Finally got my vetmed tattoo 😊
DEAR READER

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

oozey mess
wallacepolsom
Sade Olutola
h
One Nice Bug Per Day
Today's Document

JVL
Sweet Seals For You, Always
trying on a metaphor
NASA
we're not kids anymore.
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d e v o n
Three Goblin Art

titsay
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

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Jules of Nature
seen from Türkiye
seen from Ukraine

seen from United States
seen from Kyrgyzstan
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Bolivia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from India
seen from United States

seen from Philippines
seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United States
seen from United States
@brown-eyedblues
Finally got my vetmed tattoo 😊
Songs (or specific lyrics) that are Billy-coded with some elaboration:
>Doubting Thomas by Nickel Creek
“Can I be used to help others find truth/ When I’m scared I’ll find proof that it’s a lie/ Can I be led down a trail dropping bread crumbs/ That prove I’m not ready to die/ Please give me time to decipher the signs/ Please forgive me for time that I’ve wasted.”
I actually can’t really elaborate that much on this one- just know that every time I hear it, I think about Billy being at war with himself over whether he should stay with Murphy’s men or join Tunstall’s forces. The way he just continues to make tough decisions, hoping they are the right ones.
>Work Song by Hozier
“When my time comes around/ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth/ No grave can hold my body down/ I’ll crawl home to her” AND “My baby never fret none/ About what my hands and my body done/ If the lord don’t forgive me/ I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me.”
Ok, ok… this one really reflects the romantic in me. Billy would be the type to not let anything between him and the woman he loves. He also knows that his girl loves him unconditionally- no matter the trouble he finds himself in the middle of. He might not be a saint in the Lord’s eyes, but none of that matters because he knows his girl looks at him like he hung the moon and all of the stars.
>Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door by Bob Dylan (This version specifically)
“Mama, put my guns in the ground/ I can’t shoot them anymore/ That long black cloud is comin’ down/ I feel I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.”
So I found out recently that this song was actually written for the movie “Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid” in 1973… BUT I thought it was Billy-coded before I even knew that. Also- I feel like this one is a little obvious… While I hope the show takes the conspiracy theory route…. We all know how Billy’s story is suppose to end.
>Candy by Paolo Nutini
“Although not the most honest means of travel/ It gets me there nonetheless/ I’m a heartless man at worst, babe/ And a helpless one at best.”
This is another daydreamy romantic one. But this particular line really gives me Billy vibes. Billy knows that this lifestyle is not the most honest and safe. He knows that there is a cruelty to his outlaw ways, but his girl could always bring out the innocent, kind side of his personality. He is at her mercy, and he couldn’t be happier.
>Soul For Every Cowboy by Big Head Todd and the Monsters
“When hell falls cold and wet/ His heart soon forgets/ That ever he was loved or wanted to be loved/ And a soul for every cowboy/ And a star to guide him home/ And an angel to bring him/ A song to sing when he’s alone.”
Listen, I KNOW this one is a little obvious. I don’t think I need to elaborate more
Guys- I wanna hear other songs you guys think are Billy-coded. I have a whole arsenal of songs where these ones came from. Let me know if you want to hear more!
When your dad discovers fandoms
1.01 Pilot
I’ve always loved that they got the same actress to play Mary when she came back in the later seasons 😭
Lay Your Hand in Mine
a/n: the people voted for a long fic...so voilà
pairing: Azriel x Reader
content warnings: language, anxiety attack, canon-typical violence, smut (18+)
word count: 19.7k
synopsis: You never wanted to be a spy. You never wanted to work for the High Lord of Night. You never wanted to be trained by the male that faeries whispered horror stories about. Then again, those were just stories, and that very male might be your salvation.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
“Step forward, girl.”
You gritted your teeth as you obeyed your High Lord, the male sitting on a sparkling throne of moonstone. His eyes were a striking, cold violet, framed by the harsh lines of his face. Objectively, he was beautiful, but it was hard to appreciate beauty in the male who you were being forced to serve for probably as long as he lived.
You bowed your head in submission, heart pounding with anger and anticipation. Kier had tried to stifle you the moment he recognized the power that dwelled in your bones. He couldn’t stand his niece potentially having more power than him, and when he was given the opportunity to simultaneously ship you off and do a favor for his High Lord, he didn’t hesitate.
You slowly lifted your head, fighting to hide your fear in front of this powerful male. Something like amusement glimmered in his eyes as he watched you. It infuriated you, but you supposed it was better than ire.
Your eyes slowly shifted to the male standing behind him. An Illyrian, if his glowing siphons and the massive wings flared out from his back were any indication. A shadowsinger too, you realized as the darkness around him seemed to pulse with life. Rumors had circled for decades about the male, fearful whispers passed amongst the fae in the Court of Nightmares. Now to see him in the flesh, to put a face to the terrifying stories—it was unsettling, to say the least.
His face was like granite, a mask of utter indifference hiding whatever thoughts dwelled beneath. He didn’t look at you, not even when your gaze lingered on him a second too long, before the High Lord drew your attention back to him. “I assume you know your purpose here.”
Your mouth was dry as you struggled to find the words you needed. “I’m afraid not, my Lord,” you answered, voice rough.
His eyes narrowed. “Kier gave you no explanation?”
You swallowed hard, glancing at the shadowsinger behind him again. “He said my power would best be suited here, in direct service to you and your court,” you said, voice quiet but clear. It took everything in you to enunciate your words. “But I must admit that I do not know what makes me unique from any other High Fae.”
“Is that so?” he hummed, fingers drumming on the arm of the throne. “Kier lied to me then, when he said you can make yourself invisible?”
Your stomach dropped. Of course Kier knew. You could feel the weight of the shadowsinger’s gaze now on you, but you kept your eyes glued to the High Lord. “No, sir, that was not a lie.”
His brow twitched, as if he expected such an answer. “Well then, I suppose you do know why you are here.”
“I did not realize that the power held any true value.”
A beat of silence passed as he looked you over, then he ordered, “Azriel, step forward.”
The Illyrian did as he was told, the shadows dissipating a bit to reveal more of his face. He was undeniably stunning, his beauty as sharp and lethal as the obsidian dagger that hung at his side. His eyes were somehow vibrant yet cold as they roved over your body, pure analytical criticism behind his gaze. “Azriel is my spymaster. He reports to me,” the High Lord said, tone verging on haughty. “And you will report to him.”
Your heart skipped a beat as you dragged your gaze from the Shadowsinger to meet the High Lord’s eyes again. “Do you mean I am to be a spy?” you asked incredulously.
His eyes flashed at your tone, your chest squeezing tight. “Do you question me?” he asked, voice lethally soft.
You tipped your head down slightly, heart pounding. “Of course not, my lord,” you replied quietly.
“Do you not think a female with the gift of hiding in plain sight would make an excellent addition to her court’s spy network?” he asked again, although it was clearly rhetorical.
You didn’t think you were breathing. You clenched your hands into fists, counting to five before answering him shakily, “I do not know how to control it.”
“Well then,” he said, his voice void of all amusement, “Azriel will have his work cut out for him.”
Your eyes cut to the Illyrian again, who was still staring at you with harsh and calculating eyes. His shadows seemed to strain against whatever leash he kept them on, begging to break free to unleash Mother knew what kind of terror. A heavy weight settled deep in your stomach as your fate slowly unfolded before you. A life working under the High Lord’s infamous Shadowsinger.
Mother save you.
~ ~ ~
Two Weeks Later
“Get up.”
You closed your eyes, ignoring the male hovering above you. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, pain searing up your back from your fall. He kicked your leg lightly with the toe of his boot, and you opened your eyes reluctantly to meet his cold hazel ones.
You still didn’t move though, and a flash of anger appeared on his normally stoic face. “You are never going to improve if you don’t get up.”
You slowly sat up, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Maybe I don’t want to improve,” you snapped.
You immediately regretted your brazenness when Azriel’s nostrils flared, and he slowly crouched down in front of you. You swallowed hard at the anger painted clearly across his face. This frankly terrifying male you had trained with every day for two weeks now, who had not once shown any hint of his emotions, was now staring you down with ire in his eyes.
You were foolish. Such a fool to grow complacent in his presence, to think that his indifference meant he wasn’t still the male that faeries whispered horror stories about back in Hewn City. Of course, he was. Kier didn’t send you here for a vacation, or as a reward—he sent you here because he hated you, and he wanted you away from his court.
“Mother’s tits,” Azriel breathed. “Where the hell did you go?”
You froze at his words, and you looked down to see the faint glimmer across your skin that you knew meant you had morphed into your surroundings. Your body was trembling as you watched him stare directly through you. No one had ever seen you use your powers. Not knowingly, at least, since someone must have for Kier to have known about you.
Azriel had been demanding for you to shift for two weeks. Every demand met your refusal, because you couldn’t. It just happened, and you didn’t know how.
You flinched when he startled, rocking back a bit and catching himself with his hand. His wide eyes locked directly on yours, and your heart stopped. The glimmer of your skin was gone, and you knew you were in even deeper shit now.
“I thought you couldn’t shift,” he said slowly, voice lethally soft.
Somehow that was scarier than if he had yelled at you. You were trembling as you answered weakly, “I told you I can’t control it.” Your eyes burned as you stared into his unforgiving ones. “I’m only here because Kier felt inexplicably threatened by me. By a power I don’t understand and can’t even use. I’m not a warrior, or a godsdamned spy.”
Azriel stayed crouched in front of you, his beautiful eyes quietly assessing you, without giving even a hint as to what he was thinking. Eventually, he stood up slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. “You are now,” he responded quietly.
That’s not what you wanted to hear. You didn’t want him to yell at you either, but it felt like you were balancing on a precipice, waiting for a drop that you desperately wanted someone to save you from. Your lip trembled, and you gritted your teeth to try to quell the overt display of emotion. “I don’t want to be.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.” His voice was…not warm, but less unfeeling than you were used to. “Clearly your power is driven by fear. It’s a defense mechanism.”
You flattened your lips at his obvious assessment, hating that he was aware of the effect he had on you. “It doesn’t have to be, though,” he continued, surprising you. “You can learn to control it.”
He then practically disappeared into his shadows, darkness swallowing him whole. You watched in awe as he reappeared, the tendrils of darkness slowly dissipating. “I didn’t used to be able to do that at will.”
You didn’t ask what his powers used to be like, how they used to manifest themselves, or why they even made an appearance. Something in your gut told you his answer wouldn’t be pleasant. “You might be the High Lord’s newest pet,” he mumbled gruffly, making you bristle, “But your training can be for you. Not for him—you.” His eyes seared into yours. “The only thing apathy is going to get you here is killed.”
His words settled in your stomach like rocks. Each sentence was a brutal bullet of truth as the reality of your situation truly sank in. Your trembling had stopped though, as you slowly realized that he was not, in fact, going to flay you alive for your disrespect. He might very well be the person to pull you from the edge you were close to toppling over.
He reached his hand out, his scarred palm open toward you. “Get up,” he said again, but this time his tone was resolute, any anger gone.
You slowly placed your much smaller hand in his, his fingers wrapping around yours tightly. An inexplicable spark ran up your arm and down your spine, knocking the breath you had gained back clean from your lungs. He pulled you up easily, his grip staying firm even once you were back on your unsteady feet. He squeezed your hand as he looked you in the eyes, his gaze unwavering and seemingly unaffected. “You’re in this now, like it or not,” he said, but his words were not cruel, simply matter of fact. “The only way out is through.”
~ ~ ~
Two Months Later
You stood side by side with Azriel, his wings flared out slightly behind him. You were being extra careful not to back into the delicate membrane. You had learned the hard way in training last week that Illyrians were overly protective of their wings. Embarrassment and remorse still flooded you every time you thought about how close you came to accidentally slicing through Azriel’s wing. That had been your first and last dagger handling lesson in the two months you had been stuck here.
Your back was ramrod straight as you watched the court members revel in their drinks and dancing, all while Kier glared daggers at you from across the throne room. You had rarely been in this room even when you still resided in the Court of Nightmares. Your parents didn’t particularly care about your comings and goings, an indifference you resented as a child but grew to appreciate once you caught Kier’s attention as an adult. Your blood simmered as you glared back at the slimy male, and you wondered not for the first time what your parents had thought about his schemes for you. They probably didn’t give two fucks, if you were honest with yourself.
“Stop.” Azriel’s low voice startled you from your bubbling rage. You caught a glimpse of the shadow twirling around your ankle, and you lifted your shoulders in defiance.
You didn’t question how he knew about the storm slowly brewing inside you. Over the last two months, you had learned how intuitive the male was. It was both impressive and infuriating. Maybe even comforting, if you were honest with yourself. No one had ever paid enough attention to you to sense what you were feeling. No one ever cared, until Azriel. Even if it was mostly during training sessions. “I don’t want to be here,” you grumbled.
His eyes cut to yours briefly. “Watch your words.”
Your mouth clamped shut at that, feeling like a reprimanded child. “The High Lord already came and went. Why can’t we?” you asked, voice hushed.
“Because that’s not how this works,” he replied in a low growl, effectively ending the conversation.
You let out a long sigh through your nose, accepting your fate for the next few hours. For a while, you watched familiar faces grin and dance and drink. You didn’t envy them, and you certainly didn’t miss them. You knew first-hand that joy was absent amongst those that dwelled in this mountain, but you were still angry. Angry that you were torn from your life and chucked into another one without any say in the matter.
Eventually you tore your gaze from the revelers, and opted for staring at the overzealous buffet of food, plotting how you might swipe a pastry from the spread. Then you caught Kier moving from his post on the other side of the room, his face hard and eyes brimming with hatred as he stormed toward you. You immediately went still, anxiety flooding you at what he had planned.
Azriel stood up even straighter, his wings flaring a bit. You subconsciously moved closer to him as you shifted your footing, finding a strange comfort in the heat that radiated from him, his presence alone steadying you.
“Y/N,” Kier greeted, your name dripping with acid. “You must be proud of yourself. Already promoted to dutiful lapdog alongside the fearsome shadowsinger.”
“Always a pleasure, Kier,” Azriel said drily.
Kier’s eyes flashed with contempt as he looked at Azriel. “You Illyrian piece of—“
“Kier,” a smooth, honeyed voice purred. Azriel and you both froze at the sight of the male now next to Kier. His violet eyes sent ice through your veins, an uncanny resemblance to the ones you had grown to loathe these last couple of months.
Kier straightened, his irritation still clearly painted on his face. “Rhysand,” he gritted out, and the male grinned. “Glad you could join us tonight.”
The High Lord’s son didn’t drop his smile, his lips only curling further. He glanced at Azriel, to your alarm, before returning his gaze to Kier. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he cooed. “Happy Birthday, by the way. Morrigan sends her regards.”
Kier’s face flushed at the mention of his daughter, and even you were surprised by his words. Rhysand clapped Kier on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he crooned, and Kier clenched his jaw, “but I need to borrow these two.”
Your hands grew clammy as his gaze fell to you and Azriel. You had yet to meet the High Lord’s son, but if he was anything like his father, you were sure you did not want to engage in conversation with the male.
“Of course,” Kier agreed begrudgingly. He walked away with one last scathing glance cast toward you, then disappeared into the swarm of bodies.
Rhysand glanced between you and Azriel, the latter still wearing his usual mask of cold indifference. “Follow me,” Rhysand said before leading the two of you through a door at the back of the throne room, your steps heavy and reluctant. Azriel followed closely behind you. His presence was the only thing holding you back from spiraling into a panic as Rhysand led you further and further down a winding, dark and desolate hall.
Eventually, he stopped in front of another door, pushing it open slowly before gesturing to you and Azriel to enter. You hesitated though, barely able to make out rows of bookshelves along the far wall of the dark room. You flinched when someone grazed the small of your back, the touch immediately falling away when you turned to look over your shoulder. Azriel was watching you expectantly, his eyebrows raised slightly. “It’s okay,” he murmured.
You glanced back at Rhysand, who surprisingly didn’t seem annoyed by your apprehension. He almost seemed amused, but you couldn’t fathom why. Reluctantly, you stepped through the threshold, Azriel following behind you, and then Rhysand shut the door with a soft click. As soon as the door shut, faelights illuminated the small room, which, to your relief, was just a small study.
“Az,” Rhysand said, voice no longer coated with charm, but something far more familiar. You couldn’t fathom why he had suddenly changed his tone, but when you turned around to look at the male, you were given your answer as you watched Rhysand wrap Azriel in a hug, one of his hands clasping the back of Azriel’s head.
The High Lord’s son hugging Azriel was shocking, but what was even more shocking was Azriel reciprocating the hug. He practically melted into Rhysand, and your brain couldn’t process the rare display of emotion from the normally stone-faced shadowsinger you had trained with these months. Just getting him to smile slightly had been akin to pulling teeth, and now here he was, clutching Rhysand like his life depended on it.
Their hug only lasted a few seconds, and while your mind was swimming from the display, you couldn’t bring yourself to break whatever bubble of peace they seemed to be in with each other. Azriel asked quietly, “How is Cass?”
Rhysand’s throat bobbed. “Good, as far as I’ve heard. I haven’t seen him in months, though.”
Azriel nodded, taking in his words. “And Mor?”
Your attention was snagged by that, unable to ignore the mention of her name again. “You know Mor?” you asked.
Both of the males turned to look at you. You fought back a sudden rush of nerves, forcing your gaze to stay glued to Azriel. Any ease that was momentarily on his face was erased, and once again the cold mask of apathy was back in place. A mask you suddenly hated, now that you had seen him without it. A mask he dropped with the High Lord’s son, of all people.
Now you didn’t really think he owed you much, and you were honestly okay with the cool, indifferent demeanor he kept around you when you had assumed that was just his personality. You had taken pride in the small half-smiles you had coaxed from him these weeks. You had even started to think he might actually like you. After all, he paid enough mind to recognize your shift in moods. He never seemed to be in a rush to end your training sessions, not like he was the first couple of weeks—but now you just felt like a fool. And he knew your cousin? He couldn’t have been bothered to share at least that with you?
When it was clear Azriel wasn’t going to respond, Rhysand stepped forward, his hands in his suit pockets. “Morrigan is my cousin,” he said, smiling gently. “Loosely.”
You felt like your stomach had been flipped inside out. “Cousin?” you squeaked out.
“Loosely,” he said again, as if that really mattered. “I suppose you and I are as well.”
You were going to be sick. You were related to the male who you were forced to serve every day for the foreseeable future—and no one told you. Azriel didn’t tell you.
Rhysand must have noticed your panic, because he quickly added, “Again, a very distant relation. I certainly don’t consider Kier my family.” He glanced at Azriel, who was standing there watching the entire thing, with nothing to contribute to the conversation apparently. “But Mor grew up with us. She is my family.”
“Us?”
Rhysand flinched, then cut a glare toward the Illyrian beside him. “Az, what exactly have you told the poor girl?”
“Nothing, apparently,” you snapped out, your anger overwhelming you. You didn’t know why you felt so betrayed, so hurt by Azriel’s omissions. You knew you weren’t friends, but he was also your only ally in this wretched situation, and it fucking hurt to know he still didn’t trust you enough to share basic information about himself. About his relationships with your own family.
You were nodding absently, barely aware of your movements. “Right,” you murmured, taking a step toward the door.
Azriel immediately stepped in front of you. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away from you,” you hissed, moving around him.
This time Rhysand blocked you, a guilty smile on his face when you glared at him. “I can’t exactly let you wander the halls.”
“And don’t winnow away,” Azriel cut in quickly.
“And if I turn invisible?” you asked, hands clenched at your side. It was an empty threat, since you still couldn’t control it well, which Azriel was well aware of.
“Then I would be impressed,” Azriel said softly. “But my shadows would still find you.”
Your eyes were burning as you looked between the two males, every emotion you had shoved down these last two months bubbling to the surface. You had been alone your entire life, and you had let yourself think that maybe for the first time, with Azriel, you weren’t. You had started to think maybe that was the silver lining to this entire situation, that for the first time in your life you finally had a comrade, a confidant. Clearly, you were naive. You were truly alone in this.
“I have to go,” Rhysand said quietly to Azriel. Then to you, “I’m sorry for upsetting you.” He then disappeared into the dark, leaving you alone with your swirling hurt and anger, and Azriel.
“I want to leave,” you whispered.
“No,” Azriel said. “Tell me what you're thinking first.” Now he wanted to talk. Actually he wanted you to talk, which was ironic given the situation.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?”
Azriel looked exasperated. “Because I don’t understand why you are so upset right now.”
Your chest tightened at his words, because honestly, you didn’t understand it either. You didn’t know why you were so angry at him, why you were so hurt that he didn’t trust you. You had only known him a couple of months. “I’m upset that you don’t trust me.”
He looked at you incredulously. “You think I don’t trust you?”
You blinked at him. “I think it’s pretty fucking obvious!” you exclaimed. “I have trained with you every day for two months. You’ve seen me turn invisible, which is something I have never shared with anyone. I’ve bitched and moaned about the horrors of living under Kier, about the pain of living with apathetic parents, and you have told me nothing about yourself.”
Your chest was heaving, and you quickly wiped away the tear that was rolling down your cheek, but you knew that Azriel saw it. “And I was okay with that, really. You didn’t owe me anything, but to learn that you’re friends with the High Lord's son? That you know my cousin?” Your voice cracked as you shook your head. “My cousin, who I wasn’t even sure was still alive. You couldn’t even tell me that?”
Azriel stared at you for a long minute. “I had to make sure you didn’t have loyalties to Kier.”
As if you would ever do anything to help that male. You nodded your head, your lips pursing. “Right.”
“But now I know you don’t,” he added, voice irritatingly calm in the face of your storm.
A self-deprecating laugh escaped your lips. “Yet you still didn’t tell me any of this.”
He frowned, taking a small step closer. Your heart inexplicably skipped a beat, and you hated the way he made you feel at that moment. Why did this male’s mere presence offer you so much comfort, when it was clear you didn’t do anything for him?
“Why do you think I let you come with me tonight?” he asked softly.
You watched him for a moment, confusion mixing with your anger and hurt. “What do you mean?”
“When Rhysand approached us tonight,” he said, “I told him he could trust you.”
You shook your head in disbelief. You had been standing next to him the entire night. “No, you didn’t.”
Azriel nodded slowly. “Rhys is a daemati. He asked me if we could trust you, if we could speak freely in front of you, and I told him yes.” His voice was gentle when he added, “Because I do trust you.”
Your lip trembled as you absorbed his words. Your anger quickly morphed into embarrassment. You were such a mess.
“Is that really what made you so upset?” Azriel asked, though his question wasn’t mocking. Not in the slightest, which made you feel even more foolish for getting so angry.
You tried to find the words to answer him, to explain yourself and your volatile emotions tonight, but you couldn’t. You shook your head, feeling deflated and overwhelmed. Tears were fully streaming down your cheeks, and with a startling clarity, you realized you had not cried since you were handed off to be the High Lord’s dutiful spy.
You slowly sank down to the floor, your back resting against the mahogany desk in the center of the room. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said, voice hoarse. You laughed weakly. “Not that I have any choice in the matter.”
Azriel didn’t move. He didn’t say anything while he waited for you.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, closing your eyes and resting your head back on the desk. “I just feel so alone.”
You heard Azriel shuffling around, and you felt the heat radiating from his body as he sat down beside you. You opened your eyes, apprehension still swimming in your veins. His wings were awkwardly splayed behind him, with one resting haphazardly against the side of the desk so he could sit beside you. “What are you doing?” you asked softly.
“Sitting down.” He shuffled a bit more, his shoulder bumping into yours.
“I need you to understand something,” he finally said, eyes locked on yours. “I’ve been doing this for nearly a century, and it’s been hell. I didn’t have any choice in the matter either.”
That…surprised you. You didn’t know why you had assumed he might have actually chosen this for himself. You actually felt a bit shitty for it. He was far too good of male to willingly work for the High Lord.
“So I understand, probably better than anyone, how you are feeling,” he said softly. You didn’t know what to do with this softer version of Azriel. This usually cold male who hid in his shadows and rarely smiled was apparently someone who also hugged his friends, and he was sitting beside you, speaking to you tenderly after watching you spiral into your anger and panic.
He grabbed your hand, sending goosebumps across your flesh. He squeezed it gently. “You’re not alone.”
Gods. You wiped at your face with your free hand, sniffing a bit. “I’m sorry,” you repeated lamely. It was all you could think to say.
“Don’t be,” he murmured, still holding your hand. “I should have told you about Rhys and Mor earlier. Especially Mor. I understand.”
And that was all you really wanted, wasn’t it? You just wanted someone who understood you, who understood your thoughts and feelings. For whatever reason, you thought Azriel might be the first person who could give that to you.
You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, whispering again, “You’re not alone.”
~ ~ ~
Four Months Later
“You have to control it.”
“I’m trying,” you growled, pushing yourself up from the floor.
“Not hard enough,” Azriel countered, his arms crossed over his chest.
You could throttle him. If you could actually reach him, that is. “How do I know your shadows aren’t helping you?”
“Why would I need their help?” he asked, and your rapidly rising anger made your cheeks flush. “You can’t even stay invisible long enough to reach me.”
This was fucking ridiculous. You were sick and tired of trying and failing every day for the last six months. You were tired of disappointing him every single day. “This is pointless.”
Azriel stepped forward, closing in on your space. “It’s not pointless,” he countered, eyes slightly narrowed. “How long do you think the High Lord is going to entertain this?”
Your stomach dropped at his words. You hated the High Lord. Loathed him, actually. He constantly sent for Azriel, making him do things that made Azriel return with shadows in his eyes, his shoulders tight and lips locked tight. He didn’t speak to you for days after the especially brutal orders, unless he was barking orders at you during training.
You hated it. You didn’t know for sure what he was making Azriel do, when he called for him. Azriel had told you that eventually you would have to go on extended missions, to actually spy, but he had only been on a handful since you arrived, your training somehow taking priority. You imagined these other orders of his were what fueled the horror stories whispered across the courts about the Night Court Shadowsinger.
You had quickly learned he was not the monster those stories painted him as. You never feared him. Not since those first weeks you trained with him. Not even when he came back as a terrifying shell of himself. He might have been harsh during those moments, but he was never cruel, and he never threatened you. If he said something, he meant it. It was never empty threats or promises with the intent to scare you, which is why you knew when he brought up the High Lord, he was deadly serious.
You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your eyes on his. “Maybe I don’t want to give him the satisfaction,” you said, your volume rising. “Maybe I don’t want to just be another novelty in the High Lord’s pocket.”
Your words dripped with the venom of your misplaced anger, which was immediately washed over with guilt when Azriel’s jaw flexed. It was the closest thing to a flinch for him.
“I didn’t mean—” you said quickly, voice much softer.
“It doesn’t matter,” he cut you off. “It’s not about him. I’ve told you this.”
He had told you that. Many times. Your guilt multiplied tenfold. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes falling to your boot clad feet.
“I understand why you’re angry, Y/N.” Your name on his lips made your stomach inexplicably flip, which was also ridiculous. He kept talking, his voice dropping lower, “But I am worried about what will happen if you don’t prove yourself to the High Lord. It’s not about proving yourself to me—you never have to do that. I think you’re remarkable without or without some rare power, but the High Lord doesn’t think like that.”
Remarkable. Azriel thought you were remarkable. It was definitely not what your brain should have latched onto from his little speech, but you couldn’t help it. No one had ever thought that of you, let alone said that to you.
Your eyes were burning as you said, “I really am trying. I just don’t know how to connect with it.”
Azriel pondered you for a moment, his eyes flitting over your face. “Come here,” he said, then walked toward the terrace of the training room. Living in the House of Wind, in Velaris, was by far one of the few good things to have come out of this shitty situation. At first you had panicked when Azriel told you a couple months ago that you were moving here, to a house inside of another mountain, but it was nothing like Hewn City.
It was open and airy, and you had watched Azriel jump from the terraces and balconies scattered throughout many times. You were almost positive you could winnow out of here if you worked up the courage to jump over one of the railings, to explore the city and the faeries that lived down below, but you weren’t ready for that.
You stood nearly toe to toe with Azriel once he stopped near the edge, looking up at him. “What are we doing?”
“We’re going to the forest.”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?” he asked, mischief glinting in his eyes as his hands slowly planted themself on your waist. Your heart was pounding under his gaze, his touch.
Did you trust him? Somehow, you did. He was the only male, the only faerie, that you could say with absolute certainty that you trusted implicitly. It terrified you.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Azriel’s eyes softened slightly. “Good,” he murmured, tugging you a bit closer. “Because we’re going to fly.”
He scooped you up effortlessly, literally sweeping you off your feet so your body was cradled to his chest. Your hands fell to his shoulders, a small and embarrassing shriek falling from your lips. “We’re what?”
Azriel smiled. Fully beamed at you, and it knocked the breath from your lungs. “Hold on,” he said, then shot up into the cool night sky.
You instantly buried your head in his chest, muttering prayers to the Mother. Azriel only laughed softly, his wings beating against the air that whipped your hair around you. You hadn’t left the House of Wind since you moved in. You hadn’t felt true wind against your face, save for the breeze that floated over the balconies, in months. This was not how you imagined reacquainting yourself with nature, though.
“Look down.”
“You’re insane.”
Azriel laughed, the sound so light and airy it made you pull your head from his chest to look at him. His eyes were brighter than you had ever seen them. “Just do it,” he said, nodding toward the city beneath you.
You reluctantly looked down, the distance between you and the ground making your head swim. Then you saw the lights that illuminated the city, the place glimmering like a pool of starlight. You could faintly make out the chatter of the faeries still traipsing the streets, paying no mind that it was nearing midnight and the skies had long been dark. You looked up at the sky, actual stars sparkling across the midnight sky. You wondered what it would have been like to grow up with the night sky above you, rather than cold stone.
Azriel veered toward the forests lining the mountain, his face soft in the moonlight. His hair fluttered in the wind, looking much more graceful than the nest you were sure yours was wound into.
“You like flying,” you said softly.
“It’s my favorite thing.”
“I can see why,” you hummed. You left it at that, not wanting to push when he was already sharing this much with you.
He eventually landed in the snow, his landing gentle but still creating a plume of powdery flakes around the two of you. Some flakes caught on your eyelashes, making you blink a bit to clear them from your vision.
“Sorry,” Azriel said sheepishly, setting you on your feet.
You laughed, your heart feeling lighter than it had thirty minutes ago. “It’s fine, Az.”
Azriel stared at you, his eyes a bit wide and a grin slowly pulling at his lips.
You stopped brushing the snow from your clothes, meeting his eyes. “What?”
Azriel shook his head, the small smile still pulling at his lips. “Nothing,” he hummed softly. “Let’s get started.”
He guided you toward the center of a large snowy patch, away from the pine trees covering the forest floor. He took a few steps away from you, leaving you standing there replaying your words from earlier in your head, trying to figure out what he had found so amusing. If only so you could do it again.
“You’ve only ever let fear and anger control your power,” he began. His shadows slowly snaked around him, the inky tendrils contrasting beautifully with the pearlescent snow. One of them broke off, gliding effortlessly toward you before it was yanked back to him.
He looked half-way flustered, standing in front of you, but the pink hue of his cheeks could easily be because of the bite of the cold winter air.
You decided you were delusional when he kept speaking, his voice unwavering and tone as neutral as ever, “I want you to try something different. You need to connect with your power, not resent it, or fear it.”
You tossed your arms out to your side, impatience gnawing at you alongside the bitter cold. “I’m all ears.” You quickly wrapped your arms back around yourself when a shiver wracked your body. “Not all of us are Illyrian warriors that grew up sleeping in the snow.”
Azriel’s lips twitched, then he said, “I want you to close your eyes.”
You eyed him warily, uncertainty ingrained into you at this point. You weren’t sure if you could handle fucking this up again.
“Just do it, please,” he sighed. You did as he said, the snow crunching under your boots as you shifted on your feet. “Now forget about everything. Don’t think about the High Lord, or Kier, your parents, or even me.”
You fought back the quip that forgetting them was nearly impossible, and instead tried to do as he asked. He was trying to help you, after all, and he did have a century of experience over you, you supposed.
“Now what?”
“Be patient,” Azriel chided softly.
You let out a huff, begrudgingly pushing your impatience aside to wait for his instructions. You felt ridiculous standing in the middle of the forest, your eyes closed and your hair tangled and damp from the snow. You supposed it didn’t matter, or at least, it shouldn’t matter when Azriel was the only one here.
You heard his boots crunch the snow beneath his feet, the sound obviously intentional to let you track him slowly circling you. “Focus on the air around you,” he murmured. “Feel the bite of it against your skin, how it cools the heat of your cheeks. The smell of the snow and lingering salt from the sea that tinges it.”
You breathed in deep, focusing on his words, leaning into the sensations he painted for you. You noted the scent of the sea and snow, but you also noted the faint scent of cedar that wafted over you, and something distinctly Azriel. You licked your lips, trying to refocus your thoughts.
“Think about the snow beneath your feet. Picture the stars above you. Visualize the trees in the forest, the ones that were here long before you and I, the saplings that are fighting for their place amongst them.”
Your mind was so…still. Your body felt heavy and weightless all at the same time as you fell into the world he painted for you. “Picture yourself as the sapling. You’re young and fresh and learning how to connect with your nature. It’s not something you have to fight for, but something you have to accept. It’s already there, living inside you, flowing through your veins. It’s a part of you, just as much as the sapling is a part of the forest.”
He was right. Your power was there, flowing through your veins, begging to be released, to be played with. It was tired of hiding, of being stifled and then yanked at for someone else’s agenda. It was yours. It was as much your power as as every other fae gift the Cauldron had blessed you with. It laid dormant when you winnowed, waiting for you to uncover it.
You pictured yourself stroking that thread of power weaved through you, brushing aside the shadows that had kept it hidden for decades. You let it glow and spread through you, warming you from the inside out.
“Stunning,” Azriel breathed, and your eyes flew open, finding him standing a few feet in front of you with awe and pride beaming from his face.
You risked a glance down at your hand. The glimmer of your skin refracted back at you, and you laughed. For the first time, you didn’t feel like you were hanging on to it by a thread, clutching the ends tight, desperate to hold on. It was just there. It was yours, and it was so cathartic to feel it flowing through you instead of drowning you in a fit of fear.
“I knew you could do it,” Azriel murmured. Your heart clenched at his words, and your eyes were burning as you looked back at him, but then realized he couldn’t see you.
You had half a mind to finally knock him on his ass after so many failed attempts in training. You were just so happy, though, for the first time in so many months, and it was because of him.
You winnowed directly in front of him, your power unwavering, and reached for his hand at his side. As soon as your fingers brushed against his he instinctively flinched away, his eyes going wide before a smile broke across his face.
You were laughing when you finally let your power wash away, revealing yourself to him. Your grin matched his own as you squeezed his hand. “I did it.”
“You did it,” he agreed, eyes soft as he smiled at you.
You threw your arms around his waist, pulling him tight against you. Azriel hesitated only a second before wrapping his arms around you, leaning his chin down to rest on your head.
“Thank you,” you breathed, a tear falling down your cheek. “Thank you.”
“You never have to thank me.”
~ ~ ~
Six Months Later
“I killed him.”
“Y/N—”
“I killed him!” you sobbed, falling to your knees. The stone floor of the dungeon was cold beneath your palms as you heaved the contents of your stomach up, your throat burning.
Azriel fell to the floor behind you, one hand holding you up by your forearm while another gently brushed your hair back from your face. Your body shook with your sobs, as you whimpered over and over again, “I killed him.”
Azriel let you stay on the ground for only a few seconds before he pulled you up to your feet, your body pliant in his arms. You didn’t care where he took you, what he did with you. He picked you up easily, and your face fell into his leather clad chest as you were wrapped in his shadows. Harsh winter air whipped around you, and you caught a glimpse of snow in your peripheral, but you couldn’t stop the sobs that were racking your body.
You heard him push open a door, and warmth infused with jasmine immediately engulfed the two of you. You briefly thought it was one of the most comforting places you had ever been in. He kicked the door shut, then gently sat you down on a plush sofa, your body sinking into the cushions. You still had enough sense to finally ask, “Where are we?”
“We’re at a cabin my brothers and I come to,” he said softly as he slowly peeled off your bloodstained gloves. You nearly hurled again at the sight of them. “I had to get you out of there.”
“I killed someone, Az,” you whispered, staring aimlessly at the ash covered fireplace.
His thumb stroked your cheek. “I know.”
Your lip wobbled. “I’m a monster.”
“You’re not,” he replied back.
“How can you say that?”
“Because I know you,” he said, voice resolute. “He was a monster.”
“Yet I’m the one that killed him,” you rasped, more tears falling down your face. “I tortured him, and then killed him.”
“You had your orders.”
“That doesn’t make it better!” you cried. “What if one day my orders are to kill an innocent person? What’s my excuse then?” You wiped roughly at your face, new tears replacing your dried ones. “I cannot be his killing machine, Azriel. I can’t.”
“You’re not,” he said again.
“Yes, I am!” you exclaimed, pulling away from his touch. You didn’t understand how he could even look at you, touch you, after what you had done. You didn’t even want to be in your own skin.
“Listen to me,” he ordered, voice hard. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sat silently, avoiding his eyes while you waited for him to rattle off another ridiculous excuse for your actions.
His hands squeezed your knees, urging you to look at him. His eyes were soft with not a hint of judgment, and it somehow made you feel even worse. “This life is not black and white,” he started, his tone squashing any argument. “You have to do whatever you can to stay alive, while also keeping your soul intact. That’s impossible if you think this job is a matter of good and evil, because it’s not. We work in a gray area, and it’s terrible, but we have to.” He paused for a moment, and you simply stared at him, his words sliding off of you as your agony slowly faded into numbness.
“This pain doesn’t go away,” he admitted softly. “You don’t want it to go away, because the moment it does, he wins. The moment you don’t care who lives or dies by your hand is the moment he gains his perfect weapon. That is something I refuse to give him, and you aren’t going to give it to him either. Do you understand me?”
You just stared at him, and Azriel ran a hand through his hair. “You have to follow through with these orders when they are for the wicked faeries. It makes it easier to cover up the ones you fail to complete when your orders are truly incorrigible.”
You heard him. Really, you did, but the room was also swirling, and the couch was slowly sliding out from underneath you. You clutched Azriel’s wrist tightly, eyes wide as you met his. “I can’t breathe,” you rasped.
Azriel’s face fell. You sucked in a ragged, shallow breath, but your lungs were burning, and your mind was melting.
“You can,” Azriel said softly, his hand coming up to squeeze your arm. He stood up, and you squeezed his wrist tighter, panic clawing at your throat.
“I’m not leaving,” he cooed, sitting next to you on the couch. His body was pressed against your, his heat radiating into you. “You’re going to match my breathing,” he said, voice much less soft, and much more reminiscent of the tone he donned during training. “Breathe in,” he said, inhaling deeply. You did your best to follow him, and then he said, “Breathe out.”
He did it again, and again, and again, until your shaking faded to small trembles, and your mind no longer felt like a bucket of mud. “Good,” he said softly. “Do you think I can see you again?”
You frowned, head snapping toward him. Then you glanced down at your hand, and noticed the faint glimmer refracting from your body. You took a few more breaths, willing your heart rate to calm enough to reach into the well of power Azriel had taught you to recognize over the last year.
Eventually the glimmer faded, and Azriel was able to meet your eyes again. His lips twitched ever so slightly, but his eyes were sad as he watched you. “I’m sorry I lost control,” you whispered.
Azriel shocked you by wrapping an arm around you, fully tucking you into his side. You hadn’t hugged him since that day in the forest so many months ago. “Do not apologize,” he ordered quietly.
You relaxed into him, eyes fluttering shut as you rested your head against his chest. “I hate this,” you rasped. “I hate him.”
“I know.” Azriel rubbed your arm. “You’re going to make it through this.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I’m going to help you,” he murmured. You weren’t sure why, just like you weren’t sure why you always gravitated toward him, always trusted him implicitly after knowing for barely a year—but as always, you believed him. Your panic slowly dissolved as you truly accepted his words, accepting that he wasn’t going to chastise you or leave you to fend for yourself. Your body grew heavy in his arms, exhaustion weighing you down quickly once your adrenaline had faded.
“You’re not alone, remember?” he murmured softly, and your heart clenched as you thought back to the night he said those words to you the first time.
You slowly reached for his free hand, lacing your fingers with his. You rested your intertwined hands in his lap, the leather on his thigh brushing against your knuckles. You were always worried you might make him uncomfortable by touching his hands, this time, especially, you feared you might have taken it a step too far.
Your worries quickly vanished when he squeezed your hand softly. You clutched his hand back tightly, like you might lose yourself without his touch as your anchor. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, and whatever part of you that was left standing instantly melted into him, relishing in the soft and gentle touch that you were sure you didn’t deserve after today. Regardless, you didn’t let go, and neither did Azriel, even as you finally drifted off into sleep.
~ ~ ~
One Year Later
You hated the High Lord. You really, truly loathed the arrogant male that held your life in his hands. Nearly two years had passed since Kier had all too gladly dropped you at his feet. Since then, you had become a walking, ticking time bomb simmering with barely restrained anger. The only thing, the only person, who could keep your anger in check was Azriel.
The High Lord was far from thrilled about your blossoming friendship with Azriel, though. The two of you were lethal when he finally started pairing you together for missions. You were too powerful in the High Lord’s eyes, and you knew he wasn’t a stupid male—he was well aware of the disdain the two of you held for him, of the friendship you held with his own son, or at least Azriel’s friendship with him. It’s why he decided to split the two of you barely a few months after sending you on field missions. No more missions together, no more training with each other. You were lucky if the two of you were even in Velaris at the same time.
It was hell. Azriel had been the silver lining to this horrible and fucked up situation you had been forced into, and now even that was slipping through your fingers. You kicked your bedroom door shut harshly, the slam only momentarily satisfying your rage before your stomach started churning with anxiety again.
Azriel had been gone for nearly a month. He had told you it would be only two weeks, three at maximum, yet now you were nearing the end of the fourth. No one but you seemed to care, which was unfortunate because you didn’t even know where the hell he was. You finally worked up the courage to ask for a status report on Azriel, when you met with the High Lord for your weekly briefing, but the High Lord refused to entertain your worries. Instead, he told you not to worry your pretty little head about it.
It took every inch of your will to grit your teeth and keep your mouth shut, to wait for him to dismiss you and turn on your heel silently, walking out the door. You didn’t breathe a word to anyone as you walked the halls of the House of Wind, didn’t make a single sound until you reached the safety of your room where you could slam the door shut and simmer in your anxiety and anger alone.
You breathed heavily as you caught your reflection in the mirror across your room. Your face was flushed and there were errant strands of hair falling from your braid, evidence of the turmoil you had been stewing in all day—all week, really. You huffed as you undid it, tossing the tie on the floor as you kicked your boots off.
You had just sat down on the edge of the bed when a knock at your door made you jump. No one ever visited your room. Even Azriel rarely came here, too worried about pissing off the High Lord and setting you in the path of his rage. You waited a minute, body thrumming with tension.
Whoever it was knocked again, this time a bit harsher. You swallowed hard, slowly standing up and moving silently toward the door. You could hear muffled whispers on the other side, and your heart was pounding until a familiar tendril of shadow snaked beneath the door, twirling around your ankle.
You instantly flung the door open, prepared to yank Azriel into your room and smother him with questions about where the hell he had been. Instead you were met by Rhysand, who was standing there sheepishly with Azriel leaning heavily on his shoulder.
“Good evening, Y/N,” Rhys grunted as he adjusted Azriel’s weight. “Mind if we come in?”
You automatically moved to the side to let them through, quickly closing the door shut behind them. “What the hell happened to him?” you asked, following behind Rhys as he guided Azriel onto your bed. Azriel flopped onto his back, his wings splaying out behind him.
“What happened to him?” Rhys rolled his eyes. “He drank a tavern dry.”
“Why?”
Rhys glanced at you warily. “Spending time in Illyria is never easy for him.”
Your heart sank. “He said he was on a mission.”
Rhys nodded. “He was—in Illyria—but it didn’t go well.”
You glanced at Azriel, whose arm was thrown over his eyes as his shadows flitted around him haphazardly.
Rhys looked at you, face more serious. “I need you to take care of him tonight. Don’t let anyone know he’s here. I have to go clean up his mess.”
“What did he do?”
“Before or after he promised to burn the entire camp to the ground?”
You winced.
“Exactly,” Rhys sighed. “He’ll be fine by morning. He can deal with his shit then. Just, tonight—” He glanced at the male sprawled on top of your bed. “Take care of him.”
“I will,” you promised softly, heart aching.
“Thank you,” Rhys breathed, shoulders relaxing. He squeezed your shoulder as he turned around, and then let himself out of your room, shutting the door softly behind him.
You sighed, watching the steady rise and fall of Azriel’s chest. There wasn’t a scratch on him—not physically, at least. In the two years you had known him, he had told you very little about his life in Illyria, but it was enough to know it was the last place he ever wanted to be. Your anger toward the High Lord flared again, but you quickly smothered it to focus on taking care of your friend, who was always taking care of you.
You moved closer, shaking his leg by the toe of his boot. “Az.”
His eyes slowly fluttered open, his arm sliding off his forehead. He blinked a few times before his eyes finally focused on you, at least somewhat, and a wide goofy grin spread across his face. You’d find it comical if you didn’t know what transpired for him to reach this state of inebriation.
You tugged at his foot. “You’re hogging the bed, and you're not sleeping in these dirty leathers.”
“If you wanted me to undress all you had to do is ask,” he slurred, smiling cheekily.
Your cheeks burned, and your stomach flipped under the gaze of his hooded eyes. You grabbed Azriel by his hands, his fingers instantly wrapping around yours, and you pulled him up so he was sitting on the edge of your bed. “Take off your leathers,” you directed him, ignoring his comment. “I’ll be right back.”
You disappeared into your ensuite to wet a cloth with water and to gather your thoughts. There was still so much you didn’t know about Azriel, so much he kept locked up deep inside him. It was only months ago that he had finally told you what happened to his hands. It was just last month, right before he left for this mission, that he told you why his shadows came to him.
You didn’t mind, though. You had learned long ago that Azriel sharing anything about himself was a feat in and of itself, and you were just happy that he felt comfortable enough sharing what he had with you. Honestly, it filled you with pride that Rhys trusted you enough to drop a very intoxicated Azriel into your arms, and believed that you would take care of him—that Azriel would want you to take care of him.
You walked back into your bedroom, cloth in hand, but you faltered when you saw Azriel sitting on the floor, stripped down to his underwear. You might have known the male for years now, worked side-by-side with him, but you had never truly seen this much of him. Hell you had only seen him shirtless a handful of times. He might have been your closest friend, but Mother above, he was gorgeous.
You weren’t blind—you had always known Azriel was beautiful. You had always been hyper aware of the attention he garnered anytime you ventured into a town or city together, and you always had to squash the irritation that simmered in your veins because of it. Seeing Azriel like this, though? Somehow it ripped a hole in your heart and filled it back up with just him. His beauty, his kindness, his loyalty, his heartache. All of it flooded you as you watched him sit against your bed with his head hung between his knees and his wings drooping on the floor.
You took a deep breath, shoving aside your very inappropriate thoughts and feelings to kneel beside the downtrodden shadowsinger on your floor. You didn't have time to ponder your growing attachment to this male, the care you had for him that felt almost suffocating. You rested a hand on his arm, prompting him to slowly look up at you. He smiled lazily, his eyes glossy. “Hi,” he murmured.
You smiled weakly, heart pounding and aching. “Hi.” You held up the cloth. “I’m going to wipe your face off.”
He simply nodded, closing his eyes as you dragged the warm cloth across his face. You had just started wiping at his neck when he mumbled, “Rhys is angry at me.”
You wiped a little harder at a dark smudge of dirt on his collarbone. “No he’s not.”
Azriel nodded. “He is,” he slurred slightly. “I fucked up.”
“He’s not angry, Az,” you said gently, pulling the cloth away. “He’s just worried.”
“Are you angry with me?”
Your heart cracked even more. “No,” you said softly, brushing your thumb against his forearm, skimming the edges of his scars. “Of course I’m not angry with you.”
He sat silently for a while, letting you do as you pleased to clean him up. Eventually you sat the cloth on the floor, not really caring if it made the rug wet. You stood up, pulling Azriel with you, albeit with some resistance. “It’s time for bed.”
He followed your guidance, although not easily, stumbling here and there, until you finally had him under the covers with his wings hanging off a bit on the edge. You moved toward your dresser and quickly stripped yourself of your own leathers to throw a sleep shirt on. You let out a long breath, then turned around to head toward the bed, stopping short when you saw Azriel watching you with hooded eyes. You flushed instantly.
He turned his head away sheepishly, looking more boyish than you had ever seen him. “I’m sorry.”
Your mouth was dry as you said, “It’s okay.” You fumbled a bit as you moved toward the bed, sliding under the covers on the opposite side of Azriel. “I could have gone in the washroom if I was worried about you catching an eyeful,” you tried to tease, a half-hearted attempt to lift the mood of tonight.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Az.” You smiled softly, even though your cheeks were still warm. “It’s just you. I know I’m safe with you—you never make me uncomfortable.”
“You’re always safe with me,” he mumbled. As if in emphasis, his shadows brushed against your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
You laid your head on the pillow next to his, facing him. You took in the slopes of cheekbones and the long dark lashes that fanned his face every time he blinked, each blink a little longer than the last.
You had thought he was almost asleep when he said quietly, “I hate what I am.”
Your chest felt tight. “What do you mean?” you asked, voice wavering.
“My Illyrian blood.”
Your heart fully shattered then. “I don’t,” you whispered.
He dragged his eyes slowly to meet yours, disbelief clear behind the intoxication still clouding his eyes.
“It’s part of you,” you explained softly, honestly. “I could never hate any part of you.”
Your heart skipped a beat when he reached for you, pulling you into his chest by your hip. You didn’t breathe at first. His arm was wrapped tight around you, and your face was pressed against his bare chest as he practically nuzzled his face against your neck. His breathing quickly evened out, your words hanging heavy in the air.
Azriel rarely initiated any form of physical affection, and you didn’t want to spook him, even if you doubted that anything could really disturb him right now. Eventually, you made yourself relax, to enjoy this unexpected display of affection from Azriel. You knew it was only because he was drunk, and hurting, but you would walk through fire for him after everything he had given you. If he needed someone to hold for a night, you would gladly be that person for him.
~ ~ ~
Three Months Later
“Y/N.”
You glanced over your shoulder at Azriel, not stopping your stride toward the training room.
“Have you decided to finally join me again for training?” you asked, making a turn down the hallway.
Azriel’s steps quickened, the click of his boots on the stone meshing with your own. “Y/N–”
You rolled your eyes. “I know, I know. The High Lord is always watching.”
“The High Lord is dead.”
You instantly froze. Azriel’s steps fell silent, and you turned around slowly to face him. Your heart was racing as you took in the male in front of you, looking more ragged than you had seen him in months. Since Rhys dropped him in your bedroom a few months ago, probably.
“What did you say?” you asked, voice shaky.
His throat bobbed, his eyes seeming conflicted. “He’s dead,” he repeated softly.
Panic started clawing up your throat. Oh gods. What did this mean for you? Did you go back to Kier? Was there someone new that held the reins to your life? How did this work?
Azriel’s face softened slightly, and he stepped closer to you. “Rhys is High Lord now.”
Your whirlwind of thoughts came to a sudden halt. Your eyes were wide as you stared at him. “Does that mean–”
“We now serve Rhys,” he finished softly.
Relief like you had never experienced washed over you. Rhys. Rhys would be your High Lord.
“Where is he?” you asked breathlessly.
Azriel’s eyes shuttered, his features hardening. “With Cassian,” he said, voice desolate. “His mother and sister were also killed.”
Your heart dropped. “No,” you breathed. Your chest ached as you slowly understood why Azriel looked like hell as he delivered this news. He didn’t mourn the High Lord. No, he mourned for the females that were like his own mother and sister.
Azriel looked away, his jaw clenched as tight as his fists at his side. His shadows pulsed restlessly around him, and you didn’t let yourself think twice before stepping forward and pulling him down into your arms.
His arms slowly circled your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. You squeezed a bit tighter, bringing one hand up to thread through the hair on the back of his head. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.
Azriel sniffed, squeezing you for a moment before pulling back. His face was covered by his usual stoic mask that he wore around everyone else, but you could see the grief seeping through the cracks.
“You’re going to have a decision to make,” he told you, voice rough.
You watched him silently, giving him another second to gather himself.
“Rhys is going to ask you if you want to stay and work for him.”
The words clanged through you, your mind struggling to process them. “He’s giving me a choice?”
Azriel’s face softened. “Of course he is.”
You shook your head slowly, licking your lips. “But—what about Kier?”
“Kier can go fuck himself,” Azriel grumbled. Then more seriously, “He’s not a problem. Rhys won’t let him do anything to you. You’re free.”
Free. Free to make your own choices, to choose the course of your own life. Why did your heart ache at the thought of leaving this place then?
“But Rhys,” you started slowly, “He wants me to work for him?”
“Of course he wants you to, but he would never make you.”
Azriel stood there quietly, watching you as you mulled over all of this information, over the warring emotions inside you. “Am I crazy if I decide to stay?” you rasped. “Does that mean Kier won?”
“No,” Azriel said immediately. “If you choose to stay, it’s because you want to serve your court, and the High Lord that now presides over it. You want to defend what he stands for.” His eyes were glossy in the faelight as he looked at you. “That was never the case before.”
Your eyes roamed over Azriel, noting the slight droop to his wings and the shadows that were slowly inching closer and closer to your feet. The idea of serving Rhys filled you with a new hope, and part of you wanted to stay to defend that newborn optimism. A larger part of you knew that you would stay, though, because you could never leave this male standing in front of you. The years you had spent together might just be a blip among the years he had lived, but they meant everything to you, and you would be damned if you walked away now.
You nodded a bit, then met his eyes. “I think I’d like to stay.”
~ ~ ~
One Month Later
“I didn’t think one of my first tasks as a member of the new High Lord’s court would have me stuck inside of this godsdamned mountain again,” you grumbled under your breath.
Azriel stepped closer, his chest brushing against your shoulder. A wave of goosebumps washed over you as he murmured, “None of us wanted this. Trust me.”
“He’s right,” Rhys purred in your mind, sending a much less pleasurable shiver up your spine. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to that. “But I am sorry. Although, I would have hated for you to miss Kier silently simmering in his rage all night.”
You fought the smile that pulled at your lips, trying to maintain the stony facade you were asked to wear for tonight. The new High Lord’s ball in honor of his denizens in the Court of Nightmares. A display of his generosity and benevolence. A reminder of what they had to lose should they fail to be subservient to him as they were to his father.
Admittedly, this was more enjoyable than the last time you had to stand in front of all these fae, after being freshly tossed to the High Lord like a shiny new toy. Last time, you and Azriel stood off to the side, clearly nothing more than the guard dogs for the High Lord. Now, you all flanked Rhysand around his throne, your respected positions in his court made clear. Cassian and Mor stood on the other side of him, watching the revelry with bored expressions.
It was a dynamic you were still struggling to adapt to. You had never had friends, never had a family who loved you, who would fight for you. You weren’t delusional enough to think you were held in the same regard as everyone else in Rhys’s circle, but you were pretty certain they would all fight for you, defend you, if you ever needed them to. Mor was your cousin, after all, and you had bonded over your mutual disdain for her wretched father. Another silverlining to Kier’s wicked schemes.
Despite all of that, it didn’t stop your heart from falling to your feet when you saw your parents pushing through the crowd, having the gall to approach you while you stood at the High Lord’s side. Azriel pressed a gentle hand to your back, his shadows shrouding the movement from the rest of the room. “What is it?” he asked softly. Rhys glanced at the two of you briefly, but didn’t say anything when his eyes caught on the two fae shoving aside others as they made their path.
You spun around to fully face Azriel, eyes wild and uncaring of what anyone else thought at that very moment. “Dance with me?” you pleaded, voice desperate.
Azriel’s lips parted, his brow furrowed as he stared down at you. He glanced at Rhys, who was busy watching your parents grow closer and closer, about to make a fool of themselves and of you.
“Please?” you begged.
He bit his lip, another beat of hesitation passing before he grabbed your hand, and pulled you out into the messy throng of dancing faeries. You didn’t miss the glares and snide comments directed at you as you joined them, and neither did Azriel from the clench of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. You squeezed his hand, eyes begging him to do this for you. His eyes softened as they landed back on you, and he tugged you close to him as the song shifted into a more ominous ballroom dance. The classiest music the Court of Nightmares could play at their balls.
His one hand held yours close to his chest, while the other held you by your waist. Your other hand fell to rest on his leather clad chest, his siphons glowing dimly in front of you. “I don’t actually know how to dance,” you murmured.
Azriel’s finger flexed on your waist, snaking around further to rest low on your back. Lightning skittered up your back as he cast a glare at someone behind you, before meeting your gaze. “I’ve got you.”
You had no idea how Azriel knew how to dance so well. It was like he was one with the music, his steps moving effortlessly as he pulled you along with him. He was so elegant, and lethal, and gorgeous. You hated the females that were eyeing him curiously, ravenously, from the sides of the room, some of them wretched ones you had the pleasure of growing up with. Your eyes met those of your parents, standing off to the side after thwarting their ambush, their eyes glowing with ire. You swallowed hard, anxiety bubbling in your stomach, wondering how long you could dance, how long you could actually avoid them. There was nothing stopping them from coming over here, and just ripping you out of Azriel’s arms.
“Look at me,” Azriel murmured low in your ear. You dragged your eyes back to him, and your cheeks warmed when you realized how clammy your hand was in his. He squeezed your hand, pulling you somehow even closer into his body. The music was picking up, morphing into a faster tempo, and Azriel didn’t falter as he spun you around the floor. “Keep your eyes on me.”
“I don’t want to talk to them,” you mumbled.
“Then you won’t,” he said, voice firm. Clearly he had pieced together your sudden panic. “We’re dancing. No one is going to interrupt us.”
You swallowed hard, hoping he was right. “And if they do,” he murmured in your ear, voice dark with a promise, “I will personally deal with them.”
That, you believed. “So focus on me. Only me,” he said, warm breath fanning the shell of your ear.
Your heart was racing for an entirely new reason, your skin flushed with something much more pleasant than anger. You were suddenly grateful for the dress Rhys had gifted you tonight, his polite way of asking you to wear something other than your leathers. The silky, cobalt blue fabric clung to your body perfectly, the plunging back providing no barrier between your skin and Azriel’s warm fingers.
“Thank you,” you said under your breath, eyes locked on his.
“As if I need thanks for dancing with a beautiful female,” he murmured back, eyes warm, the hazel of his irises near glowing.
You looked away, your entire body burning from his words. You let him guide you through the rest of the song, and then the next, and the next, until you were clinging to each other’s bodies in the sea of revelry. You didn’t think the rest of the faeries had necessarily forgotten about the two of you, but they were certainly too drunk to stop their dancing. Both of Azriel's hands were now low on your back, your chest pressed flush to his as another song ended, and you stopped abruptly with the music. Your chests were heaving, and even Azriel’s face was flushed as he looked down at you, his breath gently ghosting across your face, your lips only inches from his.
“It’s time to go,” Rhys murmured in your head, amusement clear in his voice. The two of you abruptly broke apart, but Azriel’s hand reached for yours before you could get too far, his grip strong as he walked you back up to the throne, in front of Kier and your parents. You stood side by side, hand in hand next to Rhys, neither of you dropping the hold on the other as Rhys bid his farewell. You gave one last parting glance to your seething parents, pride and love blooming in your chest.
~ ~ ~
One Month Later
“You can sing?”
Azriel spun around from where he was patching a training bag, sand leaking slowly from the seam he resplit in his shock. You couldn’t stop the light laugh that fell from your lips, his eyes comically wide as he turned back around to try to hold the sand in the bag, it instead falling through his fingers.
You walked over to help him, your hands pushing his own out of the way to hold the fabric together, and he smoothed an adhesive patch over the split. “I think this bag needs to be retired,” you hummed, a smile still on your lips.
Azriel’s face was red, redder than you had ever seen it, and it was adorable. It made your heart flutter and your stomach spin, and you wished you could capture this moment forever. Azriel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Probably, yeah.”
“It’s not like Rhys can’t afford it.”
“I know,” he said, dropping his hand. “But between Cassian and I, we go through them like water. Neither of us are used to…” he trailed off, eyeing the fragile leather bag.
“To luxury,” you finished, understanding the feeling well.
He glanced at you, nodding. “Yeah.”
You chewed on your lip, contemplating letting your initial question go, but your curiosity was eating at you. “So,” you drawled out slowly, and Azriel looked at you apprehensively. You smiled innocently, your eyes crinkling slightly. “You sing?”
“No,” was Azriel’s short response. He made a step toward the rack of wooden training swords against the wall, but you quickly grabbed for his wrist.
“Come on,” you laughed, pulling him back to you. “How come you never told me?”
“Because of this,” he grumbled, gesturing to you with his free hand.
You pouted a bit, but your grin overpowered it. “I can’t believe I didn’t guess it, really. I mean you are called a Shadowsinger.” You gasped, eyes going wide. “That’s probably why you’re such a good dancer too!”
Azriel rolled his eyes, shrugging out of your grasp. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at you with impatience. “Are you done?”
“Absolutely not,” you replied. You threw your hands out to your side, exclaiming, “I can’t believe I’ve known you for years and not once have I heard you so much as hum. Then I find you fully singing while repairing training equipment? I feel betrayed.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Azriel grumbled.
You lightly pushed at his chest, growing a bit more serious. “Your voice is beautiful, Az.”
His face flushed red again, his ears even turning pink. “I didn’t know you were here,” he mumbled bashfully, glaring at his shadows that were hiding in his wings.
A part of you brimmed with glee at the thought that his shadows didn’t feel the need to warn him of your presence. They definitely knew you were standing there listening to him, after all a few of them had slithered over to greet you. “Do you like singing?” you asked softly, any teasing gone.
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, messing up the dark strands. “Yes,” he sighed.
You pondered for a moment about why this was so difficult for him to talk about, why he was so reluctant to share this with you beyond simple embarrassment. “Did you sing as a child?” you asked, voice gentle.
His eyes met yours, a brief beat of sadness and strife passing through them. “Yes,” he answered softly.
You bit your lip, then picked up his hand again. You looked at the scars that littered his skin, stomach turning sour just thinking about what he went through as a boy. You lace your fingers with his, squeezing gently. “No wonder your shadows were drawn to you, then. With a voice like that.”
Azriel didn’t say anything at first, but his face was soft and his cheeks were still tinged pink, as he looked down at your hands laced together. “Thank you,” he finally whispered.
You smiled softly, then in an attempt to lift the mood again after pushing at such a tender spot for him, you asked, “Does this mean you’ll sing for me then?”
Azriel laughed, dropping your hand to push at your shoulder, and you grinned sheepishly. “I mean, if I’m invisible, and your shadows are now my minions, you’ll never even know if I’m here.”
Azriel was still laughing as he shook his head and pointed toward the door. “Get out of here.”
~ ~ ~
Two Months Later
You wished you knew what the hell Devlon was thinking when he recommended this camp to network with. These males were abhorrent, and you were certain that if you didn’t have Azriel and Cassian flanking your sides, their wings flared and siphons glowing, they would have shown you just how dreadful they were. You kept your gaze zeroed in on the sneering camp lord, who was acting as if bringing a female as a representative of his High Lord was sacrilege.
“Where is Rhysand?” Lord Bristol asked dryly, his question clearly directed toward the males at your side. You swallowed your anger, forcing yourself to stay calm while Cassian chirped back and forth with the camp lord and his general.
“Your High Lord sends his regards,” Cassian replied curtly. “You get us,” he added with a grin.
The general’s eyes flashed with hatred, so potent it made you tense. “Two bastards and a female,” he spat. “Does Rhysand mean to insult us?”
“Two Carynthian bastards,” Cassian corrected, his grin turning lupine. “And the High Lord’s personal spy. She’s a lethal one. I’d be careful what you say about her.”
You let your eyes turn wicked as you eyed the males, your lips just barely tipping into a faintly amused smile. Azriel had not said a word, his fist clenched tight around truth teller at his side.
The general scoffed, practically spitting at your feet. “The High Lord’s personal whore, more likely.”
Azriel shifted, and you could feel the undiluted rage coming off of him in waves. You grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly. “Don’t, Az,” you murmured.
Azriel stayed put, but his rage continued to boil. You hoped Cassian could get you through this quickly.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Cassian growled. He stared at the general for a beat before diverting his attention back to Lord Bristol. “Now, if we could get on with this—”
“I heard your mother disappeared from her camp,” the general sneered, clearly speaking to Azriel. You and Cassian both went still. “Did she get knocked up again? Find another wealthy lord to leech off of? Or maybe she finally got what was coming—”
One second you were standing next to Azriel, and the next you were thrown on your ass before a flash of power erupted from the very male you had stood beside. Blinding blue light speared for the general, sending him flying across the snow covered clearing and directly into a towering pine tree at the forest line. A forest line that was at least a hundred yards away from where you stood.
Azriel was gone before you could even stand, Cassian helping you to your feet as he watched the general hit the tree and crumple to the ground. Azriel appeared in front of him, his wings flared as he landed hard, a plume of snow surrounding the two of them. You watched him pick up the male like he weighed nothing, ramming him into the tree again, more snow falling down around them.
“He’s going to kill him,” you breathed.
Cassian cursed, glancing at an agape Lord Bristol who was most definitely not going to be Rhysand’s newest Illyrian ally. “Stay here,” he murmured, launching into the sky and bolting toward his brother, who was now pummeling his fist against the limp male in the snow.
“Like hell,” you grumbled, winnowing directly into the shitshow.
Snow was still falling down around you from the trees that were shaking from the force of Azriel’s power. The general was still alive, but he was barely conscious, yet he still wore a sickening smirk that made you want to rip him from Azriel and deliver a few of your own punches.
You could hear Cassian’s wings beating as he neared, but you directed your focus on Azriel, who had not even noticed your arrival.
“Az,” you said, inching closer, carefully avoiding his flying elbows and outstretched wings.
He didn’t even falter, and as you circled around his wings to stand at his side, you saw nothing but ice cold rage in his normally honey warm irises. Fear shot down your spine, but it wasn’t of him, it was for him. You could see Lord Bristol and other Illyrians from the camp taking to the skies, and you knew you had seconds before shit really went south.
“Azriel!” you yelled, and for a fraction of a second you saw him hesitate, but it didn’t stop him from landing his next punch.
Cassian landed hard a few feet away from you, snow blowing up into the air as his siphons glowed red. His eyes were wide as he looked at you, and you glanced at the sky of Illryians again before turning back to Azriel. Deciding you didn’t have time to hope he heard you, you grabbed his arm with both your hands, yanking him back from the male beneath him. “Azriel!” you yelled again, panic clear in your voice.
He stopped, only fighting you for a second before his eyes cleared, and he finally turned to look at you. Your chest was heaving as you held his arm, heart racing. You met Cassian’s eyes again, him giving you only a brief nod before you said to Azriel, “We’re leaving.”
You winnowed the two of you far, far away from any Illryian camps, somewhere in a forest near the border of Velaris. The two of you landed hard in the snow, both of you unsteady from your previous positions. You fell on your ass, again, dropping Azriel’s arm as he fell forward onto his hands and knees.
You let out a huff as you stood back up, brushing off the snow from your pants and counting down the seconds until you could take a scalding hot bath and put on dry clothes. Azriel slowly pushed himself up so he was kneeling in the snow, his chest heaving with heavy breaths before he finally rose to his feet.
You watched him warily, unsure how to handle this. You had seen Azriel angry before, you had seen him ruthless and watched him take out targets like they were nothing more than bugs beneath his feet. You had never seen him like this before, though. You had never seen him with such unbridled rage that he lost all regard for his surroundings.
He kept his head down, eyes glued to the snow. He slowly lifted his hands, examining the bloodstained skin, and you realized he was shaking. Your heart fell as you watched his whole body tremble, as he refused to acknowledge you standing right in front of him. “Azriel,” you murmured, taking a step closer to him.
“Don’t,” he muttered, voice icy.
You stopped. He was still shaking, still staring at his hands, and his shadows were restless as they pulsed around him, some of them making jagged movements up and down the slopes of his wings. “Azriel,” you said again, voice even softer. You swallowed hard, uneasiness sluicing through you. “Let me see your hands.”
Those words made his eyes snap up to you. You didn’t move any closer. You just stood there, eyes begging him to let you in. His eyes were cold as he looked at you, his expression hard as he stood unmoving in front of you. You pulled a handkerchief from your back pocket, and then kneeled down to wet it with the snow. Your hands screamed at the cold bite of winter, your gloves long soaked through, but you didn’t care.
You stood back up, the cloth dangling in your hand as Azriel watched your every move. You took another slow and hesitant step toward him, and this time he stayed quiet. You stopped when you were directly in front of him, holding up the snow-soaked cloth. “Let me see them?”
His jaw clenched and he looked away, but he gave you the smallest nod that had you immediately reaching for his hand. Blood was splattered up both of his wrists, dotting his siphons, but you did the best you could to wipe the evidence of the last half hour from his skin.
His hands were still shaking when you were done, so you dropped the cloth to the ground, and wrapped both of his hands in yours. He immediately tensed, his disbelieving gaze falling back on you.
You gave him a small, hopefully comforting smile, but his face only hardened further and he yanked his hands from you. You ignored the burn you felt in your chest from him pulling away, focusing on Azriel.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
You blinked. “I’m helping you,” you answered softly, hoping he would calm down.
“Why?” he asked, voice cracking. His eyes turned glossy as he stared at you, his face crumpling bit by bit, your heart cracking alongside it. “Why would you help me after what you just saw?”
“Azriel,” you breathed out. He was shaking, and you watched in disbelief as a tear rolled down his cheek. “Azriel, come here.”
You pulled him down toward you, his head falling onto your shoulder as your arms circled around his neck. One of your hands rested on the back of his head, and his arms slowly circled around your waist, his hands grasping at your leathers. He was hunched over, his weight leaning heavily on you as he shook, whether with sobs or lingering rage and adrenaline, you weren’t sure. It was most likely both.
You rubbed at his scalp, holding him tight as he cried. “It’s okay,” you murmured softly. “You’re okay.”
It took a few minutes before Azriel was settled enough to speak again, and even then it was just a broken and muffled, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me.”
“I never wanted you to see me like that,” he whispered.
You pulled back slightly, one hand sliding around to cup his cheeks, his bloodshot eyes framed by wet lashes looking at you completely defeated. He was disgusted with himself, and it broke you. “You’re my friend,” you said, voice clear despite your own tears that had started to fall. “I care about you, and I want you to let me in. I want to know every part of you. There’s no part of you that could ever scare me away or disgust me, because it’s you.”
He stared at you in silence, clearly struggling to accept your words.
“There was not one second today where I was scared of you,” you told him. “You do not scare me, Azriel.”
His hand reached up to wrap around the one you had pressed to his cheek, gently pulling it away. You didn’t let him drop your hand, though, squeezing his fingers tight when he tried to let go. “Listen to me,” you begged. “You are a good male, living in a world that has not been kind to you. You are allowed to get angry. You’re allowed to be upset, and you’re allowed to share that with the people who love you.”
Azriel scanned you up and down, his hand still clutched tightly in yours. “And what if I said you’re just naive?” he muttered, eyes cold but filled with pain.
“Then I would tell you to go fuck yourself,” you snapped, tugging at his hand. Azriel flinched, guilt seeping into his eyes. “And I would tell you that I’m not going to let you push me away,” you added, voice softer.
“You’re stuck with me,” you told him, a hesitant smile pulling at your lips before falling serious again. “I mean it, Az.”
He looked down at your hands linked together, his throat bobbing slightly. He slowly dragged his eyes back up to meet yours, his irises shining with fear and guilt and pain, but beyond that sat something that knocked the breath clean out of you. You didn’t have the words to describe it right then, but you knew it mirrored what you held deep in your own heart.
Azriel’s face melted, his guard completely falling before your very eyes, and your shoulders fell with relief. He pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around you again, his wings folding around the two of you. Your heart was racing, and you didn’t know what the hell to think, but you knew that you weren’t letting go of this male anytime soon. You would stay in his arms forever if he let you.
~ ~ ~
One Month Later
“I’ve always wanted to do this.”
“Go shopping?” Azriel asked dryly, his eyebrows slightly raised.
You shoved his shoulder. “No,” you grumbled, then gestured toward all the different stalls lining the street, wreaths and bows and lights everywhere you looked. “Celebrate Solstice.”
Azriel’s eyes softened, and he pulled you back by your hand when you kept walking. “What do you mean?”
Your cheeks warmed, feeling a bit ridiculous now that you’ve said it. You avoided his eyes, looking at the different faeries walking around the two of you. “I’ve never celebrated it,” you answered, shrugging slightly. “I mean, sure, there were ‘celebrations’ fit for the Court of Nightmares, but I never had any friends or family to buy gifts for or to just spend time with on Solstice.”
A male with his arms full bumped into you, muttering a quick apology as he maneuvered through the street. Azriel tucked you under his arm, his heat offering a solace from the cold you didn’t know you needed. He started walking the two of you slowly down the cobblestones again, the two of you making footprints in the light layer of snow coating the stones.
“I wish I had known that,” he said quietly.
You shook your head, pausing in front of a booth with an assortment of jewelry. Azriel didn’t move his arm, and only leaned down with you when you picked up a necklace, the pendant a small sapphire twined with silver. You laid the necklace back down gently, feeling out of place even thinking about wearing jewelry. You had worn the jewels Rhys gave a few months ago to accompany your outfit for the Court of Nightmares, and they had sat untouched since—not because you didn’t love them, but because you were still struggling to adapt to this new lifestyle. You knew Rhys would never, but it was hard to believe that this new reality wasn’t about to be yanked out from underneath you.
“Do you like that?” Azriel asked quietly, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.
Goosebumps shot across your skin, and you swallowed hard before answering him. “It’s pretty,” you hummed, and then guided him toward the next booth before he could pester you about buying it. “And there was no reason for you to know that.”
“We could have celebrated,” he said softly. “Actually, why didn’t we?”
You glanced at him, then turned to smile at the female selling hand knitted sweaters. “You were away on a mission.”
“Oh.”
You reached up to lace your fingers with his hand that hung over your shoulder, smiling softly at him. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. You couldn’t have done anything.”
Azriel tightened his fingers around yours, then folded his wing around you when a harsher gust of wind blew by. The gesture made your stomach flip, knowing the delicate membrane of his wing was brushing against your shoulder, even if it was covered by your coat—that he was using his wings to protect you. The trust behind the display was not lost on you. You leaned further into his side in gratitude.
“I’m excited for Solstice,” he admitted, and a small grin broke out on your face.
You laughed lightly. “I know you are.”
He glanced at you in surprise, and you shrugged. “You’re not as cold and mysterious as you like to think.” You smiled at him, poking his side covered in a soft sweater instead of his usual leathers. You selfishly loved seeing him like this, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold, snowflakes dotting his dark hair, and his clothes warm and soft instead of thick and tough. “You’re actually a bit of a softie.”
Azriel laughed, his head tilting back a bit. “You’re ridiculous.” The two of you kept walking along the street, stopping to look at different vendors here and there. Eventually, Azriel said, “We celebrated Solstice as boys. Growing up in Illyria…Rhys’s mother did what she could for us, and we loved it, but it’s been decades since we’ve spent it together. Now we have Mor, and you, and I just—” A small smile stretched across his face. “I’m just grateful, and excited.”
You smiled too, then said, “Don’t forget Amren.”
Azriel grimaced. “And Amren.”
“Does she scare you too?”
Azriel glanced at you. “Of course not.”
“Liar.”
~ ~ ~
Two Days Later
“I still can’t believe Rhys bought this place.”
“I can’t believe we were delegated to decorating,” Azriel grumbled, dropping his armful of garland on the floor.
“Don’t complain.” You tossed a bow at him, it smacking him in the chest before joining the greenery on the floor. “I think it’s fun.”
“Cassian and Mor are out drinking and dancing.”
You raised a brow. “Did you want to go drinking and dancing?”
“No,” he grumbled. “It’s just the principle of it.”
You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up from your spot on the floor next to the fire. You walked to the kitchen, leaving Azriel grumbling over the holly and ribbons, and picked up a bottle of wine and two glasses. You reappeared in the living room, glasses extended toward Azriel. “Who said we can’t still drink?” you asked.
Azriel grinned, taking the glasses and the bottle from you. He poured you both generous glasses, handing one to you before clinking them together. “Happy Solstice,” he murmured, then took a sip of the red wine.
You took a sip of yours, smiling softly. “Happy Solstice.” You sat the glass on the coffee table, then looked back at him. “Now help me hang this garland.”
He did as you said, following your directions for every strand of pine and holly, every bow and wreath, every ball of faelight, even when you were both on your third glass of wine and you weren’t entirely sure that they would all actually be straight tomorrow morning.
Azriel chuckled from behind you as you struggled to pin a strand of garland over the entryway to the living room. Your stool wasn’t tall enough to reach the top, even as you stood on wobbly toes. Azriel’s hands braced your waist, picking you up easily to lift you high enough to pin the garland. Your cheeks were flushed when he sat you down, your stomach a mess of butterflies.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
Azriel grinned. “You’re welcome.” He reached for your hair, pulling at the strands delicately. “You’re covered in needles,” he laughed.
You covered your face, groaning into your palms, “Oh gods. No more wine and decorating.”
Azriel pulled your hands away from your face, his eyes bright as they stared down into yours. “The decorations look beautiful.” He pulled another pine needle from your hair, dropping it on the floor, then brushed an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And so do you,” he murmured softly, eyes going darker.
Something tightened in your chest, in your core, your whole body tingling from his attention and compliments. He was the beautiful one. His dark hair was tousled and his eyes nearly glowed as he beheld you, staring at you so reverently you didn’t know whether to run and hide or…
His palm cupped your cheek, his calloused skin warm and comforting against your own. He slowly walked you backward, taking one slow step after the other as your eyes stayed glued to his, anticipation building in your chest. Your back eventually met the stairway banister, the wood at your back making you suck in a breath.
“Azriel,” you breathed out, heart pounding.
“Please,” he begged, the word soft and desperate. He lowered his face closer to yours, his lips barely an inch away from yours. “Please, let me do this.”
You didn’t let him hesitate a second longer, instead closing the distance between you two to press your lips to his. Azriel went lax against you, his whole body practically melting into yours. You tugged at the front of his sweater, desperate to have him closer, to feel him on you. His hands gripped your waist, squeezing and tugging at you feverishly, as if he needed you just the same.
His lips were so soft, and so warm, and you never knew it could feel like this. You had never let yourself dream that you could ever have this. Your fleeting thoughts about a life with Azriel had always seemed so childish, so hopeless, in the face of all you had seen. You had never been treated with kindness, like someone worthy of respect—how could you ever be loved or wanted by a male like Azriel?
Somewhere deep down, though, you knew things had shifted between you. When Rhys became High Lord, walls fell down between you. Anxieties were dimmed, and you clung to each other as you waded through the aftermath, as you stepped into this new life together. You had always wanted him, really, in any way he would give you. You had loved him nearly as long, you just didn’t think he could ever return those feelings—not until recently. Not until now, as he kissed you like you were his oxygen, his very lifeline to this world, and he had no plans of letting you go.
You parted from his lips, breathing heavy as you met his eyes, his pupils blown with lust and hair far more disheveled than it was moments ago. “Azriel—” You swallowed hard, nerves blooming in your stomach as your mind caught up to where you were, what you were doing, who you were with.
Azriel pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. “Don’t get in your head,” he murmured. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop—but don’t worry about anything else.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your neck. You breathed in shakily. “It’s just me and you.”
His words immediately settled you, grounding you to this moment, here, with him. “Azriel,” you murmured again, you hand lifting his face from your neck. His eyes met yours, wide and waiting. “Take me upstairs,” you whispered.
His face lit up, and you laughed when he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before picking you up, your legs falling easily around his waist. You were so warm in his arms as he carried you up the stairs, stealing kisses along the way as your hands tangled in his hair again.
He walked through an open door, kicking it shut behind you before dropping you on an oversized bed. You pushed yourself back to the center, watching Azriel crawl onto the bed too, slowly following your movements until he was hovering directly over you. He brought a hand up to your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, as he gazed at you with pure adoration.
“No one has ever made me feel the way you do,” he murmured. “You make me feel safe. Just the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand—you give me a reprieve from the world. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Your heart was soaring. “I’ve never trusted anyone,” you whispered, staring at him with glossy eyes. “I never knew I could trust someone—until I met you.” You lifted your own hand to his cheek, cradling him close. “I may hate Kier for everything he did to me and Mor—but I wouldn’t change anything. Everything he did, everything I went through—it brought me to you.”
Azriel licked his lips before pressing them to yours again, his kiss sweet and gentle and reverent. Every tender emotion the two of you held in your hearts, handed to each other on a silver platter, trusting that the other wouldn’t drop it. His kisses slowly grew more desperate, more feverish, with you feeding into the shift in energy, needing him so deeply you couldn’t think past wanting this male in every way.
He slowly lifted your sweater up and over your head, breaking your kiss for the briefest of seconds. You pushed him away though, pulling at the hem of his own sweater. He quickly yanked it over his head, tossing it on the floor, with his pants swiftly following. He was simply ethereal, kneeling before you in the dim faelight, with streaks of moonlight seeping in through the curtain. He crawled back over you, smiling softly as your gaze lingered on his body.
“You’re gorgeous,” you murmured, trailing your fingers over the slopes of his chest, across the ink that trailed over his shoulder and down his arm, until it blended into the scars that littered his forearms and hands.
Azriel’s face was flushed pink as he watched you touch him, admire him, and you smiled at him when you noticed. His smile back was bashful, and he hid his face by leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he breathed against you, his words followed by a harsh press against your collarbone. It was your turn to flush.
He pulled at the waistband of your pants before sliding them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your undergarments. His eyes were so dark as he drank you in, his shadows finally reaching out to trace the slopes and curves of your body. Their featherlight touch made you shiver, your skin pebbling in their wake.
Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of your breast, then unclasped the constricting fabric that still hid you from him. “Do they bother you?” he asked, glancing at the shadows pulsing around the two of you.
“No,” you breathed, mind a bit addled. “Never.”
“Good,” he murmured. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, his tongue ghosting over the sensitive skin over and over before he pressed harder. His hand came up to cup the other one, his thumb mimicking the ministrations of his tongue.
Pleasure rippled up your spine, and you let out a gasp as he continued to suck and kiss and squeeze. “Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured against your breast, and you let out a low whine when his lips pulled away. “This will be easier if I can see you.”
Your eyes flew open, and embarrassment seared through your arousal that was building in your core. Azriel’s hands were still on you, his body still hovering over yours, but your skin had taken on its characteristic iridescence when you shifted. You immediately pulled at that thread of your power, releasing it once the shimmer faded and his eyes met yours.
“I”m sorry,” you mumbled, face hot.
His thumb stroked your hip, his eyes soft. “None of that.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your stomach, his lips slowly trailing lower and lower. “I find it flattering that I can make you lose control,” he rasped, his lips painting agonizing illustrations across your skin, narrowly avoiding where you so desperately needed him.
“No more apologizing,” he said, fingers slowly dipping into the band of your underwear. His eyes locked on yours, and the breath left your lungs when you saw the lust and adoration in his gaze. “Do you understand?”
You stared blankly for a second, stomach flipping as you took in the dominance of his words, of his touch, the softness from moments again molded into new undiluted desire. A small smirk pulled at his lips, and he tugged at the band of your underwear, leaning down closer. “Do you understand?” he repeated.
You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes,” you breathed out.
“Good,” he hummed, then slowly dragged the cloth down your legs, tossing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes.
He came back up to meet your lips in a kiss, while slowly dragging his fingers across your core. Small pants and moans fell from your mouth into his, as his fingers worked over the sensitive flesh with tantalizing precision. Every stroke and press sent euphoria through your body, your pleasure coiling tight in your center. When he slid one finger inside you, you clutched his shoulders tight, your nails digging deep into his flesh. “Azriel,” you moaned, your head falling away from his mouth and into the pillows behind you.
His lips moved to suckle more kisses across your neck, falling down to your breasts as he slid a second finger in. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against you. You keened under his praise, your hips lifting as your pleasure coiled tighter.
He pushed them back down, eyes glowing as he looked up at you. “Hold still, baby.”
Gods he was perfect. He was beautiful and loving and made you feel otherworldly, and your eyes burned as your pleasure finally reached a precipice, rapidly falling over the edge. Your body shook as he worked you through it, his strokes growing slower and gentler until he finally pulled his fingers away.
You could feel how hard he was against your thigh, and his underwear was straining from the fullness of him. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you said, still breathless. “I need you,” you whined, hooking your leg around his hip to pull him closer. Azriel smiled softly. “Please. I need all of you.”
He pulled back, but only to slide his underwear from his hips, leaving him completely bare in front of you. He hovered back over you before you could ogle for long, but any protests died on your tongue when you saw the emotion in his eyes. “You have all of me,” he said, voice low and sweet, his words like honey for your soul.
He fit himself against you, both of you sucking in sharp breaths as he slowly sank in. Your hand cupped his face, pulling his gaze back to you. “You have all of me, too,” you whispered.
Your words seemed to snap something inside of Azriel, his hips going flush against you. You gasped, the stretch momentarily burning. He murmured apologies against your hair, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he waited for you to adjust. “It’s okay,” you breathed out. “I’m okay. You can move. Please move.”
He did as you asked, his hips slowly pulling away before gliding back in. He gradually picked up his pace, watching you with every thrust, every push and pull you gave each other. The two of you were enraptured with the other, eyes locked on each other as you chased your euphoria together. Azriel’s lips pressed against yours, his chest folding across yours as his wings flared out behind him. “I swear the Mother made you for me,” he groaned.
His words made your brain falter, the thought alone of being his mate knocking something loose inside you. You had never considered that this male with you now could possibly be your mate—that you would ever be so blessed to find your mate, let alone it be him. Mother above, you hoped it was him. Maybe it made you selfish, for wanting that eternal bond between your souls, when not even yesterday you couldn’t fathom the scenario you were in now, but there was something about the word mate, something about Azriel being your mate that felt so innately right.
His thrusts slowed, his hand cupping your cheek, drawing your thoughts back to the moment. “Are you still with me?” he asked softly.
You grabbed his hand on your cheek, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m with you,” you said, wiggling your hips to chase the friction of his slow thrusts. His eyes glowed with lust, pushing your intertwined hands to rest above your head. You moaned as his thrusts turned harder and sloppy, chasing his high right alongside yours. His free hand fell between you, circling your bundle of nerves until you came undone, and his body fell limp on top of yours as he quickly followed.
His breaths were heavy against your ear, his face pressed against yours as he squeezed your still intertwined hands, then slowly unlaced your fingers. You rested your hand in his hair, playing with the damp strands curling loosely at the nape of his neck. “That was perfect,” you whispered, voice tinged with awe.
Azriel pushed himself up enough to roll off you, though his side was still pressed to yours as he gazed down at you. “Beyond perfect.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a soft and adoring smile making his eyes crinkle and your heart skip a beat.
He laid down on the pillow next to you, his arm wrapping around your body to pull you against his chest. He kissed the side of your jaw before nuzzling his chin against your shoulder, pulling the messy covers up around the two of you. His wing followed suit, curling around you like a protective shield. He pressed another kiss to your shoulder, and you were certain you would never grow tired Azriel’s affection. To think he balked when you called him a softie just days ago.
“Happy Solstice,” he hummed in your ear, a hint of mischief in his tone.
You laughed lightly, settling back into his arms as you closed your eyes. “Happy Solstice.”
~ ~ ~
You placed a gentle hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his head immediately turning toward you. “Hi,” you greeted softly, a nervous smile pulling at your lips.
His eyes glowed as he looked at you, his own lips twitching into a warm smile that made your insides shimmer. “Hi,” he said softly.
Your friends were sitting around the coffee table in the living room, each perched on various cushions as they laughed at something Cassian said. Even Amren seemed amused. Azriel stood up a bit straighter from where he had been leaning against the archway, the top of his head brushing against the garland he had helped you hang last night, which was indeed a bit lopsided.
Azriel tracked your gaze, grinning when he noticed the garland. He reached up, repinning it into its position. “Still beautiful,” he said.
Your face flushed. His arm brushed yours as he stepped close again, his wing brushing against your back as they flared slightly. “Are you enjoying your first proper Solstice?” he asked.
You looked at your friends again, at the fire glowing in the hearth and the gifts scattered around the room. Your eyes fell back to the male beside you, and your heart felt like it could burst. “I am, actually.”
His hand reached for yours, slyly twining his fingers together with yours. “Good,” he murmured. He leaned down closer, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. “Happy Solstice.”
Your face went hot instantly, your ears burning as you pulled away from him, but his hand in yours kept you glued to his side as his eyes glinted devilishly in the light of the fire. “You’re a brute,” you grumbled, then said, “Happy Solstice.”
Azriel chuckled lightly, his arm looping around your waist to pull you even closer to his side. “I have another gift for you,” he said softly. “Come with me?”
You nodded eagerly, letting him turn you toward the hallway. The two of you stopped short when Rhys said, “Please don’t christen any more rooms in this house. I haven’t even properly moved in yet.”
You buried your face against Azriel, his arm tightening around you as mortification slid through you. “Fuck off, Rhysand,” Azriel called back, guiding you up the stairs. Your friends’ laughter could still be heard once you made it upstairs, but you tried to focus on the male beside you, his hand pulling you after him.
He led you out on a balcony, the stone fixture bare save for a dusting of snow. The stars were bright in the night sky above you, the air unusually calm for winter, though snow flakes still fell around the two of you. “I didn’t know this was here,” you murmured, looking out at the glowing houses stretching down the street. “Doesn’t everything already seem…happier, now that Rhys is High Lord?” you asked Azriel, watching the faeries walking the street with children running around them in glee.
“He’s given people hope,” he said, stepping up to the railing beside you. “That’s powerful.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “You give me hope,” you said softly, watching the snowflakes fall from the sky. “I was ready to give up my second week here, and you pulled me up off my ass and told me to fight. Then you did it again, and again. You kept me going.”
Azriel didn't say anything for a minute, your words settling around the two of you. He eventually cleared his throat, drawing your eyes back to him. “I really do have another gift for you,” he said, voice almost shy as he pulled a small box from his pocket. He opened the velvet container to reveal a sapphire necklace—the sapphire necklace you wanted from the Solstice Market.
“Azriel,” you drawled out breathlessly, watching him pull the dainty chain from the box.
He reached around your neck, clasping the chain together before straightening the pendant so that it rested in the center of your chest. His cheeks were pink as he said, “I knew you wanted it, and I knew you would never buy it. I thought maybe you would let yourself wear it if it was a gift.”
Your lips trembled as your fingers ghosted over the gem. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I wish I had something else for you.” All you had given him was a dagger that Cassian helped you pick out, which felt much less personal than this necklace that laid against your skin.
Azriel shook his head, his hands pulling you close to him by your waist. “You’ve already given me everything I could ever want,” he murmured. He leaned in slowly to press a kiss to your lips, the two of you melting together instantly.
You pulled back, your breath mixing with his in the cold air. “I love you.”
Azriel blinked, his grip tightening on your waist. Your heart was pounding, but you had to tell him. You had been in love with him for far too long, and he had given you far too much for you to go another second without telling him what he meant to you.
His throat bobbed, his shadows flitting around his wings rapidly. “You love me?” he asked, breathless.
“More than anything,” you said, a bit of nervous laughter creeping into your voice.
He wrapped you in his arms, your face going flush against his chest as his head rested on yours. You returned his embrace easily, but he was just as quickly pulling back to press another kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he murmured against your mouth, and your whole body felt like it had been set aglow. “And you love me?”
“Yes,” you assured again, your hand resting against his cool cheek.
His own hand covered yours, his fingers wrapping around your own. “I changed my mind,” he rasped, eyes alight. “This is everything I could ever want.”
OH MY GOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!! Genuinely one of the most immersive and beautiful Azriel fics I have ever read. Like this was absolutely amazing, incredible, beautiful, sad, all of the emotions ever.
First of all, I have always been so curious about his time working for the previous high Lord. You gave me everything I wanted and more.
Everything he had to go through, everything he had to become, everything he had to do. I just know it was absolutely terrible. And you did such an amazing job of showing just how much he hated it, And the turmoil that they went through just to survive. But it was so beautiful how he did everything he could for her in anyway that he could. Even from the beginning he was not letting her back down or give up. Then constantly being that hand to pull her out of the darkness.????????? Them pulling each other out of the darkness ?? GOOD EATING HERE FOLKS!!!!!!!!
And her choosing to stay, her first choice after everything that was taken from her to be to stay with him, YEAH THATS RIGTH!!!! “Everything he did, everything I went through—it brought me to you.” You stop it right now. They’re soulmates, and together in every old. They find each other in every world. They love each other in every world. You made such a beautiful story and love between them, I will be thinking about them for ages . Thank you so much for sharing!
tom <3
You bring one man to back you up? Yeah, well, I thought you’d bring more guys.
⋆౨ৎO Brawling Love, O Loving Hate⋆౨ৎ
[fem reader] contains: angst. so much angst. pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: billy finds his way back to you author’s note: yeah...yeah. thank you all for 500, I hope you enjoy this!! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist
The days without him were empty boxes tied up with ribbon. In a failed attempt to spin them into light like straw to gold, you told yourself that those long hours evicted from Billy's arms only made the little time you had with him all the sweeter. It did little to raise your spirits.
You tried not to miss him before he was gone. Here, sheets pulled up to your waist, the smell of straw tickling your nose in the chapel of the barn on your father's property, you found heaven on earth. His hair was tangled, and you could see the ghost of your fingers trailing through it, twisting around his curls and reveling in the way the light from the cracked window caught his face just right.
Billy's eyes were closed, his hand trailing absentmindedly up and down your side like a rolling wave. Your head was resting on his other bicep, back molded to his chest. That same arm was held in your grasp against you like a child's bear.
Though you were resting, body blissfully tired from loving all night, you were staring at the wall, lost in thought with no map. In the corner of the loft, his clothes were messily folded, hat perched haphazardly on the arm. One boot was sitting upright, the other on its side, heel touching its mate. It was a third presence in the supposed safety of this space. As long as those boots were here, he could leave.
When you'd first met him in town, you hadn't at all known what you were in for. One minute you had been petting a stranger's horse, giggling as the creature nuzzled into your hand. The next, a handsome man with bright blue eyes was telling you that the animal belonged to him, and that he didn't usually take to people so easily.
A spark became a fire, and before you knew it you were ducking into alleyways to kiss him, sneaking through your bedroom window late at night and finding your way into bars to spend a few hours under his arm as his girl. You were living inside a secret.
Billy shifted, adjusting his arm under your head. Dipping, he nudged his lips against your crown, and you swore you heard him breathe in. He knew. He was just as aware of how delicate this all was, maybe more than you were.
Tucking a stray strand behind your ear, he nuzzled into your neck, hand creeping around the corridors of your body to find yours. Still keeping hold of his arm, your other fingers closed around his, and you tilted your head back.
"You okay?" Billy murmured; voice smoky with sleep. His thumb traveled up the hills of your knuckles, rubbing the valleys between.
You hummed, turning around to face him, hair wrapping around your neck like a scarf. Now his eyes were open, and the deep blue of them nearly drowned you. A slow, sleepy smile crept up his lips like a crescent moon shadow, and you blinked lazily at him. "I'm okay."
He pulled the wispy sheet further up without letting go of your hand, raising it to his lips afterward and settling them between you. "I've gotta go soon."
"Don't," you mumbled, kissing his chest. "Stay here with me."
"'nd what happens when your daddy finds us in here 'n pulls a shotgun on me?"
"Are you the fastest draw in the West or not?"
"Baby," Billy groaned, hands falling to your hips and lifting you up, positioning you atop his own. He lifted under your arms to keep you upright as he sat up. It made no difference- you flopped against him as soon as he was close again, slouching like a low hanging branch.
He chuckled into your hair, and you treasured the sound, sealing it away for later like a lover's Pandora's box. "Can't just go 'round guns blazin' cause you want more cuddles."
You pushed your bottom lip out like a dresser drawer, eyes going round and glassy, a pool of reflection. "Don't tell me you don't want more cuddles."
"I do." His hand petted your hair leisurely, and you lifted your head into the touch like a sun-drunk cat. The other fell to your bottom, nudging at it gently to move you forward on his thighs. "But I've gotta go, sweet girl. You know I've gotta go."
"Hmph." Your lips puckered into a pout, and he laughed, kissing it once. Lifting your chin, you let your eyelashes touch your lids as you stared at him. "When will you come back?"
Billy's face fell, and he thumbed your cheek, not responding. You whimpered, searching his eyes and grasping at him desperately. "Billy."
"I'll be back soon," he promised, and you huffed, getting off him and turning to lie on your stomach. Even though it felt childish, acting this way, after Billy risked life and liberty to see you, you couldn't help it. Billy was your air, and you needed to breathe.
A hand settled on your back, rubbing slightly. Billy would never reprimand you, never deem you ungrateful even if that was exactly what you were. He felt terrible about the circumstance of it all, you knew. A kiss was pressed to the crown of your head, and he slid an arm under your tummy, pulling you into his side. "I know. I know, sweet girl. 'm so sorry."
The earnesty in his voice struck you like an arrow to the heart. You turned your head to face him, breathing in softly. "I'm being a brat."
"No, baby, never." Billy let his chin rest on your head, hand crept around the circumference of your body. He kissed your bare shoulder. "I don't wanna leave you either."
You burrowed into his chest, feeling like an animal seeking hibernation's warmth. He let you, and you could almost feel his reluctance, the impending doom of the time to let go. He didn't draw any attention to it, since it was already looming over the two of you like a dark shadow.
"I'll write you lots more," Billy promised, burying his nose in your hair. "And you'll write me too?"
It was his way of checking to see if you were upset with him, you knew. And he sounded so hopeful, like dawn cracking the day's eggshell open to the sunburst within.
You nodded, punctuating it with a quiet, "Yes. Of course."
"There we go." Billy pressed a kiss to your forehead, drawing a smile from you, hidden in his chest. Already you could hear the signs of the world coming to life, reminding you that it was bigger than the space you took up here. Below the loft, his horse snuffled, hooves against straw tapping a reminder.
Billy's lips found your hair again, and then he began to untangle himself from you, gently tucking your arms under the sheet and smoothing it over you. Protests died on your lips when you caught his expression, bittersweet and longing.
When he began to dress himself, you did not stop him, merely lying back on the loft bed and watching him fasten his pants, button his shirt up save for the top three. You'd told him once how handsome he looked with a looser collar, and it had stayed with him.
Sitting on the bed by your knees, he began to tug his boots on, and you wanted to cry at the sight. At least he hadn't put his hat on yet. You let your eyes fall to your hand in front of you, nails smooth and rounded. Billy liked it when you scratched his head after a long day.
He leaned over, forearms bracketing your body, and let his chin nestle on your chest. His eyes grew soft, brow relaxing, an almost-smile probing at the corners of his mouth. You'd flung one arm above your head, the other on your collarbone. Billy took the latter, kissing the curve below your thumb. "I'll come back soon, my love."
"Soon," you repeated softly, searching his eyes. He nodded, reaching up to kiss your forehead, then your nose, all the while holding your hand. Billy always saved a kiss to the lips for last. You'd come to associate it with endings.
His mouth found yours, and you savored it, an invisible hand recording every detail to reminisce on later. The bed creaked as he stood, and you didn't let go of his hand until he was too far to reach.
Closing your eyes, you refused to watch him leave. It was better sometimes to convince yourself that it was all a dream.
Five years is an eternity when you loved her. Longer when you still do.
Through the dusty, endless stretches of the desert, most nights spent lonely, Billy tried and failed to find solace in time. It was his enemy, yet an attempted comfort. He wasn’t watching an hourglass, he was inside one, drowning in every second, every grain of sand that settled atop him, spilling from the brim of his hat.
He wandered near and far, finding nearly forgotten cities to pass through that were nearly identical to each other. Maybe someday he would wither away into the palm of the earth, his body decaying into nothingness, and then the pain would end.
You had imprinted yourself on him, left a gaping hole like a bullet wound he couldn't seem to stitch up. The memories circled him like a pack of wolves, baring their pearly teeth and threatening to pounce. He managed to keep them at bay.
There was a part of him that couldn't seem to take any final step. One that gently pushed the hands of hired women off his shoulders at the places he stayed, one that seeped into every crack and corner of his being. You haunted him- it was as plain as that.
It was that last recollection, the most recent, that came to him in dreams, touched his shoulders and whispered how badly he'd messed up. The image of you, eyes shut, stained with dried tear tracks.
Your details were recalled individually, and in desperate hours, he tried to put them back together. But they wouldn't form a whole. Your bright eyes, your soft skin. The ribbons you always wore in your hair. The way you held him, kissed him. Billy was nearly sure he'd dreamt you to life. Had he gone dry in the sandy expanse of the desert, hallucinated something beyond even the wildest dreams of men?
He didn't know what he was doing back here. It was a shot in the dark, something wildly out of place and reckless beyond his instincts. Even though he'd left for you, he couldn't help searching. Every woman your height with your hair that passed had him turning his head. It was stupidly hopeless, and Billy hated how lost he was in any possibility. After what had happened, he didn't even deserve to look at you.
The town square was bustling, crammed with people about all businesses. Billy concluded his dealings fairly quickly, packing his finds into the saddlebags slung over his horse's back. He shifted the strap of it, tightening the belt, eyes focused and thoughts far away. It'd be at least two days ride to the next town, no matter which direction he decided to go.
Everywhere he looked was crawling with memories, infested almost. Billy suppressed a shiver, mind wandering to places he didn't want it to. Your ghost was hot on his heels, nipping at him like the cold. Billy didn't want to dwell on it- it would only lead to a night of longing for what was lost.
Truthfully, he should be grateful he even had you to begin with. The softest, sweetest girl he'd ever met, and you'd been all his for more than a year. Maybe it was enough to stretch across a lifetime without you.
He turned, wiping his brow with the back of his head and looking into the crowd. From where he was standing, there was a modicum of privacy, near an alleyway. Nobody was sparing him a second glance, and for that he was grateful.
It was too late in the day to start riding for the next spot. He'd take the night here and then start up early in the morning. An outlaw's life kept him moving, though admittedly, maybe he didn't need to as much as he had five years ago.
But he had a habit. The pattern was set, and Billy supposed he would keep running from place to place with accompanying memories dogging him for the rest of his life. The thought probed him whenever he tried to fall asleep, and he evaded it for as long as he could. It was a miserable thing to think about, especially when he knew now what it was to be happy.
He heaved a breath, turning his head to the side, eyes roving from person to person. Then something like a flower in a wasteland made him freeze, caught like a fish on a hook.
You. Lovely as ever, petting the neck of your chocolate horse, sweeping a strand of hair over your shoulder. He'd know you anywhere, out of a crowd of millions. Billy was shell-shocked, feeling the same way he did the last time he'd laid eyes on you, just as stunned as the first.
Time looked good on you. It had taken your beauty and spun it into something he would call angelic. Your demeanor still shone like a star, an emanating thing that glowed. Billy couldn't tear his eyes away. His chest ached at the fact that he'd missed whatever changes had occurred all these years, that he hadn't been there for every second. You were the woman he'd wanted to grow old with, and now it was devastatingly clear that nothing had paused when he'd left.
You looked up, likely feeling his eyes on him, and went rigid. Eyes widening, lips parting, you looked as though you'd seen someone killed. Billy couldn't find it in himself to move, to do anything. It felt like you were the only two people in the world.
He wanted to run over, lift you into his arms and kiss you silly, show you how sorry he was for everything. For leaving you, for doing the one thing he promised he wouldn't. For the night he'd told you he was hitting the road. He wanted to turn back the hands of the clock and fix it, revise his regrets.
You were moving toward him before he could do any of that, and he was stunned still. Was this how it would feel to see you walk down the wedding aisle to him? Billy's heart was beating double-time, as if to make up for the time spent away from its mate.
When you were three feet away, you came to a stop, just looking at him. Now that you were close, he could piece you together again. You were an ethereal being, a desert angel. He thought he might be dreaming until you spoke up, voice soft. "Billy."
"Darlin'." The word slipped out before he could regulate it, and something seemed to change in your eyes.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say, and they all fizzled out before he could even try. You beat him to it. "You're back in town."
"Yeah." Billy was cursing himself internally as he said it. Five years separated from the love of his life and that was all he could think to say?
The air was thick with both heat and tension, and he was choking on it. Billy's eyes fell to your left hand, heart panging hopelessly when he noticed the gold band encircling it.
You followed his gaze, an almost guilty expression taking over. "I...my father arranged it. He got a good deal on a nice plot of land down south."
Billy was silent, glued to the sight of it. He didn't know how he could have been so stupid. Every grand vision he'd had since deciding to ride over here dissipated, leaving nothing but dust. Of course you'd been married. Of course a girl as beautiful and effervescent as you had been snatched up like a fresh flower in the spring, whether it was by your choice or not.
He could see it all whenever he looked at you. The future he'd wished for when you both were young lovers, blissful and innocent. The house he wanted to build for you, the children born from you whom he'd tried to imagine. Growing old, seeing strands of white and silver that would only serve your beauty. Billy once had it all in the palm of his hand, and he'd been forced to let it go.
But he'd done it for you. Everything since he'd met you had been.
Opening his mouth to congratulate you, to wish you the best, he suddenly noticed the chain falling over your collarbone, the pendant dipping into the bodice of your dress.
Countless nights invaded his memory, hours shrouded under darkness tracing every inch of you. That very same chain brushing his cheek, heart-shaped charm falling to his neck as you bent over and kissed him.
Billy was reaching out before he could ask permission, lifting the pendant from your neckline like a fisherman pulling up his catch. His eyes widened.
There it was. The heart, the one he knew without checking had his initials on the other side, so pretty they didn't look like they belonged to such a roughened man as he. But that wasn't what drew his lips apart, made him look back at you.
It was the golden circlet with tiny curlicued flowers engraved into the surface, clinking alongside the silver heart.
You looked like you were about to cry, breath hitching when he asked softly, "You kept it?"
"Of course I kept it," you whispered, searching his eyes.
Now his heart was beating for an entirely different reason. He could feel his soul gravitating towards yours like a moth to a flame. The logical side of his head was shaking him, poking him in the eyes. She's married. She's married, stop it.
You had kept the ring. The one he never could have given another woman, the one he'd left in the spot where he usually lay the last time he met you for a late-night rendezvous in your father's abandoned barn.
Billy knew you. He knew your nature, your being, your soul. This wasn't nothing.
"Baby..." he breathed, letting the necklace fall against your breast.
Something beyond what he knew, a baser instinct, was pulling him in, like gravity had taken on a new form. You were his sunshine, and he was orbiting around you, getting closer as you burned brighter. Billy could see it in your eyes as you moved forward, delicate hands finding his chest.
Five years could have been five days. And he would have missed you this much.
You didn't tuck the necklace back into your dress, instead standing on your tiptoes and letting your lips brush his, ever so slightly.
He was pressing you to the door, hand at the base of your neck as you tilted your head back, hair cushioning your head against the wood. You whimpered as his hands fell to your waist, gripping you tight and pulling you in so you were pressed right against him. His thumbs rubbed your hip bones, the intimacy of it along with his lips hungrily dashing down your neck making your tummy jump.
Billy slid one leg between your thighs, moving it up to your most sensitive spot, and a tiny moan slithered from your lips. You gasped, hands flying to his shirt, gripping both sides of it. Instantly your fingers began to tug at his buttons, eager to feel him, the warmth of his skin. It had been so long...too long.
When he'd left, you'd never expected to see him again. With each year you became more hopeless, resigning that the one love you'd ever had was lost forever. You had mourned it, refused to let go of any piece of him. Even once the ring of another man was slid onto your finger, all you thought of was Billy.
And now here he was, body pinning you to the door of your husband's house.
Your spouse was out of town, on a trip that would take weeks there and back, the purpose of which you hadn't bothered to ask about. It would have been forgotten anyways, as Billy practically devoured you. All that mattered was that he wasn't here. And that Billy was.
Lifting his knee into you at just the right angle, Billy breathed in when you moaned. "That's it...right there, baby? Right there."
His lips found yours again, and you practically melted under his hands. In a swoop, you were in his arms, being carried somewhere you couldn't place. A mattress found your back, and you recognized your bedroom. How he had found it was a mystery, but it was irrelevant.
"All this time..." he murmured into your mouth. "You ain't been kissed the way you should be. Woman like you..." Billy pecked your lips once, tearing his suspenders away and carefully unhooking the buttons of your dress, exposing your chemise. "Needa be kissed good."
He repeated your name like a mantra, taking you places you'd missed, his skin blooming into yours. You breathed in, your body moving of its own accordance against his. One large hand found your jaw, thumb digging into your cheek as his lips moved rhythmically against yours.
It reminded you of the ocean. The way you crashed and flowed together, two parts becoming a whole. He fit in all the same spots he used to, his touch electric just like it was the very first time. Your Billy. Your senses clouded until he was the only thing left, holding you tenderly and kissing you where you wanted to be.
Afterglow was golden hour, wildflowers and sugar cubes on your tongue. But it was also this, lying here in the arms of the man you'd loved in darkness for as long as you'd known him. His chest was bare, his head tilted back in a show of pure bliss. You were tucked under his arm, one palm flat on your back, his other hand at your waist. The way he held you, you got the distinct impression that he was worried you'd disappear.
Lifting your head, your smile lighting like sunshine. Even after this, after he'd taken your clothes off and kissed you senseless, done something with you that only ever meant anything with him, you were still unsure if this was a dream or not. Had you passed out from the heat in town, now a crumpled figure beside your horse?
Billy reached up with the hand that had been on your back, two fingers stretching out to gather your hair and tuck it behind your ear like curtains from a window. He watched you for a moment the same way you watched flowers begin to bloom in the springtime.
"When does your husband come back?" he whispered, trying to tiptoe around the delicate bubble you were both encased in.
You exhaled through your nose, using your forearms on his chest to prop yourself up. He grunted lightly, but didn't move you. The necklace you'd kept on fell atop his collarbone, a bit of the chain pooling around the heart and ring. Staring at it, you murmured, "Three weeks. Maybe four."
This was the part you were used to. The part you had been dreading without realizing it. The part where he left. Now the bubble had popped.
Sitting up, you pulled your knees to your chest, letting his arm around you fall like a leaf in autumn down to the mess of sheets. Billy joined you, lips pressing to your shoulder. His hand settled against your waist, and you wished you could fasten it there permanently.
Your eyelashes touched your cheek. "How long are you in town?"
He paused, fingers stroking up and down. "Three weeks. Maybe four."
Silence.
The world stood still, the clock's hands pausing their torturous ticking. You turned to face him, saw the look in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know.
The clouds were pink outside your window, giving him a halo you would have crafted and crammed over his shape years ago if it would have made him stay. Your hand found his, fingers twisting around each other like vines over a garden wall.
He kissed your temple. You squeezed his palm so he'd linger.
Dusk. A house empty save for the two of you. His boots discarded a few feet away, and you delightfully bare and lazily stretched over the blanket he'd laid on the floor in front of the roaring fire. You were drawing hearts on his stomach, and he wished your finger were a pen, the ink permanent.
Time had sailed by, cruel in passing as it always was. He tried to rein it in, tried to slow everything down for himself, for you.
The hours were sun-drunk, blissful blinks of an eye that were filled with love, pure light and happiness that he wanted to bottle. You passed the days in his arms mostly, always touching him in some way. The two of you took long walks in the nearby woods, went on rides where he insisted on taking only one horse so he could still hold you.
It was a doomed narrative. He could feel it in every touch, every kiss, every lingering semblance of love. But he didn't dare comment on it, not wanting to break the spell. For now, he had his girl in his arms and that was all that mattered.
You slid your hand up his chest, rubbing him lightly over his heart. Sometime within the first week, you'd removed his ring from the chain around your neck and put it on your left hand, abandoning the other in a dresser drawer. It filled him with a sense of pride seeing it there. And in glimpses he was able to pretend you were his. His wife.
When you spun around in the sunset, your silhouette usurping into the half shadow of the moon beginning to make an appearance, you were his wife. You were his wife when you kissed the space between his thumb and index finger because you liked the way it felt. In the bath you were his wife with strands of hair sticking to your chest and shoulders as he held you, your wet skin sliding against his, porcelain cool against his back.
He kissed you in shadows still, the curtains of the window hiding your secret from the world. He kissed you under starlight, your eyes glimmering brighter than anything he could see in the sky. There were a million things to explore that the sands of time had given you, things that he felt under his hands, along the curve of your waist and the weight of your breasts. You were a treasure, through and through.
The hours became thin like spun glass, the crystallite workings of a snowflake melting rapidly under his warm touch. He would freeze his hands to extend the time. There had never been a time in his life he felt so freely happy. It was always reaching through the bars with you, able to grasp each other for a second before being forced apart.
The workings of this house were intricate, richer than most places Billy had graced. The carpet beneath your head was plush, ornate detailing in the pattern. He lifted his eyes from your face, staring at the oak chest of drawers in his line of vision. Silvery trinkets that looked as though they were from far off places were littered across the surface, a single framed photograph in their midst.
He'd studied it further in the moments when you were upstairs putting your boots on, or just in the kitchen, putting a pot on the stove while he built a fire. The shadowy picture depicted you in a white dress, a bundle of flowers clasped in your hands. The man beside you was solemn, his eyes cold even through the bounds of a moment trapped in a frame.
Trying to ignore the pangs of something he didn't want to confront, Billy had been tempted to turn it face down. It was like a monument to his failure.
As he looked down at you now, it was clear that you had the best of everything, except for love. Your husband had left you starved for affection, and Billy tried to pay the other man's debts with interest. But Billy's own love was imperfect, the consequences of his actions clear.
He'd reminded you that you loved him. And it was going to ruin your life. Rubbing his hand over your back, he murmured, "I'll have to leave soon. Before he comes back."
Lifting your head, you pressed a soft kiss over his heart, meeting his eyes. He felt as though he was looking at a doe, beautifully belonging in the bed of this moment. But the ecstasy of a few minutes ago was replaced with a weight he wanted to carry across his shoulders without ever knowing what it was, a cross of unbearable magnitude.
You searched his eyes, brow knitting in a way he wanted to unravel. When you spoke, your voice was soft as the coo of a mourning dove. "I want to come with you."
"No." His response was immediate, and he was upset at himself even quicker. Your face fell like an avalanche, and he felt a stab of guilt in his heart, a knife he never wanted to yield. The warmth of you sprawled across his chest was removed when you sat up, and a cloud settled over the room.
You pulled your legs to your chest, eyes falling to the edge of the blanket underneath you. Hair tumbling over your shoulders, you breathed in. Billy could practically hear the tears pricking your eyes.
He reached a hand out to cover yours on your knee, rubbing your knuckle with his thumb. "Baby...I-"
"So that's it?" Your tone was bruised. "You're just going to leave again?"
Billy's shoulders slumped, and he reached out for you. "Sweetheart, c'mere.-"
You turned to face him, and every thought was swept away from his mind. Even on the verge of tears you were beautiful, a vision he couldn't have possibly invented. Looking up into his eyes, your bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. "Why can't I come with you?"
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. A love as beautiful as yours was supposed to be for all time, not hidden away like a dusty relic. It was not supposed to be forbidden. Billy sighed through his nose, holding your eyes with his bright blue stare. "Baby...I can't put you through that kinda life. You don't deserve to get hurt."
"You're hurting me now," you breathed, smoothing your hair back with your hands and taking in deep breaths, trying to calm down. "I...I..."
He could practically see your heart pounding through your chest, your breathing cutting itself short. "Honey-"
"No!" You stood abruptly, reaching for the nearest article of clothing, which happened to be his shirt. Throwing it over your body, you began to pace like a caged animal. All he could do was watch as one of your hands covered your mouth. You were gathering words like berries in a basket. "All these years...I've been waiting for you without realizing it...and you won't even let me come with... I want to!"
"I know." Billy sat all the way up, reaching for his underwear. "I know you do."
"Then why-?"
"What if I died out there?" he burst out, standing up and taking you by the arms. "What if I died and you were dependin' on me...what if we were married? I couldn't stand to leave you a widow."
"I'd be just as devastated if you died tomorrow as if you died as my husband." Your eyes were firm, unmoving in their emotion.
"And I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt because of the stupid things I get myself into." His voice was harsher than he meant as he gripped your arms. When your eyes widened, he tried a quieter tone. "You'll stay here, and you'll stay safe."
"What if I was pregnant?" you asked desperately, and he could see the tears springing to your eyes like rain in the spring. "After all we've done-"
"Then you both would be safe." The words nearly physically hurt coming out of his mouth. It was quiet for a moment, and he had time to regret what he'd just said. That moment never came. You were his north star, and yet he'd never felt more lost.
Taking in shallow breaths, you reached for him, taking his face in your hands and leaning in, pressing your lips to his. Then again. And again. "Please." Kiss. "Don't...do this..." Kiss. "I love you, isn't that enough?"
His eyes stayed open, the gravity in yours weighing him down more by the minute. You grasped his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.. "We love each other, that's enough." You sounded like you were trying to convince yourself too.
The silence cut deep. Billy searched for something to say but everything went still before he could form the words. He wanted to reassure you, to take you in his arms and kiss you tenderly and tell you that you were right.
But you both knew it. Love isn’t always enough.
You straightened between his hands, lifting your chin and searching his eyes, trying to decode something he hadn't been aware was locked. That had always been your forte- unearthing the secrets within him when he thought he'd given you every part of him. Once again, he was lost in the boundless space of your beauty, transfixed by every movement. Removing one of his hands from your arm, you held it between you, eyes never leaving his.
"I'd rather be unsafe and happy."
As Billy stared at you, saw how determined you were, how steadfast and boundless the love you possessed was, he was almost convinced. The moment of fear and doubt was held at bay, taunting him from afar, but he thought maybe it would never reach him. What you and him had was beyond special, it was legendary. It was a folklore the best of writers couldn't fathom to pen, something the stars weren't bold enough to know. A future bloomed before his eyes, one where you could finally be together, the restraints cut and abandoned. It was golden, it was limitless.
But then the moment pushed its way to shore. And the fleeting hope slipped through his fingers.
Underneath your legs the grass was dry, prickly to the touch. The point of your toe brushed his ankle over his boot, both feet leaning toward each other. Billy's arms were bent at the elbow, sheathing you against his chest. When you whispered your eyes were closed, one cheek pressed into him, but you could imagine the look on his face. It was one you never wanted to see.
"Will you leave before I wake up?"
His fingers began to rove up and down your back and his nose shifted in your hair, the soft press of his lips chinking another crack into your heart. Just another thing to miss.
Yesterday Billy told you he would leave the day after today. Yesterday you fought and cried and begged and clung to his shirt, your tear-soaked face turned to him like a sunflower to the nearest star. Yesterday he let you yell at him until your voice went raspy, gathering you into his arms when you finally reached for him. Today he was still holding on, as if he were repenting for some future sin.
Opening your eyes and peeking up at him, you murmured, "Please?"
Billy's eyes were tender, and he stroked your hair, chin bobbing. You didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking right now. The last time he'd left, he'd done it the exact same way. But last time it wasn't your choice.
He moved you, sitting up straighter against the tree, shirt only catching a little on the bark. Accommodating him, you were sideways across his lap now, legs bent so your feet were tucked under his knees. Holding you right against him with a hand on your shoulder, Billy began to rock back and forth. It was so soft when he said it that you almost thought it was a voice inside your head. "Of course."
You buried your face in his neck, mouth brushing his shirt collar. Maybe his scent would imprint on you, seep into your sleeping hours for the rest of time. It was as though you were grasping at someone turning into a ghost before your eyes. He was fading before your eyes, and you clung to the mirage as long as you could. He was yours. In this moment he was only yours. Holding him was like trying to hold air.
There were novels you could have written full of everything you wanted to tell him. But silence held your tongue, and you regretted it more with every minute. This was the end, a plunge into darkness and you could hardly speak to him, every attempted word stillborn. The walk back home was quiet as death, but you squeezed his hand the whole way.
The sun was peeking over the hills with rosy fingers when he got out of bed the next morning. He tried to be quiet. It wasn't his fault you woke, body wary of his presence, missing him before you did.
You stayed still as he dressed, the soft sounds of his footsteps piercing the early quiet. Still bare from last night, you laid with the sheet draped over your back, pretending he was still touching you the way he had mere hours ago, kissing you fervently.
When he leaned down, breath warm on your cheek for a final kiss, you gave up your act, springing up and flinging your arms around his neck. Breasts pressing into the material of his shirt, you held fast, sure he wouldn't leave if you never let go.
Billy let out a surprised breath, hands smoothing over your back. "Baby...s'posed to be asleep..."
"Don't go," you sniffled, stifling a tiny cry. More tears. And you'd thought you cried yourself dry.
"Shh," Billy soothed, rubbing your back. "You gotta go back to sleep my love. Go back to sleep."
Shaking your head vigorously and hiding in his neck, you whimpered, "No."
"'m not leavin' until you fall asleep again," he whispered into your hair.
"Then I'll never fall asleep again."
His hand found your head. "Scoot over. C'mon. Atta girl." Getting in beside you, Billy laid his head on your pillow, pulling you taut into his chest. Dragging the cast-aside blanket over your shoulders, he tucked your head under his chin and smoothed your spine with his fingers.
You knew what he was doing. This was his swan song, his final act of love. And as much as you fought it, your eyes were growing heavy, his motions pushing you right back into unconsciousness. He breathed, "I love you. Always will."
"I love you." It wasn't the way you wanted to tell him. Your words were pushed together as if you'd had too many drinks. But he smiled into your hair, let his lips linger there for a long time. It was the last thing you were aware of before slipping under, your dreams full of dread.
Every corner of your mind was darkened, abstract shapes rising from the darkness to scare you out of a place you couldn't escape. Every color stabbed at you, made a swipe for your sanity. Eyes flying open in a motion of panic, you heard a door shut downstairs.
Sitting up rapidly, you found the bed cold, empty. But someone was here. He hadn't left, that had only been a dream. Billy was downstairs right now, about to climb the stairs and come to you again. You leapt out of bed, finding your chemise on the ground and yanking it over your head. Determined not to wait a single second longer for him, you nearly tripped opening the door and flying down the stairs, eyes bright as you prepared to greet-
Your husband.
His brow furrowed as he set his travel bag down, looking you up and down. Your smile dropped like a fallen pin, eyes widening. Unconsciously you hid your left hand behind your back. No no no. Panic slithered into your chest and made a home, your body realizing it before you did. Tears spilled from your eyes, dripping down your cheeks before you could regulate them, and your knees met the floor.
To his credit, he came to you, arms finding their way around your body and reeling you in. There was dust from the desert powdering his clothes and staining both your skin and chemise. His hands were stiff against your back.
Billy lazily dragged a hand up your side, his eyes full of starlight. "My girl."
A choked sob escaped your lips as Billy's outline cracked, what was once reality losing its color until it was as stiff and unfeeling as the wedding picture on the front table.
If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.
Oh hey! Haven’t seen this in forever! Didn’t reblog it when it came across me before, not gonna skip it this time, I need some good vibes.
new uquiz omg. what kind of warmth are you? been working on this forever pls take it <3
your first column of emojis describes your personality! what’s yours?
Which season did you like most of Justified?
Season 1
Season 2
Season 3
Season 4
Season 5
Season 6
Omg hiii I hope you're well. I reaaally like your writing so here is my silly little ask.
You know the song 18 by Anarbor? Well that but with billy and 1870s version.
She's the daughter of some rich people who obviously disapprove of people like billy. They become friends, and soon become something... More. But billy is certain that she's only with him to piss off her parents and doesn't actually love him so he's a bit distressed (she is, obviously).
So, there's that! Thanks in advance xxx
I Know What You Want From Me
[fem reader] contains: slight manipulation, controlling parents, period pains pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: you get with billy as a way to get back at your parents author’s note: thank you anon <3 love this one Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist
Billy's careless good looks drew you to him first.
When you saw him out mending a fence on your parents' ranch, all sweaty and tall and broad, you instantly rushed to ask who he was. One of the staff told you he was helping your father out with a few things on the ranch; that his name was Billy. She didn't know much else, though.
You made the connection once she said his name. Billy the Kid. An outlaw for whom you'd seen wanted posters in the papers. The picture didn't do him justice at all in your opinion.
Even though he'd been described as dangerous, the man you saw rustling cattle didn't seem that way. He was quiet, you observed, speaking with the other ranch hands and your father when he came out to inspect their work, but mostly keeping to himself. The only scary thing about him was the gun on his hip, but that was a commonality amongst almost every man around here. Besides, would your father have let him on your property if he was a threat?
From afar you observed him for a week. He was a diligent worker. Your father was begrudgingly impressed by his quality, even though he wasn't fond of the fact that Billy had a history with the law. He wouldn't hire him on as a permanent ranch hand due to this, but Billy was as good as one. Even though your father insisted he was just "helping around".
Billy, from what you could see, was just a man trying to make an honest living. And you enjoyed watching him make an honest living. When he'd roll up his sleeves on a hot day and you'd catch a glimpse of his forearms you nearly went weak at the knees.
He made his way into your daydreams, sweeping you off your feet and doing unspeakable things to you. You dreamt of him climbing through your window in the middle of the night and pulling the covers back on your bed and climbing on top of you.
Out of sheer curiosity, you approached him one day when he was taking a break leaning against the same fence where you'd first seen him. He'd tipped his hat politely at you. "Ma'am."
You nearly swooned but composed yourself enough to keep talking to him. He'd looked at you interestedly as you spoke, engaging with you and taking his hat off so he could really look at you. Even though you'd approached him because you found him compelling, you found that you liked talking to him. He listened to you, really listened to you, and you felt like he actually cared about what you had to say. It was invigorating.
As the weeks passed, you continued to talk to him, and he gradually became more open to you. Billy told you things about his life; stories his late mother and where he'd been riding the past few years. You'd been worried at first that he'd only been being cordial to the daughter of his boss until he did start to tell you things.
Your father was less than enthusiastic about this new friendship, but he hardly said anything. His displeasure was shown through the way he'd call you away from talking to Billy, and the little comments he'd make about how much time you were spending with him now. His feelings were noted, but you didn't act on it.
"You're to go to the party at the Hamilton's place tomorrow evening," your father said one evening at dinner. Next to him, your mother nodded enthusiastically.
"Is there a reason?" you inquired, pushing food around your plate.
"Their son has shown an interest in you," your father responded casually.
"Oh." The Hamilton's son your age was odious to say the least. He had wandering hands and below the bare minimum of manners. You sat up straighter. "I don't know that I'm interested in him."
"You will be," was your father's simple answer. He folded his newspaper. "You've yet to find a suitable match, so I've arranged this one for you."
Furrowing your brow, you looked at your mother, who smiled. "This will be a good thing. It's very advantageous."
Immediately you shook your head. "But I don't want him to court me. I'm..." you tried to think of something. "I just..."
"We're a little past what you want," your father commented sharply. "If you wanted to choose you should have found someone ages ago. You've had every opportunity to do so."
His words were like a slap in the face. You hadn't chosen anyone because you hadn't found anyone to your liking. But had you known this was going to happen you would have gone with the first good enough man.
Standing up, you looked incredulously at your parents. "You never told me I was going to be arranged."
"It was obvious," your mother said dryly. "You really thought your father would let you pass three years without finding anybody? It's unthinkable, even for here out west."
Heart pounding, your breathing sped up. They were going to make you marry someone as awful as the Hamilton's son? All just to follow the pointless rules of high society's marriage mart? The only people who cared about things like that were those who'd come from elsewhere and settled. And those numbers were dwindling at best.
In your head you were screaming. But you couldn't do that on the outside too. So, you folded your napkin neatly and excused yourself with a calm voice.
The second you were out of the room you were tearing at your hair, terrified of what your future held. You were rapidly losing control. The tablecloth was pulled from underneath you, sending your porcelain life tumbling to the ground and shattering there.
You took yourself outside, trying to calm down and think logically. Just because they wanted the Hamilton boy to court you, didn't mean you had to marry him. But deep down inside you knew their mindset combined with your lack of action didn't make that idea promising.
Pacing back and forth across the porch, you looked out over the land for a distraction of any kind, your eyes landing on Billy, who was hauling lumber inside the barn. You were transfixed by him for a moment, by his strength, his build...he was the most beautiful man you'd ever seen in your life.
Before you knew it, your feet were moving, propelling you towards him. You had barely a thought in your mind, only pure want. The door was propped open, and you caught him halfway out, nearly knocking into him.
Holding your arms to steady you, he chuckled. "Hey." Then he noticed your look of distress, and his face fell. "Everythin' alright?"
Your chest was heaving, your hair windswept, your eyes wild. There was a rush of adrenaline as you looked up at him, taking in his rolled-up sleeves, his hot and sweaty skin, his hair curling and poking out from under his hat. And he cared. He cared whether or not you were okay.
In a split-second decision, you leaned up and kissed him suddenly, his lips warm and slightly chapped against yours. The kiss ended as quickly as it started, and you pulled back, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry-"
Billy shook his head, looking dazed. "It's okay. I..." he lifted one hand to rest on your cheek. Looking back and forth between your eyes, he moved forward and kissed you, really kissed you this time. His lips moved against yours, and you'd never been kissed like this before. Not even close.
Your impulses still driving you, you reached down to the button of his pants, unhooking it and slipping your hand down inside. He let out a surprised noise at the movement, his own hand going to your wrist. Against your lips, he muttered, "Honey. What're ya-"
Breaking the kiss, you fell to your knees in front of him, pushing him against the open barn door. There was nobody else around- all the other ranch hands went home earlier. Billy's hand went to your hair, brushing it out of your face and holding you there. "You...you..."
His lips parted and the prettiest sound fell from them, spurring you on. Billy looked down at you in amazement, trying to keep quiet since you were out in the open. He gritted his teeth. "Oh...baby..."
When you were done, he pulled you back up, kissing you determinedly. You felt invigorated by the feel of it, by everything you'd just done and the fact that you'd done it to him.
Your lips broke from his, and he kept his eyes closed for just a moment. When he opened them and you saw the bright blue coupled with the desire reflected there, you wanted to get on your knees for him all over again.
"Walk me back up?" you whispered, and he nodded, bending his elbow so you could slip your hand into the crook. There were no words exchanged between the two of you during the journey back up to the house; neither of you felt the need.
Once he had you in front of the porch steps, he lifted his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. "Is this...are we...?"
Aware your parents could be watching from the windows, you nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. If you want to be."
His eyes went hazy, and you knew he was thinking of you on your knees. "Yeah, honey, 'f course."
You heard a scuffle from behind the door of the house, and you pulled Billy by the handkerchief around his neck into you. Your lips met in a sloppy kiss, and he grunted against your mouth, but returned it. His hands found your waist, his big hands gripping you.
The front door swung open with a loud creak, and you looked up, pretending to be surprised when you saw your mother standing there, looking utterly shocked. You didn't pull away, not immediately anyways, kissing Billy on the cheek and softly whispering you'd see him tomorrow.
After he started to walk away, your mother grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up the steps, shutting the door behind you. Once you were inside the house, she hissed, "What are you playing at?"
Holding your chin high, you raised your eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That boy, that..." she searched for the right word. "That outlaw. This is unacceptable."
You pulled your arm away, tossing your head proudly. "He likes me. And I like him. What's the harm?"
"The harm is that he's trouble," she said harshly, folding her arms. "No respectable girl from a good family could ever be seen with the likes of him."
"But you'd rather me be seen with the Hamilton's son?" you gave her a betrayed look. "I'd rather die." Then you walked right past her, going up the stairs to your room and quietly shutting the door. What you'd said and done was childish, but you were past caring.
You had taken your control back.
In Billy's life, he hadn't considered himself to be very lucky.
He'd lost so much and had a tough time of it for the most part, and so he hadn't had terribly high hopes for this new town. His employer wasn't terribly fond of him but he paid very well, giving Billy incentive to stick around.
Well, the pay wasn't the only reason.
You had sprung into his life like a flower in the spring, an unexpected, but welcome surprise. He'd been cautious at first, of course. After all, you were his boss's daughter, and a very pretty girl. If he wasn't careful, he could get in trouble.
He liked listening to you though. And the more time he spent with you, the more he wanted to kiss you. You found your way into his dreams, with your pretty eyes and soft tone.
And after that day in the barn...well, you were in more than just that.
Billy never had a girl before, not really. He'd had little flings every now and then, but you were something special. After your first meeting he knew you were the kind of girl someone kept around. You were the girl men rode miles for, the girl they showed off. You were the girl someone like him only met once in a lifetime, if at all.
So he knew he had to hold onto you while he could.
The only qualm he had with the nature of the relationship was the fact that he was certain you were only with him to upset your parents.
He was upset with himself for having any qualms at all, thinking he should be grateful he even had a chance. How many outlaws, present and former, got the chance to even look at a girl so perfect?
But the thought tainted every kiss, every touch, every word. Whenever you were visiting with him while he was working and one of your parents was nearby you would pull him in for a kiss or lean into him more than you were previously. He'd oblige of course- he liked both holding and kissing you. But it was an underlying thing that filled him with dread.
To your credit, you did all the same things with him when you were alone. And that was really what kept him going. Those intimate moments when nobody else was around.
You with your head in his lap under a tree. Whispering to him how handsome he looked. Kissing him softly and smiling into it.
He would twirl your soft hair between his fingers, studying you in the sunlight as you laid side by side in the soft grass. "You're a wildflower, y'know?"
That brought a smile to your face. "The only flower people ever said I was like is a rose."
Billy paused, then smoothed his hand over your hair again. "Nah. You're as pretty as one. But you're a wildflower through and through. Beautiful, found in unexpected places. It suits ya."
His words made your cheeks rosy, and he reveled in the sight. His pretty girl. You settled closer to him, your fingers lazily dragging up and down his arm. "You always say the loveliest things to me. I hate that I'm not nearly as good with words. I wanna say something pretty back."
Heart fluttering, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his thumb rubbing your cheek. When he pulled back, he met your eyes. "You give me lots already, honey."
"Oh, like when I suck-"
"You hush," Billy pinched your cheek and you giggled, your laugh like a swan song. "No. I mean ya spend time with me. Let me love on ya.”
Smiling softly, you leaned into him, burrowing into his arms. He pressed a long kiss to your hair, rubbing your back gently. You murmured, “You’re terribly good to me. I don’t deserve it one bit.”
Billy shook his head, staring up at the sky. “You deserve it more than you think.”
Despite his worries about whether or not this was real, he couldn’t help his feelings. And he knew it was hard, having family who wished to dictate things such as who you wanted to be with.
Angelic and lovely, you looked up at him with baby doll eyes. He knew right at that moment that he could be patient. If you were only in it to make your parents mad, all he could do was be good to you and hope someday you would develop real feelings.
Still, he tried to keep his own at bay. Why should he let himself fall hard if he might turn out to be a pawn in a bigger game?
He kept this mindset until one day when he knocked on your door, and you let him in, saying your parents weren’t home. It was off to a good start, that you wanted to spend time alone.
“Whatcha doin’ pretty?” Billy asked, following you into the kitchen.
“Baking a cake,” you said simply, turning to your mixing bowl. “Wanna help?”
He did indeed want to help. “Tell me what to do.”
You directed him to crack eggs and stir batter and measure flour. It was such a domestic thing to do, and he enjoyed every second of it
When you put the cake in the oven, you accidentally touched the rack and exclaimed in pain, snatching your hand back.
Billy rushed to you, taking your burnt hand in his and inspecting the wound. He clicked his tongue. “Oh, sweetheart…” Lifting his eyes, he expected to see you upset, maybe even about to cry, and he readied his arms to comfort you.
But instead you were giggling, your uninsured hand coming to cover your mouth. “I’m so clumsy.”
The way you laughed and brushed off something painful was so endearing to him that he couldn’t help but crack a grin too. He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing the affected area. “You okay, baby?”
“Yeah,” you laughed, leaning your face into his shoulder and squeezing his hand. His heart thumped a steady beat, and he looked at you in awe.
And that’s when it hit him.
The realization itself was like a thunderbolt, but the feeling was not. The feeling had crept through the nooks of his heart and quietly made itself at home without him knowing. And now that he did, he wasn’t about to let it go.
Now he was even more determined to wait for you.
There was no way you didn’t at least feel a little bit of something. Not with the way you looked at him sometimes, the way your body naturally folded into his, the way you told him certain things like you’d never said them to anyone else.
So with that in mind he sat back and hoped it would grow.
Your parents were getting fed up, you could tell.
For the most part you tried to ignore it, reveling in their dissatisfaction. You were doing what you wanted for the first time in your life and they hated it.
It was a fun perk that Billy turned out to be the way he was.
The guilt you’d felt at first couldn’t be ignored. You’d tried to convince yourself that you were doing it for the right reasons, but every way around you came to the same conclusion: what you were doing was wrong.
He was so kind, so considerate and caring toward you. Every day you spent with him it was proved even more. Billy made you feel special. He made you feel…
You didn’t want to say it yet. A deep, dark monster inside you said you didn’t deserve that. And you believed it.
Then there was one evening when he came over and your parents were at a gathering in town. They’d originally planned to bring you, but a bad bout of monthly cramps had left you curled up in your bed.
You heard a knock and shakily stood up, smoothing your hair and trying to look presentable. Thinking it was one of the staff, you were disarmed when you saw Billy standing in your doorframe.
“Hey baby,” he smiled in a jaunty way that made you swoon. “They told me I could come up.”
A little smile came to your face. “Hi.” Another pain rippled through your body, and you were reminded of why you were home. “Now’s not the best time for me to go out.”
He looked concerned. “Everything okay? Ya feelin’ alright?”
Hesitant to tell him, you blushed. You hated even telling your mother about your monthly.
Noting your embarrassment, Billy took your hand, squeezing it lightly. “It’s okay, pretty. You can tell me if ya want.”
His eyes were so kind. You’d always found comfort in the deep blue of them. And so surprisingly, you found what you hadn't wanted to tell him spilling out of you.
“I’m…I’m on my monthly and it hurts,” you said softly, looking down. Expecting him to be disgusted and recoil, you bit the side of your cheek.
Instead, Billy cooed sympathetically, holding out his arms and bringing you into him. Your head fell against his chest, the warmth of it easing your pained mind. He pulled you in so naturally, wholly unaware of how much it meant to you.
“Oh, my girl,” he murmured, kissing your hair. “‘M sorry, honey.”
His big arms were so comforting around you, and you murmured, “It hurts.” You’d already said that, but it was all your mind could focus on.
“I know, I know, sweet girl,” he rubbed your back and rested his chin on your head. “You wanna lie down? I can go-“
“No!” you shook your head, holding onto him tighter. “I mean…would you stay?” Holding your breath in anticipation, you were stunned by how easily he answered.
“‘f course, sweetie,” he guided you over to the bed, helping you lay down, and kicking off his boots before settling next to you. “D’ya want me to ask if someone can make ya some tea? Somethin’ nice?”
It sounded wonderful in the moment. “Please.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he murmured, kissing your forehead before standing up. He was only gone for a few minutes, and when he came back he got right back in with you.
Billy held you so comfortably that you nearly cried. He reached a hand around your body, settling his gentle palm on your lower belly. “This feel alright?”
It felt wonderful. The warmth of him against you eased the ache of your back and abdomen. “Yes. Oh yes.” You squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”
“‘s no problem. Can’t have m’ baby hurtin’,” Billy brushed the fingers of his other hand through your hair soothingly. “You relax, honey. Lemme help ya feel better.”
You nearly burst into tears at how nice he was being. There wasn’t a time in your life when you could remember feeling this cared for, this…
Loved.
That familiar guilt overwhelmed you as your own feeling consumed you. Love. You loved him. And you didn’t know how you’d ever felt anything other than that toward him.
Billy had shown you how it was supposed to be. Love did not take sides or favors. Love was a strange thing. It gave you wings, made you feel more alive than ever. Even here lying in your bed in pain it invigorated you.
Suddenly you wanted to tell him everything. You wanted to apologize over and over for how you’d used him at first, but then tell him you loved him. As many times as he needed to hear to believe you.
For now you tried to focus on getting over your cramps. You would gather your bearings and then find some way to confess. To bare your soul to someone you selfishly never expected to feel this way towards.
It was at the forefront of your mind for the next while. You were nervous about your feelings. There had never been a time in your life when you’d felt this way.
Normally while he was working on the ranch you’d go down and kiss him or make a big show of throwing your arms around him where one of your parents could see. But now you didn’t feel motivated to display yourself like that.
Instead you’d pull him in the barn, or behind the house and kiss him shyly. Even though you’d done a whole lot more than that, now that you’d realized certain feelings.
Your guilt held you back. You shouldn’t have dragged him into this. But you also knew that initially going in, you couldn’t honestly say that you had no feelings for him.
This was on your mind at dinner one night, when something your mother said cause you to snap out of your daze.
“You’re not to see that boy again.”
Brow furrowing, you looked between your parents, trying to determine if it was real. “What?”
“You’ve had your fun,” she said firmly. “But this little phase is over.”
“It’s not a phase,” you said quietly, and it empowered you that it was true. “I care about him.”
“Our image has suffered enough from your recklessness,” your father cut in as he cut his steak. “You denied the perfectly good match we made for you all to parade around town with an outlaw.”
He said the word as if it were dirty, and your mother agreed. “Unthinkable. The Hamilton’s boy was well connected, had a good inheritance-“
“Please stop.” Your lip was nearly bleeding from biting on it. “I don’t want to stop seeing Billy. He’s not what you think.”
“A man who’s wanted in several counties,” your father scoffed and you felt annoyance simmer. “I highly doubt it.”
“Daddy, you hired him,” you protested in disbelief. “He’s a good worker. You’ve said he’s a good worker.”
“Just because he can haul a few hay bales he’s a good person?” your mother laughed. “That doesn’t make him appropriate for you.”
“I’m not going to stop seeing Billy,” you shook your head, your heart beating faster in fear as you saw your words take in your parents’ minds.
They both stared at you, and you shrunk under their eyes. You folded your arms over yourself. “I-“
“Unacceptable,” your father said sharply. “After all we’ve done for you, I can’t understand how you could be so ungrateful.”
“Daddy-" you tried, your voice choking.
“End it.” His words were final. He promptly got up from the dinner table, and you heard the door to his office slam a few minutes later. Your mother gave you a cold look and left as well.
Sitting in the dining room, all you felt was panic. Your chest was constricting, and you were desperately trying to fill your lungs with air. Hot tears pricked at your eyes, and you put a shaky hand on your heart as if that would steady the rapid beating.
Knees wobbling, you stood, nearly knocking your chair backwards. Your feet somehow carried you to the front porch, where you stumbled forward and grasped the pole by the steps. It was like a lifeline in a storm. There, you dissolved into tears, your body shaking as you gripped the pole like it was your savior.
The very idea of ending things with Billy just when you were realizing how much you cared about him, how much you needed him...it made you hysterical. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop your tears and failing miserably.
"Sweetheart?"
You looked up, eyes widening. Billy was standing in front of you looking concerned. He took a step towards you and instantly you were running to him, collapsing into his arms.
"Baby, baby," he breathed, trying to steady you. "Hey, why don't you take some deep breaths f' me? C'mon, just follow mine. Count 'em. In, out. You can do it." His chest rose and fell against your body, and you matched him the best you could through your unsteady breaths. You loved him all the more for not trying to fix it right away.
"There ya go...that's m' girl," he praised, smoothing your hair as you became steadier. "Good... keep breathin', honey. You're doin' so good."
Pulling your face away from his chest, you grasped at the collar of his shirt. "I...I need...to tell you something..."
"You can tell me anythin' ya want," he promised, rubbing your back. "But I don't want ya to be all worked up when ya do. We got all night, sweet girl. Just breathe."
Billy's words worked wonders on you, and you started to gradually calm down. He guided you through it, easing you into steady breathing before he let you tell him what was on your mind.
"My parents want me to end it with you," you said softly, tugging on his shirt collar. "They told me tonight...I..."
His face was solemn, but he nodded. "I understand."
"But I don't want to," you breathed, a fresh wave of tears falling down your face.
Billy's brow was knitted. "Why not?" It was almost like he was expecting you to break it off; like he'd been anticipating it.
You took in a deep breath. "Billy...I did a bad thing when I first kissed you. I was angry at my parents for trying to control me and I knew it would make them angry too. But..." you took his face in your hands. "It would be wrong of me to say I never cared about you. I've wanted to tell you for weeks. I...I love you."
Frozen for a second, Billy stared at you. Then he bowed his head slightly. "Ya love me?"
"How could I not?" you breathed.
There was hardly half a second between his words and him scooping you up into his arms and holding you close, one arm under your bottom to hold you up and the other at the back of your head. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed the spot where his face was buried in your neck. "I love you. I love you, I love you, my wildflower. Been waitin' on ya but it was all worth it."
"You love me," you murmured, testing it out. Of course, it felt wonderful on your tongue.
"I love you." Billy pulled back and kissed you tenderly, then pressed equally soft kisses to your nose and your cheeks.
"You're not angry with me?" you asked in disbelief. Based on your past experiences with wrongdoing you thought he'd leave, hold a grudge, curse you out. But he'd instead held you the way you needed and told you he loved you.
"Baby, everything you told me," he breathed a laugh, nudging his nose against his. "I knew."
"You-" you closed your eyes for a second. "That must have been awful, I'm so sorry-"
"All forgiven a long, long time ago," Billy assured you, his lips on your forehead now. "I love you. Ain't nothin' or no one gonna change that. You're wonderful in every possible way. I'd be a fool to let go of ya."
Laughing once in disbelief, shock, and delight, you threw your arms around his neck, kissing him sweetly.
The two of you were right back on the porch of your parents' house, but this time you weren't kissing him so someone would see. No, you thought. I'm kissing him for me.
can someone edit that s2pt2 billy to brutal by Olivia Rodrigo where it starts with the scene where he kills buckshot and then after he shoots him it goes the “I want it to be like messy” then edit commences
any scene in justified where tim wears a baseball hat backwards reblog if you agree
I've seen this post floating around many Facebook groups for the last few months, and I cannot stress how angry it makes me. Because it is 100% bullshit.
The topic of owners who don't feel able to stay with their pets at the end of their lives for whatever reason is a hot one, and some people will insist there is no excuse for not being present - but there are many reason, not least trauma, phobia, PTSD from previous losses, etc. It is no one's place to judge someone's personal capabilities. And I absolutely reject the suggestion that 90% of owners do not stay with their pet - that is absolutely false.
What upsets me most about this post is the suggestion that animals are "frantic" during their last moments, and that us as veterinary staff would allow this to be the case. Yes, some animals are distressed to be apart from their owners. But those animals are never briskly put down in a state of panic. My colleagues and I go to great lengths to make all of our patients as comfortable and peaceful as possible at the end. Animals without owners are given as many hugs, treats, kind words, love and care as any other. I cannot count how many dogs and cats I have held in my arms and spoken calming words to as they passed. I have had a dog collapse on me because I held him up so he could bury his nose in a treat jar as the drugs were injected. To suggest that we would EVER allow an animal to pass whilst "frantically looking around" is deeply insulting.
Please, if you read any posts like this, do not believe them. Veterinary staff have enough problems with mental health and abuse without this untrue bullshit being floated around.
I just really needed to get this off my chest.
tom blyth photographed by mathias goldstein (2021)


