Tensions were high in Prythian, following the war with Hybern. Keeping an eye on all of the varying courts and their post-war movements required a lot from the Illyrian spy. Rhysand had even recruited Cassian to do some spy work, in the hopes to alleviate some of Azriel’s workload. Hardly a dent in the mountain of tasks Azriel had before him.

He’d been away for days. Sudden plays from Beron made Rhysand nervous, and when Rhys was nervous, Azriel went snooping. You understood that the safety of the realm came first, that your mate was doing important work and needed to be away so long, but the loneliness that came with his absence was starting to get to you.

You missed his eyes, the depth in them. You missed his voice, and the gentle timber of his voice when he told you he loved you. The occasional check-in you got through the mating bond, a tug of warmth reminding you that he thought of you, wasn’t nearly enough to satiate you. You missed his hands most of all.

Those big, tanned hands, covered in brutal patterns that tell his stories whether he wants them told or not, were your favourite part of your mate. The way his knuckles whitened when he gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller too tightly, the way his fingers flexed when he was nervous, the way they manhandled you whenever he got you alone…

Four days was much too long to have gone without those hands. You had to give yourself credit for trying to get by without them. On the nights where the simmering loneliness turned into a boiling neediness, you’d slip your own hands into your lace panties, close your eyes and dream of your winged spy. You almost hated Azriel in the desperate moments where your fingers tried so hard to imitate his, but ultimately failed to come close, leaving you aching all the days he was away.

After hearing word that Azriel had returned, and feeling a confirming hum zip through your mating bond, you’d been patient as he recounted his findings to Rhys. You’d slipped into a deep purple underthing, made of lace and sheer mesh, and got comfortable atop the bed you shared with your mate. You knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be home to you.

The anticipation already had heat pooling between your legs, your thighs pressing together in a stupidly feeble attempt to ease some of your tension. The minutes seemed to drag by as you waited, your heart pounding much too loudly for your own liking.

When the doorknob shook, your core clenched. He was finally here. Sure enough, the door to your bedroom opened to reveal your mate, still dressed in his Illyrian leathers. Azriel’s seven siphons pulsed with energy, his power barely contained by the mass number of them. His wings were tucked behind his back, and you silently wished they weren’t. Strapped to his thigh, glinting in the candlelight of your bedroom, Truth-Teller sat in its place.

Azriel’s face was unreadable as he stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him, his eyes falling on your frame. You watch his hazel eyes slowly drag over you, the slope of your breasts, barely hidden by lace, the curve of your hip wrapped in purple mesh. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his wings lifting only slightly.

“Aren’t you a sight.” He practically whispered.

“I missed you, Az.” You purred, sitting up on your elbows to stare at him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing. Not nervous, you noted, excited. He let out a deep breath through his nose, almost a sigh. He walked towards the bed, towards you, and your stomach erupted in butterflies.

“I missed you more, pet.”

The coolness in his response sent a shiver down your spine. As Azriel reached the foot of the bed, he circled it, instead of climbing on like you’d expected. He walked over to you, holding a hand out expectantly. You leaned over to him, setting your chin down in his palm, nearly moaning at the contact after so many days. His fingers curled inward, securing a firm, but not painful, grasp on your cheeks.

“Good girl. I didn’t even have to say a word.”

His praise is something you never tire of. He gave you a small smile then, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“How was your trip?” You ask softly, gazing up at Azriel lovingly.

“Long.” Is all he replies.

His thumb traced a gentle line over your cheek, back and forth. His eyes were dark as you stared into them, thin golden irises around blown pupils. Something in them told you, clear as the night sky, that he was in no mood for slow tonight. The trip had been long, and you both knew it.

“Let me welcome you home properly,” you offered, sliding a hand over to paw at the tenting bulge in Azriel’s armour.

He let out a satisfied huff at the contact, releasing your jaw so that you could crawl over to where he stood at the side of the bed. Your hands lifted to his leather breastplate, moving to unfasten it, but his larger hands were quick to swat them away.

“Leave it on. You don’t need to take my shirt off to welcome me.”

You swallowed thickly at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear at the tone he took with you. You nodded, lowering your hands to unfasten his pants just enough to free his already hard cock. Azriel let out a soft breath as your fingers curled around the base of him, your thumb and middle finger almost touching around his width. Your mouth watered as you stared at him, desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue. A large, scarred hand came down to slide into your hair, the palm resting on the back of your head.

“Go on, pet.” He ordered.

You wasted no time in parting your lips, taking the tip of him between them. He groaned quietly as you took him deeper into your mouth, your tongue gently dragging along the bottom of his dick. The hand on your head pushed you gently, not forcing, but encouraging. You choked, only for a moment, and relished at the growl he made as you did. Forcing yourself to relax, you let him push all of him into your mouth, your throat.

Tears stung in your eyes as he held you there for a moment, his jaw set as he gazed down at you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Azriel’s hand, the one in your hair, curled to make a tight first, the new grip making it easy for him to drag you back off his cock. You licked over the tip as he moved you, tugging against his grip to take him back in your mouth.

“Needy, eager thing.” He taunted, loosening his grip enough to let you set the pace.

You set a simple rhythm, bobbing your head in time with your breaths. You braced your hands on his thighs, sitting on your knees on the bed as you sucked him. The tears in your eyes spilled over, tracing sparkling lines of starlight down your cheeks. Azriel’s free hand lifted, his thumb brushing away some of your tears. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning around him as he brought his hand to his mouth, sucking away the remnants of your tears.

Azriel’s throat bobbed, his breath coming in hot pants as you quickened your pace. You slide your hands along his thighs, the fingers on your left hand bumping into the hilt of Truth-Teller, where it still sat in its sheathe.

“Careful,” Azriel warned gently, “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

The needy whine that left you was muffled around the cock in your mouth, but was certainly not lost on Azriel. His eyebrow cocked, his head tilting to the side like an animal. His grip in your hair tightened once more and he yanked you off his cock. As you gasped for breath, he stared at you, his gaze somehow darkening more.

“That’s how it is, is it?”

“I don’t know what you mea-”

“You like my knife.” Azriel cut you off, watching your face flush with his statement.

“I like you, and the knife happens to be yours, so…” You sass, trying to play off the light embarrassment seeping into you as you sit back on your knees.

“Yeah? Come back here.” He ordered.

You knew better than to disobey him, but you hesitated slightly as you leaned back over to him, now on all fours. You watched with nervous eyes as he unstrapped Truth-Teller from his thigh, pulling it from its sheathe. The metal blade glittered, shadow seeming to leak from its hilt. Azriel flipped the knife in his hand, catching it by the blade with two fingers. He turned his gaze from the knife to you.

“So eager to have that pretty mouth full, aren’t you?”

You nodded. He lifted his knife to your mouth, tapping the hilt against your bottom lip.

“Then open up.”

“You want me to–”

“Did I say speak?” He nearly snarled, his eyes narrowing.

You shook your head, earning a hum of agreement from Azriel. You licked your lips, opening them slowly so that Azriel can slip the hilt of his blade into your waiting mouth. It’s cold, and it tastes like the sweat of his palm. This blade has seen hundreds of battles, thousands of deaths, and more blood than you could fathom. You should be disgusted. Instead, you moan. You hear a humourless chuckle from above you, your gaze snapping up to Azriel’s.

“You like that, huh? I should’ve known. Always such a nasty slut for me. Isn’t that right?”

The tone in his voice has you clenching around nothing, humiliated and so turned on by his words. You tried to respond, maybe to deny his claim, maybe to agree, but all that came out around the hilt of his blade was a garbled moan. You sucked the hilt like you had his cock, keeping your eyes on his approving gaze.

“Fuck, that’s enough.” Azriel growled, pulling the blade from your mouth, “Turn around. Stay on all fours.”

You shuddered, nodding your head as you turned around quickly. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, trailing over the lingerie you’d picked out for him. His fingers slipped beneath the straps of your top, toying with them by just slightly dragging them off your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to one of your shoulderblades as his hands slid over your stomach. His touch was reverent, a stark contrast to the way he’d shoved the hilt of his knife down your throat.

“Az, don’t tease.” You huffed.

“Not teasing. Appreciating.” He replied, biting down on your shoulder.

“I fucking missed this.”

His words had you melting, his fingers making quick work of your panties. He nipped at the skin of your thigh, your ass, as he dragged the lace down your legs, which had you trembling by the time he ran a finger down your core. He wasted no more time, plunging two fingers into you. You let out a startled moan, your head dropping forward as he slid his fingers in and out at a punishing pace. No more appreciating, then.

“Fuck, Az!” You moaned, earning you a bite on the hip and a curl of his fingers.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re screaming my name. Is that all it takes, pet?”

“When it’s you.” Your answer is honest, and he knows it too.

His fingers don’t relent, not even as his thumb moves to press your clit. You cry out, clenching down on his fingers. This was what you’d been missing so badly. Your fingers could never do what his fingers did to you now. No matter what you tried, nothing could make you feel like Azriel did.

“I want you to come on my fingers first.” He said, his fingers curving upward to make you see stars.

Even without the order he gave, you were approaching your orgasm quickly. The sparks under your skin snapped brighter, hotter, and you knew you were a goner. A few quick rubs of his thumb had the cord in your gut snapping like a rubber band pulled too taut and you fell over the edge. You moaned his name as he continued to fuck you on his fingers, drawing out your whines and whimpers as long as he could.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean. You tried to catch your breath, your arms shaky beneath you as pleasure continued to zip through your veins. You choked on a sound at the blunt press of his cock against you, your pussy still clenching from having just come.

“Az, wait–”

“No.”

His patience had been thin the moment he’d landed back in Velaris after his mission. He had none left, not when he could feel your pussy trying to suck him in. Azriel pushed forward, groaning lowly as he sank into your tight heat. You whined at the intrusion, woefully understretched from just two of his fingers. The burn of him was thrilling, the stretch something you relished.

Your mate let out a deep grunt as he bottomed out inside you, stilling for a moment to trace his hand down your spine. Your head spun, dizzy from the feeling of him buried so deep, but you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter a quiet “beautiful” from where he stood above you.

When he drew his hips back and snapped them forward again, you practically screamed. Every nerve in your body was alive, singing at the feeling of having your mate home, having him inside you again. Azriel fucked you hard, not too fast, but deep and steady enough to have you crying out loudly at each thrust.

“You take me so well. Made for taking cock, aren’t you?” He grunted, settling his hands on your hips to pull you back into his thrusts.

“Yes, Az, made for it. I’m a slut for it.”

“That you are, pet. My cockhungry little whore.” He replied, making you moan louder still.

“Faster.” You breathed out, a knot once more forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Any faster and you’ll tell the whole house exactly what we’re up to.” He taunted, but the way his hips sped up betrayed him.

“A-As if they care.” You countered.

“Bite down on this.”

You focused your gaze to see Truth-Teller before you once more. Azriel’s hand carefully held the blade, the hilt balanced delicately in front of your face. You obliged, opening your mouth for the knife once more, sinking your teeth into the leather-wrapped hilt. The sound of your moans were muffled against the makeshift gag, and Azriel took that as all he needed to fully let loose.

He fucked into you without hesitation, his hips slamming into yours again and again. The four posts of the bed groaned as they shook from his movements. You felt a trail of spit slide down your chin from around the hilt of your mate’s weapon, dripping into the mattress below you. These sheets would need to be burned, you imagined. Your cunt clenched around him, making the male behind you groan.

“You’re close.” Azriel said, his voice deep.

You could only nod, even without the gag, the feeling of him rearranging your guts had sent you past the point of coherent sentences. One of Azriel’s scarred hands slid over your stomach and between your legs, two of his fingers rolling over your clit. He leaned over you, biting down on the shell of your ear as he fucked you.

“Come for me. Come because I said so. Because you’re mine.”

The growl in his voice was enough to tip you over the edge, your muscles tensing and relaxing as you came around him. Azriel managed two more harsh thrusts into you before he came with a low call of your name, rocking into you as you rode out your highs.

“Welcome home.” You murmured, once you’d let Truth-Teller fall from your mouth.

“I missed you so much.” He said, smoothing a hand over your side as he slid out of you, “I’ll avoid such long journeys in the future.”

“No, you won’t,” you laugh softly, breathlessly.

“You’re probably right. But I think I’ll keep you right here in this bed until the next one.”

“No complaints from me.”

Azriel chuckled softly, finally shucking off his uniform. His tanned muscles glistened with sweat, his tattoos now on proud display. You found your mouth watering all over again.

“Don’t give me that look. Rhysand told me he needed you to be able to walk tomorrow.” Azriel warned gently, though there was no malice behind it.

“Since when does Rhysand decide how much you get to fuck me?”

trial and error • azriel x reader

↳ by @pellucid-constellations (angst, single mom!reader, comfort, fluff)

little star • azriel x reader

↳ by @idkyetxoxo (slow burn, friends to lovers, yearning, comfort, fluff)

azriel, are you okay? • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @mahalachives (humour, angst, smut)

shadows of the exile • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @sweet-pea-channie (angst, fluff, comfort, slow burn, soft!az, smut)

my only anchor • azriel x reader

↳ by @mooniscrying (angst, unrequited love)

tip of my tongue • azriel x single mom!fem!reader

↳ by @peachesofteal (fluff)

made to wait • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @ellecdc (angst, yearning, pining, fluff)

the bond that breaks • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @irisandink ((very angsty, slow burn, comfort, fluff, smut)

shadowstruck • azriel x reader

↳ by @zarteyaz (angst, fluff)

the softest place to fall | part two | part three • azriel x rhys’sister!reader

↳ by @julietreject (enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst)

sing to me • azriel x mermaid!reader

↳ by @prythianpages

supposed to be together • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @angelshadowsinger (angst, smut)

the dusk in your eye • azriel x reader

↳ by @driedposies

the night we met | part two • azriel x reader

↳ by @mahalachives (angst, yearning, fluff)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

all’s fair in love and war • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @soulofapatrick (hurt/comfort)

maps • azriel x reader

↳ by @berryz-writes (dad!azriel, fluff, comfort)

my hero • azriel x reader

↳ by @really-fanny-longbottom (fluff)

bound by secrets • azriel x beron’s daughter!reader

↳ by @inkedinshadows (angst, fluff)

beautiful stranger • azriel x reader

↳ by @prythianpages (fluff)

a tactical ploy • azriel x reader

↳ by @azrielwingspan (jealous!azriel, fluff)

a part of me is tethered to you • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @soulofapatrick (fluff)

like calls to like • azriel x shadowsinger!reader

↳ by @sodapopwrites (angst)

no grave (can hold my body) • azriel x reader

↳ by @valentina-writes (pregnant!reader, angst, hurt/comfort)

how will i know • dad!azriel x mom!reader

↳ by @coquettefrancaise (fluff)

figure you out • rockstar!azriel x reader

↳ by @court-of-starss (angst)

beneath the surface • azriel x reader

↳ by @anmwrites (angst)

inner ace • azriel x reader

↳ by @dont-look-its-embarrassing (angst, fluff, slow burn)

the great frosting incident • azriel x reader

↳ by @bluelillybooks (smut, fluff)

in the heart of velaris • azriel x reader

↳ by @nightcourtnovels (dad!azriel, fluff, slight angst, comfort)

i got you babe • sick!azriel x reader

↳ by @coquettefrancaise (hurt/comfort)

lovestruck • azriel x reader

↳ by @velaris-fic-repository (fluff)

in the silence, i found you • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @sweet-pea-channie (mute!reader, angst, comfort, fluff)

moms day off • azriel x reader

↳ by @ghostlyinsight (dad!azriel, mom!reader, fluff)

shadows and candlelight • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @durgenyx (fluff, suggestive)

don’t panic • azriel x reader, friend!nesta x reader

↳ by @tovibeornottovibe (friend!nesta x reader, angst, fluff)

his waking nightmare • azriel x reader

↳ by @hellsenthero (angst, hurt/comfort)

for you i would • azriel x reader

↳ by @azrielblue (friends to lovers! fluff)

a lovely person • azriel x reader

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he said quietly, still pretending to look at the gloves that neither of you would be buying.

“I have not seen your face since you dropped me on the terrace and then vanished into the night.”

“I did not vanish,” he argued, but his voice wavered. He finally met your eyes, and the wariness in his gaze only made you more exasperated.

You had spent the last four days torturing yourself with all of the possible reasons Azriel had disappeared. You had agonized over the very real possibility that your brief moment of foolishness in Windhaven had sent him right into the arms of his mate—because that was exactly where he should be.

You had nearly kissed him, and you knew he knew. He was the spymaster, for fuck’s sake. He was fluent in the art of body language. He knew you were about to kiss him in the middle of the kitchen of your pseudo-childhood home, and he pulled away from you. He pulled away, then ferried the two of you off to Velaris, and he disappeared. For four days.

Until now.

Because he wanted help buying Cassian’s birthday gift.

The slimy mixture of mortification, humiliation, and jealousy turned your stomach sour and your heart cold as you stared at the male across from you. Maybe it was hypocritical to be mad at him for the very thing you had done to him not long ago, but it felt justifiable at the time. It still did. You were acting out of self-preservation. Azriel—well you didn’t know what Azriel was doing, actually, which made it all the more infuriating.

“Will either of you be buying something today?” the female manning the merchant table asked pointedly, breaking you from your stupor.

You smiled at the female, fighting a wince at the irritation in her gaze. “Sorry, not today. Thank you for your time.” She pursed her lips in disapproval, and you hurried to add, “Your work is lovely.”

Azriel sent his own apologetic glance toward the female as he laid down the unfortunately ugly gloves, then he stepped around the table to grab you by your elbow and guide you away. You pulled away from his touch as soon as you were away from the disgruntled merchant, glaring at him. His hand fell to his side, curling into a fist. “We always buy Cassian a gift together,” he said.

“Not always.”

“Fine, for the last decade.”

“Well,” you said, voice tight, “things are different.”

Azriel reached for you again, pulling you to an abrupt stop in the middle of the market. “What does that mean?”

Sometimes you felt like you were losing your mind. You had been in love with him for over five centuries. You didn’t know it was love for that long—you didn’t really even let yourself consider it until much, much later—but it didn’t change the fact that it was love.

You had spent every night for the last couple of months replaying every memory you had with Azriel, trying to pinpoint when things changed for you. When did you fall for the male that was your closest friend? The soul-crushing truth was that there never was a change, there was never a shift that sent you toppling, because you loved him from the very beginning.

And it did not make sense to you how he could not feel even a fraction of what you felt for him, when you had lived through it all together.

Anger flared deep in your chest, smoking out the words tumbling around inside you before you could think them through. “Because you have a mate,” you snapped. “You should give Cassian a gift from you and your mate.”

Azriel might have tried to say something, but you didn’t stop. “Is that where you disappeared to? To be with her?” you asked, the center of your chest fracturing outward with every word. “Will she be there tomorrow? At Rita’s?”

The ache in your chest was somehow worse than it had ever been, so many clashing sources of heartbreak melding together into one messy and convoluted vat of poison. It was unfair. You should be able to shop with your friend for your other friend’s birthday without having an existential crisis over it, but this was too much. It was all just too much.

Azriel, to his credit, looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

Sometimes his oblivion to the heartache he had caused you, unintentionally or not, hurt worse than anything else.

“You have to be fucking kidding me—”

His hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm and unrelenting as his shadows swallowed the two of you whole. As soon as they deposited you on a familiar outcropping of the mountains overlooking the city, you shoved away from him, your fury building irrationally fast.

“Don’t do that,” you gritted through your teeth.

Azriel looked like he was at a loss. “I want to talk to you without the whole of the Velaris market square watching us.”

You stared at him, your arms falling to your sides. “You want to talk to me.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to talk to you.” His hand fell to his side, his wings drooping slightly behind him. “I don’t understand what is happening,” he said, and the quiet desolation in his voice made your heart twinge, despite everything.

“What do you mean?” you murmured, looking down at your boots.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped, his eyes wild with more emotion than he usually ever showed. Then his voice softened as he said, “Please. Please just—” He shook his head. “Things have been different,” he finally said, and all you could do was stare at him as your heart thundered against your chest, your mind racing to find a way to protect yourself from any more heartache. “Since that night at Rita’s, things have been different.”

You couldn’t stop the scoff that flew from your lips, though regret sliced through your chest at the wounded look on Azriel’s face. His throat bobbed as he stared off into the forest behind you. “Y/N,” he rasped, “I don’t know what I said.” He looked at you, and Mother, his eyes were glossy. “I don’t know what I did that night. I—I know I told you I have a mate,” he hurried to add, and the words seemed to feel like sandpaper against his throat. “I know that, but my shadows refuse to tell me anything else and, I just, I’m sorry if I said or did something—”

“You did nothing wrong, Azriel,” you cut him off quietly. As angry and hurt as you were, as much as you wished he had done something you could rationally hate him for just so it might dull some of this pain, you could not let him go on thinking he had done something terrible—not when all he had really done was find something everyone could only hope for. “You—” You swallowed hard, shoulders deflating as you forced the words out of your mouth. “You told me you found your mate, and you said nothing but lovely things about her.”

He looked like he didn’t believe you.

“I promise,” you said softly. “You had fun at Rita’s, and I helped you home, and you told your friend about something wonderful. That’s all.”

He stared at you for a moment, blinking slowly. Silence wrapped around you like a stiff blanket, scratching at your skin with every passing second. The sunlight beating down on your face was unseasonably warm. It felt wrong to be illuminated so brightly while Azriel grappled to tear apart the invisible walls you had desperately built between you. There was nowhere to hide.

Azriel stepped closer, and you hated the small hitch in your breath. You hated the way he noticed, and you hated that his steps faltered when he heard. You hated that there were mere feet between you, and he still felt worlds away.

“Why didn’t you visit my mother with me?”

Your eyes snapped to his, guilt sliding down your throat. “I—”

“And don’t lie to me,” Azriel cut you off, near pleading.

And what could you really say? That you were worried his mother would see your broken heart the second she set eyes on you? That you were worried you would have to endure his loving confessions about his long-awaited mate to his mother—his mother you loved and that you had known for centuries? That jealousy so potent and toxic would eat you alive and ruin anything that might still be salvageable of your friendship?

“I couldn’t.”

It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t explain anything, but it was the only thing you could say that was not a lie, and that was not as baring as the truth.

Azriel shook his head, looking up at the sky. “You know,” he said quietly, “I thought maybe things were okay, when you asked me to go to Windhaven.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, thinking about how there was never any question of who would go with you to Windhaven. You were selfish, and there was never anyone else that could have gone with you to that camp.

“And when you came to me that night,” he continued, his eyes slowly falling back to yours. He looked lost, and you hated it. He huffed out a sad laugh. “I was actually grateful that we were there. That things felt normal.” His nose twitched, and his shadows seemed to spread outward in agitation. “Then you were pissed at me again.”

You shook your head slowly. “It wasn’t you I was angry with,” you said quietly. “Not really.”

Azriel looked at you incredulously. 

You looked up to the sky. “Fine,” you admitted. “I was pissed at you for taking over.”  You were pissed that he felt the need, that he acted like it was his duty, to protect you from some self-righteous male. 

You were not his responsibility.

“I did not take over.” Azriel moved toward you, his boots stopping mere inches from yours, and you had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. “You can be pissed at me all you want, Y/N, I don’t care. No one will speak to you that way and get away with it.”

“I do not need—”

“I am always going to protect you!” His hands came up to cup your face, his gentle touch a startling contrast to the ferocity of his words. You stared at him wide eyed, his own gaze searching yours. “I told you that. You know that,” his voice softened exponentially, but his words were spoken with fervor. “I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care if it pisses you off. I don’t care. I’m sorry—” He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep before letting it out slowly. “You are the most important person in my life,” he said softly. Your eyes burned. “I will always protect you with my life.”

Your hand came up to curl around one of his that was still cradling your cheek. Your mind was racing with his words. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. A foolish, hopeful part of you wanted to consider that maybe—maybe he did feel the same. Maybe—

But you could not forget the terrible reality that he had a mate.

You loved him so much. It was intertwined with every fiber of your being and every thread of it throbbed with painful longing and hope that it might finally be recognized. Every thread was fraying with dread that it might never be tied off, that this love might be unmoored forever until you completely unraveled.

“Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, and you closed your eyes as his thumb grazed the top of your cheek. “You’re shaking.”

Your eyes flew open, and you suddenly pulled away, his touch falling away from your face abruptly. 

“Y/N—”

“I’m fine.”

You were not fine.

You had to get out of there.

“Wait, Y/N—”

You shook your head, your wings flaring out before you really even thought about flying. “I have to get Cassian a gift,” you muttered. Then you took off into the sky, leaving Azriel and your heart behind.

You shook off the tendril of shadow that clung to your wrist.

~ ~ ~

“And explain to me, Rhysand, why I should take this young female into my court?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you fought against the urge to lean against Azriel. Your muscles trembled from the weight of your exhaustion and dread that this disillusioned plan would all collapse around you at any moment. You could not appear weak in front of the High Lord, not if you wanted this plan to work.

You could stand on your own two feet.

Azriel’s pinky grazed the back of your hand, a gentle touch that could easily be an accident, but then his wing bumped into yours, and you knew Azriel was far too careful for accidental touches. You let yourself breathe in deep, let the comforting and familiar scent of Azriel wash over you as Rhysand argued with his father.

Rhysand’s mother stood a step back from him, but still in front of you and Az, watching their exchange with pursed lips. Rhysand and his father had been talking in circles, their voices growing louder and the room growing darker with every passing minute.

“I think that’s enough,” Rhysand’s mother cut in, without an ounce of fear in her voice. 

Rhysand and his father both went silent. Then his father’s eyes narrowed. “The boy must learn how to advocate for himself, Melina—”

“And he has, my Lord,” she agreed placatingly. She stepped closer, and Rhys fell back to stand beside you. “But this is ultimately my request of you. She is Rhysand’s friend, yes.” She glanced back at you with so much warmth and pity it made your stomach twist. “But she has no one. She is of no use in Illyria, no one who cares for her.”

Your eyes burned as her words lodged in your chest, the truth wrapped around them like barbed wire. Azriel stepped closer to you, his arm now nearly pressed against yours. The High Lord’s eyes fell to the two of you, and maybe you should have stepped away, maybe you should have moved closer to Rhys, but the thought of leaving Azriel made your head spin. So you stayed in place, with your arm pressed against Azriel’s, and his shadows licking against the back of your neck and hands.

“No one but us,” she continued, her voice softening, and it took everything in you to keep your tears at bay. “She is not safe in Illyria. Let her stay in the House of Wind. Let her work for me. I need the help.”

The High Lord was quiet for far too long. You desperately wanted to grab Azriel’s hand, but you didn't move. Instead, you waited, the four of you silent as you prayed to the Mother the High Lord agreed.

“Alright,” he said. “She can stay.” You were going to throw up. “But you are mine.”

He wasn’t looking at you. Your eyes slowly followed his gaze, slowly looking at the male standing still beside you.

“Father—” Rhysand started to protest, taking one step forward, but the High Lord cut him off.

“That’s my condition. You want her to stay here? Fine. She can stay. But so does he.”

“He still has to pass the Blood Rite,” Rhys argued.

“Fine,” the High Lord agreed. “You will finish your training, complete the Blood Rite in Spring, and then you will come work for me, Shadowsinger.”

This was insane. Azriel couldn’t sign his life away to the High Lord just because you asked for help.

“But father—”

“Okay.” Azriel stepped forward, his warmth vanishing from your side. “I agree, on one condition.”

“Azriel—” you and Rhysand both spoke at the same time. He glared at both of you.

The High Lord grinned. “In addition to her sanctuary here, you mean?”

You hated that he had yet to refer to you by your name, but you knew that, really, it was inconsequential compared to what your fate would be in Illyria.

“Yes,” Azriel said.

He was so large, standing in front of you. His leathers were stretched around muscles that lined his body, and his wings were wide behind his back that was ramrod straight, his head held high as he met his High Lord’s eye.

You weren’t children any more.

The High Lord waved his hand at Azriel. “Go on.”

“Y/N keeps her wings.”

You stopped breathing.

The High Lord raised his brows, but said nothing.

“Y/N stays here and works for the Lady of Night, and she keeps her wings.” He spared a brief glance at you, and when his eyes met yours, you finally released the breath trapped in your chest. “And I will work for you.”

An inexplicable warmth washed over you, working outward from the center of your chest, thawing the icy terror that you had been trapped in for the last 48 hours, even as you now feared for Azriel. You worried it was selfish to feel such relief when Azriel was practically signing his life away for you.

The High Lord smiled. “I accept.”

~ ~ ~

“We need to talk.”

You glanced at the male behind you, shaking your head as you focused on the training bag in front of you. You landed another punch, a heavy thud reverberating through the room. “Not now, Cassian.”

You heard his steps draw closer as you continued throwing punches, relishing in the dull ache blooming around your knuckles. The sun was just starting to rise, but you had been here for hours.

Cassian caught your fist before you could land the next punch, his face looking unimpressed. “Yes, now.”

You yanked your hand away, scowling at him as you shook your hand out. “What do you want?”

He raised his brows, a flash of amusement passing through his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Cassian. You're my dearest friend, Cassian. I’m so happy to celebrate another year of life with you, Cassian—”

You grabbed his shoulder quickly, your eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Mother—Cassian—”

Cassian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s okay, Y/N.” He pushed gently at your shoulder, knocking your hand away from his own. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Still,” you murmured, shame making your face warm. You looked down to start unwrapping the cloth around your hands, then you looked back up at him sheepishly. “Happy Birthday.”

He grinned, tugging you into his side. “Thank you.” Then he turned you toward the terrace, guiding you to lean against the cool stone railing not yet warmed by the morning sun. “Now, we need to talk.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

He leaned forward on his elbows, looking out over the city before glancing at you. “What’s going on with you and Az?”

You sniffed, rubbing at your nose as you looked out at the city, mirroring his position. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said pointedly, shifting his body so he faced you. “Why are things so damn awkward?”

Your face was hot now, and you wished you could pass it off as the sunlight hitting your cheeks. “They’re not,” you lied, terribly.

Cassian scoffed. “Y/N,” he said, unimpressed. You met his eyes warily. His eyes narrowed. “First, you avoided him for weeks. Then, there was the lovely dinner from Hell—”

Gods.

“—then you refused to visit his Mother—”

“He told you about that?” you interrupted, that same shame from when Azriel confronted you yesterday curdling in your stomach.

Cassian paused, seeming to think over his words before just saying, “Yes.” Then he kept going, “Then there was Windhaven, which we will also be talking about, by the way. Then he avoided you for days—”

So he was avoiding you.

“Then he apparently saw you yesterday, but walked into Rhys’s office like a storm cloud, and has been in a foul mood since.” He studied you quietly, and you knew he was leaving out every ounce of unbearable tension and awkwardness that had infused every minute between the events he laid in front of you. “So tell me,” he said, voice softening, “what happened?”

You could probably tell Cassian. You could probably cry, right now, in front of him on this terrace—on his birthday, no less—and he would not hesitate to try to pick up your broken pieces and find a way to glue them back together. He wouldn’t judge you.

But you felt too fragile to do that right now, and he deserved better than that on his birthday.

But he also deserved something, and maybe it would be nice to hand off just a piece of the weight crushing your soul.

“Do you know who his mate is?” you asked quietly, your voice as small as you felt.

Cassian was quiet for so long that you turned to look at him, and when you saw the painful understanding in his eyes you thought you might actually cry. “He hasn’t told me,” is what he finally says, looking back out over the city.

You chuckled weakly. “That’s not a no.”

His lips twitched. “It’s not a yes.”

“Cassian,” you said, staring at the side of his face until his eyes met yours again.

He sighed, leaning heavily against the balcony now. “I don’t know, no.”

Oh.

You bit your lip, not sure what you were expecting. You weren’t sure what you even wanted to hear. Maybe that he did know, and he hated her? Maybe that she was a terrible match and he didn’t know what the Mother was thinking?

You didn’t know.

“Nothing makes sense, if I’m honest with you,” Cassian said.

“What do you mean?”

He glanced at you. “I mean Azriel and his mate.” He tossed his hand toward you haphazardly, as if that cleared anything up.

“What?”

“I didn’t know he told you he found his mate.”

You blinked. You felt like he was talking in circles.

“Cassian,” you said, voice flat and tired. “We were all at that dinner.”

Cassian shook his head. “I mean before that.”

You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, well,” you said, “he did.”

His mouth twisted in thought. “Right. Surprising.”

“Cassian, what does this have to do with anything?”

He shrugged. “How long ago did he tell you?”

You threw your arms out. “I don’t know!” You did know. “A couple months ago? After Rita’s.”

He hummed. “Which is when things started to get tense—”

“Cassian,” you cut him off, your heart starting to race. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

Cassian immediately sobered, his expression turning serious. “Azriel found his mate over a year ago.”

You went cold. His words practically shoved you outside of your body, and you were floating just a few inches away from where you stood in front of him, grappling to reorient your already fractured reality to his words. “What?” you rasped.

Cassian shrugged, as if this was an entirely inconsequential detail. “He told me and Rhys a little over a year ago.”

You blinked. “So this entire time he—”

Cassian killed your words with a hard stare. “He what, Y/N?”

“I had no idea,” you said quietly. You had no idea things had changed so much sooner than you were even aware.

Yet they hadn’t, had they? Azriel never acted any different toward you. You were the one that made everything turn sour.

You frowned. “Over a year ago…we were at war,” you said slowly.

Cassian didn’t say anything.

“I thought he must have met her in Velaris, but—” You were going to be sick. “Oh gods, is it Elain?”

Cassian whipped his head to you. “What?” he asked. “Are you insane? Elain is mated to Lucien.”

You shook your head, all logic having been replaced with sick terror. “Mor then—”

“Y/N, for fuck’s sake,” Cassian said, cutting you off quickly. “It’s not Elain, and it’s not Mor.”

“You said you didn’t know—”

“Well I know it’s not them.”

“But—”

“I don’t know where or when he met her,” he said. “He didn’t tell us anything. He just…told us he had a mate. We were pestering him and he snapped, and then made us swear not to say a word because she didn’t know. That’s all, but I’m also not a fool.”

You scowled, recognizing his insinuation that you were a fool.

You were also tired of this conversation, and you were tired of the emotional whiplash. After a long beat of silence, you said, “Is it Nesta?”

Cassian growled, his eyes flashing with brief rage. You smiled, relieved that your jab landed successfully. His nostrils flared. “Enough.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward on the balcony again, letting your head droop. The two of you stood in silence for a while, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky as the sounds of the city slowly waking up washed over you.

Velaris had always felt like home.

Even that first night you crossed the city’s borders, clinging to Rhys and Azriel in mild terror, something settled inside you as soon as you were within the city’s limits. The air was cleaner. Fresh. It was still just as cold as Illyria, but it didn’t have that bitter tang that licked at your skin when you crossed the camp’s borders.

The air smelled like salt and jasmine. It was so unlike the stale and rotten air that wafted through Windhaven that, at the time, you could hardly fathom that a whole city full of faeries lived here. Now you were one of them.

“I heard about Windhaven.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders falling. You were tired. “Cassian,” you said, a warning, but he shook his head.

“I’m done talking about Az.”

You rolled your lip between your teeth and looked out over the city, taking in the soft and joyful life that pulsed through the streets. The stark contrast between here and an Illyrian camp was sometimes so jarring it made your bones ache. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not sure what else to say.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing once. “You saved that girl.”

You let out a bitter laugh, refusing to meet his eyes. “Right,” you said, “or I just made it worse for her after we left.”

“You didn’t.”

His words held so much certainty, you couldn’t help but turn to meet his gaze. Cassian wasn’t necessarily one for platitudes, but how could he know that for sure? “What?”

“You didn’t make things worse,” he said. “You saved her wings.”

“But how—”

“I’ve been to Windhaven every day since your return,” he explained, his voice unusually soft. Your eyes burned as he stared back at you with overwhelming sincerity. “I’m headed there after this. No one will touch her wings. They all know what will happen if anything happens to that girl—oh.”

You threw yourself into Cassian before he could finish his sentence, your arms circling him in a vice. He let out a soft chuckle before he quickly returned the hug, one hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “This is much nicer than, What do you want, Cassian? Not now, Cassian—”

You squeezed him harder. “Shut up.”

~ ~ ~

“I want to teach you how to fight.”

You barely glanced at Azriel as you slid another book back onto the shelf. “Me?” you asked, disbelieving.

Azriel followed behind you as you pushed the shelving cart further down the aisle. “Yes.”

“Why?” you asked, pointedly sliding another book back into place.

Why me? Is what you didn’t say. I’m a scholar. I’m the High Lady’s right-hand. I’m not a warrior.

“Why not?”

You ignored him, continuing on with your shelving duties—which, really, were not yours, but there was also no one else willing to voluntarily work in the library. At least, no one that the High Lord had authorized. You liked being here anyway, and the few librarians scattered throughout didn’t mind.

“You are more than capable.”

You hummed. “Yes,” you agreed. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

Suddenly Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, and he had you twisted around so that your chest was pinned to the book shelf. His point was clearly made, but still he didn’t move away. His body was pressed against yours, his chest grazing the base of your wings with every inhale.

His lips might have briefly brushed the shell of your ear before he said, “I’m serious, Y/N.” His grip on you relaxed, letting go of your arm that he had pinned behind your back, but he didn’t move away. “War is coming.” Which sounded very serious, but all you could think about was how his body was pressed against yours, and his breath was warm against your ear. Goosebumps pebbled along your arms.

Azriel pulled away, and you had to blink yourself back to reality before you slowly turned around to face him.

Your face was warm. Azriel seemed unaffected—serious and stoic as always.

“This city is meant to be impenetrable, I know, but—” He cut himself off, looking away.

“You’re worried,” you said quietly.

He nodded. His shadows slowly curled around your ankles, one gliding up your leg to then curl around your wrist. “If we go to war,” he said, voice hushed, “I won’t be here.”

Your stomach twisted. It had been years since you moved to Velaris, and years since Azriel had become the High Lord’s spy. Your time with Azriel was fleeting as it was. Stolen moments peppered over the years whenever he could slip away, but he has always been around. Sometimes months passed without talking to him, but you knew deep in your bones that if Azriel was worried about this war, it would happen, and he would be gone much longer than a couple of months.

“I just want to know that you’re safe,” he continued, as if he thought he still had to convince you. “I know it might be complicated for you,” he said slowly, gently, as if he was coaxing a timid animal. “Training, I mean. After everything that happened in Windhaven. But it would just be me, and—”

“That was a test,” you cut him off, realization washing over you.

Azriel’s mouth shut, his eyes wide.

“That—” You gestured between him and the bookshelf behind you. “You—you were seeing how I would react?”

Azriel looked only mildly guilty. “Yes.”

Irritation flared in your gut. He was right, of course. You had never spoken about why you never trained. You had never even told him outright that you didn’t want to, but the offer had always been there, unspoken, waiting quietly, and you never took it. Now Azriel was forcing you to confront it, and he knew fully well why you might be hesitant to let someone put their hands on you.

But Azriel had just pinned you to a shelf with his entire body, and not even a flicker of fear arose inside you. Fear was the last thing you felt.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel eventually said. You knew he meant it, but you also knew he didn’t regret it. 

“No,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek once as you contemplated his words. “You made your point. And you’re right.”

Azriel’s gaze was a mix of sympathy and worry. “I’m sorry—” he started to say again.

“I want to know how to fight,” you cut him off. His shoulders seemed to visibly relax at the words, and your stomach fluttered at the flash of pride you might have seen in his eyes. You weren’t doing this for him, though. You needed to be able to defend yourself. It was unwise as it was that you had gone this long in the House of Wind without learning.   

“But I also want to know how to hide,” you said, and his eyes glinted with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin when you added, “Like a spy.”

~ ~ ~

Your steps faltered as soon as you felt his presence. Your blade wobbled as it came down, losing its clean momentum from your misplaced footing. You growled in frustration, slashing the blade through the air once more before spinning around.

Azriel was standing there in the shadows, watching you quietly.

“What are you doing here, Azriel?”

He walked closer, the moonlight illuminating his face as he stepped into the clearing. He studied you for a moment, his eyes lingering on the sword in your hand. “You’re late for Rita’s.”

You glanced at the sky, your heart dropping when you realized just how far the moon had traveled. You had meant to leave at sunset. “Fuck,” you cursed. Your grip tightened on your sword as you ran a hand through your hair, cursing again when your fingers got caught.

“It’s okay,” Azriel said, voice soft. He moved closer to gently guide your hand away from your face, then smoothed a hand over your hair. He smiled softly when he pulled his hand away, almost hesitant. “Cassian won’t mind.”

You stared at him, taking in the way the moonlight illuminated the hazel of his eyes and glinted off the inky strands of hair that fell over his forehead. He was wearing a black button-up that clung to his body perfectly, molding the contour of his muscles with perfect definition.

You blinked, then shook your head. “It’s not okay,” you grumbled, taking a step back.

Cassian had just spent the morning of his birthday comforting you, letting you lean on him. The least you could do is show up to his birthday party.

“Y/N,” Azriel said, “It’s okay. They were only just leaving the River House when I left to find you. I told them I was picking you up.”

You frowned. “How did you know where I was?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, like the question amused him. “You weren’t hard to find.”

You tried to argue, wanting to point out that you were in a random clearing in the mountains, but Azriel silenced you when he stepped closer again. “You were sloppy,” he said, nodding toward the sword.

“I’m aware,” you snapped.

“You’re fighting angry.”

“I know, Az,” you groaned. “I don’t need the lecture right now.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said gently. He stepped even closer, the heat from his body pressing against your skin. “Lift the sword.”

“We’re late,” you warned.

“So what’s a few more minutes? Lift it.” He circled around you, moving so that he stood at your back. You waited a moment, but eventually lifted the sword again.

“Good,” he murmured. He was crowding your space now, his body brushing against yours. You could hardly breathe. “Lower your wings for me?” he asked softly, a low hum that reverberated through your body.

Your wings lowered.

Azriel’s arm covered yours, his hand enclosing yours that held the hilt of the sword. “Right now,” he said, practically talking directly into your ear. “You’re angry, and it’s making your movements messy, because that anger is radiating in every direction. Your body doesn’t know what to do with it.”

You swallowed hard, your breaths heavy as you let the truth in his words wash over you. You were angry. You had been angry for months, and sometimes it felt so loud and potent that it might just consume you. It felt like there was nowhere for it to go.

“I always taught you not to fight angry—but, really, that’s shit advice,” he said.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“You care too much to not get angry when you’re fighting,” he continued. You weren’t sure if you should be insulted, but then he said, “That’s not a bad thing, Y/N. Just channel it. Let that anger stabilize you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath when his other hand grazed the membrane of your wing, your body going still when that hand settled on your hip.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said quietly, his body also going still.

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, and you were sure he could hear it, but you nodded your head anyway. “It’s okay,” you told him breathlessly.

A beat of silence passed, then Azriel’s hand slid a little closer to your front, his fingers grazing your abdomen. “Direct that anger to your core,” he murmured. His tone had permanently dropped, a low lull in the delicate silence around you. His hand slid back to your hip, then pushed you to step forward with him. “Let that anger guide your movements. Don’t let it force them.”

The two of you stepped back, and his chest was flush with your back. “Now swing. Let your anger extend into your blade. Keep it sharp and defined.”

You closed your eyes for just a moment, taking a deep and steadying breath as you gripped the anger swirling through you. You imagined it as an anchor, locking your mind and body as one. You imagined it as sharp as the blade in your hand. You imagined it washing over your muscles, powering the force of your movements. You swung the blade in one of the most complicated moves you knew, the angles between movements sharp and defined with an elegance you had been reaching for all night.

You grinned as you finished, relief you had been desperate for settling over you. Azriel’s touch fell away, and you turned around to meet his eyes.

He was smiling too. “Now we can go to the party.”

Your grin only widened. “Thank you.”

Azriel’s smile then wavered, his expression suddenly sobering. “Y/N,” he said, “about yesterday—”

“Az—”

“I’m sorry.”

You stared at him. “You’re sorry? Az, you did nothing—”

“I did nothing wrong, so you’ve said,” he brushed you off. “But something is upsetting you,” he went on, voice gentle again. “And Windhaven—it was hard. I know that. And I wasn’t there for you when we got back, and so I’m sorry for that.”

You looked away, eyes falling to your boots, your toes mere inches away from Azriel’s. You shrugged a little, then finally met his eyes again. “I haven’t really been there for you that last couple of months,” you admitted quietly. “So I guess we’re even. Or, really, I still have much to make up—”

“We don’t do that,” Azriel interrupted softly.

“Do what?”

“Keep score,” he said. You felt warm all over as you stood under his gaze, relishing in the comfort of this male you had known and loved your entire life. Just his presence, without worrying about mates or relationships or boundaries that may or may not exist for the first time in months, was enough to quell the fury and despair that had been warring inside your soul for weeks.

You nodded, knowing he was right.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk about whatever is bothering you, I’ll be here to listen,” he promised. “But for tonight,” he said, a smile slowly stretching across his face again, “Let’s have fun and celebrate our friend.”

Your own smile didn’t quite reach your eyes as you half-heartedly joked, “Will you be getting as drunk as our last night at Rita’s?”

Azriel grabbed your hand, jostling it lightly between you before tugging you close again, his shadows already creeping in around you. “No,” he hummed, mirth in his eyes. “I think it’s your turn tonight.”

Your grin was real as you said, “I like the sound of that.”

~ ~ ~

You weren’t kidding when you told Azriel you liked his plan for tonight—specifically, you getting drunk.

He had taken you back to the House of Wind, and he waited for you to bathe and get dressed before taking you to Rita’s. You would like to think that his cheeks were tinged pink as he grabbed your waist because of you—because you were in a silken dress that shimmered in the moonlight and defined every curve of your body, and you felt good, for the first time in a while.

The two of you were silent as he pulled you in close by your hips, his chest lightly brushing yours before his shadows cocooned the two of you in their familiar embrace. Time always seemed to bend when you traveled through the shadows, warping around your body in a way that felt too fast and too slow all at once. The entire time your eyes were glued to his, his own gaze unwavering as he stared back.

You were in front of Rita’s before you could blink, and yet it felt like those seconds with Azriel’s hands on your body and his eyes stuck to yours had stretched into years. Your heart was racing again. It was becoming a problem.

You stepped back, breaking eye contact with an awkward cough. Your body felt far too warm in the chilled night air. Azriel’s hands fell away from your waist, and you took a second to smooth your hands over your dress, recentering yourself before walking into the crowded tavern.

Azriel watched you, and eventually you forced yourself to smile before meeting his gaze again. “Here we go,” you said with a grin that felt too tight on your face.

You didn’t wait for Azriel before you pushed through the door, the dim lighting and cacophony of music and voices disorienting at first. You scanned the room for your friends, and it wasn’t until Azriel placed a gentle hand on the small of your back and pointed toward a corner of the room that you found them.

He laced his fingers with yours before you could even take a step, guiding you through the sea of bodies. His skin was warm against yours, and you relished in the feeling of your hand in his. He pulled you closer to him when an especially tipsy faerie bumped into your shoulder, jostling the two of you.

Eventually you reached the booth everyone was crammed in, Cassian sitting on the end with a wide grin. You expected Azriel to drop your hand, but he only squeezed it tighter when the two of you stopped in front of the table. Your face was hot when Cassian’s gaze dragged up from your hands to your face.

His eyes were already glossy in the dim light, and empty glasses were scattered across the surface of the table. You hoped he kept his questions and observations to himself tonight.

He pushed up from the table, with Nesta stabilizing it frantically as he bumped the corner and glasses clattered together. Cassian didn’t notice, and he pulled you into him for a hug, effectively breaking Azriel’s hold on your hand. “You’re here!” Cassian cheered.

You laughed as your face squished awkwardly against his chest, his arm squeezing your waist on just the verge of too tight. “Happy Birthday, Cass,” you said again, even if you already saw him this morning. This morning felt forever ago anyway.

Cassian pulled back, his gaze set on the male behind you. He kept one arm around your waist before he reached for Azriel, tugging him into a clumsy hug that you were still held hostage in. The three of you were a mess of arms and wings, Azriel’s body half covering your own and Cassian held you both by one arm. 

Azriel would deny it, but he was smiling as Cassian hugged him. Even if he didn’t wait long before extricating himself from the messy embrace. You managed to break away too, your hands squeezing Cassian’s forearms once before falling away. “I’ll have to give your gift tomorrow,” you told him.

Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Az already gave me—” His words died as his gaze flicked behind you, and your neck felt hot. Cassian’s smile faltered, but you could tell he fought to keep it on his face, even if the alcohol running through him had eroded his already thin filter. “I can’t wait,” he said.

Your smile was tight, and you were ready to escape the awkward tension that had fallen over you. You locked eyes with Mor on the end of the booth, relief washing over you when she stood up. She grabbed your hand, immediately dragging you toward the bar as she declared it was time for more drinks.

She dropped your hand once you reached the bar, her gaze sympathetic as you gathered your bearings. You didn’t hear what she ordered as you took in the crowd around you, the floor flooded with dancing bodies and loud music. Mor handed you a glass of blue liquid, and you didn’t bother asking what it was before you tossed it back.

Which might have been a mistake, because it was foul.

You gagged, clanking the glass down on the counter. “Mor, what the hell was that?”

She also gagged as she downed her own, her class clinking against yours as she sat it down. “Disgusting,” she said, wiping her mouth. Then her eyes glinted. “But effective.” She waved toward the bartender ordering another round of something that hopefully didn’t taste like acid.

She leaned against the bar while you waited, her gaze flitting up and down before settling back on your eyes. “I figured it was that kind of night.”

You leaned against the bar next to her, your arm brushing hers as someone bumped into you. “Yeah,” you said with a weak laugh. “You could say that.”

Mor glanced toward the table with your friends. You followed her gaze, and your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met Azriel’s, who had taken Mor’s seat at the booth. His shadows were mostly hidden behind his wings, but a few stray ones pulsed to a slow beat. You averted your gaze, your skin feeling even more flushed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mor asked, and you were fairly certain she knew more than you had ever told her, just like Cassian, and Nesta, and probably everyone else around you.

“Nope.”

The bartender brought your drinks, and Mor handed you another glass, this time with a pink liquid. “This one is better, I promise,” she said, then clinked her glass against yours. “Let’s get drunk.” Then she tossed the liquid back.

You grinned, following her lead, relieved when the liquid was smooth and sweet. “Let’s dance,” you said, grabbing her hand as you sat the glass down, the two of you giggling as you pushed into the sea of bodies.

It was hot. So many bodies brushed against yours, so many faeries overheating the room as you all moved to the music. Song after song drifted over you, and Mor came and went with drinks in hand more times than you could count. Your blood felt fuzzy, your entire body vibrating from the alcohol coursing through your veins and the electric buzz that permeated the air.

At some point Cassian and Nesta joined you, periodically dancing with you and Mor when they weren’t entirely absorbed with each other. Your head was light and hazy, and you almost forgot why you had felt so heavy before.

Then a hand grabbed your waist from behind, familiar scarred fingers curling around the curve of your hip. You leaned back, your body connecting with a warm chest you knew better than your own skin. Your skin was hot and flushed, tingling all over as the scent of salt and cedar and something so uniquely Azriel enveloped you.

Your head lulled against him, your body moving against his in time with the music. His other hand settled on your other hip, and you let him guide your body however he saw fit. Your heart was racing and your stomach was fluttering, and you never wanted this feeling to end. You never wanted Azriel’s grip on your body to fade, and you never wanted another male to touch you like he was now. You wanted him to claim you in this crowd of people. You wanted everyone to know that you were his.

You wanted everyone to know that he was yours.

Azriel had always been yours.

Your hand came up to curl around the back of his neck, pulling his face down to meet your gaze. You had to tilt your head back to see him, but Mother above, he was everything you ever wanted. He was the most beautiful male alive, and you wanted him so much it hurt.

Why did it have to hurt?

You turned around to face him, his hands never leaving your hips. Your chest grazed against his, and you met his eyes as he continued guiding your bodies together in a dance that was for the two of you alone. Your eyes never left his, his own eyes glossy in the lights streaming across the room. He had a lazy smile on his face that made your stomach flutter, and when he tugged your body closer you sucked in a sharp breath.

“Azriel,” you murmured. In the back of your head, you thought it should have been a warning, but really it was a plea.

Your arms looped around his neck as his thigh slotted between yours, and you thought you might die when your core grazed the rough fabric of his pants. The hem of your dress was undoubtedly rucked indecently high, but you didn’t care. You just wanted more. You wanted everything.

Azriel slowly ground your bodies together in a rhythm that you thought might have loosely followed the music, but it was hard to tell. It was hard to think of anything other than the building pleasure low in your belly and Azriel’s hands on your waist and his breath against your cheek. You guided his head up with your hand splayed on his cheek, and when he met your eyes he looked like he might devour you there in the middle of Rita’s.

It was exactly how you had always wanted him to look at you.

You wanted him to want you. You wanted him to forget about anyone else that might think they had a piece of his heart, because Azriel was yours.

Azriel’s tongue briefly wet his lips, and you didn’t think before you pushed yourself up on your toes to capture his lips with yours. 

And he kissed you back.

Your head was floating, possibly completely detached from the rest of you. You weren’t entirely sure you were even still inside your own body, except for the feeling of an undeniable warmth that flooded through your chest. Azriel’s hands slid from your hips to the back of your thighs, his fingers curling around the hem of your dress and tugging it down, all while his lips chased yours.

His hands gripped your legs tight, his fingers undoubtedly leaving indents in your flesh as he simultaneously tugged you closer and kept your dress from sliding too far up. Sparks of electricity flew everywhere your body touched his, leaving your entire body vibrating. The sounds of the music and the voices around dulled into a muffled buzz, your entire world view shifting to focus solely on Azriel.

Your skin was hot with want, flamed only by inconceivable stores of repressed emotions and desire breaking through the surface. You wanted to curl inside of Azriel and never leave. You wanted this moment to stretch for an eternity, bottling up the euphoria coursing through you and never letting it fizzle away.

One of his hands had migrated to your face, cupping your jaw in a way that you thought might have been reverence. The touch was so gentle compared to the firm grip his other hand still had on your thigh, guiding your body against his lazily as your lips melded with fervor.

Why had you never done this?

Well, you had once—

His teeth nipped your lower lip, making you gasp at the light sting before his lips latched onto the sensitive skin below your ear. Your stomach flipped, and your heart was pounding as he moved down the column of your throat, the drag of his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Someone bumped into Azriel, and the two of you careened to the side a bit, his grip tightening on you as a low growl rumbled from his throat. The floor still tilted beneath you even as he held you upright, and you blinked once, and then twice, willing the feeling away.

Then you were engulfed in darkness that was cool against your skin, and you were stumbling backward until your back met a wall. Azriel started laughing against your neck, his hands still holding your hips, and he was likely the reason you didn’t completely crash into the wooden wall behind you.

You started laughing too, vaguely recognizing that you were outside of Rita’s now, only the moon lighting the dim alley. The air was cool, but it only made you feel more flushed, more exposed now that you were alone with Azriel. 

Azriel resumed his kisses along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone as he slotted his thigh back between your legs. The pressure at your core was consuming, traveling upward in shaky tendrils that stole your breath and twisted your stomach.

There was a cacophony of sensations traveling through your body. Azriel’s hands on your waist. His lips on your neck. His whispers that sounded like “perfect” and “beautiful” but you couldn’t be sure because your ears sort of felt like they had been stuffed with cotton. The tension in your core that felt like a confusing blend of impending euphoria smeared with doom.

Your breaths started to grow faster, and fuck, it was really hot.

The world was spinning.

You gripped Azriel’s shoulders, and at first he sank further into you, his body melting into yours. Then your motions slowed, and your mouth was watering, and you must have pushed him back a bit, because his lips were no longer on your skin, and his hands were cupping your face.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing your face slightly to drag your eyes to him. You blinked, trying to focus, but the high you had been riding was crashing down fast, and your head was no longer blissfully floating. “Y/N,” he said, and you pulled your gaze back to him again. “Are you okay?”

He sounded worried.

Maybe you should be?

Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that last shot Mor gave you, or the one before that.

You might be really drunk.

You might—

You threw up.

Everything came rushing up, and you crumbled to the ground, knees hitting the stone hard with stray pebbles biting at your skin. You heaved, and heaved, expelling the monstrous cocktail of alcohol you had tossed down throughout the night.

Gentle hands brushed your hair away from your face, rubbing your back soothingly as you shook, irrational fear coursing through you. Maybe you were dying.

But eventually the nausea passed, and while your head still spun and your thoughts were covered in mud, you knew you were not, in fact, dying. You were just drunk.

Far drunker than you had ever been, but still just drunk.

You were also crying, but your tears were quiet and quickly wiped away by Azriel with gentle hushes. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, or maybe it sounded more like a whimper. Your throat hurt. You weren’t sure what exactly you were apologizing for, but you felt like it needed to be said.

“No,” Azriel choked out, wiping his thumb under your eye again. He swayed a bit, or maybe that was you. “My turn to take care of you, right?”

You closed your eyes, smiling a little, leaning your head back against the wall that you somehow had ended up sitting against. Your chest pulsed with warmth again, washing away the chill that had crashed inside you, and replacing the uncomfortable heat you had been washed in moments ago. 

Azriel lifted you, your body curling into his chest with ease. You hid your face against his chest, the thump of his heart calming your still racing one.

Azriel would take care of you.

You loved him.

~ ~ ~

a/n: I won't lie this part was a little hard for me to write because it felt it little bit like a filler but I needed it to get to the next part which I'm excited for!!

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he said quietly, still pretending to look at the gloves that neither of you would be buying.

“I have not seen your face since you dropped me on the terrace and then vanished into the night.”

“I did not vanish,” he argued, but his voice wavered. He finally met your eyes, and the wariness in his gaze only made you more exasperated.

You had spent the last four days torturing yourself with all of the possible reasons Azriel had disappeared. You had agonized over the very real possibility that your brief moment of foolishness in Windhaven had sent him right into the arms of his mate—because that was exactly where he should be.

You had nearly kissed him, and you knew he knew. He was the spymaster, for fuck’s sake. He was fluent in the art of body language. He knew you were about to kiss him in the middle of the kitchen of your pseudo-childhood home, and he pulled away from you. He pulled away, then ferried the two of you off to Velaris, and he disappeared. For four days.

Until now.

Because he wanted help buying Cassian’s birthday gift.

The slimy mixture of mortification, humiliation, and jealousy turned your stomach sour and your heart cold as you stared at the male across from you. Maybe it was hypocritical to be mad at him for the very thing you had done to him not long ago, but it felt justifiable at the time. It still did. You were acting out of self-preservation. Azriel—well you didn’t know what Azriel was doing, actually, which made it all the more infuriating.

“Will either of you be buying something today?” the female manning the merchant table asked pointedly, breaking you from your stupor.

You smiled at the female, fighting a wince at the irritation in her gaze. “Sorry, not today. Thank you for your time.” She pursed her lips in disapproval, and you hurried to add, “Your work is lovely.”

Azriel sent his own apologetic glance toward the female as he laid down the unfortunately ugly gloves, then he stepped around the table to grab you by your elbow and guide you away. You pulled away from his touch as soon as you were away from the disgruntled merchant, glaring at him. His hand fell to his side, curling into a fist. “We always buy Cassian a gift together,” he said.

“Not always.”

“Fine, for the last decade.”

“Well,” you said, voice tight, “things are different.”

Azriel reached for you again, pulling you to an abrupt stop in the middle of the market. “What does that mean?”

Sometimes you felt like you were losing your mind. You had been in love with him for over five centuries. You didn’t know it was love for that long—you didn’t really even let yourself consider it until much, much later—but it didn’t change the fact that it was love.

You had spent every night for the last couple of months replaying every memory you had with Azriel, trying to pinpoint when things changed for you. When did you fall for the male that was your closest friend? The soul-crushing truth was that there never was a change, there was never a shift that sent you toppling, because you loved him from the very beginning.

And it did not make sense to you how he could not feel even a fraction of what you felt for him, when you had lived through it all together.

Anger flared deep in your chest, smoking out the words tumbling around inside you before you could think them through. “Because you have a mate,” you snapped. “You should give Cassian a gift from you and your mate.”

Azriel might have tried to say something, but you didn’t stop. “Is that where you disappeared to? To be with her?” you asked, the center of your chest fracturing outward with every word. “Will she be there tomorrow? At Rita’s?”

The ache in your chest was somehow worse than it had ever been, so many clashing sources of heartbreak melding together into one messy and convoluted vat of poison. It was unfair. You should be able to shop with your friend for your other friend’s birthday without having an existential crisis over it, but this was too much. It was all just too much.

Azriel, to his credit, looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

Sometimes his oblivion to the heartache he had caused you, unintentionally or not, hurt worse than anything else.

“You have to be fucking kidding me—”

His hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm and unrelenting as his shadows swallowed the two of you whole. As soon as they deposited you on a familiar outcropping of the mountains overlooking the city, you shoved away from him, your fury building irrationally fast.

“Don’t do that,” you gritted through your teeth.

Azriel looked like he was at a loss. “I want to talk to you without the whole of the Velaris market square watching us.”

You stared at him, your arms falling to your sides. “You want to talk to me.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to talk to you.” His hand fell to his side, his wings drooping slightly behind him. “I don’t understand what is happening,” he said, and the quiet desolation in his voice made your heart twinge, despite everything.

“What do you mean?” you murmured, looking down at your boots.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped, his eyes wild with more emotion than he usually ever showed. Then his voice softened as he said, “Please. Please just—” He shook his head. “Things have been different,” he finally said, and all you could do was stare at him as your heart thundered against your chest, your mind racing to find a way to protect yourself from any more heartache. “Since that night at Rita’s, things have been different.”

You couldn’t stop the scoff that flew from your lips, though regret sliced through your chest at the wounded look on Azriel’s face. His throat bobbed as he stared off into the forest behind you. “Y/N,” he rasped, “I don’t know what I said.” He looked at you, and Mother, his eyes were glossy. “I don’t know what I did that night. I—I know I told you I have a mate,” he hurried to add, and the words seemed to feel like sandpaper against his throat. “I know that, but my shadows refuse to tell me anything else and, I just, I’m sorry if I said or did something—”

“You did nothing wrong, Azriel,” you cut him off quietly. As angry and hurt as you were, as much as you wished he had done something you could rationally hate him for just so it might dull some of this pain, you could not let him go on thinking he had done something terrible—not when all he had really done was find something everyone could only hope for. “You—” You swallowed hard, shoulders deflating as you forced the words out of your mouth. “You told me you found your mate, and you said nothing but lovely things about her.”

He looked like he didn’t believe you.

“I promise,” you said softly. “You had fun at Rita’s, and I helped you home, and you told your friend about something wonderful. That’s all.”

He stared at you for a moment, blinking slowly. Silence wrapped around you like a stiff blanket, scratching at your skin with every passing second. The sunlight beating down on your face was unseasonably warm. It felt wrong to be illuminated so brightly while Azriel grappled to tear apart the invisible walls you had desperately built between you. There was nowhere to hide.

Azriel stepped closer, and you hated the small hitch in your breath. You hated the way he noticed, and you hated that his steps faltered when he heard. You hated that there were mere feet between you, and he still felt worlds away.

“Why didn’t you visit my mother with me?”

Your eyes snapped to his, guilt sliding down your throat. “I—”

“And don’t lie to me,” Azriel cut you off, near pleading.

And what could you really say? That you were worried his mother would see your broken heart the second she set eyes on you? That you were worried you would have to endure his loving confessions about his long-awaited mate to his mother—his mother you loved and that you had known for centuries? That jealousy so potent and toxic would eat you alive and ruin anything that might still be salvageable of your friendship?

“I couldn’t.”

It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t explain anything, but it was the only thing you could say that was not a lie, and that was not as baring as the truth.

Azriel shook his head, looking up at the sky. “You know,” he said quietly, “I thought maybe things were okay, when you asked me to go to Windhaven.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, thinking about how there was never any question of who would go with you to Windhaven. You were selfish, and there was never anyone else that could have gone with you to that camp.

“And when you came to me that night,” he continued, his eyes slowly falling back to yours. He looked lost, and you hated it. He huffed out a sad laugh. “I was actually grateful that we were there. That things felt normal.” His nose twitched, and his shadows seemed to spread outward in agitation. “Then you were pissed at me again.”

You shook your head slowly. “It wasn’t you I was angry with,” you said quietly. “Not really.”

Azriel looked at you incredulously. 

You looked up to the sky. “Fine,” you admitted. “I was pissed at you for taking over.”  You were pissed that he felt the need, that he acted like it was his duty, to protect you from some self-righteous male. 

You were not his responsibility.

“I did not take over.” Azriel moved toward you, his boots stopping mere inches from yours, and you had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. “You can be pissed at me all you want, Y/N, I don’t care. No one will speak to you that way and get away with it.”

“I do not need—”

“I am always going to protect you!” His hands came up to cup your face, his gentle touch a startling contrast to the ferocity of his words. You stared at him wide eyed, his own gaze searching yours. “I told you that. You know that,” his voice softened exponentially, but his words were spoken with fervor. “I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care if it pisses you off. I don’t care. I’m sorry—” He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep before letting it out slowly. “You are the most important person in my life,” he said softly. Your eyes burned. “I will always protect you with my life.”

Your hand came up to curl around one of his that was still cradling your cheek. Your mind was racing with his words. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. A foolish, hopeful part of you wanted to consider that maybe—maybe he did feel the same. Maybe—

But you could not forget the terrible reality that he had a mate.

You loved him so much. It was intertwined with every fiber of your being and every thread of it throbbed with painful longing and hope that it might finally be recognized. Every thread was fraying with dread that it might never be tied off, that this love might be unmoored forever until you completely unraveled.

“Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, and you closed your eyes as his thumb grazed the top of your cheek. “You’re shaking.”

Your eyes flew open, and you suddenly pulled away, his touch falling away from your face abruptly. 

“Y/N—”

“I’m fine.”

You were not fine.

You had to get out of there.

“Wait, Y/N—”

You shook your head, your wings flaring out before you really even thought about flying. “I have to get Cassian a gift,” you muttered. Then you took off into the sky, leaving Azriel and your heart behind.

You shook off the tendril of shadow that clung to your wrist.

~ ~ ~

“And explain to me, Rhysand, why I should take this young female into my court?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you fought against the urge to lean against Azriel. Your muscles trembled from the weight of your exhaustion and dread that this disillusioned plan would all collapse around you at any moment. You could not appear weak in front of the High Lord, not if you wanted this plan to work.

You could stand on your own two feet.

Azriel’s pinky grazed the back of your hand, a gentle touch that could easily be an accident, but then his wing bumped into yours, and you knew Azriel was far too careful for accidental touches. You let yourself breathe in deep, let the comforting and familiar scent of Azriel wash over you as Rhysand argued with his father.

Rhysand’s mother stood a step back from him, but still in front of you and Az, watching their exchange with pursed lips. Rhysand and his father had been talking in circles, their voices growing louder and the room growing darker with every passing minute.

“I think that’s enough,” Rhysand’s mother cut in, without an ounce of fear in her voice. 

Rhysand and his father both went silent. Then his father’s eyes narrowed. “The boy must learn how to advocate for himself, Melina—”

“And he has, my Lord,” she agreed placatingly. She stepped closer, and Rhys fell back to stand beside you. “But this is ultimately my request of you. She is Rhysand’s friend, yes.” She glanced back at you with so much warmth and pity it made your stomach twist. “But she has no one. She is of no use in Illyria, no one who cares for her.”

Your eyes burned as her words lodged in your chest, the truth wrapped around them like barbed wire. Azriel stepped closer to you, his arm now nearly pressed against yours. The High Lord’s eyes fell to the two of you, and maybe you should have stepped away, maybe you should have moved closer to Rhys, but the thought of leaving Azriel made your head spin. So you stayed in place, with your arm pressed against Azriel’s, and his shadows licking against the back of your neck and hands.

“No one but us,” she continued, her voice softening, and it took everything in you to keep your tears at bay. “She is not safe in Illyria. Let her stay in the House of Wind. Let her work for me. I need the help.”

The High Lord was quiet for far too long. You desperately wanted to grab Azriel’s hand, but you didn't move. Instead, you waited, the four of you silent as you prayed to the Mother the High Lord agreed.

“Alright,” he said. “She can stay.” You were going to throw up. “But you are mine.”

He wasn’t looking at you. Your eyes slowly followed his gaze, slowly looking at the male standing still beside you.

“Father—” Rhysand started to protest, taking one step forward, but the High Lord cut him off.

“That’s my condition. You want her to stay here? Fine. She can stay. But so does he.”

“He still has to pass the Blood Rite,” Rhys argued.

“Fine,” the High Lord agreed. “You will finish your training, complete the Blood Rite in Spring, and then you will come work for me, Shadowsinger.”

This was insane. Azriel couldn’t sign his life away to the High Lord just because you asked for help.

“But father—”

“Okay.” Azriel stepped forward, his warmth vanishing from your side. “I agree, on one condition.”

“Azriel—” you and Rhysand both spoke at the same time. He glared at both of you.

The High Lord grinned. “In addition to her sanctuary here, you mean?”

You hated that he had yet to refer to you by your name, but you knew that, really, it was inconsequential compared to what your fate would be in Illyria.

“Yes,” Azriel said.

He was so large, standing in front of you. His leathers were stretched around muscles that lined his body, and his wings were wide behind his back that was ramrod straight, his head held high as he met his High Lord’s eye.

You weren’t children any more.

The High Lord waved his hand at Azriel. “Go on.”

“Y/N keeps her wings.”

You stopped breathing.

The High Lord raised his brows, but said nothing.

“Y/N stays here and works for the Lady of Night, and she keeps her wings.” He spared a brief glance at you, and when his eyes met yours, you finally released the breath trapped in your chest. “And I will work for you.”

An inexplicable warmth washed over you, working outward from the center of your chest, thawing the icy terror that you had been trapped in for the last 48 hours, even as you now feared for Azriel. You worried it was selfish to feel such relief when Azriel was practically signing his life away for you.

The High Lord smiled. “I accept.”

~ ~ ~

“We need to talk.”

You glanced at the male behind you, shaking your head as you focused on the training bag in front of you. You landed another punch, a heavy thud reverberating through the room. “Not now, Cassian.”

You heard his steps draw closer as you continued throwing punches, relishing in the dull ache blooming around your knuckles. The sun was just starting to rise, but you had been here for hours.

Cassian caught your fist before you could land the next punch, his face looking unimpressed. “Yes, now.”

You yanked your hand away, scowling at him as you shook your hand out. “What do you want?”

He raised his brows, a flash of amusement passing through his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Cassian. You're my dearest friend, Cassian. I’m so happy to celebrate another year of life with you, Cassian—”

You grabbed his shoulder quickly, your eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Mother—Cassian—”

Cassian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s okay, Y/N.” He pushed gently at your shoulder, knocking your hand away from his own. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Still,” you murmured, shame making your face warm. You looked down to start unwrapping the cloth around your hands, then you looked back up at him sheepishly. “Happy Birthday.”

He grinned, tugging you into his side. “Thank you.” Then he turned you toward the terrace, guiding you to lean against the cool stone railing not yet warmed by the morning sun. “Now, we need to talk.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

He leaned forward on his elbows, looking out over the city before glancing at you. “What’s going on with you and Az?”

You sniffed, rubbing at your nose as you looked out at the city, mirroring his position. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said pointedly, shifting his body so he faced you. “Why are things so damn awkward?”

Your face was hot now, and you wished you could pass it off as the sunlight hitting your cheeks. “They’re not,” you lied, terribly.

Cassian scoffed. “Y/N,” he said, unimpressed. You met his eyes warily. His eyes narrowed. “First, you avoided him for weeks. Then, there was the lovely dinner from Hell—”

Gods.

“—then you refused to visit his Mother—”

“He told you about that?” you interrupted, that same shame from when Azriel confronted you yesterday curdling in your stomach.

Cassian paused, seeming to think over his words before just saying, “Yes.” Then he kept going, “Then there was Windhaven, which we will also be talking about, by the way. Then he avoided you for days—”

So he was avoiding you.

“Then he apparently saw you yesterday, but walked into Rhys’s office like a storm cloud, and has been in a foul mood since.” He studied you quietly, and you knew he was leaving out every ounce of unbearable tension and awkwardness that had infused every minute between the events he laid in front of you. “So tell me,” he said, voice softening, “what happened?”

You could probably tell Cassian. You could probably cry, right now, in front of him on this terrace—on his birthday, no less—and he would not hesitate to try to pick up your broken pieces and find a way to glue them back together. He wouldn’t judge you.

But you felt too fragile to do that right now, and he deserved better than that on his birthday.

But he also deserved something, and maybe it would be nice to hand off just a piece of the weight crushing your soul.

“Do you know who his mate is?” you asked quietly, your voice as small as you felt.

Cassian was quiet for so long that you turned to look at him, and when you saw the painful understanding in his eyes you thought you might actually cry. “He hasn’t told me,” is what he finally says, looking back out over the city.

You chuckled weakly. “That’s not a no.”

His lips twitched. “It’s not a yes.”

“Cassian,” you said, staring at the side of his face until his eyes met yours again.

He sighed, leaning heavily against the balcony now. “I don’t know, no.”

Oh.

You bit your lip, not sure what you were expecting. You weren’t sure what you even wanted to hear. Maybe that he did know, and he hated her? Maybe that she was a terrible match and he didn’t know what the Mother was thinking?

You didn’t know.

“Nothing makes sense, if I’m honest with you,” Cassian said.

“What do you mean?”

He glanced at you. “I mean Azriel and his mate.” He tossed his hand toward you haphazardly, as if that cleared anything up.

“What?”

“I didn’t know he told you he found his mate.”

You blinked. You felt like he was talking in circles.

“Cassian,” you said, voice flat and tired. “We were all at that dinner.”

Cassian shook his head. “I mean before that.”

You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, well,” you said, “he did.”

His mouth twisted in thought. “Right. Surprising.”

“Cassian, what does this have to do with anything?”

He shrugged. “How long ago did he tell you?”

You threw your arms out. “I don’t know!” You did know. “A couple months ago? After Rita’s.”

He hummed. “Which is when things started to get tense—”

“Cassian,” you cut him off, your heart starting to race. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

Cassian immediately sobered, his expression turning serious. “Azriel found his mate over a year ago.”

You went cold. His words practically shoved you outside of your body, and you were floating just a few inches away from where you stood in front of him, grappling to reorient your already fractured reality to his words. “What?” you rasped.

Cassian shrugged, as if this was an entirely inconsequential detail. “He told me and Rhys a little over a year ago.”

You blinked. “So this entire time he—”

Cassian killed your words with a hard stare. “He what, Y/N?”

“I had no idea,” you said quietly. You had no idea things had changed so much sooner than you were even aware.

Yet they hadn’t, had they? Azriel never acted any different toward you. You were the one that made everything turn sour.

You frowned. “Over a year ago…we were at war,” you said slowly.

Cassian didn’t say anything.

“I thought he must have met her in Velaris, but—” You were going to be sick. “Oh gods, is it Elain?”

Cassian whipped his head to you. “What?” he asked. “Are you insane? Elain is mated to Lucien.”

You shook your head, all logic having been replaced with sick terror. “Mor then—”

“Y/N, for fuck’s sake,” Cassian said, cutting you off quickly. “It’s not Elain, and it’s not Mor.”

“You said you didn’t know—”

“Well I know it’s not them.”

“But—”

“I don’t know where or when he met her,” he said. “He didn’t tell us anything. He just…told us he had a mate. We were pestering him and he snapped, and then made us swear not to say a word because she didn’t know. That’s all, but I’m also not a fool.”

You scowled, recognizing his insinuation that you were a fool.

You were also tired of this conversation, and you were tired of the emotional whiplash. After a long beat of silence, you said, “Is it Nesta?”

Cassian growled, his eyes flashing with brief rage. You smiled, relieved that your jab landed successfully. His nostrils flared. “Enough.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward on the balcony again, letting your head droop. The two of you stood in silence for a while, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky as the sounds of the city slowly waking up washed over you.

Velaris had always felt like home.

Even that first night you crossed the city’s borders, clinging to Rhys and Azriel in mild terror, something settled inside you as soon as you were within the city’s limits. The air was cleaner. Fresh. It was still just as cold as Illyria, but it didn’t have that bitter tang that licked at your skin when you crossed the camp’s borders.

The air smelled like salt and jasmine. It was so unlike the stale and rotten air that wafted through Windhaven that, at the time, you could hardly fathom that a whole city full of faeries lived here. Now you were one of them.

“I heard about Windhaven.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders falling. You were tired. “Cassian,” you said, a warning, but he shook his head.

“I’m done talking about Az.”

You rolled your lip between your teeth and looked out over the city, taking in the soft and joyful life that pulsed through the streets. The stark contrast between here and an Illyrian camp was sometimes so jarring it made your bones ache. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not sure what else to say.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing once. “You saved that girl.”

You let out a bitter laugh, refusing to meet his eyes. “Right,” you said, “or I just made it worse for her after we left.”

“You didn’t.”

His words held so much certainty, you couldn’t help but turn to meet his gaze. Cassian wasn’t necessarily one for platitudes, but how could he know that for sure? “What?”

“You didn’t make things worse,” he said. “You saved her wings.”

“But how—”

“I’ve been to Windhaven every day since your return,” he explained, his voice unusually soft. Your eyes burned as he stared back at you with overwhelming sincerity. “I’m headed there after this. No one will touch her wings. They all know what will happen if anything happens to that girl—oh.”

You threw yourself into Cassian before he could finish his sentence, your arms circling him in a vice. He let out a soft chuckle before he quickly returned the hug, one hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “This is much nicer than, What do you want, Cassian? Not now, Cassian—”

You squeezed him harder. “Shut up.”

~ ~ ~

“I want to teach you how to fight.”

You barely glanced at Azriel as you slid another book back onto the shelf. “Me?” you asked, disbelieving.

Azriel followed behind you as you pushed the shelving cart further down the aisle. “Yes.”

“Why?” you asked, pointedly sliding another book back into place.

Why me? Is what you didn’t say. I’m a scholar. I’m the High Lady’s right-hand. I’m not a warrior.

“Why not?”

You ignored him, continuing on with your shelving duties—which, really, were not yours, but there was also no one else willing to voluntarily work in the library. At least, no one that the High Lord had authorized. You liked being here anyway, and the few librarians scattered throughout didn’t mind.

“You are more than capable.”

You hummed. “Yes,” you agreed. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

Suddenly Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, and he had you twisted around so that your chest was pinned to the book shelf. His point was clearly made, but still he didn’t move away. His body was pressed against yours, his chest grazing the base of your wings with every inhale.

His lips might have briefly brushed the shell of your ear before he said, “I’m serious, Y/N.” His grip on you relaxed, letting go of your arm that he had pinned behind your back, but he didn’t move away. “War is coming.” Which sounded very serious, but all you could think about was how his body was pressed against yours, and his breath was warm against your ear. Goosebumps pebbled along your arms.

Azriel pulled away, and you had to blink yourself back to reality before you slowly turned around to face him.

Your face was warm. Azriel seemed unaffected—serious and stoic as always.

“This city is meant to be impenetrable, I know, but—” He cut himself off, looking away.

“You’re worried,” you said quietly.

He nodded. His shadows slowly curled around your ankles, one gliding up your leg to then curl around your wrist. “If we go to war,” he said, voice hushed, “I won’t be here.”

Your stomach twisted. It had been years since you moved to Velaris, and years since Azriel had become the High Lord’s spy. Your time with Azriel was fleeting as it was. Stolen moments peppered over the years whenever he could slip away, but he has always been around. Sometimes months passed without talking to him, but you knew deep in your bones that if Azriel was worried about this war, it would happen, and he would be gone much longer than a couple of months.

“I just want to know that you’re safe,” he continued, as if he thought he still had to convince you. “I know it might be complicated for you,” he said slowly, gently, as if he was coaxing a timid animal. “Training, I mean. After everything that happened in Windhaven. But it would just be me, and—”

“That was a test,” you cut him off, realization washing over you.

Azriel’s mouth shut, his eyes wide.

“That—” You gestured between him and the bookshelf behind you. “You—you were seeing how I would react?”

Azriel looked only mildly guilty. “Yes.”

Irritation flared in your gut. He was right, of course. You had never spoken about why you never trained. You had never even told him outright that you didn’t want to, but the offer had always been there, unspoken, waiting quietly, and you never took it. Now Azriel was forcing you to confront it, and he knew fully well why you might be hesitant to let someone put their hands on you.

But Azriel had just pinned you to a shelf with his entire body, and not even a flicker of fear arose inside you. Fear was the last thing you felt.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel eventually said. You knew he meant it, but you also knew he didn’t regret it. 

“No,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek once as you contemplated his words. “You made your point. And you’re right.”

Azriel’s gaze was a mix of sympathy and worry. “I’m sorry—” he started to say again.

“I want to know how to fight,” you cut him off. His shoulders seemed to visibly relax at the words, and your stomach fluttered at the flash of pride you might have seen in his eyes. You weren’t doing this for him, though. You needed to be able to defend yourself. It was unwise as it was that you had gone this long in the House of Wind without learning.   

“But I also want to know how to hide,” you said, and his eyes glinted with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin when you added, “Like a spy.”

~ ~ ~

Your steps faltered as soon as you felt his presence. Your blade wobbled as it came down, losing its clean momentum from your misplaced footing. You growled in frustration, slashing the blade through the air once more before spinning around.

Azriel was standing there in the shadows, watching you quietly.

“What are you doing here, Azriel?”

He walked closer, the moonlight illuminating his face as he stepped into the clearing. He studied you for a moment, his eyes lingering on the sword in your hand. “You’re late for Rita’s.”

You glanced at the sky, your heart dropping when you realized just how far the moon had traveled. You had meant to leave at sunset. “Fuck,” you cursed. Your grip tightened on your sword as you ran a hand through your hair, cursing again when your fingers got caught.

“It’s okay,” Azriel said, voice soft. He moved closer to gently guide your hand away from your face, then smoothed a hand over your hair. He smiled softly when he pulled his hand away, almost hesitant. “Cassian won’t mind.”

You stared at him, taking in the way the moonlight illuminated the hazel of his eyes and glinted off the inky strands of hair that fell over his forehead. He was wearing a black button-up that clung to his body perfectly, molding the contour of his muscles with perfect definition.

You blinked, then shook your head. “It’s not okay,” you grumbled, taking a step back.

Cassian had just spent the morning of his birthday comforting you, letting you lean on him. The least you could do is show up to his birthday party.

“Y/N,” Azriel said, “It’s okay. They were only just leaving the River House when I left to find you. I told them I was picking you up.”

You frowned. “How did you know where I was?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, like the question amused him. “You weren’t hard to find.”

You tried to argue, wanting to point out that you were in a random clearing in the mountains, but Azriel silenced you when he stepped closer again. “You were sloppy,” he said, nodding toward the sword.

“I’m aware,” you snapped.

“You’re fighting angry.”

“I know, Az,” you groaned. “I don’t need the lecture right now.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said gently. He stepped even closer, the heat from his body pressing against your skin. “Lift the sword.”

“We’re late,” you warned.

“So what’s a few more minutes? Lift it.” He circled around you, moving so that he stood at your back. You waited a moment, but eventually lifted the sword again.

“Good,” he murmured. He was crowding your space now, his body brushing against yours. You could hardly breathe. “Lower your wings for me?” he asked softly, a low hum that reverberated through your body.

Your wings lowered.

Azriel’s arm covered yours, his hand enclosing yours that held the hilt of the sword. “Right now,” he said, practically talking directly into your ear. “You’re angry, and it’s making your movements messy, because that anger is radiating in every direction. Your body doesn’t know what to do with it.”

You swallowed hard, your breaths heavy as you let the truth in his words wash over you. You were angry. You had been angry for months, and sometimes it felt so loud and potent that it might just consume you. It felt like there was nowhere for it to go.

“I always taught you not to fight angry—but, really, that’s shit advice,” he said.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“You care too much to not get angry when you’re fighting,” he continued. You weren’t sure if you should be insulted, but then he said, “That’s not a bad thing, Y/N. Just channel it. Let that anger stabilize you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath when his other hand grazed the membrane of your wing, your body going still when that hand settled on your hip.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said quietly, his body also going still.

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, and you were sure he could hear it, but you nodded your head anyway. “It’s okay,” you told him breathlessly.

A beat of silence passed, then Azriel’s hand slid a little closer to your front, his fingers grazing your abdomen. “Direct that anger to your core,” he murmured. His tone had permanently dropped, a low lull in the delicate silence around you. His hand slid back to your hip, then pushed you to step forward with him. “Let that anger guide your movements. Don’t let it force them.”

The two of you stepped back, and his chest was flush with your back. “Now swing. Let your anger extend into your blade. Keep it sharp and defined.”

You closed your eyes for just a moment, taking a deep and steadying breath as you gripped the anger swirling through you. You imagined it as an anchor, locking your mind and body as one. You imagined it as sharp as the blade in your hand. You imagined it washing over your muscles, powering the force of your movements. You swung the blade in one of the most complicated moves you knew, the angles between movements sharp and defined with an elegance you had been reaching for all night.

You grinned as you finished, relief you had been desperate for settling over you. Azriel’s touch fell away, and you turned around to meet his eyes.

He was smiling too. “Now we can go to the party.”

Your grin only widened. “Thank you.”

Azriel’s smile then wavered, his expression suddenly sobering. “Y/N,” he said, “about yesterday—”

“Az—”

“I’m sorry.”

You stared at him. “You’re sorry? Az, you did nothing—”

“I did nothing wrong, so you’ve said,” he brushed you off. “But something is upsetting you,” he went on, voice gentle again. “And Windhaven—it was hard. I know that. And I wasn’t there for you when we got back, and so I’m sorry for that.”

You looked away, eyes falling to your boots, your toes mere inches away from Azriel’s. You shrugged a little, then finally met his eyes again. “I haven’t really been there for you that last couple of months,” you admitted quietly. “So I guess we’re even. Or, really, I still have much to make up—”

“We don’t do that,” Azriel interrupted softly.

“Do what?”

“Keep score,” he said. You felt warm all over as you stood under his gaze, relishing in the comfort of this male you had known and loved your entire life. Just his presence, without worrying about mates or relationships or boundaries that may or may not exist for the first time in months, was enough to quell the fury and despair that had been warring inside your soul for weeks.

You nodded, knowing he was right.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk about whatever is bothering you, I’ll be here to listen,” he promised. “But for tonight,” he said, a smile slowly stretching across his face again, “Let’s have fun and celebrate our friend.”

Your own smile didn’t quite reach your eyes as you half-heartedly joked, “Will you be getting as drunk as our last night at Rita’s?”

Azriel grabbed your hand, jostling it lightly between you before tugging you close again, his shadows already creeping in around you. “No,” he hummed, mirth in his eyes. “I think it’s your turn tonight.”

Your grin was real as you said, “I like the sound of that.”

~ ~ ~

You weren’t kidding when you told Azriel you liked his plan for tonight—specifically, you getting drunk.

He had taken you back to the House of Wind, and he waited for you to bathe and get dressed before taking you to Rita’s. You would like to think that his cheeks were tinged pink as he grabbed your waist because of you—because you were in a silken dress that shimmered in the moonlight and defined every curve of your body, and you felt good, for the first time in a while.

The two of you were silent as he pulled you in close by your hips, his chest lightly brushing yours before his shadows cocooned the two of you in their familiar embrace. Time always seemed to bend when you traveled through the shadows, warping around your body in a way that felt too fast and too slow all at once. The entire time your eyes were glued to his, his own gaze unwavering as he stared back.

You were in front of Rita’s before you could blink, and yet it felt like those seconds with Azriel’s hands on your body and his eyes stuck to yours had stretched into years. Your heart was racing again. It was becoming a problem.

You stepped back, breaking eye contact with an awkward cough. Your body felt far too warm in the chilled night air. Azriel’s hands fell away from your waist, and you took a second to smooth your hands over your dress, recentering yourself before walking into the crowded tavern.

Azriel watched you, and eventually you forced yourself to smile before meeting his gaze again. “Here we go,” you said with a grin that felt too tight on your face.

You didn’t wait for Azriel before you pushed through the door, the dim lighting and cacophony of music and voices disorienting at first. You scanned the room for your friends, and it wasn’t until Azriel placed a gentle hand on the small of your back and pointed toward a corner of the room that you found them.

He laced his fingers with yours before you could even take a step, guiding you through the sea of bodies. His skin was warm against yours, and you relished in the feeling of your hand in his. He pulled you closer to him when an especially tipsy faerie bumped into your shoulder, jostling the two of you.

Eventually you reached the booth everyone was crammed in, Cassian sitting on the end with a wide grin. You expected Azriel to drop your hand, but he only squeezed it tighter when the two of you stopped in front of the table. Your face was hot when Cassian’s gaze dragged up from your hands to your face.

His eyes were already glossy in the dim light, and empty glasses were scattered across the surface of the table. You hoped he kept his questions and observations to himself tonight.

He pushed up from the table, with Nesta stabilizing it frantically as he bumped the corner and glasses clattered together. Cassian didn’t notice, and he pulled you into him for a hug, effectively breaking Azriel’s hold on your hand. “You’re here!” Cassian cheered.

You laughed as your face squished awkwardly against his chest, his arm squeezing your waist on just the verge of too tight. “Happy Birthday, Cass,” you said again, even if you already saw him this morning. This morning felt forever ago anyway.

Cassian pulled back, his gaze set on the male behind you. He kept one arm around your waist before he reached for Azriel, tugging him into a clumsy hug that you were still held hostage in. The three of you were a mess of arms and wings, Azriel’s body half covering your own and Cassian held you both by one arm. 

Azriel would deny it, but he was smiling as Cassian hugged him. Even if he didn’t wait long before extricating himself from the messy embrace. You managed to break away too, your hands squeezing Cassian’s forearms once before falling away. “I’ll have to give your gift tomorrow,” you told him.

Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Az already gave me—” His words died as his gaze flicked behind you, and your neck felt hot. Cassian’s smile faltered, but you could tell he fought to keep it on his face, even if the alcohol running through him had eroded his already thin filter. “I can’t wait,” he said.

Your smile was tight, and you were ready to escape the awkward tension that had fallen over you. You locked eyes with Mor on the end of the booth, relief washing over you when she stood up. She grabbed your hand, immediately dragging you toward the bar as she declared it was time for more drinks.

She dropped your hand once you reached the bar, her gaze sympathetic as you gathered your bearings. You didn’t hear what she ordered as you took in the crowd around you, the floor flooded with dancing bodies and loud music. Mor handed you a glass of blue liquid, and you didn’t bother asking what it was before you tossed it back.

Which might have been a mistake, because it was foul.

You gagged, clanking the glass down on the counter. “Mor, what the hell was that?”

She also gagged as she downed her own, her class clinking against yours as she sat it down. “Disgusting,” she said, wiping her mouth. Then her eyes glinted. “But effective.” She waved toward the bartender ordering another round of something that hopefully didn’t taste like acid.

She leaned against the bar while you waited, her gaze flitting up and down before settling back on your eyes. “I figured it was that kind of night.”

You leaned against the bar next to her, your arm brushing hers as someone bumped into you. “Yeah,” you said with a weak laugh. “You could say that.”

Mor glanced toward the table with your friends. You followed her gaze, and your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met Azriel’s, who had taken Mor’s seat at the booth. His shadows were mostly hidden behind his wings, but a few stray ones pulsed to a slow beat. You averted your gaze, your skin feeling even more flushed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mor asked, and you were fairly certain she knew more than you had ever told her, just like Cassian, and Nesta, and probably everyone else around you.

“Nope.”

The bartender brought your drinks, and Mor handed you another glass, this time with a pink liquid. “This one is better, I promise,” she said, then clinked her glass against yours. “Let’s get drunk.” Then she tossed the liquid back.

You grinned, following her lead, relieved when the liquid was smooth and sweet. “Let’s dance,” you said, grabbing her hand as you sat the glass down, the two of you giggling as you pushed into the sea of bodies.

It was hot. So many bodies brushed against yours, so many faeries overheating the room as you all moved to the music. Song after song drifted over you, and Mor came and went with drinks in hand more times than you could count. Your blood felt fuzzy, your entire body vibrating from the alcohol coursing through your veins and the electric buzz that permeated the air.

At some point Cassian and Nesta joined you, periodically dancing with you and Mor when they weren’t entirely absorbed with each other. Your head was light and hazy, and you almost forgot why you had felt so heavy before.

Then a hand grabbed your waist from behind, familiar scarred fingers curling around the curve of your hip. You leaned back, your body connecting with a warm chest you knew better than your own skin. Your skin was hot and flushed, tingling all over as the scent of salt and cedar and something so uniquely Azriel enveloped you.

Your head lulled against him, your body moving against his in time with the music. His other hand settled on your other hip, and you let him guide your body however he saw fit. Your heart was racing and your stomach was fluttering, and you never wanted this feeling to end. You never wanted Azriel’s grip on your body to fade, and you never wanted another male to touch you like he was now. You wanted him to claim you in this crowd of people. You wanted everyone to know that you were his.

You wanted everyone to know that he was yours.

Azriel had always been yours.

Your hand came up to curl around the back of his neck, pulling his face down to meet your gaze. You had to tilt your head back to see him, but Mother above, he was everything you ever wanted. He was the most beautiful male alive, and you wanted him so much it hurt.

Why did it have to hurt?

You turned around to face him, his hands never leaving your hips. Your chest grazed against his, and you met his eyes as he continued guiding your bodies together in a dance that was for the two of you alone. Your eyes never left his, his own eyes glossy in the lights streaming across the room. He had a lazy smile on his face that made your stomach flutter, and when he tugged your body closer you sucked in a sharp breath.

“Azriel,” you murmured. In the back of your head, you thought it should have been a warning, but really it was a plea.

Your arms looped around his neck as his thigh slotted between yours, and you thought you might die when your core grazed the rough fabric of his pants. The hem of your dress was undoubtedly rucked indecently high, but you didn’t care. You just wanted more. You wanted everything.

Azriel slowly ground your bodies together in a rhythm that you thought might have loosely followed the music, but it was hard to tell. It was hard to think of anything other than the building pleasure low in your belly and Azriel’s hands on your waist and his breath against your cheek. You guided his head up with your hand splayed on his cheek, and when he met your eyes he looked like he might devour you there in the middle of Rita’s.

It was exactly how you had always wanted him to look at you.

You wanted him to want you. You wanted him to forget about anyone else that might think they had a piece of his heart, because Azriel was yours.

Azriel’s tongue briefly wet his lips, and you didn’t think before you pushed yourself up on your toes to capture his lips with yours. 

And he kissed you back.

Your head was floating, possibly completely detached from the rest of you. You weren’t entirely sure you were even still inside your own body, except for the feeling of an undeniable warmth that flooded through your chest. Azriel’s hands slid from your hips to the back of your thighs, his fingers curling around the hem of your dress and tugging it down, all while his lips chased yours.

His hands gripped your legs tight, his fingers undoubtedly leaving indents in your flesh as he simultaneously tugged you closer and kept your dress from sliding too far up. Sparks of electricity flew everywhere your body touched his, leaving your entire body vibrating. The sounds of the music and the voices around dulled into a muffled buzz, your entire world view shifting to focus solely on Azriel.

Your skin was hot with want, flamed only by inconceivable stores of repressed emotions and desire breaking through the surface. You wanted to curl inside of Azriel and never leave. You wanted this moment to stretch for an eternity, bottling up the euphoria coursing through you and never letting it fizzle away.

One of his hands had migrated to your face, cupping your jaw in a way that you thought might have been reverence. The touch was so gentle compared to the firm grip his other hand still had on your thigh, guiding your body against his lazily as your lips melded with fervor.

Why had you never done this?

Well, you had once—

His teeth nipped your lower lip, making you gasp at the light sting before his lips latched onto the sensitive skin below your ear. Your stomach flipped, and your heart was pounding as he moved down the column of your throat, the drag of his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Someone bumped into Azriel, and the two of you careened to the side a bit, his grip tightening on you as a low growl rumbled from his throat. The floor still tilted beneath you even as he held you upright, and you blinked once, and then twice, willing the feeling away.

Then you were engulfed in darkness that was cool against your skin, and you were stumbling backward until your back met a wall. Azriel started laughing against your neck, his hands still holding your hips, and he was likely the reason you didn’t completely crash into the wooden wall behind you.

You started laughing too, vaguely recognizing that you were outside of Rita’s now, only the moon lighting the dim alley. The air was cool, but it only made you feel more flushed, more exposed now that you were alone with Azriel. 

Azriel resumed his kisses along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone as he slotted his thigh back between your legs. The pressure at your core was consuming, traveling upward in shaky tendrils that stole your breath and twisted your stomach.

There was a cacophony of sensations traveling through your body. Azriel’s hands on your waist. His lips on your neck. His whispers that sounded like “perfect” and “beautiful” but you couldn’t be sure because your ears sort of felt like they had been stuffed with cotton. The tension in your core that felt like a confusing blend of impending euphoria smeared with doom.

Your breaths started to grow faster, and fuck, it was really hot.

The world was spinning.

You gripped Azriel’s shoulders, and at first he sank further into you, his body melting into yours. Then your motions slowed, and your mouth was watering, and you must have pushed him back a bit, because his lips were no longer on your skin, and his hands were cupping your face.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing your face slightly to drag your eyes to him. You blinked, trying to focus, but the high you had been riding was crashing down fast, and your head was no longer blissfully floating. “Y/N,” he said, and you pulled your gaze back to him again. “Are you okay?”

He sounded worried.

Maybe you should be?

Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that last shot Mor gave you, or the one before that.

You might be really drunk.

You might—

You threw up.

Everything came rushing up, and you crumbled to the ground, knees hitting the stone hard with stray pebbles biting at your skin. You heaved, and heaved, expelling the monstrous cocktail of alcohol you had tossed down throughout the night.

Gentle hands brushed your hair away from your face, rubbing your back soothingly as you shook, irrational fear coursing through you. Maybe you were dying.

But eventually the nausea passed, and while your head still spun and your thoughts were covered in mud, you knew you were not, in fact, dying. You were just drunk.

Far drunker than you had ever been, but still just drunk.

You were also crying, but your tears were quiet and quickly wiped away by Azriel with gentle hushes. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, or maybe it sounded more like a whimper. Your throat hurt. You weren’t sure what exactly you were apologizing for, but you felt like it needed to be said.

“No,” Azriel choked out, wiping his thumb under your eye again. He swayed a bit, or maybe that was you. “My turn to take care of you, right?”

You closed your eyes, smiling a little, leaning your head back against the wall that you somehow had ended up sitting against. Your chest pulsed with warmth again, washing away the chill that had crashed inside you, and replacing the uncomfortable heat you had been washed in moments ago. 

Azriel lifted you, your body curling into his chest with ease. You hid your face against his chest, the thump of his heart calming your still racing one.

Azriel would take care of you.

You loved him.

~ ~ ~

a/n: I won't lie this part was a little hard for me to write because it felt it little bit like a filler but I needed it to get to the next part which I'm excited for!!

You couldn't sleep. You had been tossing and turning, staring out the window for what felt like hours now.

The hazy effects of the wine you’d had at dinner had long since faded, leaving only a restless energy beneath your skin.

Well, restless and horny.

Your mate had worked you up all evening without even realizing it. The soft, absentminded caresses of your back and shoulders whenever he passed behind your chair. The gentle way he would rest his hand on your thigh beneath the table, giving it a lazy squeeze every so often.

His sweet kisses pressed to your temple. His genuine attentiveness—always making sure you were comfortable, that your wine glass stayed full, knowing precisely when to switch it for water before you’d had too much. Keeping your plate filled with all the little things he knew you loved most.

He was just so perfect. And you loved him so much.

You had loved Azriel long before either of you knew what the bond between you truly was.

You’d met before Rhys went Under the Mountain, when Azriel had been sent on some mission to the Summer Court, your home. You had been visiting a friend near the palace when someone barreled into you from behind hard enough to send you sprawling. You’d landed badly on your arm, the sharp pain immediate and blinding.

The poor male had looked stricken. Truly horrified. He had insisted on escorting you all the way to the healer’s cottage himself, hovering like a silent shadow the entire time, refusing to leave until the healer declared the break clean and easily mended.

Taking pity on the beautiful, guilt-ridden stranger, you’d informed him the only proper way to make amends for breaking your arm was to have dinner with you and your family.

Reluctantly, and with a suspicious narrowing of those hazel eyes, he’d agreed.

Eventually, friendship blossomed where neither of you expected it to. Azriel began finding reasons to return to the Summer Court. Then reasons for you to visit Velaris. Rhys and Cassian quickly became like brothers to you, welcoming you into their circle as if you had always belonged there. Azriel never once asked Rhys for special favors, but Rhys had always suspected something deeper lingered between you long before either of you were ready to see it.

It was after Rhys was trapped Under the Mountain that the bond finally snapped into place.

In the midst of fear, grief, and helpless waiting, you and Azriel found solace in one another. Pain forged what fate had already begun, tempering it into something unbreakable.

And maybe it was because he was grieving. Maybe because the walls he’d built around himself were too exhausted to stand. But for the first time, Azriel truly let you close.

He let you love the parts of him no one else saw. The quiet, gentle pieces hidden beneath the deadly reputation of the Night Court’s spymaster. The tenderness in him. The softness. The sensitivity he guarded more fiercely than any secret.

You loved all of him equally.

Azriel adored you just as deeply. The newness of being mates had never worn away, even after all these years. You were still just as enamored with each other as you’d always been. He was your best friend, your better half, everything you could have ever asked for.

But gods, did he keep you worked up.

The intimacy between you had never been anything less than devastatingly perfect. Equal parts worship and ruin.

You rolled onto your side and looked at him now as he slept peacefully beside you. Thick dark lashes brushed against his cheeks. His full lips were slightly parted, his handsome face stripped of its usual tension and vigilance. He looked younger when he slept. Softer.

Your mate was so unfairly pretty.

You loved looking at him—always, if you were honest. But especially like this, when he was asleep and couldn’t tease you relentlessly for staring. Though, truthfully, you quite enjoyed when he did that too. Being teased by Azriel was equal parts torment and reward.

Your gaze traced slowly down the sharp line of his jaw, where the faint shadow of stubble had begun to grow in. Along the strong column of his neck. Across the broad expanse of his chest and the sculpted planes of muscle that had no business looking so sinful in moonlight.

The dark swirls of his tattoos beckoned you, winding over golden skin like promises meant only for your eyes.

A soft sound nearly escaped you as you clenched your thighs together, your gaze catching on the small script over his heart.

Your name.

The tattoo that had appeared the night you accepted the mating bond. Not carved by hand nor inked by needle, but etched into his skin as when fate itself had marked him. Elegant script over the place where his heart beat strongest, a vow written in flesh that he would love you beyond breath, beyond death, beyond the final beat of his immortal heart.

Even now, seeing it made warmth bloom in your chest.

You were carried with him always. Into battle. Into sleep. Into every quiet breath he took.

Azriel sighed softly in his sleep, the sound drawing your attention from the broad planes of his chest down the hard lines of his stomach. Moonlight traced every sculpted ridge of him, and your mouth nearly watered at the sight.

You could wake him. You could climb over him right now, sink down onto him, and take exactly what you wanted. He had told you often enough to do just that.

The memory of his deep voice, rough and breathless in your ear as he made love to you, played through your mind.

"I’m all yours, baby. Use me. Love me. Take me whenever you want me…whenever you need me."

Your gaze wandered back up his body, lingering on the powerful lines of his arms and those rough, beautiful hands. Dark tattoos curled around corded muscle, veins tracing beneath golden skin. Even in sleep, there was strength in every inch of him.

Your breathing grew heavier as the scent of your own arousal filled the room.

Still, you didn’t want to wake him. Your sweet mate had been working himself ragged lately—long nights, early mornings, sent to Windhaven for training more often than not. You missed him terribly, but you knew he needed every scrap of rest he could get.

So when his tongue darted out in sleep to wet his lower lip, your resolve shattered.

Slowly, carefully, you slid your panties down your hips and legs, tossing them onto the floor beside the bed. Your fingers slipped between your thighs, finding yourself slick and aching.

You ran your fingertips through your folds, coating your clit before circling it gently. A shaky breath escaped you. It felt good, good enough to make your back arch, but not enough.

You had been spoiled for decades by your mate’s thick, calloused fingers. Your own touch never quite compared.

As you continued stroking yourself, your eyes landed on his large hand resting beside your hip.

Fuck.

You needed it.

Gently, trying not to wake him, you lifted his hand and guided it between your thighs. You pressed his fingers where you needed them most, using your own hand to move them through your wetness.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feel of his rough skin against your most sensitive places.

You were just beginning to find a rhythm that might finally send you over the edge—rubbing his middle finger over your swollen clit with the perfect amount of pressure—when his fingers twitched.

Then slid deep inside you.

Your eyes flew open. Panting, you turned to look at him.

Azriel still appeared peacefully asleep beside you, lashes resting against his cheeks, expression calm. Yet his fingers were buried knuckle-deep inside you.

A helpless whine escaped as you rolled your hips, trying to coax movement from him, trying to make him hit that spot only he ever seemed able to find. Your own hand returned to your clit, circling quickly as you rode his fingers.

Pleasure built fast, hot and relentless.

Then he gave the slightest curl of his hand inside you.

You shattered.

Your mouth fell open, unable to hold back the soft cry that spilled free as pleasure rushed through you.

The mattress shifted sharply beside you.

Azriel jolted upright, instantly alert, eyes sweeping the room before landing on you as if checking you were unharmed.

His dark hair was tousled from sleep, lips swollen and soft. It took him only a heartbeat to understand what he was seeing.

His gaze moved over your flushed face, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the rise and fall of your chest. Then lower—realizing his hand was no longer resting at your waist where it usually stayed while he slept.

A low sound rumbled from deep in his chest when he found his fingers still buried inside your trembling body.

Experimentally, he curled them deeper.

You gasped.

His groan answered you.

“What’s this, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep as he slowly withdrew his fingers. You whimpered at the loss, and a smirk touched his lips. He brought those same fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them as his gaze darkened over your body. “Just for me?”

Your cheeks burned.

“I needed you,” you said, reaching for him with a pitiful pout.

Immediately, he moved over you, covering your body with his own. The delicious weight of him pressed you into the mattress, and you felt how hard he already was against your thigh.

He brushed his nose along the side of your neck before pressing a soft kiss below your ear.

“Poor girl,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

He kissed your pout, then drew back to frown down at you.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of my mate.”

His hands slid up your sides, pushing your nightgown higher as they went.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” you said seriously, catching his right hand and pressing a kiss into his palm. “I wanted you to rest. I’m sorry for waking you. I should’ve gone to the bathroom.”

He frowned harder at that.

“Don’t ever hide from me. Not for anything.” His voice softened, but the intensity in it made your chest tighten. “I hate being gone so much. You’re all I think about when I’m away.”

He brushed his knuckles over your cheek.

“You waking me in the middle of the night for time with me is never something I’d refuse. Whether it’s to talk, to hold you, for you to boss me around…” His mouth curved wickedly. “Or for whatever wild little thing you were just doing with my fingers.”

You covered your face with both hands, mortified.

Azriel laughed softly and pulled them away, threading his fingers through yours before pinning your hands above your head. He crawled closer until every inch of him surrounded you, then kissed you slow and sweet.

“I love touching you,” he murmured against your lips. “Even in my sleep.”

His hazel eyes held yours, molten with affection and heat.

“Don’t insult me by denying yourself something I’m more than happy to give you. I’ve already told you that.”

Warmth flooded your chest at the look on his face, the love there so open it nearly stole your breath.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs hooking around his hips as a smile curved your lips.

“Then I suppose,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “you’re going to have to remind me just how much you love touching me.”

Azriel went still for half a heartbeat, hazel eyes flashing with something hot and possessive before a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“Is that so?” he murmured. “My sleepy little thief steals from me in the dark, then gets demanding when she’s caught.”

You tugged him down by the back of his neck, smiling against his mouth. “I’m your mate. It’s hardly stealing.”

A low laugh rumbled from his chest. Gods, he loved his mate. And Cauldron help him, you knew exactly how to make him weak in the knees. Waking to the feel of your tight warmth wrapped around his fingers, using his hand to chase your own pleasure, had nearly undone him on the spot.

His wicked little female.

Azriel moved over you with practiced grace, shedding the last of his clothing before reaching for the hem of your nightgown. He peeled it slowly over your head, tossing it somewhere into the darkened room without care. His gaze swept over your bare body, open admiration written plainly across his face.

“Beautiful,” he said, voice rough with sleep and want. “Always so beautiful for me.”

Heat climbed your cheeks, but he gave you no time to answer.

He bent to your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. His mouth trailed lower, down the line of your neck and across your collarbone, lingering over the swell of your breasts. He groaned softly as he took one nipple into his mouth, tongue circling it with maddening precision while his scarred hand slid between your thighs.

You gasped, back arching as his fingers found the slick heat waiting for him.

“There she is,” he murmured against your skin. “So ready for me.”

His fingers drew slow, rough circles over your swollen clit, the callouses on his hands sending pleasure skittering through every nerve in your body.

“Azriel—”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed between your breasts, then lower. “I know exactly what you need.”

He moved down your body, kissing a path across your stomach. When he reached your belly, he paused, nuzzling there affectionately, almost reverently, before pressing one soft kiss to the skin. The tenderness of it made your chest ache.

Then he breathed warm air over the place you needed him most, and every coherent thought vanished.

“I need to taste you,” he growled.

Before you could answer, his tongue swept through your slickness in one long stroke. A deep groan tore from him at the taste of you, like it was something he could never get enough of.

Your fingers buried in his dark hair instantly, tugging hard enough to earn a pleased sound from him. He looked up at you from between your thighs, hazel eyes dark and hooded, mouth shining.

The sight alone nearly sent you over the edge.

“Gods,” you breathed.

“That’s right,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Look at me.”

He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. Your legs trembled around his shoulders.

“I need you inside me, Az.”

The words came out broken, needy, and Azriel swore under his breath. Who was he to deny you anything? Especially this.

He kissed his way back up your body, leaving your skin flushed and sensitive in his wake. When he reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Then he settled between your thighs, broad shoulders fitting there like they belonged nowhere else.

His arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. You glanced at them immediately, at the flex of muscle, the elegant swirl of tattoos disappearing over powerful forearms.

Azriel caught you staring and smirked. He knew exactly how much you liked his arms. You’d told him enough times.

So, being the arrogant male that he was, he flexed them for you.

Your lips parted. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, dragging the blunt head of himself teasingly along your entrance, “you’re soaked for me.”

He nudged against you once, twice, making you squirm.

“Azriel.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just enjoying how pretty my mate looks when she’s impatient.”

You reached for him, nails scraping lightly down his back. “Stop teasing me.”

That breathy plea shattered whatever restraint he had left.

His teasing expression softened into something molten and hungry. He bent to kiss you once—slow, deep, claiming—before guiding himself inside you in one steady thrust.

Both of you moaned at the same time.

He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, forehead dropping to yours as he fought for breath.

“Every time,” he whispered hoarsely. “Every damn time, you feel like the first.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, legs locking around his hips. “Then stop talking,” you murmured against his lips, “and show me how much you missed me.”

Azriel caught the challenge in your voice, and something heated flashed through his gaze.

“Careful what you ask for, sweet girl,” he murmured.

Then he moved.

The first slow roll of his hips stole the breath from your lungs. He held himself over you on those powerful arms, every line of muscle flexing as he set an unhurried rhythm that felt designed solely to ruin you. Each measured thrust dragged a gasp from your lips, each retreat making you chase him helplessly.

“There you are,” he said softly, watching every expression that crossed your face as though it were something sacred. “Missed this look on you.”

You could barely form words. “Azriel…”

“I know.” His mouth found your throat, kissing the spot beneath your ear that always made you shiver. “I missed hearing my name like that too.”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding the place that made your body tighten instantly. The contrast of his rough touch and the tenderness in his eyes nearly undid you.

He always knew exactly how to touch you. Exactly how to take you apart and hold you together all at once.

The room filled with the soft sounds of breath and whispered praise. Azriel never stopped speaking to you when he loved you like this, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he missed you, how perfectly you fit him, how he thought about you every night he was away.

You clung to him, nails dragging lightly across his back as pleasure built hot and relentless inside you.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice roughening. “Let me have it, baby. Let me feel you.”

Your body trembled beneath him. He dropped lower, bracing on one forearm while the other arm flexed beside your head, bicep taut beneath your grasp.

When release finally crashed through you, you cried out and bit down on his bicep to muffle the sound.

Azriel groaned low and deep at the sensation, the sound vibrating straight through you. Instead of pulling away, he pressed closer, letting you hold onto him however you needed while waves of pleasure rolled through your body.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your temple, kissing there gently. “That’s it.”

Your legs tightened around him, body still trembling.

The feel of you coming apart around him was what finally shattered the last of his own control. He buried his face in the curve of your neck with a broken sound, arms tightening around you as he found his own release, holding you so close it was hard to tell where one of you ended and the other began.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then Azriel lifted his head, hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes heavy with satisfaction as he glanced down at the mark blooming darkly across his bicep.

A slow, smug grin spread across his face.

“You bit me.”

You buried your burning face against his chest. “I did not.”

He huffed a laugh, wrapping an arm tighter around you before lifting the marked arm into the moonlight like evidence.

“This says otherwise.” He admired it shamelessly. “Think I’ll need to get this tattooed. Memorialize the best morning of my life.”

“It is not morning,” you mumbled into his skin.

“Feels like it.” He kissed the top of your head. “Waking up with my mate using my hand to make herself come, then leaving me a pretty little mark while I finish the job?” He gave a thoughtful hum. “Best way I’ve ever woken up.”

You groaned and tried to hide deeper against him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me.”

He tipped your chin up just enough to kiss your pout away, smiling against your lips.

𓆩✴𓆪 Content Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content (including consensual and non-consensual elements), graphic violence, trauma, and other mature themes. Some scenes may be disturbing. Please proceed with care.

𓆩✴𓆪 This is a slow-burn narrative. The protagonists do not meet immediately, as the opening chapters focus on worldbuilding and character development.

𓆩✴𓆪 For visual content and additional updates, you can also follow the story on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/338587318-a-court-of-fallen-heroes-azriel-x-oc-acotar

𓆩✴𓆪 Part I is currently being revised. So far, the Prologue and Chapters 1–2 have been edited.

When you returned to the temple the following day, for some reason you expected to be defrocked. To be stripped of your priestess title. Yet no one said a word. Azriel must’ve somehow masked his scent on you, because no one mentioned it. 

So you continued about your day as per usual. As usual as usual could be anyway, given the soreness between your thighs and the memory of Azriel’s…

You were in the temple, for Gods’ sake! Certainly not the time to be thinking about it. Trying your best to shove all unholy thoughts away, you continued with your duties for the dawn service.

Booking a confessional would be a good idea. After all, you did have to confess your sins…no, you wouldn’t dare. Getting defrocked was one thing, having to speak out loud of all the things Azriel had done to you was another. Your cheeks flushed at just the thought of it, how were you expected to tell someone about it? 

The dawn service began. But as your eyes scanned the pews, your shadow of a male wasn’t seated in his usual bench in the back. So you waited for the dusk service. Yet he wasn’t there either. 

No, no, no. He was so sweet to you just the night before, you refused to think that all he’d wanted from you was your virginity, to break your celibacy. You had to be more than a game to him. 

So you waited for him. But soon five days had passed and you hadn’t seen or heard from Azriel. 

However, on the sixth evening, you spotted Azriel in his usual seat, eyes on you like always, as if he never left. You were momentarily distracted from proceedings, but managed to school your expression and look away, despite feeling his eyes on you. 

But as soon as the processional was over and everyone started to file out, even before you could approach Azriel, he approached you. You could sense his presence before you even saw or scented him. You opened your mouth, unhappy, ready to speak, but he was faster. 

“I’m sorry. I was called on a mission before I could tell you.”

Some of the ice in your eyes melted. “Oh.” 

Amber eyes found yours, searching. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that. I even meant to check up on you, but…” 

“It’s okay. Just try to tell me next time, okay?” Next time? Was there going to be a next time?

Azriel nodded and looked as if he wanted to reach for your hand, but remembered his surroundings and refrained. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, softly. 

Speaking neared, and Azriel took a step back just as another priestess drew open a curtain separating the back of the temple from the nave. She glanced at him but said nothing, only walking right past the both of you to attend to something else.

You glanced at the altar behind you, reminding both yourself and the male before you what needed to be done. He gave you an acknowledging nod and stepped farther back.

You wanted to be mad at him. Wanted to show him that you had been upset with him for disappearing without a word, especially after that. But as he mentioned, he was on an impromptu mission. Plus, he apologised. 

A thought materialised in your head. What if he was lying, and he wasn’t on a mission? Would he have done that to avoid you? Why would he have been avoiding you? Did you do something wrong? Did he not like you as much as you thought? 

You didn’t give yourself the satisfaction of turning around to glance at Azriel, to assess him. Instead your fingers curled around the silver candlestick with more force than you intended, the cold metal details pressing into your palm. 

Stop thinking about it, you berated yourself, storing the candlestick in the box by the altar to be moved off and cleaned later. However, it wasn’t easy to stop thinking about when you could feel his gaze on your back, watching and waiting patiently. 

You tidied the altar of used items and offerings, taking longer than you normally would to get some time to yourself before Azriel invaded your thoughts again. Stalling. 

When you turned around, Azriel was immediately by your side, your satchel already hanging off his shoulder. “Let me walk you home,” he insisted gently. 

And you knew you couldn’t say no. 

Azriel picked up something for you to eat on the way back, his feet following the familiar route back to your little flat by the Sidra. He did genuinely feel bad for having to leave like that, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. 

He could tell you weren’t entirely happy with him. If it was any other female, he wouldn’t have bothered. But you…no, not you. He’d figure out how to fix that later. 

Eventually, the both of you reached your flat. 

“Would you like to come in?” You asked politely once the door was unlocked, your hand resting on the handle. Azriel didn’t fully expect your offer, yet gladly accepted it anyway. He’d be a fool not to spend more time with you. 

Shadows shutting the door after you, Azriel watched as you set your satchel on a chair. He tucked his wings in, careful not to bump into anything. 

“Tea?” you offered. 

“No, thank you.” 

He glanced around, taking in the simple furnishings of your house. A woven rug under a low wooden table, with an overstuffed sofa behind it. A shelf with well-worn books, candles, and little potted plants, and an altar near the window. 

Azriel pinned his gaze onto you again. “You’re still upset.” 

“I’m not…” you shook your head, “upset.” 

Taking a few steps closer to you, Azriel coaxed, “No? Look at me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You raised your eyes to meet his for a moment, then turned your head away. Only for your jaw to be caught by his fingers and tilted back to face him. Your breath hitched at the light contact, lips parting as you looked at him. 

“I already told you I was sorry,” Azriel said. “What more do you want me to do?”

Reassurance, that was what you needed. But you couldn’t just tell him that, could you? Your gaze wandered again, this time landing on the wrist of his hand that was still holding your face. Atop the black leather straps securing his siphons was a string of beads. A string of beads you recognised, with it being the same blue…the same stones as the ones on your previous religious necklace, which you recalled clearly the moment when Azriel had snapped it. 

He had kept the beads and was now wearing them around his wrist. Looking up, you found Azriel studying you, eyebrows raised in question. A hint of that teasing grin he liked to give you returned. “Do you like it?”

You did. You liked it well enough to not tell him off for the misuse of such holy stones. You did nothing but bite the inside of your cheek, but Azriel could see your answer in your eyes. 

He chuckled. “I’m glad you do. Did you get a new one? I’m thinking of starting a collection…” You were wearing one, but it was concealed by the high neck of your robes. Azriel carried on, hazel eyes glinting, “If you don’t have a new one, I suppose I could make you one. A different kind.”

Your throat worked with a swallow. “What?” The word came out too breathy for your liking. 

“Would you wear it?” Azriel asked, his fingers trailing over your collarbone hidden by the robes, his touch so light you could barely feel it over the fabric that suddenly seemed too thick, too hot. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said slowly, eyes staying on his face as you held onto your innocent facade. 

“I think you might, little priestess.” A scarred finger ran across your neck—then reached past the neckline to hook around the new blessed necklace that lay there. Azriel hummed, satisfied. 

He tugged on it lightly and you, you were going to faint if he kept this up. “Azriel…”

“Yes?” he taunted. He had you right where he wanted you. “What is it? You can tell me.”

Briefly glancing at his lips, a silent, heavy exhale left your own. Remembering how they felt against yours just a few days ago. Remembering how they felt against…other parts of your body. Your core clenched involuntarily, no doubt the scent of your arousal strong enough for Azriel to notice.  

“You know,” he took a lazy step closer, his long fingers closing around your neck and squeezing lightly, “if you want something, all you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t…”

“Don’t you? Are you telling me that if I reached into your panties right now, you wouldn’t be soaked?” Shadows curled upwards along your ankle as if wanting to test it out for themselves. 

Your fingers trembled. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to lie, didn’t know how to admit something that made you unclean. From your lips slipped another word. “Please.” 

“Please, what?”

You shook your head. 

“It’s okay. You can tell me. Unless you don’t need anything…” 

His grip loosened around your neck, but before he could step back, you blurted out, “Please kiss me.” 

“Are you sure? I thought you were so pure, my little priestess. I wonder what changed that.” 

You tilted your head towards him and parted your lips in response. His large hand moved from your neck to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lips before pushing into your mouth and resting on your tongue. Heat bloomed in your cheeks, which only worsened when he ordered, “Suck.” 

Azriel watched, eyes darkening as your lips wrapped around his thumb and he felt the suction of your mouth. Your soft tongue wet with saliva…he pushed his thumb further until your lips were at the base. He’d like to try that mouth on something else later. He’d teach you just how to pleasure him. 

The thought made his grin sharpen. Meanwhile, you only continued to look at him with your wide, innocent eyes. 

“That’s my pretty girl.” Azriel pulled his thumb from your lips, quickly covering your mouth with his before you could complain. 

Initially it caught you by surprise, but you quickly moulded your mouth to his, parting your lips when he did, sighing contentedly when his tongue pressed against yours. His other hand reached up to cradle your face, his gentle hand at odds with the way he kissed you. 

You missed it. Missed having him to yourself like this, not that you’d admit it. Even if it did only happen once. And it was…wrong, but he made it feel so right. Like you were meant to fit so perfectly with him. You almost didn’t even feel bad for it. 

Yet nipping at the back of your conscience was a small voice telling you to stop, not to taint your body, your mind any more, but you ignored it. You’d done it once. There was no going back from there—plus, how much further was there to go? You couldn’t sin more than you already had. 

Another hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing and pulling you closer to Azriel’s body while he kissed every thought from your head. You could feel his grin against your lips when your hands tightened in his hair, your body giving in to his with each stroke of his tongue. 

A low chuckle pulled from Azriel’s lips when he noticed your thighs clenching, and he leaned back slightly just to part your lips from his. At your pout, he planted a brief kiss on your swollen lips before asking, “Do you want more?” 

Hesitance returned to cloud your mind. But with the way Azriel held you, with the way his pupils were blown wide looking at you…his exhale that fell upon your wet lips was the push you needed, and so you nodded. 

A kiss on your neck. “Words, baby.” 

“I want more,” you admitted softly. 

Then a wolfish grin appeared on Azriel’s face. “I know.” 

His wings flared slightly, almost in triumph, as his mouth slanted over yours without giving you a moment to breathe. Both his hands slid to your bottom, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs and arms wrapped around him almost shyly, though the way you kissed him was most certainly not. 

Despite never being in your flat before, he found your room easily, sitting on your bed and making you straddle him. His shadows took delight in undressing you, tugging on the sash of your robe, pushing the sleeves off your shoulders and down your arms, exposing flushed skin to the cool air of the room. As the shadows continued to disrobe you completely, a single tendril toyed with the thin strap of your chemise. 

While you held his face in both your hands, both of his own moved to your hips, pressing you down so that your sensitive core was flush against his length. You bit down on your lip, stifling a gasp at the friction. 

Azriel hummed. “You always make me so fucking hard, baby.” His large hands shifted your hips to grind against him, drawing a shaky exhale from your parted lips. “Feel that?” 

You nodded, almost wanting to take his hand and let him feel just how he turned you on too—but not finding the courage to do so. His hands continued to guide you as you kissed him, and eventually you got used to the motions, your grinding getting messier and needier the longer he took. Your mind was a haze of feeling him everywhere, it was so much, too much…it was heaven. 

Your hands were on Azriel’s shoulders to steady yourself as your hips kept tempo, but Azriel’s fingertips trailed over your shoulders, leaving a ghostly touch that might have been his shadows. With your head tipped back, you felt his lips on your throat next, feeling the press of his lips and the slight stubble, the wetness of his tongue drawing a line down the exposed skin. 

When he reached the base of your throat, he took the beads of your necklace between his teeth and tugged. “Should I break this one too?” 

“Azriel,” you chided softly, a weak warning. 

A contemplating yet dismissive hum reverberated in this chest as he tugged at the necklace again, then let it rest on your warm skin. For now. 

Need continued to build inside of you, overpowering your timidness to make you raise Azriel’s jaw and claim his lips for your own. Heat flared in him at your action, his low groan against your lips contributing to the mess in your panties. 

“Please,” you whined out. Around the fabric of his shirt your fingers were curled tight, ready to help him out of it as soon as he permitted you to do so. 

“Please, what?” He slid a strap off your shoulder. “You have to tell me what you want, baby.” 

“Please, I need you.” The other strap slipped off your shoulder. 

“What is it you need me to do?” 

You answered with movement instead of words, grinding down on him hard enough to make the both of you exhale shakily. 

“Actually,” Azriel mused, “I have an idea.” 

“Hm?” That caught your attention, head tilting at him promptingly. 

Dark amusement swirled in those hazel-gold eyes of his as he pulled you off of him, paying no mind to the damp spot that darkened his trousers where you were pressed against him. You moved with him as he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes on you as he commanded, “On your knees, little priestess.” 

Your eyes widened marginally, your prayer posture now tainted by this sinful male. 

At your hesitation, Azriel raised a brow in mock impatience. “Go on. How easily you kneel for your gods. Am I not one of them?” 

Heat rose inside of you, colouring your cheeks as you got off the bed. Azriel stood as you slowly sank to your knees, making him seem more imposing before you. His shadows rubbed up against you, cold unlike the hot pressure beneath your skin. 

Azriel’s touch was gentle yet firm as he rested a hand on your head. Now you were eye level with the tent in his trousers and the wetness you left there. Here you could scent his arousal, thick and heady. You glanced up at him, and your innocent eyes alone were enough to set him on edge. 

“Would you like to prove your faith?” asked Azriel. “We’ll need your mouth—but not to pray. Now, you made this mess. Clean it up.”

“What?” Scepticism seeped into your voice, despite the desire soaking through your panties. 

“Use your mouth.” Azriel threaded his hand in your hair and pulled you closer. 

So you pressed your tongue to his trousers, the material slightly coarse—not that you were paying attention to that, when you could taste yourself and feel how Azriel strained under the fabric. 

His fingers tightened in your hair slightly. “Eyes on me.”

Raising your eyes, you dragged your tongue up his clothed length, watching as his gaze darkened and his sensual mouth titled into a wicked smirk. “Good girl. You always kneel so willingly at the altar.”

You succeeded more in dampening his trousers with your saliva, but Azriel was eventually satisfied with your work, pulling your head back while he unfastened the buckle of his belt. You watched, fascinated, as his sturdy hands worked, remembering how they felt inside of you, wondering how they’d feel against your tongue… 

Meanwhile, Azriel freed himself, wrapping his fist around his girth and giving himself a few strokes before pressing his tip to your lips. “Open.”

Nervously, you parted your lips, tongue slipping out to taste him. Azriel allowed you a few tentative licks before saying, “Wider.”

When you obeyed, you earned yourself another low rumble of “good girl”. An unfamiliar but not unwelcome weight settled on your tongue as Azriel pushed your head down on him gently. Your hands came up to his thighs to ground yourself while he pushed in until you could feel him at the back of your throat, but not deep enough to make you gag. 

“Take it easy, pretty girl.” The hand that wasn’t in your hair was wrapped around himself for some sort of pressure. He didn’t want to break you in so wholly, or at least not yet, for now content to let you suck on the crown of his cock. 

Still, you wanted to give him more, to pleasure him the way he did you. Ignoring his light guidance, you began to move, trying to take as much of him as you could and causing you to gag. Azriel made no move to stop you however, keeping his hand in your hair even as tears welled in your eyes.

“There you go– good fucking girl, fuck.” He was trying his best not to thrust up into your mouth, letting you set the pace, despite wanting nothing more than to absolutely ravish you—he’d do that later. 

The shadows tugged your chemise down, exposing your sensitive breasts to greedy phantom hands. The fabric pooled at your hips, sure to be discarded later. 

Despite trying his best to restrain himself, Azriel couldn’t help but push your head down on him, feeling himself hit the back of your throat. You spluttered around him, drawing back with a wince to inhale. He would’ve apolgised if he was sorry. Your lack of experience, as always, only made him want to ruin you further. 

“You were taking me so well, come on, you can do it,” Azriel encouraged. He leaned down slightly to wipe stray tears on your cheeks with his free hand, while your hands remained braced on his strong thighs.

Then you took him in your mouth again, keeping your eyes on him, watching each expression of pleasure flick over his striking features, hearing each low groan and shaky exhale falling from his lips over the wet sounds you were making. Easily, Azriel undid the buttons on his shirt, letting it fall open and to the floor to reveal the chiselled muscle of his abdomen. You found one of your gaze wandering down, eyeing the panes of his chest and stomach eagerly. 

Looking to the side, Azriel found a mirror facing your bed. Standing between the mirror and your bed Azriel could see fully you kneeling before him, like you did to pray. He liked you on your knees very much. 

A line of spit connected your wet lips to Azriel’s cock when he pulled you off of him, his hand closing around his length and using your saliva to jerk himself off. “Gonna cum all over your pretty tits,” he said, voice deep. 

You just blinked up at him, hands now resting on his hips, your tongue still out as if waiting to taste him. “Holy fuck–” with a low groan that caught in Azriel’s throat and twitching wings, warm ropes of white spurted over your collarbones and chest, landing on your purple devotional beads. The spot in between your legs throbbed as if in response to his pleasure. 

“Oh, pretty girl,” Azriel chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you how to properly suck my cock so I can cum down your throat next time. Though I can’t say this isn’t a sight…”

His crude words simultaneously brought heat to your cheeks and your lower body. Your chemise fell to the floor as Azriel helped you to your feet, his lips tilting up at the sight of your painted décolletage. 

He undressed and did a quick sweep of the room while his shadows urged you to back up on the bed, a wicked glint lighting his eyes when he caught sight of something. Leaning down, Azriel reached for the sash of your robe and pulled it free. 

“What are you doing?” You were leaning back on your elbows as he got onto the bed beside you. 

Azriel tugged the blue ribbon taut between his hands. “Do you trust me?”

Your tentative nod earned you an encouraging smile from the male—as encouraging as it was roguish. “No peeking, little priestess.” It did little to settle you, but it was the anticipation that made it all the more exciting. 

You tensed when the sash was secured to cover your eyes, but Azriel’s hands ran down your body reassuringly. “If at any point you feel uncomfortable or don’t like what you’re feeling, you tell me. All right?” At your nod, Azriel prompted, “Words.”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” 

Now lying down on the bed, you could feel the mattress dip as Azriel moved, seemingly reaching for something on your nightstand. A matchstick being lit sounded. His shadows curled around your wrists, pinning them down to the sheets that had warmed underneath you. 

The room was quiet, except for the sound of your breaths and Azriel’s movements. While waiting, Azriel gathered his release on your chest with his fingers, further smearing them across your devotional beads. Then he paused, hands leaving you. Drawing it out and taunting you with the silence and the lack of vision. Then the first breath of melting wax rose, a warm, rich amber. 

Suddenly, a sharp sting of heat landed on your chest, making you gasp and curl your fingers. “Azriel, what…” 

Hot wax dripped on your breasts, each drop making your breath hitch. It was quickly followed by the touch of fingertips gently tracing the edges of the cooling wax, feeling it harden against your skin. “You’re doing so well, baby,” came a deep murmur. 

Against your legs swirled the rest of his shadows, the cooling phantom touch contrasting the heat of the wax on your skin, making you dizzy and grounding you simultaneously. 

Azriel took his time, forcing you to wait between each drop of hot wax on your chest, while soothing shadows continuously swirled around your calves and thighs. The anticipation only served to heighten your senses, your breath catching as if if you were quiet enough you’d be able to hear his next move. 

You were just getting used to the heat when Azriel paused. He chuckled when your back arched off the bed. “Patience.” 

Instead of wax, warm hands touched your skin, slowly tracing the edges of the cooled wax before picking it off one by one. You weren’t sure how much of it remained—if any—when his hands left your body. 

It was silent again, except for the shifting sounds of Azriel on the bed. Then something that sounded like the pop of a cork? You weren’t sure. 

Then his hands were on your breasts again, groping them with something slick covering his palms… The curious scent of cinnamon-honey reached your olfactory senses.

“What a lovely little vial of anointing oil,” Azriel answered the question you never asked as he continued to massage it into your skin, strong hands grabbing at your body. 

“You can’t– you can’t do that,” you bit out despite the pleasant heat that spread through your body, unfurling beneath your skin under his touch. 

“No? Why not?” You shivered as he ran a thumb over your peaked nipple.

“I– Azriel,” you protested weakly, “that’s holy oil…” 

“Yes, I know.” His touch trailed down over your ribs, then back up until each of your breasts were cupped in his palms again. “You’re so beautiful. Look at these pretty tits…” 

A sudden slap landed on one of them, making your body jerk and your walls clench at the thought of being handled so roughly. Azriel could scent the spike of your arousal, because he huffed out a chuckle, asking, “Did you like that? Oh, little priestess, you’re fucking filthy.” 

At that his touch got rougher, not that you minded. The oil was warm from the heat of his palms, his skin gliding smoothly over yours.

“Tell me again how I can’t do this,” Azriel rubbed his thumbs over your sensitised nipples, “while you soak through your panties.” 

Your thighs clenched at his words, and you could feel the way your wet undergarments stuck to your skin. With one last slap, Azriel’s hands left your body, leaving nothing but slick anointing oil and the ghost of his touch. His shadows however, rushed over your body, caressing you eagerly. 

But through the cold swirl of shadows, a drop of wax landed on your skin again, eliciting a sharp intake of air from you. Your skin now oiled, the wax slid a little before cooling. 

“Do you like the burn, little priestess? Or the fact that it’s holy wax?” The next drop trailed a slow line in between your aching breasts, drawing a long, shaky exhale from you. “There?” Azriel asked quietly, “Or here?” A drop landed squarely on your nipple, sending a rush of heat through your body, and your breath caught. “Oh, do we like that?”

“Yeah…” your answer caught in your throat when another pulse of warm wax struck your other nipple. 

The room still smelt of amber as he set the candle back down only to pick up the vial of oil to slick his hands again before they landed on your hips. Rubbing the sweet scented oil into your warmed skin. Large hands began to leisurely slide over your abdomen, your stomach, your ribs, taking his own sweet time to feel you under his palms. Whispering praises. Watching your lips part in silent moans and your hips buck against air. 

His name left your lips airily when his hands reached your breasts and squeezed. Your skin was still pinched where the wax had hardened. Unhurriedly, Azriel started to pick the wax off your skin, which just meant his fingers dragging along your chest, lingering touches setting off sparks that made you feel warm again—even without molten wax. 

When his fingers reached your nipples, your back was once again arching off the bed to meet his touch. A soft chuckle pulled from the male who only pushed you back down. “Patience. I told you.” His fingers tugged and pinched at your nipples until the wax was fully flicked off and you were sure your panties were soaked through. 

The blindfold—your sash—was pulled off your eyes by shadows to reveal Azriel’s pupils blown wide as he gazed down at you. Your skin gleamed with oil, but his eyes gleamed with lust. Eyes that were kept on you even as he lowered himself, pressed his mouth to your hip, sucking and kissing his way up the same path his hands did. 

As his mouth reached yours, his shadows freed your wrists bound to the bed to let your arms wrap around him. This kiss was different from the one he shared with you earlier. This one was gentle, almost as if he was reverent with his kiss. But you were more than satisfied no matter how his lips were pressed against yours. 

“Took that so well, baby.” He planted another kiss on you. “I’m so proud of you. But I’m gonna teach you something else now, okay? You can still take it, can’t you?” 

“I can take it,” you assured, proving it by tilting your pelvis up to meet his, earning you a soft expletive. You smiled. 

“That’s my girl. My gorgeous, filthy girl.”

With one last kiss to your lips, Azriel leaned back, sitting up naked against your headboard. He patted his thighs and you obediently perched yourself on his lap, hands on his tattooed chest awkwardly. Behind him his wings were relaxed, resting on the pillows and draped across the white bedsheets. 

He was beautiful, of course. 

A lazy grin spread across his lips as he grabbed your chin in his hand, tilting your face to his. “Do you want me inside you?” 

You could feel the heat spread across your face at his direct question. “Y-yeah…” 

“Hm. You don’t sound so sure about that.” He brushed his thumb across your lower lip and your mouth parted without hesitation. He slipped two fingers between your lips instead, and you could taste the sweetness of the cinnamon-honey anointing oil that still clung to his scarred skin. “Such a good girl for me…” 

Why would you need blessing from the Gods if you had his praise?

When Azriel pulled his fingers away, his hand moved to wrap around his length, already leaking precum from the slit. Your tongue darted out to swipe across your lower lip as if you could still taste him; as if you could still feel the weight of his length in your mouth. 

“You’re gonna ride me, alright, pretty girl?” He released your hip with a squeeze. “Push your panties to the side, come on.” 

Your fingers fumbled with the flimsy material that was already soaked through with how worked up he had gotten you. Shyly, you tugged it out of the way. 

“That’s it, lemme see you.” The two fingers just in your mouth reached the spot between your spread thighs, and you let out a moan when he rubbed over your throbbing clit. “Holy Mother, fuck, you’re so fucking wet. You’re just craving my cock, aren’t you, little priestess?” 

You pressed your lips together, hips winding against his hand which was swiftly taken away. You opened your eyes to frown at Azriel, who raised a brow. “Use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me what you want.”

“Azriel,” you chided shyly—though it came out more of a whine. 

“Tell me, angel,” Azriel coaxed, covering your nipples in your wetness from his fingers. Your back arched into his touch. 

“Wanna feel you inside me, please, Az– Azriel,” his name fell from your lips in a desperate plea, the heat between your legs growing, making you buck your hips against air. “Azriel, please…” 

“Needy little slut,” he emphasised with a slap to your tits, making you gasp, your core clenching and lashes fluttering. “Oh? You like that? Fuck.” 

Azriel kept one hand on your thigh, his thumb pulling your panties properly to the side again as his other hand fisted his length. “Think you can take it, pretty girl?” He nudged the head of his cock against your entrance, taunting you. 

“I can take it, I can take it,” you assured him, canting your hips to rub against him. 

“Show me then.” Azriel pushed the tip into you—your fingernails then digging into his shoulders at the sudden intrusion—before leaning back. “Come on, little priestess, you can do it. Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me you can do it. I know you can.” 

You took him a little deeper, cheeks colouring in embarrassment. “Don’t say it like that…” 

“Like what? But that’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it?” His thumb kept your damp panties hooked to the side as his eyes landed on where the both of you were connected, where you were struggling to fit more of him. He chuckled, the sound rough with arousal. “Deeper, baby. You can do it. You’re so wet for me.” It was true—you were basically leaking down his thick shaft, making it shiny and slick and it should’ve been so easy to just slide down but gods he was so big–

“Deep breath, relax for me. It’s just a little more”—that was not a little more—”you can take it. If not I guess I’ll just have to do a better job at moulding you to fit me this time…” 

Your breath hitched as you slowly took more of him, feeling the slight burn at the stretch but knowing he was going to make you feel so good it’d be worth it. Also knowing you were going to make him feel so good. Is that what it was like to have power? It could get to your head, knowing his pleasure could be something taken away just as easily given by you. Maybe that was why you were always warned not to get greedy…

“Good girl, you’re almost there.” 

“Ah–” Your control slipped momentarily when his shadows rolled over your puffy clit. You were almost properly seated on his lap now, and you eased yourself down on the last inch, your bottom now flush with his strong thighs. 

Azriel grinned, giving your thigh a squeeze. “That’s my girl.” His hands wandered, one supporting you from the back as the other pressed on your lower stomach. “Feel me?” 

You nodded, grinding your hips down to feel more of him. Your movement drew both a moan from you and the male, who moved to hold your hips. His grasp was tight, fingers digging into your skin so he was able to grip you and guide you up and down without his hands sliding from the remaining anointing oil on your skin. Stifling noises between your bitten lower lip, you moved as he guided. 

“Don’t do that, let me hear you. Wanna hear your pretty noises, baby.” His fingers pressed deeper into the soft skin of your hips and he brought his knees up to help you a bit. “Use your thighs, come on.” 

You doubted you were doing it right—the angle was a little awkward for you and you weren’t sure at all what you were doing, but the way Azriel let out a breathy expletive encouraged you. And when his shadows pressed down on your clit, you clenched instinctively. 

“Holy gods– baby, do that again,” panted Azriel, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder. Rolling your hips and arching your back, you leaned forward, squeezing your muscles around him again. 

Slowly, you began to find your pace. You leaned back on your palms resting on the bed, thighs burning—but the feeling of him pressed up inside of you was too good to stop. Azriel watched, with reverence, the way you let the pleasure guide your body, lips parting around soft moans and eyelids falling shut. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, take your pleasure…” 

Having him provide you pleasure was one thing. Taking it for yourself was another. It made you greedy. Selfish. Things you used to try so hard to avoid being, but here you were, willingly giving in to the desires of the flesh. How could you resist when no pleasure had ever matched up?

Azriel’s hands slid up your sides before a sudden warmth closed around your nipple. “Oh…” your back arched into his ministrations, feeling a rush of warmth flood your body. He only hid a smile as he glanced up at you with a gentle bite on the little peak. 

While you kept your rhythm, Azriel took his time sucking your nipples stiff and painting hickeys onto your breasts and collarbones. Kissing the skin on which your prayer beads laid; tugging on them lightly with his teeth. 

Your senses were flooded, with the dizzying combination of arousal and the amber of the flickering candle, Azriel’s hot breath on your skin, and the feeling of him stretching you out so fully. The warmth, the pleasure began to crest, but it was too much for you to handle, unable to take what you so desperately needed on shaking legs at such a pathetic pace. 

He did notice that, of course, pulling back with a condescending chuckle that went straight to your clit. “Need help?”

“Yes,” you nodded, biting down on your lip in frustration, “Yes please…”

Scarred hands slid from your ribs to your hips, digging in to be able to get a proper grip on the still slightly oiled skin. The press of his fingers into your flesh was sensual, nearly bruising, but that was the last thing on your mind as he worked your body over his cock, shadows rushing in to help massage your aching clit. 

“Hold it,” Azriel commanded at the sight of your eyes rolling back and the feeling of you pulsing around him. “Wait for me.” 

It hardly helped you that he began to pull you down onto him faster as his hips thrusted up slightly to meet yours each time. The sounds of his deep groans and skin meeting only served to make you wetter, along with the fact he could so easily use your body…

In an attempt to stop your orgasm from so quickly approaching, you reached out to steady yourself—only to accidentally brush your hand along the exposed membrane of Azriel’s relaxed wing. “Fuckin’ hell–” 

Oh. So the rumours were true, then, that the wings were sensitive in such a way. You would’ve liked to slowly drag your fingers along his dark wings, find out which spots invoked the most pleasure or where he liked it—but now wasn’t the time, not when you were on the edge and your mind was so clouded. So you fixed your attention on that one spot under a bone, fingers gliding gently over, eliciting a drawn-out groan from the male. 

“Cum with me,” he ordered gruffly. His shadows kept their pace on your clit, stroking while he was hitting so nicely from the inside… “Five,” Azriel started to count.

“Four…three…” 

You clenched down on him. 

“Please,” mindlessly, the word slipped, “Faster.” 

“Two.” His grip on you tightened even further. 

“One.” On the last count, pleasure burst sharply across your body and senses. You thought you’d remember this feeling from the previous time, but your memory wasn’t even close to the real thing that drowned you in waves. 

You could feel Azriel throb and his release inside of you once you relaxed, and opened your eyes to find him with his head tipped back on the wall, eyes closed as he panted. With his neck so beautifully exposed, you couldn’t resist but to place your lips on his skin, tasting the saltiness of his sweat and earning a huff from him. 

Now loosely around your waist, his arms drew you closer, letting you rest on him. It was comforting, the rise and fall of his chest with the slow drags of his hand down your back. The two of you remained that way for a while. 

“You’re amazing. Took it so well,” he said, his fingers now on the nape of your neck and playing with your necklace. “How are you feeling?” 

“Good,” you mumbled into his warm skin, relaxed in his hold. 

He twined the necklace around a finger. “Do I get to keep this one as well?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ll wear it to the temple now.” 

“Shame,” he mused, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

You nod toward the vial. He doesn’t move.

“You need to sleep, Sanji.”

“There’s nothing else you can do?” His voice cracks and when he finally looks up at you, you see the look on his face.

He looks broken. Not just tired. Not just worried. Completely broken. 

“I-I did what I could,” you say, the words catching as your gaze drops to the table. You can’t hold his. “With what I had. I’m not a doctor.” Your fingers curl slightly against your lap. “And she needs one.”

Silence settles between you. The strange thing is you barely know him. You barely know any of them.

You met Sanji when he pulled you out of that wax prison on that godforsaken prehistoric island. Little Garden, they’d called it, like that made it any less of a nightmare. You hadn’t meant to end up there. Stowaway life never really went according to plan, but that time had been particularly bad.

You’d managed to sneak aboard a ship, desperate and running out of options. You were chasing a plant, a night-blooming flower rumored to grow only in extreme climates, its petals said to ease fevers and slow certain poisons if prepared right. You’d been tracking it for years. You were so close.

Mr. 3 had been closer.

He’d found you before you ever found the plant. Would’ve killed you, too, if you hadn’t talked fast enough, twisted the truth just enough to make yourself useful. Worth keeping. That was the problem, really.

He kept you.

Close. Chained. Always within reach. Days blurred into weeks inside that suffocating wax house. You stopped counting eventually. Hope slipped through your fingers slowly, until even the idea of being rescued felt ridiculous. There were moments where you thought it might’ve been easier if he had just killed you.

Then the door burst open.

Mr. 3 always locked you in whenever he left, so at first all you heard was a voice, different from the others you were used to. You thought you were imagining it. But then it came again. And you called out for help.

Sanji opened the door to find you exactly as you were: tear-streaked, shaking, chained to the wall like something forgotten.

“Hey,” he said, softer than anything you’d heard in weeks, stepping toward you carefully, like you might break. You were already crying harder, breath hitching, wrists raw and bleeding where you’d been pulling against the chains. You didn’t care how you looked, didn’t care about anything except the fact that someone was there.

“Hey, you’re okay.” He murmured, crouching in front of you. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

You still don’t know what it was.

Maybe the way his voice sounded so gentle and soft. Maybe the way his hands touched you when he freed you, when he wrapped your wrists, tending to your wounds. Maybe it was just that he came at all.

But you trusted him.

“Do you have a ship?” You’d asked, clutching at his shirt before he could even stand, fingers tangling in the fabric like if you let go he might disappear. “I-I have a Log Pose. Please– just let me come with you.”

You remember how desperate you sounded. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t even hesitated before letting you tag along.

That was how you ended up here.

You’ve met the captain, the swordsman, the navigator–

And the cook.

And now you’re sitting across from him in the quiet of the night, watching him fall apart over someone else. 

The silence stretches for too long. You don’t understand his relationship with the navigator, you’ve barely had time to talk to her before she collapsed on deck a few days ago. But from what the other girl, Vivi, told you, they’re close. 

You try to get a grip on your feelings, but they slip through your fingers anyway. The bitter taste of jealousy settles at the back of your throat as you force it down. Sanji saved you, after all. It makes sense to feel attached to the person who pulled you out of something like that. You think. 

He exhales shakily, dragging a hand on his face.

“There’s gotta be something you– we can do.” He murmured. “I can’t just sit here, she– she’s burning up, a-and I’m– I’m making tea.”

You don’t know what to say. You’ve given Nami some of the last of your analgesics, but you’re just a botanist. You’re no doctor. You’re not even sure what even happened to her.

“If something happens– if she–” He cuts himself off, breathing hard. You watch his hand curl into a fist, knuckles whitening. “I should’ve noticed sooner,” he says, quieter now. “I should’ve paid attention, I–”

You don’t think. You just reach out, your fingers closing gently around his hand, coaxing it open. He doesn’t resist. His palm is warm, tense under yours, and you trace slow, absent circles against his skin with your thumb, grounding, steady, offering what little you can when words feel useless.

There’s nothing you can say that would reach him right now. So you don’t try.

“I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracks. “If she doesn’t get better–”

The rest dissolves into quiet, uneven breaths as he bows his head, shoulders starting to shake, like he’s trying to hide it even now.  You’re moving before you can realize what you’re doing.

Your chair scrapes softly on the wooden floor and you step around the table, wrapping your arms around him. Sanji hesitates before giving into the hug, burying his face on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer, almost desperate, shoulders shaking with his sobs.

His fingers bunch into the fabric at your back as his shoulders shake harder, the restraint he’d been holding onto finally slipping.

Your breath catches for a moment, but your arms tighten around him instinctively, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, the other sliding along his neck.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, lips brushing lightly against his hair. “I’ve got you.”

He exhales against the fabric of your cardigan and pulls you tighter.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of his skin. Your hand moves slowly against his back, something to anchor him while he falls apart.

You stay like that a while, letting him get it out, feeling the tension leave him little by little until the shaking eases and his sobs soften into quiet sniffles. Even then, he doesn’t let go right away, just holds onto you, and you almost get lost in the warmth of his body, in how easy it would be to stay like this.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t try to hide his face. With another sniff, he lets out a weak, wet laugh, lifting a hand like he’s going to wipe at the tears that soaked into your cardigan.

“Sorry,” he says, like he can brush it off if he says it lightly enough.

You smile, soft and sympathetic, tugging your sleeve down over your hand before reaching up to gently wipe the remaining tears from his face, careful and unhurried. “Don’t be.”

The moment lingers, quiet and close, before you shift and sit beside him on the bench, the space between you smaller now as you push the mug of tea toward him again.

“You need to rest, Sanji.” You murmur.

He nods, but doesn’t move to drink it.

You sigh softly and lean your head against his shoulder instead, not pushing, not insisting… just staying there, letting the weight of it say what you don’t.

You’re not going anywhere.

…

“Hey,” Sanji says softly.

You inhale sharply, eyes snapping open as you straighten at your desk, disoriented for a moment as sleep clings stubbornly to you. You blink a couple of times, rubbing at your eyes as you try to place yourself, your surroundings slowly settling back into focus.

Oh, yeah. The Going Merry. On your way to Alabasta.

“What happened?” You clear your throat, thirst settling bitterly on the back of it.

“Nothing,” he says with a small smile, a quiet breath of laughter slipping through his nose as he leans against the doorframe, relaxed, like he’s been standing there a while. “You missed dinner.”

“Oh.” You stretch where you sit, arms lifting over your head until your spine pops, the stiffness from sleeping hunched over making itself known all at once. “Sorry.”

Your lab is still tiny, barely bigger than a supply closet, but it’s yours. Between the cluttered desk, the scattered notes, and the bundles of drying herbs hanging wherever you managed to find space, it already feels lived in, and with the medicinal plants Chopper brought aboard, you finally have enough to keep yourself busy again: tinctures to refine, ointments to test, combinations to try and fail and try again.

“Don’t be,” he says, his gaze drifting over to the room, to your open notebook and scattered tools and supplies. “You’ve been locked in here all day.”

“I didn’t mean to.” You stand up and brush your lab coat, just to have something to do with your hands. “I just… like to feel useful.”

Sanji takes a step towards you, but still keeps his distance.

“You are useful,” he replies, like it’s obvious, like it doesn’t need to be said twice. “Chopper’s been talking about your work non-stop. You’ve got him excited.”

You laugh softly. “Well, I’m glad.”

There’s a moment of silence between you both, and for a second you don’t know where to look.

“Come on.” Sanji says, breaking it gently. “Come eat.”

You suppress a sigh, shrugging off your lab coat as you follow him into the kitchen. A plate of creamy soup is waiting for you on the table, still warm, a faint curl of steam rising from the surface. The others have already eaten and retreated to their quarters or scattered across the ship, leaving the space quiet, just the two of you and the soft creak of wood beneath your feet. 

“It smells good,” you say, only to keep the silence from stretching too far. 

Sanji takes the seat across from you, and it reminds you too much of the night he cried in your arms. You clear your throat and reach for the spoon, dipping it into the soup just to have something to focus on.

He watches you, expectant, chin resting on his palm, those blue, ocean-deep eyes fixed on you with a softness that makes your chest feel a little too tight. A faint smile curves at the corner of his lips, and you try not to get overwhelmed by the attention, keeping your gaze on the spoon as you bring it up.

“It’s really good,” you say after taking a sip, savoring the slight tang.

“You like it?” He asks, the question coming out softer than you expect.

“Yeah.” You smile, already dipping your spoon again, taking another sip before the warmth fades.

Sanji watches you for a moment longer, like he’s making sure you mean it, before pushing himself up from his seat to grab his own plate. When he sits back down across from you, you frown slightly, the realization settling in a second too late.

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

He pauses halfway through settling into his seat, like he’s been caught doing something he didn’t think you’d notice, then shrugs it off easily, reaching for his spoon.

“Was waiting,” he says, like it doesn’t mean anything.

“For what?”

Sanji doesn’t answer right away, just starts eating, a little slower than you expect, like he’s buying himself time. When he finally glances up at you, there’s a faint smile there, something quieter than usual.

“For you,” he says.

Your cheeks warm instantly, your heart skipping several beats, your chest tightening as something soft and unsteady settles there, your stomach fluttering in a way you’re not prepared for.

“Oh.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intend, and you look away quickly, hoping he won’t notice the heat creeping up your face. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He insists, and when you glance back at him, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips..

For a moment, the silence stretches, but it’s not awkward anymore, it’s comfortable. You try to focus on your food, on the warmth of the soup, on anything that keeps your mind steady, but your attention keeps drifting anyway, catching on the way his sleeves are rolled up, the line of his forearms, the quiet precision of his hands as he eats, the way his lips brush the spoon.

“Don’t tell the captain,” he says after you finish your food, gathering his and your dishes, and bringing them to the sink. “But I made dessert for you.”

“For me?” you ask, pointing lightly at your own chest.

He just nods, already moving, pulling two small bowls from the fridge and a couple of spoons from the drawer. There’s something almost careful in the way he sets everything down, like he’s pretending it’s casual when it isn’t.

Sanji places the chocolate mousse in front of you, and you just stare at it for a second.

It’s beautiful. It smells rich, sweet without being overwhelming, and you already know it’s going to taste amazing.

You look up at him, a little stunned despite yourself.

“You made this?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Wasn’t hard.”

“No, of course it wasn’t.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You can make anything. It’s just… you don’t usually make dessert, so…”

Sanji glances at you, his gaze softening before he shrugs one shoulder, lowering his eyes to his mousse like it suddenly requires all his attention.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says softly.

You frown slightly, caught off guard. “For…?”

He exhales, like he’s steadying himself, then looks back up at you.

“For that night,” he says, quieter now. “For being there for me when I was… breaking down.”

“It was nothing–”

“No,” he cuts in, not harsh, but firm enough to stop you. “It meant– it meant a lot.”

His voice falters just slightly on the last words, and for a second he looks like he might say more, but he doesn’t.

You hold his gaze a moment longer than you mean to, something warm and uncertain settling in your chest, before you look back down at your spoon, turning it slowly between your fingers.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say quietly, softer than before. Then you smile, adjusting your posture, ready to taste the dessert.

You dip your spoon into the mousse, the texture giving smoothly. When you bring it to your lips, it melts almost instantly, rich and soft, just sweet enough to linger without overwhelming, and you can’t stop the small sound that escapes you.

Sanji notices. Of course he does.

His chin rests back on his palm as he watches you again, quieter now, like he’s waiting for your verdict all over again. You’re lost in the sweetness of the dessert, eyes slipping closed for just a second, when he says it.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes snap open, widening as the words hit, catching you completely off guard, and you almost choke on the mousse.

“W-what?” You cough lightly, setting the spoon down as you try to recover.

Sanji freezes for half a heartbeat, like he’s only just realized he said it out loud, his posture shifting as his hand drops from his chin.

“I–” He huffs a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly a lot less composed than he was a second ago. “I mean–”

You stare at him, heat rushing to your face again, your heart picking up in a way that feels impossible to hide now. He glances away, then back at you, something stubborn flickering through the embarrassment.

“You are,” he says, softer this time, but no less certain.

“Sanji…” Your heart is beating far too fast, your chest tight with it. “You– you can’t just say that.”

He frowns slightly, genuinely confused. “I can’t?”

“Nami… she’ll kill you, then me, if she ever hears you saying things like that.”

Sanji blinks, pausing for a moment like he’s trying to make sense of what you just said, and then shakes his head, even more confused than before.

“You think I’m with Nami?!”

Oh, shit. Judging by his reaction, you might be completely wrong.

“...No,” you start, then immediately falter, your voice losing all conviction as heat rushes to your face. There’s a brief pause, and when you glance up, an amused smile slowly starts to curve at his lips. “I-I mean, you– you were devastated when she got sick– you climbed a mountain in a blizzard for her, I just… I thought…”

Your words trail off into nothing, cheeks burning as the realization settles in.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your voice coming out smaller than you mean it to as you look away.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, and for a second it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment, your cheeks still burning.

“She’s just a friend,” he says, reaching across the table until his fingers brush yours, then settle there. “I’d react the same if anyone else in the crew got sick.”

You glance down at his hand over yours, then nod, a little too quickly, trying not to think too much about it. But deep down, you’re… happy. You’re happy he isn’t with her and you’re happy he thinks you’re beautiful.

You suppress a grin.

“Even Zoro?” You narrow an eye at him, teasing.

He pauses, like he’s genuinely considering it, his thumb shifting slightly against your hand.

“…Debatable.”

You snort, the tension easing just enough to let the sound slip out, and when you look back up at him, there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips too.

“Did you mean it, then?” You ask hesitantly. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he says, without missing a beat, his thumb brushing lightly against your hand, “and so intelligent, and… kind, in a way you don’t even seem to notice. You take care of everyone without making it a big thing, like it’s just… natural to you.”

You still, your breath catching slightly as he keeps going, quieter now.

“And I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he adds, eyes on yours. “And I think you make this place better just by being here.”

Your chest tightens, the words settling somewhere deep, and you don’t know what to do with them, your fingers curling slightly under his touch.

He doesn’t look away. You do, because his adoring gaze is something you’re not used to. It’s kinda overwhelming really, but in a good way.

“Well.” You swallow, trying to dissolve the awkwardness. “Thank you. For the food and– everything else.”

Sanji shrugs again, like it’s nothing.

“Do you like the mousse?”

You hum, letting go of his hand and picking up the spoon again, ready to take a bite from the dessert once more.

“It’s perfect. I love chocolate. In all forms.” You smile at him. “For future reference.”

He laughs softly. 

“Noted.”

After you finish your dessert, Sanji gathers the dishes and brings them to the sink, rolling his sleeves up a little more as he turns on the water. You stay where you are for a second, watching him without really meaning to, the steady movement of his hands, the quiet strength in his arms as he works the sponge over the plates, the whole thing a little too easy to get distracted by.

Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re already on your feet, crossing the small space between you. You rise onto your toes, leaning in just enough to press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.

Sanji stills mid-motion.

He turns his head slightly to look at you, caught off guard in a way you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you stay there for a second longer than you probably should, your chin brushing against his shoulder as you balance on your toes.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice quieter now.

“You already said that, love.”

Your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Well… thanks again.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, softer than his usual grin, and for a second neither of you moves.

Then you step back, dropping back onto your heels, suddenly very aware of what you just did.

“I should–” You gesture vaguely toward the door, already turning away before you can finish the thought.

“Hey.”

You pause.

When you glance back, he’s still watching you, one hand resting against the edge of the sink, the other loosely holding the sponge like he forgot about it entirely.

“Anytime,” he says, quieter than before.

…

You’re sure he’s doing it on purpose now.

Every night, there’s a sweet treat waiting for you on the dinner table. Every night, after you finish work, you expectantly sneak into the kitchen to find Sanji already there, either in the middle of making something or waiting for you outright. If you take too long to leave your lab, he’ll rap his knuckles on your door and hand you a hot chocolate mug, or a plate of chocolate covered strawberries he claims were extra.

“You’re making me go off my diet, you know,” you tell him as he steps into your space, setting the plate down beside your notes and cluttered vials.

Sanji scoffs immediately, leaning his hips against the counter as he crosses one arm over his chest, a cup of tea resting loosely in his other hand.

“Like you need to be on a diet,” he says before taking a sip.

“Have you seen me?” You tease, picking up a strawberry and taking a bite.

“Hush,” he says softly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I already told you what I think of you, so none of that.”

You hum thoughtfully, nodding as you set the strawberry down again. “Feel free to tell me again some other time.”

Sanji throws his head back, laughing, and you can’t help but watch the movement of his throat, the way his blonde hair falls away from his face, before settling back into place.

He’s so pretty and he doesn't even try. When his laugh dies out, he looks at you again, his eyes softer.

“Well, you are beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm instantly and you look away, suppressing a smile.

“Thank you.”

You eat another strawberry while Sanji lifts his tea to his lips again, the silence settling comfortably around you. But when you glance back up, you catch him staring at your lips. His gaze is intent, blue ocean eyes following the slow movement of your lips around the strawberry, and the look on his face makes warmth spread through your stomach almost instantly. His breath catches softly before he looks away to take another sip of tea, like he’s trying to recover from the thought he just had.

You pretend not to notice.

“Alright then, love,” he says after a moment, sounding a little rougher than before, like he’s forcing himself back to normal. He leans toward you, without thinking much, aiming a quick kiss at your cheek. “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

You turn your head in the worst possible moment. His lips brush dangerously close to your mouth instead, and you both freeze.

Sanji pauses only inches away from your face. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. The lab suddenly feels far too small. Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it.

Neither of you moves. Then his eyes flick down to your lips.

And slowly, carefully, like he’s giving you time to stop him, he leans in again.

When his lips press against yours properly this time, your heart feels like it stops before exploding back to life all at once. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant for only a second before he deepens it, like he was holding back for weeks.

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the counter as you kiss him back, and the quiet sound he makes against your lips nearly melts you on the spot. One of his hands finds your neck, fingers carding through your hair as if he can’t help himself. He kisses you hard enough to leave your head spinning.

You have half a mind to stand from your stool, to get closer to his body, but as soon as you think about it, Sanji pulls away, like he’s just remembered himself.

He clears his throat quickly, taking half a step back as one hand comes up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, the other still loosely holding his tea.

“Right,” he says, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah. Uh…”

You stare at him, lips still tingling, heart hammering so loudly you can barely think. His face is pink, cheeks and neck burning.

He just kissed you. Sanji just kissed you.

“Goodnight then, love,” he blurts out, avoiding your eyes now as he gestures vaguely toward the door. “You should– probably sleep.” 

“Y-yeah,” you say because you don’t think you trust your voice right now.

Sanji turns around and holds the doorknob ready to leave. You watch his back as he sighs, dropping his head.

Sanji turns around and holds the doorknob, ready to leave. You watch his back as he sighs, shoulders rising and falling once before his head drops forward.

“Fuck it.” He turns back around.

The cup of tea lands hastily on the table with a clink before he’s crossing the room again, closing the distance so fast you barely have time to stand from the stool before his hands are on your waist and his lips are on yours again.

This kiss is nothing like the first.

Sanji kisses you like he’s been thinking about it for far too long, like holding back has finally become impossible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the sudden heat of his body against yours makes your head spin all over again.

You melt into him immediately, arms winding around his neck as a soft sigh leaves you against his mouth. He swallows the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, slower and somehow more overwhelming, like now that he’s started he doesn’t want to stop.

“God…” He breathes quietly against your lips, almost frustrated with himself, fingers flexing against your waist.

You barely manage to inhale before he kisses you again. The movement forces you back against the edge of your worktable, glass vials clinking softly behind you, forgotten entirely. One of Sanji’s hands slides up your side before settling at your back, steady and warm, while the other grips your waist firmly enough to make your stomach twist.

Then, without much thought beyond wanting you closer, his hands slip to the back of your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the table. Tinctures and scattered notes scrape and rattle out of the way under the sudden movement, neither of you paying them any attention.

You gasp softly into the kiss, instinctively pulling him closer with your arms around his neck, and Sanji makes another one of those quiet sounds against your lips that nearly undo you completely.

He steps between your knees without hesitation now, kissing you deeper until you’re dizzy from it, from him, from the way his hands keep tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Your fingers slip into his hair, and he exhales sharply against your mouth at the feeling, forehead almost knocking against yours for a second before he kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense.

Weeks of lingering looks, brushed hands, quiet tension and careful restraint unravel all at once in the tiny lab around you, until it feels impossible to remember why either of you tried holding back in the first place.

His lips leave yours only to trail along your jaw, and when they press against your neck you can’t stop the soft whimper that slips out of you.

“Please…” You breathe, the word leaving you before you can even think about it, your fingers tightening in his hair. You’re not even sure what you’re asking for anymore but Sanji reacts to it instantly.

He stills against your throat for half a second, and you feel the shaky breath he exhales against your skin.

“Love…” His voice is rough and strained in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Not here…”

One of his hands slides up your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades as he pulls you closer against him, like he physically can’t help it.

“Yes, here.” You sigh, the words half dissolving into a breathless sound against his lips. “Please, please, please.”

Sanji lets out a quiet, wrecked laugh at that, forehead dropping briefly against yours like he’s losing the fight with himself by the second.

“You’re dangerous, y’know that?” He mutters, already working on the waistband of your pants. “When I’m done with you here, I’m taking you somewhere we won’t get interrupted.”

The promise in his voice makes your stomach twist pleasantly.

“Confident.” You breathe, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“You’re the one begging me to not stop.”

Your face burns, but before you can answer, he kisses you again, stealing whatever response you had left. You lift your hips from the table to help him slide the fabric of your pants off your legs, big hands gripping your ankle as he slides it off one leg completely.

He grips your knee, gently pushing your legs farther apart for him. Sanji doesn’t rush, fingertips sliding through your folds slowly, like he’s taking his time learning every reaction he pulls from you.

“Oh, fuck.” He murmurs against your ear, his tongue pressing flat against the sensitive spot just beneath it.

Your head tips back instinctively as you cling to him, thighs parting even more beneath his hands. A shaky whimper slips from your lips when his fingers begin circling your clit, slow at first, teasing enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Shh.” He swallows your sounds with another kiss as his movements grow steadier, more deliberate. “Quiet, love.”

“Fuck, Sanji.” You whisper, breath catching hard in your throat.

“I know.” He coos softly, the hint of amusement in his voice only making heat rush through you faster. He says it like he already knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and maybe that should annoy you.

Instead, it only makes you pull him closer.

You feel it building fast, your breaths turning shallow and uneven no matter how hard you try to keep quiet. Sanji keeps rubbing you in quick, firm circles that make your thighs tremble around him.

“That’s it.” He murmurs against your skin, voice low and warm as he presses another kiss beneath your jaw. “Just like that, love.”

You bite down hard on your lip to swallow the sounds threatening to escape, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as the pressure coils tighter and tighter inside you. Sanji notices immediately and the soft laugh he breathes against your neck nearly pushes you over the edge by itself.

“So sensitive.” He whispers, almost teasing now. “And you were telling me to behave?”

“Shut up.” You manage to whisper, though there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m so close, please don’t stop.”

Sanji’s breath catches softly at the desperation in your voice, and when he looks up at you there’s something almost wrecked in his expression, like your pleasure is undoing him just as much as it’s undoing you.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

His fingers keep moving against you without mercy while his other hand tightens at your thigh to hold you open for him. He kisses you again before another sound can escape, swallowing every shaky breath and broken moan he pulls from you like he can’t get enough of them.

“That’s it, darling.” He whispers against your lips. “Let go for me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as pleasure crashes through you all at once, white noise rushing through your ears so loudly it drowns everything else out for a moment. Your lips part on a broken breath before you clamp them shut again, trying desperately to stay quiet even as your whole body trembles beneath his hands.

It’s impossible with him this close. Not when he’s looking at you like that, touching you like he’s memorizing every reaction you give him.

A strained sound still escapes you despite your efforts, and Sanji immediately presses a kiss against your mouth, swallowing it gently as he keeps you riding through it, fingers never slowing.

“There you go.” He murmurs softly against your lips, voice warm with praise that makes your stomach flutter all over again. “Good girl.”

The words nearly undo you a second time.

Your hands cling tightly to his shoulders as you try to calm your breathing, forehead dropping against his while waves of heat still pulse through you. Sanji stays close the entire time, one hand rubbing slow and comforting circles against your thigh now, his own breathing uneven from watching you come apart for him.

“God.” He whispers with a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “You’re beautiful like this.”

You immediately hide your face against his neck, suddenly too overwhelmed to look at him. A quiet laugh rumbles softly through Sanji’s chest at that, and his arms tighten around you instinctively, holding you close while you try to catch your breath.

“Hey.” He murmurs, one hand sliding gently into your hair. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

You groan softly against his skin, embarrassed by how intensely you reacted, by the praise, by the way he’s still looking at you like you’ve completely ruined him.

“Stop talking.” You mumble into his neck.

“That bad, huh?” He teases quietly, though there’s too much affection in his voice for it to feel mean.

You only cling to him tighter in response, cheeks burning, and Sanji laughs again, softer this time, before pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

“Cute.” He whispers, mostly to himself.

You make an offended sound against his neck, though it comes out muffled and weak enough to make him laugh harder.

“I just had a life-changing experience and you’re calling me cute.”

“I’m flattered, love,” he replies easily. “But you were cute before the life-changing experience too.”

You finally pull back just enough to glare at him, though the effect is ruined completely by the warmth still lingering in your face and the way your arms remain looped around his neck.

Sanji smiles at you like he’s completely charmed by the sight.

The intensity from earlier slowly melts into something softer, quieter. His hands rest comfortably at your waist now, thumbs brushing absent little patterns against your sides while the ship creaks gently around you.

Then his gaze flicks over your shoulder.

“Your lab is… destroyed.”

You blink once before turning slightly to look. A few papers are scattered across the floor, several tinctures pushed crookedly to the edge of the table, and one poor drying herb bundle has been completely sacrificed to the chaos.

You snort. “That sounds like tomorrow’s problem.”

Sanji stares at you for a second before breaking into another laugh, warm and genuine, the sound filling the tiny room so easily it makes your chest ache.

“There’s my hardworking botanist,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but before you can answer he leans in to kiss you again, softer this time, slow and lingering and sweet enough to make your stomach flutter all over again.

“C’mon,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you to bed before I forget I was trying to be gentlemanly tonight.”

The intensity from earlier slowly melts into something softer as Sanji helps you dress again, gentle hands smoothing your clothes back into place with surprising care despite the lingering flush across his face. Every now and then his fingers pause at your waist or brush your skin absentmindedly, like he still can’t quite believe this happened, like he keeps getting distracted by you standing here letting him touch you like this.

The little lab is warm and messy around you, scattered papers and crooked tinctures left behind as evidence of what happened here tonight, but for once you don’t care. Tomorrow, you’ll reorganize everything. Tomorrow, you’ll pretend your heart doesn’t race every time he looks at you.

“Deeean-“ You whine out, and he chuckles, squeezing your ass tight.

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, tell the whole house who’s got you in their lap-“

A door slams downstairs, and you shove Dean away just as fast as he rips himself back.

You’re both panting and flushed. You can see his arousal through his jeans, and your fingers are shaking too much to get a proper grip on your unbuttoned blouse.

Your father calls your name, the stairs creaking, and you shove Dean again.

He gives you an incredulous look, mouthing what are you doing?

Closet. You mouth back, pushing him again. The man is built like a fucking tree, it’s like trying to move boulder underwater. Get- “Get in the fucking closet-“

He moves, right before the door opens.

Your father smiles at you, glancing around the room. “You doin’ alright, kiddo?”

“Yep. How was work?” You bounce on your toes, shooting tiny looks to the closet.

He has no reason to check anything. It all looks perfectly innocent. There’s no clothing scattered across the floor or stench of sex in the air. Dean hadn’t even taken his shoes off, and the sweater that he’d ripped from your body is allowed to be on the bed, because it’s your room.

And it’s not like you’ve been known to do this kind of thing.

Sleep with older men.

Sleep with anyone.

You’re pretty sure if your father had to gamble on it, he’d put down money that you were going to die alone. Which isn’t entirely unfair. You speak to men like they’re dogs—because they are—and the last time someone asked you on a date, you spent the whole time staring them with an unimpressed expression and your arms over your chest.

It’s not that you’re rude. You just refuse to lower yourself just to please someone who can’t even do their laundry without Mommy’s help. And most college boys don’t even know their food groups. There’s protein, and green stuff, and candy. That’s it. It makes you want to bash your head into a wall.

But that’s how Dean got you.

Stupid, handsome Dean and his big hands and don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of it. Dean and the way he picked you up like you weighed ten pounds not to show of how much he can bench, but because you’d been standing in his way teasing him, and he’d needed to move you.

He’d placed you onto the counter of the kitchen with such care, and a stern, amused look. You’d gaped at him, heat flooding your cheek and all the blood in your body confused about if it should be curling in your fists and swinging, or pooling between your legs to help you hump him like an animal in heat.

“Not so mouthy now, are you.” Dean had drawled, and that’s when you’d known.

You were a goner. He had you in the palm of his calloused hands.

It worked, because you had him wrapped around your finger.

But neither of you were supposed to be close enough to even touch.

Dean’s your father’s best friend. They met in some old man club for people who like saws and drills or whatever. Maybe it was just a workshop. Or he fixed your dad’s car, and the dumbass fell just in love with him as you were.

Dean’s great. Dean and I got coffee. Dean showed me this new Thunderbird, think I’m gonna buy it. You can drive it, when you get home, maybe we’ll put the deed in your name. I’ll ask Dean if he thinks that’s a good idea. Dean thinks it’s a great idea.

Most of your Senior year had been spent getting calls and texts from your dad about how perfect and amazing Dean was. If he knew that the man was in your closet fighting a boner right now, he might end up more jealous than angry.

It still doesn’t feel like an experiment you want the results of. Some things are better left to the imagination.

“Work was good.” Your father shrugs. “You eaten dinner?”

“Um- No.” You need to stop looking at the closet. It’s suspicious. “I was actually going to go out, and- Eat there.”

“Do that tomorrow.” He waves a hand. “Dean’s coming over tonight, we’re gonna fire up my new grill, see how she cooks.”

“I know, I just- I wanted like Chinese or something.”

“Then get Chinese and eat with us-“ Your father pauses, and you swallow. “How’d you know Dean was comin’ over?”

Shit. You can almost feel him glaring at you through the closet. You’re supposed to be the smart one, sweetheart.

It’s his fault. You can still feel where he’d been teasing your sides, and it’s making your brain all stupid and fuzzy.

You know because Dean showed up early and cornered you in the living room. Because you’d done the stupid dance where you both pretend you’re not going to cave. You’d asked why he was here. He said he didn’t need a reason. You said he did, it wasn’t his house. He’d teased that he was always welcome. You’d rolled your eyes, and asked if he was sure about that. He’d leaned over you and murmured that you sure as shit seemed happy to see him. You’d just glared, because if you spoke you would’ve started to drool. He’d muttered that, for the record, he’d been invited for the drill. But that he was really here because he needed to see you.

Then he’d shoved his hand under your shirt and kissed you stupid.

You can’t tell your dad that part.

“You told me.” You say lamely.

You can almost hear Dean’s groan.

“Oh. Huh.” Your dad shrugs it off. Why wouldn’t he. “Alright. You gonna stay?”

It’s a horrible idea. If you stay, you’re going to spend the whole time grumpy because you’d been so close, and now Dean was feet away and unable to touch you.

“Sure.”

Fuck.

Your dad takes the victory. In his eyes, you’re sure he thinks it’s a miracle that his daughter wants to hang out with him and his friends instead of going out and doing young people things. You think he forgets, sometimes, that you’ve never been all that good at young people things.

And you’re certainly not going to burst his bubble by reminding him of that. Or the fact that of course you want to hang out with his friend. Sex on Legs Winchester. Even if you didn’t have something halfway started with him, you’d stick around just to ogle the eye candy.

“Am I just a sack of meat to you, princess?” Dean mutters when you tell him as much.

You bite back your smile, and shrug. “Maybe. You gonna do something about it?”

He fixes you with an almost awestruck stare, before chuckling and shaking his head.

“You’re trying to get me killed.”

“No, I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. I pop a boner now, your old man is gonna rip my head off.”

“So don’t pop a boner, dumbass-“

Your words fall off in a tiny squeak, as Dean grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a deep, long kiss.

It’s far from the first time you kissed. That had been a night only a week after you’d moved back home—a long, torturous week of staring at massive biceps and imagine them wrapped around your neck, or beating yourself up in the sheets as you got off to the idea of Dean and his stupid, cocky smirk—when he’d been staying over so his house could get gassed for bugs or something. You’d smiled at him too sweetly. All his touches had lingered too long. You’d gone downstairs to get some water, and ended up on top of him on the couch.

You still haven’t slept together. Every time you get close, fucking something has to happen, and you stop.

But you’ve kissed so much you think your lips are molded to shape his.

You immediately turn to slack putty, in Dean’s arms. Kissing him back with frantic passion, leaning over his chest and moaning openly into his mouth. Your fingers find their way to his belt, then lower. Dean tips your head back further to deepen this kiss, and you paw at his bugle with a tiny whimper.

He hums, squeezing the back of your neck. “Behave.”

“Don’t want to.” You breathe out, and he chuckles.

“I know.” Dean pulls back, kissing one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You need some motivation, baby?”

You nod, fixing him with your best, doe-eyed stare. It’s the one that always makes him cave, even when he says he knows he shouldn’t.

But you both know you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be doing any of this. There’s a long list of reason that starts with your father’s best friend and ends with massive age gap that could be followed to prevent all of this. But you both seem to get a little blind, when you look at each other. Suddenly you can’t read and Dean—a man who’s all self-control and smooth, cool collection—stumbles over his feet like a highschooler.

He says that’s how he knew this was worth it. That you do things to him that no one else ever has. You blush and giggle and press your face into the crook of his neck, and for a little while you both forget the whole world. Sometimes you whisper that he does things to you as well. You’ve never wanted to wrap around someone like this and never let go.

And that overrides all logic and reason. It doesn’t matter what kind of rules there are. You want to break all of them, just to be closer to him for a few moments longer.

“You play nice tonight.” Dean whispers in your ear, tracing lazily up and down your spine. “Then I’ll help you sneak out. Back to my place.”

“Your place?” You sound a lot more pathetic than you want to be. You really don’t know how to help it.

“Mhm. And you know what’s at my place that ain’t here?”

You shake your head, and Dean kisses the tip of your nose. It scrunches up, and his eyes shine with adoration. You’re never going to get sick of him looking at you like that. Like you’re the only thing in the world.

“Peace and quiet.” He mutters. “Just you, me, and nothing else.”

Your eyes widen, as you realize what he means. “Oh- Okay.”

“Okay?”

There’s a hint of worry in his voice. Like he needs to be sure you really mean it, even when you’re slack and folded into his arms, digging your nails into his biceps like you’re trying to leave a mark.

You nod frantically, and his shoulders relax.

“Okay.” He mutters, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You smile at him, and his throat bobs. “Behave.”

“I always behave.” You tease, and Dean snorts.

“Yeah. Alright.”

“I do. I’m very well trained.”

He chuckles, kissing you light and soft. You push up on your toes, trying to chase a little more, and Dean lets you. He always lets you.

“Don’t think you’re the one on the leash, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips, and you giggle.

“Dogs train their owners sometimes. With feeding habits and walk schedules.”

“Hm.” He leans back, a smile twitching on his lips. “Is this feedin’, or walkin’?”

 And this is your favorite expression on his handsome face. The one where you can tell that he’s really trying to be annoyed with you, but can’t stop himself from enjoying your company. From looking at you like he wants to just lock the door and pin you to the bed until you’re giggling and beaming all the time. You’d be all for that plan, if your father wasn’t probably waiting downstairs, wondering why Dean’s running late-

Shit. Right. Your father.

“Actually.” You kiss over his beard, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt. “I think it’s fetch.”

Dean snorts, and ducks down to kiss you again. You push him lightly back, and he stumbles like he’s been shot.

“Out the window.” You say sternly, pointing at the roof.

Dean groans, running a hand over his face. “C’mon, one more-“

“No.”

“But-“

“Behave.” You mock, and he scowls.

“Son of a bitch.” He grumbles under his breath. He’s making a face like a toddler who just got his favorite toy truck confiscated for bad behavior. It’s rather adorable. “Gonna be the death of me, woman. Can’t believe I’m so in love with a fuckin’ brat.”

“Aw, you love me?”

You say it like it doesn’t still make your heart skip to hear it. Dean sighs like he let slip some grand secret, instead of something that he’s told you countless times in dark corners and in booths of bars.

He looks at the window. He’s back to pouting again.

“It’s gonna hurt my knees.” He whines, and you laugh, closing the space between you once more.

“Tough shit, Winchester. Should’ve tried to keep it in your pants.”

“But you make it so hard-“

“I know.”

That earns you a glare, and you giggle again.

You’re both so very bad at this. Dean should already be downstairs. You shouldn’t be goading him into saying longer, but you can’t help it at all. This is your favorite kind of teasing. The one where you end up folded under him with his pretty lips wrapped around your nipples and thick fingers stuffing up your pussy and toying with your clit until you’re whining his name.

Dean’s looking at you like that’s exactly what he wants to do with you. You’re smiling at him like you’re begging for it, and neither of you ever back down from the challenge.

Then your father calls your name from downstairs. And it’s like a bucket of ice water is poured over both your heads.

“Dean’s runnin’ late!” He shouts. “You should go get your Chinese now!”

You sigh, and Dean grimaces. The urgency doesn’t stop him from grabbing your face between his hands, and kissing you one last time.

“Tonight.” He mumbles like an oath. “Just you and me.”

You hum. “Only if I behave, right?”

“Sure. Only if you behave.”

And he says it like that because you both know perfectly well that it doesn’t matter how you behave. You could sit on his lap or rub your foot on his crotch under the table, and he’s still going to open the door when you sneak over. If anything, the question is just how big a price do you want to pay tonight. How far are you willing to push him, how greatly do you want him to snap once you’re alone.

You think you want him to lose it. He’s always extra pretty when he looks like he’s about to cry from frustration, and he’s never hotter than when there’s that dangerous gleam in his eyes that reminds you he could toss you around like a sack of potatoes.

God, it sounds nice though. Being Dean’s sack of potatoes.

He sneaks out the window, and flips you off after you laugh at him for groaning the whole time. He has to sneak down the block to get his car, and you won’t be here when he arrives. You have to go get your Chinese.

But after that, all bets are off.

Dean is worse at this than you are. The sneaking around.

You get stupid and nervous when your dad is around and Dean is hiding. You told me wasn’t your best moment, but it also wasn’t that far from your worst. And you know your dad. You know that he’s not really going to question most things he tells you, because even your more obvious excuses aren’t that suspicious.

But Dean’s a fucking dumbass.

He’s your dumbass. Your old, grumpy idiot who’s some kind of genius with a wrench and a circuit board and an engine, but who stares at the crossword puzzles you do and mutters that all those letters look fake. He could find his way home if you dropped him in the middle of the woods—you call him your pigeon, and he doesn’t think that’s half as funny as you do—but he also thinks that Michaelangelo is the Ninja Turtle and needs your help writing emails. One time you asked him when he’d last gone to the doctor, and he said some time in ’07. You’d smacked him upside the head and dragged him by the nape of his neck.

Later that week, he’d been grumbling to your dad about how the doc was making him cut back on steak. His cholesterol had been through the roof. He’d protested and bitched, but you’d grabbed his jaw and snapped that if he died, you were going to leave him.

So now he’s down to only two burgers a week, and you’re very proud of him.

Which is what he’d told your dad.

Not the you part—he wasn’t that stupid—but the doctor part. And how he’d been bargained down to two burgers in exchange for other things.

Blowjobs. You might not have fucked yet, but you’d done most everything else, and you’d talked him down from a three burger a week deal with the promise of blowjobs.

Which he’d told your dad.

Because he’s an idiot.

“You’re datin’ someone?” Your dad had said in surprise, and Dean had frozen.

On the couch, you’d rolled your eyes. God, he was so lucky you loved him to death.

“I- I- Uh-“

“Why didn’t you tell me? You coulda brought her over, I wanna meet the lady who finally got you to settle.” Your dad had snorted, his voice dropping so that you probably weren’t supposed to hear it. “Hell, if she gives good enough head for you to drop burgers, I gotta meet her.”

You’d felt sick. When you’d glanced over your shoulder, Dean had looked sick.

His eyes had flitted to yours in panic. You’d given him a tight, prompting look, and his throat had bobbed.

“She, uh- She’s real busy-“

“I got time.”

“Right. Good.” Dean had looked trapped. This was the only time you saw him really stumble over his words. When it came to you.

It would be sweet, if he wasn’t a few wrong words from getting shot in the head.

“She, uh- She’s just- You know- Women-“

“Where’s she work.” Your dad had asked casually.

Dean had gone pallid. “The… Place.”

“Place?”

“Bookshop.”

“Oh.” Your father had called your name, and Dean had looked seconds from passing out. “You know any ladies at the bookshop Dean’s age?”

You’d hummed, pretending to examine your nails. “Um… Maybe Matilda.”

Matilda is the lovely old woman who you share all your shifts with. She has five cats, two grandchildren she loves more than her dolt of a son, and knows that you and Dean are dating because she caught you making out in the nonfiction section a month ago.

Dean had glared at you, and you’d just smiled back. The fuck was I supposed to say? You’d tell him later. There’s only four of us, and two are high schoolers.

He’d gotten out of the bookshop jam by saying that she worked at a different place. Your father had bought the lie, but never dropped it. He never drops any of Dean’s slip ups.

Because every time you’ve almost been caught, it’s been Dean’s fault. There was the time your bra got found in the Impala, and when Dean’s brother knew about you before you were formally introduced, and when you’d been on a date and your dad had walked into the bar. You’d shoved Dean under the table, and the fucking dumbass had decided to kiss your thighs the whole time he was down there. You’d kill him if you didn’t love him. But you also think he’d kill himself if he ever really pissed you off.

But now your dad thinks Dean’s sneaking around with some lady from out of town, and you go to bars by yourself when you said you were going out with friends. And he’s a nice, nosy man, so he hasn’t let go of either fact at all.

“How’s your girl, Winchester?” He asks Dean over dinner, and Dean grunts.

“Good. Pissin’ me off, but good.”

You stick your tongue out at him behind your dad’s back. He’s just grumpy about the couch thing.

Your dad had gone to check on the grill, and you’d put your feet in Dean’s lap. He’d grabbed your ankles and hissed for you to behave. You’d smiled at him and moved them, before immediately crawling over him. You’d had a hand resting right against his crotch, and another grabbing at his chest. You’d kissed his cheeks and neck while he just grabbed your waist for balance.

“’M so wet, De.” You’d whispered, sucking a kiss right under his jaw. “Need you so bad.”

He’d made a strangled, almost pained sound. His cock had twitched under your hand, and you’d pressed down harder.

Dean’s fingers had flexed on your waist. You’d dropped your weight onto his thigh, grinding down and moaning against his skin.

You think, if your dad hadn’t come back the next second, he would’ve flipped you over and ripped off your skirt. But you’d heard the door open, and pulled easily away. Dean hadn’t been able to stand up for five minutes. You’d giggled and run your fingers through this hair, before following your dad out on to the porch.

So he’s a little mad at you.

You hope he stays mad at you. He always kisses you like an animal, when he’s a little pissed. Then he presses your face between your breasts and mumbles about how it’s not fair that he can’t stay mad at you, and it’s a better feeling than any high in the world.

Your goal for the night might be driving him so up the wall that when he finally fucks you, he rearranges your guts in his name.

It’s not going to be that difficult to do.

“What’d she do to piss you off?” Your dad asks, and Dean makes a face.

“Nothin’. Just- She gets mouthy.” He’s still glaring at you. You pretend not to see it. “And she likes to push my fuckin’ buttons.”

“You’re fun to rile up, buddy.” Your dad shrugs, totally oblivious to you and Dean eye fucking across the room. “Just take a deep breath and tell her she’s making you mad.”

Dean snorts. “Trust me. I think she knows.”

You beam at him and flutter your lashes. His eyes narrow, his grip on the counter going white knuckled.

He is fun to rile up. You hope he never works on that.

“You know who I saw at the store today?” You dad asks you, and you hum, poking at your chow mein.

“Who?”

“Gordon.”

“Oh, shit.” You look up. “How’s he doing?”

“Alright. Think he’s livin’ at home too. Surprised you didn’t know.”

“Well, we don’t talk that much anymore-“

“He asked about you.” Your dad shrugs casually. Too casually.

You know where this is going.

“Gave me his new number, to pass onto you. Said he missed you, all four years-“

“Dad.” You sigh, giving him a flat look.

He raises his hands. “I’m not sayin’ anything-“

“Yes, you are.”

“Well- Nothin’ that we gotta read into, but you two were always so close-“

“Dad-“

“Who the fuck is Gordon.” Dean grunts, and you flush.

He looks pissed. And not you just flashed him and he’s got a boner at the table pissed.

Really pissed. Like he wants to bite someone’s head off, but hasn’t figured out who yet.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“He’s- He’s just my childhood friend-“

“Childhood best friend.” Your dad corrects, and you’re going to fucking kill him and then yourself. “They were little bandits together, we all thought they’d end up datin’, but I guess they both got sidetracked.”

“We didn’t get sidetracked.” You mutter, staring at your plate.

You can feel Dean’s gaze burning into you. It’s almost impossible to look him in the eyes.

“We just- It was never like that-“

“Didn’t he take you to prom?”

“As friends-“

“You didn’t come home ‘till the morning-“

Something cracks, and you and your dad both fall silent.

Dean’s broken his mug. With his hands. One hand.

Oh, God.

You’re worried that if you stand up, there’s going to be a slick stain on your chair.

“You alright, buddy?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Dean stares at you, nostrils flaring. “You gonna call the boy?”

Boy. Not man, boy. And he says it so mockingly, it makes you feel buzzy and faint.

“No.” You try to sound normal, but you’re sure it comes out pathetic and dazed. “I- Um- We never-“ You glance nervously at your dad, and clear your throat. “Gordon actually ditched me for Anna, on prom night. That was- It was why we stopped talking.”

“Oh.” Your dad makes a sour face. “Well, I always knew he was gonna be bad news eventually. You deserve better, kiddo, and if I see him again I’ll give him a piece of my mind- I’m sure Dean will too.”

And you have to agree with that.

Dean looks like he’s about to go and smash Gordon’s head against the curb. Your dad keeps rambling about Gordon and kids not knowing what they want and how both he and Dean will make sure you never settle for less than you deserve. Dean keeps staring at you, and you’re sure that part is true as well.

Dean’s not going to let you settle for anything less than what you deserve at all. If he can help it, he’s never going to allow you to settle, period.

You really hope he knows, that it’s him and nothing else. Never anything else. Whatever confusing feelings you had eventually developed for Gordon had vanished when you were a teenager. You’d barely had a college boyfriend—more like a few loose options you’d kicked to the curb once you decided they’d lead to pallid and sickly futures—and no one in your life has ever made you care about a relationship the way Dean does.

And you really worry sometimes, that he doesn’t understand that. You try to remind him, but the age gap hangs over your heads like a sword of Damocles. He’s said before that there has to be better boys for you. Boys your age.

You don’t want a boy your age. You want a man.

You want Dean.

And from the look of him, you’re not sure he’d be able to stomach you with anyone else.

“I’m not going to call Gordon.”

Dean looks up from the sink. You’d followed him into the bathroom while your dad cleaned the grill, desperate to make sure he understood. You like him a little grumpy and mocking. It makes everything in your chest feel wrong, when he really seems upset.

“Alright.” Is all he mutters, grabbing a towel to dry his hands.

“Dean-“

“What?”

He gives you a challenging look. You swallow, and lean back against the door.

“I love you.”

The first time you’d said it had been all romantic and dumb in the rain. It had fumbled from your lips like a prayer, and he’d kissed you until your legs gave out. Even now, months later, it has the safe effect. Dean’s shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. Everything in him softens. Just for you.

“I love you too, princess-“

“No.” You whisper, pressing your lips in a tight line. “I really love you.”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, I know-“

“Dean.” You push off the door, your eyes locked onto his. “I love you.”

No one else, is what you tell him with your eyes. Just you. Always just you.

Dean blinks, his gaze raking over your body, then darting to the door. He rasps your name, because he knows you too well. He knows that glint in your eyes, he knows the sweet smile playing on your lips. He tells you all the time, that it almost gives him a heart attack. You close the distance in small, cautious steps. Dean clears his throat, looking almost desperate for you to take mercy.

You won’t. You need him to understand.

“Sweetheart, you can’t-“

“Yes I can.” You sink to your knees, and Dean grabs a fistful of your hair.

Your drag your hands over his thighs, and his swallows hard, a vein in his brow ticking as he tries to keep still.

“Come on.” He rasps. “This ain’t behaving.”

You shrug, slowly undoing his belt buckle. “Oops.”

Dean’s chest heaves, and a small groan rumbles in his chest as you kiss his crotch. You watch him under hooded lashes, pulling down his pants and taking his underwear with them.

He’s already hard. Thick in your hand and weeping from his slit, the angry red of his cock demanding your attention, even as he tries to talk you out of it.

“Baby, you- You don’t gotta-“

“But I want to.” You murmur, slowly pumping his cock with a light grip.

Dean grunts, bucking into your hand. His head is tossed back, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming out in pants. You stop stroking him, and he immediately looks back down.

“What’re you-“

“Can I?” You press your cheek into his thigh, letting your warm breath fan over his balls. “Please?”

You pout, just to be sure he knows. Dean never likes making you do this. He always whines on and on about how it should be about you, not him. He says he gets off just fine tasting you and making you cum on his fingers. You’re still trying to make him understand that just the thought of him fucking your face like a toy ruins your underwear.

You’ll be sure to show him after.

Dean stares down at you, gripping the bathroom sink and petting the top of your head. He lets out a ragged breath, closes his eyes, then drags them back open. You think he might be checking that you’re still there.

You’re about to suck his soul out of his cock. He’s not going to get rid of you that easy.

“You sure?” He mutters, and you nod eagerly.

“Please.”

A feral sound rumbles from his throat. His dick twitches, and he gives the tiniest nod. 

“Is that-“

“Go for it.” A smile ghosts his lips. “Show me what you’ve got, baby.”

You give him a flat look. He knows damn well, what you’ve got. And you can see him smirking, opening his mouth to say something cocky and smug about you biting off more than you can chew.

You don’t give him the chance, before you’re wrapping your mouth around his head and swirling your tongue.

Dean groans, his blunt nails scraping against your head as his whole body tenses. You hum around him and repeat the motion, again, and then one more time for good measure.

“Jesus-“ He chokes out your name. “Warn a guy- I- Wasn’t fuckin’ ready-“

You smile, pushing further down. You suck lightly, taking his base into your hand and pumping it in time with your mouth. Dean makes a sinful, deep noise that comes straight from your dreams. He croaks out your name, bowing his head and tugging on your hair as his cock pulses in your mouth.

“Baby- Fuck-“

You take your free hand and grab his balls, slowly massaging them as your mouth picks up the pace. Dean’s looking down at you like you fell from Heaven, right onto your knees for him, and him alone.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that? Just- Lookin’ at me and- Shiiit-“

He’s losing composer. It’s what you live for. The way his eyes roll back and he starts to shallowly thrust between your lips, letting drool slip down your chin and pre-cum leak over your tongue.

“Mouth was made for me.” He grits out, his teeth bared and voice tight. “Pretty little slut, know you love this shit. You’re wet, aren’t you. Drippin’ all over the floor for me.”

You moan in agreement, and Dean slams his hips forward. His cock bruises the back of your throat and you have to relax your jaw to stop yourself from gagging. Dean tenses, his voice raw and strained.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry-“

You’re not having any of that.

Dean cuts himself off with another guttural sound as you push yourself forward. Your nose brushes his abdomen, your jaw unhinged to take all of him, and it’s still not enough. You stick out your tongue, flicking the underside of his cock as you squeeze his balls.

“Son of a bitch- You-“

You suck, letting your throat squeeze around the head of him. He makes another, feral sound, and tugs at your hair.

“Baby, shit- You’re so fuckin’ warm, and- You gotta get off or-“

He almost whimpers as you pull back, sliding off his cock with a pop and stroking it as you leave an open-mouth kiss on the swollen head. Dean’s fingers flex, and you know he wants to shove you back down.

You give him a soft smile, kissing down his shaft, then over his balls. You suck there for a second, still jerking his cock in your free hand, and he finally snaps. Pulling you back by your hair and giving you a wrecked, hopeless look. He’s trying to use his listen to me voice, but he seems to know it’s a lost cause. You’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He says your name like a prayer, and you open your mouth. Stick out you tongue, fixing him with a challenging glare.

Dean swallows. “You sure- Fuck-“

You flick your tongue over his head, squeezing the base of his dick tight.

Dean shakes his head, looking up like he’s praying.

“Gonna be the death of me.” He mutters, and you know you’ve won.

You keen as Dean’s grip on your hair tightens. He shoves you right down his cock, pushing against the back of your throat before yanking you back. You moan around him, your eyes watering from the overwhelming taste and force. You’re barely more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Dean barely able to think outside of where he’s fucking your mouth, making broken and worshipful sounds, calling your name with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby- Takin’ it so good, love you like this, choking on my cock. Look so pretty for me, wish I could take a picture- Fuuuckkkk-“

He tosses his head back, still watching his cock pump between your lips. He gets transfixed and babbles, coming apart above you as you just keep smiling and taking it.

“Pretty girl,” he grits out. “My pretty fuckin’ slut, sucking dick like a damn vacuum- Crying for me, baby girl, you need this cock that bad-“

You mewl in agreement, dizzy from the praise. You do need his cock that bad. If the thoughts weren’t being fucked from your head, you whimper that no one fucks your mouth like he does. No one makes you feel so holy and used all at the same time. You’re so wet you feel it every time you shift, so wet you’re worried he’s going to be able to smell it. But you love this. The taste and weight of him, and how no one gets it but you.

It’s almost pornographic, the way he’s taking your mouth. Your lips shine with spit and pre-cum, tears pour down your cheeks as his thrusts become jagged sharp, and sweat shines on Dean’s thighs as you keep working his balls. They’re getting tight and heavy in your hands. He’s about to loose it.

“Baby-“ He taps your cheek, words pushed out between moans. “Baby, I- I’m gonna-“

You sink your nails into his thigh. You’ve never failed to swallow before, and you’re not starting now.

Dean hisses out your name, but doesn’t stop. You moan around him, sucking as hard as you can to shove him over the edge.

He cums hard, shooting thick ropes of release down your throat. You unhinge your jaw, and manage to get most of it. But he always lets out so much, and a fair amount ends up smeared with your tears and dripping down his legs.

You pull slowly back, and start to lick up what you weren’t able to get on your first try. Dean hisses, sensitive from the orgasm, and strokes his hand through your hair. His gaze is fixed on where some had dripped down to your tits. You have a feeling that if you were really, truly in private, he’d shove his face into your chest and clean you up himself.

“You are-“ He lets out a broken laugh, as you smile up at him. “Something else.”

“You’ve told me.” You tease, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Too proud of it.” He grumbles. “Like you want to be over my knee later.”

You shrug, eyes sparkling. Dean’s jaw ticks.

His thumb swipes over your cheek, where a little bit of the cum is still stained.

“Open.” He mutters, and you obey.

He presses his thumb between your swollen lips, and you take it with a happy hum. Dean groans, watching you suckle his release of his finger. You flutter your lashes at him. He pulls out, smearing spit over your cheek.

“I’m goin’ in an hour.” His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it. It sends an excited, electric thrill between your legs. “You better follow, or I’m comin’ here and fucking you in your daddy’s house.”

You nod like a bobblehead, unable to even find the words. Dean laughs and pulls you to your feet, kissing you harshly. It’s messy and open, possessive in a way you’d never found hot before you had him.

Other boys being possessive had seemed like they thought of you as a nice little toy they threw a tantrum over having to share. With anyone, even your friends.

Dean being possessive makes you feel priceless. Treasured. He’s yours, and he doesn’t want you to forget it. You can do whatever the hell you want, just so long as you remember that he’s yours.

Your dad is calling for you again. Dean slips out of the bathroom first—he doesn’t have cum and drool to clean off his face—but not before kissing your cheek and slapping your ass.

He says you’re going to be the death of him, but he’s bouncing around like he’s ten years younger. You’re the one who needs to clutch the railing as she walks downstairs. He didn’t even fuck you and it’s hard to walk from the throb between your legs.

You’d been right. You’d completely destroyed your underwear, turning it to just a soaked scrap of lace.

And Dean might have you begging at his feet, but you don’t roll over that easy. You pulled off your panties before you left the bathroom. You keep them bundled in your fist while Dean talks to your dad for the last hour, sitting on the counter with your legs crossed. When it’s time for him to go, he wanders over to give a perfectly innocent goodnight.

His eyes are gleaming, as he drawls see you around, kid.

Kid.

He knows you hate it when he calls you kid. And suddenly, you don’t feel bad anymore.

“Night, grandpa.” You say lightly, and Dean laughs, but it’s rougher than before. You can see it in his eyes, the way he’s planning out every single way he’s going to make you pay for that.

Then you stick out your hand, and he blinks. There’s a confused, cautious shadow over his face as he takes your hand and shakes it. You cover it with your fist, and slip your panties into his grip.

Dean pulls back with a frown, looks down, and coughs so loud he staggers. You bite your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. Your father looks up from the sink with a worried face.

“You alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, uh- Yeah.” He stares at you, working his jaw. His words are pushed through his teeth, and you can see his cock, already straining through his jeans again.

His closes his fist around your panties, and shoves them into his pockets. Your dad asks him something else, but you don’t hear it. You’re fully fixed on Dean. On the dangerous promise in his eyes.  

You’re in trouble.

Good.

Dean lives more than twenty minutes away, but you make the drive in fifteen.

You’re desperate, and past denying it. You’ve got the hottest man alive waiting for you and finally about to fuck you, anyone else would be breaking traffic laws as well.

It wasn’t hard to sneak past your father, especially because you failed to sneak past him. You got downstairs and found him watching TV. You’d thought he was in bed, and the blood had drained from your face.

“Dad, uh- You’re-“

“Just watchin’ Jeopardy.” He’d said, not looking away from the screen. “You going to Dean’s?”

You’d tripped over nothing, and choked on the air.

“I- I don’t- I’m not- What-“

“Don’t insult me, kiddo.” He twists, giving you a flat look. “I ain’t blind and stupid. He had a hard on the whole night.”

“Um-“ You fidget with your fingers, unsure if you should run or just drop dead. “That’s- Maybe he was texting his girlfriend-“

“He never texts his girlfriend. He just texts you.”

You open your mouth, then close it. You’re dead. Dean’s dead. Your dad is going to kill him and you’re never even going to get to have sex, and that’s such a huge bummer because you’re just going to sit at his grave forever, and turn into a tree like some old myth, and then your dad is going have no one to talk to sports about. Everyone is losing in this scenario. It’s awful.

“Was it his fault?” You say, because it’s all you can think of. “That you realized?”

Your dad snorts. “Oh, yeah. I had suspensions-“

“Suspicions-“

“I caught you on a date.” He says your name dryly. “You said you were there alone, but his car was in the lot. He said he was datin’ a girl who worked in a bookshop. You’d been wearing his shirt to bed.”

Your mouth falls open, your cheeks burning.

“Oops.”

“Yeah. Oops.” Your dad sighs, turning back to the TV. “Realized when he let me call you on his phone. Dumbass opened the message thread for me and everything.”

Oh. Oh no.

Again, there wasn’t much outside of sex that you and Dean hadn’t done. Which, tragically, included sexting.

A lot of sexting.

Photos of you in lingerie and dick pics and voice memos and a lot of videos, and you’re going to throw up-

“You- You didn’t-“

“Saw more of Dean than I ever wanted to.” Your dad mutters, making a face like he’s also going to be sick. “Was about to punch him for sending that shit to you, but there was a voice memo with it. Listened for about ten seconds, almost got sick, realized it was at least mutual.”

You cringe. You remember that voice memo and photo, just as well as you remember your dad calling you on Dean’s phone because his was dead. You’d thought he sounded weird. You wished you hadn’t been so right.

“I’m so sorry-“

“He treat you well?”

You blink. You almost don’t understand the question.

“Of- Of course he does.”

“Hm.” Your dad frowns at the TV. “He gonna marry you?”

“Dad-“

“I’m just sayin’.” He shrugs. “If he’s puttin’ us all through this, he better hope he doesn’t break your heart. You know I was in the military.”

You almost laugh. “He was in the military-“

“I was ranked higher.”

“Dean was a marine-“

“You think I couldn’t kick his ass?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think you don’t have to, because he won’t break my heart.”

For a second, you just stare at each other. Then your father huffs, and slumps back into the couch.

“Good.” He waves a hand. “Have fun.”

You nod, then go still.

Have fun.

That’s… Approval.

Your dad knows about you and Dean, and he—begrudgingly, but that’s the best you can hope for—approves.

So that should be the first thing you tell Dean when you get through the door. That you don’t have to keep hiding. You’re rehearsing breaking the news your whole drive over, mumbling the speech under your breath when you knock on the door.

But then Dean opens it, and suddenly there’s only one important thing in the world.

Greetings are forgotten, as Dean wraps an arm around your waist and drags you into his chest. You whimper as his mouth slams over yours, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him further down.

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left.” Dean groans, pulling your jacket off with scrambling hands. “Got in the car and wanted to turn around, sneak back through the window like a fuckin’ teenager- Jesus, you don’t know what you do to me-“

You surge up on your toes, throwing your arms around his shoulder and kissing him until you’re breathless and swaying.

“I- I know.” You whisper. “God, Dean, I know-“

He makes one of those deep, hungry, rumbling sounds, spinning you both around so he can kick the door close. You stumble closer, pressing him back against the wall as your pull his upper lip between your kiss. Dean grunts and crashed forward, grabbing your face between his hands and pressing back.

“Needy.” He mutters between open mouth kisses. “Needy fuckin’ girl, can’t even let me take a breath, can you?”

You tip you head back, your words breathy and high as Dean starts to kiss over your neck.

“You- You kissed me first.”

Dean hums, nipping at your throat. He’s dragging his hands down your sides, slipping one under your shirt to caress your spine while the other gropes at your ass.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You mumble, lost in the heat of his mouth. He’s sucking on a sensitive pulse point, letting his tongue flick over the skin, and he knows what that does to you. “De- Dean-“

“Guess I’m the one who couldn’t wait.” He says, but it’s mostly to himself. “Been dreamin’ of this for so long, sweetheart. You here.” He kisses further down, pulling down your shirt to get access to the top of your chest. “’Bout to be in my bed.” He bunches up the fabric of your shirt, and only his arm around you is keeping you upright. “’Bout to be on my cock.”

He hisses the last words before rushing back up into a starved, sloppy kiss. He rips off your shirt in the same second, before smoothly unclipping your bra. You gasp as the cold air hits your nipples, nails scratching at Dean’s neck.

“Shit- Dean-“

“I’ve got you.” He scoops you into his arms, kissing your cheek.

“Do you-“ You swallow at his flat, amused look. “Sorry.”

His lips twitch, and he doesn’t break your gaze as he walks down the hall. “You know, you always get mouthy when you’re horny.”

You scowl. “I do not-“

“You do-“

“No, I-“

Dean cranes his neck, capturing your lips in a slow, lazy kiss. You respond in a second with a light tug of his hair, eliciting another pleased, low rumble from his chest.

He pulls back, and you chase him. Getting one more, quicker kiss that he melts into within a second.

“You do.” He rasps, nipping at your nose. “You turn into a real brat.”

You glare, ready to snap something that would only prove his point. But Dean grins, and suddenly you’re being dumped down onto his bed. You yelp at the sudden movement, wiggling and holding him tight enough to strange. Dean grunts, falling forward and barely managing to brace himself over you as you both crash down to the mattress.

“Jesus-“ He mutters your name, and you shove his shoulders.

“You surprised me-“

“You almost killed me-“

“Oh, you’re fine-“

“I’m old, that coulda broken my knees-“

“Shut up.”

You grab his face, pressing up for another stumbling, frantic series of kisses. You’ve kissed Dean pretty much everywhere—on his body and geographically—but this is always your favorite place. On his pretty mouth, under him in his bed. There’s nothing around you that isn’t Dean, and it’s intoxicating. The pine and spice scent of him, the heat of his body, the fact that he just lay here by himself sometimes. Thinking of you, the same way you think of him.

Dean wraps his arms around you, pulling you up off the mattress. You hook your leg over his waist, flipping you both over so you’re straddling his lap and kissing him everywhere you can reach. You grind down onto his sweats, and he moans shamelessly, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You- You’re not wearing your fucking panties-“

“I gave them to you.” You mumble, pressing your ass down against his thickness. The fabric scrapes against your bare pussy, offering perfect friction, and you start to hump him like you’re in heat.

 Dean drags his hand up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you up his chest. He lets you keep working yourself down on his bulge for a few seconds longer, moaning into your mouth as you tease him.

“Dirty, dirty girl.” He scolds, the mocking tone in his voice just spurring you on.

He knows you love it. That’s why he likes it.

“Walkin’ around in just a skirt.” He dips a hand under your skirt, palming at your bare ass cheeks. “Should’ve folded you over the couch to see it. Pretty fuckin’ pussy, bet it’s already nice and wet for me.”’e

He reaches further down, and you gasp as his fingers brush your cunt. He’s right. Of course he is. Dean might know your body better than you do.

“Shit- Dean-“

“Shhh.” He splits two fingers, rubbing them over the outer lips of your pussy before pinching them together.

You whine, trying to hump up into his hand, but he splays his palm on your lower back and presses you back down.

“Behave.” He grunts. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to fuck you how I want?”

He squeezes harder, his thumb grazing over your clit. Your whole body tremors, and you press your face into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Ye- Yes.” You pant. “But- You’re not fucking me- You’re just- Oooh-“

He flicks his thumb this time, and it’s like a tiny electric shock. You don’t know how he always does this. It doesn’t matter if he’s got his hand between your legs or your pussy right on his face, he plays it like an instrument. It would make you scream if it didn’t feel so good.

“Well,” Dean muses, dragging his thumb in slow torturous circles as he starts to rub your pussy again. “I told you to behave earlier. And did you?”e

You shake your head, almost so overwhelmed from the attention on your core that you forget how to speak. “N- No.”

“That’s right. So I’m gonna fuck you,” he pulls his hand away for a second, landing a sharp slap on your ass before pushing it  back. “When you remember how to be a good girl.”

You whimper, but don’t argue. This is what you’d asked for, with all the teasing.

You’d just thought he’d give it to you rough. That’s what behave usually meant. An invitation for you to test the line, if you wanted him to pin your on his mouth and make you cum under you were begging him to stop. Once it meant lying over his lap while he fingered and spanked you, and you’d cum so hard you saw stars.

But that’s not what this is.

You’re melted over Dean’s chest, and he’s being lazy and mean. He keeps playing with your pussy like it’s a cute little toy. Just brushing it and rubbing your clit with barely any pressure.

“Mo- More.” You plead. “I need more-“

You almost sob, as he pushes one finger just into your entrance before taking it away. You hug him so tight you think it must hurt, but he doesn’t even grunt.

“Look at that.” He coos in your ear, smearing a little bit of your arousal on your thigh. “You’re making a mess on me, baby. Just from a little bit of touchin’.”

“Was- Was not a little bit-“

“Wasn’t much.” Dean muses, landing a sharp slap on your swollen pussy. “But it never takes much to get my girl wet, does it.”

You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes again. You’d beg if you had the words, but right now you’re just trying to hold on.

“Everything makes you so horny.” Dean drawls, going back to rubbing his big, warm hand over your pussy. “Remember when we got ice cream? Had to fuck you in my car, ‘cause you couldn’t even wait to get to the damn house.”

“You- You were- You were wearing a really nice shirt-“

“Sure, princess. It was the shirt.”

“It was-“

Dean slaps your pussy again, and your words fall into a whine.

“You ashamed of the truth, princess?” He teases, right in your ear. “How you really wanted me to stuff you up, fuck you and fill you like the cumslut that you are?”

You keen, and you can’t stop yourself from humping his hand again. This time, Dean lets you. He knows you need it.

“That’s right, baby girl. I know you like that.” He bites your ear, and you wiggle your ass right onto his fingers, trying to force one or two inside you. “I remember how I came on your thighs. You almost got me to put it in that day. One more of those pretty pleases and I woulda caved.”

“De- Deeaan-“

“Kept those panties too. I got a whole drawer for them, just for when I miss you.” He kisses the side of your head. “And I always fuckin’ miss you.”

The tears start to flow, half from the debaucherous sweetness of Dean’s words, and half from desperation. If you don’t cum right now, you’re going to explode.

And you’re close. You’re so close. Your pussy is clenching around nothing, but you’ve gotten the tips of Dean’s fingers to press onto your clit, and the sensitive little button is going to be enough to get you over the edge. He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it up, forcing you to meet his eyes as you work down onto his fingers. You sob in desperation, lips quivering and tits bouncing. Dean groans, pushing up to kiss you as hard as he can. And you’re so close.

Then the asshole stops.

He pulls his hand away, slaps your pussy, and stops.

You make a strangled, broken sound of defeat, and Dean just chuckles. He makes you both sit up, massaging your ass and kissing away your tears.

“Nice try.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “You think you earned bein’ able to cum?”

“Ye- Yes.” You pout hopefully, and Dean chuckles.

“Aw, sweetheart. You ain’t even mouthy anymore.”  

You swallow. “I- I can be-“

“Jesus.” Dean laughs, and that pools right in you tummy, the embarrassment stoking an already raging fire. 

Dean’s rubbing your sides, kissing all over your shoulders as breasts as you just try to breathe. You earned this. You really did. But god, it’s a perfect torture. He’s just kissing and touching you, in a way that would almost be innocent if you weren’t soaked wearing just a skirt and leaving a stain on his jeans. 

“’M sorry.” You breathe out, wrapping your arms around Dean’s head.

He hums, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Your eyes flutter, and it’s hard to stay focused. He’s so warm, his tongue dragging in little circles. You swallow, your voice getting higher as he starts to suck.

“I- I’m sorry I teased you, De- I- Pleaseeee-“

Dean moves away, grabbing your jaw and holding it back for him to inspect. You give him your best, pleading expression and pray it breaks him.

He taps your lips with his thumb. “Open.”

You obey in a second, and Dean’s lips twitch. He leans down, and spits right into your open mouth.

He’s done this before. It practically makes you gush every time. And it doesn’t help that he’s wrapped all around you, watching you with such teasing affection as you take it so easily. You swallow, and blink up at him with a fucked out, dazed expression.

“Good girl.” He mutters, and you beam up at him. “Yeah, I know. You like bein’ a good girl.”

God, you do. And from Dean’s lips, the words feel like a rush of adrenaline.

“But you’re not gonna learn, are you?” He drawls. “Gonna keep me on my toes, running around trying to find places to fuck you that won’t get us arrested.”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But you like me like that.”

That makes him laugh again, before he pulls you into a shockingly sweet, slow kiss.

“Damn right I do,” he mutters, before pulling back way. “Alright. Up.”

You blink at him. “Huh.”

“Stand up.” He nods to the foot of the bed. “Take off your skirt, ‘n come back.”

“But- You’re- You’re still-“

“Trust me, sweetheart.” Dean kisses the tip of your nose. “If I keep these pants on longer, Little Dean is gonna suffocate. I’ll take care of it.”

You giggle softly, and obey the command. The air feels cold, without Dean there folded over you. It’s just further motivation for you to push down your skirt and wait for his next request.

And you’ve been naked in front of Dean before. Many times, to varying degrees. But you’ve never done it like this.

Just… Bare. Wearing nothing and standing for him to see so clearly, as he pulls off his jeans and shirt then settles at the headboard. He’s taken his cock in his hand, and started to stroke it slowly. Looking you up and down with a lazy grin. Your skin prickles with anticipation, and with anyone else you’d try to wrap your arms around your stomach or shrink back and hide. And the first time you tried that, he’d pinned your hands over your head and fingered you until you squirted.

So maybe you should try it.

“Don’t even think about it.” He growls, when you move. “Wanna see you, baby.”

You swallow, shifting on your feet. “You can see me.”

“Hell yeah, I can.”

Dean’s gaze is burning into you. And it’s the most impossibly sensual thing you’ve ever see, Dean’s massive cock in his hand. The way it twitches and jumps as he touches it, as he watches you. He grunts, his hand staring to beat harder, and you press your thighs tight together.

It’s just you, that’s making him all flushed and hard. You almost start to drool again, thinking about crawling down the mattress and taking him back in your mouth. How he’d probably let you, with how he’s got lidded eyes and making low, rough grunts.

It’s a powerful, beautiful feeling.

But unfortunately, not enough to stop you from scrambling forward the moment he stretches out a hand.

Dean laughs, spinning you around so your back is tucked into his chest. His hand that hand been on his cock hitches up your leg, and the other wraps around your stomach, his fingers grazing under your breast. You tip your head back against his shoulder, closing your eyes and getting lost in the feeling. Dean, wrapped so fully and completely around you, keeping you nice and warm in his massive arms.

“Look at you.” He kisses along your jaw, fingers dragging over your sensitive inner thigh. “Nice and stupid for me already. Ready to be a pretty doll and take this cock.”

“Need it.” You breathe out, grabbing his forearm. “Pleeease, Dean, I’ve been waiting so long-“

You moan as he parts the swollen lips of your pussy, letting his cock slip and rub between your folds.

“I know you have.” He mutters. “Been waitin’ longer. Almost lost my mind, knowin’ how tight and warm you were but not being able to fuck you. Fuck you right, fuck you properly, fuck you ‘till you ain’t ever gonna remember another mans name.”

“Just you.” You manage to whine out, pushing your hips up to get a little more friction. “Always just you, Dean, don’t want anyone else, never wanted anyone else- Fuuuck-“

He pushes inside. It’s slow and careful, deft fingers rubbing your clit to help you relax. It’s not like much help is needed, though. He’s so big you can’t close your fingers around him, but he slips into your cunt like a glove.

“Shit-“ Dean groans in your ear, lips hot and wet on your skin. “Greedy pussy swallowing me up, baby, knew you’d take me so good, take me perfect-“

He bottoms out, pressing against a gooey spot deep inside you body. Nobody’s ever really hit it before, let along split you open so well it gets a consistent, throbbing pressure. His tip kisses your cervix, his breathing ragged in your ear, and you both need a few seconds to adjust.

You turn your head, trying to chase his mouth, and find Dean already there. He kisses you slowly, open mouthed with his tongue mapping every inch of your mouth. His arms are fully wrapped around your stomach, and you cling to them like a seatbelt. You’re lightheaded in the best possible way. Dean hums against your lips, and the sound vibrates inside of you.

You mewl, tossing your head back and clenching down. Dean hisses, and pulls you further back into his chest.

“Son of a bitch, you can’t just-“

“Sorry.” You whine out, turning your face to hide in his neck. “Just- ‘S big, Dean. So big.”

Dean chuckles. It doesn’t help.

“Big, huh?”

“Don’t milk it.” You grumble, and he laughs fully.

“I don’t think I’m the one that’s gonna be doin’ the milking, princess.”

He thrusts up, and you whimper.

“Dean-“

“That’s right.” He repeats the shallow thrust, and your moan gets loud. “Sing for me, baby, show ‘em who owns this pussy.”

“Y- You.” You stutter out. Your head is empty. You don’t think you can fit Dean’s cock and thinking at the same time. “Dean- Deeean-“

He attaches his lips to your neck again, sucking and kissing as he pushes you further down on his cock.

But he stops thrusting. He just has you… sit there.

On him. So full you can barely breathe, every nerve in your body stimulated but being offered no relief.

“What- What’re you-“

“Wanna keep you’re here for a while.” He murmurs, his kisses slowing. Becoming lazy and over attentive again, without giving you what you really need. “Just like this. My perfect fuckin’ girl, look at you.”

He taps your clit, and you try to arch up into the touch, but his hold is too strong.

“Fuck- Dean-“

“Just a little bit, baby.” He coos, rubbing your clit with the very tip of his fingers. “Just hold it for me.”

And God, you try. You sit on Dean and let him tease and touch you however he wants. He drags circles around your clit until you’re panting and whining, then moves his attention back up to your nipples. Tweaking and rolling them between his fingers, kissing over your neck and shoulders as his cock twitches inside of you with every lewd moans of his name.

“You like that?” He murmurs, and you nod.

Then he stops it, kissing the sob out of your mouth and moving onto something else.

He’s done this to you before. Had you in his arms and teased you until you couldn’t take it, then let you cum. But he’s never done it while sheathed inside of you. It heightens everything, making it impossible to think outside of his hands and lips and cock. His thick cock, not pressing against your ass, but buried in your cunt and still hitting all those sensitive places.

You’re on fire, and Dean’s just letting you build and build and build up to an explosive pressure. There are spots dancing behind your eyes, when he starts rubbing your clit in fast, brutal circles, then stops just before you can fall over the edge. You claw at his arms, wrecked beyond words, sobbing and trying to get away and get him closer.

For a second, you make the mistake of bowing your head. Your eyes flutter open, and you get a full view of Dean’s cock settled inside you. His balls pressed right against your ass, the way he almost fit everything in, but there’s still a bit of his base that didn’t make it. It’s slick with your arousal, dripping right out of your pussy as you whimper.

“De- Deaaan-“ It’s all you’ve been moaning, for who knows how long.

You’re so overstimulated, time is starting to blur. Maybe it’s been an hour, maybe only five minutes. It feels like you’ve been here forever.

“Please- Please-“ You blubber, leaning back to look at him under tear-stained lashes, the words falling from swollen lips. “I- I’ll do anything, oooooh- Fuck-“

Dean gives a shallow thrust, and your whole body spasms. He’s watching under hooded, lust blown eyes. And if the starved, animalistic look in his eyes is any clue, if he doesn’t cave for your sake, he’s going to cave for his.

“You gonna be good for me?” He rasps, and you nod frantically.

“So good- Please-“

Dean kisses you again, but this time he shifts you in his arms. His arm wraps around your neck, pinning you fully to his chest in a headlock. Your eyes roll back, a dazed smile covering your face.

His movements are relaxed and controlled, but you can see the feral glint his eyes.

You won.

“Perfect fuckin’ pussy, making a mess all over this cock.” He grunts out, bending his knees so you’re fully folded into his lap. “Could die here, baby- Fuucckkk-“

He seems to lose his own voice, the second he starts thrusting up into you. A beautiful moan rumbles in your ears, and Dean presses his nose tight against the side of your head. You whimper, holding onto him tight, mostly to try and keep grounded.

Dean’s fucking into you at a rough, snapping pace, and this is what you’d expected, but it’s better than you could’ve dream. The feeling of every vein and inch of him being pushed though your cunt. The obscene sounds of his cock slamming into you cunt, his arm around you forcing your head back onto his shoulder, giving you a full glimpse of Dean as your pussy strangles and squeezes him.

He looks destroyed, panting broken praise in your ear as his lips droop and his mouth hangs open.

You push up a little, managing to get his attention with a whimper. He gives you a curious look, then understands in a second. His lips mold over yours, and you babble some cockdrunk nonsense against his mouth. You’re fully crying again, so lost in the pleasure that you can’t even find the shame to care. Dean’s drilling up, pushing every thought in your head away into a pleasurable haze.

He pulls your knees up higher, letting him hit even deeper than before. Each stoke is deep and rough, and you’d been worked up so well that your pussy is just weeping and taking him like you’re a fuckdoll. You feel like one, in the best possible way. Stuffed up and pounded with abandon, slicking Dean’s cock so that it drives right back into your like a toy.

You moan, letting your eyes close and drowning in the impossibly good feeling. You can’t believe you waited this long. If Dean fucks like this, you might never get off his cock again.

“That’s it,” he squeezes your breast before moving those sinful fingers back down to play with your clit. “Takin’ me so perfect, baby girl, just gotta cum for me- Cum all over my dick, show me how much you love it- Come on-“

That’s really all it takes. Dean’s everywhere around you, his cock bullying into that gooey spot, and your orgasms hits you so hard you think you black out. The heat that had pooled in your stomach explodes and floods all your senses, pouring out of your pussy as your hips buck and you squirm in his grip.

Dean groans your name, and his thrusts get tighter. Faster and more brutal as he chases his own release. It prolongs your own orgasm, forcing it to drag out as you vision dances with spots.

Dean slams home, turning your head to find another, bruising kiss, and now you might be ascending. He’s cumming deep, deep into your pussy, and the sounds get better as he fucks it back into you. Everything in you is so full, you think you might be about to burst with light.

You get a soft kiss on your brow, as his grip loosens around your neck. When he finally settles and tries to pull away, you fumble to grab his wrist, fixing him with a pleading stare. You don’t ever want to be empty again.

“Gotta take care of you, baby.” Dean mutters, kissing the back of your hand. “We can do more later. When you’re talkin’.”

You roll your eyes, and he chuckles, booping your nose. You wrinkle it, and he kisses the angry pout off your lips.

“Silly girl.” He murmurs, and just like that you’re melting again. “Like I could live with myself if I didn’t fuck you again.”

You flush, and roll over to hide it in the sheets. Dean laughs, kissing the base of your spine and slapping your ass before fully standing up.

And you learn another difference between boys and men. All the douchebags you’ve slept with before rolled off of you and started smoking or talking about something unimportant.

Dean gets you water, and coaxes it down your throat. He draws a bath and carries you into it, but not before making sure you pee. He changes the sheets and gets you clean clothing and brings you a snack, smiling at you and kissing the top of your head every single time.

“You’re like a maid.” You mumble once you’re back in bed, curled into his chest.

He laughs, grinning down at you. “Only for my favorite girl.”

“I’m your favorite?”

“Don’t be a brat.” He gives you an amused look. “Don’t think you’d be able to handle another round, honey.”

You sigh dramatically, flopping fully onto his chest. You prop your chin up, watching him watch you. There’s that quiet, unending adoration again. You wish you could see it every second of every day, instead of sneaking out and-

Oh.

“Shit.” You sit up, and Dean grunts, grabbing your waist to keep you steady.

“What, what’s wrong-“

“I- Um- You can’t get mad.”

Dean says your name in a low warning, and you swallow.

“My- My dad- He, um-“

“Sweetheart-“

“He knows!” You blurt. “He’s known for a while, actually, and it’s- It’s actually your fault, you showed him that dick pic and voice memo you sent me-“

“I what-“

“You did it by accident! But you still did it, and-“

“Which one did he hear?” Dean demands, and you cringe.

“The one about- About tying me up.”

Dean goes pale. He groans, tipping his head back and grabbing onto you like he thinks someone’s going to rip you away.

“God fuckin’- I’m dead-“

“No!” You grab his face with a smile. “You’re not! He’s fine with it!”

Dean blinks. “He is?”

You nod. “He- Well, he wants to know when you’re going to marry me, but- Um-“ You laugh nervously. Dean’s older. You just had sex for the first time. He probably doesn’t want to think about that yet. “You know. He’s chill.”

“He’s chill.” Dean echoes.

“Mhm. Except for- The marriage thing.”

Dean hums. He’s relaxed again, dragging his palms in slow circles over your ass. His lips pull into that lazy, satisfied smirk. You flush just from the sight of it.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He squeezes your waist. “Just tell him to give it a few months.”

“A- Give what-“

Dean raises his brows. Your mouth falls open.

“A few months-“

“I know what I want.” Dean shrugs. And you can see it. Him watching you so, so carefully.

And you smile.

Because you do to.

“Yeah?” You whisper, leaning down to hover your lips over his.

“Yeah.” He mutters. “That alright with you?”

You answer with a kiss, and Dean grunts, immediately rolling you over. And this sweet, slow moment feels like it’s going to last forever.

You hope—you pray—that it does.

✦End note: honestly this might be one of my favorite i hope you enjoyed it.✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

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The Thousand Sunny swayed gently as the late afternoon sun dipped low, casting gold across the deck. The usual chaos had settled into something quieter—Luffy napping, Zoro training, Usopp tinkering with something that would probably explode later.

You leaned against the railing, arms folded, watching the sea. You hadn’t meant to skip lunch. Or the one before that.

From behind you, a familiar voice cut through the breeze. “Aren’t you going to get some food?”

You didn’t have to turn around to know it was Sanji. The faint clink of dishes and the smell of something warm and perfectly seasoned gave him away instantly.

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, keeping your tone casual. “I need to eat less anyway.”

There was a pause—too long for him. Sanji set the tray down beside you with a soft thud. “That’s a terrible reason,” he said, quieter than usual.

You shrugged, still not looking at him. “It’s not a big deal.”

It felt like one, though. You’d noticed it weeks ago. The way he spun hearts around Nami, the poetry he practically recited to Robin, the way he tripped over himself for every woman they met. It was ridiculous, over-the-top… and completely absent when it came to you. At first, it hadn’t bothered you. You weren’t like them—you didn’t dress like them, didn’t act like them. You were a fighter. Practical. Focused. But somewhere along the line, you stopped taking the extra portions he made for you. Stopped lingering when he cooked. Stopped wondering.

Sanji let out a small sigh. “You figured it out backwards, you know.”

That made you turn. “What?”

He wasn’t smiling like usual. No hearts in his eyes, no dramatic swooning. Just… him. “I noticed you avoiding my cooking,” he said. “Took me longer than it should’ve to realise why.”

You frowned. “It’s not—”

“It is,” he cut in gently. “You think I don’t treat you like the others because I don’t find you attractive.”

Your silence answered for you. Sanji ran a hand through his hair, looking oddly… embarrassed. “I’ve been an idiot,” he admitted. That definitely wasn’t what you expected.

“I treat every woman like they’re something out of a dream,” he continued, glancing out at the sea. “It’s a habit. A bad one.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Didn’t think about how it might look to someone I… respect.”

You blinked. “Respect?”

He looked back at you then, meeting your eyes fully. “You’re strong. You don’t need the same nonsense I throw at everyone else,” he said. “You stand beside us in fights, not behind. You don’t need me acting like you’re made of glass.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re beautiful.”

That landed harder than you expected.

Sanji picked up the tray again, holding it out—not like an offering to be admired, but like something meant for you, specifically. “I like you,” he said simply. “A lot, actually. Probably why I’ve been… different.”

You stared at the food, then back at him. “Different how?”

He exhaled slowly. “Because with you, I don’t want to be that guy. The usual flirt. The exaggerated gentleman. The walking heart-eyes disaster. I want to get it right.”

The sincerity in his voice made it hard to argue.

“…You could’ve just said something,” you muttered.

Sanji gave a small, sheepish smile. “Yeah. Working on that too.”

There was a quiet moment between you, the sea stretching endlessly beyond the ship.

Then he nudged the tray slightly closer. “Eat,” he said. “Not because I made it. Not because you think you should.” A small pause. “But because you deserve to.”

You hesitated only a second this time before taking it. Sanji’s smile softened—no hearts, no dramatics. Just quiet relief. Maybe different wasn’t so bad after all.

—

It starts small. At first, it’s just instinct. Sanji’s mid-swoon—practically melting into a puddle at Nami’s feet, hearts in his eyes, voice climbing three octaves too high—and before you even think about it, your hand comes up and flicks. Right to his forehead.

“OW—?!” He snaps upright, clutching his head, spinning toward you in shock.

You shrug. “You were being annoying.”

Nami snorts. Robin hides a smile behind her hand.

Sanji stares at you for a second, stunned… and then, unexpectedly, he laughs. A quiet, breathy kind of laugh, like he didn’t mind at all. “…Fair enough.”

—

It becomes a habit after that. Not an official one. No one talks about it. But it happens often enough that the crew starts to notice. Whenever Sanji tips too far into his usual theatrics—spinning, crying, shouting declarations of eternal love to someone he met thirty seconds ago—you’re there. A flick to the forehead. A tug on his sleeve. Or, occasionally— You pluck the cigarette right out of his mouth.

“Hey—!”

“You’re about to embarrass yourself,” you say flatly, holding it just out of reach.

“I am always embarrassing myself,” he shoots back.

“Yeah, but now you’ve got an audience.”

He pauses. Glances around. Realises you’re right. “…Give that back.”

“Say please.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no real bite to it. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You grin, just a little. “Maybe.”

After a beat, he sighs dramatically—but softer than before. “Please.”

You hand it back.

—

At first, the others think it’s hilarious. Usopp calls it “taming the cook.” Luffy just laughs every time it happens, usually with food in his mouth. Zoro pretends not to care, but there’s a smirk hiding in there somewhere.

But over time… something shifts. Sanji still flirts. Still dotes. Still spins hearts around Nami and Robin like it’s second nature. But it’s… less. Less overwhelming. Less constant. Like he’s catching himself before going too far. And sometimes—just sometimes—you catch him glancing your way first. As if checking whether you’re about to intervene.

—

One evening, you find him alone on the deck, cigarette between his fingers, staring out at the horizon. You walk up beside him, leaning against the railing.

“…You didn’t flick me all day,” he says after a moment.

“You behaved,” you reply.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “That so?”

“Mostly.”

There’s a pause. Then, without looking at you, he says, “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

“Do what?”

“Keep me in line.”

You glance at him. “Someone has to.”

He smiles faintly, but there’s something more thoughtful behind it now. “I meant what I said before,” he adds. “About wanting to change.”

“I know.”

Another quiet beat, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead. “…Does it bother you?” he asks. “The way I still act sometimes?”

You consider it. “It used to,” you admit. “Not because of what you were doing.”

He finally looks at you.

“But because I thought it meant something about me.”

His expression softens immediately. “It doesn’t,” he says, firm and certain.

“I know that now.” You reach over without thinking—and take the cigarette from his fingers.

He raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t even doing anything.”

“You were about to overthink.”

“…That’s not a crime.”

“It is if I have to listen to it.”

He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

But he doesn’t take the cigarette back right away. Instead, he watches you for a second—really watches you—like he’s still figuring something out, even now. “…You’re terrible at being subtle, you know,” he says.

You hand the cigarette back. “Good.”

He takes it, brushing your fingers for just a second longer than necessary. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

“Guess so.”

You fell for Sanji's charms; his annoyingly handsome smirk, and that body, oh god, you felt yourself squirm thinking about the things he did to you the night before.

You felt him move beside you. His arm draped across your waist, keeping you in place.

You turned to your side, facing way from Sanji.

He lets out a groan, you curse yourself for finding it attractive.

He moves with you, pulling you back to his chest, his nose nuzzling against your neck.

You froze at his actions, trying to ignore how quickly the heat in your belly grew. He then began to place kisses on your neck, his hold on your waist tightening, pulling you flush against him.

You let out an involuntary moan, feeling his clothed erection pressed against your butt, he thrusts forward.

"G'morning," He says, his voice gruff and deep. Damn his morning voice.

He continues his actions, kissing up your neck, now grazing his teeth lightly on you, making you squirm.

"This is nice," His lips close to the shell of your ear, "Waking up to an angel like you," He softly nips at your earlobe, a sigh escaping your lips.

"Sanji-"

"I like how you say my name," He says, "Like it more when you're screaming it though."

His arm around your waist loosens his hold on you, his fingers begin to creep up.

"W-what are you doing?" You ask, feeling his hand cup your breast.

"What do you think Baby? I'm touching you." He says nonchalantly, his fingers teasing your nipple.

You bite down a moan, your ass pressing into his crotch at his sudden actions.

His other hand grips your waist, thrusting forward into your ass.

"You got me so hard Luv, fuck, I can't wait to be inside you again."

You whimper at his words, in combination to him playing with your breast, you were already so wet.

One half of you was screaming, telling you to run, this was your coworker for fucks sake! But the other half is telling you to stay, to let it happen; it's been ages since you've had a good lay and Sanji was more than willing to provide.

"Sanji, fuck," You cry out.

"Use your words baby, tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me," You say, "I want your fingers inside me, anything, please."

You already fucked him before, what's another round?

"Yeah Baby, beg for me. Beg for my dick, tell me how much you want me."

Half of you wanted to slap him for his words, the other wanted nothing but his dick buried deep inside you.

"Need you inside me Sanji, need you deep inside me, fuck," You exhaled harshly, feeling his other hand begin to play with your clit, the other still playing with your nipple, “Make me cum!” 

Sanji grins, loving every second of this; he's won you over (at least he thinks).

"You're dripping, so wet for me," He slips a finger inside, "Your pussy is gripping on me so tight," He adds another finger in, you start thrusting in junction to his actions.

"Humping my hand Luv?" He grins cheekily, "Fuck yourself on my hand, let me feel how much you need me."

You shut your eyes tightly, biting down on your lip as you grind yourself down on his hand, all the while Sanji continued peppering your skin with bite marks. You lose yourself, screaming his name as you came on his hand instantly.

"Fuck," He groans, continuing to pump his digits inside you, your oversensitive walls contracting, making you cry out from the over stimulation. "Keep coming for me Angel."

"Sanji!" You yell out, finally grabbing his wrist to prevent him from doing anything further.

"P-please, I need- fuck, I need a second," You say weakly, biting down on your bottom lip. 

Sanji turns you around so the two of you were facing each other and leans in for a kiss, a soft one, much to your surprise.

He pins your arms above your head, he continues to kiss you passionately.

His lips were soft and addicting; you thought you could kiss him for hours, though in reality you'd be too impatient and want him to fuck you instead.

He grinds his crotch on yours, your back arching from the bed.

"I guess the second’s over?" He teases you, his free hand playing with the waistband of your panties.

"Sanji please," You whine.

"Please what?"

You bite down on your lip, pouting at him, you found out last night he had a weakness for your lips.

His eyes darken at the sight, you felt yourself grow wetter.

"Sanji, you know what I want." You pull one of your hands out of his hold, trailing from his chest, down to the waistband and of his boxers, you grab the shaft of his thick erection, "Want this dick in me, Daddy." You smirk.

In seconds, your panties were ripped off of you, his underwear gone also. He aligns his dick to your entrance, filling you completely.

"Oh god!" You cry out, Sanji’s grip still on one of your wrists, his other hand grabbing your breast as he thrust himself in and out of you.

"Harder please!"

You could have sworn he grew bigger inside you. His thrusts deeper and deeper, endless moans escaping your lips and you couldn't care less.

“Dirty aren't you Princess? Didn't think you'd be into this shit, fuck, you're so sexy, so needy of Daddy's cock. You like that huh, being Daddy's slut?"

"Yes Daddy!" You cry out, feeling your walls clamp harder on his dick.

"My pretty slut, needing Daddy's dick inside her." He grins, loving how responsive you were.

“Yes, yes, yes!” 

“Your pussy is heaven Princess, m'gonna fuck you so hard,” He takes a deep breath.

“Gonna fuck you everywhere, you’d like that, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you outside? Want Daddy to fuck you in the middle of Baratie? Wanna show the world how much of a pretty little cockslut you are for me.” 

Your walls clenched harder on Sanji’s cock at the thought of being fucked by him in a public area. You’d never do it but the thrill of being watched aroused you. 

"Such a naughty girl, wanting her pussy to be fucked wherever Daddy wants.”

“Sanji please!” You cry out.

“I can't last long with you gripping on me like this, fuck, cum for Daddy, cum on my cock Princess."

"Daddy! Fuck, I'm so close, cum inside me please, I need it!"

Sanji lets out a grunt, burying his face into your neck, he lets go of your wrist and holds your waist instead, gripping it tightly.

"Cum for me Princess, let me feel you baby, cum for Daddy, cum on my dick like a good slut.”

It frustrates you to no end how much you enjoyed this, how much his dirty words affected you.

"Fuck, I'm so close!" You cry out, already seeing stars.

You felt his other hand slip down between the two of you. He rubbed your clit, his thick cock stretching your walls, the tip of his dick hitting your gspot dead-on.

Moan after moan escaped your lips, Sanji’s grunts pushed you further to the brink. 

“Please Daddy, cum inside me, I'm your little cockslut, please Daddy!”

"You're mine. only mine.” 

You cry out, "I'm cumming fuuuuck, Sanji!"

His grip on your waist tightens, you're sure it was gonna leave a bruise but you didn't care, you've never felt pleasure like this before.

Sanji groaned against your skin, thrusting deeply, spilling his seed deep inside you. A guttural sound escaping his throat as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

You couldn’t help but match his thrusts, squirting on his cock as he pumped long, thick ropes of cum inside you, whimpers left your lips as the two of you came down from your high. 

Sanji lies down on top of you, harsh breaths filled the room, you closed your eyes as he rests his head on the crook of your neck.

That feeling of shame creeps back into your body as you realized, you had mind-blowing sex with Sanji, again.

As much as you enjoyed it, Sanji was too much of a flirt. You didn’t want to become another name on his list; you were too smart for that.

Or so at least you thought you were.

You squirmed under his body, silently signaling to him that you wanted him to move.

“Um, I think we should clean up.” You say softly.

Sanji hums in agreement, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You only had sex with him twice and already his touch made you feel so hot. This was bad.

“Wait,” He says, reaching for a towel that hung on his bedpost.

He places the towel where you two are connected and slowly pulls out, catching the mixed fluids of the two of you. He quickly gets up from the bed and into the bathroom, leaving you alone on his bed.

He comes back quickly holding a small washcloth and begins wiping you off.

You ignore the warm feeling growing in your chest, this is common courtesy you tell yourself.

“I-I should go now...” You say, biting down on your bottom lip, looking at Sanji as he simply stares back at you.

A small frown grows on his lips at your words, he nods his head.

“The bathrooms on the right, you can freshen up before you go.”

After a hot shower, you feel refreshed. For a moment you forgot where you were or what just happened.

You turn off the water and grab the towel that hung next to the tub, wrapping it around your body you walk towards the sink, finally giving yourself a good look.

You look at your reflection, stunned.

Your neck was covered in varying splotches of purple and dark red, your lips visibly plumper than usual from the amount of times you kissed Sanji. You touch your cheek, feeling them start to heat up as your mind gets flooded of the memories of him.

You ignored it for as long as you can, pushing away all the feelings you’ve felt for Sanji, feelings you thought you hid deep in your heart.

Dressing quickly in the clothes you wore the night before, ignoring the pounding of your heart as you make it out the bathroom. You walk back into his room, surprised that it was already clean.

You make your way out, hoping you could make a quiet escape.

As you turn, you walk into his chest, a tiny yelp coming from your lips.

“Sorry Luv, didn’t mean to startle you.” He says, amused.

You shake your head, “It’s okay, I-I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“In my room?”

You mentally facepalmed yourself.

“Right, yes, uhm...” You let out a forced chuckle, you didn’t want to meet his gaze.

Cause you knew the moment you looked into his crystal blue eyes, he’d get you to stay forever, if he asked.

“Well- okaybye!” You accidentally shout, pushing past him and reaching for the doorknob.

You almost turn the knob when Sanji grabs you by your arm, pulling you back to face him.

“Wait, did I do something wrong?” He asks, confused by your actions.

You finally look into his eyes, surprised you see... sadness?

“I need to go back to my room, my shift starts soon." You lie, knowing damn well he knew your schedule.

Sanji loosens his grip on your arm, nodding his head, knowing you lied to him but he lets you go.

—✦—

It had been days since you had an actual conversation with Sanji; it was impossible for you to completely ignore him given the two of you work in the same restaurant.

You begged Zeff if you could take the morning shift from now on, it was the only shift you knew Sanji didn't want to work.

You had a solid two days of "bliss" before Sanji figured out that you changed your schedule. It wasn't too hard for him to realize the change given the two of you used to work the dinner shift side by side.

Sanji tried to talk to you outside of work with no avail; the moment you saw his blonde hair you'd immediately leave the room.

After day five, you were tired. Tired of waking up at 5am for the breakfast shift and tired of pushing down your feelings for Sanji.

And to top it off, you missed him.

You missed working along side with him. You missed the way he riled you up whenever there was a dinner rush, proposing whoever plates the fastest gets a free pint at the bar. You missed his smile, and how his eyes sparkled when he found a new recipe to try out.

You let out a sigh, standing in front of Sanji’s front door. you gulp, knocking on the wood. Maybe he isn’t here? You hoped.

You hear footsteps from inside and quickly you see his familiar (and handsome) face.

“Hey,” You say softly, unsure of how to start. “Can I come in to talk?”

Sanji rolls his eyes at you, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You felt a sharp pang of hurt in your chest, you ignore the urge to pout.

“Why? We can talk out here.” He says coldly.

Okay I deserve that.

“Just, please?” You give him a pleading look, in which Sanji absolutely tries his best to keep glaring at you, but failing miserably.

He could never truly stay mad at you, even if you deserved it.

After a few seconds of silence, he sighs, moving out of the doorway so you could come inside.

You make your way into his room and sit down at his couch. He sits next to you looking at you intensely.

“So?”

You let out a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry for walking out on you that morning.”

“Walk? You practically sprinted out of here!"

“I know, I’m really sorry, I just- I needed to get away okay? I- I don’t know what any of this meant and I had to leave.”

Sanji rolls his eyes at your words.

“Are you being serious right now?” He asks you in disbelief.

You stand up from your seat, standing right in front of him looking right into his eyes.

You could see a mixture of anger, confusion, and sadness in his eyes, you felt a small twinge of guilt in your heart.

"I’m sorry, was I supposed to assume that after we fucked you’re my boyfriend or something?! I thought this was a one time thing!"

“Is that how low you think of me?” He takes a step forward, lessening the space between the two of you.

“Is that how low you think of how I see you?”

You take a step back, your heart beat racing.

“I- no- I’m-“ You stutter, “I-“ You feel your face heating up.

“You could have asked,” He says softly. "Instead of ignoring me."

“Well, you could have told me before any of this.” You say, feeling your back press against the wall, you didn’t realize how much you walked.

“I acted on my impulses, and I didn’t hear you complaining.” He smirks, raising his hand to gently stroke your arm.

You shiver at his touch, feeling your lust for him creeping back up your body.

“I’m sorry I ran out and ignored you. I was being a coward okay?"

His hand trails up, reaching behind the back of your neck, his other arm wrapping around your waist he pulls you forward.

“I’ll forgive you...” He trails his face leaning close down to yours.

You decide you were done running away from your feelings, already you were this addicted to his touch.

“... Can I kiss you?” He asks, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You mumble a weak yes; Sanji presses his lips on yours, you felt him smile on your lips as he holds you tighter.

You moan into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck.

He pushes your back against the wall. He lets go of your waist and grabs both of your thighs to pull you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

His lips felt like heaven and he tasted so sweet. The familiar heat grew in your tummy, your head started to feel light as the kiss continued.

“Sanji.” You sigh, breaking the kiss.

“Yeah Baby?”

“So I’m forgiven?” You ask, making him chuckle at your question.

"Of course Luv, how can I say no to you?"

You barely register the strain of your own trembling arms, your fingers gripping the overhead railing so hard your knuckles burn white. The pressure of your palms anchors you in the present, reminding you that you’re suspended in that humid, balmy darkness, your body draped over him. Your thighs bracket his, clinging to him for purchase, and your knees thud against the mattress in a steady, building rhythm.

Every muscle in your legs shakes from the effort of holding yourself up, but you refuse to slacken, refuse to let go. It’s as if relinquishing that grip would break the spell you’re under, the one that has him staring up at you, his eyes half-lidded and burning, his own hands forging bruises into your hips.

Sanji hasn’t looked away from your face, not once. Every bounce, every hesitant circle of your hips, every desperate grind—he tracks it all with a hungry patience, as though he’s cataloging every microexpression for future reference. His hands are all over you, sometimes both anchored at your waist, sometimes splaying fingers around your ribcage or snaking up to stroke the column of your throat. When you try to move faster, to chase the friction that’s already setting your nerves on fire, he simply tightens his grip and slows you back down, setting a deliberate pace that has you clenching around him, breathless and on the edge of sobbing.

You whimper, voice hoarse, letting your head fall back as you try to drag yourself down harder onto him. The ache inside you is overwhelming, hunger so sharp it feels like it might turn into pain, but Sanji’s relentless in the way he holds you, the way he draws every motion out just to the edge of unbearable.

“Please,” you gasp out, the word almost unrecognizable in the thick air of the room. You don’t know what you’re begging for. Release, maybe, or just the end of this exquisite torture.

He only laughs, a low, rolling sound that vibrates through your whole body. “No, no, no,” he croons, voice syrupy and cruel. “You don’t get to rush this, baby. Not tonight. Keep those hands right there. That’s why you’re up there in the first place.” He strokes you with the words, makes you feel small and wanton, and you realize you’d do anything he asks of you, just for the reward of that voice, of his approval. “Tonights all about taking our time.”

He keeps you moving, keeps you straining, each upstroke and downstroke orchestrated by the subtle, relentless pressure of his hands. You feel like a marionette, and he’s the puppeteer, pulling your strings with infuriating precision. It should be humiliating, should make you feel powerless, but it’s the opposite. Your entire mind has narrowed down to the perfect, aching alignment of your body to his, the way he fills you, the way he refuses to give you anything you haven’t earned.

You bite down on a moan, try to keep your breathing even as you feel your orgasm approach, but he notices anyway.

“That’s it,” Sanji says, almost purring now, hips thrusting up in time with yours, his own head thrown back as he groans. When his eyes meet yours, they’re dark and lidded, his voice containing a rasp. “Feel it. Don’t hide from it.”

He lets go of your waist with one hand and slides it up your body, trailing his fingertips from hip to ribcage to sternum in one sinuous line. You shudder, and your eyes flutter closed, but he’s not having that; he grabs your chin and tilts your face down so you’re forced to look at him.

He kisses you then, all tongue and teeth and insistent need. It’s not gentle; it’s messy, domineering, and you never want to end. Sanji sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls until it hurts, then shoves his tongue into your mouth. You melt into it, let him have you, and when he finally pulls away, you’re gasping, lips numb and swollen.

He uses that same hand to grab your jaw, squeezing until your mouth falls open on its own, your tongue lolling out for him. The look on his face is pure delight, thrilled at his own power over you. Without warning, he spits into your mouth, and you shiver at the hot slickness of it, at the obscene intimacy. “Swal—,” he starts to order, but you’re already doing it, eager, desperate to please.

You see the approval on his face, feel it in his accidental hip thrust that, and your body thrums with pride. “Good girl,” he says. “That’s what I like. Love it when you listen to me. You’ve been so good, I think it’s time for your reward, don’t you think?”

He shifts underneath you, adjusts his angle, and the new position makes you see stars. You whine at the sudden, perfect pressure, and he grins up at you, wicked. “Can you take more?” he asks, his voice almost gentle now, a dark promise.

You nod, speechless, and he brings both hands to grip your waist again, this time rolling his own hips up into you so that the force of it nearly knocks the wind out of your chest. You cry out, choked, and the sound makes his pupils dilate, his cock twitching inside you. He starts to fuck up into you in earnest, meeting every bounce with a thrust that leaves you writhing, your body slick with sweat and trembling with effort.

‘Fuck, thank you for being so good to me. God, you’re incredible like this, the way you’re squeezing me.”

He keeps you at that edge forever, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and your whole body is locked up, rigid with need. You try to hold yourself together, but you’re unraveling under his hands, already verging on tears from the intensity. He watches the whole thing, his gaze sharp and attentive, never missing a single detail.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost reverent now. “So fucking gorgeous like this. Ruined for me.” He leans up just far enough to catch your nipple in his mouth, sucking it hard and biting until you gasp again, then laves over the sting with his tongue. He does the same to the other side, and then pulls back, leaving your chest streaked with saliva and flushed red.

He slows the pace for a moment, just enough for you to catch your breath. Sanji’s pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the color of his irises as he watches you fracture apart beneath his hands. “You want to come?” he growls, voice low and feral. You nod frantically, all dignity lost. “Go ahead and be loud for me.” Is all he says before he brings his thumb down to your clit, rubbing in tight, merciless circles that almost make you scream.

It feels like a live wire, pressure so precise it borders on unbearable, each circle dragging you closer to dissolution. You clamp down around him, the sensation too much, and you know you’re going to break. Your own arousal coats the inside of your thigh and his hips, the wet slide of your bodies sounding obscene in the otherwise quiet night, punctuated by his rough breathing and your choked whimpers.

Sanji leans up, mouth at your ear, and says, “Come for me, right now.” You obey, because you can’t do anything else, your body spasming around him in violent, convulsive waves. You sob through it, raw and wrecked, legs locking tight around his hips, and he holds you together, rocking you through every aftershock until you finally collapse against his chest, spent and shaking.

Afterwards, he shifts his hands to cradle your head, running his thumb over the sweat-damp line of your temple as you still tremble, clenching occassionally around his cock. You don’t want to move, not ever, and he seems to know exactly what you feel. Sanji gathers you, an arm banded tight around your back, the other stroking slow patterns from your shoulders down your spine. He holds you there, murmuring praises. “You did so good for me, baby. So good.”

Your body hums with aftershocks, not just in the throbbing ache between your legs but in every cell. For a moment the fear that you’re still too exposed, too wanton, that you’ve crossed some unspoken line and can never go back, flickers through your mind. But then Sanji’s lips are on your cheek, and then your jaw, and then making slow, lazy circuits along your hairline, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and let yourself drift in the warmth of his praise.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, and you want so badly to believe it that you think maybe you do. You sink into him, equal parts exhausted and wild, and you feel something almost like peace settle over you.

You’re not ready for him to move, but he does, with surprising gentleness. He slides his hands under your thighs and flips you, rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the damp sheets with his weight. You blink up at him, dazed, your arms splayed out like you’ve been crucified by pleasure.

He nudges your legs wider, presses in, still hard enough to make you whimper at the sudden stretch. “Lemme fill you up,” he murmurs, words slurred with need, and he fucks you deeply now, the rhythm heady and unrestrained, every thrust pushing you deeper into mattress and into him.

You can feel how desperate he is now, the way he shudders and flexes his jaw, the way Sanji keeps his eyes locked on your face. He barely speaks, just a tumble of curses and gasps and endearments, “God, you’re so beautiful like this—fuck, the way you squeeze me, you’re dripping,” His voice cracks as he focuses on picking up the speed, your back arching up to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back in a desperate clutch. You’re oversensitive, overstimulated, but he keeps going, chasing his own oblivion with single-minded greed.

“You’re perfect, meant for me, only me.” It’s a prayer and a promise and a warning all at once, and you find yourself helpless beneath it.He comes with a guttural sound, buries himself to the hilt and pulses inside you, pelvis grinding against your overstimulated clit in a bruising, messy climax. The sensation sets off another, smaller orgasm that ripples through you, making you sob and cling, your legs locked tight around his hips.

He slumps, heavy and hot, blanketing you with his body. You could die like this, you think. You’d let him crush you into the mattress, leave the world behind, as long as it means you’re held this close. Sweat cools between your skin and his, and you’re both breathing in time, chests rising and falling as if you share the same rhythm.

You don’t know how long you lie there, fused together, his arms tangled around your shoulders, his nose buried in your hair. When he finally softens and slides out, you whimper at the sensation, the emptiness, but he hushes you, rolling you gently to your side and spooning up behind you.

You’re shaking, you realize—shock, or maybe just the body’s way of recalibrating. He wraps himself around you, legs tangled with yours, hands splayed over your belly, and hands caress you slowly, like he’s trying to settle your bones.

“Shhhh,” he whispers, mouth at your ear, “I got you. You did so good for me, angel. You can let go now, relax. I’m not going anywhere.” You feel the press of his lips into your shoulder, the soft, almost chaste kisses that trail along your spine. You want to turn around and see his face, but you’re too spent.

Your mind fizzes with static. You expect the silence to be awkward, but instead it’s vast, full of meaning, like the hush between thunderclaps. You don’t know what to say, or if you even can.

The room is humid and heavy with the scent of sex, sweat, something wild and animal and new. Your hair is pasted to your forehead, your thighs still slick, your body marked with his teeth and hands. You wonder if you’re ruined, if you’ll ever be able to walk around in the daylight without betraying the memory of this moment.

He doesn’t let you drift too far. Sanji buries his face in the crook of your neck and breathes you in, his hand tracing lazy circles over your hip. “Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly, the question gentle but insistent. You shake your head, but he lifts himself enough to look at you, really look, blue eyes searching for any waver, any lie.

He picks up your hand, brings your wrist to his mouth, and presses a kiss to the inside of it, right over your racing pulse. “You can tell me, sweetheart. Did I push too hard?”

“No,” you manage, voice hoarse from use and emotion. “It was perfect.”

His smile is soft, slow. “Good. I want you to tell me if anything ever isn’t perfect.” He kisses you again, this time on the lips, slow and reverent. “You did so good, honey. You’re incredible. I’m so, so—I’m just—fuck, you’re everything.”

You laugh, a ragged sound, and suddenly you feel the burn of tears at the corners of your eyes, hot and unbidden. You’re not sad, not even overwhelmed; it’s just that something about being seen, being praised, being held so tightly and so completely, unlocks a well inside you that you didn’t know existed. When you start to cry, Sanji just hugs you closer, gentle hands stroking your hair and your back, murmuring nonsense and endearments until the tears dry up and you’re left empty and luminous and free.

You could stay like this for hours. You’re not sure how much time passes before he eventually shifts, gathering you up and rolling the both of you to the far side of the bed. He tucks the sheet around your shoulders and arranges your limbs so you’re cradled into his chest, your face pressed against the fluttery beat of his heart.

He smells like smoke and sweat and something faintly citrus, and you inhale it, greedy for more of him. He cards his fingers through your hair, untangling the knots left by your previous exertions, and every gentle tug sends a new shiver up your spine.

You’re so relaxed you could melt, and yet you’re more awake than you’ve ever been. Your mind skips ahead to the consequences, the morning after, the dangers of letting yourself be this soft. But all of those fears are drowned out by the simple, animal rightness of being here, in this bed, with him.

“You’re not gonna leave after this, are you?” you mumble, so tired your tongue fumbles the sentence. It’s a stupid question, he’s just as ruined as you, clearly, but you can’t help it.

He laughs, a soft puff against your temple. “You think I could let you go after that? I’m keeping you, baby. I’m never letting go.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, heavier than the sheet, and you let yourself believe them, just for tonight.

At some point he gets up, cleans you both up with a towel and a glass of water, fussing over you, making sure you’re warm and safe and comfortable before he returns to your side. He pulls you back into his arms and kisses your forehead, whispering, “I love you like this. Completely wrecked and all mine.”

You don’t answer right away. You just close your eyes and let yourself drift, held together by the arms that shattered you. Even as sleep overtakes you, you know you’ll never want anything less than this; than being wanted, being claimed, being ruined and remade in the space of a single night.

He doesn’t let you go, not yet. “Now lemme fill you up.” He flips both of you in one smooth motion, pinning you to the bed with his weight. You’re still oversensitive, still riding the edge of pleasure and pain, but he’s not done with you. He thrusts into you again, harder this time, chasing his own release. He murmurs various things along the lines of how well you fit him, the way you’re sucking him in, and how he wants to keep you filled with him. You cling to him, nails digging into his back, and he bites your shoulder to stifle his own groan.

You feel him pulse inside you, his hips grinding against yours, and the sensation triggers a second, smaller orgasm, leaving you gasping and boneless. He collapses on top of you, breathing hard, and you both lie there tangled together, silent except for the pounding of your hearts.

Eventually, he pulls out, careful and gentle, and you whimper at the loss. He rolls to the side and gathers you up, pressing your face into his chest. You can feel his heart beating, steady and strong, and it lulls you into a hazy calm.

He runs his fingers through your hair, untangling it, and you realize you never want to move from this spot. Not ever.

He presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “I love you like this. Completely wrecked and all mine.”

a/n: and guess what? i have older 40s! zoro written and an idea for older 40s! luffy. i clearly have a problem.

what’s that rihanna say? must be smut on the brain!

but in reality, this is loosely tied with that little blurb i did on older 40s! straw hat crew, if you wanted to go check that out.

as always, thank you for reading! likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! here's a little kiss from me to you to thank you!

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