader smut #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #megumi smut #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro

829 notes · View notes

everdreamofme · 6 months

Text

it's a boy, girl thing

mattheo riddle x reader

Mattheo Riddle was insufferable. He was one of the biggest assholes Y/N Y/L/N had ever met, and she had met a lot. Being a more 'reserved' Ravenclaw, Mattheo and his friends had the tendency to tease her every now and then. Not as much as other students in their year, admittedly, but she definitely had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of it.

Like today, for example. Transfiguration class wasn't exactly Y/N's favourite class, but she did well enough in the subject that she didn't despise the lessons. Y/N had always wanted to be a healer after Hogwarts, and to do that, she would need at least an Exceeds Expectations in numerous subjects just to be able to qualify for the Young Healers programme at St. Mungo's. Transfiguration being one of those numerous subjects.

So here she was. Transfiguration was fairly straightforward, but of course the execution was the tricky part. After successfully transfiguring the small American Goldfinch in front of her into a bouquet of flowers, a satisfied grin crossed her features as she set her wand down and turned in her chair to dig around her bag for some spare parchment to begin her essay.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she turned back to face her flowers, only to find there were no flowers sitting in front of her anymore. Instead, a huge phallic object made of porcelain now sat in front of her. Laughter came from all over the classroom as her peers started to notice what was sitting before her.

'First time seeing a dick?' Draco sniggered as she hurriedly searched the desk and surrounding ground for her wand.

She snapped her head up towards the table of Slytherins, ready for a snarky response, when she spotted Mattheo Riddle in the seat closest to her desk, twirling her wand absentmindedly through his fingers with a wicked grin on his face.

'You idiot, Riddle -'

'Miss Y/L/N,' She froze on all fours as Professor McGonagall called her name. 'I suggest you change the subject of your essay to one less... erotic. Fifty points from Ravenclaw House.'

'Y-yes Professor McGonagall.'

Standing, she snatched her wand from Mattheo's hands and sat with a glare as she transfigured the phallic object back into a bouquet of flowers.

I am going to kill that boy one day!

After class had ended, Y/N had all but chased the Slytherin boys down the hallway.

'Riddle! Riddle!'

Mattheo groaned as he turned from his conversation with Draco and Enzo to the Ravenclaw girl storming towards him, his friends continuing on without him. 'Can I help you with something, Raven? Checked out any sex toys lately?'

'I cannot believe you did that to me! In front of Professor McGonagall too!' Scoffing, he began down the hallway after his friends again, Y/N stomping after him.

'You lost me fifty house points, Riddle! Fifty! They're going to eat me alive in the common room tonight!' She hissed after him.

'I don't give a fuck what you pencil-neck virgins do in your common rooms, princess,' He smirked as he turned to her again, leaning casually on the statue of Merlin that stood in the hallway.

'Can't be much worse than what you dumb Slytherin jocks get up to in your common room!' Her words didn't affect him, and she knew it from the roll of his eyes and the remaining smirk on his face. 'You're incorrigible, Riddle!'

'Don't care.' He shrugged back.

'I hate you!'

'That's because you secretly want to have sex with me!'

'Eugh! When I do decide to surrender the flower of my womanhood, I always imagined it to be with someone of my own species!' Y/N scoffed back, some passing students shooting her strange glances.

'Someone of your own species? What, like Longbottom?' He snorted.

'You are such an idiot, Riddle!' She hissed. ' You really think the world just revolves around quidditch and your stupid little gang and the dark arts.' Mattheo's jaw clenched as he took a step towards her.

'You know, you think you're so different to everyone else-'

'Different from.' She interrupted, causing him to stare at her incredulously. 'You said 'different to'. The correct phraseology is 'different from.''

'Thanks for that information; now I can say you're no different from any other fucking nerd with books instead of friends - and you don't have to open your big fat mouth to fucking correct me!'

'Dick!'

'Bitch!'

'Fuckboy!'

'Skank!'

'You know, I should pity you, but I can't—I hate you too much! I would rather cut off my legs with a rusty knife than be anything like you!' She exclaimed, pointing a finger in his face. Mattheo seethed, nostrils flaring, and eyes hardening.

'Ditto!' He hissed.

She snorted. 'Ditto?'

'Yeah, ditto!'

'Well - double ditto!'

'Double, double ditto!'

'Ugh - you are insufferable, Riddle!' The pair scoffed in unison, barging shoulders with each other as they stormed their separate ways.

Later that night, Y/N sat in front of the common room fire, hunched over a potions essay. She dropped her quill with a grimace as a blinding pain came into her head.

'Is everything alright?' Luna asked from her spot on the arm chair.

'Yeah, just got a sudden headache, is all.'

'Maybe stop faffing over your essays for once and actually get an early night then?' Cho suggested, flashing a grin at the girl from behind her magazine. Y/N rolled her eyes but began packing her textbooks up anyway.

'Yeah, I think I might just do that. Goodnight guys.'

Mattheo laughed as a puff of smoke left his mouth and he passed the blunt to Blaise.

'Mate, you have got to get some more of this for the party,' Draco complimented as he took a drag of his own blunt.

'You know I was already planning it,' Mattheo grinned in response until a sudden pain hit his head. He groaned as his hands shot up to his temples and his eyes screwed shut.

Theo barked a laugh. 'Think someone's about to hit white, boys!'

'Nah, it's just a headache; I'm sure it'll pass soon.'

'Or you'll pass out!' Enzo giggled.

'I don't think so, Berkshire.' He scoffed, standing up. 'But I think I will have an early night.' He patted a sleeping Pansy on the shoulder as he made his way to his dorm, leaving his friends in the common room to continue their usual late-night shenanigans.

#mattheo riddle #matteo riddle #slytherin boys #harry potter universe #slytherin #harry potter #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle fic #slytherin boys x reader

697 notes · View notes

thewulf · 5 months

Text

The Quiet Between || Azriel

Summary: Request -Hiyaaa loved your Az story. So freaking good. I had one in mind and wonder if you could write it? Maybe some deep Azriel and reader angst? I'm picturing a scene where Azriel, drowning under his duties and secrets snaps harshly at the reader, our newest healer at the Night Court when she gently suggests he talks about what’s weighing on him. His words sting, making her doubt her role at the court... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew this was challenging to write but I really love how it turned out! Please let me know how you like it below. And as always, keep sending in your requests!

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Dawn Court Reader)

Word Count: 6.2k +

TW: Mean Az, Harsh Words (soft ending!)

When Madja, the esteemed healer of the Night Court, realized the growing demands of her duties required an apprentice she petitioned the High Lord for permission to seek out a promising candidate. Her search led her to Dawn Court where your skills and unique approach to healing caught her attention. Impressed, as she often wasn’t, she offered you the chance to study under her. A chance to take over for her in a few hundred years. It was a proposition that both excited and terrified you. Normally you were more risk-averse but something within urged you not to let this opportunity slip by. Accepting the offer might be a decision you'd regret forever if declined.

Your arrival at the Night Court was a mix of awe and overwhelming pressure. You were acutely aware of the Court’s reputation with its warriors and schemers, and its dances of politics and power. Yet, as the years unfolded you found more than just acceptance. You found a place where you felt like you just might belong. Madja was an exacting teacher and under her guidance you thrived. Your skills became indispensable to the Night Court.

Mor, your favorite social butterfly, took it upon herself to integrate you into the Court's vibrant life. She invited you out with the girls to Rita's where the music and laughter helped weave you deeper into the fabric of Night Court society. Cassian with his easy grin and boundless energy offered to train you in physical defense. He said it was essential for everyone at the Court to know how to protect themselves. And even Rhysand himself showed you how to fortify your mental shields as a necessary skill amidst the intrigues that often played out around them.

Yet despite these warm inclusions, Azriel was the only one who kept a cautious distance. The shadowy spymaster was polite but reserved. He often watched you with a contemplative gaze that suggested he was trying to figure you out from a safe distance. His reluctance to engage was not overtly hostile but it was clear he held reservations. His own shadows clinging too tightly, perhaps, to allow another close. This delicate balance of respect and curiosity marked your interactions, or lack thereof, with the spymaster. You often caught glimpses of Azriel as his presence like a whisper in the vast halls of the Court. He was always just out of reach, both physically and emotionally. His aloofness didn't hinder your duties. But it did create a space of unanswered questions in your mind.

One cool evening in the Night Court the opportunity to bridge that distance between him presented itself unexpectedly. Azriel returned from a particularly grueling mission. His arrival unannounced except for the quiet clatter of his boots in the hallway of the healer's quarters. As he pushed open the door, the grimace etched across his face spoke volumes of the pain he was enduring, both visible and hidden beneath the surface.

You ushered him in, your professional demeanor in place yet your heart beating a tad faster with the realization that this was the closest you had ever been to him. His usually guarded expression was replaced with a rare, unguarded grimace of pain. It revealed a vulnerability he typically masked beneath layers of shadows and silence making you feel a touch uneasy.

"Let me help," you offered softly while guiding him to a seat where you could better assess his injuries. The proximity to him in this moment tending to his wound felt like an unspoken permission to finally address the silent questions that had lingered between you. It was an opening to understand the man who had so thoroughly perfected the art of being untouchable.

"Let's take a look at that," you murmur while taking his hand in yours. Your hands are steady and careful as you gently peel away the fabric near his wound. The cut isn't deep, but it's laced with poison, enough to have caused significant discomfort. “I’m sorry. This is going to sting.” You whispered as you rushed off to grab the needed supplies.

As you apply a soothing salve you notice Azriel's clenched jaw and the way his muscles tighten under your touch—not just from the sting of the wound. You've seen warriors in all states, and you recognize the signs of inner turmoil as clearly as physical injuries.

"Azriel," you start, your voice soft but firm, "even the strongest warriors can benefit from sharing their burdens. It doesn't make you weak to speak about what's weighing on your heart." You try and sound confident in your words, but it comes out as meek.

His reaction is immediate and sharp. It cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. Azriel's eyes snap up to meet your with a coldness in them that freezes you in place. "You think you have the right to offer me counsel?" he says with his voice low and biting. "You, who have barely seen a fraction of the darkness I have faced. Yet you presume to understand my duties, my sacrifices?"

You open your mouth to apologize. To clarify your intentions but he doesn't give you the chance. "No, don’t," he snaps. Cutting you off as your heart begins to sink. "Don’t patronize me with platitudes and naive compassion. You know nothing of the burdens I carry. Of the secrets that consume me. You see surface wounds and think to heal a soul scarred by centuries?" It was the most you had heard him speak and unfortunately for you those words made your heart nearly twist in two. Surely that wasn’t what you were trying to do.

Your eyes begin to burn. His words slicing through any defense you might have had. You look down instead focusing on the bandage. To hide the hurt that’s welling up, threatening to spill over. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

"Save your apologies," Azriel interrupts with a tone as harsh as a winter storm. "They mean nothing in the face of what I endure daily. You wish to help? Do so by not overstepping your bounds again." You drop his arm after finishing up removing the poison and sealing the cut. But he wasn’t done, no. You just wished he’d fly away instead of cutting you even deeper. You had no intention of offending him yet here he was, hurt by your very own words. You’d never truly felt like a helpless child in all your centuries until this very moment.

As he continues his words grow even colder, each one a deliberate stake right into your very own heart. "Understand this, healer. My life, my pains are not fodder for idle chatter or curious minds seeking to 'fix' what they perceive as broken. You cannot begin to comprehend the wars I fight within the shadows. Wars meant to protect you and everyone else here from horrors you should hope never to encounter." His words were final, offering you no chance at rebuttal. Not that you would have been able to find the words. Your mind was racing in horror about what had just transpired in your very own healing hall. You, the one who was meant to mend broken souls might’ve just torn his right back open.

He stands abruptly with his wound tended but the air around him colder than the stone walls of the court. His departure is swift, leaving a wake of silence so deep it echoes through the chamber. You're left alone with the sting of his rebuke more painful than any physical wound you've treated. His words replay in your mind as a harsh reminder of the chasm between his world of shadows and your desire to heal. Guilt begins to consume you as you replay the words that struck you so hardly in your mind.

The room feels overwhelmingly empty as you struggle to compose yourself. The impact of his dismissal weighing heavily on your heart. You realize that healing Azriel might be beyond your reach. Not for lack of skill, but because the wounds he carries are far deeper and more complex than you ever imagined. Perplexed and deeply hurt you find yourself grappling with a tumult of emotions. Confusion is the first to surface. You had approached the situation with genuine concern. Your offer to listen driven by the empathy that defines your role as a healer. His aggressive response, then, feels like an undeserved refusal. A dismissal not just of your words but of your very intent.

You replay the conversation in your mind, dissecting each exchange, each barbed word. His accusation that you, nestled in your world of herbs and healing, could never understand the scope of his darkness stings sharply. It's true though you realize. That the depths of his secrets are beyond your grasp. This acknowledgment doesn't ease the sting of rejection. If anything, it deepens the wound. You had not claimed to understand. You only wanted to listen. And yet, he had cut you off, leaving no room for reconciliation.

As the initial shock fades, a deeper, more persistent ache settles in. You're hurt. Undeniably so. Hurt by his insinuation that your attempts at comfort were trivial, naive even. Does he truly see you as just another court member? As just a healer? Naive to the true workings of his world? The thought is disheartening, and you feel a profound sense of isolation creeping in. A sense that perhaps you are out of your depth in this court of shadows and secrets. Perhaps your mother was right. You weren’t built for the Night Court. You had a wonderful, easy life in Dawn. She had even picked out a high-ranking husband for you that would’ve provided and kept you safe. Her nagging words pricked at the back of your mind as the last five years here almost fell all for nothing. Five years was no time in the world of fae, you knew this. You were still the new healer, but you had thought that maybe you were finally finding your footing here. But then again maybe you were wrong.

Yet, beyond the hurt and confusion there's also a glimmer of resolve. You're a healer, trained not only to mend wounds but to understand the people you treat. Azriel's outburst, though harsh, reveals more than his disdain. It highlights his immense burden. His profound isolation. Perhaps your approach was too direct. Too unguarded for someone so accustomed to concealing his emotions.

As you clean up the space a quiet resolution forms in your mind. You won't push him again, no, not without invitation. The sting of his words lingers, and you decide that perhaps the best way to handle this is to give him the space he seems to fiercely guard. He may have dismissed your concern today but it's clear that what he desires most is distance. Not the compassion you offered. In this moment of reflection, you recognize the complexity of healing. It’s not just about tending to visible wounds. It’s also about understanding when to step back. Recognizing that some scars are too deeply etched to be approached without consent. Azriel has his walls, high and fortified. And you, you decide, will no longer attempt to scale them. Instead, you resolve to avoid him, believing that distancing yourself is the kindest thing you can do for him right now.

This decision doesn't come easy. You're a healer, trained to offer solace and aid to those in pain. Yet, in this case, the healing you want to provide is not welcomed or perhaps even needed in the way you thought. You accept that sometimes healing means stepping back. It means allowing wounds to close in the solitude they were opened in. Maybe with time he will seek you out if ever he feels ready to lower his guard. Until then you'll focus on those who welcome your help carrying with you the lesson that sometimes the best way to care for someone is simply to let them be.

After the confrontation in the healing room the atmosphere at the Night Court seemed to shift becoming dense with an unspoken tension that hung heavily in the air. Azriel quickly became burdened by the discomfort of his own harshness. It wasn’t often but he felt an acute sting of regret. His words, sharper and colder than he had intended, replayed relentlessly in his mind. Each sentence an echo of a reminder of the pain he had inflicted on somebody so kind.

Late into the night he found himself wandering the quieter corridors of the court trying to clear his mind.. The stone beneath his feet was cold and unyielding much like the mask he wore so well. With each step he attempted to outpace his regret, but solitude brought no relief. The memory of the genuine shock and sadness in your eyes haunted him. A vivid image that refused to fade into the shadows where he so often retreated.

Why had he lashed out? Azriel questioned himself. His normally composed thoughts unraveling with unusual disorder. He knew the stress of his duties as the spymaster often left him on edge, a blade perpetually sharpened and ready. Yet, it was more than just the strain of his role. It was the fear of vulnerability. Of opening those darker parts of himself he fought so hard to control. Seeing your concern, so innocent and genuine, had somehow threatened the walls he had meticulously built around his emotions for centuries. He couldn’t become undone by your one simple question.

He hated himself for how he had responded to you. How his instinct to protect his inner turmoil had manifested as cruelty towards you. The more he thought about it the more he despised the part of himself that had become so adept at pushing others away, especially those who dared to care.

As Azriel continued his nocturnal wanderings the shadows around him seemed to whisper of solitude and sorrow. Yet, it was the sorrow in your eyes that lingered most prominently in his mind. He realized then that his actions might not only have hurt you but could also have damaged whatever budding respect or friendship could have grown between you. This thought tightened the already constricting band around his chest. He had messed up badly and he knew it. His shadows knew it.

Resolving to seek redemption, not just for his peace but to mend the fracture he had caused, Azriel decided he would apologize to you. He needed to explain to you. To make you understand that his outburst wasn’t a reflection of his feelings towards you but a misguided defense against his own insecurities.

His journey through the night didn’t erase his regrets, but it solidified his resolve. He would try to bridge the gap his words had created hoping that you would understand and perhaps forgive. In the quiet before dawn Azriel finally stopped walking, the decision firm in his mind. Tomorrow, he would face you again, not as the Night Court's daunting spymaster, but simply as Azriel… imperfect and remorseful.

As he moved silently past the gardens the moonlight cast a serene glow over the night-blooming flowers illuminating the path with a ghostly light. Drawn by the soft, muffled sounds of distress his shadows unconsciously steered him towards a secluded alcove hidden by tendrils of ivy and the long shadows of the towering trees. It was unmistakably you. His heart tightened as he approached. Driven by a mix of concern and a need to understand the impact of his earlier harshness.

There in the dim light, he found you seated on a small bench. You were not alone, but with one of the younger assistants from the healer's quarters he had recognized. The assistant, whom you often mentored, sat beside you with a hand on your shoulder. Her presence meant to support you as you struggled with a flood of emotions.

"I don’t know any more Helena. Maybe I just don't belong here," you whispered between sobs. Your voice shaky with uncertainty. Tears streamed down your cheeks unrestrained after holding them back for so long. Azriel's words had not just stung. They had acted as a dam break, releasing all the pent-up doubts and fears you had about your place in this illustrious court. "I keep thinking maybe I should just go back to Dawn. My very own mother always said I was chasing a fantasy coming here. Maybe she's right. Maybe a quieter life away from all this would be better for me. Maybe I’m not cut out for the Night Court."

The young assistant, Helena, looked up to you not only for your healing skills but also for your kindness and leadership. She listened intently. Her expression one of deep empathy and concern. "You can't think that way," she responded softly. Her voice earnest. "Everyone here, especially Madja, respects you so much. Cassian, Mor, even Rhysand—they all see how much you bring to our home. It's not just you’re healing. It's your spirit. You're meant to be here with us. Please don’t think like that. I’ve learned more than I ever thought possible from you. We need you here."

Her comforting words were meant to bolster your spirits, but the reassurance felt hollow against the backdrop of your raw emotions. Despite her encouraging tone, the doubts seeded by Azriel's harsh outburst lingered. They tainted your thoughts with shadows of uncertainty about your place in this world you had grown to love yet still sometimes felt alien in.

Azriel was hidden just out of sight. He felt a deep pang of regret as he listened. The raw pain in your voice and the sight of your tears struck him more profoundly than he had ever expected. He realized then that his careless words had cut far deeper than he had intended, not just challenging your confidence but piercing the very core of your sense of belonging. Knowing that an apology would be necessary but not sufficient, Azriel resolved to actively show that you were valued and essential. Not just as a healer but as a vital member of their community. His thoughts solidified in the quiet of the night. He would make amends, starting with a heartfelt apology and followed by actions that would hopefully restore your faith in your place at the Night Court.

It was an ordinary yet busy day in the healer's quarters of the Night Court. You were deeply focused on tending to a young fae warrior who had sustained a minor but painful injury during training. As you carefully applied a healing salve the sound of urgent voices and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"He needs help now!" Azriel's voice carried a tone of dire urgency as he burst into the room. He was supporting a limping Cassian whose leg was bleeding profusely from a deep gash surely laced with poison. These damn Illyrians always coming back with some form of poisoned injury. The sight of such an injury would normally have you on your feet and rushing over. But the presence of Azriel, the harbinger of your recent heartache, gave you pause.

For a split second your gaze met Azriel's and the memory of his harsh words and cold dismissal surged through your mind. You looked away as quickly as you could. Your chest immediately tightened with anxiety at the thought of what to do. It wasn’t fair to Cassian to ignore him, but you didn’t think you could face Azriel right now. Terrified of another confrontation and still raw from the last you quickly turned your attention back to the young fae before you.

"This one's in a critical state, I need to focus here. Helena, please attend to the General." you called out your voice slightly louder than necessary. The lie laid bitter on your tongue. It wasn't entirely untrue. His injury did need attention, but it certainly wasn't as dire as Cassian's condition.

Helena, who had followed in behind Azriel and Cassian, quickly stepped forward to assist, sensing the tension. "I've got him, don't worry," she spoke as she moved to tend to Cassian with a swift efficiency that you were grateful for.

As you focused intently on the young fae's injury with your back turned to the drama unfolding behind you, you heard every strained whisper and shuffling footstep echoed ominously. Despite your efforts to concentrate your mind spun with anxiety and dread. You knew your actions were a protective shield guarding you from a confrontation you felt unprepared to handle.

Behind you, Azriel's concern for Cassian was palpable. His usual stoic demeanor was pierced by urgency. His voice a low, constant murmur as he assisted your assistant. Yet, his mind was partly on you. He was troubled by the palpable tension and the rigid set of your shoulders. The memory of his previous harshness towards you weighed heavily on him, mixing regret with a newfound caution. He wondered if his actions had broken something essential. Perhaps fearing that your trust in him might be irreparably damaged.

Cassian, despite his pain noticed the strained dynamics as well. As your assistant worked on his wound his eyes flicked towards you, then back to Azriel. "What happened between you two?" he hissed under his breath not missing the unusual distance you kept. Azriel's silence was an answer in itself. It was filled with remorse and resignation. Cassian's frown deepened. Concern for his friends overshadowing his physical discomfort. "You need to fix this, Az," he muttered, firm yet worried. "She’s not just any healer. She’s part of this family now. She’s going to replace Madja someday."

Once the immediate crisis was handled and Cassian was stable Azriel made his way towards you. His steps were hesitant, each one heavy with regret. When he paused by your side his presence felt like a cold shadow. His usual warmth for his family became obscured by the barrier that had formed between you.

"Thank you," he said softly. His voice low and perhaps understanding more than you wanted him to. "For all that you do here." You sucked in a breath at his words. Was he apologizing? Was he sorry? Were you completely misreading the situation yet again?

You didn't turn to face him. Fear of what you might see in his eyes—anger, disappointment, or worse, indifference—kept you fixed in place. "Of course," you managed to whisper. The words barely escaping your lips. He sensed that this wasn’t the time nor place to dig deeper so he resolved to keep his words simple. He would find you later when you weren’t busy working. He truly needed to apologize to you.

After he left the weight of the encounter settled heavily upon you. You felt a mix of relief at having avoided direct confrontation and a deep-seated guilt for your evasion. You knew this wasn't just about professional duties. It was about the fractures within a team, a family you had grown to cherish.

Later, as the healer’s quarters quieted and the evening settled in, Cassian found you in the gardens, where the night’s cool air seemed to echo the chill in your own thoughts. It was your favorite place to relax and unwind. Your sanctuary in the chaos that was the Night Court. He approached with a confident stride despite his recent injury and his expression was serious.

"Hey," he started. His voice carrying a hint of his usual directness mixed with concern. "Things were off between you and Az today. He’s worried, and frankly, so am I. We’ve all had our rough patches, but we don’t let that drive a wedge between us. Yeah?"

You paused, looking down at your growing herbs rather than meeting his gaze. You let out a soft sigh before answering him. "I’m just scared, Cass. I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing again. It’s like... I’m tiptoeing around landmines with him. How do I even start to fix that?"

Cassian nodded. His features softening slightly. "Az can be intense. I won’t argue with that. But he’s also one of the most upright guys I know. Just be honest with him. Tell him you’re trying to avoid making things worse. He respects straightforwardness. Always has." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "And remember, it’s not just about avoiding the landmines. It’s about clearing the field. Start with the truth. It’s always been the best foundation for us here, no matter how hard it might be."

You nodded appreciating his words. He was right. The truth got you so much further. "Thanks, Cass," you replied feeling a resolve begin to form. "I think I’ll talk to him. Just lay everything out."

"That’s the way," Cassian said with a brief nod. "We’re all here together, and we keep no secrets... save Azriel,” He smirked knowing that’s likely what got the two of you in the situation in the first place. “At least not the kind that hurt. If you're honest, he’ll listen. And if there’s anyone who can understand the value of facing hard truths, it’s Azriel."

As Cassian left you to your thoughts the weight on your shoulders didn't lift entirely but you felt more prepared to face the challenge ahead. Honesty would be your approach; you would share your fears with Azriel, hoping that it would bridge the gap between you. After all, in the Night Court, even the darkest shadows were faced together, not alone.

The next night you found yourself back in the serene confines of your herb garden where the evening light softened the edges of each leaf and petal. You were deeply absorbed in tending to a cluster of chamomile. The quiet focus on your plants provided a necessary reprieve from the swirling anxieties that had occupied your thoughts lately. However, your calm shattered when a shadow loomed unexpectedly over you. Azriel.

Startled, you looked up, only to find him standing there watching you with a curiosity you’d never seen from him before. His sudden presence was imposing and unexpectedly close and sent a rush of panic through you. His height and the intensity in his eyes seemed to fill the space making the air around you feel thinner.

"Oh! Azriel, you surprised me! I didn’t hear you walk over," you blurted out. A nervous chuckle escaping you as you hastily tried to gather your scattered wits. "I was just, um, focusing here, and—you know, plants don’t really talk back, so I guess I wasn't expecting any company."

He paused after noting your discomfort. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you," he said gently. His voice a soothing rumble. "I came to apologize. For the last time we spoke. I was too harsh. It was unfair to you."

Your response tumbled out in a rush. Your words tripping over each other. "No, no, it’s fine, really. I mean, not fine fine, but you know… I should’ve been more aware or something. I’m usually not this jumpy, I swear. Maybe a little—actually, maybe a lot right now because, well, you're kind of, um, imposing? And this wasn’t how I imagined our next conversation going..."

Azriel’s slight smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it did appear to carry a hint of amusement at your rambling. "I appreciate you saying that, but truly, I am the one who should be apologizing. I’ve thought a lot about what I said... and I regret it deeply. You didn’t deserve that." He took another step toward you as you stood.

You swallowed hard trying to steady your racing heart. "Why are you apologizing now?" you managed to ask feeling suddenly very aware of how close he was standing. The question felt bold, but your voice was anything but confident.

He took a slight step back giving you a bit more space. "Because I realized I might have made you feel unwelcome or undervalued here and that’s… that’s the last thing I want. We all need to support each other, and I failed in that moment. I want to make it right if you’ll let me."

Your mind raced with every thought, but you nodded feeling a mix of apprehension and relief. "I... yeah, I’d like that. I’ve been feeling a bit lost here. Like maybe I don’t belong. It’s been tough, and, well, your words stung. But maybe, I don’t know, maybe we can start over? Try to understand each other a bit more?" As you offered him a tentative smile the garden seemed to return to its peaceful state. The earlier tension dissipating slightly.

Azriel’s gaze softened with a rare flicker of amusement lighting his eyes as he noticed your unease. "You handle the complexities of healing with such ease," he commented with a slight tease in his voice, "yet you seem quite disarmed by a rather simple conversation."

You gave a small self-conscious laugh appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, it's one thing to deal with herbs and potions. They tend not to talk back. It's another to navigate apologies and emotions. Especially with someone who usually keeps his cards so close to his chest."

He smiled and it transformed his face, softening the usual stern lines. "Fair enough," he conceded. Then, his expression turned more serious. The playful glint replaced by a depth of sincerity. "I really am sorry, though. For everything. I know I keep saying it, but it’s because I mean it. I’ve been... difficult towards you these last few years. And I don’t want to burden you with the things I’ve carried. Of the decisions I've had to make. It’s not your weight to bear."

You listened, understanding dawning as you saw the heavy cloak of responsibility he wore. Something that was so integral to his identity yet so isolating. "Maybe not," you replied softly, "but sharing those burdens doesn’t mean you're passing them on. It just means you’re not alone with them anymore. We can share without it being a burden. Sometimes, sharing is how we heal."

Azriel looked at you with something like wonder flickering in his gaze. "I suppose you’re right," he admitted. "It’s just not easy for me. I’ve always thought keeping my troubles to myself was a way to protect others. But maybe... maybe I’ve been wrong about that." The conversation deepened as each of you explored the nuances of forgiveness and the strength found in mutual understanding and empathy. Azriel learned about the power of vulnerability. Not as a spymaster but as a man. And he saw how your empathy and gentle nature enriched the court in ways that strategy and strength could not.

"I've kept many secrets," Azriel confessed. His voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of rustling leaves. "Not because I enjoy the solitude but because I fear the consequences of those secrets unraveling."

"You don’t have to tell me everything," you assured him. "Just knowing that you trust me enough to admit you have these secrets is a step. We all have secrets Azriel. What matters is how we face them and who stands with us when we do."

Azriel nodded. The corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled. A real smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you for understanding."

You nodded but still felt a nagging question at the bottom of your heart. The gardens around you seemed to hold their breath as you voiced a concern that had been shadowing your thoughts. "Azriel, back when you... when you were upset. You called me 'healer.' Is that… is that all you see me as?" Your insecurity got the better of you. The question sounded so much more childish as you asked it aloud, but you needed to know the answer.

Azriel’s expression changed instantly. The regret in his eyes unmistakable. "Gods, I am so sorry, Y/N. I was angry and overwhelmed and I unfairly took it out on you." His voice was thick with remorse. His usual stoicism giving way to a rare openness. "You are so much more than just a healer to us, to me. I should never have made you feel otherwise." Seeing the sincerity in his gaze you felt a complex knot of emotions begin to untangle. Yet, there was still a shadow of sadness in your eyes. A remnant of the hurt his words had caused.

Noticing this, Azriel did something completely unexpected. He stepped closer. His presence enveloping you whole, and hesitantly, almost awkwardly he opened his arms. "May I?" he asked softly giving you the choice.

With a small nod you stepped into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It was a rare gesture from him as he was known for his guarded nature. It spoke volumes of his regret and his desire to make amends. His shadows ever a part of him, seemed to curl around the both of you gently. A comforting whisper against your skin.

As you stood there held in his careful embrace Azriel spoke again, his voice gentler than you had ever heard. "I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. I let my anger and frustrations dictate my actions and you bore the brunt of that. I promise you this, I will do better. You deserve better."

Pulling back slightly he looked down into your eyes, ensuring you could see the truth in his. "Thank you for giving me the chance to apologize, to make things right. I don’t take your forgiveness lightly."

Your heart that was once heavy with doubt and hurt now fluttered with a burgeoning sense of renewed connection. "Thank you, Azriel, for understanding, for this," you said, your voice steady despite the emotions brimming within.

This conversation that was once a tentative path to reconciliation had blossomed into something deeper. A genuine connection fostered by understanding and shared vulnerabilities. Azriel's willingness to show his softer side, to bridge the gap with both an apology and a hug, marked a new chapter in your relationship. One filled with potential for even greater understanding and closeness. Together in the quiet of the herb garden you both began to navigate a path toward healing. Your relationship strengthened by the honesty and empathy of your exchange. It was a tentative step forward. One filled with potential for deeper understanding and a strengthened connection.

As the weeks turned into months, the atmosphere between you and Azriel visibly shifted. You both continued with your roles at the Night Court—Azriel, cloaked in shadows as the spymaster, and you, weaving magic and medicine as a healer. The sharp edges of earlier interactions softened replaced by a mutual respect and an unspoken understanding that grew with each passing day.

One evening during a relaxed gathering at the Night Court, the air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the warm laughter of friends and allies. Under the gentle glow of twilight you found yourself beside Azriel discussing something that excited you greatly—a plan for a new herb garden specifically designed for healing and restorative properties.

As you outlined your ideas your enthusiasm was palpable. "I’ve been researching some rare herbs that could thrive here under the Night’s eternal stars," you explained with your hands gesturing animatedly. "There’s this one flower, Lumina Blossom, known for its potent healing capabilities with poison but incredibly rare. I think with the right care, we could cultivate it here."

Azriel watched you with a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened intently. The usual shadows that clung to him seemed to lift slightly instead replaced by a light of curiosity sparked by your passion. It was a stark contrast to the brooding intensity he was known for. His gaze was fixed on you, clearly fascinated by your knowledge and the excitement that lit up your features.

"Have you considered adding Dawnlight Belle to your garden?" he suggested. His tone encouraging but slightly hesitant, as if he were treading on unfamiliar ground. "I've heard it's a good one. Especially for salves used in treating deep wounds, which unfortunately, we encounter often here."

You paused, your expression a mix of surprise and delight. "Azriel, I'm impressed you’ve heard of Dawnlight Belle," you said while nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, it's remarkably effective for healing deep wounds and incorporating it here would indeed be incredibly beneficial. It's also a bit of home but with a practical use for the Night Court."

Azriel’s smile widened slightly. His usual reserve melting away in the warmth of the conversation. "I thought it might be useful," he said softly. "It’s important to have pieces of home with us. And you’ve done so much to find your place here. It’s only fitting your garden does the same."

The conversation flowed easily between you as it slowly had come to. And as you spoke more about your plans Azriel's responses were thoughtful, showing his deep respect for your work. It was clear that he was not only listening but also truly engaged in what you were sharing.

As the evening wore on you found yourself more relaxed and open to discussing your hopes and dreams for the garden. Azriel's attentiveness and the sincere interest he showed in your passions brought a new depth to your interaction. A sense that something meaningful was blossoming between you, rooted in mutual respect and a shared sense of purpose.

Together you sketched out potential layouts for the garden. His strategic mind complementing your creative vision. The project that was born from a casual conversation was shaping up to be a beautiful symbol of regeneration and unity. It was a confirmation to the growing relationship forming between you as you both discovered the joy of collaboration and mutual understanding.

From across the way Cassian caught Rhysand and Feyre’s attention, nodding subtly towards you and Azriel with a wide grin. "Look at that," he chuckled. "Seems our resident shadowsinger has found a bit of light. Never thought I’d see the day."

Rhys, with a sly grin and a sparkle in his eye that matched the mischief in his voice, glanced over at you two. "Oh, I’d say there’s a bit more than just gardening going on there," he quipped as he leaned back with an air of casual intrigue. "Wouldn’t you agree, Cass? Feyre? It seems our spymaster might just be more enchanted with our lovely healer than he lets on."

Cassian laughed. His loud voice booming across the room. "You're one to talk, Rhys. Just don’t start planning their mating ceremony yet. Let them at least decide if they like each other first."

Feyre, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her place next to Rhysand, chuckled and shook her head. "She seems so good for him I must admit. But don't you dare meddle, Rhysand. We know how that turns out," she teased. Her eyes gleaming with humor. "Remember the Great Cake Incident of '49?"

The group erupted into laughter, including Rhys, who rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Alright, alright, no meddling," he conceded. His voice still laced with laughter. "But for the record, that cake deserved better and meddling here would only help them."

The evening continued with the stars twinkling above as conversations flowed around the room. Your interaction with Azriel, now less guarded and more genuine, did not go unnoticed by those who knew him best. As the night deepened, the easy banter and shared smiles between you and Azriel spoke of something that was quietly strengthening. It was clear to everyone, even without Rhysand’s playful meddling, that something significant was blossoming. Something that went beyond the professional respect of two court members.

Together, you and Azriel discovered that even in a place as mystical and imposing as the Night Court, the true magic lay not just in ancient spells or hidden power but in the connections forged through vulnerability, trust, and perhaps, the beginnings of something deeper.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

890 notes · View notes