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thetriumphantpanda · 5 months

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baby, it's cold outside | joel miller

Summary | Patrolling with Joel is always easy, he's your friend after all, but when a snow storm forces you to stop halfway, you're both faced with feelings that you'd both rather ignore, but with nothing but time, talking about them is your only option.

Word Count | 4.2k

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings | Explicit 18+. A snow storm and a cabin with a nice, warm fireplace. Unspecified age gap. Explicit smut - unprotected PiV (don't do this, pls be smart), oral sex (F), size kink if you squint, dirty talk, two idiots who love each other, some negative feelings towards the holidays but nothing else I can think of!

Authors Note | A huge thank you to the wonderful @hellishjoel for setting the 12 days of Pedro up and asking me to take part - this was so much fun to put together and I hope you all love it as much as I do!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Thank you to the wonderful @saradika for the divider!

Despite having lived in Wyoming for years now, the winters were still a surprise to you. Icy cold winds, frosted windows every morning, thick downfalls of snow almost daily and a struggle to get warm no matter how many layers you wore. Some would call it picturesque, and you suppose you could see it, everywhere you turned in Jackson at this time of year, even though it was against the backdrop of the end of the world, it looked like it could adorn the cover of any Christmas card or be the setting for any Christmas movie. It didn’t matter, because you hated it either way.

When the tree went up in the centre of town, and the lights got switched on, it only served to remind you how solitary you were. How you existed mainly entirely on your own. No family, barely any friends, always the talk of the gaggle of girls who would whisper to each other whenever you passed and start laughing to each other, or the boys who always wondered why instead of hanging around with people your own age, you opted to spend it alone, or with someone who was pushing sixty.

Because if there was a single person in this Godforsaken town that you could class as a friend, it was Joel Miller. Quiet, closed off, unapproachable until you chipped away at his hard exterior, just like you in so many ways, it was actually sickening really. You liked Joel, ever since Tommy had put you two together for patrols when Maria had given birth, it was like you’d found someone who finally understood your need to be alone.

Patrolling outside the walls gave you peace, let you leave your loneliness behind for a while, just you and the ground beneath your boots, the feeling that you were doing something wrong, were less of a person because of your lack of friends and relationships left behind at the gate. You’d proven yourself capable more than enough times for Tommy to realise you were an asset. You’d saved more than enough people with your good aim and quick trigger finger, been ruthless in getting rid of raiders who strayed too close to your safe haven, and he knew your need for solitude, which is why he trusted you on these longer routes, on the more complicated patrol rotations, the ones that would get you out of Jackson for a week.

You surmise that’s probably why he chose to pair you up with Joel. In the two years you’d patrolled together, you’d come to realise that he needed that solitude just as much as you did. A way to leave behind being a father at the gate and remind himself of exactly who he was before. Out here, walking side-by-side next to you, he wasn’t Ellie’s dad, he wasn’t the man who still woke up in cold sweats remembering the heavy weight of his dead daughter in his arms, or that man who had lost almost everyone he’d ever cared for along the way, he was just Joel. Joel, who was more comfortable cradling a rifle in his arms than he was his infant nephew. Joel, who preferred comfortable silence instead of filling the quiet with talk. Joel, who, even when you suspected he hated you at the start, would have protected you to the death no matter what.

You were similar, far more than you’d like to admit, and as the weeks and months had drawn on, and you’d moved into being more comfortable with each other, he really was one of those things you’d wanted for so long. A friend. Someone to rely on, someone to drink with at the end of a hard patrol route, someone who made sure you ate when it was the last thing on your mind, someone who fixed the hole in your roof and put new planks of wood on your porch when you almost fell through it one day, someone who confided in you about how hard he found being a parent again, someone who opened up to you when things started to sour with Ellie. A friend.

He was also someone, in the last six months, that you suspected wanted to be more than your friend. It had started small, with things any good friend would do. He would offer you his arm when you walked during the winter so you wouldn’t slip, started packing double lunch so he knew you’d eat when you’d go out together, but then it was the hand on the small of your back through town, or the way he’d sit close to you in the bar, knees knocking against yours just so he could put a hand on your knee to apologise for getting too close.

And it’s not like you didn’t see that in him either. For a man who was almost sixty, he was incredibly handsome, able to do unspeakable things on patrol that neither of you would talk about to anyone else, strong in a way you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. Sure, his hearing was shot in one ear, his middle soft with age, and his hair and beard peppered with grey hair, but Joel Miller was a sight.

But, what if you’d read his signals wrong? What if his kindness and that warm hand on your knee was just him being a Southern gentleman? You throw yourself at him and he doesn’t feel the same, what happens then? You lose one of the very few friends you’ve ever had, and that’s somehow worse than knowing you’ll never know what the feel of his skin is like under your touch or what it sounds like when he moans your name for you.

The patrol route is brutal this day, wind and snow making it hard to see anything in front of you. You and Joel had to shout loudly to each other in order to hear anything, so when you stumble across the cabin, halfway through the route, you both decide that it’s best to head inside, get warm and wait out the worst of the storm before carrying on. Safer that way, is what Joel said, but you think it’s got more to do with the cold on his joints than the safety. Even at your younger age, your bones were certainly aching.

The wind whips a flurry of snow into the abandoned cabin when Joel pushes the door open, ushering you inside quickly, shutting the door quickly behind the two of you before more snow can follow you in. He sets his rifle down near the door and his backpack on the worn, moth-eaten couch, kneeling in front of the fireplace.

This particular cabin is a regular stop on this patrol route, an agreement between the residents of Jackson who frequent it to keep it stocked with firewood during the cold season. You silently note to thank whoever had patrolled before you for stacking the fireplace so all Joel really needs to do is set fire to the scrunched paper dotted through the wood to get the warmth of the fire flooding the small front room.

“Reckon we’re here for the long run,” Joel grumbles, holding flat palms up to the flames to warm his hands, “Ain’t no way we’re walking anywhere in that.”

And he’s right, the light of the day is fading fast and even in daylight, the blizzard had been a nightmare to traverse. It’s not like you’re wanting to rush back though, you sometimes wish you could pack everything up and come out here for good, live in your solitude until the end of your days, but for now, just a few more nights away from the place that reminds you just how alone you are will do.

You settle down on the couch, trying to burrow further into the coat around your body, not bothering to take your gloves or your hat off until the flames of the fire are stronger.

“Come sit closer,” Joel murmurs, motioning with his hand for you to sit on the floor next to him, “Warm up a little.”

You slip down from the couch and scoot along the floor until you’re sat next to him. Joel reaches over and takes hold of your wrist, gently pulling off your glove, “They’re damp,” He states, reaching for your other hand to do the same, “Take your coat off too, you’ll get a chill otherwise.”

Working to unzip the front to pull it off, whilst Joel throws an extra few pieces of wood on the fire, you settle a little bit closer to the flames, feeling the warmth start to seep through your other layers. He stands, taking your coat and his, hanging them on either end of the fireplace to dry out a little, then he sits back down next to you, although a little closer than he had been before, so close that you can feel the heat of his body next to you.

You take a moment to steal a look up at him, his body larger than yours, towering a little next to you, but in the glow of the flames he’s fucking breathtaking. You get lost in tracing his jaw and the hook of his nose with your eyes that he’s turning his head to face you before you can turn away from him. He catches you with that small smile that is saved only for his family normally, Ellie, Tommy, sometimes Maria, and now, more often, you. So you smile back at him, let the warmth lick through your body, and before you realise it, he’s leaning his, broad shoulders bumping yours as his face gets closer, and God, it would be so easy to let him do it, move your face towards him, press your lips to his and burn it all to hell, but as he inches closer, that pit is opening in your stomach, bubbling anxiety and dread, so as he inches closer, you have to stop him.

You bring one of your fingers up to press against his lips gently, watching as he purses them against your touch a little, but then his eyes open when you speak, so softly, so quietly that he almost missed your plea, “Please don’t.”

It’s like you’ve burnt him with the way he not only drags his face from you, but his whole body, putting so much distance between the two of you that you almost cry. He clears his throat, running his hand over his face, “Right,” He mumbles, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” You insist, not meeting his eyes though, “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Stupid of me,” He shakes his head, “Just thought-” He sucks in a breath and pushes it out on a sigh, “Thought maybe you’d feel the same, but it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid, Joel,” You sigh, finally turning to him, “It’s okay.”

“Makes sense,” He shrugs, eyes boring holes into the flames in front of you, “I’m old, too old for you to want me.”

“It has nothing to do with you being too old for me Joel, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about that.”

You expect him to drop it, like he often does with these kinds of conversation, the ones that involve feelings, but he doesn’t.

“Then what is it?”

“Well, it has nothing to do with your grey hairs or your creaky fucking knees, that’s for sure.”

He’s looking at you with a look that says to get fucked, hurry up, tell him the real reason for all this.

“I could be shit in bed for all you know.”

“Well that’s easy to rectify, just need a little practice.”

It makes you snort, “Can we be fucking serious for a minute, Miller?”

“You’re the one who said it first.”

“What happens when it goes tits up?” You ask, “When you get bored of me, or realise I’m not what you thought I was, what happens then?” He opens his mouth to respond to you, but you beat him to it, “I lose my best friend, that’s what happens, the only person in this Godforsaken world that I have, and I don’t want that, I don’t want a world where I’m without you.”

“Who says it’s going to go tits up?” He counters, “Baby, I’m old, I ain’t gonna go running off, I just want somethin’ good, somethin’ happy, and I want that with you,” Just like you had done before, he starts talking again before you can add something, “Put your faith in somethin’, darlin’,” He’s moving back towards you now, shifting closer, “Put your faith in, me.”

It sounds so easy when he says it like that, because you had once before, without even realising. Let him in, let him get close, to know everything you’d been through, share everything he’d been through. You let him sit with you late at night in the summer, strumming his guitar on your porch, he lets you share his whiskey when you need it.

“I’m still gonna be your best friend,” He urges, that warm palm resting on your knee, “That ain’t gonna change, we’re just gonna add to it.”

And for some reason, it snaps, all of your good judgement and everything that was holding you back. His face is cradled in your palms before you know it, your body straddling his lap as your mouth slants over his, a surprised gasp swallowed by your mouth as his lips open against yours, his hands coming to rest on the globes of your ass through your jeans, pulling you closer, chest flush to chest as you soak this in.

Hands dropping to the collar of his shirt, you start to slowly unbutton it, mouth still against his, tongue tasting him as your fingers push button after button through their holes until you can push it from his shoulders, drag his arms from it, drag his undershirt from it’s place tucked into his jeans.

Joel gasps when your hands make contact with the skin under it, fingers still slightly icy from the cold, but that too is swallowed by your mouth, as is the moan that drags from your throat when he bucks his hips into yours.

He pulls away from your lips, forehead pressed to yours as you both breathe deeply, “Don’t seem shit in bed so far.” He chuckles.

“I was fucking with you Joel,” You smile, punctuating it with a roll of your hips into his, “I’m a delight in bed.”

“Prove it.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“This is the floor Joel,” Which earns you a squeeze to your ass, “I’ve never fucked someone on the floor before.”

Before you know what’s happening, he’s flipped you over, your back pressed to the dusty wooden floor, his body looming over yours, fingers picking the button of your jeans apart, pulling the zipper down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down your legs, underwear along with them too, before they’re thrown behind him somewhere, forgotten as he parts your knees, legs spread, exposed to him, and you think you might die from the way he looks at you. You bury your head into your shoulder, trying to escape his gaze as he drags his thumb along your folds, growling when he feels how wet you are just from his mouth on yours.

You’re vaguely aware of the sounds of his feet hitting one of the armchairs behind him as he lowers his chest to the floor, hands pulling at your hips, your back dragging across the wooden floor as his mouth presses a single, feather-light kiss to your clit. The smallest of touches to your body has your back arching into him.

How long has it been? Not since you fucked someone, because in the grand scheme of things that hasn’t been too long. No, how long has it been since someone actually made you feel good? Years, you think. Too long. Too long since sex was anything more than just stress relief, pressed against the brick wall by the Tipsy Bison, letting someone fuck you so you could feel something, giving them the bragging rights of fucking the town outcast in return.

This is different. So different. Joel is slow with it, parting you in front of his face with his thumbs, tongue swirling through the slick you’re not even embarrassed about now, tasting you, drinking you in, before he drags his perfect mouth up, lapping gently at your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Taste so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He coos against your skin, his praise making you preen, hips chasing the feeling of his mouth on you, he chuckles at your desperation, “How long’s it been since someone made you feel good, huh?”

Your fingers tangle in the curls on his head, dragging him back down to your cunt to silence him, “Too long.” Is all you offer as he feasts on you.

Tongue swirling, lips suckling, fingers digging into the skin of your hips, dragging you slowly but surely to the edge, the fire in your blood no match for the fire against your skin. He’s fucking good at this, knows exactly how to listen to your moans, the way you pull at his hair when he does something you like, collecting the little gasps and hip movements until he’s working a pattern on your pussy that makes you feeling like you’re going to explode, combust, maybe even die a little.

“Don’t stop,” You urge, breathless, sheen of sweat settling across what skin of yours is exposed to the flames near to you, “Gonna - fuck Joel - gonna cum.”

That’s when he pushes two of his fingers into you. Hooking them up inside of your cunt, your legs dropping open further than you thought possible as he works you and works you. You’ve gone quiet, letting out only short breathes when holding them in makes your head light, fingers so tight in his hair that you think it’s probably hurting.

Then, you think you find God, right there on the dirty, dusty floor, when the coil snaps inside of you. Your back arches off the floor, thighs clenched around Joel’s head as his tongue continues the flicks against your clit, ignoring the high-pitches whines of too much, Joel listening instead to the movement of your legs, the way your entire body convulses until you truly are spent for him.

Joel pushes himself up onto his knees, dragging his undershirt over his head, pulling his belt through its loops as you’re sitting up, dragging the upper portion of your clothes off, naked on the floor for him, the flames from the fire keeping you warm, even if your nipples do pebble and peak against the cold.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel breathes out as your hand settles on your pussy, fingers dragging through the slick to lazily move over your clit, “I wish you could see yourself right now, baby,” He crones, pushing down his jeans, cock springing free, immediately clasped in his fist, movements slow as he watches you touch yourself, “Pretty as a fuckin’ picture.”

His body falls forward, coverings yours, but this isn’t what you want. Hand on his chest, you’re pushing him back, “Wanna ride you, Joel.” You whine.

Like a kid on Christmas, he’s on his back in seconds, jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles because if you’re not sinking down on him in the next few seconds, he’s going to scream. You settle your thighs on either side of his hips, his cock, heavy and throbbing against his stomach. He’s watching you, as you take the base of him in your hand, line him up with that aching core of yours, head notching into you, where you just keep him for a moment, let him stretch you as you ground yourself with palms on his chest, sinking down, inch by inch until he’s fully buried inside you, warmth wrapping around him, just like the warmth from the fire against his skin.

You start moving your hips, his cock so deep in you he swears if he put a palm on your lower belly, he’d feel himself through your skin with the way you’re grinding against him, head thrown back, mouth dropped open. He wishes he could take a photo of this. He doesn’t think he’s seen a nicer sight in his life.

“It’s a lot, ain’t it baby?” He coos, hands on your hips, guiding your movements, he knows he’s big, been told enough times through his life, but the way you’re slow, getting used to him inside him, has him on the verge of spilling inside you already.

“So big, Joel.” You whine, leaning back now, hands on his knees which have moved up, his feet planted on the floor now, and God alive, if he thought you were a sight before, you’re a fucking masterpiece now as you start bouncing on his cock.

He can’t help himself, he is only a man after all, his hands trailing up the curves of your side, taking hold of your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, listening to the way you sing for him. Somehow, he finds core strength from somewhere, pushes himself up, one hand behind him to prop him where he is, as his mouth sucks a nipple into his mouth, rolling that pebbled peak with his tongue, your arm wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself against him, hips still working against his, finger tangling in the curls near his neck, keeping his mouth anchored right where it is.

Joel pulls off you, a wet smack from his lips as he looks up at you with those beautiful brown orbs, “Feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” He praises, “So tight around me, like you were made for me.”

“Wanna feel you,” You moan, head dropping against his shoulder, “Wanna feel you come for me.”

He’s wrapping his arms around your back, dragging you down with him as he rests himself back on the floor, your chest pressed to his as he finally takes control. Feet planted on the floor with your teeth digging into his shoulders, he fucks up into you, the cabin filled with nothing but breathy moans and a lewd smack of skin as he pounds himself into you. In an ideal world he’d focus on making you come again, feeling you clench around his cock as you fall apart would be incredible, but he thinks there will be time for that later.

He’s so fucking close, you can feel it, the way his fingers are gripping t every inch of skin they can reach, the way his hips are faltering and how your name is more of a feature on his lips. You let out a surprise squeal as he flips you both, your back now to the ground as his cock slips out of you, his fist replacing the wet heat of your cunt as the warmth of his cum splashes across your lower belly, a howl, not unlike an animal, falling from his mouth as he paints you, claims you as his own with those ropes of cum across your skin.

When all is said and done, and he’s taken in the sight of your skin splashed with his spend, the two of you lying in front of the fire, one blanket dragged from the bed on the floor to soften the harsh wood, another pooled around both your hips, this feels like home. Both you and Joel, led on your side, watching each other, and the flickering light of the fire bathes you both in orange, in warmth.

His hand traces your face, thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he leans in to kiss you. Hours later, with harsh wind and snow still swirling outside, he brushes a thumb across your nipple, your hand reaching down between you to find him hard again. He puts you on your back this time, creaky knees be damned, slides his cock into your aching cunt once more, fucks you slowly, the entirety of his weight pressed against you. That orange glow almost convincing you that this was before, when things were normal, romantic even, as his lips leaves tiny bruises across your skin.

When he’s marked you once more as his, cum splashed from your pussy to your tits, he lies back down, the broad expanse of his back to the dying embers of the fire, your back pressed to his front, his arm snaked under your neck, urging you to sleep, and as you drift off, Joel’s hot breath against the skin of your ear, his other arm draped loosely over your waist, you pray that the snow is just as bad in the morning, because if it were possible, you want to return even less now, want to remain huddled next to Joel, on the floor, for the rest of your life.

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literaila · 1 month

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jealousy

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru doesn't like the way the barista is looking at you

a/n: figured i'd give you all a little fluff (save me from this void)

last part | next part

year five.

“megumi, go get your mom.”

satoru and megumi are sitting in a crowded cafe, saving your spot, waiting for you to come back.

while the sun coming in through the window satoru is sitting across from is partially blinding him, he can still see you.

you, trying to order, being ogled by the barista who's been granted the pleasure of speaking to you. your smile is normal--to satoru's obvious disdain--and you don't even seem to mind the man's obvious flirting.

(not that it really means much. when satoru leans in like that, you just push him away. when he swoons at the way you've done your hair on any specific day, you just roll your eyes.

so maybe you're not the best judge of flirting. or attraction. or how to reject a tiny schoolboy, like the one you're talking to.)

satoru's only been watching this interaction for thirty seconds, but he's had enough.

“why?” megumi turns, looking back at you. “she’s getting us hot chocolate.”

satoru sighs, no care in the world. can't the kid ever listen to him? “go hold her hand then.”

“why?”

“because.”

“but why?”

satoru gives megumi a (pathetic) glare. “listen to me, young man," he tries to say it like you would--if megumi ever denied any of your requests--but it doesn't work. satoru has to try not to laugh directly after the words are out of his mouth.

so what if he doesn't want you talking to that kid? he's just looking out for you.

megumi's brows raise. he looks... almost amused. “what’s wrong with you? you go hold her hand.”

satoru hangs his head. you told him to sit here and keep the table for all of you, told him to watch megumi and not do anything stupid--which, to be fair, is difficult for him. so he can't go get you (save you).

and plus, he doesn't want you to know that he cares. if you like that kid--with his stupid dark hair and eyes and soft smile and obvious heart eyes--then he doesn't want to know.

and if he goes up to you, he'll know.

“i can’t," he tells megumi, instead of saying any of that. the boy would just cackle in his face.

“are you scared?” megumi asks, very seriously, as if satoru is afraid of anything.

(besides you falling for someone else, of course. but that doesn't count).

he looks over to the kid again, who you're chatting idly with as you search through your purse. he wonders if you're telling the barista that you spend every night in his bed, making out with him until your lips are puffy.

if he keeps smiling at you like that satoru is going to get up and tell him himself.

satoru scoffs, looking away finally, back to megumi who looks thoroughly entertained by his father's pain. he crosses his arms. “no.”

megumi shrugs, looking back again. seriously, satoru should've kicked him out when he had the chance. he probably would've been fine with the zenin clan. probably.

“well, i’m not doing it," the boy says, with obvious satisfaction.

if only tsumiki was here. satoru never should've let megumi ditch school, or let him come with you both to get coffee. tsumiki would help him. she probably would've asked you to get yakitori instead and satoru could listen to you try to make small talk with a waitress instead of that guy.

“megumi fushiguro,” satoru begins, voice rough. “do you want your mother to live in a rat-infested apartment with a random, cesspit man, and several tiny babies running around all of the time? tiny wimpy babies? normal, human babies. you’ll have to stay over there and share a bed with multiple infants who will spit up on you.”

megumi blinks. “what are you even talking about?”

“go stand next to her," satoru hisses, because he swears he can hear your laugh from across the cafe, and honestly he's never wanted to destroy an establishment more.

and that's saying something.

at least the man would be without a job and satoru would never have to see him push his hair back and tilt his head at you again.

megumi looks back again like it's going to explain anything satoru does, and he smirks. “that guy doesn’t look too bad.”

satoru's jaw clenches. “i will mismatch all of your socks.”

megumi scowls at him. "all of my socks are the same, after last time."

satoru huffs and leans back against his chair, pouting. "what did i do to deserve this?"

“do you think mom likes him?” megumi asks, voice so innocent it makes satoru want to shave his hair off.

“go.”

megumi blinks at him, tilting his head. yeah, he's really putting on an act now. “but she said to wait here," he reminds satoru like it matters.

“tell her you missed her, or something," satoru goes to wave a hand, but his hand only clenches when he physically sees you laugh at the man. you're not even ordering now, you're just standing there (waiting for their drinks) talking to the guy.

“you tell her you missed her," megumi retorts, enjoying satoru's one and only weakness.

"no."

"she's laughing," megumi points out, resting his chin on a hand. "and it's rude to interrupt grown-ups when they talk."

“megumi,” satoru begs, hating the weird, annoying feeling in his chest. he wants to dig his own heart out and yell at it. “please.”

megumi is basically smirking at him now, waiting for a beat longer for satoru to really break--and seriously kill every person within a ten-mile radius--but eventually, right before it happens, the boy sighs. his eyes are evil, evil things.

"fine," he tells satoru, rolling his eyes. he stands up from his hair and pats satoru on the shoulder like it will make up for anything. the boy has the worst smile satoru's ever seen in his life.

and then he makes his way through the line of people--seriously, this guy is a terrible barista--and taps you on your waist, going to stand right up against the counter. megumi says something to you--you will all of your charm, and your irresistible smiles--and you hold a hand out to him, which he grabs immediately.

your smile, satoru notices with immense relief, shifts on instinct. it goes from something formal and polite to something genuine. you look down at your son and the barista you've been talking to for the last minute is completely irrelevant.

and satoru takes great satisfaction in the way the kid's eyes widen, and the instinctual step back he takes--like he knows that satoru is going to hurt him if he continues to lean over the counter towards you.

satoru relaxes, watching you ask megumi something, but only slightly.

and after a second you turn your head, raising a brow at him.

the little brat.

satoru just smiles--offering you more than some shotty barista ever could--and leans back in his chair.

“why are you being so weird today?”

satoru’s chin is on your head, and even though you can’t see his smile, it falters, just a little bit. "don't know what you're talking about."

"you're sticky."

"i just showered."

"okay," you say, turning and rolling your eyes at satoru's pout. instantly his hands go to your waist, keeping you right there with him. "first of all, no you didn't. and i didn't mean literally. you're... clingy. more clingy than usual."

"i can't want to be around you?"

you give him a blank stare. "not when you're being weird about it."

"how am i being weird?"

"how aren't you?"

satoru grins, leaning his head down to push his nose into your cheek. you smell like something sweet--something he'd devour in an instant--but he's not sure what. he doesn't even care. he doesn't answer that question, only hums into your skin.

"see what i mean?"

"it's not my fault that you're comfy."

"oh, im so sorry," you say, fake pity in your voice. "let me just turn myself into stone real quick."

satoru rolls his eyes, pulling back just so he can see the amused look on your face--yeah, he knows that you don't actually care. but the more he hangs onto you, the more affection he shows, the warier you get.

and that's perfectly fine with him, actually. as long as you don't push him away.

"please do," he says, so genuinely. "it would make this a lot easier."

"make what a lot easier?" you ask, voice a bit softer. maybe it's because he's looking at you now, actually looking.

and satoru knows, really knows, that there's not a single other person in the world who you look at like this. there's not another man that you'd let sniff you, no other man that would dare to irritate you the way that he loves to.

satoru's worked several years to get you to be this comfortable, this easy around him. and even if there was someone else--he wouldn't give you up without a fight.

you're his in a way that transcends labels or reality.

still, he doesn't answer that question (because you already know). he only smiles a bit more, leans in, and basks in the way your lips mold to his immediately.

next part | series masterlist

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emthimofnight · 3 months

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Name ✨Stellar the Hedgehog✨

Age Varies based on what age I draw her, but let's say 16!

Pronouns She/Her

Basic Description The product of Project Stellar—a secret government operation aiming to perfect Project Shadow—Stellar is a genetic experiment combining the DNA of the Ultimate Life Form and the fastest thing alive. Designed to be a living weapon, Stellar was born in a hidden facility where she would have been raised to be an unstoppable weapon for the military. Thankfully, Shadow the Hedgehog (with help from Rouge the Bat) discovered her existence, destroyed the lab, and rescued her as an infant. Shadow then went on to begrudgingly inform his long-time rival, Sonic the Hedgehog, of their newfound child, seeing as she was technically just as much Sonic's problem as she was Shadow's. From there, the duo (along with help from their friends) raised Stellar as their daughter, sheltering her from the knowledge she was created to be a force of destruction for her masters. Along the way, Sonic and Shadow found themselves truly falling for one another, dissolving the barriers they had placed between one another as rivals, finding new appreciation for each other in their new parental roles.

Stellar herself is a bright, warm-hearted person. She has a strong sense of justice and never shies away from standing up for what is right. She takes after Sonic in personality, always cracking jokes and finding it hard to sit still. Despite this, she inherited Shadow's finesse and ability to plan out her choices, not to mention his abilities to utilize chaos energy. She has a love for figure skating, ballet, and make up (thanks to Auntie Rouge!), but don't let her feminine side fool you, she is not afraid to get her hands dirty! She would love nothing more than to spend her day smashing badniks into the ground with her skates if her dads would let her! Stellar loves both of her parents dearly, but sometimes wishes that they wouldn't be so protective of her. After all, what could they possibly have to be worried about?

Extra ✨Stellar's favorite color is red. ✨Her favorite food is chili dogs. ✨She is bisexual. ✨Her favorite flower is lavender, because it reminds her of home! ✨She learned how to skate from Shadow. ✨She calls Shadow "papa" and Sonic "dad". ✨She desperately wants to make her family and friends proud. ✨Her best friend is Camellia the Cat, the daughter of Blaze and Amy. ✨She loves racing Sonic, but is frustrated he always lets her win. ✨She can be VERY impulsive when angered, much like both of her parents! ✨She is SUPER dense when it comes to romance. She has no idea ✨Camellia has been in love with her since they were little! ✨The inhibitor rings she wears keep her powers under control, but they also prevent her from truly mastering them. ✨Her powers are designed after collapsing stars/black holes. Extremely destructive to both herself and everything around her. ✨She has no awareness to the extent of the latent power inside her.

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chiwhorei · 6 months

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I have no idea where this came from I’m all icky sicky today and needed some Nanami comfort. ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა♡

tags: a bit of smut, mostly fluff, domestic king Nanami Kento

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Nanami isn’t ever a boyfriend he literally starts acting like a husband from day zero.

Nanami finds out your favorite flowers, because he asks u like a grown ass man, and he is getting you flowers every 2 weeks on the dot as soon as the old ones are needing to be thrown away.

Nanami is making sure he’s got the kind of soap/lotion/toothpaste you like at his place for when you sleep over. Nanami loves watching you do your nightly skincare routine, sitting up in bed barely paying attention to the book in his hands because he’s just so enamored with you.

Nanami is truly addicted to the pussy. He spends hours down on you, lapping and sucking and fucking his thick tongue into you. From the jump, too. He’s eating your pussy the night of your first date. He’s getting you off more than once that night— the first one wasn’t for you, not even the second, those were just for Kento, because he is a greedy man. By the time he’s rolling a condom on to fuck you, you’ve cum more times from just his tongue than any other man has cumulatively.

Nanami’s learning your love language and showing you his own. He’s big on acts of service and quality time. He prefers a quiet night in and cooking a meal together. He likes ordering in on lazy Friday nights. He likes going grocery shopping with you. He likes the way your fingers brush his as he hands you a dish to dry. You dry, he washes. The soapy water would chip your manicure.

Nanami asks your friends to figure out what kind of engagement ring you want. He wants it to be a surprise but he also wants to ensure you get exactly what you want. He proposes on the beach, the same one you walked barefoot on after your first date. He gets down on one knee where you stopped him that night to admire the sunset and pulled him into a kiss. Kento took a mental note as to exactly where you were standing because in that moment he knew he was going to marry you.

Nanami is a wife guy, through and through. He is at his best when you’re beside him. He takes care of you, but never gets in the way of your goals. He dotes on you but knows you are his equal and his partner. He asks you for your opinions when he’s got a big decision to make at work. He is vulnerable with you, he’s patient, he’s so kind.

Nanami ensures that you are dressed to the nines, as a couple, at any work parties, friends wedding, fancy dinners. He always wears something that compliments the dress you pick out. He’s always there to zip you up, moving your hair delicately to the side and putting it back after. He insists to lean down and help you into your heals before walking out the door.

Nanami, of course, opens every door for you, he always has a hand at your back to keep you steady. He always introduces you as his wife with so much pride. And he’s always going to drape his suit jacket over your shoulders before walking outside, even if it’s not really that cold.

Nanami is fucking you deep and raw the second you mention you think it’s a good time to start trying for a baby. He’s got you almost upside down when he’s cumming in you, to make sure you’re pregnant asap. He knocks you up on the first try and is fucking you good throughout your entire pregnancy. One because you swollen and round with his baby makes him feral and two because regular sex and frequent orgasms are important for a healthy pregnancy.

Nanami is committed to his work, but is never home a minute late. Especially after the birth of your first child. As soon as he walks through the door, you’re clocking out and taking a nice luxurious bubble bath while Kento gets some 1:1 time with your infant. He knows how exhausting it is being a new parent, especially when he went back to the 9-5 a few months after your daughter was born and you’re at home with the baby all day. So he leaves work and clocks in for the night shift, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder if you try to get up when the baby’s fussing, telling you that he’s got it. It’s his turn. You’ll cook dinner together while Kento has the baby strapped to his chest. Because the golden rule in Kento’s head is ensuring equitable partnership, making sure that the brunt of childcare doesn’t default to you because of some tired gender-norms, and of course spoiling you and his baby girl every second he can, for the rest of his life. ૮꒰˶ฅ́˘ฅ̀˶꒱ა

#nanami kento smut #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader smut #nanami kento x reader smut #babble.dollie

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agoraphobiaismyname · 1 month

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WAIT- I JUST THOUGHT OF SOMETHING

There were a series of experiments performed 1958 (because Psychological studies used to be FUN back in the day before MORALS and NOT FUCKING YOUR TEST SUBJECTS UP became important to people) by Harry Harlow. The experiments are commonly known as the Wire Mother vs Cloth Mother.

In experiment #1:

They would separate infant Rhesus monkeys at birth from their mothers.

And place them in a cage with two surrogate mothers.

A wire mother who provided nourishment.

And a cloth mother who provided physical contact.

The monkey would spend the majority of the time with the Cloth Mother even if they didn't provide anything meaningful beyond contact. They would be braver with the Cloth Mother present, they would explore more. When confronted with a frightening object they would take refuge with the Cloth Mother.

I love the Murder Family concept as much as the next deranged autistic weirdo on this website but let's be honest. Will was never going to make a good Father. As much as he wanted a connection he couldn't bring himself to form one with the kid served up on a silver platter to him.

Will was the Wire Mother. He would have provided for Abigail, taught her appropriately but never be there for her emotionally like she would have needed.

Hannibal was the Cloth Mother. He didn't really care about Abigail. She was a means to an end. He provided comfort but nothing else, not at least what we would consider as appropriate nourishment.

#hannibal #will graham #nbc hannibal #hannigram #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #murder family #abigail hobbs

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breadmercury · 2 years

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Finished one major commitment and immediately started another one. I Have A Problem

#i spend months complaining about not having free time and haven't finished drawing anything in as much time #finish up my heavy load half semester class and IMMEDIATELY offer to take on an incredibly time consuming responsibility #so yeah im long distance homeschooling my siblings that's fun. and also take another like 18 years counting the infant. oops

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prythianpages · 2 months

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I've Been Waiting For You | Bonus

Azriel x Reader bonus scenes based off of this one shot. These are some scenes/ideas that didn’t make it to the final cut.

warnings: just some suggestiveness with the last one (but not really, it's just the morning after you and Az spend the night together but the scene itself is just fluff.) all of these scenes are purely fluff 🤧

Thank you so much for all the love you showed this imagine! I'm so happy you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing ♡ I tried to keep all of this roughly in chronological order.

Azriel groveling after snapping at you.

Azriel found himself in a situation that required more than just words to apologize to you, especially with the look of hurt he had seen in your eyes. Determined to make amends, he decided to enlist Elain's help, knowing that you had a sweet tooth and that snickerdoodles were among your favorite treats. Elain was happy to help, agreeing to bake them for you.

Azriel carefully left the freshly baked cookies in the kitchen, accompanied by a note expressing the sincerity of his remorse.

However, the next morning took an unexpected turn when Cassian stumbled upon the kitchen with Nyx in his arms. "Cas-see-an," Cassian kept repeating to Nyx, enunciating his name so slowly in an effort to get the infant to repeat it.

Nyx babbled in response as Cassian gently set him down on the counter. He kept a hand on the baby while his other reached for a mug, missing the way Nyx's curious gaze landed on the colorful note resting atop delicious cookies.

His tiny hands grasp at the note, squeezing it in his hand before it it falls from his grip. Nyx watches as the note falls to the floor, landing under the cabinets. He lets out a small whine.

"Are you hungry?" Cassian asks, turning back to his sweet nephew and follows Nyx's gaze.

"Oh!" Cassian exclaims with a gleeful grin when he spots the plate of cookies. "Don't tell your mother."

Cassian quickly uncovers the plate, thanking the Cauldron for gifting him with a wonderful sister in law that loves to bake. He offers a cookie to Nyx while he takes a couple for himself.

Sensing your presence nearby, Azriel dispatches his shadows to investigate the kitchen. They quickly report back to him with the unfortunate news that the cookies had been devoured. He's then rushing into the kitchen himself.

"Morning, Cassian," he hears you say and then with a much lighter and excited tone, "Good morning, Nyx! Whatcha got there?"

"Morning y/n," Cassian greets back, brushing crumbs off his shirt.

Azriel's eyes narrow, gaze flickering between the empty plate and the crumbs on both Cassian's shirts and Nyx's face.

"Oh! Good morning, Az."

At the mere sound of his name, he notices the subtle tension in your body. Before Azriel can utter a word, you swiftly conjure up an excuse and make a hasty exit from the kitchen. As Azriel turns his gaze to Cassian and Nyx, he finds himself unable to muster any anger.

A sigh escapes him. His first effort to make amends had not gone as planned.

Undeterred, Azriel decides to try a different approach for his next apology. This time, he chose to give you flowers, intending to leave it somewhere for you to find. However, in his haste or maybe his distraction, he accidentally placed the flowers in a spot where someone else stumbled upon it. Amren, of all people.

"What are these, boy?" She asks sharply, eyeing the colorful arrangement warily as her hands wrap around the vase.

"Flowers."

"I know they're flowers."

"They weren't for you."

"Oh, thank the gods," Amren says in what sounds like relief.

And just as Azriel is about to take them back, his shadows sense you approaching. The Cauldron must not favor him, he thinks. He hears the sudden pause in your step as your gaze lands on him and catches the way your fingers tighten against the book in your hand. He catches a glimpse of Seers in Prythian etched across the cover.

Azriel knows you want to turn around but given it'd be absolutely obvious that you're avoiding him if you did, you find yourself frozen. When he meets your gaze, you turn your head, focusing your direction on Amren instead.

"Nice flowers, Amren."

"Thank you," Amren smirks, silver eyes flashing between you and Azriel. "Aren't they lovely?"

"Lovely as you!" You reply with a smile and then leave.

Once again, Azriel finds himself sighing deeply at another failed attempt in apologizing to you.

"Do better, boy."

"I know."

Azriel's third attempt in making amends is cornering you so he can finally talk to you. He sits in the living room, perched on the couch that directly faces the door to Rhysand's office, with a book about the history of seers similar to the one he had seen in your hands the other day. You're currently inside with Elain as you both debrief Rhysand and Feyre on your progress with Elain's powers.

Elain is the first to step out, eyes widening in surprise. "Azriel," she greets with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Reading," he replies simply, gesturing toward the book in his hands.

"About seers...?"

"Just thought I could help..."

Elain's eyes narrow at him and Azriel finds himself sinking further into the couch. Though he's apologizing because he genuinely feels remorse and wants to make things right, he can't escape the fact that Elain had chastised him for not doing so already days ago.

"You haven't apologized yet, have you?"

"I'm trying."

Elain's gaze softens and she lets out a small chuckle. "She'll be out in a couple of minutes."

Azriel feels a wave of relief as you step out alone, prompting him to rise to his feet and call your name.

"Hey, Azriel," you greet politely, and his shadows seem to dance with delight at the acknowledgment of his presence. Finally, they whisper eagerly into his ears.

"Can we talk?"

"Oh, um...," Your gaze shifts over his shoulder, seemingly fixed on something that his shadows report as nonexistent. "I think someone else is calling me. Maybe another time? I have to go!"

As you attempt to maneuver around him, Azriel subtly moves with you, blocking your path. "No one called your name," he points out softly, suppressing a smile as your eyebrows furrow. He senses you scrambling for another excuse.

"The future!" you exclaim, your eyes brightening as you tap the corner of your eye. "The future is calling me. I must go."

As you move, Azriel doesn't have it in himself to block your path again. He doesn't even have it in himself to be upset. Not when he finds your excuse amusing and your presence itself endearing.

His shadows, however, aren't as forgiving. They whisper harshly into his ears, growing impatient with each failed attempt. "Next time," he promises them quietly.

(And almost two weeks after him snapping at you, he finally succeeds in asking for your forgiveness during his fourth attempt when he brings your dinner to you in the library.)

Elain gets a vision, where she finds out you and Azriel are mates.

"Close your eyes and focus on your breath," you instruct her softly. "Feel the rhythm of the earth beneath you. Attune yourself to the heartbeat of the world around you. What do you hear?”

Elain closes her eyes in deep concentration and as her head grows quiet, the world around her seems to awaken. She can feel the power coursing through her veins as she says, “I can hear the wind and the tremble of the grass beneath it. I can hear the wind carry all the way to the sea.”

“Good. Now feel the whispers of the unseen.”

“I can’t.” Elain’s eyebrows furrow as she struggles to delve deeper into her power. She finds herself stuck amidst the wild sea of the unknown. Wave after wave crashes down on her, knocking her down before she could even get back up.

“Here, take my hands,” she hears you say and then she feels your hands reach for hers. “Imagine a pool of water within you, calm and reflective. Use me as a vessel to carry you through it. I’ll guide you to where your visions will manifest.”

Elain does as told, bringing herself back to that sea of unknown in her mind. This time, she's not alone and she's able to rise from the water. You're there with her, the two of you standing knee deep in the waters that are beginning to calm in your presence. The world stills around you two and Elain feels her body relax as she allows you to guide her to the center.

And suddenly, the dark sky around her begins to brighten with visions, dazzling her like the stars in your eyes do. She finds herself overwhelmed by the all the flashes and voices. She takes deep, steadying breaths like you always do and the visions begin to slow, developing before in a way she can discern.

Her eyes widen she realizes they're all of you.

In the first vision, you're sat at the breakfast table, making small conversation with Cassian and Nesta as you bite into your pancake. The next couple of visions are mundane, just you going about your daily routine.

Then, you're seated at one of the tables at the garden, basking in the sun while Elain gardens a couple of feet away.

"Did the Suriel ever say anything about Lucien?"

"Many things," you answer her with a grin. "Called him his Fox boy..."

And Elain wants to linger in this vision longer, itching to know more. But as quickly as it flashed before her eyes, it's fading away and a new vision is brought forth.

Now, she stands within a resplendent ballroom nestled within the House of Wind. Fae lights adorn the ceiling, casting a celestial glow that lets her know its Starfall. Amidst the enchanting scene, you and Azriel gracefully twirl on the dance floor. Elain, intrigued, takes a step forward, captivated by the mesmerizing dance unfolding before her.

“You should stay.”

“Why?”

She watches as a wistful expression takes over your features and she has to stop herself from reaching out for you. The music comes to a gradual end and you free yourself of Azriel's hold before the next song starts, missing the way Azriel frowns at the loss of your warmth.

“There’s no one here for me.”

There's a deep, haunting sadness to the laughter that follows your words. Elain also finds herself frowning. She didn't know you were feeling this way, or rather, going to feel this way.

Elain detects a subtle twitch in Azriel's hand from the periphery of her vision, as if he longs to reach out to you but is held back by fear. Redirecting her focus to Azriel, she observes the tender and affectionate gaze he bestows upon you, while you remain unaware, fixated on the ground. This sight tugs at Elain's heart.

It's surprising because she thought she would feel hurt by it. But she doesn't. Instead, empathy floods her, accompanied by a silent wish that you would lift your gaze and witness the profound way Azriel looks at you in this very moment.

Please, she wants to scream but even if she opens her mouth, she knows no sound will come out. Please look up!

“I’m right here.”

Elain exhales with relief as you finally meet Azriel's gaze, but the moment has passed. Azriel's expression transforms into one more guarded, his eyes now concealing what was once openly displayed. A subtle frown settles on your lips, and Elain witnesses a fleeting trace of hurt that crosses Azriel's face. Whatever you sought in that exchange, it appears you did not find it.

The scene before her blurs, shifting into another. Elain is now standing at the foyer of the river house, watching as you make your way down the steps. Suddenly, the door slams open and Azriel's chest is rising and falling as if he's been running. His eyes are wide and frantic, relaxing only when he spots you.

"It's you. All this time. It's been you."

“You know?”

"You're my mate."

A warm smile graces Azriel's lips as his gaze meets yours, and the tender expression Elain previously observed during the Starfall vision reappears on his face. She feels her heart melt at the sight because this time, you don't miss the way he's looking at you.

And just as she's about to dive into another vision into your future, she finds your connection abruptly broken. The warmth of your hands leave hers and you disappear from the depths of her mind. The sky around her darkens and though the waves begin to lap at her again, they remain calm and soothing.

"Stop!"

"I'm not hurting her!"

Elain blinks her eyes open and widen at the sight before her. You wear a pained expression on your face and there's blood trickling down your nose. Guilt courses through her, making her skin pale. She didn't know she was hurting you. Oh gods, if she knew, she wouldn't have lingered in the visions of your future. She didn't even know she could do so and judging by the look on your face, you're completely unaware of her accidental intrusion. Maybe, it's best if she didn't tell you...

"Are you okay?"

Elain doesn't have time to dwell on it as Azriel is urging her to go grab a towel while he guides you forward with a worried expression. When she returns with the towel in hand, she finds her apology dying at her throat, reluctant to disrupt the tender moment between you and Azriel.

"Like what?" She hears Azriel asked in an amused manner.

"Don't make me answer that."

At that moment, your gaze locks onto hers, and Elain assumes an air of nonchalance as she finally approaches the two of you with the towel in hand. Azriel takes it from her, carefully wiping at the blood on your face, and as Elain silently watches, she can't believe how she didn't see it before.

You and Azriel are mates and she feels nothing but pure joy for you both. She only wishes she had known sooner.

Elain confesses to you about Lucien and then asks you about Azriel.

The vibrant streets of Velaris hum with excitement as you and Elain approach one of the bustling markets. Amidst the lively atmosphere, you find yourself marveling at the enduring beauty of the city. You inhale, taking delight in the sweet blend of fresh flowers.

There's a certain lightness to Elain's steps, more so than usual today. Catching your gaze, she turns to you with a soft smile, intertwining her arm with yours and drawing you closer.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Your eyes light up involuntarily, driven by your insatiable curiosity for gossip. "Of course," you reply and though this is a secret you promise to keep, it doesn't dim your desire to hear it.

"I wrote to Lucien. I think I'm ready to give him a chance."

You stop, halting her in the process as well. A frown creases your brow as you look at her. "Are you sure?"

"I used to think mating bonds were precious," you speak again, mind drifting to Azriel briefly, before redirecting your focus back to Elain. "But I've come to realize there's an even greater beauty in choice."

"I want to give him a chance," she reassures you. "It's my choice."

"Okay then," you reply and the two of you resume in your walk toward the markets. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

Elain's gaze lingers on you, a fleeting trace of guilt flickering in her eyes so briefly that you wonder if you imagined it. Curiosity takes hold as she ventures, "What about your own happiness? Is there anyone special you fancy here?"

"I like you," you smile, completely missing the point. "I like Feyre, I like Nyx, I like--"

"No," Elain giggles beside you. "Anyone you like, like?"

"Maybe a certain somebody...," she hints, her voice trailing off and when you stare blankly at her, she adds, "Like maybe Azriel?"

At the mere mention of his name, your body tenses. You're silently hoping Elain doesn't pick up on it, but given she still has her arm wrapped around yours, you're sure she felt it. Still, you feign nonchalance.

“What about Azriel?”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s beautiful, yeah.”

"That's not what I asked," Elain laughs, wearing a knowing grin as if she's already privy to your response.

Your heart skips a beat, prompting an abrupt halt once again. At this rate, you won't reach the stall that sells your favorite pastries in time.

"The other day," you start, and she instantly understands the reference to the day she accidentally glimpsed into your future. "Did you see anything?"

"No," she responds a bit too hastily. "Did you?"

"No," you say with a shake of your head and that dull ache from that day returns. "All I saw was a dark void."

Elain asks what the Suriel had to say about Lucien.

Nestled on one of the lounge chairs in the garden, you close your eyes as you bask in the sun. Elain, rests a couple of feet away on the soft grass, as she tends to the gardens.

"Did the Suriel ever say anything about Lucien?"

"Many things," you reply, opening your eyes. Your lips curve into a grin as you remember all the late nights you spent talking about said Autumn male. As emissary to the Spring Court, who often got sent on a lot of missions, the Suriel had a lot to say about him.

"Called him his fox boy...What are you itching to know?

Turning your head toward Elain, you catch the way she blushes. "I don't know," she admits sheepishly. "I was just curious."

"Did you know he told Amarantha to go back to the shit-show she'd crawl out of?" Elain's lips begin to twitch upwards, but your next words prevent the smile from fully forming. "It cost him his eye, unfortunately. "

"Lucien is good male," you speak again, swiftly shifting the topic to something lighter. "He has friends everywhere, in every court. He's the type to do anything for those he holds dear. From what I've heard, he's a pretty generous lover and given he's from Autumn Court, gods are you in for a treat. One night, the Suriel told me that he took a female to--"

"That's okay!" Elain cuts you in sharply, making you laugh.

"Autumn males have fire in their blood and I heard they fuck like it too."

"Feyre!" Elain gasps with wide eyes, her face growing as pink as the roses she just planted.

You're turning to face Feyre with a delighted smirk. "So you know too!"

Elain stands up, brushing her hands on the dress, indifferent to the dirt staining the fabric.

"Where are you going? We were just about to get to the good part." You muse.

"I'm actually going to go see him," Elain admits and before you can any anything, she adds, "I think I'll just ask him what I want to know myself."

You respond with a shrug of your shoulders and wish her good luck. "Have fun!" Feyre calls after her.

After Elain disappears from view, Feyre gracefully settles into the lounge chair next to you. Her blue eyes carefully assess you for a moment. "What else do you know about him?"

You meet her gaze, detecting an unspoken knowledge. "What else do you know?"

You feel her presence asking for entrance in your mind and you let her in, smiling when all she mentally utters is one word. A name, actually. Helion.

His father, you reply back with an all-knowing gleam in your eye. Did you know the Lady of Autumn and him are mates?

Feyre's eyes widen, and she releases a gasp. There's more isn't, there? She speaks into your mind.

Of course there is, you reply back. With a graceful wave of her hand, a complete tea set materializes along with an array of snacks upon the iron table between you.

I sense we'll be here for awhile, she muses to you, blue eyes glimmering with anticipation.

You chuckle as you start to sweeten one of the steaming cups of tea to your liking. Your attention shifts to the untouched third set on the table, and a dull ache settles in your chest as you envision the Suriel, absent yet somehow still present at the table.

As you bring your tea cup to your lips, you proceed to indulge Feyre with every bit of knowledge and gossip you possess about Helion's affair with the Lady of Autumn through your mind.

You don't realize it then, but this day, marks the beginning of what you and Feyre would later name "the Suriel fan club." As time passes on, the club grows more and more, until it becomes a monthly meeting amongst the inner circle.

The morning after you and Azriel spend the night together for the first time.

Your eyelids flutter, like delicate butterflies stirring from slumber, as the muffled whispers of morning dance in the air. You stir and turn to your side, bringing the warmth of your sheets with you. Your movement causes a chain of reaction and your entire body freezes when you feel an unfamiliar weight come to rest over your side.

It's instinct, the way your fingers grasp for the dagger you keep under your pillow. In a moment of panic, you find yourself straddling a body and pressing your dagger against what you initially thought was an intruder.

"y/n, what are you doing?"

Your eyes snap wide open and memories of the night before flood your mind. You find yourself looking down at Azriel. Your mate, Azriel. Despite the dagger pressed at his throat, he smiles lazily up at you.

"I'm so sorry!" You exclaim with a heated blush, throwing the dagger onto your nightstand, relieved that you didn't knick him on accident. Judging by the way he's looking at you, you don't think he'd mind anyway.

"I'm not used to sharing my bed," you admit sheepishly, sliding off of him and wishing your bed would just swallow you whole at this point.

Taking advantage of your shift in position, Azriel turns on his side and hovers over your body, hazel eyes gleaming down at you. "You sleep with a dagger under your pillow?"

"Yes and?" You retort, a touch too defensively, eliciting laughter from him that sends an infectious warmth coursing through you. A smile tugs at your own lips. "You were listening when I told you I lived between Prythian's forests and shady Inns for many years, right?"

"Of course, I was. I listen to everything you say," Azriel responds smoothly. "It's just..." His voice trails off, and though your gaze remains fixed on his face, you notice him reaching for something in your peripheral vision.

He flashes you a grin as he pulls out his beloved dagger from under the pillow his head was resting on earlier.

"I sleep with a dagger under my pillow too."

a/n: hope you enjoyed these little scenes! I also wanted to clarify that Elain was starting to think about giving Lucien a chance, even before she found out reader and Az were mates, and it's her finding out about your bond that gives her the confirmation to move forward. She realizes that Azriel won't be alone as he has someone waiting for him (:

tagging: @stormhearty @shinyghosteclipse @justvibbinghere @mybestfriendmademe @aandweaa @loveareum @hellodarling1357

@sassybluebird, @crookedcrusadestranger, @xlosttdreamss, @peachcontour-blog, @shadowandlightt, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @darlingbravebelle, @scooobies, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @toobsessedsstuff, @kaysav608, @idkitsem, @coffeebeforewater, @rinalsworld, @elissanatok, @mischiefmanagers, @paranoidhwks, @meshellexplosionmurder, @skylling, @irismoon, @addieslibrary, @wildrosewhiskey, @aneekapaneeka, @mx13sworld, @vixemi, @strangersreadingcorner, @aristocrrat, @olive-main, @moonyscherry, @stressed-reader, @alysena2, @heartysworld, @aomi-recs, @vardda, @awritingtree, @sillysillygoose444, @spideytingley, @aria-chikage

I tried tagging everyone who had left a comment or reblog with comment/tags, just in case you were curious to read more about Az & seer reader. Idk why not all tags worked out :(

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel imagine #azriel one shot #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar fanfiction #ABBA x acotar

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