#she’s stern and serious

[seraphimankh]

Got any drawings of Yadria?

I have a few! Just sketches of anything to get an idea of her

[shalomniscient]

very vividly thinking of a yanagi x reader fic except reader is miyabi’s adopted older sister who was supposed to be the hoshimi heir before miyabi’s surprise conception but who still loved miyabi and her family nonetheless and was loved in turn though miyabi’s mother still always wanted miyabi to stay away from the battlefield and reader was supposed to take miyabi’s place. and so reader always had this goal in her mind to protect miyabi but the fall of the old capital happens while reader is at military boarding school and isn’t there when their mother becomes the sacrifice and miyabi is chosen by tailless.

the grief of it all and the idea that she failed drives reader apart from miyabi. miyabi goes into swordsmanship properly and reader resents every second of it even though their father supports miyabi wholly because it reminds her of the promise she failed to keep to their mother. miyabi is left wondering why her big sister suddenly seems to hate her. reader’s horrendous cocktail of grief, guilt and shame is miscontrued by everyone around her as jealousy of her more talented younger sister, including yanagi when she’s later recruited by miyabi alongside harumasa to form hsos6.

by this point reader is a bigshot at HAND so she gets invited by the sections to hang out, and (finally) the reader/yanagi meet ugly happens when reader is invited alongside section 5 to go for karaoke with section 6. reader is just pointedly glaring at tailless the whole time and has to go out for a smoke break and yanagi confronts her about her “jealousy”. they’re both a little tipsy by now (the karaoke sesh had drinks involved, soukaku stayed over with some of nagi’s friends) and the argument ends up into a stupidly hot makeout session which turns into reader waking up in yanagi’s bed late the next morning. by that point yanagi is already awake and soukaku was sent home by her friend so they’re in the kitchen having breakfast when reader stumbles in and proceeds to horrendously out herself as being a fake idgafer who still longs for her family but doesn’t know how to fix what she’s let rot and forgive herself for her “failure”. reader obviously admits none of this but yanagi notes the way reader’s demeanor softens and she slides back into an older sister role as if she never left. anyway at the crux of it all is with yanagi’s help reader gets her shit together and they kiss about it. also reader gets her family back because is it really a yanagi fic without family themes.

[all-about-the-tea-parties]

You may think that Emma trusting Sam with no memory of him is a reach, but remember, before that point she went on an entire rescue mission no questions asked for someone she didn’t know at all, and after talking with him for a lil bit, decided, yeah, yeah I’ll kill this guard for you

[tricoufamily]

a current day nils and a 90s college student nils who's way too intense about his internship walk into a bar

[beastsovrevelation]

The Hell now, I'm drooling over the Good Omens version of Archangel Michael, too?..

The tag's about Lady Crowley, not myself, but still...

I mean..

She does seem like she'd take and rail you.

[novantinuum]

I've decided after doing my rewatch of the SU movie that Yellow Diamond would be the type of person to laugh at minion memes, actually

[journey-to-the-attic]

I think that IK's Palico having the same personality as Lucifer is absolutely golden. I think it would be funny if some demons would absolutely refer to the Palico as "Lucifer but a cat" or that Satan, when thinking, may, on occasion, accidentally refer to the Palico as "Lucifer but better."

Any demons who mess with IK (Belphie and possibly Lucifer) better sleep with one eye open because the intelligent cat who helps the child with hunting giant monsters, some of which could probably step on said cat without even realizing, would absolutely hold grudges.

On a separate note, how do you think Solomon, Simeon, and Luke would react to IK?

ik's palico probably Hates everyone else for months, he spends the first entire month of their time in the devildom just glued to her side and giving anyone who speaks to them the most unnerving unblinking stare for the entirety of their conversation

if belphie did manage to kill her he'd have to sleep with one eye open for at least two weeks before ik finally convinces her palico not to enact vengeance, and even then he is on thin ice. one wrong move and he is GETTING it

as for the purgatrio... luke would probably be kind of terrified of both ik and her palico, who does NOT make an exception to the silent glaring thing for him. also there's probably a 'violence is bad!!!!' teaching from the celestial realm that'd make him suspicious of someone whose entire job is just hunting down and killing things. he'd have a whole arc where he's like "i thought you were a horrible bloodthirsty killer but it turns out you're so nice!!" and ik's like ".......you didn't need to tell me the first part"

solomon i think would be more impressed than anything, though maybe also a little upset that this tiny human has fought so many deadly battles that she's literally immune to venom now - i could see him investing in coming up with enhancing potions and such to keep her a little bit safer (this ik is also impervious to the effects of solomon's cooking, which is a godsend for the angels)

simeon would be similarly wary of ik in the beginning, but i think he'd be one of the fastest to warm up to her because 1. he finds her dynamic with her palico very charming and 2. he has a soft spot for leads like henry, and ik is just the cutest little hero to him (to him she's like a knight in a fairy tale, he just sort of Does Not See the actual violence involved, like a grandmother with selective memory for a beloved grandkid's deeds)

[canny-unvalley]

I always think I love watching gender bending drama until I watch them and they’re weirdly homophobic. Please just let me have my dream of a man loving a woman for the person she is rather than how well she fulfils his ideas of womanhood alONE

[thaisibir]

Sae adopted a dog after Makoto moved out of their apartment, a big scary-looking doberman that wards off creeps and guys hitting on her in public, but is actually a cinnamon roll who loves long walks, belly rubs, and keeping his dog mom company. Sae got a dog to keep from being lonely when Makoto left for college. Not that she would ever admit that, of course.

[s-wordsmith]

Why did I just now notice the prominent flute in the first half of the first chorus of "All You Wanna Do" in the studio cast recording?

[homunculus-argument]

Character idea that I had at some point: A dance teacher who had to give up his own highly promising career as a performer after an injury, and now makes his living giving lessons to children. He comes off as stern, serious, and frighteningly strict, and even some of the parents have a hard time believing that the kids genuinely like him and enjoy the lessons. Which, to be fair, are frightening to watch with no context of what this is about.

The children go through their practices with downright eerie, automation-like, coordinated synchrony, with stern and focused looks on their faces, while the teacher circles them, observing and correcting, brandishing his cane like a weapon and every once in a while dramatically lamenting about how "you little vermin can't do anything right", and occasionally the music stops and the only sounds coming from the studio are of kids running and screaming while their teacher bellows about teaching them a lesson.

This, however, is all just method. He started the first lesson with the children by proposing a game: How about they play flea circus, where he is the cruel evil ringmaster and they are all his poor suffering little fleas. One of the girls starts crying, protesting that she doesn't want to be a flea. Well, how about mice? Mice are cute. The children accept these terms, and ever since they've spent dance lessons playing Evil Circus.

For reasons beyond adult comprehension, children of a certain age really love playing pretend in a setting where everything is Dark And Horrible And The Worst, and Evil Mouse Circus is exactly that. And whenever he picks up that the kids are starting to get too genuinely nervous or agitated, that's when he goes "that's it I'm going to beat all of you" which is their cue to take a break to run around screaming, while he chases them. He won't catch them and isn't even trying to, the kids just need to let the nervous energy out.

It looks horrible to an outside observer, but the kids are having an excellent time playing circus mice.

[pseudowho]

It was an average Monday morning when you, Nanami Kento's wife, were turned into a cat.

"An unusual Curse," Shoko had said, "not longer than a week, surely--"

"Not--not longer than a week?!" Kento spluttered, his glasses lopsided, and, dangled in front of him beneath the arms (legs-- legs, he reminded himself)...you.

You, with two pointed ears, a long whippy tail, your many toe-beans and a perturbed little head-tilt. On the doctors' office couch, a neatly folded (if a little furry) pile of your clothes.

"Meow," you had said.

"Don't 'meow' me," Kento spluttered again, fixing you with a stern look that barely overlaid his concern. You simply stared up at him, long, and feline, and unblinking...and reached out one little paw, pressing it onto the end of his nose.

Kento sighed; a bone-deep, weary sigh. Shoko put out her cigarette, speaking through a haze of smoke.

"Like I said. Give it a week, and Mrs.Nyanyami will be back to nor--"

"What did you just call her?'

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Mrs.Nyanyami, the cat formerly known as Nanami Kento's wife, wanted for nothing.

"I think that tuna's more expensive than anything I've ever eaten," whispered Yuuji to Gojo. On the other side of the conference room, you sat upon the desk before Kento, waiting patiently for the next lump of tuna (meticulously cut into cat-appropriate cubes) to be delivered in his chopsticks.

As Kento's hand approached, you held it close with paw and claws, to steal the pink fish from him. He looked like a surgeon performing heart surgery.

"I just...dont know how he can look so serious while he's doing that," Gojo whispered back, to Yuuji's frantic nods. Still, they watched this freakish nature documentary with quiet obsession.

A higher-up sat down beside Kento, waiting for the meeting to begin. Jolting back, and grumbling, he did a double take.

"Young man-- you can't bring a cat to a Sorcerer's meeting--"

"That's not a cat," Kento snapped, frosty, "that's my wife."

And so began the rumour amongst the higher-ups, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"You should leave her at home--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--really, Nanami...just put the television on, she'll be fine--"

"--unequivocally, no--"

"--why not?!"

Silence. An awkward shuffle on Kento's thick chest. You peeked your head out of the pocket of the cat-carrying hoodie that Kento wore over his shirt and tie, and turned to Gojo with narrowed eyes.

"Meow," you had said, batting at Kento's strings, and hooking his tie out with your paw, to kick it to death with your legs.

"I agree," said Kento, whispering and scratching you beneath the chin until you purred, "he's wrong, isn't he? Stupid Gojo. You'd get lonely. You'd get bored. Yes you would..."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Oh my god...he's gorgeous...you should get his number--"

"--I'm not brave enough...you go. I'll get our coffees."

"--okay, okay..." The woman cleared her throat, sweeping her hair behind one ear with her best smile. Kento looked up from his coffee, with one finely raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" He lied, unwilling to help anyone at all before he'd finished his croissant.

"Hi, yeah, I just...can't help but notice you're sitting alone, and my friend-- well she-- she just wondered if she can have your number, and--"

The woman broke off into shrieks. Climbing up her leg, all claws and furry vengeance, was you. She shook her leg, shrieking. You hissed. Your cup of steamed milk clattered over the table, slopping everywhere.

"--o-oh my god-- oh my god, what the hell is this cat doi--"

"I'm sorry," Kento sighed, not sorry at all and dabbing his mouth with a napkin and doing absolutely nothing to help, "it's my cat. She doesn't like company--"

Hisses. Claws. Dirty feral yowls.

"Get this fucking thing off me--"

"I can't take you anywhere. No more steamed milk for you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

At times, you seemed so human. At others, undeniably cat.

Kento would wake to clattering from the kitchen, bleary and feeling around for you, only to remember, and trace his hand up to the furry, round little patch you'd leave behind on your pillow. He allowed himself just a moment of misery, before getting up.

He followed the sounds of cups and kettle and coffee machine, and leaned against the doorway with sleep-mussed hair and a squinting, teenagerish glare.

You were up on the counter, all four paws and determination. You had gotten as far as switching the kettle and coffee machine on, and heaving the cupboard open with your tiny limbs. Kento watched as you tipped your head sideways, managing to drag two mugs out in your teeth. He winced as they almost smashed upon the counter.

"Come on," Kento rumbled, his voice rusty with sleep, "let me do that."

You meowed at him, batting at the air with one angry paw when he stepped closer. Kento huffed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he tutted, "but I'll pour the water."

"Meow."

"Why? Because you don't have opposable thumbs, darling."

The fur stood up along your spine. You turned around, and around, in a circle, then sat upright. You turned your back on him while you waited for the kettle to boil. Your tail flicked from side to side, irritable. Kento waited, too, reaching out one hand to stroke your ears.

You nudged your back paw out, and pushed his mug off the side to smash on the floor.

Silence.

"...what is wrong with y--"

"Meow."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Skitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

Kento groaned, rubbing down his face. He checked the clock, frog-blinking; two in the morning. He groaned harder.

Skitterskitterskitter.

Thunk.

More distant meows.

"Please just come back to bed," Kento moaned into the hands pressed over his face.

SkitterskitterskitterSKITTERSKITTER-- rustlllleerussstle--

Directly over his face.

"Meow--"

"I am begging you--"

RustlerustleTHNKskitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"I miss you."

You raised your head to look at him. Your purring hitched. Your ears tilted.

Kento had murmured, his low voice barely audible. The only light in the living room was the ever-changing light of the television screen. Laid on his back on the sofa, with you curled on his chest, Kento stroked down your back with longing.

You crept up his chest, pressing your cold wet nose to his, and purred. Nose to nose, and cross-eyed, Kento could have cried.

"I really miss you," he repeated, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Your claws dug into his chest, just a little. You rub, rub, rubbed your warm furry head along his jaw until he sniffled, and gave a choked little chuckle.

He fell asleep with you on his chest that night. In so many ways, it was familiar; home. In so many others, you were gone forever.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Meow."

Kento shuffled. His chest felt heavy...warm. His belly felt warm, too. And his lap, and--

Kento's eyes shot open, his head lifting up from the couch.

You bit your lip, naked on top of him, and smiling. Human. An angel.

"Oh, my love," Kento moaned, crushing you to him in a bear hug from shoulder to toes, "you're back-- I missed you, I was so worrie--"

You batted an arm out, swiping last night's wine glass from the coffee table beside you, to shatter on the floor.

Silence. Kento blinked slowly, looking from the wine glass, to you. You felt your cheeks grow hot, swallowing hard.

"God, I...sorry, Kento. Force-- force of habit--"

Part Two linked here!

[pieflavorpie]

To all my online shit stirrers out there:

Top tip. Want to make them quake? Not know how to respond back? Make them look like a complete buffoon?

Quote sources! I started doing this around 2 weeks ago. Before, responding to [blatantly false] facts would always end up in a virtual spitting match. Since Quoting Sources, I have had a 0% response rate!

A response denying that uterine transplants of trans women have no use? Source!

A response saying that a flying coaster is dangerous because "all it takes is one thing to brake and you're having a belly flop no one wants."? Well that's absurd. Why? No source!

This is only a small peek at what Quoting Sources can do for you! It shuts them up like magic!

Also see: asking people for THEIR sources! See a person stating a person died because a 'ride was so intense'? Ask them their source! It causes an awkward virtual silence you can truly revel in. Sometimes these facts are true, but it's good to see where these people get their facts so you can practice critical thinking either way!

[Quoting/Citing sources is good practise for topics with a lot of misinformation and feelings targeted at it which can cover topics from rollercoaster safety, to transgender biology, to the Palestinian genocide. It's always morally right to be thoroughly educated by trustworthy sources - No, the news typically isn't a trustworthy source. I recommend looking at papers/blueprints/Wikipedia (as they usually cite their sources).]

[[Don't forget to always cite your source as you quote it. It has a much better impact and also Plagiarism Isn't Cool.]]

Also see: Why exactly you would be more informed on the subject than the person you are arguing with. Why should they trust you?

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, bruises, and physical fighting. nyx being a cute baby. some fun introspection. reader is tired and overwhelmed. az is honest and open (hallelujah)

Word Count: 7k+

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rhys was trying to be serious. 

He truly, truly was. 

From behind his polished desk, he looked every inch the High Lord—back straight, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as though he couldn’t decide where to start.

You shifted in your seat, your body aching in strange places from the fight. The cut on your cheek throbbed and the bruising across your knuckles made every twitch of your fingers tender. But none of it compared to the strain in your cheeks—from holding back a laugh.

Feyre was perched on the arm of a chair beside you, Nyx cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her flowy blouse. She wasn’t looking at you—refusing to, actually. Her gaze was locked firmly on her son, her lips pressed together in a trembling line, but you could see the corners twitching with suppressed amusement. You kept your gaze on her, waiting until the burn of your stare would render too hot for her to ignore. 

It didn’t take long.

Feyre’s resolve crumbled as soon as her eyes met yours. She let out a laugh—sharp and bright and loud in the too-quiet room.

Rhys’s head snapped up. “Feyre, please. Not you too.”

Not you too. Morrigan had found the situation just as amusing. 

Her laughter only grew, and Nyx joined in, making incomprehensible happy gurgles in response to his mother’s amusement. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. 

She passed Nyx to your open, offering arms, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Rhys’s neck. Her cheek brushed against his as she murmured—loud enough for you to hear, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

Rhys groaned, glancing at you. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut in, your voice laced with mock sternness as you bit back a smile. “Yeah, Rhys. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied, fixing you with a look. “It is not funny.”

You gasped dramatically, adjusting Nyx in your lap and covering his tiny,pointed ears. “Don’t teach your son it’s okay to lie.”

Another groan. A hand dragged down his face, but his lips twitched as though fighting a losing battle. Finally, with a resigned shake of his head, he muttered, “Alright. Fine. It’s funny. But—

His words faltered. 

“I am sorry,” you offered, filling the silence. You raised your free hand solemnly. “I lost my cool. That’s my bad. But in my defense, she really had it coming.”

Rhys casted a look at Feyre, who was leaning against the desk now, a smile still tugging at her lips. He shook his head again, sighing. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “But I can’t have our court’s emissary beating one of our citizens in broad daylight. It’s not a great look.”

“It wasn’t broad daylight,” you corrected, your attention shifting to Nyx as you untangled your hair from his iron grip, grimacing as the motion pulled at your scalp. “The sun was setting by the time we were done.”

Feyre let out another laugh, the sound powerful enough to pull a snort from her. 

“And,” you added, “It was, at most, semi-private.”

“Unbelievable,” Rhys muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

Nyx babbled again, his chubby hand reaching for your hair once more. 

“Okay, alright,” you said, straightening in your chair. The ache in your body flared as you moved, but you ignored it, your focus on Rhys. “You’re right, Rhys. I have a title and an image to uphold. I should’ve acted better. Tell me how to fix it, and I will.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on you, as if the longer he stared at you, the easier words would come. Then he leaned back in his chair, his attention flicking to Feyre. They were in each other’s minds, you realized, talking in that way only they could. You could pick up the signs now, even subtle—a faint twitch of her lips, the softening in his gaze, even the rhythm of their blinks syncing up. 

Finally, Rhys looked back at you, then down at Nyx, who was still babbling in your lap. When his gaze returned to yours, there was a thread of warmth beneath his voice. “You’re the most, objectively, rational of us all. If you say there was reasoning, then I believe you.”

You gave him a grateful smile.

“We just have to prepare for some damage control,” Feyre said. “It’s not exactly comforting for our citizens to see three of their highest-ranking officials fighting in the streets.”

“Three?” You frowned. “What—”

You were cut off as the door creaked open. All three of you turned as Mor stepped in, a large grin on her red painted lips. She was holding something small in her hand, and when she held it up, the light caught on the all-too-familiar jewelry.

“Don’t forget. She also found these,” Mor sang as she entered fully. She tossed two bracelets into the air, catching both effortlessly before holding them up again for emphasis. “So, I think that’s enough for a pardon.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room in a few long strides as Feyre followed. He took one of the bracelets from Mor, inspecting it carefully.

“What did you find?”

“What Y/n heard was right,” Mor said, rolling the other bracelet between her fingers. “It’s a simple listening charm. Very basic.”

Rhysand hummed. “And how does it work exactly?”

“It’s an anchored spell.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, frowning. “An anchor?” 

“It means the spell needs an anchor to function—a tether to keep it active and contained. Like a balloon tied to a string.” Rhys explained, his tone turning clinical. “It’s simple magic. The charm was designed to spy on whoever it was bound to.”

“And it was bound to who? Az?”

”Actually,” Mor said. She nodded towards you. “It was bound to Y/n.”

You weren’t paying full attention, not as you played a game of tug-of-war with Nyx and a strand of your hair. When the words finally hit you, you blinked, glancing between Mor and the bracelet in her hand. “What? On me?”

Mor nodded once more as Rhysand said, “Interesting.” 

”And this was in Azriels room?” Feyre asked, looking over at you. 

“One of them,” you confirmed. “The other Selene was wearing.”

Feyre’s gaze flicked to the cut across your cheek. “So she put it in Azriel’s room, but bound it to you?”

“No one tends to go into Az’s room.” Rhys frowned. “So she was only interested in conversations you were a part of.”

Of course. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you clenched your jaw, forcing it down. You reminded yourself of what you’d seen earlier— the insecurity, rather than the malice you’d anticipated. Still, a certain annoyance lingered. Was her relationship with Azriel so fragile that she couldn’t talk to him? Were you so unapproachable that she couldn’t come to you? Instead, she planted a charm. To spy. 

”Can I see it?” You asked. 

Mor stepped forward, holding it out, and Nyx reached for it first, his tiny fingers desperately grasping at the shiny surface.

“This isn’t for you, buddy,” Mor cooed, crouching slightly. “This is Aunt Y/n’s special bracelet from her secret admirer.”

You shot her a flat look. “Secret admirer, my ass.”

Mor grinned, but her gaze flicked over you briefly, her teasing dimmed by something else—concern, maybe. Feyre stepped forward, lifting Nyx from your lap as you examined the bracelet.

“So what do we do with it now?” You glanced up at Mor.

“I can pay Helion a visit. Break the charm.” 

“Alright,” Rhys said, the word accompanied by a considering hum. “But first, let me talk to Selene and Runa—Runa was the other one, right?”

Hearing her name sent a wave of irritation coursing through you. Your grip on the bracelet tightened instinctively as you nodded, the cool metal digging into your palm. You held it out for Mor to take, watching as she then took the second one back from Rhys. He studied you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your clenched fists.

“You’re just too great,” He said with a small grin. It was very father-like in its presentation, like he was trying to cheer up a sad child. “It’s intimidating.”

You rolled your eyes, but his attempt worked— the easy cadence chipping away at the tension in your shoulders, managing to coax a reluctant smile to your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Your attention shifted to Feyre as she rocked Nyx gently in her arms. His soft breaths had already settled into the rhythm of sleep, and something in you softened at the sight. Your smile deepened, this time warmer, more genuine. Feyre caught your gaze, then glanced at her mate.

“It’s his bedtime,” she murmured, her attention returning to you. “And maybe you could use some rest too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mor cut you off, her hand already brushing against your arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, though there was no room for argument in her tone.

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but she gave you a look, leading you out of Rhysand’s office. You gave both him and Feyre a quick goodbye. 

“Walk or winnow?” Mor asked once you were in the hall, tilting her head.

You thought it over for a brief moment. “Winnow,” you replied.

She nodded in agreement, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “Probably for the best,” she said, “Wouldn’t want you to find another citizen to fight on the way home.”

You moved to swat at her arm in mock indignation, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly as she winnowed away. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Mor was humming a small tune as she led you to your bedroom. She had a few more items in her hand since the last time you saw her, only a few moments prior.

“Sit,” she instructed, nodding towards your bed. Without waiting for a response, she pulled your chair from the small desk, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. Usually, you might've winced at the sound, but tonight it barely registered. You were too tired, too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of your surroundings. 

You lowered yourself onto the edge of your bed, hands folded in your lap, watching as Mor set her haul on your bedside table: a first-aid healers kit and a small jar with a golden lid, the faint scent of herbs already wafting from it.

“Whats that?” you asked, motioning towards it as Mor sat down.

“I stopped by Majda’s earlier,” Mor replied, grabbing the jar and offering it to you. 

You gingerly took it, running your fingers along the small glass. A healing balm, you gathered from the label, crafted and spelled to sooth the tenderness of injuries.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, fixing you with a look. She held her hand out in a silent request, and you granted it, placing the jar back in her soft palm.  “I ran into Adrin while I was there, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I think he has a crush.” 

Your brows furrowed. “On you?”

“No,” Mor laughed. “On you.” She twisted the lid off, the scent growing stronger, fresher. “This was practically free when I mentioned your name. He says hello, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, at the small quirk in her lip.  “How generous of him.”

Adrin was one of Madja’s recent apprentices, a male from the Dawn Court. Over the past year, you’d developed a sort of friendship with him—inevitable, given how often you stopped by Madja’s for elixirs, balms, or to request healing for one of your family members. Adrin was sweet in a way that stood out, especially for someone of his stature and wealth. Humble, easy to talk to. You’d always enjoyed your small conversations with him, none of which had ever felt particularly flirtatious. 

But Mor liked to do this—tease you about romantic prospects where there were none.

“He seemed very sad to hear you were hurt,” she teased, dipping her fingers into the balm. “Here. Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, you stretched out your hands, knuckles bruised and raw. She took them, her touch gentle as she worked the balm into your skin. It stung at first, then cooled, easing the ache. 

“He’s cute,” Mor said lightly, noting your silence.  “You should consider it.”

“Mhm,” you replied, not really listening. “Maybe.”

Mor glanced up at you, her hands pausing briefly before she resumed. “What are you thinking about?”

You shrugged and stared down at your hands, tracing the patterns of Mor’s thumbs as she smoothed over the worst of the bruising. “I don’t know. The whole thing, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just beat them both.”

A small laugh slipped from you, unexpected. You were quite proud of how diplomatic you’d managed to be given the circumstances— though, you were sure diplomatic wasn’t the word Runa would use.

“I think,” you began, “I just figured it wasn’t worth it. At least with Selene, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing I could’ve said to her that’d be worse than what I imagine she already tells herself. Runa just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Mor nodded with an amused smile, tilting your chin up with a finger so she could dab the balm along your jaw. On a hit you hadn’t even noticed until it started throbbing an hour later.

“Still. A listening charm is kind of insane,” she said. Her tone was measured, but you caught the edge of anger beneath it. “Can you imagine what else she could’ve heard?”

Your chest tightened. You nodded. Although not to the extent you might usually have, you had thought about it—the implications of the bracelet, the act Selene had committed, the idea Runa had planted. It was almost laughable. Your court was condemned for its supposed cruelty, led by a High Lord as infamous as Rhysand, yet citizens still felt emboldened enough to pull stunts like this. In any other court, Selene and Runa would’ve faced very different—more permanent—consequences.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” you replied after a moment. “I’ll just get angry, and I’m kind of over that. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re better than me,” Mor muttered.

“Not really. I’m just tired.” You said simply. “Selene did a bad thing. She’s lucky it didn’t cause a serious disaster. I don’t feel the need to play the Mother’s role. Rhys will deal with her.”

Mor sat back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “And in the meantime, I get pretty jewelry.”

You raised a brow. 

“What?” Her grin widened. “Like we told Rhys, it’s only a basic listening spell. If I’m in possession of both charms, and I’m not talking to you, then no one’s hearing anything.”

“And if you lose one?”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly twisting the cap back onto the jar. “I won’t,” she replied simply. And you knew that was the end of the conversation. Mor guided your head to the side, leaning in to inspect the cut across your cheek.

“That bitch got you good, though,” Mor muttered. She touched it gently, and you grimaced. “All this from that bracelet?”

“It was chunky,” you replied dryly. “And I think Runa split it open much further.”

Mor scowled. “If I see her, she's as good as d—”

“Mor.”

She sighed dramatically. “At least tell me you got her good.”

You gave her a look and her grin widened. “Gods, I love you,” she said, shaking her head. “You might be the most terrifying one of us all when you’re angry.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the faint pull of it brushing against the ache in your cheek. The sound of a laugh started to rise in your chest when a low voice cut through the moment.

“I would agree.”

You jumped, and your head snapped toward the doorway— where Azriel now stood. 

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the moment’s levity collapsing under his presence. Instinctively, your eyes ran over him, taking in every detail. He looked tense, wings drawn in tight to his back, his posture stiff. Shadows hung close to him, unnervingly still. Disheveled, too—his hair was a mess and faint bruises bloomed along his face. His hands were hidden by his shadows, but you’d bet they bore the same marks as yours. Three officials, Feyre had said. You now knew the second. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mor snickered beside you, drawing your attention just as her brows lifted in amusement. She turned away from him and faced you instead. “You hear that, Y/n? He’s sorry.”

You raised your own brows, gaze flicking back to him. “So those words do exist in your vocabulary.”

The bite didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have. It felt hollow, old. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he drew in a measured breath. After a moment, he stepped forward. His gaze lingered on you for another moment before he turned to Mor.

“May we have a moment alone?”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in her gaze dragging over him like a knife. She didn’t answer right away, looking back to you instead, searching your face for permission. Despite yourself, you gave her a small nod.

Her displeasure showed in the faint widening of her eyes, but she stood anyway, brushing her hand against yours in passing. Her touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. “Love you,” she murmured. “Let me know if you need anything else tonight.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding again as she walked past Azriel. His shadows recoiled from her, drawing a dark outline along his arm. She casted one last glare over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt suffocating, a heavy thing that settled over the room. You avoided Azriel’s gaze, focusing instead on the healer’s kit sitting on the bedside table. You reached for it, but Azriel held up a hand to stop you.

“I can do it myself,” you said. 

“I know,” Az replied softly. “But let me. Please.”

You hesitated. He looked troubled, guilt heavy in his expression, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The conversation had been inevitable, long overdue. Might as well get it over with while he tended to the cut on your cheek.

Besides, you were too exhausted to care. 

“Fine.”

Azriel gave you a small, unsure smile—grateful, almost. He disappeared to the bathroom, and when he returned, he sat with a wet rag in hand.

You tried to hold on to your anger, to avoid his eyes, but your resolve began to falter the moment his shadows began to twist around your arms. They moved languidly, curling up your wrists and brushing your fingers as you played with your hands in your lap. You focused on them instead of him— on their quiet presence, the personality in them that so few ever noticed. You’d missed the way they felt like him.

Azriel began unpacking the kit—clean cloths, antiseptic. The smell made your nose scrunch. You took in the bruising on his face—on his cheek, a split near his eyebrow, even on his lip. Strange, strategically unplaced.

“What happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Cassian happened.”

And there it was— the third official. You wanted to probe for more details, were even tempted to make a joke out of his current appearance, but your irritation held you back. You stayed silent as he cleaned the wound, as he dried it. When he soaked another cloth with antiseptic, he looked at you.

“I owe you a big, proper apology.” 

You didn’t look at him, even as his words pulled at you. “Yeah.”

He paused— like he was thinking, like he was ashamed— and took a deep breath before he said, “Many, actually.”

You didn’t respond. You just nodded, watching him from the corner of your eye. When the cloth touched your cheek, you winced. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowing in apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Another pause. 

“You were right,” he said, his focus staying on your cheek. “And I should have listened to you.”

This time, the pull of his voice was strong enough to draw your attention. As he leaned closer to begin cleaning the cut, you studied his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the crease in his brow as he worked with precision. 

“I’m always right,” you muttered, and the words had more mirth than you’d expected. You supposed that was natural with Azriel, an instinct of sorts. Even when you were unhappy with him. “You’re going to have to be specific.”

Something softened in his expression—just for a second. But you saw it. You could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips, heard a soft breath of amusement. His molten eyes met yours briefly.

“You were right about Selene.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know why, but his gaze burned. You couldn’t hold it for long and looked back down at your hands, letting the shadows weave between your fingers. You wondered what information Az knew— wondered who told him. If it was Mor who had talked to Cassian, if it was Cassian who then, in turn, had given Azriel the whole story. Had they fought beforehand? What for?

“I broke up with her,” Azriel added. “When I heard about what happened.”

You looked up, but Az’s gaze was no longer on you. “You did?”

He nodded. You tracked the bob in his throat as he swallowed. 

“There’s no coming back from what she did.”

Azriel set the cloth aside, carefully wiping away the excess antiseptic. He seemed unnervingly calm for the situation—for the invasion of privacy from someone he’d been intimate with. You’d expected something more. Anger like you’d seen with Eris, confrontation like he’d shown Lucien. But, instead, he was gentle. Maybe it should’ve bothered you, that he seemed so unphased at your current state. It didn’t. If anything, you were grateful. You would’ve been too tired to deal with anything else. 

You studied him closely. This side of him—tender, unguarded—wasn’t a side he let many see.

Your thoughts wandered back to Selene. It made sense, in a pathetic, strange way, why she might have done what she did. If she’d seen this side of him, this kindness, this care... how could she not have wanted to protect it? How could she not have gone to extremes to keep it?

You thought about it for a moment. Came to the realization that the love Azriel offered was probably worthy of madness.

“Because she spied on you?” 

It was a stupid question. But the urge to ask had persisted, so you voiced it anyway. Azriel stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“No,” he said, his voice softer. “Because she hurt you.”

His words landed with a force that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Although,” Azriel added quickly, “The spying was definitely a dealbreaker.”

He was making a joke, you realized. Or a small attempt at one. And somehow, it settled something restless in your chest.

“She didn’t mean to,” you heard yourself say before you could stop it. 

The moment the words left your mouth, you cursed yourself. What the hell were you doing? You had no obligation. No reason. It was counterproductive, if anything. Rhys was bringing her in. You had every right to trash her, right here, to Azriel himself. To tell him over and over that you told him so.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d mattered to him—enough for him to trust her despite the flaws that had undone her. Even if that truth made your chest ache, you wanted him to make his decision with all the facts.

Your care for Azriel wasn’t something led by your pride.

“Selene didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said again, more certain this time. “It was an accident.”

His eyes softened as he observed you. You swallowed and shrugged. “Runa was the one who actually did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “You were in that situation because of Selene.”

A beat.

“Because of me.”

The air between you thickened. You tried to focus on anything else, anything but the way your chest tightened, the way your heart thudded faster than it should. But you couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked with his.

You thought about the past week, how something had shifted between you. The distance that had grown, how long it had taken him to reach out.  Azriel was someone who didn’t apologize easily. You knew that. But it hurt in ways you didn’t expect because you’d always thought you were different. That your friendship, your bond, was worth the discomfort. 

You thought he’d make it right. That he wouldn't have let it fester for as long as he did, wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving you simmering in your hurt. 

“Az?”

The name escaped your lips unguarded, and his face softened at the sound of it. His wings shifted too, just slightly, like tension bleeding out. You hadn’t said his name like that—without anger, without bitterness—for days.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you actually apologize earlier?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked down, as if the answer was there, somewhere in the floor. “I—I didn’t know how.”

You let out a breath—annoyance, defeat, something too messy to untangle. “It’s actually really easy,” you muttered. “You just open your mouth and say the words ‘I’m sorry for being a dick.’”

There was a soft shuffle as Azriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, trying to meet your averted gaze.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

You let the words settle for a moment before sitting up straighter. Met his eyes once more. You raised a brow, unimpressed. “A bit late, don’t you think?”

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes meeting yours steadily. He was closer now—close enough that you could almost feel his presence like a tangible, heavy thing. His shadows stirred, curling around your fingers, then shifting toward his hand. They tangled between you both, like they were tying you together, threading through the space that separated you.

“It is,” Azriel said. He looked down the second his words hit the open air. It reminded you of repentance, like a sinner confessing to a priestess. His hands rubbed together before he clasped them into a fist, looking up again.

Even then, his thumbs kept moving, brushing over each other in a way that gave him away. He was nervous.

“I messed up,” he said. “I knew I did the minute I repeated what Selene told me. But I’d messed up so badly that I felt like an apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. I couldn’t think of anything.” He took a shallow breath. “I—I was embarrassed.”

You frowned.  For Azriel, who stood in front of you, unwavering in the face of so many enemies, embarrassment seemed almost foreign.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet as he admitted it.

“What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

Azriel’s face shifted, his eyes looking almost vulnerable, wide open, like you could see everything. Even his shadows slowed to a faint crawl. They seemed to be waiting for something. You weren’t sure what.

“That you were right. I was changing. For her. And I did it on my own.”

“What?” You barely breathed out, confused. “Why?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his eyes lowering. “I thought it might be for the better. That maybe this relationship, maybe Selene, could mold me into something else, something more…” He trailed off.

“More what?”

“Something—someone, more easy to love.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second, everything froze— like the sheer sadness in his voice was enough to freeze time. And then you were flooded with emotions, each different from the one that came before. Confusion. Anger. Pity. Heartbreak. You felt a deep, hollow ache at the idea that he truly believed he needed to change to be loved. 

For the first time, you weren’t sure what the right thing to say was. If there was one at all. All you could do, in the most genuine tone you could muster, was say, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s gaze faltered, his expression shifting as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process your reaction. You glanced at his hands, pushing the rush of emotions back, then met his eyes again.

“You should never feel like you need to change. Not like that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes softened, and you found yourself focusing on the crease between his brows. It made him look so tender. So young.

Finally, he spoke again. “I was having a bad day that night you came to talk to me. I didn’t realize how I’d hurt you. I thought I just pissed you off, that you were angry.”

“Well, you did piss me off,” you said, your anger bubbling up once more. His expression faltered slightly at that, but you continued, “I’m still angry. You were dismissive. You made me feel selfish, like I didn’t have the right to care about you.”

The words caught in your throat, threatening to stick, but you pushed them out. You’d spent centuries enduring criticism from males in Prythian politics—males who dismissed your input no matter how educated or experienced you were. You knew how to let their opinions roll off your back, not to let them settle. But you never thought Azriel would be the one to hurt you. Make you feel silly. Stupid. Small.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted away as if he was trying to find the right words. “It was all so stupid. I can’t believe I entertained her ideas—that I let my desire to be needed make me accuse you of having ulterior motives when you were just being a good friend.”

A good friend.

That was exactly what you were trying to be—and yet, the word hurt you. It made you want to wince like you had when Azriel pressed that rag to your cut. You thought back, unwanted, to Selene’s words, and your chest tightened even more. 

Was it possible for the room to be losing air? Maybe that would explain the stupid decisions you’d been making. The thoughts you could feel in the back of your mind. A lack of oxygen to your brain.

“So why did you believe her?” you asked quietly. Your voice sounded more tired now. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was cruel. It belittled you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, at the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth. He was sincere—you could feel it in every word, in the way his eyes stayed fixed on you, like nothing else existed in the room. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone apologize like this before, so open and raw.

And yet, something inside you still simmered. The anger hadn’t disappeared. Not yet.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For apologizing.”

Azriel didn’t move. He kept looking at you, really looking at you, and you felt pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. His eyes had more green than Cassian’s. It wasn’t something you usually noticed—how the colors shifted in the light, how clear and startling they seemed up close. Now, though, you couldn’t seem to stop noticing, like every detail of him was suddenly magnified.

You wanted to stay angry. You deserved to. He’d hurt you, and that kind of hurt didn’t just disappear because he finally decided to show up and say the right things. But then his gaze held yours a little too long, his voice a little too raw, and that tightrope you’d built for yourself began to fray.  A sharp sting of guilt came, and you couldn’t shake it—couldn’t shake the growing realization that maybe you didn’t want to be angry at him. Maybe it wasn’t even anger anymore.

You cleared your throat as Azriel shifted his attention back to the kit, his shadows curling and shifting behind him. He grabbed a few butterfly bandages, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“You’re better to me than I deserve,” he said, almost to himself. “I think I convinced myself that it was a matter of time until the ball dropped—until you realized I wasn’t worth this friendship. I thought I’d finally reached that point. I almost just laid down and accepted it.”

You frowned at his words. 

Azriel always carried that shadow of self-loathing like a second skin, like he couldn’t believe anyone could see him as more than his darkest thoughts. As much as you wanted to heal him, to assure him that none of it was true, you knew better. It hurt to know that, after everything, he still didn’t believe it. Because, the truth was, Azriel wasn’t hard to love. It wasn’t hard to support him, to be his friend. He had his moments, as anyone did, but he was always there. Which, you supposed, is why the way he treated you hurt in such a deep, unique way.

The thought that he’d believed, deep down, that your friendship—your loyalty—could be so easily withdrawn, made something inside you ache. Made you sad. Angry. 

“I take back what I said earlier,” you murmured. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he searched your face for any hint of a joke. His shadows perched on the apex of his wings, watching you both. Then, when his lips curled, just slightly, they began to move once more. 

“I have my moments,” Azriel said, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. He glanced at you, checking if it landed.  “Maybe one too many head injuries is getting to me.”

“Maybe,” you said, the hint of a smile brushing your lips. “In that case, we should keep an eye on Cassian.”

Azriel’s breath escaped in a quiet, almost relieved laugh.  He carefully removed the butterfly bandages from their small packs, the silence settling around you once more. But the air felt heavy, like there was something unspoken hanging between you. Like you needed to say something to rid yourself of the pressure in your chest. 

“You can’t just lay down and accept it, Az,” you said, your voice firm. His eyes snapped to yours. “That’s not what friendship is. Not ours.”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll do better.” 

You smiled faintly, nodding back. Watching as he turned his attention back to the bandages on your cheek, you took a slow breath. His scent washed over you as he leaned in, familiar and warm. For a moment, you almost let yourself close your eyes, just to breathe him in further, to let his scent linger. Had it always been like this? Or had Selene’s words made you overanalyze everything?

“I was shocked when Cassian told me what happened. I can’t believe that while I was busy kicking myself for not doing anything, you were trying to talk to Selene. Trying to be kind. Do you realize how crazy that is?”

His words weren’t disbelief—they were awe. As if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d chosen the harder path, the path of peace. You could barely believe it yourself, sitting with a scratched-up face and a mind full of unwanted revelations. But in the end, it had been simple. 

You’d done it for Azriel. 

You’d found sympathy for her because of Azriel. You’d set aside your anger, your pettiness, because you valued your relationship with Azriel more. Even after everything, after the way he’d treated you, you still believed in him. Believed in his ability to know what he wanted.

“Your happiness was worth it,” you said finally. “I didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of it. To make things hard.”

Azriel stopped at that, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel exposed in a way you’d never felt before with him. You shrugged it off, trying to play it cool, and added with a dry chuckle, “Also, I figured if I did the noble thing, I’d get to hold it over you for a few centuries.”

Azriel laughed—a genuine, rumbling sound. His shadows fluttered around him. “Yeah, well, you can. More than a few centuries, actually, because you came out with some battle scars.”

You almost spoke again, but the breath left your lungs as you felt his fingers gently press the butterfly bandages to your skin. It was almost funny to think about how angry you’d been—rightfully so. But now, with the feel of his hands on you, it all began to ease. A specific sense of healing, like the betrayal you’d felt—at least in part—was being mended. That Azriel tending to you now, with the soft touch he so rarely granted, proved that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he did care. And maybe you could give him a little grace for being a flawed male.

When Azriel turned back to the kit, you touched your cheek, feeling the cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized how long it was. Mor’s earlier reaction made more sense now.

Azriel glanced at the wound, then back at you, brow furrowing. “Is it okay?”

You nodded slowly, a soft breath escaping as you winced slightly. “Yeah, just tender. Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and moved to place the last bandage. And then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I really am.”

“I know.” You hesitated before adding, “But you’re going to have to make it up to me. You know that, right? This wasn’t enough.”

Azriel steadied his gaze on you, leaning back to face you fully. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if anyone had ever looked at you properly. Not like this. Not as he said, “I will. I promise. In ways that are better than some baked goods.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind some croissants. They looked good.”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh really?”

Soft tendrils of his shadows weaved around you as you nodded, biting back a smile at the tone of his voice. Something so lively. So Azriel. Although you were used to them, you resisted the urge to shiver as his shadows threaded through the ends of your hair. 

“That’s odd,” he said. “I seem to recall them looking untouched. Some even squished.”

The memory of how you’d grabbed the pastry in frustration, squeezing it in your hand, brought a small smirk to your face. You shrugged a little. “I was pissed. I couldn’t give in.”

“In that case, I’ll buy out the whole bakery.”

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a smile was still there. It was probably obvious to Azriel.  “The Spymaster supporting local businesses by single-handedly buying out a local bakery. How noble.”

He smiled at that, his expression lighter now—boyish, amused. But his words were sincere. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.”

“And if I told you to swim naked in the Sidra at night, when it’s cold and snowy?”

“I’d ask Rhysand to make an order for all the children to stay inside.”

You laughed at the thought, and the atmosphere shifted. For the first time in a while, it felt like the world had stopped turning its back on you. The anger, the grudge you’d been cradling like a newborn babe, didn’t feel so heavy now. 

Azriel stood, folding the bandages and packing away the medical supplies, and you found yourself watching him without meaning to once more. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly… beautiful he was. There was something in the angle of his jaw, the way the light caught his features that made your breath suddenly catch. He was always handsome, of course, but this was different. 

A sudden wave of curiosity bubbled up inside you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke.  You’d never noticed the sharpness of his eyes, the intensity in them, the way his wings twitched when his shadows curled against them.

“Can I ask you something?” 

He paused, looking down at you with that soft gaze. “Always.”

“Why did you want to change into someone more loveable? Why stay with Selene?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Azriel nodded. Something sad washed through him, made him blink, made his wings fall an inch closer to the ground. “Everyone around us is finding love. They’re starting new lives.”

Something sharp jabbed at you, a bitter feeling you didn’t quite understand. Was there something wrong with you for not feeling the same need to fall in love?

“I’m not,” you said. 

The expression that took over Azriel’s face was one you couldn’t describe, but there was a new kind of weariness in it. His lips parted as though to say something else, but instead, he simply shook his head with a small, wistful smile. “It’s only a matter of time, Y/n.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you. You’re amazing. It’s only a matter of time until you fall for one of your many suitors.”

You furrowed your brow, a bitter taste now settling on your tongue. You didn’t respond— didn’t know how to.

Azriel’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, but then his face softened. He exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I didn’t think I could handle being alone when you moved on, too.”

The way he said it, the weight of it, made something ache inside you, like a deep hollow was opening up in your chest. You swallowed hard, wishing for something—anything—to ease the growing pressure behind your ribcage.

You wanted him to tell you more, to say something that would make sense of all this. But you didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t even know what you wanted him to say. 

“Because you don’t want to be the last one standing?”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Azriel’s shadows seemed to quiet around you both.

Then, he gave you a half-smile—sad, lopsided, but somehow more real than anything he’d shown you in a long time. Not for months. Not since he began dating Selene. 

“Something like that.”

Before you could dwell on his words, on why they made you feel sad, disappointed even, Azriel finished packing up the kit and turned toward you.

“All done,” he said.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and nodded. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers brushing over the growing bruises on your knuckles. Your hair fell forward, partially hiding your face, and before you could move it out of the way, one of Azriel’s shadows darted forward, tugging at the strand. You glanced up as he gently called the shadow back with a subtle motion. 

“So... how do I look?” 

Azriel's eyes flicked over you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he reached forward, his hand brushing that same strand of hair from your face.

“Tough,” he said, slowly moving the strand back. “I think the bandages really bring out your eyes.”

And even though he’d done it a million times before, as Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear, something inside you cracked right open.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Part Five

authors note:

tending to wounds scene!!! tending to wounds scene!! mor has both bracelets??!? az and selene are done?!?! he's being weirdly calm abt the whole thing?!?! reader is THINKINNN...

now begins the fun time of reader wanting to let az grovel (bc he has entered his groveling era) but also overthinking everything and wanting him to just....go away. also fun time of reader having to prove to everyone that despite things she may...or may not... feel, her intentions with Az were neverr driven jealousy hehe

so fun!!! i have some fun ideas guys. thank yall for reading <3 i wonder if you can guess what might happen.... there are a few hints

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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

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

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

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

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

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

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

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

[screampied]

imagine the jjk mens reaction when readers giving them a bj and when they say swallow she decides to be a lil brat & spits it out 🫣🫣

GOING DOWN ON THEM ☆ JJK MEN

sukuna, toji, choso, geto, gojo. their reaction to you being a brat when they tell you to swallow

☆ total wc. 1.8k+

☆ warnings. afab!reader, oral (m), degradation, hair pulling, brat taming, facefucking, praise, messy.

☆ an. this is so filthy i loveeee.

TOJI ☆ FUSHIGURO.

toji’s got a firm rough grip on your head—your strands interlock within his as he stares at you putting your mouth to good use. his nostrils flare at the sight of how messy you were, strands of your own spit pouring down your mouth and he grunts out a cursed, “f-fuckin' shit.”

your knees feel benumbed as it sunk into the depths of the carpet floor. bobbling your head up and down, up and down, a repetitive motion that’s got his beefy thigh clenching.

“gettin' close, girl. ‘s good, keep using that slutty tongue,”

and his voice shudders a bit. using as much stimulation as you could with your tongue. toji grunts once he finishes inside your mouth. it's a lot, it’s warm and it coats your tongue freely. the mere mutter taste of it has you squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment before toji grips your chin. “swallow it now, baby. like ya promised.”

you stare up at toji before with a “pft,” you end up spitting it out with a huge grin—it lands on his lap and you watch his facial expressions change completely, he gives you that stare that’s practically just enough to get you moist.

“did you just spit it out…?” he grumbles, taking a glance at his shorts—using a thumb to swipe some excess of his cum from the side of your lips.

“sorry.” you snickered, and toji’s visibly pissed. for some reason, whatever it was just seeing his jaw slightly clench at your brattiness was sexy, deeply attractive. him being all stern because of your change of behavior.

toji glares. “you ain’t sorry,” and you gasp, watching him press your lips together with two fingers—intently giving you a mean serious stare. “since y’er apologizing, think you should make it up by cleaning my lap with your tongue, whore. get to it.”

CHOSO ☆ KAMO.

he’s so vocal whenever you’re sucking him off, the way your tongue polishes and flicks against his sensitive frenulum—it gives him shivers all over his body.

swallowing a lump in his throat, choso fails to maintain eye contact with you because he can’t stand to see your pretty face getting ruined.

“baby, y-you’re gonna make me cum too quick again,” he’d whine, his abs flex together as he’s trying to focus on his breathing. each time his plump tip reaches the roof of your throat, you gag and he always pauses to ask if you’re okay. he can’t help it—you’d give him a reassuring smile saying that’s supposed to happen, and he gets relieved, only to forget and ask and check on you again. “princess, you always k-know how to do it so well.”

choso massages your scalp with the edges of his soft fingertips, softly helping you pull yourself up his shaft and his right thigh is just bouncing.

he’s feeling everything build up and his moans were just so loud, slutty even.

“b-baby, 'm gonna shoot 'n your mouth,” he’d hiccup—his own voice becoming strained, you’re so sloppy with your throat it has his mind racing constantly, biting down on his lip he ends up releasing right inside to where it paints all on your tongue.

he’s catching his breath—a hand combing through his air as he’s feeling himself get a tad bit woozy from your tongue, yet hears you spit out his cum and he moans. “you’re so hot,” he whimpers, his voice was more of a murmur. “did i give you too much…?” and choso's voice lowers a bit, although it’s still cute and whiney—he grabs onto your chin and makes you nod. “…yeah? i’m sorry baby.”

but choso can’t help but lightly slap his tip against your dampened lips, opening his mouth before another moan escapes—shaking his head from left to right with a needy scoff. “actually, n-no i’m not. i’m really f-fuckin' not.”

SUKUNA ☆ RYŌMEN.

sukuna's just an asshole.

an even bigger one once you decide to be bratty, he can’t stand brats more than anything. so for you to even try to spit out his precious cum..

he’d be in manspread, pulling the thin fabric of his kimono to the side out of your way every few seconds—he grunts at the sloppy sounds you make, you’re bringing all your focus towards his base with your tongue, then towards his tip.

“good girl. no talkin' just take it,” he sighs, dragging you against his cock, a sinister grin pressed on his lips once he watches you stare up at him with glossed eyes, pretty lashes fluttering throughout each moment you blinked. your mascara was pretty much ruined by now. “got so much to give you.”

he feels hot, the tension arising within him makes him lightly pierce his fangs into his teeth—and once he came, he groans, feeling it trickle into your mouth in tiny spurts. a thick amount flows inside, and it’s so much it makes your cheeks appear big and its cute. “ya know what to do with it. swa-”

“…pff,” you’d spat, strings of his own seed running down your chin—such a mess. as soon as sukuna witnesses that and the frisky grin on your face, he narrows his eyes at you.

“now, little girl. i didn’t say spit, i said swallow,” he glares, sukuna’s voice pitched into a deep rasp.

a left hand of his that’s dug into the roots of your hair is fully attached—his claws softly graze against your scalp as he tugs on your hair. a slight yank to where you’re facing him. “diso-fuckin'-bediant little thing you are huh…lose the smile. better yet open your mouth. since you wanna do that, let me spit in your mouth 'n see how you’d like that, whore.”

GOJO ☆ SATORU.

gojo’s more on the dirty side—actually, he’s as filthy as it comes to you.

he doesn’t mind you swallowing just as much as if you don’t, but once you tell him that you’ll swallow he grows ecstatic.

“s-shit, eyes up here, babe,” he swiftly taps his thumb against your chin and you look up at him. gojo moans a awkward, “oh hey…” and he’s just about reaching his limit—you’re making him feel so good, he unoccupied hand gropes onto his thigh and he swipes a tongue across his lips. “fuck…your tongue’s gonna make me cum again.”

you’re making sure to use as much saliva, flickering your tongue and allowing it to roam everywhere—your gag reflex stimulates for a second the moment gojo’s dick tickles against the very back of your throat.

you run your wet lips against his mushroom-tip, using a free hand to play without yourself since you were already soaking as is, gojo shivers once he feels you start to plant soft kisses against the crown of his cock before seconds later—he ends up shooting a long stringy rope of cum down your throat. he swallows whatever pride he had left, and he feels a bit lightheaded as he slouches in his chair.

huffing and puffing out a whimpering, “love that nasty mouth of yours s-s’much.”

he stares at you, a needy impatient pout forming as he waits for it. waits for you to swallow, but you let it spill down past your lips, spitting it out and he dramatically gasps with a slight pout. “are you crazy? don't you know how much my cum is worth?”

he’s obviously joking, then again it’s…gojo. he leans down and brings you up towards him and wraps a hand around your throat.

“baby…gimme a kiss so it doesn’t go to waste,” and his voice sounds so pathetically sweet, he brings his shaky lips up to yours, stealing a long deep kiss. he doesn’t even care he’s licking his own cum from your lips—surprisingly it doesn’t faze him, he moans in your mouth like a slut, and that’s when you feel him reach a hand down your laced panties to feel how wet you were for him from before. “so sweet,” he murmurs, breaking away the kiss, his own strings of his cum departing as he licks your bottom lip. “wanna taste you more.”

SUGURU ☆ GETŌ

finds it attractive once you spit his cum out, because geto’s the type of man to find it amusing whenever you’re being a brat towards him.

he’s never really been one to put you in his place so to speak—but whenever he does, it’s heavily attractive. “all the way down, gorgeous, yeah…”

and he’s guiding your head slightly with a big hand over your head, up and down. his long hair’s messily tied back into a ponytail—his own hair tickles near his neck as he grunts from your tongue dancing and gliding against his tip. “you’re so messy. drooling all down your mouth. full enough?”

you shake your head, moaning from his words and he smiles, ruffling the top of your head before groaning. “i know, pretty thing like you…‘s never satisfied yet.”

his cock nearly created a bulge in your throat and he gets smug a bit seeing at how good you’re taking him—especially because of his size. his dick was pretty and lengthy, well trimmed with just a few specks of black hair decorating near his base. “fuck,” he’d swallow, and his voice gets high a bit—you stare at geto throwing his head back slowly, and his adams apple made an appearance as he bit his lip. “swallow every drop, princess. can you do that for me…?”

you gave him a subtle nod, and he flashes a cutesy awkward smile—caught off guard from how slightly vulnerable he was in this state, seeing you like this from having your mouth stuffed full always got him off. “f-fuck, take it baby. spit all over it. get nasty for me, yeah.”

once he came, it comes out a lot—velvety with a. sweet yet somewhat bitter taste as expected, your tongue swirls around his tip for a final time before you spit it out with a sly smile on your face.

“you little minx,” he groans, cupping a hand over your chin—gathering up a strand of his own seed and it coats his fingers before he pries your mouth open.

“i gotta baby you, is that it?” and your eyelids became low, moaning once you start to suck on his fingers that was coated with him cum and strings of your own spit. “aw. that’s it, just suck it like that baby,” only for geto to exhale deeply, stroking your chin before bringing his dick back towards your pretty plump lips. “open for me again, sweetheart. wanna ruin this throat some more. of course, if you’d let me.”

[alexiroflife]

"you can smile?!"

crack, fluff, yuji & megumi <3

kento nanami x reader

Synopsis: you're a no-nonsense woman with a thick, rigid exterior... of course, until your husband shows up

to sum it up: yuji can't comprehend the shift in your aura when nanami comes around

WC: 931

Warning(s): none

"(Y/n) sensei sure is scary, huh?"

Itadori cups a hand over his mouth to whisper to Megumi, watching wearily as you stand afar with your hands on your hips and phone to your ear, surveying your surroundings coldly for the mission you have been sent to supervise with the boys.

"You think so?" Megumi asks tiredly, following Yuji's gaze.

"Duh! I mean, look at her!" the pink-haired vessel hisses. "She's always so serious."

Just then you throw a piercing glare their way over your shoulder, thoroughly irritated by Gojo's voice yapping nonsense to you over the phone as he explains that Yaga has sent another colleague en route to your location.

Yuji shivers, horrified that your glare is directed toward him and Fushiguro when in reality you are staring harshly in no particular direction. Something Gojo says on the call makes you suddenly twitch with anger, and you're barking nonsense into the speaker furiously as the strongest sorcerer chuckles in amusement on the other end before hanging up.

Megumi sweatdrops. "In her defense, anyone would react like that talking to that idiot."

"No, but she's on another level. It always feels like she's two seconds away from snapping!"

You tuck your phone into your pocket with a harsh sigh and pinched brows, making your way back over to the boys with that everpresent sternness in your mannerisms. Yuji pulls away from Megumi, straightening his hands at his sides. "Alright you two, sit tight," you speak firmly. "Another sorcerer is on their way."

"Yes ma'am!" Yuji straightens himself and solutes, Megumi rolling his eyes.

"Why do we need another sorcerer here?" the spiky haired teen asks.

"There may have been a miscalculation of the overall case's severity. They're sending someone else for backup to handle a different task in the same location while we focus on ours," you explain stiffly, tense eyes scattering over the seemingly empty high school for any further strange activity.

"Oh. Who's coming, then?"

As soon as the question leaves Itadori's mouth, you see your blonde-haired, well-dressed spouse step into view from afar. The three of you look over, finding Nanami swiftly approaching.

"Oh, hey! It's Nanami!" Yuji stretches out his arm to wave. "NANAMI! OVER HERE!"

"Stop yelling," Megumi scolds.

Kento shakes his head when he arrives, stepping close to your side. "I could already see you when I was walking over, Itadori," he says stiffly.

Itadori huffs, imagining that this mission will be twice as stressful now that the world's most formal sorcerer is accompanying you, the human embodiment of sincere grit, but when he looks back up at you, the tightness in your face has completely melted away when you look over at your husband.

The said man turns to you, hand meeting your lower back gently as he leans in to kiss your cheek softly. "Hello, sweetheart," he greets affectionately, and you... smile?? Your eyes soften and your cheeks warm, mannerisms completely shifting into those of a love-stricken schoolgirl under Nanami's gaze, making you look almost unrecognizable.

"Hi, honey," you say sweetly, the usual surliness in your intimidating tone nowhere to be found. Nanami's lips curl up slightly, a gentle smile gracing his face.

Yuji's jaw hits the floor and Megumi scrunches his nose in confusion, watching the two of you gaze at each other.

"WH-" Yuji stammers, pointing an accusing finger at you. "WHAT WAS THAT?"

You turn to look at the boy and sigh, hand connecting with your hip again as you raise a brow, normal demeanor slightly returning. "What are you talking about, Yuji?"

"Just then! You- You looked happy!" he shouts. "And you can smile?! NANAMI, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!"

"Shut up, Itadori," Megum warns again harshly, and you snort.

"Do I not look like a person who can feel joy?"

The boy's eyes dart between you, Nanami's hand still resting on your back as the two of you stare at him with blank faces, the brief intimacy of your shared moment having vanished.

Megumi butts in as Itadori's brain fries itself attempting to understand what he's looking at. "I don't think you want him to answer that question."

"I wasn't aware that you've never seen (Y/n) and I greet each other," Nanami says curtly.

"I mean- no I haven't?!" Yuji exclaims. "I knew you were married, but I just figured you two showed affection by shaking hands!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Just because we take our jobs seriously doesn't mean we're robots," Kento says, in fact, very robotically.

Yuji grips his hair in torment, his shock rendering him speechless and unsure of how to process the situation.

You roll your eyes, turning over your shoulder to walk in the direction of the school's entrance. "Come on, you two. Enough dawdling, we have work to do," you direct sternly.

Your blonde partner follows close beside you, guiding you by your waist and looking down at you to say something the boys can't hear while you walk ahead. Your shoulders jump with a soft giggle, a sound completely foreign to the first years' ears. Yuji reels.

"Hurry up, you two!" you call out, tone once again, firm.

Itadori stands still with his back slumped and his brain scrambled, staring ahead quizzically. Megumi glances at him and scoffs an amused breath, slapping his hand on his back and walking forward. "Let's go."

Itadori jerks and looks up, baffled. "Huh? Megumi, don't tell me you think this is normal!"

"It's fine, you'll get over it."

"But I can't! I feel like the world's been thrown off balance!"

"You're so dramatic."