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theeveninghour · 2 months

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All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!

WC: 16.1k ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things.

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it.

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo.

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour.

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous.

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return.

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into.

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed.

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal.

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee.

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit. But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.”

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone.

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure.

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else.

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.”

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove.

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully.

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire.

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.”

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone.

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked..

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it.

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift.

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief.

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes.

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance.

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment.

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed.

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon.

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate.

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room.

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees.

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction.

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension.

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel.

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.” He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on.

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind.

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind.

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.”

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way.

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you.

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment.

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up.

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive.

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily.

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features.

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed.

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness.

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight.

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple.

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up.

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here.

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed.

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose.

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred.

Shit.

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky.

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed.

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead.

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting.

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit.

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared.

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand?

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles.

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt.

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head.

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently.

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming.

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago.

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate.

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you.

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode.

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian.

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded.

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try.

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you.

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives.

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens.

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook.

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him.

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!”

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered.

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.”

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back.

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home.

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body.

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you.

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.”

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically.

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now.

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.”

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly.

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained.

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently.

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own.

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life.

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male.

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time.

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.”

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit. You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly.

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action.

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee.

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly.

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off.

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.”

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading.

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin.

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth.

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven.

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier.

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.”

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed.

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.”

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile.

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested.

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you.

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love.

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.”

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core.

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh.

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations.

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh.

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself.

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back.

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch.

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off.

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up.

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed.

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest.

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked.

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder.

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there.

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt.

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest.

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours.

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf.

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm.

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard.

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.”

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked.

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redheadspark · 6 months

Text

Bliss

Summary - Druig knows how to bring you bliss

*Got the idea for this one shot from this Gif*

Warnings - SMUT SMUT SMUT! This is 18+, NO MINORS ALLOWED FROM HERE ON OUT!

A/N - I am no SMUT writer by trade, so bear with me :D

You fell back into the bed, your breath barely on your lips as your thighs were trembling and your orgasm was now dwindling to a small simmer. Sweat itched along your skin, thanks to the solid body on top of you that was holding you close and still buried deep inside of you, watching your body shake from your post orgasm. His eyes were wide, nearly black with no evidence of the sapphire blue they naturally were, his lisp plump to almost crimson in the moonlight, and his skin with its sheen of sweat along his porcelain skin.

"That was…..I can't even talk" You tried to say, but your voice was nearly gone with a small smile on your lips as the man above you merely chuckled and ruffled his own brown hair from his eyes.

"Don't say a single word, darlin'." He hummed, leaning back down to have his arms on the mattress below you, digging his forehead against your shoulder as he rolled his hips deeply and slowly. You mewled, arching into him as you clung onto his shoulders, knowing fully well that he was not done with you.

Neither you were done, not with what you went through.

This was not the first time you two were in bed together, nor would it be the last. But it felt like your first time, not with the intensity and the lust that was seeping under your skin as you both were gasping for air and pouring your love to one another, but with the intense love you both had for one another for centuries and centuries on end.

Being together on the Domo for some time as friends before realizing your feelings for one another brought your paths together as lovers, then as a married couple. You never thought in your wildest dreams that the Mind Controlling Eternal, the very one who was aloof to outsiders and sarcastic by nature, would fall head over heels in love with someone like you. He was wrapped around your heart so naturally and organically that before you knew it, you realized that your heart was taken by him and there was no way to be without him.

You both went along with the evolution of humans, seeing the good, the bad, and the ugly. Even within your own family of Eternals and how straining it was getting with one another, you both stayed side by side. Druig's heart was beyond massive for the sake of the humans, for wishing them peace and tranquility on that small and fragile planet. So when he decided to walk away after seeing a genocide unfold in front of his eyes, you joined him. How could you stay behind and let the love of your life walk away? He was part of your soul, half of your heart, and neither one of you wished to be parted.

"Uggh….Oh fuck Druig," you moaned against his head as his hips were staying consistent, rolling sleep and slow as you felt his cock slide in and out of you. You were feeling that tension again, the burning in your thigh muscles since your legs were bracketing Druig's hips with ease, your arms shaking while you clung onto his muscular shoulders, and your core finding that flicker of pleasure again while he kissed your skin over and over. One of his hands moved from under the pillow where you were, bracing your jawline to have your head stay in one spot while he was still fucking you deeply. You loved when he did this, his actions were both filthy and intimate at the same time. Holding you close as you fucked, perhaps thinking that you two could blend into one as he made you cum multiple times.

This was how he loved you: showing you with his actions along with his words how he loved you and would never stop loving you.

You moved your head to kiss his palm that was against your jawline, feeling him thrust again to have you moan silently and feel his thumb trace your lower lip. Without you thinking about it and merely thinking about the pleasure that was now etched within you, you slide his thumb into your mouth. He moaned against your neck.

"Fuck," he growled, his thrust never slowing as your hand moved down to grasp at his ass through the thin sheet that was covering it. He huffed and moved his head to gaze at you with heavy eyes, seeing his thumb in your mouth as you locked eyes with him with a blissed-out face, "You want me to make you cum again, don't ya?"

Releasing his thumb with a pop, you grinned as he gave a particularly hard thrust, you moaned out, "Do it,"

His eyes narrowed: challenged accepted.

Having this kind of love with Druig was nothing short of amazing. Built on the solid foundation of friendship and devotion, you both could take on the world if you wanted to. Yet you and Druig didn't wish for that, you both instead settled for your little village in the Amazon. A slice of paradise amongst the soldiers that followed Druig, underneath the massive trees, and hidden from the rest of the world. The love that was blossoming over time between you and Druig was now thriving and evolving, spending mornings in bed together and long walks amongst the trees. Druig never strayed from you, and he proved it again and again.

Druig loved running the village and caring for the families that were growing as the years went by, and you saw the new side of Druig that was hidden for so long because of his inability to step in and help humans. It made you proud to see him care for his villagers, to see the brightness in his eyes and within his tone, and you wished that would never go away.

Even after 500 years when your Eternals family came back to find you two to stop the ending of the world with them, nothing seemed to slow the pair of you down.

Moans were filling the room for the pair of you now as Druig was now determined to make you cum again, you letting him as his hips were now snapping and his eyes never leaving your face as you were melting with the sensation. You felt that drive in his hold along your body, in his whimpers along his lips, and in his eyes as he was watching you get closer and closer to teetering over the edge. He knew just how to make you cum: his rough fingers along your body or inside of you, his sweet and yet filthy words in your ear, and even his cock that was perfect in length and girth that seemed to be created to only fit inside of you. Inwardly, you thanked your lucky stars that you both were Eternals with extended energy, being able to fuck all night without a single need for a break.

This led to your record: 14 straight hours back in the Amazon when you two went off together on your anniversary back in 1869.

This time, this was more than a simple act of love or fuck session. The world almost ended, and you all almost lost everything you knew thanks to Arishem and his need to bring Tiamut to life and a new balance to the universe. Yet you all stopped it, not wishing to let this planet go to waste since you grew to love it over the centuries. It was a relief that there was no more danger for any of you to worry about, and to think that you were so close to losing Druig at the hands of Ikaris, you thought of the worst.

Seeing him walk up to you with a few cuts and bruises, yet alive and well, you had to hold him close and engrain him in your mind.

He must have felt the same, whisking you away from the rest of your group. Which then brought you to your current predicament.

"I'm close…I'm close Druig…" You moaned against his head as he was not slowing down with his hips and his open-mouth kisses against your jawline. He hummed, his spare hand moving down to rub his thumb against your clit as he was thrusting deeper and deeper. You moan hotly from the touch, your legs sprawling out at this point as he keeps the adrenaline going.

"You don't have to tell me, I can feel ya flutterin' against my cock," he growled as you were feeling that sensation in your toes moving up to be along your spine, "I know your body and what makes ya tick, right? I know where to touch, where to lick, where to….where to fuck,"

He rubbed your clit hard, making you moan with no abandon as he chuckled to pause and sit up a bit. He looked down at your body, seeing him undone you were yet at the same time tight wound. Your hair askew, your breast etched in hickies and exposed for him to savor, even the gorgeous sight of where you two were connected along your hips.

But what got him was your eyes, the same eyes that he fell for when he first saw you on the Domo. The same eyes that saw his painful and tear-jerking moments throughout the years but never repeated. The same eyes that poured love into his own when he felt he was undeserving. He swore a long time ago when he first kissed you at sunset, he would do anything and everything in his power to keep you in his life.

Centuries later, he held onto that promise.

"I love you," He hummed, the tone of lust simmered as you gazed up at him with lust in your own eyes. You felt that love seep under your skin, even in the heat of fucking you both would find a way to have another layer of intimacy with each other. Perhaps you were thinking that he was going to die because of Ikaris, or that was world was so close to ending, but you two looked at one another as if nothing else existed in the world, or in that little room.

You leaned up, moaning as you did since he was involuntarily thrusting in you to make you tremble. Druig moaned too, though it was silenced by you kissing him softly. He kissed you back, feeling that gentleness along your lips as you framed his face in your hands. Although you knew of it being a distraction, moving one hand to be placed in his chest to give him a push.

Within a second, he was sprawled on his back as you were now riding him. He grinned as you gently grasped his throat, feeling him gulp as you too locked eyes with that intensity again.

"Love you more," You replied, then giving one hard roll. Druig moaned loudly as his eyes rolled back in bliss.

The End

tagging - @a-lumos-in-the-nox @heliosphere8 @virtueassassin @pemberlyy @botanicalbarnes @reader6898 @eternalslover

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lovebites-if · 8 months

Text

DEMO (tba) - FAQ - NAVIGATION

Tag(s): Slice of Life, Fantasy, Comedy, Drama, Romance, YA, LGBTQ+, Text-based, Lighthearted. Inspired by The Office and What We Do In The Shadows.

Congratulations, human!

You have been chosen to join the extraordinary Creature Mediation Center (CMC), a unique workplace where all kinds of different monsters creatures collaborate to bridge the specieist gap in our society. As the newest and only human of our team, you'll navigate a world of diverse creatures, handling counseling sessions, managing projects, and making critical decisions to foster harmony between two worlds.

Welcome to a realm where diplomacy is a blend of corporate intrigue and fantastical diversity!

Customize your human MC's physical appearance, personality, age (25-35) and many more features.

Build relationships with diverse colleagues, each with unique personalities, backgrounds, and challenges. Strengthen alliances or face consequences based on your interactions.

Encounter a plethora of fantastical creatures, each with its own cultural nuances, habits, and communication styles. Learn to navigate this rich tapestry of diversity.

Juggle various projects aimed at fostering understanding and cooperation between monsters and humans. Successes and failures affect the overall atmosphere in the office.

Engage in crucial decision-making that impacts office dynamics, relationships, and the overall course of monster and human relations. Your choices influence the harmony or discord between both species. Good luck, human!

RO Intros • Choosing a route

Among the various members of your team, we present you the Monsters Working With the Human Division (MWHD) provisional name.

Naira/Namid (she/her or he/him) • THE WEREWOLF • 32 years old

Animated, bubbly and incredibly friendly, our beloved N brings an energetic and passionate, and lively spirit to the office. As a Werewolf, their empathetic nature makes them adept at counseling. They joined the office seeking a bridge between the worlds, hoping to dispel misconceptions about werewolves and foster understanding.

Friends to lovers, idiots in love, (possible) friends with benefits. It's possible to enter a poly relationship with N and Val.

Val (she/her or he/him) • THE VAMPIRE • age undisclosed (200+)

Mysterious and meticulous, Val is the epitome of a centuries-old vampire. Their adherence to rules and structure contrasts with the unfortunate chaotic nature of the office. Val took on this role to observe and maintain order, ensuring the delicate balance between humans and monsters.

Slow-burn, (Val's) First love. It's possible to enter a poly relationship with N and Val.

Maureen/Marius (she/her or he/him) • THE GRIM REAPER • age undisclosed (300+)

Enigmatic yet compassionate, M retired from their reaping decades ago. They've been part of the office for a few years now, working almost exclusively with ghosts and their human relatives. M's unique perspective offers profound insights into life and afterlife.

Forbidden love, friends to lovers, mutual pining.

Devan (they/them) • THE ONI • 28 years old

Devan embodies the mischievous spirit of an Oni, their playful and curious personality makes them difficult to handle, yet very useful in dynamic environments. Their love for challenges drew them to the office, eager to tackle the complexities of monster and human relations.

Idiots in love, (possible) friends with benefits. Oblivious to love (Devan).

Lucian/Leah (he/him or she/her) • THE MERMAID • 25 years old

L's calm and observant personality brings a tranquil presence to the office. As a Mermaid, they contribute a unique perspective on the challenges of both land and sea. L joined to explore new horizons and bridge the gap between underwater and terrestrial life.

Rivals to lovers, (possible) rivals with benefits, pining (one-sided, mostly MC's).

Cyrus (he/him or she/her) • THE ZOMBIE • 30 years old

Cyrus defies zombie stereotypes. Their ability to empathize and understand others' emotions makes them an excellent counselor. Cyrus joined the office seeking redemption and a chance to demonstrate that even the undead can contribute positively to society.

Everyone can see it, Girl/Boy next door, Soft love.

??? (he/him or she/her) • ??? • ???

Are you sure about that?

Enemies to lovers. Red flag RO. “I can fix them.”

While we support, Human-Monster relationships, dating a coworker is prohibited. If you suspect anyone in your work environment of engaging in such behavior, contact your boss and supervisor Arion/Arianne (a proud gorgon).

We hope your time with us is fruitful, human.

#love bites if #love bites #cog #choice of games #choice script #hosted games #interactive fiction #if game #cog wip #intro post #interactive fiction game #if intro

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whimsyfinny · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: stalker/ unsuccessful kidnap, violence, depictions of blood and assault (let me know if I should add more)

Chapter Word Count: 2318

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sooooo I’m sorry it’s not spicy like I said it would be… But I absolutely promise the next one will be! Chapters 5 and 6 were supposed to be just one chapter but it got too long so I had to split it… And again please let me know of any errors because this is only proof read by myself.

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Please Read the Below First:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I’m Not You’re F*cking Maid

Chapter 5

After thorough interviewing of the staff and regular patrons; long searches through copious auction records and meticulous studying of the items in the shop we narrowed our search down to one item: an old jade hairpin. The hairpin belonged to a young lady who was given the gift as a wedding present, however when she found out on her wedding night that her new husband was having an affair, she stabbed him to death with it before jumping to her own demise from their third floor balcony. That was just over a century ago, and she was still wreaking havoc on unfaithful men to this day.

“I mean I get where she’s coming from,” I shrugged as we walked back to the motel. Both brothers turned to look at me with concern smeared over their features. “OBVIOUSLY I don’t agree with all the murder,” they breathed a sigh of relief, “but you can’t hate her for being mad. I would be too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a little and holding his hands up. I gave him a look of bewilderment.

“What side do you think you’re on, Dean? Because this,” I gestured between us, “isn’t my good side.” He mumbled something incoherent as we got to the motel so I chose to ignore him completely.

“So what’s the plan? It’s getting late and we can’t really do anything now until that charity event taking place at the auction house tomorrow. We’re already pretty clued up on how to get rid of ghosts so there’s really not much to do except to get both your names on that guest list,” Sam patted his laptop, looking at both of us.

“Food?” Dean and I said at the same time.

“Food sounds good,” Sam nodded. The boys turned around to leave when I stopped them.

“Just whilst we’re still at the motel, I’m just going to freshen up real quick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “really?” I flipped him the bird.

“I can just meet you there? There’s like only one diner in this town and I know the way. I won’t be long.” The brothers looked at each other for a few seconds before Sam looked at me and smiled.

“Sure ok, we’ll get a seat in the window so we can see you coming.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” I grinned at the younger Winchester before turning away and letting myself into my room.

I had the worlds quickest shower and threw on some clean underwear and a clean top, feeling better after getting the grime from the day off. I pulled on my jeans, socks and boots, applied a small amount of eyeliner and mascara and tidied my hair the best I could before slinging on my jacket and applying some perfume to my wrists and neck. It was one of my favourite scents: I’d bought it from some lingerie store a year or so ago and it’s apparently one of those aphrodisiac perfumes, however I have no idea if it even works or not. It’s probably a scam, nothing works that well in real life.

After I’d finished sorting myself out - which took no longer than half an hour - I grabbed my phone and keys and left the room, locking up before making my way towards the diner. Night had descended, the air turning cold against my warm skin and the usually busy streets now lay deserted and car-free. It was only about a five minute walk or so from the motel and I was now only about a minute away when I noticed that I wasn’t alone. I’d caught a glimpse of a figure dressed from head to toe in black in the reflection of several shop windows, and they were following my exact trail. I sped up, walking faster down the empty main road and hoping it was all a coincidence as worst case scenarios started to race through my mind. It wasn’t long until the diner was in sight and I breathed a sigh of relief, however the relief was short lived when those footsteps were getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker right behind me. It dawned on me that this wasn’t a coincidence at all - I was definitely being stalked. I started to run, my legs moving before my brain had kicked into gear and I was only inches from the front door when the stranger caught up, slamming me against the wall of the building and putting a knife to my throat, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t make a fucking noise - you’re coming with me,” he said aggressively yet quietly. I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t help but feel tears well in my eyes, my breath turning shaky as my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t even get any words out as his hand was too tight over my lips.

I wanted to cry out for help so badly it hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that this was all a bad dream. My cheek was pushed into the rough brick which grazed my skin, and I silently prayed for my attacker to just let me go or for some hero to come and save me. At that very moment I heard the door to the diner and my eyes shot open, instantly connecting with Deans. I watched as surprise turned to horror which then turned to pure feral rage on his face and before I even had a chance to blink he was gone from my line of sight - but so was the pressure keeping me pinned against the wall. I spun around and I watched Dean throw the stalker to the floor with more force that I thought he could muster and tower over him. Dean didn’t say a word, but the stranger let out a sharp cry of pain as Dean instantly brought his boot down on his ribs. There was a CRACK. He did it again.

And again.

And then he got down and pinned my attacker flush against the tarmac before he brought a closed fist down on his face over and over and over again, cracking his jaw and breaking his nose. Dean didn’t stop until the man was totally unrecognisable and unresponsive. Standing up off of his limp body, he looked over to me, his furious, almost animalistic stare softening instantly, even through all the blood that now painted his face. He took one step towards me before my feet worked on their own and carried me straight to him. I put my arms out to reach for him and he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his chest with zero hesitation, his arms circling me and his blood-soaked palms gently stroking my hair. I sobbed. I sobbed from the fear I felt, I sobbed for feeling like such a victim and I sobbed for the relief I now felt flooding my veins as Dean held me, not saying a word. Listening to his heartbeat with my ear to his chest, I felt so safe and secure that it made me want to sob even more.

Dean ended up taking me straight back to my room - he called Sam to tell him what had happened as he wasn’t going to be returning to the diner. I had my second shower of the day as soon as we returned, wanting to scrub everywhere that horrible man had touched. Whilst I was washing, Dean had headed back to his own room to shower off the layer of blood coating his skin. After I was satisfactorily clean, I dried myself and dressed in that old T-shirt I wore the night before, pulling on some fresh underwear and perching on the end of the bed. I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flicking through channels, hoping to find something to distract my racing brain.

I’d been sitting in the same position for around ten minutes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I held my breath as I got up and walked over, looking through the peephole. It was Dean. I released that breath as I opened the door and let him in. He’d changed from his usual gruff attire to something way more comfortable - a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. He smiled at me. A kind smile, nothing like those teasing and sly ones we’d been throwing at each other since yesterday. This one was genuine, and it made my chest feel warm. He locked the door behind him as I padded back over to the bed and climbed on it, sitting right in the centre with my legs crossed. I pulled the T-shirt down to cover my dignity as Dean placed a carrier bag in front of me. I peeked inside. It was full to the brim of all different types of snacks and I grinned up at him.

“You sure do know how to treat a girl, Winchester.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked down at the floor before taking residence beside me.

“You’re the first one who thinks so”.

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a long line of women who definitely think otherwise,” he smiled a slightly sad smile. We both paused before I continued.

“Well if it means anything, what you did for me today, I-” he held a hand up to stop me as he saw the look of fear flit across my features again, the horrid memory bubbling to the surface.

“It was the least I could do,” he said softly before his brows furrowed, “but to be honest I should never have let you out of my sight.” The almost protective tone of his voice made my heart flutter a little, but It was my turn to reassure him as I placed my hand on his shoulder delicately.

“Dean, none of us knew that would happen. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone if you genuinely thought I was in danger - after all, you DID promise to keep me safe from my own shadow,” I flashed him a grin which he quickly returned, chuckling. We sat for a few moments in a strangely comfortable silence before there was another knock at the door. I went to get up to answer it but Dean beat me to it, swinging it open to show a very concerned Sam stood in the doorway. He looked at me with those big ever-worried eyes and I shot him my best ‘please don’t worry’ grin.

“I’m fine, Sam” I called out to him as I tried to listen in on the hushed words Dean was speaking. They conversed for a while, occasionally throwing glances at me as I rustled around in the bag of goodies Dean had supplied. Growing bored of not being involved with their conversation, I scooted back on the bed to lean back on the headboard and proceeded to flick through dozens of channels until I found something decent to watch. A few more minutes had passed and I’d munched my way through almost half a bag of Doritos when I heard the door close and it was just me and Dean again. He had a paper bag that Sam must’ve passed him, which he held up and pointed to.

“The blood stains came out of my clothes, although Sam said the people in the laundromat were giving him strange looks,” he laughed slightly, those striking eyes of his looking down into mine as he took a few steps closer. I laughed slightly, only imagining Sam’s awkwardness in that situation. I broke my gaze away from Dean for a few seconds, looking down at my hands before looking back up. I could tell he was hovering now, just waiting for me to say something.

“Dean I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if you need me to” his hand ran over the stubble on his chin, his eyes not leaving me.

“Really, I’m ok. I’m probably just going to sit here and watch whatever this is-”

“It’s obviously Men in Black,” Dean scoffed. I smiled, finding comfort in the familiar snarky remark.

“Obviously - I don’t live under a rock Dean,” I rolled my eyes as I stood up, placing my hands on his chest. He was so warm to the touch that it was almost enticing me not to let go. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat was so soothing. But I did let go, and I spun him around to start ushering him to the door. As he was leaving, I grabbed my half eaten bag of chips and started munching again. He opened the door, stepping outside.

“Go back to your room Dean. I promise I’m ok. I don’t want you both hovering over me constantly making sure I’m fine; that will just make me feel worse,” I said as he spun to face me, nodding his head.

“Back to normal. Got it.”

“Great,” I said, sucking the tangy chip dust from my thumb. Dean suddenly reached out and snatched the half-eaten bag from my hand before quickly walking away.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted back at me before shovelling food into his mouth.

“You ass! I was eating those!” He shrugged in an overly animated fashion, not bothering to turn and look at me as he continued towards his room. I sighed, closing the door and locking it, sliding the chain across this time too. I padded back towards the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I started to drift off, the buzz of the movie still playing in the background, I smiled a little to myself:

Fucking Winchester.

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Taglist: @creative-writing92 @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lanassmarty @aliceeinwonderland420 @tina-theslytherin @deans-queen @hell0-ki11y111 @hobby27 @lilcuutiee @sobearcowboy @girls-alias @selfdestructionandrhum @ericasabe @lacilou @littlemadamred @viridiesa @anneanirac @deans-baby-momma @swimregulas @ashdoctor @littlemarvelstan8 @atcamillanorrman @deangirl96 @zannemes @kr804573 @foxyjwls007 @divadinag @ilikw @cookiemonstermusic258 @mysterialee @vsplanet @ababy-girl @joonseuph0ria @mxltifxnd0m @deans-spinster-witch @st4bl3-ch40s @raven-red10

Some of the tags haven’t worked, so please check your settings!

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Up Next:

Chapter 6

#dean x female!reader #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #eventual smut #slow burn

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vagabond-umlaut · 4 months

Text

The Contract To Compromise

Chapter 1 of For Love's Sake Only... Or Is It? Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader; Victorian AU; Epistolary. Fluff, Angst, Drama & Romance; Arranged Marriage; Marriage of Convenience; Love at First Sight; Slow Burn; Letters; Secret Identity.

This work is loosely inspired by 'Daddy-Long-Legs' by Jean Webster, but of course, minus the icky problematic parts of the dynamics between the protagonist and her love interest. [The novel is a wonderful read otherwise!] [Also, I do not wish to kink-shame anyone.]

Chapter warnings: A FEW TOO MANY historical inaccuracies. Talks of bankruptcy and murder. [Nothing serious happens, though!]

To say you're happy might be the greatest understatement of the century.

Cheeks hurting from your wide grin, you throw the receding horse carriage one last glance before rushing out the front door. To the Itadori's two blocks away. Whose door is opened by none but your closest and dearest friend Yuuji.

"Oh, hello—" The boy greets, eyes wide yet crinkling into a slow smile, only for you to startle him further by suddenly pulling him into a tight embrace. The sound of his yelp lost in that of your hearty chuckles, you announce, "He agreed, Yuuji. He agreed. Oh goodness, I cannot believe my good fortune but he agreed."

"He... as in your fiance?" Yuuji inquires when you let go of him, closing the door behind you then leading you into the house. Sounds of sizzling food reach you from the kitchen further down the hallway. Ah, so Megumi must have woken up already.

You nod back. "Mmhm. The one and only. The man agreed to help me. I cannot believe it but his employee Uraume arrived at our place today morning and delivered a letter from their employer. Lord Ryomen says he agrees to fund the remainder of my college tuition."

A shadow falls over Yuuji's face at your words— one teeming with pity and sympathy— you try not to let it hurt your feelings, your pride as much as it should. As much as it used to.

Though you suppose there's very little of your pride left after your once-affluent family goes bankrupt and you give your consent to an arranged marriage with a rich stranger from faraway lands— something which once made you wrinkle your nose in distaste— but you agree to it eagerly now only for the financial help for your family promised by your prospective groom should you decide to wed him.

And even less of your pride left after you write him a letter not even three days later, requesting him to pay for your remaining last year at college, though not stating it in explicit terms. Instead, saying how one might benefit from a well-educated, empowered wife. Besides assuring you have every intention of paying him back the money he spends for your studies.

A call of your name draws you away from your mind. Yuuji frowns, miserable and contrite. "I wish we could help you, but with me paying for my grandfather's treatment and with 'Gumi paying his father's debts... we're very, very sorry."

"It's okay, you silly boy," you brush his genuine apology away with a chuckle, reaching forwards to squeeze his palm reassuringly, "To have the two of you by my side even when nearly everyone else left me— that's the greatest help you and Megumi could ever give me and my family. Thank you so much, Yuuji."

A weak grin breaks across his face but before he can say anything, Megumi walks into the room with a tray of tea and pastries. You send him a teasing grin, "So how's staying with Yuuji treating you, hm? Quite well, is it not?"

"Better than the very best," Megumi replies, simple and solemn, settling on the settee beside his lover and slipping an arm round his waist. "Though I suppose you're faring the best of us all. I could hear you laughing through the sounds of the pans and cookers."

"That I am," you admit easily, taking a bite from a red velvet pastry, an appreciative hum leaving you at its heavenly taste, "My fiance agreed to pay for my college tuition after all. I can now graduate with no worries in a year— and no. No more sorry's, please. I won't hesitate to forget my governess' lessons and hit the two of you if I need to sit through yet another apology. Please, Fushiguro."

The addressed boy sighs at your demand, relenting much sooner than you expected him to. "Alright, I won't. But know that we two are always here for you, okay? We might not be able to help you financially, but that should never stop you from sharing your troubles with us. Particularly if they concern your fiance. Especially if they concern him mistreating you in any form. Yes?"

"Is that an offer to murder him if he does so?" you inquire, half-amused, half-serious. He shrugs. "If the need arises, why not? My birth father was a horrible parent but he was a damn good assassin. He taught me more than a few tricks."

"Not that we will ever need to see them, however," Yuuji adds within the next beat with a tense chuckle and a glare at his lover you've never reckoned he can give, "Su– I mean, Lord Ryomen is a good man. He's certain to treat you right. Don't worry."

And worrying, you're not. Not very much, that is.

"I hope he is," you hum quietly, "Though he is kind of odd, I must say, what with his conditions for agreeing to pay for my tuition and such."

"Conditions?"

Megumi's sharp query shoves you out your thoughts, making you realize you weren't as quiet as you deemed you were. You throw back a small smile.

"Not anything serious, fret not. He simply wishes me to send him a letter every fortnight, updating him on my daily life. Uraume said it is for Lord Ryomen to know his help isn't being in vain. And to know his bride better, considering he cannot visit me from his province anytime soon."

"And you agreed to it?" Yuuji asks, exchanging a look with the other boy.

You pretend to ignore it. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? Although..." you trail off, eventually adding with a frown, "he asked me not to expect any reply from him, whatsoever— which is somewhat disheartening, if I must be honest. It's almost as if I'll be writing letters to a wall."

"Yet you agreed to it?" It is Megumi who asks this time, scowling, "If you did not like the condition, why did you say yes to it? You should have rejected it."

"Beggars can seldom be choosers, 'Gumi," you sigh with a mirthless smile.

"Besides, my marriage to Lord Ryomen will be one of convenience solely— it's good he won't be replying to my letters. This will prevent my heart from succumbing to foolish dreams of love— I'll remember our relationship is nothing but a transaction. Him, helping my poor family and me by sending money the 3rd of every month. Me, thanking him by agreeing to wed him thus providing him a companion, and possibly a means to carry forward his lineage. Nothing less. Definitely nothing more."

A stifling silence follows the tail end of your words— one you attempt to break with a wide grin when you realize the effect you had on the atmosphere of the room. "Ah, but the good thing is I can finish my education and be a graduate— something I've dreamt of ever since I was a tiny girl. I feel so immensely relieved now."

"Yes. Every cloud does have a golden lining, doesn't it?" Yuuji chimes in almost instantly with a cheery beam, bless the boy and his kind soul. Megumi regards you carefully for a moment longer then exhales audibly, a sign of him conceding.

"It is silver, not golden," he corrects the other boy with a disapproving look before pinning it on you, "and yes, I suppose it does— but don't let your head be in the clouds, will you?"

Your lips curve in a confident little grin.

"I won't, 'Gumi. Of course, I won't."

I had forgotten this was there in my drafts. xD

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #kit posts 📝

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k-daydreams · 11 months

Text

The Pursuit of Feeling Alive: III. Bratty Behavior

Pairing: fem!reader x azriel, platonic!innercircle

Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, trauma, reader being shitty, slow slow burn, mor and Cassian being readers moral sanity, filler chapter, grammatical errors lmao

Authors note: hellooo! So this is kinda a filler since what I was writing for this part was so long. Next part will really be juicy I promise! Thank you guys for so much love on the last part, I hope y’all will like this! Not a lot of Az has been in this part, mainly talking about him in 3rd person, but I promise hold on hope y’all get him in action in the next!! Lmk what you guys think

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

"Rhysand isn't impressed with Azriel," Mor declared, her knife slicing through a piece of meat. "To be honest, Y/n, I could genuinely throttle him." She took a bite of her food before continuing.

It was your first night back in Velaris, and the inner circle, along with the company, was aware of what had happened between Azriel and you. Well, at least what Cassian, Nesta, and Elain had witnessed. Rhys and Feyre hadn't approached you about it yet; Mor mentioned they wanted to spare you any further distress for the time being. Typically when one of the inner circle members had returned home from something, Rhys would have organized a celebratory family dinner, but he had decided against it for now. Instead, you and Mor dined alone in the House of Wind tonight.

Nonchalantly, you shrugged and took a sip from your wine glass. "Just another tantrum from that Illyrian man-child. Nothing new, really." You tried to sound relaxed, not wanting your friends and family to worry about you or the argument. You didn't want Azriel to know his words had cut you deeply or give him any satisfaction. You had already shown him just how much they had affected you. The impact was tangible—you had been restless, tossing and turning in bed for the past few nights, with no appetite to eat. Your homecoming was supposed to mark the beginning of your healing journey, yet here you were, starving and sleep-deprived due to the nonsense uttered by a man who thought he knew you.

Mor nodded knowingly, her napkin dabbing at her lips. "He had no right to speak to you like that," she said, her voice firm. "He knows that, no matter what, you're family. That's why we came back for you when Helion sent word. He knows we would do the same for any member of our family and to disregard you so quickly like that."

Disheartened, you let out a sigh. "I don't know, Mor. I knew we ended things on a sour note, but it's been nearly 60 years since then. I thought he would have moved on."

Her food momentarily forgotten, Mor nearly choked when you made that statement. "Please tell me you didn't just say that," she responded incredulously.

What do you mean?"

She stared at you intensely, her eyes burning into your soul as you went blank. "Seriously?" Perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "I've seen you hold grudges for centuries, and yet you expect him to forgive you for an argument that happened over half a century ago?"

Both of you fell silent, studying each other across the table. Mor's loyalty to Azriel, despite never reciprocating his feelings, was unwavering—just as yours had been in the past. At times, it made you question if her feelings for him were truly nonexistent, like now. A queasiness churned in your stomach, and your head throbbed with a dull ache. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach hadn't been the best idea, especially when thoughts of Mor and Azriel intertwined.

You cleared your throat, a newfound coldness lacing your tone as you spoke up. "Every grudge I've held has been a result of something more severe than an argument," you stated, fidgeting with the table linen. "An argument, mind you, that happened because he didn't want me to follow Rhys."

Mor retorted sharply, "Look where that got you." Your heart started pounding, your ears heating. Your gaze dropped in her direction, and a familiar flame ignited within you. "What he did was fucked up, but Y/n, you can be a stubborn brat." You opened your mouth to object, but she raised a hand to stop you. "I'm not trying to be rude. I say this because I care about you. But it's time to own up to your mistakes. Only then, maybe, just maybe, you can find peace again."

Mor's tough love never felt good, but you knew it always came from a place of good intentions. Angry and devastated, you found it hard to accept hearing all that. Sure, you could be opinionated and stubborn at times, but reducing yourself to a brat felt unjust.

Draining your wine, you replied, "I had hoped for a civil conversation with him whenever we did talk." Mor looked skeptical, likely not fully believing you. You did have a record for the last century or so with picking arguments, you blamed being around Mor and Amren so much, and maybe a lot of repressed feelings.

Despite her irritation with you, Mor reached out and took your hand in hers, comforting you with gentle circles on the back of it, like a mother would. "When it comes to you, it seems his shadows turn to flames."

There was so much you wanted to say, but you remained silent, allowing her words to echo in your mind. You couldn't quite grasp their cryptic meaning, but you didn’t want to indulge in the topic too much longer. Mor let go of your hand, standing up. "Feel like grabbing a drink at Rita's?" she asked, her tone changing, a small smirk forming. A way to nurse your wounds.

Shaking your head, you replied, "Not tonight. I need to rest. Traveling today drained me. But thank you." You offered a tight-lipped smile.

"Sweet dreams, little star," Mor said, patting your head before walking away.

The once-dull headache now throbbed prominently in your forehead, and you cradled your head in discomfort. Mor’s conversation seemed to reflect the same argument you had a few days prior with Azriel. Though not filled with as malicious intent as his did, it still left you feeling just as scorned. The house cleared the table immaculately as you stood to make your way to your room.

The hallways were quiet and deserted, illuminated by the dim twinkle of faelights illuminating the red stone of the walls. Each light flickered slightly in your presence before dimming again, but you were too weary to care about such peculiarities of your powers. The House of Wind sprawled endlessly, a labyrinth of doors and spiraling stairs within the mountainside. A few new paintings and plants adorned the halls, likely additions from the High Lady and her sister, but it all remained as you remembered.

When you enter your room, a plate with an assortment of delectable cheese and crackers, accompanied by a tall, refreshing glass of water. Along with a small container of headache powder sat patiently on your bedside table. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you witnessed the house meticulously pulling back your sheets, reminiscent of the way it used to prepare your bed during your childhood days. Gently placing your night clothes at the foot of the bed, a smile of gratitude graced your face, silently expressing your appreciation to the house. It seemed that Rhys had been right about something you thought once you were in bed getting pulled into a restless sleep.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You trudged begrudgingly through the halls of the endless mansion. Feyre had roused you from slumber earlier that morning, informing you of a meeting with the inner circle in an hour. Though you harbored little desire to attend, it was the first order by your new High Lady, making it a matter of importance. You hated how far your room was from the war room. Wishing you had wings, even better, you wished you had a room closer to one of the rooms you frequented the most. Finally almost out of breath, you made it to the entrance. You stalked into the room, you found Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Azriel, and Mor already settled in their seats.

"Tsk, tsk, fashionably late to your first meeting?" Cassian playfully jabbed at you. Walking past him, you discreetly flicked the back of his head, eliciting a muttered "brat" as he dramatically nursed the imaginary injury.

Your steps faltered for a moment, as that word—brat—pricked at your annoyance. Not letting it fester too much, you take a seat between Mor and Lucien. Sitting across from Cassian and Amren, with Azriel positioned diagonally next to his brother, you could feel his intense gaze fixed upon you. Determined not to shudder or shift under his scrutiny, you resolved not to let him see how deeply his words affected you. Deep down, however, you couldn't deny the lingering care you held for him, or the way his presence had consumed your thoughts over the past week like a plague.

"I don't see Feyre and Rhysand, so technically I'm not late," you declared, a smug tone coloring your words.

"Actually, they had other matters to attend to," Amren replied indifferently. It had been less than an hour since you last saw Feyre, leaving you puzzled as to what could have transpired in such a short span of time. Cassian nudged your foot under the table, a silent reminder of his earlier warning. Narrowing your eyes, you retaliated by kicking his shin, relishing in his sharp intake of breath as he winced. "Relax, Y/n!" he exclaimed, while you concealed your smirk, leaning back in your chair with crossed arms.

"Must you be so childish?" Azriel's voice snapped at you, catching you off guard.

Cassian stared at his brother in shock, attempting to defend your actions. “Brother I had started it-“

Beside him, the spymaster exhaled, regaining his composure. "I don't care who started it; I want to get through this as quickly as possible.” he requested, his tone cold.

"Yes, please," you muttered under your breath. The shadowsinger shot you a look.

Though you sensed he had more to say, Amren began speaking before another argument could erupt, cutting straight to the point. "We haven't visited the Court of Nightmares in quite some time. It's about time we made an appearance; I'm sure they're on the brink of chaos by now."

Mor sucked in her teeth, and you could hear Lucien gulp audibly, clearly apprehensive at the thought. You bit your lip anxiously.

"I won't be able to attend. Rhysand, specifically Feyre, has requested that you, Y/n, take the reins tonight," Amren announced, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. She seemed unfazed by the prospect of missing out on the formal affair. Uncertainty flickered across the faces of those from the inner circle, unsure of how you would receive the order, except for Azriel, whose expression remained inscrutable.

You fidgeted with your fingers, picking at the hangnails. Before Amarantha, you had taken pleasure in Rhys entrusting you with these meetings, where you handled official business between the Court of Dreams and Nightmares. It had been empowering to witness your family obeying your orders, having spent so long following theirs, only to be shunned upon your return in the aftermath of one of the darkest days of your life. Your parents were ready to condemn you for treason when they first laid eyes on you. That’s when Rhys had appointed you as an emissary. Primarily since you had spent the most time in the court knowing the ins and outs, and as a sick punishment for your family.

Now, anxiety gripped you as memories you had desperately tried to suppress from your childhood. Those memories now attached with the new ones you sought to repress from your encounter with Amarantha. It became increasingly difficult to focus on Amren's words as your gaze wandered blankly through the expansive window behind her, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

"Azriel will be right beside you for protection throughout the night, Cassian will accompany Mor, with Lucien joining them," Amren continued, a hint of wariness in her words.

"Why-why can't Cass be by my side?" you stammered. "He's a general for a reason." You had an inkling to why Azriel had always been at your side when you’d be in charge of this responsibility, but you also wanted him nowhere near you. Didn’t anyone else think that him and you together was an awful idea at the moment?

"Because Azriel has a more intimidating effect on your family," Amren replied, looking knowingly at him. Azriel remained stoic, mirroring your own defensive posture—scarred muscular arms crossed, leaning back in his chair, stil as a statue. "As I said, it's been some time since we made an appearance. Who knows what they might do? We can't risk any harm coming to the Princess on her first days back at court," she added mockingly. Rolling your eyes, you fought the urge to offer her a vulgar gesture. For that remark alone, she could certainly go to hell.

"Cassian will come to fetch you later, so you can all gather at the townhouse and winnow together," Amren concluded nonchalantly. "Now, I need to speak with Mor and Cassian privately. You three are dismissed; I'm sure Azriel and Y/n are just itching to throw themselves off the dining room veranda by now." She said to you, Lucien, and Azriel. She was right about one thing, you thought to yourself, your chair scraping against the floor as you stood, eager to escape the war room as quickly as possible.

You closed the door to your room, and fell into your bed screaming into the mattress. You were frustrated, overwhelmed, and exhausted from lack of sleep. A small commotion on your nightstand made you jump, looking up, a medium box now laid on the stand. An envelope attached to a deep purple ribbon wrapped around the gift. You sat up, and grabbed it, opening the paper.

‘Give them hell tonight, you've earned it little star. -R&F’

Inside the box was a diadem of silver, stars of different shapes hung all adorning the chain encrusted in emeralds, diamonds of different hues, and sapphires for you to wear tonight. You sighed, a new feeling slithering through your veins. Maybe this was Rhysand’s way of giving you therapy. You all played a game and made a show down in the court of nightmares that the inner circle all got a kick out of at one point or another. Maybe playing the act was what you needed? You had let your mental shield down, letting your thoughts empty to nothing, hoping Rhys would be paying attention.

You planned this intentionally? You thought once your mind was blank.

Me? What would make you think so? Rhys purred in your mind.

You rolled your eyes. Mhm, you two just had to conveniently leave all of a sudden?

That’s a matter for tomorrow, just try not to torture someone to death tonight, especially not our spymaster. He taunted.

Your spymaster, no promises. You clarified.

Have fun, little star. You could feel him poking at your mind to signal he was no longer there.

You threw your shield up, and laid back on your bed. Tonight was going to be interesting.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You fixed your lip shine in the mirror, finishing the final touches to your look before a rhythmic knock on your ajar door sounded.

“You ready?” Cassian peaked before walking into the room.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He let out a low whistle as he examined you. “Your family’s not gonna like that.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” You smirked despite a brief heat rising to your cheeks.

The gown you chose was something you had saved for a trip specifically for the court of nightmares before you had been trapped under the mountain. The bodice had long sleeves and was skin tight, black crystal branches wrapping up your arms, and up your waist with thicker branches covering your chest. The skirt billowed with several layers of gossamer, much like the gown you wore in the day court just several days prior, but had slits dangerously high risking a reveal of your hip bones unlike the other gown. You wore the highest heels you had in your closet that were sure to make you grumpy just by standing in them for more than a couple minutes— exactly why you chose them. Then the diadem that Rhys and Feyre gifted you graced the top of your head and shimmered in the faelight of your room that flickered in your wake, when you felt the satisfaction from Cass’s comment.

He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “I don’t think I even like that.” Then he noticed the slits in the fabric. Rubbing a hand over his face in disbelief. “Mother of the cauldron Y/n, are you even wearing anything under that dress?” He made a face which made you laugh out loud.

“Pig, no need to worry about that!” You slapped his arm lightly before looping yours through it.

“You’re right I don’t want to know.” He shook his head. Cassian was always your comedic relief from your worries, and you were thankful that hadn’t changed. “Could you let Nesta borrow it?” He suggested cheekily.

You groaned disgustedly, “then I would have to burn it afterwards.”

“Good, I don’t want to see you in this gown again after tonight.”

“You’re not my father.” You teased as you two walked out to the balcony.

“Yeah but in my head you’ll always be like my little sister, no matter how much of a brat you are.” He nudged you.

“I hate that word,” you admitted, preparing yourself for flight.

He picked you up bridal style as if you weighed nothing in his arms. You adjusted the fabric so it wouldn’t fly up mid flight. “You know it’s true.” He said, his wings rustling, preparing himself.

You gave him a pointed look, “I’m considering it’s true.” Providing a pinch to his bicep. Without warning he took off into the night sky of Velaris, teasingly loosening his grip on you like he was going to drop you.

“If you keep hurting me, I’ll have to sic my mate on you.” A mischievous glint in his eyes.

“She probably knows you deserve it.” You watched the city below light up under the starry sky.

“Touché,” he smiled. He looked in thought as a silence fell over you two letting you admire Velaris below. You hadn’t had a chance to explore the city since your return, today would’ve been the day if it weren’t for the meeting in the court of nightmares. You could see the rainbow quarters perfectly from above and hear the music in the distance. The stars and moon were close to you as well, the music and being so close the light brought solace to any nerves you may have had. It prickled softly at your skin, seeping into your skin.

“I could guess one person who’ll be excited to see you.” Cassian broke the momentary silence.

“Don’t say his name,” you begged, seeing the angle he was trying to pull.

“Who, Azriel?” He grinned broadly.

“My peace is ruined,” you deadpanned, him chuckling at your disdain.

“Don’t let him being an asshole deter you. He’s been all bent out of shape since your absence. I think he’s just hurt deep down, and those little shadows that are always in his ear when you're around doesn’t help.”

You listened to Cassian ramble, confusion filling you. “You haven’t heard everything he's said to me.”

He relaxed a bit, soaring lower, the familiar townhouse now in your view. “I haven’t heard everything you've said to him either, and I don’t think it’s my business or my right to say anything on the matter given my record. Sometimes you say shit in the heat of the moment, sometimes you say shit to hide what’s actually going on underneath it all. One thing I know whenever it comes to you he’s always all up in arms. Not even Elain can do that to him. I didn’t even see him like that with Mor besides that one time.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, getting ready to land. You gripped his neck tighter, bracing yourself.

“When you’re not annoying, you’re actually wise y’know that?” You were in awe at his words. You weren’t sure how true his interpretation was, but for now it brought you slight comfort and ease about the Azriel situation. He landed with his wings slightly fluttering about, shaking off the wind of the night. He gently set you down, and you tried adjusting yourself now that you were standing. You went to fix the diadem, but Cass pushed your hand away lightly, doing it for you.

“I would hope so, year 600 is creeping up on me fast.”

You laughed softly, “you're about to be an old man.”

“Yeah let’s not talk about that, we’re talking about you remember?” He fixed a loose piece of hair that was out of place. “Try not to let him get to you too much tonight or at least channel it into you being all scary and brooding. I’ve missed you in court, it hasn't been the same.”

“Thank you Cass, and I’m sorry for not visiting.” You said sincerely.

Pulling you into his arms for an embrace, he sighed. “I figured you needed space. There’s nothing wrong with that. Rhys went to the cabin after he came out from under there. You just went to the day court for almost a decade long sabbatical.” He shrugged casually. “You can repay me by training again once you’re settled.” You nodded, pulling away. He wrapped his arm around you, “C’mon we have a party to get to.”

Lucien, Morrigan, and Azriel waited for you two. Azriel was the first to look up at the sound of your heels clicking on floor into the foyer of the townhouse. His hazel eyes darkened, eyebrows slightly narrowing, and jaw clenched at the sight of you. Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes traced your body, lingering at the top of the slits of the gown that could expose your hip bones at any sudden movement, before taking in your bare legs that were accentuated by the uncomfortable heels. You felt a warmth in your core that betrayed any ill feelings towards the spymaster, and you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself. You never knew a look would be able to enthrall you so much and ignite such feelings.

He was in his more formal fighting leathers, muscles at full display even underneath the leather, his hair neatly styled back, sciphons glowing under the light of the common room. He was god-like, you couldn’t deny that. Not rugged looking like Cassian or as regal as Rhys, but he was beautiful. You wanted to be sick at thinking these thoughts. His shadows whispered in his ears as he stared at you. You couldn’t discern the look in his eyes as Mor approached you.

“Oh my, my fathers gonna croak, I love it!” She squealed looking at the patterns on your dress. “But we do have to get going, Y/n winnow Cass?” She looked at the male beside you.

You were about to agree, but Azriel spoke up. “I think I should be with her. Just in case. Amren said they’re possibly at a brink of chaos.” His voice was gravelly, and your heart pounded erratically at the huskiness in his tone.

“O-okay? Cassian, let’s come on then.” She looked at you, your eyes were wide in surprise.

Azriel approached you, and his scent of cedar and mist filled your senses making you want to melt even more. You only cleared your throat, straightening your back as his scarred arm reached around you pulling you closer to him as you got ready to winnow. You could feel the rough pad of his thumb near the top of the slit of your dress making your mind blank. His shadows swirled around your wrists in greeting for the first time since you’ve seen him, and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

Mor and Cassian disappeared along with Lucien right behind them. Azriel’s body heat and movement of his hand on your hip was making you flushed, unable to concentrate. Then his lips were close to your ear and you could feel his cool breath on your neck.

“Whatever happens tonight, don’t take it to heart.” The grip on your hip had tightened, and you could feel the sheath of truth-teller in your lower back.

You looked up to him, even wearing your tallest heels he had towered over you, observing the deadly calm on his face. Your gaze lingered on his lips for a second before flirting back to his intense hazel orbs.

You said barely above a whisper, scared your voice would betray your words. “You forget I’m great at this game, shadowsinger.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

[x] previous chapter [x] next chapter

Aaaaand we’re off to the races besties!! I had so much fun writing this part! I hope you’re excited as I am for the next one!!

Taglist: @tcris2020 @rachelnicolee @thelov3lybookworm @bubybubsters @mich0731 @t0uch-starved-h0e @penguins-are-the-best @justagingerliving @brekkershadowsinger @jiinmii

If I missed any of you just lmk!

#azriel shadowsinger fic #azriel shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #feyre archeron #inner circle fic #nessian #azriel shadowsinger imagine #azriel shadowsinger smut #azriel smut #cassian acotar #pofa #morrigan acotar

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rwrbficrecs · 5 months

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Hope you all enjoy our recs for November ❤️ (even though they're a little late!!) Incenatus by @missgeevious (book/movie-verse)

@suseagull04: I can't recommend this fic enough! If you love Twilight and The Phantom of the Opera, this fic is for you! A mysterious masquerade, a soulmate connection, and chemistry that's off the charts all culminate to make this one of my new all-time favorite fics!

Meaning Something by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@dot524: Really enjoyed this Liam POV that goes deeper into what actually happened with Alex and Liam, his relationship with Spencer, and how Liam reacts to Alex & Henry during the book. The feelings & coming out are really well done.

Needy & Greedy by @clottedcreamfudge (book-verse)

@heybuddy-drabbles: It's been HELL of a month in good and bad ways so I didn't have time to read much. I'm choosing to recommend a series of unconnected one shots, all steamy and delicious and fun and short for casual reading when you don't have much time to commit to a 70k fic. If you like smut tis for you!

Taste the Way You Bleed by @cha-melodious (book-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: a super fun What We Do In the Shadows AU, written for the RWRB halloween fest. Alex and Henry are oblivious vampires, pining for centuries, and the rest of the super-six turn up in hilarious mockumentary-style interviews. The summary alone had me HOOKED.

Camp Llwynywermod by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: one of my go-to for comfort, all time fave fics. Alex and Henry as co summer camp counsellors, pining and bickering for years. The tension is top notch!

@dot524: It’s funny and I really enjoyed the camp setting and their journey from enemies to friends to lovers. This is a fun and cute fic.

Downburst by @cricketnationrise (book-verse)

@rmd-writes: an AU of The West Wing ep 'In the Shadow of Two Gunmen' - mind the tags, this is an angsty but beautifully written fic with very clever use of multiple POVs to tell several stories of love (including platonic love). This is so good I was mad I didn't write several lines in it myself.

@thesleepyskipper: Truly an incredible and unique work that was done with care. The way the various memories/flashbacks are done and how they are used as part of the storytelling absolutely blew me away. Loved that we got multiple POVs here too!

Underground by @zwiazdziarka (book-verse)

@suseagull04: An adorable kid, fantasy (including mentions of fantasy classics!) and a rescue mission make this such a fun read! The world building in this fic is phenomenal too.

A Long Way From the Playground by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)

@dot524: This is a getting-back-together AU where Alex & Henry were childhood friends who grew apart in college and then unexpectedly are neighbors. I enjoyed the slow burn here and the payoff — it’s just a comforting feel-good fic!

Five-Drink Henry by @whimsymanaged (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: I was honestly already hooked from the title and the fic did not disappoint – so much so that I’ve reread it so many times the past month. Loved everything about this fic!!

The Domestication of Household Spiders by @cultofsappho (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: This was everything I didn’t know I needed from a spiderman AU! Loved it so much. There’s also 2 new recent fics published in this series – plenty of spiderman Alex to read!!

you make it look so easy, i know it's not by @anincompletelist (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: A really fun fic about Henry’s first American Thanksgiving not quite going to plan. I was already laughing from the summary alone

The great turkey calamity? by @smblmn (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: This fic tells us what is actually means to talk turkey and this once Cornbread is a star he deserves to be. It's crack, it's exsistential crisis, it's hilarious. Oh, and Alex and Henry fall in love here too.

Lay You Down by ronans (book-verse)

@inexplicablymine: when I tell you the fluff is fluffing, Henry runs a sleep YouTube and Alex is in his comment section and in his DM’s and in his head. Do yourself a favor if you need a sweet treat today and read this work

@thesleepyskipper: OMG this could not be any cuter. I loved the way we got to see their relationship grow as they got to know each other online. Truly an adorable, well-written story that will plaster a smile on your face throughout.

Risk is Just a Board Game by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Angst, domestic fluff, college AU, the holidays- this fic has it all! A look at why friends with benefits isn't always the best idea that culminates in an ending reminiscent of a Hallmark movie.

On My Mind (Let's Go) by @sparklepocalypse (movie-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: contrary to popular fanon, Henry can dance and here he uses that to get what he wants on New Year's Eve party. No notes, just go and read it.

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

#monthly faves #rwrb fic recs #firstprince #firstprince fic recs #red white and royal blue

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flowerandblood · 1 year

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Sweet kiss, sweet blood (1)

[ dark vampire! • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, profanation, mention of the murders ]

[description: A centuries-old vampire lives in Victorian England, bored and discouraged. His old friend sends him a letter, inviting him to his new country house. Aemond arrives there to rest. Next to the property, there is a small chapel, visited by the faithful. It turns out that at night, a young lady prays in it. Slow burn, sexual tension, profanation, murder, blood drinking.]

I owe the idea for this wonderful series to: @qyburnsghost

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had no idea when he began to feel that life was boring him. As he thought about it, he realized that it had been happening slowly, over the years. Year after year, he began to lose interest in the things that used to occupy him.

People came and went like flowers that sprout in the spring and wither in the fall. The indifference he felt made him feel comfortable. He felt like a black, cold hole, like a damp cellar under a house where little children are afraid to go down.

It didn't bother him. He fed on human blood, but tried not to kill his victims, unless he had to. He figured that their lives were short enough already.

At first he was out of control and couldn't remember what he was doing. He would wake up lying around dead bodies, with horror written on their faces, bitten and bloodstained. It was a terrible sight, and he usually vomited when he saw it. Then he got used to it.

He remembered clearly the night when he had been turned into a vampire. His nephew injured him during a saber duel, depriving him of one eye. The woman who treated him told him that she could make him take revenge on him.

That he will be invincible.

Drowning in pain and grief, he agreed before he thought what he was doing. The pain he felt when she bited him was indescribable. Then she bited her own wrist and kissed him, forcing him to drink her own blood.

It was over.

Alys was his lover and companion for many years afterwards. She didn't mind his antics. In killing she was even more brutal than him. He had a feeling that she was enjoying it.

She once told him that her first victim was her childhood rapist and abuser, a family friend.

She confessed to him that a person changes after something like that, and even centuries can't make you forget it.

Eventually, however, their paths parted. Her elaborate feasts intertwined with orgies and drinking the blood of virgins began to tire him. He could not bear to look at it anymore. From her perspective human lives didn't matter. She trampled them like snails that happened to get in her way, sucking the life out of them.

He, which he found absurd, did not lose the faith in God that his mother had instilled in him. When Alys wasn't looking he would take out the little Bible that his mother had given him as a gift and pray. To his amusement, the Bible did not burn in his hands, the angels did not cast him down to the abyss, although sometimes he begged for it.

He didn't go outside on sunny days, unless he had to. After his transformation his skin was as thin as parchment, and although it regenerated on its own, exposure to sunlight caused him burning pain and discomfort.

When he was forced to leave his residence for some important business he wore his top hat, black, leather gloves and a long coat, even if it was summer.

He was never hot.

His skin always felt chilled or frozen.

After he parted ways with Alys he began traveling the country alone, exploring its countryside, staying in abandoned houses, feeding on animal blood when necessary. He needed no food or drink, not even sleep, though he liked to take naps under the stars, as he had when he was human.

One day, when he returned to his tenement house which he rented with the money of a man he had killed long ago − although not willingly, because the old man had a heart attack when he bited him − he found a letter lying on his floor.

He picked it up and looked at the seal. He already knew who the sender was. He opened the envelope, unfolded a piece of paper, and began to read.

"My dearest friend,

I heard you came back to your hometown. I am glad and I hope you are in good health. I've taken up a splendid new mansion in a wonderful country estate that I'm sure you'll love. The mansion is massive, and I feel lonely without company, which I don't count as random people who live nearby. I invite you to my place, so that we can reminisce about the old times and relax together. On the other side of the card I am sending you the exact address.

Greetings, Ser Criston"

Aemond sighed, as he put the letter back in the envelope, setting his top hat on the shelf above him, slowly unbuttoning his coat. The last few weeks and months had blurred into one, he had lost complete control of the flow of time.

He didn't make new friends, especially with people, because it didn't make sense. At first he tried, even had affairs with human women, but before he knew it they were getting old and starting families, and he was moving on. In his eyes, human life flew at several times faster.

Criston had been a vampire for less than he was, turned by someone against his will. He was the servant of one of the world's oldest vampire beasts.

His master was killed and he regained his freedom.

Because of what he had been through and the terror he had known, unlike other beings of their kind, he did not kill as willingly and often, trying to appreciate the value of someone's life.

They established a close, almost brotherly relationship, but their paths diverged several years ago.

He thought a change of scenery would do him good.

He ordered a carriage for the next morning to leave before sunrise. He had been dozing all day, the curtains of the carriage he kept closed to keep out the light.

He arrived late at night. He gave the coachman a few gold coins and set off through the dark, unsettling park. The moon was high above and a thick, summer fog was spreading around him.

He passed what he thought was an old chapel and stopped for a moment. He thought he saw faint candlelight there, but he wasn't sure. He decided it didn't matter and continued on his way to the noble manor on the other side of the park.

Criston greeted him at the entrance with open arms. Aemond's face, as always, was stony and expressionless, but deep down he was glad to see him.

They passed into the living room, rich in old paintings and furniture, with a large bearskin spread on the creaky wooden floor. Indeed, the interiors made a great impression. Criston poured them wine which they drank only for pleasure.

“It may look like a shack from the outside, but it's an amazing place on the inside. I bought this property for cash from an investor nearby. Nobody wanted to renovate such a place even for such money.” He grunted, as he was shown around the rooms that seemed endless.

"And the chapel?" He asked suddenly, surprising his companion who raised his eyebrows, as if he didn't quite understand the question. Then he began to nod, as if he had remembered something and agreed with him.

“Yes, the family that lived here had a chapel that is just behind the park. As far as I know, the locals use it sometimes to come to pray so as not to have to walk five kilometers to the nearest church.” He grunted as he moved on, showing him the room he was supposed to sleep in.

The bedroom was large, with a big, ornate oak bed with an elegant, four-poster spread out in front of them, a secretary by the window, a huge, wooden neoclassical wardrobe on the right, faded wallpaper with floral motifs on the walls.

"Someone was there right now." He said indifferently, walking over to the window.

The view was perfect over the park. Beyond it he saw the small chapel building. He studied the chapel intently, but no longer saw any light coming from her windows. He thought that maybe he was just imagining it.

"Truly? Well, I don't mind. I won't set my foot there." Criston grunted, inviting him back downstairs.

They spent the night talking about the years that they had spent in seclusion, about their experiences and thoughts. Aemond thought it was a good thing that he had come to see him. He felt a little less dead, as if he had awakened from a lethargy.

When day came, he drew the curtains and lay in bed, reading a book, not wanting to go anywhere. He decided that perhaps after dark he would go for a walk around the places that Criston had told him about. The countryside was said to be calming and thought-provoking, or so he said.

He went right after sunset to the park, crossing the shore of the lake nearby. He saw a pair of swans swimming across it, and for some reason he smiled to himself. He thought that no matter what atrocities he did, no one could change the course of nature. He envied these animals the blissful ignorance they lived in.

He walked several kilometers on foot, making a great circle. By the time he made his way back through the same park to the mansion. It was completely dark and the sky was brightening again with the moon.

He glanced involuntarily at the chapel he was passing and stopped. Again, there was barely visible, warm light from her windows. He noticed that her front door was ajar.

He thought he wanted to pray.

He walked in that direction, stepping inside noiselessly. He surveyed the small room with several rows of benches and an altar and froze. In the front row, in one of the pews sat a small, delicate figure. Next to her stood a single candle which she must have brought with her. She was kneeling, bent over, not even noticing him.

Her small, slender fingers were intertwined, placed in front of her, a prayer book above them. Her eyes were closed, apparently absorbed in fervent prayer. With her black hair down, white nightgown and ruby scarf draped over her shoulders, with a warm halo of light around her head, she looked like a saint. He stared at the sight, unable to move.

Suddenly she shivered, as if she felt a sudden chill, and looked around involuntarily. When she saw him her eyes widened in horror.

She rose quickly, covering herself with a shawl, the sound stuck in her throat. Standing up, she nearly knocked over the candle that was standing next to her. Her movement brought her scent to his nostrils. He had to clench his mouth and fists to keep from throwing himself at her.

He heard her swallow hard, recovering from her initial shock, calming down slightly, though still looking at him fearfully. She didn't know what to do. He suspected that she was afraid he would rape her.

He looked down, trying to control himself. He walked over to the last bench in the row next to hers, sitting down there. He pulled his Bible out of the inside pocket of his coat, opened it in front of him and began to read.

The girl, seeing this, slowly began to relax. She pursed her lips, looking around anxiously, apparently debating whether to leave or stay. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her body tremble, saw the silhouette of her soft thighs through the material of her nightgown.

Her face and eyes were light and gentle, dark lashes and eyebrows framing her face pleasantly. Her full, pink lips turned red with horror, he could feel her blood rushing to her rosy cheeks. He tried not to think about the beating of her heart, which was pounding like a bell in his ears, and about her restless racing pulse.

Surprised, he found himself experiencing dissonance and two extreme feelings at once. Thirst was one thing, but the unbearable tightness in his pants and the heat in his lower abdomen were something he hasn't felt in years.

As she sat back in her seat, her back to him, he squeezed his eye shut, trying to control himself. He tried to divert his attention from her neck and focus on the Gospel he held in front of him.

They sat in complete silence, the only sound in the background was the quiet turning of their pages once in a while. After a few minutes he shuddered when he heard her stand up.

She hesitated for a moment as she was about to grab her prayer book. A mighty shudder went through him when he heard her soft, gentle voice.

"Would you like me to leave you a candle to read, sir?" She asked uncertainly.

Only now did he realize that ordinary people did not read in the dark. He decided that in order not to arouse suspicion he had to agree.

"Yes, if it's not a problem for you, miss." He said low and cold, looking at her intensely. He couldn't take his eye off her.

After a moment she looked at him, and he felt a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. His fangs sharpened as needles, his manhood pulsed hard in his pants. He gripped his Bible so tightly that he felt like he was about to crumple it.

He had never been so desperate.

The girl approached him hesitantly, lowering her eyes humbly, tightening the strong red material around her body, holding a prayer book to her chest.

It wasn't until she came closer that he noticed a tiny cross hung around her neck. He thought he couldn't protect her from anything.

She placed her candle in front of him, and he watched the graceful movement of her hand, her delicate, soft fingers. He swallowed hard as she pulled away, considering it a personal feat that she was still alive.

"Good night." She whispered, and he said nothing, staring straight ahead with a stony face.

She missed him, her scent more intense this time, filling his lungs again. He covered his face with his hand as he waited for her to leave. Hearing her go away, he exhaled loudly, squeezing his eye shut.

He tried to fool himself into thinking that he would never come here again, leaving her alone, letting her live in peace. He knew deep down that he wouldn't be able to rest until he had tried her in every possible way.

Until he suck into her lips, bit into her neck, drank the juices between her thighs. Distraught, he thought that this girl would be his ruin.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes

If you want to be tagged, leave a comment below. ♥

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sheriffaxolotl · 2 months

Text

Fallen: A Path to Redemption (Chapter 6) Alastor x Reader

"Solace, you say? Well, my dear fallen friend, in Hell, solace comes with a price."

“What kind?”

♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡

Angel Dust had been observing you for about ten minutes now as you paced back and forth in the kitchen, muttering to yourself and occasionally pausing to take a sip from the coffee cup in your hand. He noted how tightly you clutched your phone, the screen lighting up with notifications every few minutes, causing your brows to furrow with increasing anxiety.

"Hey there, tots," Angel finally spoke up, taking a casual sip from his own coffee cup as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching your restless movements. He saw you slam down your coffee cup and phone with a loud 'bam!'.

"Everything alright?" he inquired, a hint of concern laced in his tone.

"Of course! Why wouldn't it be?" You replied, attempting to sound composed but failing to hide the edge of panic in your voice. Angel observed as you grabbed a cloth and began to vigorously clean the coffee machine, your eyes scanning every surface with intense focus.

As you scrub away at the machine, Angel can't help but notice the tension radiating from you, the air thick with an unspoken sense of unease. He shifted slightly, crossing his arms as he contemplated whether to push further or leave you to your thoughts. After a moment of silence, he decided to speak up again.

"You seem a bit... on edge, tots," Angel remarked, his voice gentle but probing. "Anything you wanna talk about?" he offered, hoping to provide some comfort or distraction from whatever was clearly bothering you.

You paused in your frenzied cleaning, the cloth clutched tightly in your hand as you considered Angel's offer. Part of you wanted to confide in him, to release the burden weighing heavily on your shoulders, but another part hesitated, fearing judgment or misunderstanding.

"I..." you began, your voice faltering slightly as you searched for the right words. "It's just... someone from my past has been messaging me, and it's... it's been bringing up a lot of old memories and emotions," you admitted, your tone laced with vulnerability.

Angel's expression softened, a sympathetic understanding in his eyes as he listened intently to your words. "Ah, sweetheart, I get it," he replied, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Sometimes the past has a nasty way of catching up with us, huh?"

You nodded, appreciating his understanding, though the turmoil within you still churned relentlessly. "Yeah, it's just... I thought I'd moved past all of that, but now it feels like I'm right back where I started," you admitted, a sigh of frustration escaping your lips.

Angel's hand landed gently on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes. "You're not going through this alone," he said, his voice a comforting presence amidst the storm. "I've been in similar shoes, you know. If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you…”.

You let his words sink in, feeling a glimmer of relief wash over you at the reminder that you weren't alone. "Thank you, Angel," you said softly. It was a relief to know that someone was willing to listen and offer support without judgment.

"... I'll have you know, I'm technically a lot older than you," you teased with a gentle nudge of your elbow into his side, a genuine smile gracing your lips, albeit slightly strained.

As Angel's comforting presence enveloped you, you found yourself drawn to the warmth of his support, grateful for his unwavering understanding. The weight of your turmoil felt a little lighter in his company as if his mere presence had the power to ease the burden on your shoulders.

"Yeah, I bet you've got a few centuries on me, huh?" Angel quipped, a playful twinkle in his eye as he teased you, his attempt at levity a welcome distraction from the gravity of the situation.

You chuckled softly at his remark, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. "Maybe just a couple," you replied, allowing yourself to be swept up in the momentary reprieve from the intensity of your emotions. “But you’re the one giving off the vibe of old man wisdom,” you teased back.

Angel chuckled at your playful jab, rolling his eyes in mock indignation. "Oh, please, darlin'. Old man wisdom? More like timeless charm," he retorted with a playful wink, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You couldn't help but laugh at his cheeky response, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease as his playful banter lifted your spirits. "Well, I suppose that charm must be what's keeping you young at heart," you quipped back, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

He grinned in response, leaning casually against the counter with an air of confidence. "You know it," he replied with a wink, his tone dripping with playful sass.

The two of you stood in companionable silence for a moment, the gentle hum of the kitchen filling the air as you leaned against the counter, finding solace in each other's presence. It was moments like these that reminded you of the importance of friendship, of having someone to lean on during life's more challenging moments.

"Thanks, Angel," you said again, this time with a touch of sincerity that conveyed the depth of your gratitude. "I really appreciate it."

Angel offered you a warm smile in return, his expression filled with genuine warmth and understanding. "Anytime, darlin’," he replied, his voice soft but unwavering. "You know where to find me if you ever need anything."

You offer him a weak smile before a familiar buzz in your pocket interrupts the moment. With a resigned sigh, you retrieve your phone and begin reading the messages flooding your screen:

"Y/N, just answer the question already."

"You're just as pathetic as him! Hiding away! YOU PATHETIC BI-"

"You think you could hide all this time and not expect-"

Your heart sinks as you read through the relentless onslaught of messages. Each one feels like a dagger to your heart, fueling the flames of anxiety and fear that already consume you. With a heavy sigh, you set your phone down on the counter, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of hateful messages that have accumulated, now reaching over 200. The weight of it all threatens to crush you as you contemplate the relentless barrage of harassment you've endured, wondering when it will all finally come to an end.

Angel noticed the sudden shift in your demeanor and leaned closer, peeking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of the barrage of messages flooding your screen. His expression shifted from concern to outright indignation as he read through the messages, his jaw clenching with anger.

"What the hell is this?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief and anger as he reached out to gently take your phone from your hand. Without waiting for your response, he scrolled through the messages, his brows furrowing deeper with each passing second.

You watched as his expression morphed from shock to anger, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. "This is unacceptable," he declared, his voice firm as he handed you back the phone. "You don't have to deal with this."

Angel paused as he saw the name of the sender was 'ignore,' and he raised a brow. 'Who the fuck is this? Who would send you this kind of stuff?'"

The anxiety peaked in your stomach at the idea of Angel finding out who was messaging you. He might tell someone, or you feared that he would tell Alastor. “It doesn’t matter who it is… I should just change my number... it’s worked before…” You mumbled, defeated.

Angel’s gaze softened as he observed your distress, his usual playful demeanor giving way to genuine concern. "Hey, don't let this jerk get to you," he said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You shouldn't have to hide or change your number because of some cowardly fucker hiding behind a screen."

Oh, if only he knew what kind of screen you were dealing with.

“I know, but it would work out for the better… Plus, I should try and see if I can change it to having it to a work phone anyway,” you said with a sigh.

Angel's brows furrowed in concern as he listened to you, his expression reflecting a mix of sympathy and determination. "I get where you're coming from, but changing your number shouldn't be your only option," he replied, his voice gentle but firm. "And a work phone? Come on, you don't need to resort to that just to escape this mess."

He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before continuing, "We'll figure this out together, alright? You don't have to deal with this alone." His words carried a comforting weight, offering you a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos of the situation.

You brought your hand up to your face, trying to steady your trembling breaths. ‘Don't cry, don't cry,’ you thought to yourself, willing the tears to stay at bay. After a few deep breaths, you managed to compose yourself and looked back at Angel.

"God, I feel like such a mess right now," you admitted, your voice wavering with emotion.

Angel's expression softened even further at your vulnerable admission. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, his voice gentle as he reached out to comfort you. "We all have moments like this. You're not alone."

He offered you a warm smile, his eyes reflecting genuine understanding and empathy. "We're here for each other, remember?" he said reassuringly. "No matter what happens, I've got your back. You can lean on me." His words conveyed a sense of unwavering support, assuring you that you had a friend by your side to weather the storm.

But then, his playful side emerged as he continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Besides, I could use someone as modest as you to keep me in check,” he teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow. “Heaven knows I need it.” His light-hearted tone was a welcome relief, offering a moment of levity amidst the turmoil.

As Angel's mischievous grin widened, his playful banter danced in the air like a gentle breeze, momentarily lifting the heavy weight of the situation. “Oh, trust me, heaven indeed knows,” you replied with a chuckle, leaning back against the counter as you exchanged teasing glances with him.

But then, his tone shifted, a hint of genuine concern creeping into his voice as he suggested, “Why don't you ask Charlie for a day off or something? Might be worthwhile to get some air that, well, isn't in here.” His gesture encompassed the entirety of the hotel, subtly hinting at the need for a change of scenery and a break from the chaos that seemed to permeate the air within its walls.

You hesitated at the suggestion, your mind swirling with conflicting thoughts like autumn leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind. On one hand, the allure of a day off was undeniable—a precious opportunity to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the hotel and find solace in the outside world. The thought of strolling through the bustling streets, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, and breathing in the crisp, hot hell air filled you with a sense of longing you couldn't quite shake.

But on the other hand, you couldn't shake off the guilt of burdening Charlie with unnecessary requests, especially when she was already juggling a myriad of responsibilities and challenges. The last thing you wanted was to add to her stress or cause any undue worry. Besides, you prided yourself on being a reliable and dependable member of the team, always willing to lend a hand whenever needed.

"I don't know, Angel," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you cast a wary glance around the kitchen. The familiar space suddenly felt claustrophobic and stifling. "I don't want to trouble Charlie with unnecessary requests, especially when things are already so chaotic around here." Despite your reservations, a small ember of longing flickered within you, yearning for the freedom and tranquility that awaited beyond the confines of the hotel's walls.

Angel leaned against the countertop, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of understanding and sympathy. "I get where you're coming from, but you gotta take care of yourself too, you know?" he said, his tone gentle yet firm. "Charlie's not gonna mind, trust me. Besides, a little break might do you some good. Clear your head, recharge your batteries, all that jazz."

His words resonated with you, stirring a sense of longing for the respite that only a day off could provide. Yet, the nagging sense of guilt still gnawed at your conscience, a constant reminder of your responsibilities and obligations to your friends and colleagues.

"But what if something happens while I'm gone?" you countered, your voice tinged with worry. "What if they need me here, and I'm not around to help?" The thought of abandoning your post, even temporarily, filled you with unease, as if you were neglecting your duty and leaving your friends vulnerable to whatever challenges may arise.

Angel flashed you a reassuring smile, his eyes warm and comforting. "Hey, we're a team, remember?" he said, his tone laced with confidence. "We've got each other's backs. If anything comes up, we'll handle it together. But right now, what you need is some time for yourself. Trust me, Charlie would want you to take care of yourself."

You mulled over his words, the internal struggle between duty and self-care waging war within your mind. In the end, however, the allure of a much-needed break proved too tempting to resist, and with a hesitant yet determined nod, you made up your mind.

"Alright, you're right," you conceded, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll talk to Charlie and see if I can take the day off. Thanks, Angel. I really appreciate it."

Angel leaned back, his expression casual yet confident. "Don't sweat it," he replied, a playful smirk gracing his lips. "I'll cover for you if anything comes up. Just go out there and enjoy yourself. You deserve it."

His sassy tone brought a chuckle to your lips, the tension of the moment dissipating as you found yourself unable to resist his infectious charm. "I owe you one," you said, genuine warmth infusing your words.

With a wink and a grin, Angel waved you off. "Don'y worry bout it," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Just promise me you'll have some fun out there, alright? And remember, if anyone gives you trouble, you can always call on the one and only Angel Dust for backup."

You couldn't help but laugh at his bold declaration, feeling a newfound sense of lightness and optimism wash over you. With a final nod of determination, you made your way to find Charlie, ready to ask for that much-needed day off since you started a few days ago. The whole interaction with Angel had managed to distract you from the troubling messages on your phone, if only for a fleeting moment.

You approached Charlie's office door with a gentle knock, the sound echoing softly in the hallway. However, instead of the usual bustling activity, you were met with the sudden crash of something hitting the floor and hushed whispers from within. Concern gnawed at the edges of your mind, but you held back, waiting patiently for Charlie's response.

"One moment!" Charlie's voice called out from behind the closed door, prompting you to resist the urge to barge in and check on her. Instead, you waited, your curiosity piqued by the unexpected commotion.

As you observed the scene before you, a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of your lips. The reason behind Charlie and Vaggie's flustered demeanor wasn't merely work-related; it seemed like something more personal was at play. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, and you couldn't help but find it amusing to think that they might have been stealing kisses or sharing secret glances during work hours.

"Oh..." you murmured softly, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks as you connected the dots. The secretive whispers and the nervous glances exchanged between them suddenly made perfect sense in that moment.

Realizing that you might have unintentionally stumbled upon a private moment, you quickly cleared your throat, trying to ease the tension. "Um, sorry if I interrupted anything important," you offered, a sheepish smile playing on your lips as you took a step back, giving them space.

“Oh! Oh! No, of course not! We were-!”

“Just discussing some ideas for the hotel!” Vaggie cut in before Charlie could say anything further. You raised a brow, your expression conveying disbelief, before deciding to steer the conversation back to what you needed right now.

The sunlight streaming through the office window cast a warm glow over the scene, highlighting the faint blush on Charlie's cheeks and the nervous fidgeting of Vaggie's hands. Their attempts to mask their flustered state were evident, but you couldn't help but notice the subtle glances they exchanged, laden with unspoken meaning.

“Charlie, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I took the day off?” you asked, feeling a nervous smile tug at your lips and a bit of shame creeping up your back. You didn’t want her to think you were lazy, but you also needed to figure out a way to deal with this Vox situation before it got out of hand.

Charlie's initial surprise at your request quickly morphed into understanding, her expression softening with empathy. "Of course, (Y/N)," she replied, her voice gentle. "Everyone needs a break now and then. Take all the time you need."

You breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for her understanding. "Thank you, Charlie," you murmured, offering her a small, appreciative smile. "I'll make sure to catch up on any missed work when I get back."<

As you turned to leave the office, you couldn't ignore the subtle exchange of glances between Charlie and Vaggie, their silent communication hinting at a shared understanding. Though their embarrassment was evident, you sensed it was more about being almost caught off guard than anything more serious.

Leaving their office behind, a newfound determination fueled your steps as you contemplated the impending confrontation with Vox. With a clear goal in mind, you exited the room, your mind buzzing with plans to address the situation head-on.

Entering your bedroom, you headed straight for your dresser, determined to find what you were looking for. After a brief search through the drawers, you exclaimed in triumph, holding up the small half-face mask you had been seeking. Perched atop the mask were two adorable rounded horns, adding a whimsical touch to the accessory.

This mask held a deeper significance for you. You had crafted it in a panic when Alastor first went missing, desperate to conceal your identity. It had served its purpose well over the years, allowing you to hide in plain sight without fear of discovery. With practiced ease, you secured the mask to your face, framing it with loose strands of hair before a sudden realization struck you.

"He knows how I wear my hair," you mused, staring at your reflection in the mirror. With a resigned sigh, you reached up and began to carefully undo your braid, allowing your hair to cascade over your shoulders and down your back. After a couple of gentle shakes, your hair fell naturally around your face, some strands draping over the horns of the mask, effectively concealing them within your locks.

Running your fingers along the edges of the mask, you marveled at how well it blended with your skin. You remembered the time spent adjusting it until it sat perfectly against your skin, mimicking the natural curves of your face. It had to look natural, seamless, as if it were a natural extension of yourself. Recollections flooded your mind, reminding you of the past two years when you had the luxury of avoiding the mask. It became a rare comfort, reserved for days when anxiety and doubt gnawed at your resolve, threatening to overwhelm you.

You vividly recalled the relief of shedding its weight, feeling the burden of secrecy lifted, if only temporarily. But today was different. Today, you wore it not out of habit, but out of necessity, as a shield against the relentless onslaught of messages from Vox.

With a heavy heart, you acknowledged the mask's return, a tangible reminder of the battles you fought and the secrets you harbored. As you prepared for the day ahead, you carefully selected a different outfit, ensuring that your suit, vest, and dress pants were returned to their hangers with precision to prevent any creases.

Opting for a pencil skirt paired with a silk forest green cape top, you took a moment to appreciate the elegance of your choice. It was a subtle yet stylish ensemble, exuding confidence and poise. And, true to your style, you completed the look with a pair of tasteful stockings, adding a touch of sophistication to the ensemble.

Having prepared your outfit to your liking, you drew in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the tasks ahead. Your primary objective for the day was to slip out of the hotel without drawing any unwanted attention, a feat that seemed achievable given the sparse population of guests and staff.

Satisfied with your appearance after a final check in the mirror, you gathered your belongings and made your way out of your bedroom, determined to execute your plan smoothly and efficiently.

As you descended the stairs, a sense of relief washed over you at the sight of the deserted hallways. "Well, this is going swimmingly well—" Your optimistic thought was abruptly interrupted when you locked eyes with Husk, who had halted in his task of clearing a glass behind the bar, his gaze fixed on you.

As you opened your mouth to explain, you watched as Husk raised a hand, or rather a paw, signaling for you to stop before you could speak. "I'm not even going to ask, missy," he said with a nonchalant tone, his expression indicating he wasn't particularly interested in hearing your explanation.

You nodded in understanding, appreciating Husk's laissez-faire attitude. "Thanks, Husk," you replied with a grateful smile, relieved that you didn't have to come up with an excuse or explanation for your unexpected appearance.

Husk offered you a half-hearted shrug before returning his attention to the glass he was cleaning, evidently unfazed by the interruption. With a small sigh of relief, you continued on your way, grateful that your impromptu exit from the hotel had gone unnoticed by most.

Walking the streets of hell with a sense of freedom was undeniably liberating, but you couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort at the occasional vague comments thrown your way as you made your way toward your destination. It seemed that even in the underworld, gossip and curiosity were unavoidable, leaving you to navigate through the maze of streets with a cautious eye and a wary mind.

But all caution and wariness melted away as you finally reached your destination: Cannibal Town. Hastening your pace, you navigated through the bustling streets, your focus solely on finding a certain someone amidst the chaos. As you approached the familiar doorway, a wave of nostalgia washed over you, tugging at your heartstrings.

"(Y/N)?" The unmistakable sound of a familiar voice startled you, causing your hand to freeze mid-air, just before you could knock on the door. Whirling around, you were met with the welcoming sight of Rosie. Her bright smile and warm gaze instantly eased the tension coiling in your chest.

"Rosie!" you exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you stepped closer to her. It had been far too long since you'd last seen each other, and her presence brought a sense of comfort and familiarity amidst the chaos of Hell.

Rosie's smile widened as she enveloped you in a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you in a gesture of warmth and affection. "I can't believe it's really you," she said, pulling back slightly to look at you, her eyes filled with genuine joy. "It's been so long! What brings you to this side of the Pentagram?"

Before you could even reply, Rosie continued, her excitement palpable. "Oh my! Look at how your hair has grown! And is that some color in your cheeks? Oh my dear, you're getting a bit on the thin side." Her words flowed like a river, filled with concern and genuine affection, as she took in every detail of your appearance.

As Rosie continued to fuss over your appearance, you couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you. Her motherly concern was both endearing and comforting, reminding you of simpler times when the two of you would sit for hours, sharing stories and laughter.

"I've missed you too, Rosie," you replied, returning her hug warmly. "It's been too long since I've visited. I'm just here to catch up with old friends and maybe... deal with a few things," you added with a slight hesitation, not wanting to burden her with the details of your troubles.

Rosie nodded understandingly, her expression softening as she took in your words. "Well, you're always welcome here, dear. You know that," she reassured you, her voice filled with warmth. "Now, come inside. I'll make you some tea and we can catch up properly." With a gentle hand on your back, she led you inside, the familiar warmth of her home enveloping you like a comforting embrace.

As you stepped inside Rosie's home, a sense of nostalgia washed over you, accompanied by the comforting scent of herbal tea and baked goods. The cozy interior was adorned with colorful tapestries and knick-knacks, each telling a story of its own.

You followed Rosie into the kitchen, taking a seat at the wooden table as she busied herself with preparing the tea. The sound of boiling water and clinking teacups filled the air, a soothing melody that calmed your racing thoughts.

As Rosie poured the steaming tea into delicate porcelain cups, she turned to you with a warm smile. "So, tell me everything that's been going on with you," she said, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "I want to hear all about your adventures since we last saw each other."

As Rosie gracefully moved about the kitchen, her vintage attire and elegant demeanor added to the charm of her surroundings. Her apron, adorned with intricate lace trimmings, seemed like a relic from another era, a testament to her appreciation for the finer things in life.

With a gentle flourish, Rosie set the tea tray on the table, the porcelain cups clinking softly against the saucers. The aroma of the freshly brewed tea filled the room, transporting you back to simpler times, where conversations flowed freely over cups of steaming beverages.

Taking a seat across from you, Rosie's eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity as she awaited your tales. Her demeanor exuded warmth and sophistication, making you feel right at home in her cozy abode.

As you sipped the fragrant tea with a heavy heart, you recounted the tale of how you had sought refuge in the radio station after Alastor's disappearance, finding solace in the familiar routines of broadcasting. You spoke of the uncertainty that lingered during his absence, the fear of the unknown weighing heavily on your shoulders. "It was a tumultuous time," you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But being at the station gave me a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos."

Rosie nodded sympathetically, her vintage attire adding to the atmosphere of comfort and familiarity. "I can only imagine what you must have been through," she said softly, her eyes filled with understanding.

But fate had a way of intervening, and when Alastor returned, everything changed. His presence brought an air of excitement and chaos, and before you knew it, you found yourself caught up in his grand plans for the Hazbin Hotel.

“But his return brought its own set of challenges," you added, a note of apprehension creeping into your tone. "Suddenly, I found myself swept up in his plans for the Hazbin Hotel."

Rosie listened intently, her expression a mix of sympathy and concern as you detailed your experiences. She nodded in understanding as you spoke of the challenges you faced working at the hotel, the constant balancing act between appeasing Alastor's demands and maintaining your own sense of self.

"It sounds like quite the ordeal," she remarked, her voice laced with empathy.

Despite the hardships, you couldn't deny the sense of purpose you found within the walls of the Hazbin Hotel. It was a place of redemption and second chances, a beacon of hope in the chaos of Hell itself.

"It's a place of redemption and second chances," you explained, a spark of determination igniting within you. "And I'm grateful to be a part of it, despite the challenges. Plus, Charlie really wants it to work out and she is so energetic and it's just infectious."

"Ah, yes," Rosie interjected, a knowing glint in her eye as she observed your reaction to the topic of redemption. "You've always had a fascination with that, haven't you, dear?"

You nodded eagerly, the passion evident in your voice as you spoke. "Absolutely. There's something truly remarkable about the concept of redemption, the idea that even the most lost souls can find a path to salvation."

Rosie's curiosity piqued as she turned her attention to Alastor, her expression expectant. "And what does Alastor think about it?"

You hesitated, a hint of uncertainty flickering in your eyes. "Um... well, it's not something we agree on," you admitted reluctantly, the tension in the air palpable as you broached the topic of differing opinions with your enigmatic colleague.

The question hung in the air, lingering between you and Rosie like an unspoken challenge. You could feel her gaze probing, searching for answers in the depths of your eyes, and for a moment, you found yourself at a loss for words.

"What about your soul?" Rosie pressed on, her voice gentle but insistent as she waited for your response.

You shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, the weight of her question settling heavily upon you. "I... I haven't really thought about it," you admitted hesitantly, feeling a pang of guilt gnawing at your conscience. "When I first sold my soul, it crossed my mind a few times in the early years... but as time went on, and I grew closer to Alastor, I guess I just stopped thinking about it."

The admission hung in the air, the weight of your unspoken desires and doubts casting a shadow over the conversation. You couldn't help but wonder if reclaiming your soul was even possible at this point, or if you were destined to remain tethered to Alastor's whims for eternity.

"You should ask! You'd make a frightfully cute overlord!" Rosie exclaimed, her toothy grin conveying a mischievous enthusiasm for the notion.

The unexpected suggestion caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but blink in surprise at Rosie's lighthearted remark. Her toothy grin only added to the surrealness of the moment, and you found yourself momentarily speechless, unsure of how to respond.

"A... cute overlord?" you echoed, the idea feeling both absurd and strangely enticing all at once. The notion of reclaiming your soul and forging your own path in Hell had never seemed like a viable option before, but Rosie's words planted a seed of possibility in your mind.

"I... I'll consider it," you finally replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you entertained the thought of a different future for yourself. "Thank you, Rosie. You always know how to lighten the mood."

Rosie's grin widened at your response, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Consider it carefully, dear," she said, her tone teasing yet sincere. "Life in Hell could certainly use a bit more whimsy, don't you think?" she remarked, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm. "Besides, who wouldn't want to see you ruling over the underworld with grace and charm?"

As Rosie's playful banter lifted your spirits, you couldn't help but laugh, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. However, just as quickly as the tension dissipated, a wave of anxiety surged in your stomach as your phone buzzed once more in your pocket.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you decided to address the elephant in the room. "But... I do need help with something else," you confessed, your voice tinged with nervousness as you retrieved your phone and placed it on the table with a hesitant smile.

"Oh, I assure you, I'm utterly clueless when it comes to phones, sweetheart!" Rosie exclaimed with a touch of dramatic flair, her laughter filling the room as she dismissed any notion of being adept with digital technology.

You hesitated, reluctant to burden Rosie with your troubles, but the weight of the situation compelled you to seek her help. "It's not the phone I need help with, Rosie... It's who's messaging me on it," you confessed, sliding the phone across the table to her.

As Rosie scrolled through the messages, a range of emotions flitted across her face—confusion, anger, and shock evident in her expression. "Who sent these?" she inquired, her tone laced with concern.

"Vox," you replied solemnly, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon your shoulders.

Rosie's expression shifted from concern to a steely determination as she processed the information. "Vox," she repeated, her voice tinged with a hint of disdain. "I should've known."

You watched as Rosie's eyes narrowed, her mind clearly working through possible courses of action. "This won't do. Not at all," she muttered to herself before turning her gaze back to you, her resolve evident. "We need to put a stop to this, darling. You can't let him continue to harass you like this."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for Rosie's unwavering support. "I don't know what to do," you admitted, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

Rosie reached out, placing a comforting hand on yours. "We'll figure it out together," she reassured you, her voice firm but reassuring. "But first, let's make sure he knows he can't mess with you anymore." With a determined glint in her eye, Rosie began to formulate a plan, With determination igniting her gaze, Rosie sought out the messaging app on your phone, her fingers deftly navigating the device.

"What are you doing?" you questioned, a note of panic creeping into your voice as you observed her actions.

"We should inform Alastor. He'll handle this with his usual flair," Rosie suggested, her intent clear in her tone.

"No!" You interjected, a surge of fear propelling you to snatch your phone away from her grasp. "We can't! We can't—"

"Why? What's wrong?" Rosie's concern was evident in her voice as she watched you with furrowed brows.

"I don't want Alastor to know. I don't want him to know," you confessed, your words rushed and laden with apprehension.

"Sweetheart, why? Alastor wouldn't care—" Rosie tried to reassure you, but you interrupted her with a pained expression.

"I don't want Vox to tell him anything—" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What could Vox tell him?" Rosie's inquiry hung in the air, her expression reflecting a mix of confusion and concern.

You paused, the weight of your words sinking in as you realized you might have said too much. Panic surged within you, your mind racing to backtrack and contain the information you had inadvertently revealed.

"I, um, I..." You stumbled over your words, struggling to find a way to backtrack or downplay your slip-up. But the truth spilled out before you could stop it. "That... I had a run-in with him a few years back, after Alastor disappeared," you admitted reluctantly, the weight of the confession heavy on your shoulders.

"Oh, Alastor won't care—"

"He will. I know he will," you interjected, your voice tinged with certainty and apprehension. “Even if Alastor won’t outwardly admit it, I know he will, because it’s Vox. The mere idea that I confided in him in a moment of loneliness will be all he focuses on. Not the fact that I was alone or scared or…” You trailed off, your hands gripping the edges of your skirt as you took a pause.

“Dear…” Rosie said softly as she pulled out the chair next to you, taking a seat and placing her hand over yours. “I won’t force your hand to tell him… but maybe it's best that he hears it from you…” She glanced over at your phone. “Instead of from another.”

"But don’t decide on it this very second," Rosie said gently, patting the top of your hand. "I think for now, we get rid of this phone and find you a new one. Hmm?" She suggested with a supportive tone as she moved to get up. "We can make it a girl’s day out."

You nodded, grateful for Rosie's understanding and support. "That sounds like a plan," you agreed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The prospect of spending the day with Rosie, away from the stresses of the hotel and the constant barrage of messages, was a welcome reprieve.

As Rosie gathered her things and you followed suit, a sense of relief washed over you. Despite the lingering uncertainty about how to handle the situation with Vox, you found solace in the knowledge that you weren't facing it alone, for now.

Together, you and Rosie made your way out of the house, the anticipation of a girls' day out adding a spring to your step. With each passing moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders.

As you strolled through the winding streets of Hell, the vibrant energy of the city surrounded you. Your first stop was a quaint little boutique that Rosie had mentioned, known for its eclectic collection of vintage clothing and accessories. As you browsed the racks of dresses and skirts, Rosie offered her expert advice, guiding you toward pieces that suited your style.

Trying on clothes together was a delight; you practically dotted on each other, even wearing a matching little number as you posed for photos together.

After finding a few new additions to your wardrobe, you ventured to a nearby bakery, enticed by the heavenly aroma of freshly baked treats. The display case was filled with an array of delectable pastries and confections, each more tempting than the last. With Rosie's encouragement, you indulged in a few sweet treats, savoring the rich flavors and decadent textures. Next, you found yourselves drawn to a quaint little café tucked away in a quiet corner of an alley way. The cozy atmosphere and inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew you in, and you settled into a cozy corner booth, eager to enjoy a moment of relaxation with your dear friend.

As you sipped your coffee and savored the delicious pastries, you couldn't help but feel a sense of ease as you listened to Rosie catch you up on all the gossip you had missed.

With each passing moment, the weight of your worries seemed to melt away, replaced by a renewed sense of optimism and gratitude. As you and Rosie chatted and laughed, you couldn't help but feel grateful for her and how she fell not only into a role as your friend but almost like family. You even started to forget about the problem you had both come out to deal with.

After finishing your coffee and treats at the café, you and Rosie made your way to a nearby electronics store to find a new phone. The store, adorned with neon signs and flashing lights, buzzed with activity as demons browsed through the latest gadgets and devices.

Navigating through the aisles, you were met with a dazzling array of smartphones, each boasting impressive features and sleek designs. Rosie, ever the expert shopper, guided you through the options, offering her insights and recommendations along the way. Even if they were only about which one was cuter.

After carefully considering your preferences and needs, you finally settled on a stylish smartphone that suited your tastes. With Rosie's help, you selected the perfect model, complete with all the necessary features and capabilities - she decided on the style and you made sure to know what features you would need.

With your new phone in hand, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that you could leave the past behind and start fresh. As you activated the device and set it up, Rosie stood by your side, offering encouragement and support every step of the way.

Once your new phone was up and running, you couldn't resist snapping a selfie with Rosie to commemorate the occasion. With smiles on your faces, you captured the moment, then saved it as your wallpaper.

As you left the store, your new phone safely tucked away in your pocket, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as you looked down at your old phone.

"What will you do with it?" Rosie asked, glancing down at your old phone.

You hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh before making a decision. With resolve, you raised the phone above your head and, with a swift motion, hurled it down onto the pavement, watching as it shattered into pieces.

"Oh!" Rosie gasped in surprise as she watched the phone meet its demise. She chuckled softly as you picked up the larger pieces and disposed of them in a nearby bin. "That was rather dramatic," she remarked with a small laugh.

"Dramatic and effective," you pointed out, flashing her a sheepish grin.

With your new phone in hand, you and Rosie exchanged satisfied smiles, the weight of the old phone's troubles lifted from your shoulders. Now, armed with a fresh start and a sleek device, you felt a renewed sense of confidence and determination.

"Looks like you're all set now," Rosie remarked, her tone filled with approval as she glanced at your new phone. "Ready to keep on shopping, hm?"

You nodded, a small grin playing on your lips. "Absolutely," you replied, feeling a surge of optimism coursing through you. With Rosie's unwavering support and the promise of a fresh start, you were ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead. a new beginning, you were more than ready to face whatever challenges Hell had in store for you.

But just as you turned to continue down the pathway, you collided with an all too familiar chest. With a sharp inhale, you brought your hand up to your nose, wincing as you felt the telltale sting of another scrape.

"Ah, so this is where you've been all day, hmm?" Alastor's voice cut through the air, his grip firm on your wrist as he steadied you. His gaze shifted, honing in on the mask adorning your face. "What is that on your face?" he asked, his curiosity evident in his tone.

"Alastor!" Rosie cheered as she waltzed over, all smiles and charm. "Would you look at that! As dapper as ever!"

Alastor's gaze shifted from your mask to Rosie, a curious glint in his eye. "Rosie, Lovely Rosie," he greeted with a charming smile, releasing your wrist to offer her a polite nod. "What brings you to this corner of town?"

Rosie returned his smile with equal warmth, her posture radiating confidence. "Just enjoying a lovely day out with our (Y/N) here," she replied, gesturing towards you with a playful twinkle in her eye. "And might I say, you're looking positively devilish as always".

You couldn't help but chuckle at Rosie's clever wordplay, grateful for her ability to lighten the mood even in unexpected encounters like this. Meanwhile, Alastor's attention remained fixated on your mask, his curiosity palpable as he studied it with keen interest.

"It's a new accessory I've been trying out," you interjected, offering Alastor a sheepish smile as you adjusted the mask slightly. "Adds a bit of flair to the ensemble, wouldn't you say?"

Alastor's grin widened at your comment, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Indeed it does, my dear," he replied, his tone laced with playful intrigue. "But do tell me, what's the occasion for such a daring fashion choice?"

You exchanged a quick glance with Rosie, silently conveying your agreement to stick to the story you had discussed earlier. With a confident nod, you turned back to Alastor, ready to deflect his questions with practiced ease.

"Just felt like adding a touch of mystery to the day," you replied casually, hoping to steer the conversation away from any deeper inquiries. "You know me, always one for a bit of theatrics."

Alastor chuckled at your response, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. "Ah, a kindred spirit indeed," he remarked, his grin widening as he gestured towards the bustling streets of Hell. "Well then, why don’t I join you both? I would hate to miss out.”

"Of course, Alastor," Rosie chimed in, her smile brightening at the idea of their impromptu trio. "The more, the merrier!"

You nodded in agreement, though inwardly you couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the prospect of spending time with Alastor right now. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his sudden interest in joining your outing than met the eye.

Nevertheless, you plastered on a polite smile and nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely, Alastor," you replied, your tone laced with forced enthusiasm. "It'll be a delight to have you with us."

With Alastor now officially part of your excursion, the three of you continued your leisurely stroll down the road as Rosie and Alastor engaged in conversation. Their banter filled the air with lively energy, and you couldn't help but smile at their playful exchanges. This really did feel like old times.

As you navigated the colorful crowds and eccentric characters, you couldn't shake the feeling that this day would be anything but ordinary. The bustling streets of Hell seemed to hum with an undercurrent of anticipation, and you found yourself growing increasingly wary with each passing moment.

Glancing down at your watch, you noted the time—2:30 pm. It felt like too much time for something to go wrong, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine. As you slowed down to try and walk on the side of one of them, you felt a hand on your lower back, forcing you to stay where you were. Looking up, you noticed Alastor staring down at you, his hand the one on your back.

His gaze was intense, his crimson eyes seeming to pierce right through you. You could feel a chill run down your spine as his touch sent a tingling sensation across your skin. Despite the warmth of the day, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that washed over you in his presence.

"Is something the matter, my dear?" Alastor's voice was smooth and velvety, masking any hint of concern behind its charismatic tone. But you could sense the underlying curiosity in his words, as if he were probing for something hidden beneath the surface.

Your words spilled out in a rushed flurry, a feeble attempt to mask your unease. "Oh! No, no – not at all," you said quickly, shaking your head as you smiled up at him. "Just didn't want to interrupt the rhythm of your conversation—"

Your voice faltered for a moment as Alastor's gaze held yours, his piercing eyes seeming to search for something beyond your facade. You couldn't shake the feeling that he saw right through your flimsy excuse, but you pushed aside your apprehension, plastering on a reassuring smile.

Alastor's gaze lingered for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally released his grip on your back. "Ah, I see," he replied, his tone nonchalant as he turned his attention back to Rosie. "Well, no need to worry about interrupting, my dear. Your presence is always welcome."

As you all wandered from shop to shop, café to café, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at the back of your mind. Despite the pleasant distractions and lighthearted conversations, the weight of your secrets hung heavy on your shoulders, casting a shadow over the otherwise enjoyable day.

As the daylight slowly faded into dusk, signaling the approaching end of the day, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety every time you made eye contact with Alastor.

"Ah, well! This is me," Rosie said, breaking the tension as she turned around and pulled you and Alastor into a farewell hug.

You embraced Rosie tightly, grateful for her presence and the distraction she provided from the weight of your secrets. As she released you from the hug, you exchanged warm smiles, knowing that her unwavering support had made the day bearable despite the underlying tension.

"Until next time, sweetie," Rosie said, her voice filled with warmth and affection as she bid you farewell. With a final wave, she disappeared into the bustling streets of cannibal town, leaving you and Alastor alone once more.

With Rosie gone, a palpable silence settled between you and Alastor, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the bustling city around you. You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of his gaze upon you.

"So, my dear," Alastor began, his voice low and measured, "care to enlighten me on the purpose of your little outing today?"

You swallowed nervously, your mind racing for a plausible explanation that wouldn't betray your true intentions. "Oh, you know, just needed a bit of fresh air and some company," you replied with a forced nonchalance, hoping to deflect his inquiry.

Alastor's expression remained unreadable, his crimson eyes boring into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "Is that so?" he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, my dear, I must say, I find your sudden need for 'fresh air' rather intriguing."

You fought to maintain your composure, refusing to let his probing gaze unsettle you. "I suppose I just wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to spend some time with Rosie," you added, hoping to steer the conversation away from any further scrutiny.

Alastor's smirk widened, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Ah, yes, dear Rosie," he mused, his tone tinged with amusement. "She does have a way of brightening even the dreariest of days, doesn't she?"

You nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Indeed she does," you replied, relieved to have successfully deflected Alastor's suspicions, at least for the moment. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he let on, and that your secrets were not as safely guarded as you had hoped.

Alastor's smirk persisted, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made you feel as though he was peeling back the layers of your facade with each passing second. "Yes, indeed," he said slowly, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "But something tells me there's more to this little outing than meets the eye."

You swallowed nervously, cursing yourself for not being more careful with your words. Alastor was perceptive, far more perceptive than you had given him credit for, and it seemed that he was not content to let the matter rest.

"Come now, my dear," Alastor continued, his voice silky smooth but with an underlying edge that sent a shiver down your spine. "You can't expect me to believe that you simply wanted to spend the day gallivanting around Hell with dear Rosie, can you?"

You bit your lip, your mind racing as you searched for a plausible explanation that would satisfy his curiosity without revealing too much. "Well, you know how it is, Alastor," you said, your tone carefully casual. "Just felt like getting out of the hotel for a bit, that's all."

Alastor's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Is that so?" he mused, his voice dripping with skepticism. "And yet, here we are, the three of us, wandering the streets of Hell with no clear destination in mind. That's very .. unlike you."

You shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. It was clear that Alastor wasn't going to let the matter drop until he had satisfied his curiosity, and you knew that you would have to tread carefully if you wanted to keep your secrets safe.

"Did you successfully change your number?" Alastor inquired casually.

"Well, yes, of course I did—" You trailed off abruptly, your eyes widening in realization. He knew.

You froze, the color draining from your face as realization dawned upon you. Alastor's keen observation had unveiled the truth, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. How had he known about your attempt to change your number?

Alastor's grin widened at your reaction, his amusement evident as he tilted his head slightly. "Ah, so you did," he remarked casually, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "But you see, my dear, there are some things that simply can't be hidden from me."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of Alastor's words settling heavily upon you. It was clear that he had ways of uncovering even your most carefully guarded secrets, and the realization filled you with a sense of dread. What other truths did he know, and how much of yourself had you unwittingly revealed to him?

"I must say, though," Alastor continued, his tone light and playful. "I do admire your efforts to maintain a sense of privacy. It's quite endearing, really."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to process the implications of Alastor's words. It was clear that you were no match for his keen intellect and uncanny ability to unravel the truth, and you couldn't help but wonder what other secrets he had uncovered about you.

Alastor's playful demeanor shifted subtly, his gaze sharpening as he took a step closer, effectively cornering you against the nearby storefront. His presence loomed over you, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch into the depths of your unease.

"You know, my dear," he began, his voice low and intimate, "secrets have a way of finding their way to the surface, no matter how deeply buried they may seem."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a vice. Despite your attempts to maintain a façade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being ensnared in Alastor's gaze, trapped by his uncanny perception.

"I'm afraid I must insist on the truth," Alastor continued, his tone taking on a subtle edge of determination. "There are matters at hand that require clarity, and I cannot abide by deception."

You felt a bead of sweat form at the base of your neck, your nerves fraying under the intensity of Alastor's scrutiny. With each passing moment, it became increasingly clear that you were outmatched, caught in the intricate web of his manipulation.

As Alastor's intense gaze bore into you, you felt a surge of nervous energy course through your veins, rendering you unable to maintain eye contact. His eyes seemed to pierce through your defenses, unraveling the carefully constructed facade you had built around yourself.

But just as you averted your gaze, Alastor's hand snaked out, his fingers wrapping around your chin with a firm yet gentle touch. The unexpected contact sent a jolt of electricity coursing through you, igniting a spark of tension that crackled in the air between you.

Forced to meet his gaze once more, you found yourself ensnared in the depths of his piercing eyes, unable to tear yourself away. There was an intensity in his stare, a magnetic pull that drew you in despite your instinct to resist.

As you locked eyes with him, you felt a strange sense of vulnerability wash over you, as though he could see straight through to the depths of your soul. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to look away, to break the connection and retreat to the safety of your own thoughts.

But his grip on your chin held you in place, anchoring you to the moment as the tension between you reached a fever pitch. In that electrifying moment, you were acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the tantalizing proximity between you stirring something deep within your core.

And as the seconds ticked by in silence, the air thick with anticipation, you couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the surface of Alastor's enigmatic gaze. It was a question that begged to be answered, a mystery that tantalized your senses and beckoned you closer, even as you struggled to resist its pull.

"Now, why would Vox be contacting you, my dear?"

#alastor x reader #alastor x fallen angel #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin alastor #fanfic #radio demon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor

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thebigbiwolf · 9 months

Text

Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor.

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground.

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground - in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads.

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve.

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he?

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns.

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun.

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost.

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable.

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his.

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows.

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?”

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…”

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,”

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully.

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give?

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration.

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road. The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help.

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link.

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself.

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?”

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.”

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm.

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place?

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering.

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you?

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh.

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement.

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him.

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless.

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please."

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse.

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?"

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is?

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed.

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry.

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.”

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste.

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures.

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this?

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure, fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter.

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste.

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets.

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that.

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite.

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking.

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much.

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough.

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind.

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most.

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged.

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man...

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.”

His heart sinks.

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him.

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember.

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.”

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask.

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.”

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks.

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away.

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life.

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all.

What a strange feeling, that was.

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 oc #im muting every bit of social media i have after posting this lmfao #evelyn

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moorishflower · 1 year

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Little Histories (Dream/Hob Roommates AU!)

Little Histories || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Explicit || WIP

Roommates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Living Together, References to Depression, Retired Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Except not really it's just for a year, Bets & Wagers, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Idiots in Love, Bed Sharing, Not Actually Unrequited Love, The love is requited they're just stupid, Temporarily Human Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Humor, Fluff, Light Angst, Romantic Comedy, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Now for the porn parts, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, Voice Kink, Anal Fingering

After making an ill-advised bet with his sister, Dream of the Endless is rendered completely human for one year. In need of a place to stay he turns to Hob, unaware that his oldest friend has been holding a torch for him for the past several centuries. Human experiences! Living life to the fullest! Overcoming depression! Food trucks! It's going to be a long year.

[Read it on AO3 here!]

This entire fic fulfills the prompt for @dreamlingbingo A2 - Roommates AU!

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #my fic #dream of the endless/hob gadling #the sandman fanfiction #dreamling bingo

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catre33 · 5 months

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love languages

Crowley and Aziraphale each have their own specific language for each other. Their own specific love languages, specifically for each other.

They both have a general love language, of course.

Aziraphale's is hard to discern. Gestures are a great part of it, I believe. Angelic nature = acts of service. But he is really just reclused. An ambivert, I believe you could say. He will socialise if he really truly needs to, and he keeps up the appearance of being perfectly amiable. But, he really just has Crowley and his books. I think that's one of the reasons books are such a large part of his personality. Throughout centuries people and civilizations rise and fall. Perhaps he got too attached in early years to mortals he didn't realise would pass on too soon. But books will never betray or leave you in unpredictable ways. Their stories are always there. The only one who has also been there the entire time has been Crowley. These two are the only immortals for each other. And that's also why quality time is quite a large part of Azi's general love language. Spending as much time with someone as possible because you never know when you'll lose them, especially if they're mortal.

The ambivert/recluse perspective really relates to both of them at this point. I can see Crowley having much more of a social life than Aziraphale, but only really on the surface. Practically platonic flings. As per the usual, he has realised the truth early on, that he can't get too attached to anyone. So he'll make friends, he'll spend time with random people; get wasted at clubs, become quick besties with Freddie Mercury, Hozier, Shakespeare, anyone who'll let him rant drunk. But he would never really delve deep into any sort of relationship. Only his angel.

They're the only people, or people-shaped beings, the other could rely on this entire time, through fights and Ragna-right-okay-neverminds, through everything. (until recently ;-;)

Their personal languages for each other are also much more than loosely based upon their ideas of love, and the sheer humanity of it.

Crowley's idea of love is desperate, intense, and intimate (not just physically). A burst of feeling in a tumultous atmosphere, followed by pure expression of adoration for each other. A slow burn and enormous supernova of love. A galaxy of devotion to each other. Which also directly relates to the (supposed) moment he fell in love. Love at first fricking sight. Looking into each others' eyes and realising you were made for each other. An explosion of feeling. He shows his love for Aziraphale in these ways. Desperate rescues and speeches. Very cinematographic ideals, he has.

Aziraphale- oh ho. This true good old-fasioned lover boy. Jane Austen, Cotillion Balls, a slow dance with your love. Gentle, caring, heart-wrenching. A sudden realisation. Very, very sudden, everything. His idea of love is of discovery. But it is also very vague. I feel he is terrified to pursue anything. The terror on his face of implications, realisations that he is knee-deep in the roller coaster of love. He probably never considered any of this until the 18th or 19th century, with his new favorite novels. It is all so very new and scary and sudden to him.

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heartschoicegames · 7 months

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New game! Vampire's Kiss, by Dash Casey

New game! "Vampire's Kiss" by Dash Casey is now available on Steam, iOS and Android. It's 33% off until Oct 26 Please reshare this with friends!

Unleash your lust and your thirst in a battle for the soul of London! Will passion lead you back to humanity, or will you embrace the night as a vampire?

Vampire’s Kiss is a 170,000-word interactive erotic vampire novel by Dash Casey. It’s entirely text-based, without graphics or sound effects, and fuelled by the vast, unstoppable power of your imagination.

In life, you were the guardian of a priceless artifact, the Cross of Aguirre. Now you have been murdered and made a vampire; the artifact has been stolen, and you are at the center of a web of bloody conspiracies.

Navigate a perilous web of secrets as you discover the hidden world of London after dark, staging daring heists and bloody battles across the city’s iconic landscape. As a plot centuries in the making unfolds, choose sides in the battle for control of London’s vampires, and embrace the night that has been thrust upon you…or, chase rumors of a way to restore true life to the undead, and hold out hope that you might see the sun once more.

Your heart no longer beats, but your passion still burns. Will you share a slow dance with Marky, the rogueish vampire with dozens of piercings and a poorly hidden heart of gold? Hold each other tenderly, or fall into bed and discover all of the tricks that Marky has learned in more than a century of unlife.

Will you stalk the night alongside Kurt, a stoic vampire hunter, all muscles and chiseled face, who holds the secrets to ancient lore? He's as dominant in the bedroom as he is on the battlefield: choose your own safeword and submit to his powerful strength; or explore his gentler side.

Does the lure of London's mortal aristocracy draw you towards Alex? This fabulously-dressed and surprisingly courageous socialite is thirsty to learn what sex with a vampire is like - bring all of your powers of telepathy and shapeshifting to heighten your pleasure.

Or will you be dominated by the vampire queen Saffron, with her glorious red hair and brilliantly devious schemes? She's ready for anything, from the kinkiest night of whips and fangs to the vulnerability of using no vampiric powers at all in bed.

• Play as male, female, or nonbinary; gay, straight, or bi; or asexual.

• Seduce a passionate socialite; the scheming vampire queen; a cheeky vampire rogue; or a stoic hunter.

• Opt in or out of scenes involving graphic violence and blood.

• Embrace your vampiric destiny, or dream of the sunrise in a quest to transform yourself back to humanity - and bring your lover along with you.

• Solve your own murder, and take vengeance on your killer.

• Delve into your vampiric powers: transform yourself into a vicious monster, cast shapeshifting illusions as a creature of shadow, or unlock the hypnotic mysteries of the mind.

• Keep your secrets and preserve the illusion that you have died, or shock the world by revealing the existence of vampires.

In this endless night, how will you quench your thirst?

#heartschoice

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endlessbigbang · 9 months

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Masterlist

And that's a wrap! We're so happy to conclude the first big bang for the Sandman fandom with 23 amazing collaborations. Endless, endless thanks to everyone who lent their support, to our writers and artists and podficcers, to the alphas, betas, and cheerleaders and, last but not least, the readers. We're so overjoyed with the success of this event, and can't wait to be back next year!

You can find all creations beneath the cut, please leave all our creators some love!

Love,

the mods (@kairenn-n, @magicinavalon, and @queerofthedagger)

Title: Feathers take Flight (find a home in my heart) Writer: @the-narwhals-awaken Artist: @amielot Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No archive warnings apply Word Count: 16,233 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus / Hob Gadling, Destiny of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Death of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Destruction of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Desire of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Despair of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Delirium of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Hob's Coworkers (just characters). Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe- Wings, all relationships other than dreamling are somewhat minor

Summary:

In a world where there are those that have wings sprouting from their backs, many things remain the same- after all, human nature is human nature, and wings can only change so much. However, when a belated meeting turns into a chance to get closer, to offer and recieve trust and care after a century locked in Fawney Rig, a new path can be set upon- and new futures open up.

Fic link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48303274 Art link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48587698

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Title: blue windows behind the stars Writer: celestarium (@meadowziplines) Artist: Blargh (@brokebrainmountain) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator chose not to use archive warnings / Suicide, suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts Word Count: 21,532 Pairing/main characters: Gen; Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Death of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Destruction of the Endless, Matthew the Raven, Desire of the Endless, Despair of the Endless, Delirium of the Endless, Background & Cameo Characters Up to 10 Additional Tags: Trauma, Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, Depression, Nightmares, Exhaustion, Catharsis, Farms, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Hopeful Ending

Summary:

Dream contemplates what death would mean for an Endless after the resolution of the Vortex, dragged down by untold millennia of exhaustion, suicidal ideation, and self-loathing. Struggling with his own past and mistakes, but with the conviction that he should give the world a new Dream of the Endless, he attempts suicide. Lucienne, Death, and Matthew catch up in time to save him, and to aid him in the weeks following, Destruction of the Endless offers to let Dream (and his friend Hob Gadling) stay with him on his farm in Aotearoa (New Zealand). A vulnerable and emotional Morpheus agrees. While there, Dream struggles to reconcile his emotional state and sense of self with his duty as an Endless, and most of all, find hope again. His friends, family, and allies do their best to help him find answers, aid in nourishing hope, and plan for the future.

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48335944/chapters/121909153

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Title: Room For Love Writer: @staroftheendless Artist: @pintobordeaux Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~ 65,500 Warnings: None Pairing/main characters: Dream x Hob Additional Tags: roommate AU, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, sexual tension, fluff and smut, artist Hob

Summary:

Sometimes in life, we make little decisions that lead to things so much bigger, we can hardly wrap our heads around it. After never quite getting along with people, Dream is surprised to become best friends with his new roommate Hob. He might even have a bit of a crush on him. The only problem? Hob could never like him the same way. Hob makes friends easily, especially with Dream, who's the best friend anyone could hope for. The only problem? After five years of living together, Dream shows up in places of Hob's mind where a friend doesn't quite belong. Now the only question left is, who's going to make the little decision that leads to bigger things?

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48699178/chapters/122844601 Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48715300/chapters/122886778

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Title: By The Dead of Morning Writer: Essie (@essie007) Artist: @teejaystumbles Rating: Explicit Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death, mentions of revenge porn, mentions of stillbirth Word Count: 39,775 Pairing: Dreamling Additional Tags (up to 10): reverse verse, canon divergent AU, Hob Gadling is Hope of the Endless, Human Morpheus, angst with a happy ending, Endless Family Drama

Summary:

When Despair is killed by the Kindly Ones for spilling family blood, she departs to the sunless lands, never to return. Thus, Hob Gadling, a lowly mercenary living in London in 1389, becomes Hope of the Endless. Over six hundred years later, Death takes him out for a drink, Desire in tow, to the Tavern of the White Horse, where he meets Morpheus, a down on his luck mortal crying into his sangria after a recent break-up. Desire believes that Morpheus’s death wish is genuine and that he will be dead within a year, but Hope is certain the man has too much to live for. Death offers a solution, she will not take Morpheus until he asks for her gift, but as soon as he does, she will grant it. Hob approaches Morpheus with every intention of winning a bet, but Hob is the youngest Endless by far and doesn’t know the family’s full complicated history. Or their connection to Morpheus. A reverse-verse canon divergent AU.

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48475690/chapters/122275639 ---

Title: The Moonstone Writer: gisho Artist: @vriah Rating: Not Rated Warnings: no warnings Word Count: 21,254 Pairing/main characters: Rose Walker, Dream of the Endless, Jed Walker, Gault Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Knightly Quests, fairytale logic

Summary:

Morpheus finds a way to avoid killing a vortex - he gives Rose his own heart, forcing her to take his place as Dream. The new Dream has to deal with a life she never expected and try not to repeat her predessor's mistakes. In the waking world, the people she left behind grieve and wonder. And when Roses's little brother Jed is offered the chance to switch from superhero to questing knight, with some help from an old friend, he leaps at the opportunity.

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48314338

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Title: little by little, and also in great leaps Writer: she_who_loves_dreamling (all_fandoms_reader) (@i-love-all-books) Artist: @d8dc Rating: Teen+ Warnings: Graphic violence Word Count: 21,082 Pairing/main characters: Dreamling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, The Love Is Requited They're Just Idiots, idiots to lovers, Getting Together, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary:

In one world, Jessamy and Death depart for the Sunless lands, and it will be long years before Dream is free. This is not that world. ~ Hob is eating breakfast on Tuesday, August 10th, in the year of our Lord 1926, when Death comes knocking. Or, the obligatory fishbowl rescue fic, followed by a series of dates in the Dreaming which Dream doesn't realise are dates and Hob doesn't realise are real. AKA mutual pining with a happy ending.

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48535429 Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49062727

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Title: It's Only Forever, Not Long At All Writer: @beholdingthegaytimes Artist: @mayhemspreadingguy Rating: Explicit Warnings: None Word Count: 25k Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Masquerade Ball AU, Vampire Au, Alternate First Meeting, Violinist Hob Gadling, Vampire Dream of the Endless, Blood drinking, First time, Lust at first sight, Strangers to Hook Up to Lovers

Summary:

Hob should know by now not to go along with Death’s schemes, but here he is at a masquerade ball for her baby brother. He’s never met him, but Death's told Hob that he was indeed that pale lord that left the White Horse in a stink just before Death sauntered up and gave Hob immortality. Surrounded by impossible creatures and otherworldly beings, one specific person catches his attention: an inhumanly beautiful dark haired man in a raven mask. Hob loses track of him and the night spirals out in mayhem as Hob gets himself into trouble. Fey trouble to be exact. Or An alternate first meeting with romance, dramatic disputes, vampiric flare, and classical music.

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/endless_big_bang_2023/works/48594271

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Title: The Seven Lamps of Architecture Writer: Quilling (@Quillingwords) Artist: @the-cloudy-dreamer Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 29,640 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Magical Realism; Gothic Atmosphere; The Dreaming is both a setting and basically its own character here; Literary and artistic references and allusions; Meta on storytelling and narratives; Dream goes by all of his names here; POV Hob Gadling; In which he gets to peel back each of the layers like an onion (or a tulip bulb - this will make more sense later)

Summary:

Moonlight made pools of yellow on the marble. What was this place? And the man he caught a glimpse of, the first night this place opened up to him, from between the windows that could have been doors. That was his Stranger from the Tavern of the White Horse, almost a century ago, Hob was sure of it. Hob had come to suspect that on that otherwise ordinary summer evening, he had embraced immortality and perhaps, given up his soul with perfect happiness. What a fable that would be. -- November, 1475. Hob Gadling arrives in Venice, explores a mysterious world of cosmic grandeur, trades ink-stained love confessions with his stranger, and embraces the most important lesson of all: that life is a story all on its own, past and present and an ending that isn't really an ending at all

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48302461/chapters/121819900

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Title: Holding On While You Slip Away Writer: @acedragontype Artist: @alexxuun Rating: Explicit Warnings: Outdated queer language/ideas, transphobia, minor character death, public outing, witch trials and drowning, warfare Word Count: 33,148 Pairing/Main Characters: Hob Gadling/Dream (Morpheus) Up to 10 Additional Tags: Trans Hob Gadling, Queer History, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Getting Together, Dream Sex, Dream Transformation, Trans Hob gets his preferred body in dreams, Top Morpheus, Top Hob Gadling

Summary:

He was not born Robert Gadling, he'd spent the first 16 years of his life going by another name. And yet, he'd always been Hob in his dreams. A Trans!Hob au exploring his various relationships in the context of queer history, as well as how he feels about his own body and identity.

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48290944

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Title: Closing the Distance Writer: Ryunya (@ryunyaz) Artist: innenui Rating: Mature Warnings: Attempted Sexual Assault Word Count: 18k Pairing/main characters: Dream/Hob Up to 10 Additional Tags: H/C, Blood and Violence, Fluff, Sensory Overload

Summary:

Distance (and time) make the heart grow fonder, and both Dream and Hob are very happy to be finally reunited. However, Dream gets affected by the Waking world in ways he never has before, and that complicates things a bit.

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48624715?view_full_work=true

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Title: Shoulder the Sky Writer: im_not_corrupted (@im-not-corrupted) Artist: @kd-heart Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Word Count: 35,279 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Heavy Angst, Depression, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus has Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Grief/Mourning, POV Second Person, aftermath of imprisonment, Emotional Hurt, Suicide Attempt, Post Season/Series 01

Summary:

Dream's time spent caged by Roderick Burgess has changed him, and he is tired. The Dreaming is loud, an ocean that drowns him. His responsibilities are another cage, and Dream comes to the realisation that he does not want to be who he is anymore. But he is Endless, and the Endless cannot change. It is not enough to banish the exhaustion that haunts Dream's steps, but he finds comfort in Hob's company as the two of them navigate a tentative friendship. It is a break, when the Dreaming gets too loud. It is not enough. Dream finds himself unable to find the words to explain what is happening inside his own head, though many are willing to listen. Eventually, his own desire to change and be something different manifests itself as a door inside the Dreaming that will take him to the Sunless Lands. It is not the change he wanted. But he is tired, and this door is the only way to escape his function. Though he doesn't take the chance at first, eventually the Dreaming manifests his own resentment for his function as a fog that blankets his kingdom, until Death seems like the only way out. Thankfully, Death of the Endless has another solution to offer her brother.

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48299206 Art (Podfic): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48631597

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Title: It's A Kind of Magic Writer: artful_fanfic (@artfulusername) Artist: @jeniidrawsshit Rating: Explicit (E) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Drowning-Related PTSD Word Count: 21,957 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling; Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman) Up to 10 Additional Tags: Movie Night, POV Alternating, Appearance by Death of the Endless, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Blowjob

Summary:

While Dream and Hob navigate their newly-admitted friendship by engaging in traditional movie nights, neither of them seem prepared to admit that being simply friends is the last thing they want. Will their assumptions about the other's wants and needs keep getting in the way? Will Dream stop wanting to glare at Matthew for teaching him about "Netflix and Chill?" Only time will tell. Fortunately for them, they've got plenty of it.

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48640318/chapters/122695573 Art: https://www.tumblr.com/jeniidrawsshit/725505982684397568/endlessbigbangitsakindofmagic

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Title: More Than a Concept Writer: AnneMcSommers Artist: @five-and-dimes Rating: Mature Warnings: Dysfunctional Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Touch-StarvedTouch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Self-Worth Issues, Self-Acceptance, Homophobia, Acephobia, Internalized Acephobia, Non-Consensual Body Modifications, Trauma, Bad Parenting, Food Issues Word Count: 15345 Relationships: Desire of the Endless & Dream of the Endless, Death of the Endless & Dream of the Endless, Delirium of the Endless & Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Despair of the Endless & Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless & Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Up to 10 Additional Tags: Family Feels, The New Inn is a Temple to Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, non-binary characters, Angst with a happy ending, Dream of the Endless| Morpheus needs a hug, Miscommunication, Sensory Processing Disorder, Misunderstanding

Summary:

When Desire plans to host a June family dinner, with human aspects that Dream doesn't understand, he turns to his human friend Hob Gadling for more information. What he learns leads Dream on a journey of self discovery, about who he is, what it means to be Endless, and his relationship with those he calls family.

Fic & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48096463/chapters/121279201

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Title: An EPIPHANY of POPPIES upon the BATTLEFIELD or Robert Gadling and Delirium of the Endless' Adventures through No Man's Lands Writer: @questing-wulfstan Artist: Mockspeed ( @mock-arts ) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Canon-typical violence, the Corinthian is his own warning Word Count: 26k Pairing/main characters: Morpheus & Hob Gadling, Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Delirium of the Endless & Hob Gadling // Hob Gadling, Delirium of the Endless, Death of the Endless, Lucienne, the Corinthian, Dream of the Endless Rating: Explicit Up to 10 Additional Tags: Canon Universe, Canon Divergence, Hob Gadling saves Dream of the Endless from Burgess' basement, World War II, Substance Abuse, Hallucinations, Suicidal Thoughts, religious Hob Gadling, Catholicism, Blood and Violence

Summary:

April 1940, On a French battlefield, Hob Gadling doubts his will to persevere in being alive for the second time of his existence. He swallows morphine in the hope to soothe his horror-scarified mind, and summons a mirage of the stranger who occupied his thoughts as the patron of his immortality. In a Japanese psychiatric ward, Delirium of the Endless is alerted by Dream's irruption in her realm, who she found missing when she sought his company on her quest for the Prodigal. Disappointment overcomes her as she finds it was but an image of her brother conjured by a mortal, and so it does Hob when her eruption dismisses the vision. Delirium will not resign herself to her exponential loss of brothers however, neither will Hob Gadling withhold his help from any entity in distress, whether the stranger or his younger sister ; they just might hold the potential to liberate Morpheus between their four hands ...

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48626764 Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48305194

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Title: ask what you want of my soul Writer: PanBoleyn (@eidetictelekinetic) Artist: kdheart (@kd-heart) Rating: Mature Warnings: Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Word Count: 16,354 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hope|Elpis; Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Elpis (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Mythological Characters, Endless Siblings - Character, Original Characters Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Fem!Dreamling, Hope Hob (or Hope Ella), artistic license - mythology, Canon-Typical Violence, Temporary Character Death

Summary:

In modern English, they will even speak of hopes and dreams together, as if they were one. They are not, but hope is often what starts the turn of someone’s dream to their reality, and so perhaps it is not surprising, that the youngest child of Brightness and Day was drawn to the thirdborn child of Time and Night. In which Pandora's jar was never a jar, and Hope was in love with Dream before she was lost. And long, long after, Ella Gadling caught the attention of Dream and Death, setting in motion the end of a curse, and revelations along with it.

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48314875 Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48631930

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Title: Do you believe in life after love Writer: dino_cattivo Artist: spiaem ( @spiaem ) Rating: teens and up Warnings: none Word Count: 17,667 Pairing/main characters: dream/hob Up to 10 Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending self-Esteem Issues, Nosebleed ,illnesses ,Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Summary:

God's like Zeus have shown themselves to humanity in modern times as they felt their power dwindle. With the worship of the people at an all-time height, they recover and are stronger than ever, sometimes even forfilling their followers wishes. History teacher Hob doesn't pray to any god. The history texts have taught him gods were only kind as long as they needed something. A belief that wavers after a bad breakup with his long-term boyfriend. Though before he can do something, he meets Morpheus, a handsome stranger showing interest in him and pushing for a relationship. They end up together but Morpheus has a hidden agenda.

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48302005/chapters/121818418#workskin Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49454986

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Title: where dreams dwell not Writer: jamais_vu0 Artist: foxish (@kitsune2022-artish) Rating: Teen Warnings: canon-typical violence, temporary character death Word Count: 89,523 Pairing/main characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless, Hob/Dream Additional tags: fairy tale AU, Hob saves Dream from the fishbowl, slow burn

Summary:

Hob Gadling is wasting away, aching for adventure and the chance to live life as it's meant to be lived. When he receives a mysterious letter promising all the adventure he could want in exchange for a year of his company, he takes the offer and finds himself in a lonely castle in a land of magic, a strange figure haunting his dreams. And when Hob himself breaks the one rule he's been given days before the year is complete, he finds himself embarking on the adventure he's always wanted, in order to save his Dream from a fate worse than death.

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48303526/chapters/121823242 Art: https://www.tumblr.com/kitsune2022-artish/726233688430477312/my-art-for-the-endlessbigbang-2023-for

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Title: Love at Third Sight Writer: Gfawkes / LLflorence (@llflorence) Artist: @hpurlnovi Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 20,455 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Top Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Bottom Hob Gadling, Explicit Sexual Content, Identity Reveal, Mutual Pining, Romance, Light Angst, Emotional Sex

Summary:

Hob is dyslexic, and music notes are just like letters. B’s and d’s and p’s and q’s all look the same, as do all those little bastard tadpoles on the musical staff. So he does it a little differently, with a little humor and a lot of close-ups of his hairy fingers. And for some reason, it’s a hit in more ways than one. As Robyn begins to tune his instrument, Hob cases the room for his stranger. It’s the third time the handsome man has been to one of their gigs. There’s something familiar about him, something Hob can’t quite put his finger on. But the fact that he’s made eye contact for the third time is extremely intriguing. Johanna, of course, notices. “You’re looking for him again, aren’t you.”

Art & Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48001063/chapters/121029040

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Title: Sunrise in Chocolate Ink Writer: @aquilathefighter Artist: @vriah Rating: Teen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 15,047 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Up to 10 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Autistic Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Social Anxiety, Poet Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Barista Hob Gadling

Summary:

Dream Endlaez is newly living on his own and trying to make it as a poet. He starts going to work at a nearby coffee shop known for supporting local artists, where he meets a handsome and charming barista named Hob. Dream learns the business is not doing well, so he decides to host a poetry reading night to attract customers (and boost his career at the same time!), all the while falling for the barista.

Art & Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48363172

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Title: The Many Lives of Hob Gadling Writer: @landwriter Artist: @teejaystumbles Pairing/main characters: Dream/Hob Rating: M Warnings: Chose Not To Warn Word Count: ~20K Up to 10 Additional Tags: Canon Divergence, Non-Linear Narrative, Reincarnation, Letters, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Devotion, Quests

Summary:

A man, supine and utterly still, in what might have seemed like a deep sleep, draws in a long slow breath and opens his eyes. He smiles up at the sky, for he knows not much at all, but he knows this: Hob Gadling is a man of good fortune. A story about refusing to leave. A story about a quest that spans lifetimes. A story about losing someone, and bringing them back with love.

Art & Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49088941

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Title: Strains of a Melody Writer: @ginoeh Artists: Theotherwillow & @kairennart Rating: M Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Word Count: 55 526 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling & Orpheus, Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless, Orpheus Up to 10 Additional Tags: mild gore, past character death, angst and hurt/comfort, suicidal ideation, comic compliant assisted suicide of minor character, Hob's inability to die despite bein fatally wounded, look this has a hopeful ending okay?, Light At The End Of The Tunnel, Orpheus is a warning all for himself really, Comic spoilers for Brief Lives

Summary:

When Hob Gadling strands on Naxos at the beginning of the 20th century, some long-laid-plans and designs unravel. While the great stories always return to their original forms, for some this is the start of an entirely new narrative. The Fates, though, demand their due and neither Dream not Hob are free until all debts are paid in full.

Story & Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48637858/chapters/122689126

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Title: Which Prisoners Call the Sky Writer: @dreamerinsilico Artist: @harukaspiegel Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Word Count: 16,339 Pairing/main characters: Dream of the Endless|Morpheus/Hob Gadling; Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless|Morpheus, The Corinthian, Desire of the Endless, Unity Kinkaid, Matthew the Raven Up to 10 Additional Tags: Angst With a Happy Ending, Nightmares, The Corinthian is His Own Warning, a particular Siamese cat, Dreamwalking, Medical Abuse, Fishbowl Rescue, the rescue is mutual

Summary:

In his lucid periods, Hob worries more and more often about how long he has been asleep. People dream of things that don’t exist all the time, of course, but not the same things, with such consistency. In 1916, Hob Gadling falls asleep and doesn't wake up. He begins to realize that he can wander after an encounter with a young girl on a black-sand beach, and he knows there's something important missing, everywhere he goes. When he learns it might be a someone, he puts all of his six centuries of being a tenacious bastard to use.

Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49760731 Art: https://www.tumblr.com/harukaspiegel/727195638811574272/wich-prisoners-call-the-sky-by?source=share

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Title: The Other Kingdom Writer: Banhus (@that-banhus) Artist: Mockspeed (@mock-arts) Rating: E Warnings: Gore, attempted suicide (OC, minor character, not too explicit), canonical minor character death, starvation, illness, sexual content, horror. Word Count: ~50k Pairing/main characters: Dream/Hob Gadling; Dream/Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Randall Burgess, Johanna Constantine, The Corinthian, Jessamy, Destiny, Mazikeen. Up to 10 Additional Tags: WWI, AU - Death captured by Roderick Burgess, Sandman-typical roadtrips, plot heavy, po-ta-toes, slow burn, I will show you fear in a handful of sand.

Summary:

In 1916, Roderick Burgess successfully summons Death, and Hob Gadling wakes up in no-man’s land alongside three dead soldiers.

Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49615189 Art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48305038

#the endless big bang #the sandman #masterlist

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pauking5 · 5 months

Text

Addicting Taste Chapter 8

Pairing: Enishi Yukishiro x reader oc

Genre: strangers to lovers, sunshine and sunshine protector, comedic relief, angst, slow burn, some fluff

Word count: 14k+

A/N: Welp, she's a long one but she's a good one. It could be taken as a filler but she's important to the story so I hope it's not too much of a nuisance to read. Also, give a big welcome to none other than the famed Sword Hunter, Cho Sawagejo. He was so bleak in the original story it took me so long just to rewrite his character. He's important to the story so take this as his introduction! Chapter 9 is coming too and she's wild. Enjoy lovelies, Paula.

Now Playing: beating heart - ellie goulding.

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"Miyu?"

No fucking way.

Is this some sick joke?

Of all people, he wasn't supposed to be here.

"Cho?"

Cho Sawagejo. Known as the Sword Hunter and one of the former Ten Swords, used to fight against the Meiji government. Additionally, he was an old friend of yours... sort of. The fact that history ran deep between you two was the understatement of the century.

Your hand froze on the golden doorknob, mouth hung open in shock to see him after all these years. Memories of him fired one after another in your head the more you looked at him, including those you tried really hard to forget. Your mouth moved on its own trying to make some sense of what you were seeing, but all that came out was whispers of his name. A name you wanted to forget for as long as you lived.

Snapping out of it you noticed he seemed to be in a bit of a situation, which was something normal for him, considering how you met each other.

4 years ago

Life was a constant fight for survival. You escaped the fighting rings in Edo but you did so at the cost of having to fend for yourself in the only way you knew: killing.

A rookie assassin, with barely enough training, murdering to stay alive. You barely got hired because your face said you didn't have experience like others did. But once they saw what you could do with two pistols and a heart that was hungry for mayhem they instantly hired you.

As much as you wanted to do something else with your life, you couldn't. You lived with the sole goal of finding your parents, even if it meant destroying your soul in the process.

There were times where your appetite got insatiable and you killed more than you needed to. It was where Barairo got her reputation from, Yokohama's crimson rose turning into a twisted bloodthirsty demon.

The only advantage of letting her out was that it made getting some of the jobs done easier. Though the stench of her blood soaked claws haunted you every night together with your usual nightmares.

You worked on yourself trying to limit her vengeful spirit so you could focus properly on missions. Little by little, she retracted back in her cage and all that was left was you. A woman so sure of herself that nothing could stop her.

Until you met him and all of that went to shit.

You got the job to kill a really well-known conman who got on the nerves of the wider business community in Osaka. He stole a lot of money from them and it was to no surprise most of them wanted his head on a pike. Multiple people got hired starting a hunt for him but there was a catch. Whoever got the job done first was rewarded with half of the stolen money. You had to move fast if you wanted to be first. Because you wanted it badly.

The plan was simple: get in his highly secured villa, put a bullet through his skull and be on your way. But things didn't work exactly like you wanted them to.

Come on now, did they ever? It's a Miyu Hikari tradition at this point.

You staked out the man's mansion for a full 24 hours under the scorching heat of the summer sun. Every time you wanted to go in and get the job done, a flurry of guards would round the grounds and you had to move spots constantly. Sweat trickled down your back in waves, clothes drenched to the brim from just sitting in the bushes. Summer was definitely not your favorite season, especially when you had jobs like this to do.

Finally, when the night let out you managed to advance. Infiltrating inside was a fluke, easily taking out the small number of guards on night duty. Checking for any more of them in all rooms at the bottom floor, you made your way to the top floor where his master bedroom was located. Getting a little distracted by completing the mission, bags of steaming dumplings occupying your mind more than the mission at hand, you failed to see the incoming competition.

You just rounded the top of the stairs when something clanged against the window behind you. You turned around in a heartbeat, guns held out ready to pull the triggers. Intuition told you to put multiple holes through whoever it was until you got a better look at him.

There he was, one leg in and two sharp katanas held between his teeth, trying to balance his way inside the mansion. You lowered your weapons as your curiosity piqued by the man before you. You retracted to a dark corner away from his line of sight, silently snickering at his struggle. The moment he finally got himself through the threshold and thudded to the floor making the loudest noise possible triggered a fit of giggles from you you couldn't keep inside anymore. If the guards were still alive and breathing they would have had his ass so fast.

Once he heard you, he got back to his feet and made quick movement to hold one of his katanas to your throat. You stopped laughing and put your hands up in fake surrender deciding to mock him a little.

"Who are you?"

"Someone on the same mission as you. You're kinda late to the party though."

Seeing as you weren't too much of a threat, he put down his sword. He cleared his throat to sound more sure of himself than he appeared to be and smoothed a hand over his hair that was sat in all directions, including his mouth. He looked harmless without his katana unsheathed. If this was your competition you surely held yourself a lot better in the short time you've been working the field.

"Thank you for the clean up, but I'll take it from here."

I just gave you the benefit of the doubt dude. Turns out I was wrong.

"I think the fuck not."

Pointing your pistols his way, you got ready to defend your territory. There was no way you would let this rando of all people steal your moment after you did most of the work.

He flashed you a smirk and in the blink of an eye vanished. Confused, you spun around to see the door to the master bedroom opened. It was way too dark but once your eyes focused on the shadow lurking above the man tucked in bed with his katanas ready to slice him open, you panicked. Thinking fast you aimed at the man the best you could in the pitch black, using the glimmer of light reflecting off the blade as guidance and took the shot. One of the blades intercepted your bullet just before it could hit the man, cutting it in half, leftover pieces of the bullet flying into the bed frame. You gasped in shock as he chuckled darkly.

"Nice try."

Beyond annoyed at him and determined to see this mission through, you put the guns back in their hold and got into a fighting stance.

"I was here first. I am not moving an inch before I kill him," you rasped.

He smirked and sheathed his sword, walking closer to you and mirroring your position.

"Fair enough. Let's see if you've got any real fight in you."

He went easy on you, thinking you couldn't fight him.

Terrible mistake.

The minute he came at you, you sent him flying to the other corner of the room, watching as his back hit a dresser tumbling down to the floor with him. He got up and lunged at you and you dodged all of his moves. When his punches got sloppy, it was your turn to swing at him, decorating his face with your fists. At one point your hits turned slower and he managed to lay down a few punches of his own. He caught you off guard and pushed you into the wall, hands digging hard into your arm as he pinned you to it. Amused at your struggle to break free, his head dipped down to your ear.

"Is that all you've got, princess?"

"Don't call me that ever again."

He pissed you off beyond coming back now. You growled and threw your head into his with all the force you had, throwing him off balance enough for him to release you and to drop down and swipe his legs from under him. As soon as he was flat on the ground you straddled him, pining his hands beside his head.

Trying to will some breath back into your lungs you looked at him and he looked at you for a while, taking in the damage you've both done to each other. One looked worse than the other, a broken nose gracing his face as payback for the cut lip he gave you.

His dark eyes had you in a trance. There was something about him that screamed danger but familiarity the more you looked at him. A weird feeling crawled up your spine and you couldn't help the sensation that something was really wrong. Snapping out of it, you straightened and got up from the floor, looking around at the mess you've caused. You wondered why the man wasn't awake and screaming for mercy or applauding the free fight show in his bedroom. You moved to the king sized bed in spite of the protests to continue the fight and examined the man tucked into bed. You pulled the duvet down from his face and the marks around his neck told you all you needed to know.

"Someone got the job done before us."

"What?"

He ran next to you following your pointed finger to the neck of the man who appeared to have been dead for a while. How did none of you notice this before?

"The guards were pretty much alive when I arrived. Whoever killed him must have been waiting for him here."

You pulled the curtains near the window so the light could filter in a little more. Truthful to your suspicion, there were no signs of forced entrance on the window sill or the door, so it had to be a job from the inside. Main conclusion was that you were left with a busted ego and you could kiss your precious dumplings goodbye for a while.

"Well, that's a bummer," he said, slumping against the wall. At least you weren't the only one disappointed.

"We should leave before more potential suitors want to decorate him and us as collateral damage."

You made a move for the door only to hear shouts and multiple pairs of boots rushing up the stairs.

We're in deep shit.

Closing the door, you tried to pull the wardrobe in front of it to block the men from entering. It was too heavy to push by yourself so he moved to help you. You successfully barricaded yourselves inside just as angry fists started banging on the door. You moved away from it and scanned the room for a way out. The big double window looked like the only viable option. You hesitated in even suggesting it as an escape route but he seemed to have other plans as you watched him run over to it and bust it open with a chair. Shards of glass flew everywhere on the floor and the banging on the door intensified. You rushed to the window where you were met with a five meter drop to a patch of grass smaller than your hopes and dreams at the moment.

Hell no, nuh-uh. I'm not playing the flying bird game.

He was out of his fucking mind if he thought that was a safe plan, but before you could say anything he just jumped out first with his katanas strapped to his back, swiftly landing on his feet. Your jaw dropped open.

Okay, so he is indeed out of his fucking mind.

He looked back at you, waiting for you to follow, but the way you gripped the curtains told him you weren't keen on jumping too. He couldn't leave you there when there was no telling how many men were behind that door that was now close to being torn open.

"Look, I know you don't know me, but I need you to trust me and jump the fuck out," he yelled at you, trying to get your attention away.

"You want me to trust you in willingly pivoting down to my death?"

"It sounds horrendous when you put it that way. I promise I will try to catch you."

Putting my life in the hands of a stranger who tried to kill me just a few moments ago? Not a chance. But I want to taste my favorite buns again, alive and breathing on this earth.

Getting on top of the windowsill, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, jumping out. Truthful to his promise, he caught you, falling down on the grass with you in his arms. He cushioned your fall and your head landed in the crook of his neck, his scent closing around you. He smelled like vanilla and lavender. The way he cushioned your fall made you think you were laying in a field of flowers but that might have just been the euphoria from the fall, pumping adrenaline through you.

You opened your eyes to be nose to nose with him, breaths meeting halfway. Through the messy blonde hair falling over his bandana, you noticed his eyes were actually a deep shade of brown as they bore into yours. You lifted your hand to brush his locks away halting when you heard more shouts and commotion behind you. Quickly, you got up and pulled him up too, bolting towards the gates. His hand intertwined with yours as you both ran until you reached town.

Finally stopping at the back of a shop you checked around for any sight of the men following, relieved to see none. You closed your eyes willing in a breath when you felt something weighing down your hand. You looked down and he followed your gaze to your hands that were still tightly locked together. He let go first, rubbing his neck nervously.

That's cute.

His touch ghosted on your finger tips and you cradled your hand close. You've never been this close to anyone before.

"That was eventful," he exhaled.

"Yeah. Thanks for catching me back there, uh..."

"It's Cho. And of course! Anytime, uh..."

"Miyu."

"Miyu," he said your name softly. "Well, Miyu, if you ever find yourself in a pickle or something like that again feel free to call on me."

He smiled genuinely at you this time, previous cocky smirk gone. It made you feel warm inside for some reason but you quickly shook that thought away.

"I'll make sure to call on you then."

A lot of time passed after your encounter. Summer turned to fall and winter. There were times where you laid awake at night and your mind drifted to him, contemplating his offer. He shouldn't be that hard to find if need be to have him help on a mission and it felt tempting to team up with someone else, especially since your fighting styles were so similar.

You finally met again a few times after you were both hired on other missions. You fought your way out of them together, often splitting the earnings. It turned out you made a really good team, your logical skills complementing his sword skills just right.

You started hanging out more and paired most of your missions together, getting to know more about each other. Soon enough, he turned into a part of your routine and you were inseparable, both on and off the field. You ate together, fought together and trained together.

He opened up about himself too. He told you why the Ten Swords fell to their demise with the new government and how he was left wandering for a while until he took up sketchy jobs like you. You told him a little about yourself and your mission to find your parents. He thought it was admirable to have a goal like that and eished he himself had one that righteous.

Over time, one thing led to another and you found yourself catching feelings for him. It was stupid really. He did the smallest things, like throwing you one of his crooked smiles full of mischief whilst stabbing someone who tried to attack you or getting you dumplings because he knew how much you liked them. You even started liking the annoying way in which he called you princess instead of your name, reatliating with a nickname of your own for him, blondie.

All these gestures were small, but you couldn't deny that they made you swoon. Your feelings only grew stronger the more you spent time with him and it took everything in you to work out the courage to confess to him.

But you never got to tell him how you felt.

And it was all his fault.

You spent years thinking of what you would say if you ever saw him again, only for all those words to erase themselves from your mind the minute you laid your eyes on him tonight.

He was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. A man sat in front of him most likely torturing him up to the moment you and Enishi entered. He was now turning around to you with a big knife in his hand, blood dripping from the blade onto the white carpet. You interrupted him and he didn't seem too happy about it because he quickly lunged at you. You wasted no time in kicking away the knife from his hand and knocking him out with a roundhouse kick.

"Fancy seeing you here, princess."

You sure didn't miss that nickname. As much as it grew on you back then, it made you beyond disgusted to hear it now.

"I wish I could say the same. Who did you piss off this time?"

"A lot of people as you can see," he spoke motioning to his body littered in cuts and bruises.

His white shirt, now a mix of dried blood and dirt, was torn in most places, just like his skin. Your eyes lingered over the cuts on his arms that appeared to be made with small knives. Your gaze stopped on the gash on his leg which was definitely the product of the knife you kicked away from the man's hand. It looked deep enough to drain a normal person.

But he wasn't a normal person.

"I hate to break up this reunion but we have more guests incoming," said Enishi rather alarmed. And he had every reason to be because you heard the rapid footsteps in the hallway most likely rushing to the room you were in. His hand latched on your arm in urgency to pull you towards the door but you froze.

"This feels oddly familiar," said Cho with a chuckle.

His face was so pale and devoid of colour that it scared you. He looked barely alive but he still carried that shit-eating grin on his face and it annoyed you to the world's end for some reason.

"Miyu, we have to go," pressed Enishi.

You looked at him then back to Cho. It wasn't in your nature to leave people behind, especially wounded people. Both of the men looked at you expectantly, one more desperate to get out of there than the other.

I can't leave him here. But I can't stay here either.

Your brain was already working at an inhumane speed trying to process everything. Once you made your mind up and opened your mouth to say something you got interrupted by the men pooling inside the room.

About ten of them circled you, lining up around the walls to push you towards the center of the room. You surrounded Cho defensively. He was tied to a chair and in no way fit to fight even a fucking fly. As much as you hated his guts you needed to protect him.

You pulled out your guns and scanned the men to see only half of them were armed. You looked at Enishi and he nodded at you telling you to open fire.

You shot at the armed men while Enishi launched at the others. You threw a table down and took cover behind it, shooting at them. You took out most of them before you ran out of bullets.

Oh, for fucks sake, I really need to carry refills with me.

You got out from behind your hiding spot and stretched your arms, preparing your fists.

Your first opponent was a fairly big guy that cornered you at a wall. He came at you with the intention to put you through the wall, but you were quicker and grabbed his hands, sliding between his legs to drag him after you. You kicked the back of his head and he fell forward, his own head going through the wall instead.

Another one spotted you and you broke into a sprint, using the wall to push yourself up and swing your leg in his face. He fell on his back getting the air kicked out of his lungs. It was one fo the aerial tricks Enishi taught you recently and it came in handy.

Enishi left a trail behind him. Most of the men on the floor were just slightly knocked out. He finished knocking the last two head to head and let them fall to the floor with a thud.

Seeing that he was safe, you turned and ran to Cho, untying him as fast as you could. The rope around his wrists was tied so tight it made them bleed. You stopped in your tracks slowly tracing your fingers over them. What the hell did they do to you? You bit your lip trying to keep yourself together. This was not the time to be soft.

"You don't have to take me with you," he grunted as you got his hands free. "I'll only slow you down."

You went and crouched in front of him looking him straight in the eye. The you back then told you to leave him here to suffer like he did to you. To let him get out of his own mess by his own two feet if he still held himself so prideful. But present you was not the like her.

He didn't deserve your help at all. But you knew the guilt coming with leaving him here would eat you up later. And you didn't need that right now.

Without saying a word, you got one of his arms and draped it around your shoulders to get him up. He groaned in pain when he put weight on his injured leg and you wrapped your arm around his waist to balance him better.

Did he get ripped or something? I swear he wasn't this heavy before.

Enishi looked at you nothing short of confused. His face told you he had a lot of questions. But yours looked conflicted to the point he was sure a hurricane was already brewing in your mind. He knew now was not the time for asking questions, considering there were five mafias willing to shish kebab the three of you without as much of a reason besides the fact that you breathed inside their territory. Getting out of this place as soon as possible was the priority.

He rushed to the other side of Cho and lifted his arm, helping you carry him. You looked at him and he locked eyes with you, reassuring you he had your back. Even if he had no idea what the fuck was going on. You sent him a grateful look and he nodded, a small smile of acknowledgment on his lips.

The three of you managed to slip out the back of the villa and you quickly got into the carriage, avoiding being seen by anyone. The ride back to the mansion turned from relief to utterly painful. For both you and the blonde bleeding out next to you. You kept patting his cheeks to keep him awake every time his head fell on your shoulder. Once you were sure he was conscious enough, you turned your head to the window getting lost in thought.

Cho being back resurfaced so many feelings and memories you tried so hard to drown out over the years and you could do nothing to stop the flood.

Screw me for wanting to help all the time. It only comes back to bite me in the ass anyways.

Another thing weighing hard on your heart was that you didn't find your mother tonight. Or any leads on where your parents could be. Oh, and apparently the man you interrogated, the one who was the only one who knew something about the whereabouts of your parents escaped, since most of the men on duty were mobilised for the ball in case shit went sideways. Conclusion, it was by far the shittiest you've ever felt.

The carriage stopped in front of the mansion and Enishi got down first holding his hand to you to help you down. But you were too worried about the other man bleeding on the beige carriage seats and got down by yourself, dragging him down after you.

Enishi was left behind as you hastily went inside. A weird combo of regret and sadness were spinning around his heart at everything that happened tonight. He knew you probably felt defeated about what went down and blamed yourself for the outcome. He needed to talk to you asap about everything. For now, he was going to give you the space you needed for a while to tend to your guest.

With a storm raging in your mind and a bleeding man supported solely by your shoulders, you trudged the hallways to an empty guest room. You found one two doors down from your room, in case he needed further assistance.

You pushed the doors open with a huff and helped him sit downon the bed, rushing to look for medical supplies. You scoured every drawer both in the room and the bathroom throwing everything on the floor in the process. You were growing anxious and angry at the fact that you didn't find anything you needed. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself you tried looking again through the mess on the floor and found what you needed. Chucking everything back to its place with shaky hands, you went back to him to start taking care of his wounds. You felt his stare at you as you started working on the cut on his cheek.

"It's good seeing you after all these years."

You say that as if we're the best of friends who went our own ways and just met up to talk over tea and biscuits.

You ignored his attempt at making conversation and helped him shimmy his way out of his shredded shirt as he grunted at the movement. He was held captive for a while, judging by the darkened bruises around his ribs.

"You look different," he continued, trying to get you to talk to him.

You tensed as you moved to patch up the bigger cuts on his arm.

What does different even mean in his vocabulary?

You didn't change that much. If anything you got better at detecting bullshit when you saw it. Looks wise you just looked better in the mirror and didn't have a bird's nest on your head anymore.

On the other hand, he looked absolutely the same as the last time you saw him, with a slight upgrade to his wardrobe choices, plus a few muscles here and there. His hair was a darker shade of blonde now, unfitting for the nickname you used to call him by.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" you asked absentmindedly, trying to humour him for the sake of conversation and to take the edge of a little.

He dipped his head down to the side you were patching his arm and took a proper look at you.

You were different since the last time he saw you.

Your hair was longer, curling around your shoulders ever so slightly. You held yourself a lot more confidently than he knew you to be. But the thing that changed the most about you was your eyes. He used to be able to tell what was going through your head by just one look. Now, they were rougher and didn't let him in like they used to. It wasn't that you were hiding. You just closed yourself off entirely, at least to him.

"That wild spark in your eyes is gone. That's what I liked the most about you."

You narrowed your eyes at him and it took everything in your power not to snap at him. Tell him everything that's been weighing on your heart. Shoot words at him hoping he would understand the pain he put you through. But you had to keep it together so you settled for some sarcasm as you tied one of the bandages a bit tight on his arm.

"So what? I'm not to your standards now?"

The big gash on his leg was the last thing left unbandaged and you moved to it to get it done and be out of the door. But god forbid something could go the way you wanted today because he leaned forward to catch your hand.

The sharp inhale of air you took was to ground you from exploding. You noticed his touch was still the same one that used to make you shiver with butterflies.

Cho was a touchy person and it only added to your feelings back then. It made your insides twist remembering the effect it had on you.

"That's not what I meant."

You tried to avoid his eyes but you couldn't do it, letting them find his. You were surprised to see them filled with nothing but sincerity.

"Look, I'm sorry."

Oh, hell no. I am not doing this right now.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," you yanked your hand away from his grip. He wanted to say something else but you didn't give him the chance as you packed the medical supplies and put them away. You put some clothes borrowed from Enishi on the bed and bid your goodbye.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

You made your way out of the room hoping to get to yours faster. The dress suddenly felt too tight on you and you needed to get out of it before it constricted your air flow. You had a hunger for chaos boiling inside of you and you didn't know how much longer you could keep it inside.

Before you made it to your room you bumped into Enishi. He seemed to be looking for you since you just left him hanging outside. You didn't want to worry him and thought of something to say to cut the incoming interrogation short.

"Can we talk-"

"Look, Enishi. I need to get out of this dress and get some sleep, but I will tell you everything you need to know in the morning. Deal?"

You let the words out in a rush and he looked dazed for a moment as he processed them. He tilted his head and let his eyes linger on your face. You looked way more exhausted than you were when you left for the ball. He could also tell something was eating at you by the way you were frowning. He decided he could wait until tomorrow.

"Okay."

He put a hand on your shoulder rubbing it in comfort and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. It felt so soothing that it made the burning fire in your heart dim a little.

"But we're gonna talk tomorrow," he added. You nodded and placed your hand on his squeezing it in reassurance, before walking off to your room.

You felt bad leaving him like that againbut you weren't in the right mindset to sit and talk about your past right now. Maybe after some sleep and thinking you would be.

Sleeping was a torture. You couldn't fall asleep at all, tossing and turning until the sheets bunched up under you. Your pillows got warm fast the more you switched sides and it pissed you off. The universe was against you catching one wink of sleep.

Getting annoyed, you sat up and threw the duvet away letting it fall on the floor. You laced your fingers through your scalp trying to massage the storm of thoughts away, but it only got more unbearable.

Your head was getting so loud swirling with countless questions. You drowned yourself in regrets and what ifs.

The regrets revolved around the reasons why you saved Cho. You hoped it would leave your conscience clean but it only made it worse. He was two doors away from you and you weren't sure if it was a case of being that close to him that had you on edge of your feelings coming back. You also regretted the mission a lot and well, pushing Enishi away like that when he clearly wanted to help you.

The what ifs surrounded the feelings you had for Cho that were definitely awakening in your heart again. It felt like they never left, as if they just laid dormant until they felt him near to wake up. It was like a grenade was placed in your hand without a safety pin. And you couldn't do anything to stop it from blowing up the more you thought about him and that night that changed everything.

3 years ago

One of your clients sent you on a hunt for a powerful businessman. He was in possession of a samurai tachi sword belonging to the great Fukushima Masanori, who fought in the Battle of Shizugatake almost 300 years ago. Legend says it was the sword that drew the first blood in the battle. It was worth millions on the arms trade market. To have it hung up somewhere and just admire it whenever you wanted was truly a rich person activity.

Your client wanted you and Cho to work together and steal it. Most people who hired you knew you worked better together and often came as a package deal, but none of them asked you to do so until now. Frankly, he was a client of Cho's and he reassured you that he worked with him before and that there was nothing to be worried about.

You've been staking out the businessman's building for a while now, watching out for any sign of movement. A bonus clause of the deal was to take him out too, since your client had some hatchet to bury with him he wouldn't tell you about. You were getting hungry and tired while Cho stepped out. You didn't expect him to come back with dumplings.

"I got you these. It was the only thing I could find around here."

"You didn't have to."

You munched away on your buns, peering at his back from time to time. He leaned over the railing busy scanning the streets.

It's been a year since you've met on that mission. You loved spending time with him and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

You've been paying more attention to his actions and words towards you and you could tell that he had feelings for you too. From the way you caught him looking at you when he thought you wouldn't notice. Or the fact that he would spend money on dumplings for you every time you sighed when you saw them, knowing you were saving yours up for other things. Those things were expensive as hell nowadays, but he still chose to treat you to them on occasion.

Your feelings for him grew stronger day by day and you had to tell him how you felt before you combusted spontaneously.

"Cho?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to tell you something."

He hummed as a sign for you to continue, busy scanning the area. Your heartbeat quickened, drowning out the rest of the world around you, the only thing on your mind being those five words. You thought of many different ways to tell him and all kinds of words passed through your mind, some cringier than others. The normal "I like you" should be enough considering none of you were big on declaring things. You did try to confess a fee times before but it always got blocked by something.

Deciding against beating around the bush while you still had time on your hands, you took a deep breath and just went for it.

"I think I like-"

"They're on the move," Cho cut you off.

You sighed in defeat. There went my chance.

Cho got up and you followed, throwing away the empty bag of dumplings with your almost confession in it. Turns out it had to wait until you were done with the mission.

The man you were after arrived in front of the building with a few of his men and went inside. You looked for a way in and noticed a window on the side of the first floor but it was too high. Cho put his hands together motioning you over. He used them to propel you upwards and after a few failed tries you successfully reached it. You found it slightly creaked open and climbed in through it, with him following suit.

You helped him in and landed down inside, taking a look around. The place was full of crates stacked on each other nearly reaching the roof. One of them was opened near you and you cautiously walked over to take a look. It was filled with guns. But not just any guns. They weren't branded and most of them looked like imports from abroad, which meant that they came off the black market. Only one group had access to this much ammunition: the mafia.

This wasn't your first rodeo with a mafia but you knew you had to be extra careful. Snooping around some more you found a big crate made from dark wood. It looked out of place compared to the others. You motioned Cho to it and you tried prying it open as silently as you could, to not attract any unwanted attention. Digging inside among strips of paper your hand landed on what felt like the handle of a briefcase. You pulled it out and looked at Cho. Opening it you found jsut the katana you were looking for, dark sheath decorated in golden chrysanthemums, a symbol of royal value bestowed upon the most trusted samurai. Unsheathing it, you ran your hand along the worn out hilt in awe at the fact that you were holding a relic of ancient Japanese history. Illegally but then again what you were doing wasn't legal either.

One of the guards walked in and spotted you, not thinking twice before opening fire on you. You took cover behind the crate and threw the briefcase over to Cho, getting your guns out to fire back. More men came to see what caused the ruckus and started shooting as well once they saw you taking some of them down.

You shot your pistols until the trigger clicked empty. Slumping back against the crates you needed to think of a way out that didn't involve getting bullet holes punched through you and you had to do it quickly.

You turned to your right and noticed Cho was no longer next to you. You looked around and saw him by the window you came in through, one leg away from freedom with the briefcase in his hand. The window was hidden from sight which made it the perfect escape.

He waved his hand and you thought he was waving you over. You waved your hand at him too telling him there was no way you could reach him while they were still firing at you. He smirked down at you and you tilted your head at him in confusion.

What the hell was he doing?

That's when it clicked. The way he was holding the briefcase. The shushed talks with the client behind your back. That stupid smirk.

You've got to be shitting me.

He used you. While you shot away at the men he used that as cover to get away. He used you to get this far because you knew how to plan things so the game would play out in your favour. There was no telling if he didn't use your feelings as leverage as well. And all this time you hoped he felt the same.

He trained you. He ate with you. He slept next to you. You worked together for almost a year. He pretended to care about you only to toss you to the side. It was all a fucking lie.

Son of a bitch.

With one last look at you he jumped out, leaving you at the mercy of fate. There was not a single glint of regret in those eyes you learned to love so dearly as they disappeared behind the wall. He took you for a fool and you were so blind to see it.

Every mission you did together flashed in front of your eyes. Every moment you spent together. Everything you told each other. Only for him to throw it all away for a chunk of money.

You didn't know what hurt more. Your heart for being stupid enough to try to love. Or your soul, for believing in the good in people.

One thing was certain. You let Barairo out that night, after years of struggling to keep her away, leaving the building covered in blood and with a broken heart. All because you loved him.

Only god knows how you made it out of there. But you completed the bonus gruesome part of the mission, killing the businessman and all his guards with your bare hands. Using her.

It took you years to get her back in, away from people. You fought her to the bone, until you managed to lock her away for good. But the damage was already done. You swore not to let yourself get played like that ever again.

He abandoned you there. You told him how much it hurt when your parents disappeared and he knew how much it scarred you. And he still did it in the most fucked up way he could think of.

Your memories were of a person that sold his soul to whoever paid more for his interests and you wanted nothing to do with him. You swore to put a bullet through his head the next time you met.

But you couldn't help the hurt that came with your reunion tonight. Seeing him again only reignited that pain in you. The same smirk he parted away from you with plastered on his lips in the exact same way tonight.

Why can't I just forget he exists? Why is he still in my head like he never left?

It hurt like hell and no matter how much you tried to erase him your heart wouldn't let you. She would keep reminding you of him everywhere you went.

It was also why you were afraid of what you felt for Enishi. He was different than Cho. Gentler, kinder and understanding. But it scared you that your feelings were in so deep now to be able to get back from it. And you had no security that history wouldn't repeat itself once you let yourself fall for him.

It was times like these you wished your mom was here, able to give you some advice. To guide you towards what was right and kill some of the pain away. You hoped desperately to find her at the ball tonight. Either the man gave you a false lead or they were alerted you were coming and she was moved elsewhere. You didn't know. And that only made everything else worse.

How much longer do I need to search to find her? To find dad? Are any of them even alive anymore? Is there even a point to keep looking for them?

Your thoughts were eating you up again and you needed a distraction before it got too much. Grabbing your pistols from the nightstand and a few cartridges you walked the hallways in a haste to reach the outside garden. The cold stung on your exposed arms but you paid it no mind as you strung up a few targets and started shooting at them.

Normally, shooting for practice relaxed you and gave you the clarity you needed to think things through. But shooting to relax turned into shooting your anger and hurt away pretty quickly. At one point you stopped shooting at the targets and just shot through the blur of your tears, aim faltering away from the targets. You aimed at the trees, the ground, the air. Anything just to feel your pistols empty hoping that your feelings were etched into every bullet so you could stop feeling them.

Enishi was in his office when he heard the shots. He tensed at first ready to get into butchering mode until he recognised the familiar click of your pistols. He rushed to your room thinking something happened only to find you gone, sheets on a disarray on the floor. He followed the sound only to find you in the garden, angrily shooting at something in the dark. He walked closer and sighed when he saw the tears streaming down your face. You seemed devoid of the world around you as you shot away and that scared him a little.

One of your pistols was left without bullets and you angrily threw it away, pulling the other one out from its hold. He had to stop you before you hurt yourself or someone else. Getting a little closer he called your name multiple times. But all you could focus on was the click of your gun and the sound of the bullets ricocheting off the trees.

“Miyu, you need to stop," he said, cautiously taking another step towards you.

“No," you shook your head.

He couldn't take this from you. It was the last thing you had that you knew how to do. The last thing keeping you sane right now. If he took it away you would lose the last glimmer of self control you had.

“Give me the gun," he tried again, voice a little softer this time.

“Leave. me. alone," you growled.

You wanted him to leave you be. To just go back inside and forget he ever saw you like this. Because you knew if he pressed on you would let go of all rational thought and say something you didn't mean. Something that you would regret. But he stood his ground, taking a few more cautious steps towards you.

“I’m not leaving you.”

That was enough to trigger your pent up anger. Everyone in your life left. Your parents, the people you loved, even Cho. What if Enishi would wake up one day and choose to leave too? You convinced yourself he didn't mean it. That he was just saying it now without any security that he would feel the same tomorrow.

“Enishi, please just go!" you yelled as you turned around to him, the last of your munition emptying away in the murky ground. You took a shaky breath as you kept pressing the trigger, turning the gun around and hitting it with your palm trying to make it work, but the empty click of the gun was still the only sound that greeted you.

“Fuck."

You didn’t realize you were sobbing until your sight got too blurry with tears and you started wiping furiously at your face. Enishi went forward and closed the distance to you, warily wrapping his hand around yours that was holding the gun. Loosening the grip of your fingers, he gently took the gun out of your hands and dropped it next to the other one on the ground.

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t hold the pain in anymore. A wail of a sob crawled its way out of your throat, letting out the last fractures of your anger. You crumpled down on the ground, nails digging into the grass around you to hold yourself together a little more. Enishi knelt down to you and wrapped his arms around you. You tried fighting him off, pushing him away as much as you could but his hold was too strong. You punched his chest, desperately trying to get away from him, but he just wouldn't budge. You didn't want to hurt him too, because if you did, you would never forgive yourself.

Your punches got slower the more you sobbed until you settled for gripping his shirt tightly in your hand. He only tightened his arms even more around you, pressing you against his chest.

He hated seeing you like this. It was breaking him inside to know the pain you were feeling all too well because it was the same kind of pain he dealt with alone for years. But none of you were alone anymore. You had each other now and he needed you to know that.

“It’s okay," he whispered.

“Enishi,” you sobbed his name. That was the only thing that kept you from spiralling down in that corner of your mind. The one where she waited with her teeth bared for you to let the door wide open. He was your anchor right now and the only one standing between the two of you becoming one again. The minute he let go of you, you would land the key in the lock of her cell and let her out, letting her consume you. You knew if that happened right now there would be no way back from it this time.

“Please don’t leave me."

“I’m not leaving you.” He grabbed the sides of your face and made you look at him. “I am not leaving you, Miyu.”

He would say it as many times as it took for you to understand that he wasn't going to move an inch away from you unless you told him to. He wasn't going to let you lose yourself, not when he could help it.

You just sobbed harder upon hearing his words and he scooped you up from the cold ground, taking you back inside to the warmth of your room. He helped you get in bed before he himself got in next to you. You moved back into his arms and he cradled you close.

You sat like that for a while, letting it all out while he held you to him, whispering an occasional 'I'm here' or 'You're okay' to let you know he wasn't going anywhere.

"Miyu, I know now's not the time, but you need to talk to me. I want to help you but I don't know how until you tell me what's wrong."

He knew you weren't okay and suspected that it would come to this sooner or later. The sooner you told him what was wrong the closer he would get to knowing how to help you. He would wait for you as long as you needed but it had to be soon. Before you would slip away in the one place he didn't wish upon anyone.

His hands moved to rub your back and you took in a shaky breath preparing for the unavoidable. You lifted your head up from his chest and wiped some of your tears away. You kept him in the dark enough.

You told him everything. From what happened to your parents, detail by detail, to how you dreamt of it almost every night in vivid pictures as if it was happening again. From your life before you met Cho and your life after he left you, leaving out a few things that could ultimately get him kicked out of the guest room in his sleep, including the whole thing about the feelings involved.

You finally laid all the pieces of your broken soul on the table and watched nervously as he looked at each one with a mix of emotions you knew all too well. His jaw twitched with anger learning about the things you had to go through. His eyes reflected the same sadness you felt for years on end. His hands held yours the whole time and he felt the hurt washing over you like it was his own. But not once did his eyes show pity and that told you that you laid your heart out in good hands.

He seemed deep in thought after everything you told him and well, who wouldn't be. You expected him to be appalled at most of the things you told him and push you away. But he didn't. He welcomed the entirety of your past with open arms and it made the walls you've built up so high quiver.

There was still one thing you needed reassurance about and you gathered up all your courage to ask it.

"Can you promise me something?"

"Of course." He brushed a few stray hairs from your face to get a better look at you, frowning at your red and puffy eyes. "What is it?"

You swapped the hold of his hands so your smaller ones covered his, holding them tightly in your lap. They weren't as cold as they used to be when you met him, a whole lot warmer now than yours were. You looked down at them with an unfamiliar yearning. It felt like you held the whole world in your hands and it terrified you. You found solace in this world and you wanted to protect it like it protected you. No matter what it would take to keep it safe. To keep him safe.

"Whatever happens, be it in a mission or whatever situation, promise me we will stay together. We go in together and we get out of it together."

"I promise," he said without hesitating. He lifted a hand to your cheek cupping it softly. "I told you I would keep you safe as long as you're with me. I tend to keep my word, you know."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as you felt another wave of tears coming. But this time, they weren't tears of pain or sorrow. They were tears of appreciation. He was so attentive and understanding while listening to everything you had to say that it overwhelmed you, in a good way.

"I know," you said sniffling away another sob. You played with his fingers counting the calluses on them to distract yourself. The fear that he would turn against you some day was still there and there was nothing you could do to quiet it down. But his words lowered it a bit.

"I really need to stop being a crybaby. You're probably tired of it."

"I could never get tired of you. Come here," he said opening his arms for you with the most genuine smile on his face.

You fell into them and pressed your head to his chest while he carded a hand through your hair to calm you down. His other hand rested on your back, lightly drawing patterns on it. He rocked you back and forth for a little while, until he felt you relax against him. Peeking an eye down at you, he saw you fast asleep. Your hand was fisting his shirt so tight as if the world will fall to pieces if you let go. It reminded him of that night after he took you to watch the sunset on the hill overlooking the village. He found you plopped on your bed, so tired that you didn't even change out of your clothes. You had the same adorable pout on your face now and it made him melt.

He held you for a while to make sure you were deep in sleep before deciding to let you rest. You looked like you really needed it after the day you had. Getting up as quiet as he could, he laid you down in bed, placing your head on your pillow gently. He covered you with the duvet and tried to move away, but your hand kept him in place, fist tightening around the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. He placed his hand on your fist, untangling it from his shirt to lace his fingers with yours instead. You turned to his side and cuddled around his hand pulling it closer to you. He knelt down beside your bed and just looked at you as he brushed your hair away from your face.

I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You're not alone anymore, my light.

It must have been the early hours of the morning when Enishi left. You've been sound asleep for a few hours and he decided to go work on some things since he wasn't going to catch any sleep for himself.

Reaching his office he was met with the door creaked open. He narrowed his eyes on it thinking back to when he left for your room. He definitely shut it closed.

Someone who wasn't supposed to be inside was messing around judging by the clutter of swords to the ground. He pushed the door open only to see his unwanted guest playing around at the sword wall. His presence went unknown to the man who had his back at him as he just stood there watching him for a while until he got annoyed.

"I would appreciate it if you stopped snooping around."

The blonde man turned around surprised that he had company, dropping the sword he was holding on the ground. It clanged loudly on the floor and Enishi moved to the door to close it, releasing an exasperated sigh.

If he wakes her up I am turning him into paper tinsel.

"So the master of the house does speak."

"What are you doing here, Sword Hunter?"

"You know who I am?"

I just said your nickname, dumbass. He really does lack intelligence doesn't he?

You didn't tell him too much about Cho. But the more he looked at him he started remembering who he was. He's heard about him before but never got a chance to see him until now. Once you told him more he pieced the puzzle together rather quickly.

Cho ignored him and continued messing around until he picked up a sword he seemed rsther interested in. He unsheathed it, testing its balance in his hand.

"A wo-dao Chinese sword. I've never seen one before."

He swung it around and held it closer to his line of sight tracing his eyes along the silver blade.

"This is a great sword."

"It could hurt you. The balance is different than Japanese swords."

Enishi's patience was running thin. The last thing he wanted to confront at the ass crack of dawn was a sword freak. He debated knocking him out and dragging him back to bed but you probably wouldn't be too happy if you knew that happened.

"You seem sure of yourself."

And you're acting like a fucking idiot.

Cho racked through the stash and threw a different sword at Enishi, suggesting testing the blades in a duel. Enishi just stared him down taking in all the bandages that littered his body. He wouldn't mind adding some more on there. But you worked too hard patching him up to do that.

"I'm not gonna fight you," he retaliated, placing the sword on his desk.

I don't want her to wake up to that. She has enough on her plate already.

"Are you you scared you'll lose?" huffed Cho.

"I could kill you right now if I wanted to." He unsheathed the sword and chuckled darkly. The look in his eyes turned murderous and it was enough to make Cho's jaw tick. He was looking for a fight and Enishi struggled keeping himself away from giving him one. With a deep sigh he put it back in its hold and went to place it back to its place neatly.

"I'm only letting you stay because she wants you here for some fucked up reason. One wrong move and you're out of here in seconds."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong."

He put the sword he was holding on the table and looked Enishi dead in the eye.

"I'll stay as long as she wants me here," he said placing a hand on Enishi's shoulder tauntingly. "Not even you can convince her to let me go."

Morning couldn't come fast enough. You heard Enishi leave sometime in the early hours of the morning but you were too tired to register it and quickly fell back asleep. Before he left, you felt a feather like touch of what could only be his lips connecting to your temple and smiled in your sleep, hoping he noticed it.

Trudging to the bathroom you looked in the mirror and nearly screeched. Your eyes were the size of rice balls, the ginormous kind that Wu would stuff in his mouth for dinner, but with a slight touch of pink and bloodshot.

You didn't want to deal with the aftermath of yesterday at all. But you promised Enishi you would talk more things out, especially about the blondie residing in his guest room without a good explanation on why he was here other than the fact that he was hurt.

You hung your head low in shame gripping the edges of the sink. You brought a total stranger in the house that wasn't yours, got him comfortable and did not even have the courtesy of telling Enishi who the fuck he was or why he should even stay after everything.

I might be going off the rails sooner than I predicted.

Enishi had every right to be mad at you for every shitty choice you made in the last 24 hours. From going over his word multiple times and not staying in the house like he told you. For talking rudely to him at the ball for no particular reason other than what was probably jealousy. For bringing a total stranger into his house. To keeping him awake for most of the night with your own problems.

But he wasn't. On the contrary, he comforted you even after you put him through all of that. He took care of you again even after all you did was push him away. And fuck if you knew why he still did it.

I'm surprised he hasn't kicked me out yet.

But one thing did bug you. He did all that and you still weren't clear of what his intentions were or whether he felt the same for you because he hasn't said anything to seal the deal yet.

Did he even want to seal the deal? Or was it all a play again?

You did not want a rerun of what happened with Cho. You weren't sure of what exactly you felt for the blonde man but you knew it wasn't anything good. Besides, if you went through that again, especially with Enishi, it would crush you for good. You wondered when he would come clean and open up to you, hoping it would be sooner than later.

Until then, you had a breakfast to attend that had the potential to turn really messy. Both males were highly unpredictable and liked to act on impulse. If you managed to get through it without anyone getting their head ripped off their body it would be a miracle.

Lord give me strength to face the males you put on this earth.

Breakfast was going well so far, you would say. All three of you ate quietly, sparring looks at each other sheepishly. You all waited for someone to speak first and cut the tension wafting in the air.

You surely didn't want to be first as you didn't even know where to start. Start explaining some more things to Enishi and apologize for everything? Put a plate in Cho's hand and kick him out yourself? Complimenting the chef on the food? Wait this is leftovers I prepared yesterday.

You looked at Cho who was picking at the food in his plate like an ungrateful child. What could he even say? Introduce himself in a really Cho manner, jazz fingers and all, spew some lies about who he actually is and making himself more unwanted than he was at the moment? Highly likely. He didn't owe Enishi anything other than to return the clothes he borrowed.

Looking to Enishi, you didn't know what to expect. He would most likely start awkward conversation with "So what do you do?" and then expect you to elaborate whilst trying to keep Cho's mouth shut in case he decided to talk about things Enishi was better off not knowing. Or unsheathe one of his swords and turn this into a fight, considering the daggers he was throwing at him.

The possibilities were endless.

To your disappointment, Enishi did speak first and you braced for the joy that was about to become the breakfast table.

“So, how do you two know each other?”

Okay, an easy question that didn't need a complicated answer.

“We used to work together,” you said peeling a boiled egg for yourself trying to keep your composure.

Cho tapped your leg under the table asking you to peel one for him using the injured person card. He was holding the fork just fine so you just threw an eggshell at him.

“We did more than work,” said Cho, earning himself a kick under the table from you.

You narrowed your eyes at him silently telling him to watch it. He only smirked in return, enjoying that he could annoy you this much.

“It was just work,” you gritted, turning to look at Enishi. “We took out a few people in uh... team missions.”

“Oh, and how much fun we had doing it together,” chirped Cho, leaning his head on his palm.

And I thought I was off the rails. I forgot that he literally exists.

“You should’ve seen her back then. She was so ruthless and unforgiving."

Why was he suddenly acting like the president of the Miyu Hikari fanclub?

If the you from back then was sitting here now she would probably blush and feel giddy at the remark.

But your face fell at the mention of the person you used to be back then. She haunts you at night and you wished you could just forget everything about her.

Enishi saw the way you uncomfortably shifted in your seat and picked at the shell of your egg with a frown. Squinting dangerously at the blonde who seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much, he interfered.

“Actually, she appears to be doing pretty well now, I would say.” Your eyes snapped up to him, a small smile of acknowledgment on his lips directed at you. “She’s so much stronger now.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Now that he knew about your past and how much it took to get to where you are now, he seemed to have a different level of admiration for you. He was still so trusting in your abilities and it was beyond your understanding how he could just sit there believing you could lift planet Earth if you wanted to. And he would totally support you.

But of course, Cho had to ruin the moment.

“If that’s true, then she should be able to actually take me down in a fight now without using tricks,” he cocked an eyebrow at you.

It was a little bet you always had going when you trained with him. Whoever pinned the other to the ground first would get bragging benefits for the day. Loser would also have to chip in with whatever the winner wanted. You smiled a little remembering all the times you won over him and he had to buy you a ginormous amount of sweets. You did use a few tricks to get him off guard like winking at him or blowing him a kiss and he fell for it every single time. He liked the attention and that was one of his biggest weaknesses.

The good times blurred the bad ones for a little moment of bittersweet melancholy. Maybe it wasn't all that bad that he was back.

“I’m not fighting you when you’re wrapped in bandages like a mummy,” you said, munching on a piece of bread.

“Then when I’m better!”

“You’re not staying here,” cut in Enishi.

Did he mean here as in the mansion or here as in near you? From the way he gripped his mug it could be both.

“But he’s injured,” you turned to him as did Cho, with a more dramatic expression akin to distorted puppy eyes. "Stop making that face. It's creeping me out."

Enishi got up and took your wrist pulling you to the side to discuss privately about your guest. He had a bad feeling about him ever since he caught him snooping around his office last night. His mere existence pissed him off and it was slowly becoming a problem.

“I don’t want him here more than he should be staying here.”

“And he won’t be here longer than it takes to heal his wounds,” you prodded. “Let him stay for at least a week.”

A week would give you time to sort some stuff out with both of them and send Cho away with a clean conscience that he was healed and hopefully in one piece.

“A week?! Two days max."

“Five days!”

“Three days.”

“Four,” you begged, hands held together in a prayer. “You won’t even know he’s here.”

His tongue poked his cheek as he thought your proposal over. He didn't have anything to lose but the guy made him really suspicious. The way he looked and talked to you infuriated him beyond normal. He didn't understand why you were so keen on him staying here. But he would yield in, for now.

“Okay,” he sighed defeatedly. "But one wrong move or word and he's gone."

“Thank you, Enishi!"

You got a bit too excited and without a second thought you leaned up and kissed his cheek. Your brain short-circuited when you processed your lips touching his soft cheek. Both of you got surprised by your gesture, eyes widened in shock as you pulled away. The slightest tint of a blush was painted on your cheeks.

“I’ll uh… go do the dishes.”

What the hell was I thinking?!

You started backing away shyly before your heart could implode. Rushing your steps you nearly knocked down a chair as you hastily ran inside.

“Do you need help-“

“IM GOOD!”

He touched his cheek feeling the spot where your lips were pressed in a peck just a few moments ago and shook his head at you with a smile. You were truly something else. But the minute his eyes laid on the unwanted guest munching away at the food on the table like a gorilla, his smile fell.

I’m doing this for her. I need to show her that I can interact with other people without wanting to skewer them alive.

He went to sit back down at the table. He wanted to at least finish his tea before looking for excuses to leave.

“It’s so nice to have company after being solo for so long.”

“Mhm. I bet.”

“You’re not much of talker are you?”

“Nope.” I am but not with people like you.

“I’m sure you’ll warm up to me soon.”

“Surely," he smiled. I’d rather go sit with Wu for a week than spend one more minute with you.

“Enishi!” You called out to him from the kitchen. Ah, thank god.

“Coming!” he sat up from the table quick as lightning and dashed inside to you. “What do you need?”

“Can you fold my sleeves so I won’t get them wet?” You didn’t even finish and he was already doing your sleeves all the way up above your elbows. “Thank you!”

“No problem."

He looked at the pile of dishes you started washing, hoping you would ask him to help. Anything to stay in here with you than go outside to that creature.

"Is there anything else I can help with?”

“You could ask Cho if he wants anything else.”

His hopes were shattered the second his name cane oit of your mouth. He looked at you as if you asked him to bring you a bear or something. His eyes were pleading to stay with you in the kitchen but all you saw was a look that was weirding you out.

“Or you could wipe these dry," you suggested pointing to the dishes that needed to be taken off the drying rack so you could put the others instead.

Okay, that I can do.

“Gladly," he smiled.

You shook your head, giggling at his antics. You could tell he wasn't that fond of blondie. Cho's presence bugged you at first too but he grew on you over time. He was still the same idiot putting himself in danger recklessly but most times you were there to get him out of it.

Whatever you saw in him back then was pure and underneath all that mischief there was a boy who just didn't know what to do with his life. You understood him more than he understood you and you couldn't help but empathise with him.

"He's not that bad, you know," you said washing one of the bigger plates. You handed it to Enishi and watched him wipe it dry on all corners. Clean freak, you thought smiling.

"I'll believe it when I see it. All he's done so far is eat and sleep for free," he picked up another dish, "and make you uncomfortable after you literally saved and took care of him."

He had a point. But then again that was what you were doing too. Enishi took you in and cared for you like you were one of his own and all you did lately was abuse that. And it made you feel bad no matter how much he told you everything was okay and that he wasn't mad about it in the slightest.

"He's the only person I had for a while. As much as we didn't part on good terms I owe him a little."

Enishi wasn't stupid. He could tell there was something more between the two of you, besides slaying people for money together. He just wasn't sure if that something died three years ago, but he knew that feelings don't go away so easily. No matter how hard you try to make them disappear.

Living with not one but two copies of the male species was interesting to say the least. It's been only one day of cohabitating together and there was already a growing tension between the two.

Enishi didn't really acknowledge Cho's existence unless you mentioned him in conversation. Cho tried to annoy him on occasions where he let his guard down around you but most of the times it didn't work in his favour and he ended up being ignored.

However, the macho vibes were very strong as you were training today. Cho looked up to joining in with you and you let him despite Enishi's silent protests. You wished you listened to them.

Stretching your bodies before practice turned into a muscle flexing competition. Cho rolled his sleeves above his elbows and unbuttoned his shirt down to his navel, while Enishi took off his kimono to be left only in his tank top.

You gulped at the sight, eyes darting from one man to the other. Cho's veiny hands caught your attention first. Then your eyes moved from his collar bone all the way down to the outline of his abs that were peeking from under his shirt. You've seen them in passing when you patched him up. But seeing them in broad daylight was a totally different story. They looked so defined and sculpted. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight, wondering how it would feel to take your time counting the squares one by one.

Your eyes then settled on Enishi and your breath hitched. His muscly biceps were already glistening with sweat from just stretching, but it was enough to make you want to chomp down on them. You've seen them so many times before but they made your mouth water every time. One flex of it and you would be on the floor seeking medical assistance.

You didn't even realise they were looking at you until you heard Cho's high pitched laughing. Enishi seemed quite amused by your reaction too, chuckling to himself. They caught you full on staring at their goodies with no shame. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole from the embarrassment.

Cho walked to you and you planted your feet to the floor trying to get back to your serious face. He stopped just a patch of grass away from you but it was enough to make you breathless. His abs were right in front of you, an elbow away.

"Better wipe the drool on your lips, princess," he said as he wiped it from your lips with his thumb.

This fucker. Wait until I wipe my fist on your lips.

"Fuck off," you pushed him away and got back to stretching with your back to them.

All was well until sword practice turned into a contest of the fittest. You were getting back to grips with your jian sword trying to remember the basic moves Enishi taught you. But the two men in front of you were deep in focus with their own longer katanas, practicing deep slashes coupled with some aerial moves. Looking at them sitting side by side, you noticed their styles were awfully similar, the only difference being that Enishi was faster and made use of his surroundings, while Cho was slower and used more tricks to slow down his opponent. Both of them appeared to be in their own element and it was a sight to behold.

Sparring wise you were kind of tossed to the side. They were too busy staring daggers at one another to notice you were there to learn stuff too. One rude insult from Cho and a twitch of Enishi's jaw later they took it upon themselves to duel.

Stepping backwards to give them more space you watched as they lunged at each other. Their eyes turned dark as their blades clashed, all semblance of humanity gone from both of them. Enishi was back in his unyielding form, forcing his attacks like a wild beast pouncing on his prey. Cho was actively trying to piss him off with tricks, sneering viciously the more he dodged Enishi's blade and pushed his buttons.

After some push and pull, combined with some cussing, the two broke apart with heaving breaths. They swirled their swords around to stretch their wrists as they continued circling each other.

"Quit playing around and fight for real," gritted Enishi.

"I am fighting for real," grunted Cho. "I think it's you who's holding back."

"I'm only holding back so I don't accidentally kill you."

"Why don't you do it then?"

He chuckled. For a brief moment his eyes locked with yours and he got some of his rationale back. He wasn't a fool. He could see right through his intentions.

"You want me to lose it and make myself look bad in front of her, don't you?"

Cho stopped moving around and played around with his blade. He got caught in the act and the look on his face gave it away too easily.

Enishi swung at him and he jumped over the slash that could've cut him in half. He spun trying to get Enishi off balance and tried cutting him back but Enishi was too fast and he could only dodge left and right.

Cho started getting sloppy. He swayed on his feet due to the gash in his leg that didn't heal properly yet. He knew he wasn't supposed to be out here but his pride got the best of him. He wanted to see what Enishi was made of and it was quite clear that he was a strong opponent.

Enishi noticed he was getting slower and used that to his advantage, combining moves that only pushed him to the edge. He wanted him to give it up and accept defeat.

Cho was forced to defend himself when Enishi's sword came down from above, blades meeting again with much more force than before. Both of them pushed with as much strength as they could to throw the other one off.

"If you're that sure of yourself, why don't we take a bet?" proposed Cho in a ploy to get Enishi to retreat.

"Oh yeah? What's in it for me?"

Cho turned his head to you and Enishi followed his gaze as they both lowered their blades. You were sitting on the ground staring up at the sky. You looked so at peace for once in a while that it calmed him down too, adrenaline from the moment drawing back into him. Cho was just as entranced by you.

"Let's see which one of us she actually wants. We both have a week to figure her out. If it's you she wants I'll be out of both of your lives in a heartbeat."

The offer was tempting. Enishi believed he had the upper hand here. He saw the way you looked at him and he wasn't entirely blind to your feelings, even if he himself was confused with his. You also had a connection between you that was hard to tear down, as much as blondie tried to interfere. If all these things played out in his favour, he could fly out the door sooner than the agreed timeline. It was a win-win situation.

But there was the possibility of him being wrong. There was a chance you still felt something for Cho and those feelings could just be waiting for him to do something to try and get you back. What if they would grow back stronger the more time you spent around him?

As much as he wanted to believe things could play out in his favour, the situation said otherwise.

Although, he was sure of one thing. That he was willing to bet everything to keep you with him. No matter what.

"But if she wants me-," Cho continued only to get cut off harshly.

"I won't let that happen," thundered Enishi.

He was more sure of himself than he's ever been before, especially because this involved you. He would stop at nothing to win you over.

"Bring it on."

Thank you for reading! As always, comments, likes and reblogs are welcome :)

#Addicting Taste #enishi yukishiro #enishi yukishiro fanfiction #rurouni kenshin #enishi yukishiro x reader #enishi yukishiro x you #i truly hope you don't hate me after reading it

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