[tencrushesperday]

i think i like hockey so much bc it hasn’t been ruined by real life men

i discovered hockey through a romance book and got into the hockey community through amazing girls on this app

and sure male hockey fans online are a pain in the ass but i can chose to not interact with them

BUT FOOTBALL i hate the fucking thing, what happened in paris last night was honestly horrific and speaks volumes about how men are just brutes and brainless animals

[tencrushesperday]

i’m at the end of season 4 of prison break WTF just happened ?

i don’t remember this being a fantasy show but people keep coming back from the dead

[tencrushesperday]

EVEN IN ARCADIA JUST DROPPED PLEASE IM IN SHAMBLES OMGGGGGGG DANGEROUS ??????? LOOK TO WINDWRD ????? IM GOING INSANE

please going insane over dangerous this song will be on repeat for the next three weeks

[rowdydevs-nhl]

Stolie fingering you to tears in front of a mirror

I joined these all together 💕🤭 thank you so much for your ask. If I didn't give you what you were looking for just let me know 😘

pic credit | @chicopetite

+18 -> celebratory sex with stolie after game 6

𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓻𝔃 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

1.6K

c/w: pet names, swearing, fingering, overstim., choking, dirty talk, rough sex, mirror sex, squirting, cum play, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, teasing, please let me know if I missed anything

Ding.

The elevator glides open. “Anthony!” you gasp as he lifts you into his chest, arms locked under your thighs like he couldn’t wait one more second.

He doesn’t say a word. Just strides down the hallway, as his mouth brushes your neck. You cling to him, laughing softly against his ear. “Fuck, baby. That was sweet.”

“Good game, huh?” He grins against your skin. “I did alright…”

You chuckle again and sigh as he baits you for the praise you are ready and waiting to give as you nuzzle closer. “Twenty saves? You were unreal.” That earns a low groan from deep in his chest, his grip tightening.

“Yeah?” he mutters. “Say it again.”

“You were locked in. Confident. So damn good. I love watching you.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and we’re not makin’ it to the room.” His eyes fall to your lips, watching a sinful smile pulls across them.

“You’d fuck me right here—”

“I’d fuck you anywhere,” he cuts in fast.

You lean in for a kiss, teasing him with every word as you say, “You won the round. And now—”

“I get the girl. Damn right I do.” Stolie answers for you as he shifts you in his arms, swipes the keycard, and kicks the hotel door shut behind you—never letting you go.

Then he’s on you, clothes disappearing between rough kisses. His mouth crashes into yours, hard and hungry, like it’s all he wants. The wall hits your back hard enough to knock the air out of you.

“Baby,” you moan as his lips trail lower, “I need you—”

“You need me?” He taunts, dark and breathless, his mouth hot on your collarbone. “Been waiting all goddamn day to hear that.” His fingers find their way between your thighs, thick and skilled, circling and swirling your aching clit. “You’re soaked, honey. That for me?”

“All for you,” you breathe. “Told you—I love watching you.”

Anthony groans, pushing two fingers inside you, slow and deep, stretching you wide. You claw at his sweatshirt, desperate for skin, and he shrugs it off fast, tugging it over his head before pinning you to the wall again.

He strips off the rest like he’s in a race, not wasting a second before pressing his bare body to yours. One big hand grabs your jaw hard, moving you exactly where he wants you, taking a seat on the edge of the bed before pulling you on his lap.

Your breath catches as your back hits his chest, Anthony size wrapping around you like a blanket. His hands roam—one cupping your breast, the other sliding down to tease you again.

He pushes his fingers back inside, watching how your body responds—lips parting, thighs widening with every push. “You’re so damn perfect,” he groans as he kisses your jaw; fingers working you open.

You watch him with lust-dazed eyes as he plays with you, his wet digits dipping in your soaked pussy while the other twists and teases your nipple.

He forces your chin to turn toward him, planting sloppy kisses on your parted lips as you whimper that, ‘you’re close’.

“Shit… You gonna cum for me, baby—Already?”

“Just like that,” you whimper as his fingers work you just right, making your nails claw into his skin.

“Just like that, huh? M’havin’ a good night, baby… Let me have it—” You fall apart in his arms; body writhing in pleasure but he squeezes you tighter, working you quicker and harder as tears gloss in your eyes.

His palm claps against your wet skin, working you at an insane pace. “Anth—Anthony please,” you stammer. He slaps your pussy, making the tears weep down your cheeks as you look back at him in the reflection of the mirror with a pouty lip.

“What, baby? Looks like you want somethin’,” he taunts; his smirk half-hidden as he presses a kiss on your temple. Your muscles jump as his fingers continue to play with you, Stolie’s thick cock standing straight, throbbing between your thighs, a mess with pre cum.

“Fuck me,” you breathe as you wrap your fingers around him, stroking him slowly.

“I think about this all the time,” he rasps. “You. This fuckin’ body. Taking every inch like it’s nothin’.”

“Then let me—” You whimper pathetically as your bottom lip quivers; Anthony quickly pinches your puffy clit between his fingers. His fingers glide through your arousal, pushing inside again, robbing you of his cock for a moment, curling his digits just right.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out as you watch your reflection in the mirror: Anthony’s pounding into you while tears stream down your cheeks, chest rising and falling like you just ran a marathon and he hasn’t even gotten started yet.

“Cryin’, baby?” He asks, with fake care as he kisses your wet cheek. “You must really want it.”

“I do,” you barely press the words out.

He grabs his cock in his fist, slapping it against your tummy. Your stomach flutters as you see just how big he truly is, tapping just above your belly button.

Stolie grabs your hips, lifting you off his lap with ease, before holding his dick in his hand, letting you sink down on him inch by inch. “Fuck, baby,” he moans, his hazy blue eyes fluttering shut, like he forgot how good you feel.

You take him all—your breath held—as he looks back at you in disbelief, pressing his big palm against your tummy, feeling himself inside.

You start to get your footing again, circling your hips nice and slow. He chuckles sleazily, your wetness squelching with each grind, giving up control for the moment.

Your arousal sheens on his hard cock as he lifts you, his big biceps flexing; blue eyes locked on the place where the two of you meet. Your first orgasm leaves a pearly ring around his thick base, rolling messily down his balls.

Your eyes widen as he pulls you down, bouncing you on his cock, the mattress aiding his efforts as he uses your pussy like a toy. You clamp your hand over your mouth, dampening your cries but he grabs your arms, pinning them around your body, holding you in place as he peers out from the crook of your neck, rutting into you again and again.

“Wanna hear you—” He mumbles through heavy breaths. “Don’t care where we are. Let ‘em know who makes you feel this good.”

Your third orgasm creeps up uncontrollably as Anthony’s name bubbles out of your throat in a fucked-out cry. Your pussy gushes around him, wetting his lap as he fucks you through it.

You barely recognize the women in the mirror, eyes fighting to stay open, the pair of you dripping sweat. “Holy shit,” he grunts. “You feel—fuck. Unreal.”

He lifts you off his lap, bringing you even closer to the mirror, not even pulling out, leaving your fingers clawing at the ornate edges.

“Still with me baby?” He asks through a breathless laugh as he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, making the mirror rattle.

You nod, cock-drunk and high off your orgasms, your body like putty in his big hands as your eyes flutter shut.

“Words, honey,” he hums as he rocks his hips, his long cock dragging in and out.

“I’m with you… Feels so good—”

“Eyes on me,” he smiles. “Want you to watch how good you take it.” Your eyelashes lift but your vision blurs with every thrust, every filthy word whispered in your ear. “God, listen to you,” he groans. “You love this. Love getting split open, don’t you?”

You nod, helpless, thighs trembling as his fingers find your clit, circling fast. “Cum for me—” You break apart with a cry, body fluttering around him, pussy squeezing him tight. Anthony fucks you through it, relentless, chasing his own release with a snarl.

Your trembling legs give way but he pulls you upright, flush against his chest, with a hand around your throat. “One more,” he murmurs. “Gonna be a good girl and give me one more?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“How many, now? Three?” He mumbles.

“Five,” you gasp as he adds his fingers as well.

“I’m just showin’ off now, huh?” He mumbles against your skin as your orgasm sparks, coursing through your veins; your heavy eyes screwing shut.

Every stroke’s fueled by the rush of the win, the high of your praise, the possessive, frantic way he wants you. Anthony groans into your shoulder as he spills deep inside you, thick and hot.

Then—silence. Just your uneven breaths clashing as his warm cum drips down your trembling thigh.

You bite your lip as he pulls out, cock dragging through the mess between your legs in the mirror’s reflection. He watches it, strokes himself slowly, gathering every drop of your shared release—before pushing back into you again.

Your head falls between your shoulders, hands still gripping the edges of the mirror for dear life as he presses soothing kisses on your skin.

He holds you there, still buried deep, both of you glistening and breathless. In the mirror, you glance up at him still smiling through it all before he pulls you back into a hug.

Anthony lets out a smug little laugh against your shoulder as his hands glide over your body like he owns it. His mouth finds your neck, lips dragging slow. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, cocky and breathless. “Still smilin’ like I didn’t just fuck you breathless right here.” He grins as he kisses your jaw, palm sliding down to your thigh. “Best part of my night. No contest.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still grinning too. And the way he’s holding you—like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be—you don’t doubt him for a moment.

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

lol ɯɐǝɹp lɹıɓ ɐ ʇǝ˥ ˙ʇou sdɐɥɹǝԀ …pǝɹ ʇou puɐ ǝnlq pǝǝpuı ǝɔuıʌoɹd ǝɥʇ ɓuıɯɹıɟuoɔ 'oıɹɐʇuO ɟo ǝlʇʇɐq ǝɥʇ uı suǝS ǝɥʇ ʇsuıɐɓɐ sɟɟoʎɐld ǝɥʇ ɟo punoɹ ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ uı 9 ǝɯɐɓ ɓuıuuıʍ puɐ ǝsɹnɔ ǝɥʇ ɓuıʞɐǝɹq doʇ plnoʍ uıʍ-ʇsod ɹoɹɹıɯ ɥʇɓuǝl-ɹoolɟ ɐ ɟo ʇuoɹɟ uı ɹǝpɐǝɹ ǝɥʇ ɓuıɓuɐq ǝʞıl lǝǝɟ plnoʍ ǝıloʇS ʇɐɥʇ ʞuıɥʇ I op 'ǝɯ ɹoɟ sǝɯoɔ ǝuoʎuɐ ǝɹoɟǝᙠ

[tencrushesperday]

this is how i find out that the leafs finally won the 1st round 💀

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

Part Two

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

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

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254

@secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

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

azriel tag list 🫶🏻:@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder  @mortqlprojections @ushijima-stits @honethatty12

[tencrushesperday]

i’ve been putting this series off for so long BC I KNEW IT WOULD BE A MASTERPIECE AND I NEEDED TO BE IN THE RIGHT MINDSET TO FULLY APPRECIATE AND GOD DO I APPRECIATE ITTTTTTT

[tencrushesperday]

started watching a few rally highlights on yt found 2 cute drivers am i about to be obsessed ?

[ilyasorokinn]

just saw someone on twitter (refuse to call it x) try to say that auston matthews is hotter than nico…

[tencrushesperday]

and this is why prescription glasses should be free all around the world

[tencrushesperday]

i didn’t know the substance was a horror movie 🧍‍♀️🙂

[trans1oa]

[NICO] after the game against the canes 27.12.2024

[surielstea]

Undercover Affection

Based on a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

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

Warnings: none (that I know of)

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

7.9k word count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhys's lips twitched. "Newlyweds."

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

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

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

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

"Rhys," Azriel growled, low and lethal.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, barely perceptibly.

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

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

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

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

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

Your mate.

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

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

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

Mate.

And he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, the words caught in your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But—"

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

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

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

"How do we approach her without raising suspicion?"

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

"And if something goes wrong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game has begun.

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Az."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you took the choice away and kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Continued drabble here!

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[tencrushesperday]

THE GOOSEBUMPS WERE REAAAAAL

i was y/n for a sec there letting out breaths i didnt know i was holding every now and then

[kymawrites]

Love Heals

a/n: a request for some angsty hurt/comfort! (my fav)

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: language, canon-typical violence (torture/kidnapping), trauma-induced anxiety/flashbacks

word count: 8.6k

synopsis: Your first solo mission goes terribly wrong after you failed to heed Azriel's warnings. That doesn't stop him from saving you, and it certainly doesn't stop him from caring for you in the aftermath. You're convinced you don't deserve him, but that doesn't stop you from wanting him.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

“Tell me you aren’t actually going.”

You closed your eyes, taking in a breath before replying, “It’s not your decision, Azriel.”

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you to a halt. The faelights in the hall flickered around you, casting his face in shadow. His irritatingly beautiful face, that normally had warm hazel eyes and soft smiles directed at you. Now, his eyes were icy, and his face was pulled into a hard scowl, and you found yourself wanting to be anywhere but there. You pulled your wrist away, anger flaring in your chest. “I have to pack,” you huffed, turning back around to continue toward your room.

“You cannot be that stupid.”

The audacity of this male. A sarcastic laugh fell from your lips. “Well, you were the one who trained me.”

“Y/N,” Azriel growled.

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the twitching of his wings and his fists clenched tight at his sides. He was always so composed, so calm, that it was jarring to see him like this. He was brimming with tension and anger. Half of you wanted to comfort him, to calm him down, but the other half of you couldn’t fathom why he was the one who was angry right now. “I’m not letting you take this from me,” you told him quietly.

“You aren’t ready.”

“Like I wasn’t ready for reconnaissance in Autumn?” You threw back, your voice echoing down the hall. “Or in Spring? Or a trip to Hewn City?” Your own anger was quickly bubbling to the surface, blurring out your feelings for the male and solidifying your decision to go on this mission.

Azriel’s mouth fell shut, a flicker of surprise, and then guilt, crossing his face.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “I know about those. I know you are the one that told Rhys I couldn’t handle it. But this time, Rhys came to me, and I said yes. You don’t get to decide this time.” It wasn’t entirely truthful, but you wanted your words to stick. You wanted him to feel guilty, to regret keeping you from the field. 

You had been training for a year, and while you had started later than the others, you would like to think you had proved yourself. You had proved yourself. Azriel wouldn’t have agreed to train you as a spy if you hadn’t, but now he wanted to be difficult, to delay your transition into the field without any real explanation, and you were tired of it.

“It’s too dangerous,” he tried again, voice quieter but still hard with anger.

“Everything we do is dangerous,” you said, exasperation making your voice heavy. “It’s our job. It’s what I signed up for. You made sure I knew that on day one.”

“It’s an Illyrian rebel camp, and you are going in alone—”

“I’m not going inside the camp,” you cut him off. “I’m spying. The whole point is to stay undetected, like you trained me.”

“You are just a priestess.”

His words made your heart drop, a buried insecurity once again unearthed. “Right,” you whispered, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because that’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it? The broken and bloody priestess you carried out of Cesere.”

The regret was clear on his face as he said softly, “I didn’t mean that.”

An ache spread from your core to your bones as his words rang through your head. The two of you had grown undeniably close over the last year. You knew that your feelings were morphing into much more complicated ones for the shadowsinger, and you had convinced yourself that he might see you in the same way—or, at the very least, he respected you as a friend and as a spy. 

Everytime he touched you, or even spoke to you, a swarm of butterflies erupted inside you. Now, those butterflies were dead, and lying heavy in your stomach.

Something akin to desperation pulled taught in your chest, making your breath falter, but you ignored the strange feeling and you swallowed your hurt. “You did,” you said quietly. It had been a long time since you worried that Azriel still saw you as the pitiful priestess in distress, but now those worries were back ten-fold, they were confirmed, and you felt sick.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” you bit out. “I’m going on this mission.”

~ ~ ~

You lost track of how many drops of water had dripped against the stone beneath you. You were fighting to stay awake, but you couldn’t remember when you stopped counting. The steady dripping was like a sword against stone at this point, after spending endless hours tied up in this cave, with the drops and the skittering of rodents the only sounds to keep you company.

You tried to refocus on the dripping again, but the light echoing of every drop was like an anvil against your head. The rhythm of the drops seemed to be off too, as if they were competing with one another to fall. You dragged your gaze up to your wrist hung over your head, rough rope rubbing the skin raw, and a trail of blood trickling down your arm, onto your shoulder, and likely onto the stone below. The competing drops, most likely.

Azriel was right. You were just a priestess, who decided she wanted to play spy, and ran headfirst into danger to impress her High Lord. Rhys had tried to dissuade you from the mission, too, which you failed to share with Azriel. Rhys had asked you a research question, and when you probed him for more information, you pushed him to send you on this mission until he acquiesced. Convinced him that your knowledge of Illyrian culture and folklore (an embarrassing and inexplicable research obsession you garnered after Azriel rescued you) made you the best person to go on this mission, next to an actual Illyrian. You were tiny, and would be able to slip in and out of places with ease, and you would be able to recognize any abnormal practices in the camp. You would know where to hide, when to move, how to stay hidden and collect the intel Rhys needed.

You weren’t sure how they found you. You had barely stepped a foot inside their territory, only just finding your first scouting position, when a male plowed into you from your perch in a pine tree, knocking you flat on your back into the snow. Two more males had materialized from the shadows, and dragged you through the bitter cold snow until you reached this cave, deep in the Illyrian Steppes. 

You were freezing by the time you reached the cave, and your body was shivering relentlessly from the damp and cold clothes plastered to your body. What you would do for those clothes now, as you hung from your arms, your chest and legs bare, save for the scrap of underwear they had left intact. You hoped you died before they removed it.

You were certain your leg was broken—shattered, most likely. You had lost feeling in it awhile ago, but you had no way of truly knowing how much time had passed. Your head was pounding, and it felt like sand was sloshing around inside it with every movement you made. Your body was painted with dried and fresh blood, thanks to the fresh cuts they added every so often.

This was the longest they had left you alone. Every second that passed by filled you with more trepidation. You kept waiting for them to cross another line, to finally finish you off, to realize you weren’t going to tell them anything and to just get rid of you.

Your body was so heavy. You had long ago given up on holding yourself up, to try to alleviate the pressure of the ropes on your wrists. Your ankles were bound too, and your toes barely grazed the stone beneath you as you slowly swayed back and forth. 

You flinched as something brushed against your ankle, a chill instantly going up your spine. Mother only knew what was in these caves, what was waiting to feast on your carcass.

Your vision started to swim again, the rocks before you tilting as consciousness finally abandoned you.

~ ~ ~

You awoke in a panic, your body all too aware that someone was there, and they were touching you. Adrenaline took over your body as you thrashed and screamed, refusing to just lie there and make it easy for them.

Hands cupped your cheeks, and your eyes snapped shut as their fingers slipped through the mixture of tears and blood on your skin. “Sweetheart,” the male said, and the breath whooshed from your lungs. You knew that voice.

“Y/N, it’s me. It’s Azriel.”

“No,” you sobbed, refusing to give into whatever cruel hallucination your mind had cooked up. They must have drugged you while you were unconscious, pumped you full of Mother only knew what.

He brushed the hair from your face, and your mind was screaming at you to give in, to let yourself have this final moment of peace, with the male you loved and would never get to see again. Your fear was too powerful, though, your last shred of hope that you could survive this too potent.

Another set of hands were at your wrist, their touch like acid in your wounds. You screamed as they pulled at you, the rope rubbing against your raw wrists. You were so desperate, desperate to do anything to make them leave you alone. Your screams turned to sobs, and suddenly your body was falling forward, and your arm fell to your side. The male caught you before you could hit the ground, your body going limp against his. He smelled like cedar, and salt, and for a moment you found yourself relaxing in the comforting scent.

Your other arm soon fell to your side too, and your hands burned as the blood rushed back into your fingers. “Y/N,” he murmured, brushing your hair back gently. “Open your eyes. Please.”

A comforting warmth flooded your chest, and your eyes slowly fluttered open. A blurry Azriel was holding you up, his face mere inches from yours. A heavy fabric was draped over your shoulders, making you flinch away from whoever stood behind you, but that only pushed you further into the other male’s arms.

“It’s okay,” he cooed. “It's just Cassian. You’re freezing, love.”

You hadn’t noticed the shivers racking your body until then. Black wisps brushed your face and neck, and their familiar touch made you crumple.

“Azriel?” you sobbed, body limp in his arms as you looked up at him.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. It’s me. You’re safe now, I promise.”

He pulled the cape Cassian had draped over you around your shoulders, effectively covering your bare body.

A million things were rushing through your head, a million things you wanted to tell him, but all that you could get out was a sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said, voice firm.

“I should have listened—”

Azriel shushed you, his finger gently stroking your face. “Stop. This wasn’t your fault,” he repeated softly.

Panic seized you as you realized you were just sitting here, waiting for those males to come back. “Those males—”

“Rhys has them,” Cassian answered, his voice dangerously low. “We’ll take care of them.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened. “Take her home,” he told Cassian, voice dipped in lethal rage. You immediately tensed. “Madja is waiting.”

“No,” Cassian said, and relief flooded you. As much you trusted Cassian, you couldn’t fathom another male touching you, carrying you all the way back to Velaris. Azriel was…He was the exception. His touch made you feel whole, and safe. He was your anchor. But the thought of anyone else made bile rise in your throat.

“Excuse me?” Azriel growled, his chest rumbling beneath where your head had lolled.

“No,” Cassian repeated. His voice was a little warped, and your head was growing heavy. “You take her home. Rhys and I will handle those males.”

“They deserve—“

“I know,” Cassian placated. “I know they do.” His voice was so far away now. Adrenaline had abandoned you, and you were in Azriel’s warm arms, and your exhaustion was slowly stealing you away.

“You need to take her home,” you thought he said, but it was so difficult to focus, to be certain that your reality was not meshing with your dreams. “Go home, and take care of your mate.” A dream, then.

~ ~ ~

You were certain your skin was melting from your bones when you awoke. Your scream that filled the room sent a chill through your core, a direct contrast with the scalding of your skin. You couldn’t understand where you were, who was touching you. Everything was mush, and pain, and terror. Your brain had tricked you, fooled you into a false sense of relief by showing you Azriel, and then yanked him away. You were still in that cave, still a captive to those sadistic males.

Except the hand on your forehead was far too small and delicate to belong to one of those brutes. Their skin was soft and cool against your own, and gently forced your head to lay back, cold porcelain meeting your neck. “You’re in Velaris. In the House of Wind,” a delicate voice murmured. Female. The voice was female. “You are safe,” she cooed, and your terror slowly abated, dulling into a sickening anxiety that left you trembling.

You slowly realized you were in a bath, the water a murky green color that continuously flooded the wounds littered across your body.o Every movement you made sent the water sloshing against your skin, and you forced yourself to stay still as you met the female’s eyes. Madja.

Your eyes stung as you stared at the familiar healer, whose ministrations and focus did not falter. “Madja?” you croaked, your throat raw and sore.

“Yes, dear,” she affirmed gently, lifting your arm from the water to probe at your inflamed and oozing wrist.

“Where is Azriel?” you practically whimpered.

“He’s just outside.”

“I need him.”

She glanced at you. “You are not dressed, love. He did not want—”

“Please,” you begged. “I need him. Please get Azriel.” Your volume rose steadily as you yelled desperately, another flare of pain searing through you, “I want Azriel!”

“I’m right here.”

Your eyes darted behind Madja, Azriel standing there in the doorway. His eyes were pained as he took you in, and your body went limp as soon as you saw him. A sob broke free from your mouth, your body shuddering uncontrollably.

He immediately rounded to the other side of the tub, crouching down next to you.

“Shadowsinger,” Madja warned.

“Can I touch her?” he asked, voice cracking. You whimpered through your sobs as she pressed a balm against the wounds circling your wrist.

“Just her face,” she relented.

Azriel’s hand immediately cupped your cheek, and you leaned heavily against him. “It hurts,” you whimpered, eyes falling shut.

“I know,” he murmured. “It will be better soon.”

You sniffed, hesitantly meeting his eyes again. His normally bright hazel eyes seemed muted, exhaustion and worry dulling them. “Is this real?” you whispered, voice so small and vulnerable. You wanted to curl up in a ball, and hide away forever. You wanted to erase these last few days from your memory, or however long you were strung up in that cave. You wanted to go back and listen to Azriel, to not let your pride and anger push you into something so rash.

“Yes,” he assured, his voice soft and gentle. He brushed some hair behind your ear, the strands damp and clinging to your face. He glanced at Madja, then picked up a cloth hanging over the side of the tub. He dunked it in the water then ringed it out, before gently bringing it up to your face. “This will sting a bit,” he warned softly, then dragged the cloth across your forehead.

It did sting, but the discomfort was drowned out by the excruciating burns that consumed the rest of your body fully submerged in the water. You sucked in a breath as he brushed over a tender part of your forehead, and he murmured soft apologies as he continued cleaning it. You could only imagine how you looked at that moment, how disheveled and broken you must have been. Just like that horrid night in Cesere.

“I’m sorry you had to save me again.”

Azriel froze, his eyes wide as they met yours. “Why–” he spluttered, then shook his head. “I will always come for you,” he promised, his voice a bit desperate. “Why would you think—”

“I should have listened to you,” you rasped, chest heavy with guilt and shame.

“Shadowsinger,” Madja cut in, preventing Azriel from answering you. “Keep her calm,” she scolded. “And hold her hand now. This is going to be painful.”

Your stomach lurched, and you looked at Azriel in panic. He dropped the cloth in the water, then gently picked up your hand, wrapping it in both of his. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured, squeezing lightly. “I’m right here, okay?”

Madja coaxed you to sit forward, the water falling from around you as your shoulders broke through the surface. She held you up with one hand on your collarbone, and Azriel went rigid as he stared at your bare back.

“What is it?” you asked quietly, fear running through you. His eyes snapped toward yours, immediately softening.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the top of your hand, careful to avoid your injured wrist. “Madja is going to take care of you. Don’t worry.”

Madja held a purple vial in her free hand, and she gave no warning before pouring its contents over your back. Your body fell into Azriel as you screamed, the liquid like lava as it seeped into your wounds. Madja dropped the vial, and she let Azriel hold you up as her hands fell over your back, the heat of her magic exacerbating the scalding across your skin.

You were sobbing into Azriel, and one of his hands moved to cradle your head against his chest. “Make it stop,” you begged.

“I can’t,” Azriel choked out. “She has to do this, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Just another minute,” Madja murmured, her voice apologetic.

You were shaking by the time she was finished, and you felt near delirious from the agony still flaring across your back, every throb agitating the wounds that must have gone farther than you realized. Azriel was pale as he watched you, his face stricken.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, and you couldn’t understand why he was apologizing. You couldn’t think about much beyond the pain you were drowning in.

Madja gently coaxed your head from Azriel’s chest, pressing another vial to your lips. “This one won’t hurt,” she promised, slowly pouring the fruity liquid in your mouth. You swallowed hard, watching her in a haze.

You glanced at Azriel again, who looked a bit blurry, his face becoming distorted. “What—”

He shushed you gently, brushing your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just get some rest. I won’t leave you.”

You didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want to leave him again, to be left vulnerable, but before your panic could sink its claws in too deep, darkness blanketed over you. It was soft, and cool, and comforting, and you thought maybe you could stay there, just for a little while.

~ ~ ~

“It’s my fault.”

“Az–”

“It is. You didn’t see her back, Rhys.”

A beat of silence, then, “Can I—”

“No,” Azriel growled. You felt guilty for listening to their conversation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes yet, lethargy still weighing them down. “There are two gashes down her back, right where wings would be. You know what that means. It was intentional. They knew she was important to me.”

“Or,” Cassian said gently, “They knew she belonged to Rhys’s circle.”

“They could smell me on her, Cassian! I should have known better—”

“Az,” Rhys cut him off quietly. You held your breath as the room went silent, your heart rate picking up.

The bed dipped at the edge, and the touch of familiar scarred knuckles lightly brushed across your cheek. “Hey,” Azriel murmured, his voice far more gentle than it was seconds ago. You guiltily fluttered your eyes open, the light of the room making you squint. “You’re awake?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you rasped, your voice a mere whisper.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his hand settling on your hip that was covered by the duvet. A black duvet, that was definitely not your purple one. You slowly took in the room you were in, lavishly big with books and weapons adorning the walls. The bed you were in was far too large for your frame, but it smelled like cedar, and you knew exactly who this room belonged to, even if you had only ever caught glimpses of it before.

Your eyes fell back on Azriel, and he looked more than worse for wear. He looked like he was hanging on by a thread, his eyes limned with exhaustion and his face taught with anxiety. You slowly pulled a shaky hand out from the covers, reaching for his hand beside you. You weakly squeezed his hand, smiling faintly. “It hurts,” you admitted, voice still a weak rasp, “but it’s better.”

Azriel didn’t smile, but he squeezed your hand back, and it made your heart clench.

“Y/N,” Rhys said from the foot of your bed, startling you from your bubble with Azriel. Embarrassment and shame flooded you as you met the eyes of your High Lord, and your eyes quickly started to sting. An apology was about to spill from your mouth, but before you could, Rhys said, “I’m so sorry.” He sounded anguished, and guilty, and you couldn’t fathom why.

You shook your head lightly, a frown pulling at your lips. “Why?”

“I never should have sent you on that mission. It was too dangerous, with too many unknowns, clearly, and I’m sorry.”

“But, I’m the one—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Azriel cut you off, voice hard. “They had an aerial patrol unit we didn’t know about. So while you were focused on avoiding anyone on the ground, they likely spotted you from above within minutes of stepping foot in their forest.”

Your face burned with even more shame. “I didn’t even think about—”

“Neither did we,” Cassian said, stepping up beside Rhys. “We should have, but we underestimated the camp’s efforts, their numbers.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “There’s a lot more of them than we anticipated, but they were anticipating us. They knew Rhys was suspicious of them. It wasn’t your fault, it was ours.”

You took in his words, struggling to accept them. You looked at Azriel, fighting back the tears still threatening to break free. “But you warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

“I was just being selfish,” he murmured softly. “I didn’t want you anywhere near Illyria, but had I known, had I received tangible intel that this was waiting for you, I would have warned you. I would have gone with you.”

He brushed away a tear that fell down your cheek, murmuring softly, “It wasn’t your fault, love.”

Then why did it feel like it was your fault? No one ever knew what you would find on a mission, what you would run into. It wasn’t anyone’s responsibility but your own to anticipate an attack, to map your enemies’ moves, and you failed.

The door creaked open, and Madja’s kind and gentle face appeared in the doorway. She smiled at you, granting you a reprieve you were quickly growing desperate for. “We should change your dressings,” she said, moving toward your bedside, completely unfazed by the three males hovering over you. You, however, only just realized that you were laying there bare, aside from the gauzy white fabric bound around your chest and torso. You wished this bed would just swallow you whole.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Rhys said softly, then guided Cassian out the door.

Azriel lingered though, hesitating to leave your side. He glanced at Madja, and your face went hot as you thought about your bath earlier, about how you screamed and cried for him to help you. “I’ll be fine, Az,” you said quietly. His eyes darted back to yours, clearly not believing you. 

“When was the last time you ate, Shadowsinger?” Madja hummed as she aligned vials and balms on your bedside.

Azriel didn’t say anything, and alarm flitted through you. “You haven’t eaten?” you asked him, shuffling a bit. “Azriel—”

“I’m fine,” he assured, glaring at Madja.

She scoffed. “You haven’t left her side since you brought her to me last night.”

“Az,” you chided softly, guilt flooding you. “Please, go eat something. I’ll be fine with Madja.”

His shadows pulsed haphazardly around him, his eyes clearly conflicted. Eventually he sighed, and stood up from your bed. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” he promised softly. Madja gently shooed him out of the room, and you felt empty and conflicted once he disappeared. 

Your mind was swimming. You could barely piece together a general timeline of the last few days, let alone come to terms with whatever complicated feelings you had toward Azriel. It didn’t matter, though. None of it mattered. You were just a broken priestess that would never be worthy of an Illyrian warrior. 

As if your heart wasn’t bruised and battered enough, Madja rubbed salt in your wounds by humming, “That boy loves you.”

Her words hurt. They were meant to comfort, to soothe, to tease—to distract you from whatever pain you were in as she slowly sat you up in bed—but instead, they only prodded at your already tender heart. She stuck another knife in your chest as she said, “I shooed him out because you seemed a bit suffocated, but you need to lean on him.”

“Respectfully,” you said quietly, voice lacking any true bite, “it’s not your place.”

She started to gently undo your bandages, the cool air on your raw and mangled skin making you hiss. She didn’t seem the least bit offended by your words, and simply hummed with a far too knowing voice, “Love heals.”

~ ~ ~

A few days passed, and you had effectively isolated yourself from everyone. At least, as much as you could. Your friends still brought you food, checking in every so often, and reluctantly leaving after you promised you were fine and you just wanted to rest. Azriel never returned, though. He was never one who brought you meals. You couldn’t deny the ache in your soul that throbbed everytime one of your other friends’ faces appeared in your doorway. If you weren’t surrounded by the scent of him from being bundled in his bed, the ache would likely be unbearable. You didn’t know where he was staying while you took over his room.

An oily anxiety was slowly accumulating in your stomach, trickling into your veins to spread throughout your body. Madja took you off the sleep tonics yesterday, and sleep had evaded you the entire night. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in that cave. Every little sound made you flinch, made you grit your teeth and brace yourself for those males to return, to finish what they started.

“You look like shit,” Nesta drawled as she shut your bedroom door behind her, making you jump. You sat up slowly, resting your back on the mountain of pillows that had accumulated along the headboard. Rhys continued to ply you with gifts, flowers and blankets and pillows now littering Azriel’s room. You could probably move to your own room now, but you selfishly didn’t want to leave.

“Thanks,” you grumbled.

She sat your food tray on the bedside table, a bowl of steaming soup and buttered bread sitting neatly on the wood. She assessed you with cool and calculating eyes, her brow furrowed into a hard line. “Before you kick me out,” she began, “Madja said your bandages need changed, but she can’t come by tonight.” She started pulling gauzes and balms out of the drawer. “So you’re stuck with me.”

“No,” you said quickly. Nesta stilled, side-eyeing you. “That’s not—I can do it myself.”

You didn’t want her to see. You didn’t want anyone to see. It was bad enough Azriel had seen you thrashing and screaming in that bath, had seen the wounds across your back—you couldn’t handle anyone else seeing the remnants of your failure.

“Y/N—” she started to say, voice unusually gentle, and it made you recoil.

“I’m fine, Nesta,” you said. You were fairly certain you would never be returning to training with the Valkyries, that you would be resigning to your life as a researcher in the library, but showing her your wounds, your weakness—it felt like the final nail in your coffin. You weren’t ready for that.

Her eyes narrowed, and she shut the bedside drawer with more force than necessary. “Fine,” she said, voice clipped. “That’s utter bullshit, but fine. As you wish.” She turned her back to you, heading toward the door. “Tell the House if you change your mind.”

The harsh slam of the door made you jump. Guilt mixed with the anxiety in your veins, a muddy mixture that would likely cement inside your heart. 

~ ~ ~

Searing pain jolted you from sleep, lava running down your back. A sudden hand on your shoulder made you scream, undiluted terror mixing with your pain, and defeat took over you as you were yanked back to that cave. You had never left. None of it was real. You were still there, they still had you tied up, and were—

“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice pulled you from your spiral, splashing ice cold water on your terror, blurring the memory you were trapped inside. “You’re safe,” he cooed. “You’re with me.”

Your eyes slowly focused on his figure, his wings flared out a bit and shadows pulsing with tension. His eyes were wild and frantic, and he slowly sank down on the bed beside you as he realized you finally recognized him. 

Relief overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t control the sobs that broke free. Azriel shifted closer, his hands shakily cupping your face to wipe away your tears. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He brushed a hand over your hair as you cried, his shadows nuzzling against your neck. 

The ache in your soul dulled under his touch, and more tears fell down your cheeks as you leaned into him, desperate to cling to the male you had been longing for the last few days. Despite the shame and mortification you felt every time you thought about him having to save you again, him having to hold you together while Madja treated you, you couldn’t stop wanting him. You couldn’t cut the tether you felt binding you to him.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured gently, concern evident in his eyes.

“What?” you rasped. You sucked in sharp breath as another bout of pain washed over your back, and you remembered why you awoke in the first place.

Azriel’s hand shifted to your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your side. His breath faltered at whatever he saw, making your heart race. “Sweetheart,” he choked out. “Your bandages are falling down.”

You face heated in embarrassment, and you wished your stupid pride had just let Nesta help you earlier, and Azriel didn’t have to see you as a fucking mess again. “Why didn’t Nesta make them tighter?” he said, voice growing angry. “And there’s no balm—”

“I did them,” you cut him off, avoiding his gaze.

“What?” he asked, voice going soft. 

“I told her I could do them,” you said. “How did you even know she—”

“Why wouldn’t you let her help you?” he asked.

You bit your lip, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I didn’t want her to see,” you whispered.

Azriel paused. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quietly.

Your hackles instantly raised, and you sat up to meet his gaze, the covers falling around your waist and your back barking in protest. “Really?” you asked, voice incredulous. “I was captured within an hour on my first field mission alone. Rhys didn’t even want to send me on that mission, but I convinced him. I should have known that they would have an aerial patrol—me. That was on me. I should have anticipated—”

“Stop,” he ground out. His eyes were pained and angry as he met your gaze, making you swallow whatever words you had left. “It was not your fault. Maybe there were things that could have been done better, maybe you did make some mistakes, but ultimately, I failed you by keeping you from the field, and by failing to realize—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. He muttered something under his breath, and then said, “No one blames you. Missions go wrong, and sometimes it will be your fault. It’s inevitable that you will make mistakes, but this one is not on you.”

You wished you could believe him. You wished that his words could erase your fears and insecurities, but you would be a fool to ignore the mound of evidence staring you in the face, that littered your skin.

Azriel sighed, as if he realized he wouldn’t be changing your mind tonight. “Let’s get you some clean sheets and clean clothes,” he said. “I’ll get Nesta or Feyre to help with your bandages.”

“No,” you rushed out, making Azriel freeze. “Please, don’t get them. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he argued. “Your wounds aren’t covered which is why you woke up in pain.”

That made you falter. “How did you know that?”

Azriel blinked, hesitation flickering in his eyes before they shuttered again. “My shadows.”

Your chest went tight. “They’ve been watching me?” you squeaked out.

Azriel looked slightly guilty when he answered, “I just left a few with you, in case you needed something. That’s all, I promise.”

Well, you certainly hoped they didn’t tell him about the tears you shed throughout the day, or the sleepless night you had beforehand, or the pitiful attempt you made at putting the damned bandages around your torso. “Okay,” you sighed.

“Come on,” he coaxed, helping you up from the bed by your arms. You were immensely grateful Madja had helped you bathe yesterday. He helped you into the bathroom, letting you sit gently on the stool beside the bath. He crouched down in front you, making himself eye level with you. “Your back needs to be cleaned and properly bandaged,” he said quietly. 

Your lip trembled as you thought about anyone else touching you, seeing you so vulnerable. It made you nauseous. “Can’t you do it?” you asked, voice embarrassingly small.

His eyes widened a bit, and his hand fell to your knee. “Of course, I can,” he said softly. “But do you want me to?”

“Please,” you begged. “I can’t—I don’t want anyone else to—”

His thumb brushed your knee, making your words die off. “Okay,” he murmured. “That’s fine, love. I have no problem helping you.”

“Then why did you disappear?” you asked, immediately regretting the words.

His eyes snapped to yours. “I didn’t—” he fumbled, shaking his head softly. “I didn’t think you wanted to see anyone.”

“That didn’t stop everyone else,” you grumbled.

“You had to eat.”

“Then why didn’t you bring me meals?”

Azriel stared at you, his throat bobbing. “I didn’t know how to face you—but I’ve always been here. I haven’t left the House.”

“Face me?” you asked.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, his wings rustling slightly as he stood up. He moved toward the sink, wetting a cloth before returning to you. “Those gashes on your back have meaning,” he said softly, eyes swimming with guilt. “They are exactly where wings would be, exactly the kind of wound that would be left behind if wings were removed. They obviously knew you were…” He hesitated, and you couldn’t fathom why. “You were important to an Illyrian.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. You didn’t understand why he felt he was personally responsible for those wounds, why he would be the reason for them. You also didn’t know how they would have known that, unless they guessed you were a part of Rhys’s court. You still found yourself saying, “I don’t blame you.”

He averted his eyes, squeezing the cloth tighter. “And I don’t blame you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, realizing neither of you would believe the other. He moved behind you, then tugged at the hem of your camisole. “Can I take this off?” he asked gently.

Your heart started racing, and your mind was yanked back to that cave, where you were strung up with your chest bare to those wicked males, and—

“Hey,” Azriel murmured, his face in front of yours again. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. Your hands were trembling in your lap, and embarrassment made your throat tight.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped.

“No,” Azriel said. “Do not apologize.”

You sniffed. “Just take it off and get this over with please.”

“Y/N,” he said softly. “That’s not how this works.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t already seen.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to let me see it again.”

A tear escaped from your eye, and you felt so defeated as you looked at him. “I don’t want anyone but you to touch me right now.”

Azriel’s face was a mixture of pain and reverence, and you didn’t know where to go from here. “You know I would never hurt you,” he finally said, voice quiet.

You nodded quickly. “Yes,” you whispered. “I do. I trust you, Azriel. That’s why I want your help. I just, I don’t know why—”

“Let’s try this,” he murmured. “You take off your shirt, and my shadows will cover you, and I can clean your back.”

Relief flooded you. “Okay,” you agreed.

“Yeah?” he hummed. He moved behind you again, and you worried your lip between your teeth. “I won’t look until you tell me to.”

You sucked in a breath, toying with the silk hem. You removed the fabric from your body with a little difficulty, your shoulders and back screaming at you as you stretched the raw wounds across your skin, but you managed to get the material over your head and toss it on the floor. As promised, his shadows clouded over your chest, effectively covering your skin. “You can look,” you mumbled. 

You heard him shuffle behind you, and goosebumps skittered across your skin when he brushed your hair over your shoulder. “Ready?” he asked softly.

You nodded, and the warm cloth pressed to your skin. Azriel didn’t linger in any one area, cleaning your bloodied skin quickly and expertly. He then reached for a tin on the counter, and you heard him unscrew the lid. “This is the healing balm,” he told you quietly. His fingers gently lathered the balm along the edges of your wounds, his touch as light as possible to avoid inflicting any pain. His touch was soothing, and the balm quickly eased the pain radiating up and down your back. Your chest was flooded with the most comforting warmth, and you caught yourself leaning into him as the tension eased away.

He swapped the tin for the roll of gauze. He handed you the end of the roll, the cotton material soft between your fingers. “Hold this in place for me,” he murmured.

You did as he asked, pressing the gauze firmly against your chest. Azriel wound the gauze around your chest and torso with quick precision, never touching anywhere he shouldn’t. The material was snug against your skin, and you knew it wasn’t going anywhere. He smoothed the end of it out, securing it in place, before gently squeezing your hip. “Done,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you whispered, heart near bursting. 

He pulled a clean shirt over your head, it smelling like cedar and salt. It was clearly one of his, and you didn’t know when he had time to grab one for you, but you practically melted into the soft fabric.

His shadows dissipated, and he smiled at you softly as he rounded the stool. He offered you his hand to help you up, then shifted to brace your lower back as you walked back to your bed. The sheets were swapped for fresh and clean silk ones, and you were sure you had the House to thank for the courtesy. Azriel pulled the covers up and over your shoulders once you laid down, his hands lingering briefly over your shoulders before he pulled them back to his sides.

The moonlight filtered in through the drapes, streaks illuminating the bed and bits of his skin that weren’t covered by his sweats and tee, a reminder of how late it was. “I’m sorry for waking you,” you mumbled, sleep quickly creeping back in.

“Don’t be,” he hummed. “Get some sleep.”

He took a step back, a small smile briefly pulling at his lips before he turned around. Panic sunk claws into your chest, and you blurted out, “Azriel.”

He immediately froze, and turned back to look at you. “Please stay with me,” you begged, voice wobbling.

“Of course,” he agreed easily, moving toward the sofa under the window.

“Lay with me?” you blurted, face burning from your request but something inside of you just needed him close. You needed to feel him next to you. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t comprehend why you so desperately wanted to cling to him, but you were too exhausted to fight it.

He looked almost boyish as he stared at you with wide eyes. “Are—are you sure?” he stumbled out.

“If—if you don’t mind.”

Azriel’s response was to quickly slip under the covers next to you, turning so that he faced you and his wings draped over the edge of the bed. His warm arm brushed against yours as he shifted around, and you realized this bed was barely big enough to share with an Illyrian warrior. He didn’t complain, though, and you selfishly didn’t want to risk him leaving you, so you kept your mouth shut.

You were facing each other, heads resting on separate pillows but only inches separated you. He was so warm, and he smelled so good. You had caught yourself indulging in his scent far too many times at training, your friends had even caught you once or twice, but this time it brought you a comfort you had never felt before. It made you feel safe. You felt like you were home when you were wrapped in his scent. It’s why you were still holed up in his room after days of him avoiding you.

“Can you tell me a secret?” you asked, voice low.

Azriel hummed softly. “A secret?”

You bit your lip, focusing on the collar of his shirt where his tattoos poked out. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You’ve seen me at my worst, twice. It’s mortifying, actually.” A sad huff of a laugh escaped you. “You’re too perfect in comparison.”

Azriel let out a surprised, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not perfect. Not in the slightest.” He glanced at his hands, whether it was intentional or subconscious, you didn’t know. It killed you that he saw the evidence of him surviving the cruelty of others as his flaw.

“You don’t need to be self-conscious, though,” he continued, his breath lightly fanning your face as you shifted closer. “I know what I said the night you left, and I am so sorry.” His voice was low and thick as he continued, “I’ve never doubted you. I only said that, because I was desperate to keep you here. I’m sorry.”

Before you could reply, before you could question him or accept or reject his apology, he shifted back to your question. “I’ll tell you a secret, though,” he hummed. “I’m scared that one day, the mating bond will snap, and my mate won’t want me.”

It was like a red-hot knife was stuck in the center of your chest, hearing him talk about his future mate. You swallowed your jealousy, your pain and longing, and rasped, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, and you fought back the acid burning at your throat. You wished you could go back and never have asked him the stupid question. “What if I’ve kept it from them?” he asked, voice sounding fragile.

His question only twisted the knife. This was an entirely new form of agony. “You’ve met them?”

Azriel’s eyes were soft as he said, “Yes, love.”

Your stomach churned. You pushed yourself back, sitting up frantically. “I shouldn’t be making you share a bed with me then. Gods, Azriel—”

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you gently to lay back down. “Please,” he murmured, “Just listen.”

You closed your eyes a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat before returning your gaze to him, hoping he didn’t keep ripping at your bleeding heart. This was not how you saw the rest of this night going. “What if me keeping this bond from her, nearly got her killed?” he asked, voice weak. “What if the scent of her bond to me, painted a target on her back, that she was completely unaware of as she walked into enemy territory?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you pieced together the meaning of his words, as you pieced together fragments of your rescue and healing that you had dismissed as hallucinations. “No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “This isn’t funny. This is not funny, Azriel!”

You pulled your wrist from his grip, mind swimming and heart racing. His eyes flashed with hurt, and you realized you were reacting exactly how he feared. You were playing out his worst fear he had just confided in you with—but it’s not that you didn’t want him. You didn’t deserve him.

“It’s not possible,” you choked out, voice thick with your tears. “I cannot be your mate. This is a cruel trick. I am just a broken and battered priestess, and you—”

Realization dawned on Azriel’s face, and your words died in your throat as he pulled you to his chest. “You are so much more,” he murmured into your hair. “I have known for a while, been suspicious even longer—since we met really.” Someone had stolen the breath from your lungs. “And while I have doubted that I was worthy of you, I have never doubted you. I’ve spent this year of our training questioning the Mother, asking why she would stick you with me as your mate, but I’ve never considered myself anything less than blessed.”

You pulled back from him, and you took in this male who—who was apparently your mate. The male you had longed for and had stifled away your feelings for as some silly crush, when in reality, they were anything but. His hazel eyes were bright in the darkness of your room, shining with vulnerability and a hesitant hope. One of his hands still rested gently on your hip, and the touch felt like a stream of electricity connecting the two of you together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes fell away from yours, a shaky breath leaving his lips. “I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t—I wasn’t even certain until a few months ago. At that point, you trusted me. I couldn’t—” Azriel was stumbling over his words, and it made your heart clench when you noticed his cheeks were dusted with pink as he shifted into a beam of moonlight. 

“I couldn’t take advantage of that trust. I didn’t want to ruin it, but I still did. I—I was too overprotective. I kept denying missions that Rhys offered, because I was scared, and he told me I couldn’t let the bond control me—control you—but I was terrified of something happening to you. It made me ill to think of someone hurting you, or worse, and then that’s exactly what happened anyway. If I had kept myself in check—”

“Azriel,” you interrupted him gently, and his mouth fell shut. “I understand.”

His thumb brushed your cheek gently, and your eyes fluttered shut. “This was probably the worst time to tell you,” he murmured guiltily.

You caught his wrist, fingers gently wrapping around the scarred skin. “It’s not,” you whispered. “It actually makes me feel a little less insane for how much I want to cling to you.”

He chuckled lightly, brushing some hair out of your face. “You have no idea. I’ve been sitting in the hall for days, just in case you needed me.”

You shuffled closer, your heart practically glowing. “Really?”

“Yes,” he murmured. 

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes fell to his lips, and you didn’t really think before you pressed your own against his. He kissed you back immediately, his soft lips melding gently with yours. You arched closer to him, desperate to be closer to him, but the movement pulled at your back, aggravating the healing muscles, and you sucked in a sharp breath that made you break away.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked frantically.

You nodded, embarrassed. “I’m fine. I’m sorry.” You moved to keep kissing him, but he gently held you back.

“We can wait, love,” he said softly.

You sighed, leaning your forehead against his chest. “We probably should.”

He smoothed a hand over the back of your head. “Madja is already angry with me for leaving your bedside. I don’t need to make it worse by tearing open your wounds.”

You smiled softly, then said, “She told me love heals.” You looked up at him. “Did she know?”

“Probably,” he hummed. “I was a mess when I brought you to her. It wouldn’t have been hard to guess.”

Your smile widened, and you burrowed against his chest, your cheek pressed against the soft fabric covering his heart. “I think she was right,” you said into him. “Having you here—it’s the best I’ve felt since before everything happened.”

That familiar warmth bloomed in your chest, and you reached inside to sink your fingers in it, letting the love and adoration weave through your fingertips. Now that you finally could recognize it for what it was, now that you knew the source of that warmth, you sent your own love back down the glowing thread that reached from you to the male next to you.

Azriel sucked in a sharp breath, his body going rigid before relaxing again. “Was that you?” he asked breathlessly.

You nodded shyly, your face still buried against his chest. “You’ve been making me feel that for a while—I just didn’t know it was you.”

His arm squeezed you to him, his hold firm and comforting. “I love you,” he breathed.

You sank further into him, any lingering tension abandoning you as you fully relaxed into your mate’s arms. You closed your eyes, breathing him in, before whispering back, “I love you.”

[tencrushesperday]

oh this was sosososooooo good

[chicletsbian]

hey guys. welcome back

[solip1386]

[tencrushesperday]

stop making me fall in love with your son if you don’t plan on giving me his hand in marriage mrs hischier

[tencrushesperday]

Girls wanna have fun

Maveric Lamoureux x reader, friends… or more…? 2k

this is clearly not finished but it’s been in my drafts for over a month and i can’t seem to finish it so im just gonna post it the way it is

“ Girls just wanna have fun”, you say into his ear.

He is still bent down when you lean away, shrug your shoulders and give him a mischievous smile.

You were set on find a cute guy to flirt with tonight the second Maveric texted you asking if you wanted to go out to the bars with him and some friends. Instantly getting up from you couch, you switched from watching Desperate Housewives to your getting ready, bad bitch playlist.

The low cut tank top you had ordered was beginning to be worn and you had found a new hack to style your hair on tiktok that you wanted to try out for a while so the answer was a no brainer.

By 8:30pm your screen lit up with another text from Maveric telling you to head down as they were already waiting for you in the Uber.

The ride to the bar was a short one, your apartment being located downtown. Which was very convenient on nights like this one when you were hopping to bring home a guy.

You were feeling yourself at the bar. Maveric paid for the first round of drinks, then another one of his friends paid for your next cocktail. Soon after your second drink, you were on the dance floor swaying your hips and whipping your hair.

You danced with a few strangers before a hot guy caught your attention. Your energy matched well and he offered to buy you a drink saying “your hand looked lonely without a drink in it”. Lame line but his arms looked like they would fit great around you so you weren’t about to let such a small detail bother you.

You followed him to the bar where the guy ordered your drink of choice. You chatted some more, casually hitting his bicep or bumping your hip into his. His intense stare was saying what his mouth wasn’t. The conversation was fun with some banter here and there but he was staring at your lips every other word, and at your chest every time you would giggle. You know you had him right where you wanted him.

Once you finished your drink, you offered to go back to the dance floor and he led the way. But before you could go too far you felt someone grabbing your wrist.

Your eyes meg a chest and you had to crane your head backwards to meet Maveric’s eyes. He looked.. concerned? annoyed maybe? You couldn’t place the emotions running through his face when he bowed down to reach your ear.

“You sure about that guy?” he spoke loudly over the music.

He is concerned for your safety. Like a good friend should. He is a good friend.

It was a mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself for months now. Since the second his hand on your waist had felt different. You have been friends with Maveric for some time now. And one day, the air shifted. He was no longer cute little Maveric who you would wingwoman for if ever needed or who you’d play Mario Kart with until 3am and sleep in the same bed without a thought.

Suddenly Maveric had become the guy whose touch felt electric and whose face would pop up in your mind whenever you’d pass a wedding shop or a family that made you dream of your own.

It was weird to be silently in love with a friend, someone so close that felt so off limits at the same time. Yet, it felt so natural when he was such nice, funny and kind hearted person. Maveric always seemed like a ray of sunshine that would always improve everyone’s mood around him. His presence was addictive and his joy contagious so you would enjoy it for as long as you could. (And frankly the man is hot.)

He had never done anything that would have led you to believe the feelings were reciprocated so you have been waiting for them to die down, filling up your time and empty bed however you could. Not wanting to spoil the friendship that meant so much to you, you kept your feelings for yourself.

So this time again you repeated your mantra to yourself before answering him.

« Girls just wanna have fun », you say into his ear.

He was still bent down when you leaned away, shrugged your shoulders and gave him a mischievous smile.

Leaving him there, you turned around and head back to the dance floor. His eyes were heavy on your back all the way and once you reached the guy from earlier you did your best to block any thought of him.

It turned out to be a tough feat as he was constantly in your peripheral vision, his tall body towering over the whole bar. He hadn’t talked to a single girl the whole night and you knew he was still keeping an eye on you. It sent shivers down your skin much more than the touch of the guy you were currently grinding against.

The image of Maveric being behind you snuck its way into your mind and that was when you decided you needed another drink. You turned around to tell the guy that you were going to get another drink but he offered to go get it for you so you went to the bathroom to get your head straight again.

You were pushing and dodging people left and right making your path through the bar to find the guy with your drink when a large hand set on your hip and turned you around.

“I should walk you back to your apartment it’s getting late.” Maveric was again bending down so you could hear what he was saying.

Suddenly his familiar sent hit you and you forgot to listen to the words coming out of his mouth. The hairs on the nape of your neck stood up and your breath caught at his closeness.

He said your name again getting you out of your head. Your gazes locked and the song in the background faded away.

“You’re already too drunk let’s get you to bed.”, his toned was filled with a giggle as he threw his arm around your shoulder.

The contact was like a jolt of electricity, waking you up.

“What no I have a drink waiting for me i’m not even that drunk.” which was true. You were tipsy, ears red and a pleasant fog was clouding your usual anxiety but you were far from being drunk.

“I also have someone waiting for me so if you’ll excuse me”, you were ready to turn around and go back to finding the guy from earlier.

But Maveric wasn’t having it.

He had seen you flirt with that excuse of a guy the whole. He’d seen how that guy looked at your chest, how he had laid his hands on you le waist and hips when you danced together and decided that guy was a pervert and not worthy of your attention.

He simply had to intervene for your own good. You would probably regret bringing a guy home that didn’t even look like he would be a good fuck.

Maveric was doing you a favour. That was what he convinced himself he was doing. Even when a cute 5’9 blonde approached him and he quickly turned her down, he told himself that he had to be a good friend and look after you.

He grabbed your elbow lightly and stopped you in your tracks again. “Please let’s go home i’ve seen that guy flirt with another girl at the bar the second you were out of sight he’s not worth your time.”

He was beginning to sound patronising and you didn’t like it one bit. You were ready to retort something back when he spoke again, much softer this time. “Let’s go watch your favourite disney movie and get delivery I really don’t like this bar.” he was looking at you expectantly then added “please..?”

And how could you say no to him? You would choose spending time with him over any other guy every single time. The battle was lost the moment his hand touched your waist.

You nodded and slipped your hand into his before heading for the booth where some of his friends were still sitting. Maveric grabbed both his and your coat telling them you were leaving and you bid everyone who was there goodbye.

When you got outside, the air was fresh, helping you sober up a little. Maveric still had your hand in his, he didn’t want to lose you in the bar at first, and now he just didn’t want to let go.

You argued over ordering chinese or burgers and settled on sushi. Then you argued over the music choices in the bar and how rap would the end of dancing music.

He laughed at you as you went on and on about how putting in Pitbull and Timbaland would change the game and make any night so much more fun. Being so engrossed in your arguments and explanations you didn’t catch the adoration lining Maveric’a eyes and he let himself bask in all your passion even about such a random subject.

When you reached your apartment, Maveric leaned on the wall while you looked for your keys in your purse and opened the door. He studied your every move and finally thought that maybe it was him who had gotten one drink too much because suddenly each one of your moves was worth of a meticulously dissection frame by frame. He was entranced by you following you into your apartment and only got out of his trance when you got into your kitchen and disappeared from sight.

He shook his head, taking off his shoes and jacket, wondering what had gotten into him.

When he walked into the kitchen you were preparing tea for the both you. You didn’t look drunk, just tired, even though he convinced himself otherwise when you were at the bar. His mind didn’t want to accept that you found that guy you flirted with attractive so it blamed it on you being drunk.

But maybe you had really found that guy attractive and he just spoiled your night for you. Did he?

His internal turmoil was cut short by the doorbell. Your food was here and he went to open the door and pay the delivery guy.

He ushered you to go get ready for bed, assuring you that he would get it all ready for the both of you.

“I should have one of your shirts look in the closet on the left side.” you shot at him on your way to your room.

After a quick shower, you slipped into your comfortable pyjamas that consisted of a large t-shirt and plaid pants and started taking off your makeup.

You didn’t want to overthink Maveric staying over again, or him holding your hand half of the way to your apartment. But mostly you didn’t want to overthink the something new and unfamiliar that had coated his voice when he spoke about the guy you were flirting with.

Reading into each one of his moves would be fruitless. He was your friend. He was being a protective friend. Period.

You repeated that to your reflection in the mirror trying to convince her. You were too tired for this tonight.

When you walked out of the bathroom, you were resolute to switch off your brain and do your best to convince Maveric to cuddle. With the weather cooling down being single was more and more difficult. You were a victim of the weather that’s all. Needing some body-warmth.

The trays Maveric had set up with your food were on your nightstand and he was going through your closet for a t-shirt as you had instructed him. His own flannel was thrown over your bed, leaving him topless.

You did indeed switch your brain off earlier so staring at his back inspired you no ounce of shame, just the need to trace your fingertips over it and feel every moving muscle.

You’ll book an appointment with a therapist for this.

“You’re getting dangerously close to my underwear drawer there buddy. I might think it’s intentional if I didn’t know you.” you joked, finally making your presence known. “I said left side. In the t-shirt pile. Right in front of you.” You added getting closer and reaching for it yourself.

The shameless thoughts his shirtless figure planted in your mind forced you put some distance between your two bodies. You quickly shoved it against his chest and moved to get your laptop.

Luckily, Maveric walked into your bathroom to change himself so you were left with yourself, finally able to let out a sigh.

The reprieve you expected to wash over you didn’t come when you closed your eyes. Only the ghost of his fingers made your skin tingle and the memory of his body played behind your closed eyelids.

You physically shook the thoughts out of your head and pull up the first comedy movie you came upon on Netflix.

When Maveric came out you were tucked into bed on your side, laptop next you in the middle.

[tencrushesperday]

i don’t think i can’t explain just how attached i am to azriel like if i feel down i would imagine a lil scenario with him and just forget my worries (no i won’t go see a therapist) sadly i can’t do it as often anymore i fear i’ve lost a little of my imagination i can’t picture scenarios for a long time like i used to :(

[toffoliravioli]

we lost but I had funsies

[tencrushesperday]

this hair makes nemec look like kid laroi am i the only one seeing it ???

[tencrushesperday]

the second he hit the ice i was like HUSBAND